“What is she going through?” he asks.

“It’s really not for me to say.”

“Whatever, Sweet Pea. So I guess Little Miss I-Get-Everything-I-Want Kiera is going through . . . something. And so all of a sudden after she just mysteriously ditched you for years, you’ve invited her to our sleepover and in doing so have uninvited me?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” I sigh into the receiver. “Oscar, just trust me on this, please? I’m so, so sorry. And I owe you so big-time. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Yeah, you’ve been promising lots of things lately.”

“I really will make it up to you.”

“Whatever,” he says.

“So we’re cool?”

“I don’t know, Sweet Pea. Sure. I guess so.”

I squeal into the phone. “You’re the best, you’re the best, you’re the best. I promise I really will make it up to you. Me. You. Trampoline Zone. Zero puke. I’ll even use my allowance to pay for us both. And—and I’ll buy you the fancy socks they sell.”

“Whatever you say,” he says flatly. “Have fun at your slumber party.”

I’m feeling guilty and annoyed all at once. Guilty that I had to choose Kiera over Oscar and annoyed that I can’t make Oscar understand why.

After we hang up, the light on the phone is blinking red. I hit the voice-mail number next to the light. We never really get voice messages since anything important goes to Mom’s or Dad’s phones. I’m sure this message is just some fake spam message saying we won a cruise to Alaska or something.

“Andre? Andre DiMarco? This is Saul Benson from Liberty Finance up in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I was calling about that small-business loan we discussed. We got you approved. Sent out a letter in the mail. I tried to connect via email, but looks like I got your address wrong and the email bounced back. Give me a call when you can. We gotta tie up some loose ends and get you up here to get some things in order. Anyway, listen, give me a call back. And congrats! Can’t wait to get you on your feet with the shop.”

A new shop? And it’s in Connecticut? I don’t get it. Would Dad really move halfway across the country without talking to me first? My stomach plummets.

“To save this message, press nine. To delete this message, press zero.”

I pull the phone away from my ear. My fingers hover for a minute over the keypad.

Zero. Zero, zero, zero, zero. I can’t press it enough times.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Kind of Promise You Can Keep

That night, Kiera’s mom walks her to the door and spends about a good thirty seconds apologizing to Dad about the whole Oscar “fiasco” and another ten minutes explaining to Dad about why this age is so “delicate” and how our bodies are changing.

The whole thing is about as entertaining as watching ice melt, so Kiera and I head to my room and let Dad take one for the team. As we’re walking down the hall, I hear Mrs. Bryant pause and say, “And Andre, I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about Nate and uh . . . the whole—”