She winces. “We’re still friends.”

“They weren’t at your birthday party.”

“They’ve been busy with eighth-grade stuff,” she mutters. “It’s different there. Anyway, you were so busy with Oscar!”

“Who you wouldn’t even try being friends with,” I remind her.

“It felt like he was always trying to compete for your attention,” she says.

“Are Sarah Beth, Claire, and Kassidy really that busy that they can’t even make time for your birthday party?” I ask.

She throws herself back against the love seat and groans. “They said it was a little-kid party. I never see them anyway since they started eighth grade, and they’re busy all the time with, like, clubs, and I think Sarah Beth has a new boyfriend. I don’t know.”

“A second boyfriend? That’s probably more than I’ll have in my whole lifetime.”

Kiera snorts. “Me and you both.”

We both laugh, our shoulders bumping together until we’ve quieted down and are watching the ceiling fan spin above us. I have one more question. “So now that your cool older friends are too busy for you, you’re ready to be friends again?”

“I’m not perfect, okay? I’ve wanted to talk to you for basically the whole year. But I didn’t know how to make things go back to the way they were. It’s not like you were trying to be my friend either.”

“What about eighth grade?” I ask, remembering the letter I responded to last night. “What if we just change too much again?”

Kiera looks at me, like every bone in her body is as serious as can be, and I think this is what I like most about her. “A lot of things have happened that I never thought would happen. Your parents got a divorce. Mine are on the verge of strangling each other, and Cooper won the class spelling bee even though he misspelled his own name on his cubby. So I bet we’ll change a lot in the next few years and even more before we graduate twelfth grade, but we can try to do it together. If you want?”

Most people would probably turn to me and promise me that things would never change. But Kiera never makes promises she can’t keep. And who knows what will happen, anyway? What Kiera’s offering, though, feels like the kind of promise we could keep. “Yeah.” I nod. “I’d like that.”

“Enough with all this serious talk,” she says. “Can we finally check out your dad’s spare bedroom? I want to know what he’s hiding.”

I suck in a deep breath. I don’t feel so good about this. “Sure,” I finally say. “But it’s probably nothing.” At least I hope so.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Behind Door Number Three

I’m just as curious as Kiera—if not more curious—but some weird part of me would rather not know what’s behind the door of Dad’s mystery room. It’s like the same way my nerves are on the fritz every time I go to the doctor, because I’m scared they’re going to tell me I’ve got some incurable rare disease. And if I do . . . honestly? I’d just rather not know.