I nudge Oscar in the ribs. “I mean, both of those plans sound really cool.”

Next to Greg, Cooper rolls his eyes. “Did you need something? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“Whoa,” says Kiera. “Attitude much, Coop? The most interesting thing you’ve ever been in the middle of is all the cow poop on your parents’ farm.”

“Hey,” says Cooper. “Everybody poops.”

“Nice one,” says Oscar to Kiera, surprising even himself.

Kiera looks past me at Oscar skeptically, but then realizes he was being serious. “Thanks.”

I shake my head. Common enemies, according to Cliff VanWarren, are the great unifier.

Greg gives me a rescue me smile and shrugs before turning back to Cooper.

Without much else to say, I turn to Oscar. “So, Oscar, are we on for tonight?”

He makes a low hissing noise as he sucks in through his teeth. “Yeah. Tonight doesn’t really work for me.” He says it like I’m asking him if he likes stripes or plaid. Patterns don’t really work for me.

The lunch bell rings, and everyone begins to stand and gather up their trash. “What? How come?”

An office aide scoops up Kiera because her parents are here. “See you on Monday!” I call to her as I follow Oscar to the trash cans.

“You come over every Friday night,” I remind him.

He dumps his leftovers in the trash and turns around. “Not every Friday night,” he says.

“Are you still mad about the Kiera thing?” I ask, my hands on my hips. “I think y’all would actually get along if you just tried.”

He ignores my question. “I just can’t tonight.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because, Sweet Pea. I don’t know. Maybe I have other plans, okay? We don’t have to spend every Friday night together. Besides, my brothers say it’s weird how much we hang out, and maybe they’re right.”

“I wouldn’t exactly trust your brothers to be experts on girls and guys being best friends.”

Oscar stops in his tracks. “I just can’t this weekend. You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.”

My chest tightens, and I can feel tears welling up, but I refuse to let him see me cry right now. For the first time I can remember, I feel silly for caring so much about this. He clearly doesn’t. It’s like when everyone is in on a joke and you’re the last person to realize everyone else has stopped playing along. “Okay, fine,” I tell him. “Totally cool. We’ll hang out next week. Maybe after school one day.”

Oscar nods. “Cool.”

Later that day, after I get off the bus, I stop at Mom’s house to see Cheese even though it’s Dad’s night. I lie next to him on the kitchen floor, dangling a string in front of his nose as he bats it back and forth.

I barely notice as it gets darker, the sun sinking lower into the sky outside.

The front door creaks open, and I expect it to be Mom, but instead Dad’s voice calls out. “Sweet Pea?”