Once I leave crazy pants behind, I leave the school and embark on the lovely journey home. Okay, lovely might be a stretch. Well, the scenery isn’t bad, shifting from quaint shops and stores to farmland the farther I walk. But the walk itself is exhausting. And boring.

I’m about one step away from lighting up, even if it means risking getting busted, when I receive a message. I dig out my phone and read it, half-expecting it to be from that unknown number. But it’s from Harlow.

Harlow: Hey! So, I forgot to tell you that if you ever need a ride to school or anything, just let me know. I usually drive myself, but sometimes my dad makes me use the driver. Either way, though, I’m cool with giving you a ride.

A driver? Holy freakin’ what the crap?

Still …

Me: Actually, I’d love a ride. That way I don’t have to rely on my aunt or my cousin or take the bus.

Harlow: Yeah, you definitely don’t want to take the bus. I’ve heard horror stories about them.

Me: I’ve rode the bus before, and I can assure you that all those stories are probably true.

Harlow: I’ll have to take your word for it, because there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to ride the bus.

Me: Smart thinking.

Harlow: That’s because I’m smart.

I’m smiling at this point, and it feels pretty damn good, even if the air is getting a bit chilly and my feet are starting to hurt.

Harlow: Also, I was wondering if you wanted to go to this thing with me this weekend. It’s kind of like a club, but not really.

Me: Sounds a bit sketchy. ;)

Harlow: Not sketchy. Just mysterious.

While her texts are a little strange, it’s not like I have anything better to do this weekend. Plus, it might be fun to get out and do something. And get away from The House of Horrors.

Me: All right, count me in.

Harlow: Sweet! And if you really want, you can invite my brother to go.

Me: Why would I do that?

Harlow: Oh, don’t play stupid. I know you guys clicked at lunch.

She tops off the text with a smoochy face.

Me: We did not! We’re just friends.

Harlow: Hmm … You know there’s an art to that sort of stuff, right?

Me: What sort of stuff?

Harlow: Just being friends with someone you’re attracted to. And my brother, while an artist in many things, does not possess those skills.

I shake my head. She’s getting confused. There’s no way Hunter is attracted to me. And he was the one who said we should be friends.

Me: I really think you’re getting this wrong. Your brother doesn’t see me like that.

Harlow: Believe what you want, but it’s totally true. And if you don’t want to invite him, you don’t have to. I just thought I’d throw the idea out there like a good BFF.