“He lives in Connecticut. About two hours from here. So we agreed to meet at the Kasselton Mall. Jared had just gotten his license and could drive down. He said that he had to tell me something really important, something he could only tell me in person. He said that once we met, I’d understand everything.”

“Understand everything about what?”

“About him. About us.”

I was lost, but I just said, “Okay. So then what?”

“Then . . .” Ema stopped, shrugged. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“What do you think I mean?” she snapped. “That’s it. I went to the Kasselton Mall. I waited exactly where we said we’d meet—in that back corner of Ruby Tuesday’s. But he never showed. I waited one hour. Then two. Then . . . all day, okay? I sat there all day.”

“Jared never showed?”

“You got it.”

“So what did you do then?” I asked.

“I texted him. But he didn’t answer. I e-mailed him. Same thing. I went into our chat room, but he didn’t come back. I even checked his Facebook page, but there was nothing there. It was like he had suddenly vanished into thin air.”

Ema typed something onto her laptop and then turned it to me. It was a Facebook profile for a boy named Jared Lowell. I took one look at his profile picture and without thinking said, “You were catfished.”

“What?”

The guy in the profile picture was ridiculously good-looking. I don’t mean everyday-high-school-quarterback good-looking. I mean TV-hunk, fronting-a-hot-boy-band good-looking.

“Forget it,” I said.

Ema was angry now. “Why did you say that?”

“Forget it, okay?”

“No, why did you say that I was catfished when you saw his picture? It’s because he’s cute, right?”

“What? No.” But my words sounded weak even in my own ears.

“You don’t think a guy who looks like that could ever go for a girl who looks like me, right?”

“That’s not it at all,” I sorta-lied.

“If I were Rachel Caldwell, you’d have no trouble believing it—”

“It isn’t that, Ema. But, I mean, look at him. Come on. If I told you I was having an online relationship with a girl I met in a chat room and, when you saw her picture, she looked like a famous swimsuit model, what would you think?”

“I’d believe you,” she said. But now it was her voice that sounded weak.

“Right,” I said. “Sure. And then when I was supposed to meet Miss Swimsuit Model in person, she suddenly vanished—would you still believe it?”

“Yes,” she said a little too firmly.

I put my hands on her shoulders. “You’re my best friend, Ema. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She looked down, her face reddening in embarrassment.