“But—” I rack my brain for another excuse. “Homework. I always do homework on Sundays.”

I try the widest puppy eyes ever attempted. Please help me out here.

Pops smiles. “You can do it later.”

“Okay,” Miles says. “So I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll call you back and we can figure out where to go, okay?”

“I guess so.”

I glare at Pops as I hang up the phone.

“You’re the worst,” I say. “I never ask you for anything.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard in my life,” he says, picking up his cup. “But I suppose you’ve learned your lesson. My work here is done.”

I groan. I can’t trust him at all.

CHAPTER 11

Miles suggested I pick a place to meet, so I chose the park. Everyone is so caught up on Golden Gate Park, but Dolores Park is my favorite. It has all the normal park things, like tennis courts and a soccer field. It’s big enough that I’ve never run into anyone from school, but close enough to feel like it’s part of my neighborhood.

Sometimes, when we don’t have anything to do, the girls and I come to watch dogs run around. The south half of the park is the best, because you can see everything—downtown, Mission District, and the East Bay. It’s not a bad place to meet the boy I like. Too bad the trolley takes forever to come and I end up being fifteen minutes late.

I speed walk through the park entrance, but I don’t see him right away. My hands dart up to my hair. When I get nervous like this, I wish I still had braids. I’d unbraid and rebraid them over and over so that my fingers would have something to do. Ever since I did the Big Chop before starting school in September, I can’t do much with it. Even though I go to bed with tiny twists, my hair never comes out in the tight, crisp curls I see other women walking around with. Then there’s the whole fog issue—it deflates my hair in mere seconds. I should’ve brought a hat.

“So what’s the big deal with the school play?”

I blink. Miles is standing in front of me, wearing a blue-and-white hooded sweatshirt. I was pretty sure people only wore school colors as some sort of joke, but I guess not. He has a vanilla ice cream cone, but instead of licking it like a normal person, he’s sucking it like a Popsicle. The dark pink of his lips is flecked with white. His tongue darts out to wipe it away.