Leo put up his hands. “Hell no, I got no problem. I just wanna be at a safe distance, but with a good view, when you come out—because those’ll be some kick-ass fireworks.”

Which brought Katie to her next question. “Do your parents know?”

“My parents here are very self-absorbed, like those other kids you were talking about. They don’t notice much of anything when it comes to me and my brother. Totally oblivious.” And it occurred to me that I was one of those oblivious people, too—or at least I had been before the world started changing.

“Parents are rarely as clueless as they seem,” Katie advised. It made me a little uncomfortable to think that she might be right.

“Yeah,” seconded Leo, “and when it comes to shit about you, they mostly worry A) Are you okay? and B) How does it affect them? But not necessarily in that order.”

For the next few days, I took the Edwards’ advice, and let myself fearlessly experience the make-under.

It started with going to Paul’s house on Sunday to work on math. I couldn’t deny the excitement I felt simply arriving at his door, but kept it all inside. Although maybe I rang the bell one too many times.

“Hey,” he said as he answered the door, much sweatier than I expected him to be. “Tennis with my dad. Just got back.”

“Hi, Ash,” his dad said from back in the kitchen. He looked much worse than Paul, as he guzzled a glass of ice water.

“Hi, Mr. Fisher. Looks like Paul ran you all over the court,” I commented.

“That he did.”

Then Paul, taking a step toward the stairs, said, as casually as can be, “Gotta hit the shower. Wanna come with?”

And it’s like I imploded. I felt my ears and nose going red hot. “No. Uh . . . No,” I stammered. “I’ll just . . . uh . . . wait down here.” I looked toward the kitchen. Mr. Fisher was no longer in view when Paul said it, but was he in earshot? What about his mom? I hadn’t seen her yet. Either of them might have heard it.

Seeing my reaction, Paul stopped and turned around with a long-suffering smirk. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It was a joke.”

And even more quietly, I said, “It’s not a joke if you secretly mean it.”

“But it is a joke,” he argued, “because you know that I know that there’s no universe in which you’d come upstairs with my whole family here.”

I didn’t even realize I had another nerve to hit. “Universe? What do you mean, universe?”

He chuckled, and I realized it was just an innocent figure of speech. “Ash, you are very weird,” he said. “And I like it.”

And he was gone to take his shower.