“Yeah, they’re not,” Adam said, with a laugh. “They’re just a bunch of entitled brats.”

“Not everyone is lame though,” Sam interjected.

“Sure, there’s like ten people in the whole school who are worth getting to know,” Adam conceded.

“And you’ve already met three, so you’re doing great,” a smiley Blake said.

“Have you ever been here before?” Sam asked. “To The Den?”

“I used to come all the time until maybe six months ago—”

“What happened six months ago?” she asked me.

It was then that a familiar voice called out to me.

“Tommy?”

I recognized it immediately, of course. When I turned, I knew I’d find those hazel eyes staring back at me. Beautiful, as always.

“Summer?” I said, standing up at once and hugging her.

We hadn’t spoken since before I went to the hospital, but she hugged me as if nothing had ever happened.

“How are you?” she asked as we pulled away from each other’s arms. “How long have you been…back?”

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” she repeated, somewhat taken aback.

“Give or take. Yeah.”

Sam, Blake, and Adam all watched us as we spoke, and for the better part of two minutes I’d forgotten all about them.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, shaking my head. “Summer, this is Sam, Blake, and Adam. Guys, this is Summer, my—”

“—girlfriend.” She looked serious but quickly broke into a grin. “Ex-girlfriend. I like messing with him by pretending I’m still bitter.”

“Well, to be fair—” I said, but she swiftly interrupted me once more.

“I know, I’m always bitter,” she admitted. “But not about us.”

“True.”

“Do you guys go to Grant?” she asked them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. “We just met your boyfriend today actually.”

“Which is long enough to have made him an honorary member of the group,” Adam said to the nods of both Blake and Sam.

Summer then turned to me. “We all miss you, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s not true,” I jokingly told her.

“Maybe not Marcy, but the rest of us? Definitely.”

She then reached out her hand and touched the tip of my hair. “I like it long. Looks better this way.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “Have you spoken to the guys?” she asked, still running her fingers through my hair.

“No.” I felt awful admitting it. “I don’t really know how to begin that conversation.”

“Hi usually works,” she said kindly.

“Yeah, but is that even enough?”

“You can always cook them something,” she said, turning to the others. “He’s the best cook.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“How are the Harts?” she asked.

“Oh, you know. Always fine. Your folks?”

“Mom would love to hear from you,” she said. “Even dad wouldn’t mind it.”

I scoffed. “Now, that’s just scary.”