He looked proud for some reason. “Tell me,” he said. “Why Grant?”

“My parents thought it was a good idea.”

“Changing schools in the middle of your senior year and leaving your friends?”

“Yeah, they make sense like that. I don’t care though.”

“Oh, I’d be so pissed,” he said, taking a bite.

“It’s only a year. Not even that.”

“Still. It’s a bit shitty.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Have you thought of college? It’s all everyone talks about these days.”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“But you’re going?”

“I got in a couple already,” I said. “Early admission.”

“Shit, you’re smart.”

“Not really,” I said dismissively. “I wrote a killer essay though.” I was secretly proud of my wording.

“Where did you get in?”

“NYU and Yale.”

“Fuck me, that’s awesome!”

I didn’t reply. It didn’t feel awesome. Nor did it feel bad either. It just…was.

“I’m trying for Yale,” he said.

“Is it what you want?”

He seemed genuinely surprised I’d asked him that. “Does it matter?”

“I think it should.”

“I guess.”

Then it was my turn to stop walking. “This is me.”

“No way!” he said. “My dad lives, like, a few blocks from here.”

I smiled.

“How’s your stomach?”

“Better,” I lied. “Apple juice does help.”

“Told ya,” he said proudly. “See you tomorrow, then? Or, you know, in a couple of hours?”

“Sure,” I said, still smiling.

As he walked away, I noticed how there was absolutely no one else around.

“Ethan!” I called out.

He turned on the spot.

“Thanks for the company.”

He tilted his head, like he did at the library. Then he tried to wink. It was kind of funny how he thought he had.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Brown Leather Jacket

When I went inside, my parents were both in the living room, waiting. Mom was pacing back and forth, while dad was slumped on the couch looking at her, bored.

“Where were you?” my mom asked, clearly pissed.

“Out?”

“Yes, that much is obvious.”

“Where were you?” my dad repeated, equally mad.

“I told you I was going out.”

“Yes, but this is a school night. You can’t go out on a Tuesday and come back at 2:00 a.m. on Wednesday,” Mom said.

I scoffed. “I can’t?”

“Thomas,” my dad warned me.

“Am I not allowed to go out?” I asked calmly.

“Of course you’re allowed—” Dad started saying, but I didn’t let him.

“Because I kinda thought it’d be a good thing. Dr. Foster keeps telling me to make friends, and you guys keep telling me to get out more, so I’m confused.”

“It’s not that you went out—” he said.

“It’s that we didn’t know where you went.” Mom said.

“The Den,” I said. “And you could’ve just texted me.”