I’d spent a lot of time analyzing the most recent email, which he’d signed with Best, Hayes. It had sent me into a small spiral. Nothing was worse than getting an email from the person you can’t stop thinking about and having them end it with a Best. There was no way he signed his emails to Serena with Best. She probably got something like Desperate for your touch, or a GIF of an erupting volcano. As she should, I reasoned. They’re dating—she deserved all the sexual-innuendo GIFs in the world. But I was still silently pining for Hayes, and there was nothing even remotely flirty about a Best, and it made me wonder if everything I’d felt between us was just in my head.

“Okay, kiddo,” my mom said. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“’Kay. You too,” I said, feeling guilty for the relief I felt as I hung up the phone. Stretching out long on my couch, I let out a loud moan. I hadn’t seen Hayes in a few days, and now every magical, flirty interaction we’d had was starting to feel like that motorcycle dream—pure fiction, created by my brain.

My phone pinged again, but this time it was a text from Lola, a photo of the spread she’d prepped for our picnic later today. Gooey Brie, crackers, salami, grapes, cans of wine. I looked at my watch. It was almost time to head into the city to meet my friends. This would be exactly what I needed.

*  *  *

One sweaty subway ride later, I was let out into the sauna that was Midtown Manhattan in the middle of July. Cleo and Lola were already waiting for me on the corner of Fifty-Ninth and Fifth, sitting on the edge of the fountain. Cleo had a giant ratty blanket tucked under her arm, and she was using her other hand to fan her face. I waved at them and held up the bag I’d brought, containing my contributions to our feast: hummus, pita chips, and olives from Sahadi’s in Brooklyn. Lola cupped her hands to her mouth when she saw me, shouting “Woo-hoo!”

“There she finally is!” Lola said as I wandered up to them. “Our queen of Brooklyn.”

“I will never live in Manhattan. Leave me alone,” I quipped back, long accustomed to this teasing about my borough of choice. “I don’t care how annoying the trains are on the weekend.”

“Shall we?” said Cleo, rising with a stretch. We followed the winding pathway into the park, which was lush and green. Just the shade of the trees made it feel a few degrees cooler than the rest of the city. We walked along the road, up toward Sheep Meadow, where we planned on spreading out on the grass, snacking our faces off, and hanging out together until dusk.