I send the latest episode of FlickChick out into the world and get dressed for Paige’s.

I text Mom, who is on a date with a guy she’s been seeing.

Hey mom. Going out. Won’t be too late

Kk hun. Think u will like this guy!!!!!! U can meet him soon! Where r u going?

W lottie to a friends house

Have fun. Can’t wait for u to meet new guy. He’s amazing

I don’t have high hopes for whoever my mom is dating this time. Ever since she put herself “back out there,” she has sent so many versions of that text—YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE HIM! HE CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOU!—telling me the guy is a real winner and maybe the one, but they’ve all turned out to be douchebags. I feel bad for her. Her taste in men is shit, but mostly because she doesn’t have high enough standards. Even my dad, who I have to have some loyalty to, is honestly a bit of a loser sometimes. This new guy’s name is Reg, like in Riverdale, and that’s how I picture him, as the kind of guy no girl with a brain would like. I mean, maybe I’ll end up being wrong, but I bet I’m not.

I ride my bike over to Lottie’s house so we can go to Paige’s together. I ring the doorbell and wait, scrolling through Instagram until I hear the door opening.

“Hey kid,” Rhonda says, smiling. “Lottie’s already left for Paige’s.”

“Oh …” I say, dumbly. I just assumed we’d head over at the same time and now feel stupid.

“You guys get your signals crossed? Hard to imagine,” she laughs, gesturing at my phone, “since that thing is like another appendage.” Her voice softens. “Sorry, hon. Did Lottie say she’d be here?”

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just meet her there.” I smile and turn around, grabbing my bike by the handlebars.

I’ve never been to Paige’s house before, but she pinned it on a map in the text, so I study it on my phone before hopping on my bike and heading in the direction of the newer developments in the suburban maze of our town. The wind is whipping through my jean jacket, and my hands are getting cold, so I’m relieved when I find that it’s not that far. But her neighborhood feels like a different planet. Even the streetlights are stylish—they stand up straight like skinny supermodels with their noses in the air. The houses are big and the lawns have short green grass without any crap lying around on them. I pull my bike into her driveway and lean it carefully against the brick of the house.

“Fancy …” I murmur under my breath as I push the doorbell and a series of chimes ring out.