I’m not looking forward to Monday, so when it comes around, I’m disappointed but not surprised. I reach the rehearsal hall after spending ten minutes waiting in the parking lot to avoid Devin. I expect em to yell at me for bailing on em on Saturday, but when I step over the threshold, I find em working as usual. E looks up and says, “Hey, can you grab the crayons from the cabinet?”

I oblige, passing em the crate full of little crayon boxes, but e doesn’t say anything else.

Time to rip off the Band-Aid. “Are you mad at me?” I ask.

“Mad? Why?”

I roll my eyes. “Because I bailed on your party.”

Devin looks up at me from the floor and smiles. “I figured you had a reason.”

And yeah, I did have a reason, but I still feel like I’m getting let off the hook too easily. I mean, shouldn’t e care that I didn’t show up? Or does e care so little about me that it didn’t seem important?

“I did,” I say, “but I still made you a promise and then bailed on it. As a friend, that’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”

Devin shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so, but you can’t help it if something came up, and I’m not going to hold that against you.”

“Damn it, Devin!” I shout, and e flinches like e didn’t think my voice could get that loud. “Do you seriously not get mad about anything?”

“I get mad,” e says. “I’m just not mad at you. I don’t see how that makes me the bad guy in this situation.”

And really, I don’t either, but I’m mad and I don’t know who else to take it out on. Really, I guess my anger should be directed at Drew, but I don’t know how to do that without scaring him off. And I can’t be mad at Becca because I’m the one who chased her away, and even if I hadn’t, she won’t answer the phone for me to tell her how infuriating it is that she never answers the phone. And I can’t take it out on whoever’s messing with the Diary because if they ever answer me back, I have to try to be civil so they don’t tank everything I’ve worked so hard on.

So I can’t say I’m really mad at Devin, but unfortunately, e’s the only one around to experience my wrath.

I sigh, sitting down next to em on the floor. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“What happened?” e asks.

“That I didn’t come?”

“Sure, if that’s what’s got you so stressed out.”