The corner of his mouth lifts. “Because I live above the garage?”

“Because you live alone,” I clarify. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. To be fair, I only just moved out. It was a compromise. I go to community college, so no dorm living. It was the next-best thing.”

“Whatever. It’s still amazing.”

“What about you?” he asks, pretending to look behind us. “You’re traveling alone? How old are you?”

A little voice in my head, one that sounds exactly like my mom, whispers that I shouldn’t tell a stranger how old I am or admit I’m alone. But she had sex with my dad when he was practically a stranger, so I push the thought away. I know where Micah works and his nosy best friend, and in a minute, I’ll know where his parents live. Besides, I’m not planning to lose my virginity. We’re only getting ice cream. “I just turned eighteen, and I’m alone because I left without asking. Technically. I mean, they know where I am. And the, um, girl at the front desk at the hotel, Tammy, knows me. She’s expecting me,” I add in case.

“Tammy Dawson?” he asks, smirking. “She’s good people. Don’t worry, Meg. I won’t kidnap you.”

“I wasn’t worried. Not really. You’re too type A to kidnap a hot mess like me.”

“Type A?”

“Am I wrong?”

His lips twitch as he tries to look affronted. “No, you’re not.” He gestures to the street corner. “I’m on the right. Just a quick detour. You can stay in the driveway where all the neighbors can see you if you’ll feel better.”

“Okay.”

Micah leads the way up a short asphalt drive that meets a cared-for navy-blue house with red brick half up its exterior and black shutters. There are flowers in window boxes and a bunch of discarded kids’ bikes and skateboards in the grass. The drive is covered with stick figure chalk drawings and messages reading YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE and I ❤ MOMMY. Micah pulls his bike around to the garage door under a set of wooden stairs that must lead to his apartment. I pick up a piece of chalk and squat, tracing a couple of flowers, making a tiny garden. I hear the door slam, and Micah jogs up to me, a frantic yellow Lab in tow, as the front screen door opens. A little girl is standing on the porch with her hands on her hips.

“Where’re you going?” she asks.

Micah waves her back in, slipping a leash onto the vibrating dog’s collar. “None of your beeswax. Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“Are you getting ice cream? You said you would take me next time!”