She shakes her head. “You’ve purchased yourself a one-way ticket to bonetown, girl, and your scheduled departure is any day now.”

I flop back down on my bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you remember,” she says, pointing at me, “when I told you about how Hannah took care of me during my Barfapalooza performance on her bathroom floor?”

“I’m unable to forget.”

Tracey raises an eyebrow like this proves something.

“Um, what?”

“Nick came over here to take care of you,” she says. “He made you food.”

“That’s what friends do!” I say, my voice rising in frustration, which makes me cough. “You came over here to take care of me.”

Tracey waves me off. “I brought you Gatorade, like a normal person. I didn’t slave over a stove to cook you a meal and then share a treasured family recipe for a therapeutic cocktail.”

“It’s a popular drink,” I mutter. “It wasn’t, like, personal.”

“And then,” Tracey says, clearly ramping up to something, “you admitted to me that you not only thought he looked good, but told him so. My case is closed. Bonetown: population you and Nick.”

I sit in silence for a moment before saying, “This is why we never worked out, you know. Because we’re way, way too similar and we would’ve driven each other crazy.”

She smiles. “Hannah thinks it’s cute when I get like this.”

“I think it’s annoying,” I say, but I can’t help smiling.

“So where’s your boyfriend?” Tracey asks, looking around as if there’s someone stuffed behind my bed.

“Who?” I ask, confused, then realize who she’s referring to. “Oh, you mean Mikey Danger.”

Tracey snorts, sloshing tea on the table. “Okay, wow. You’ve gotta cut this Mikey Danger character loose.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you even tell him you were sick?”

“I had to cancel our plans to Netflix and chill last night, so yeah, I texted him and said I wasn’t feeling well.”

“And?” Tracey gestures around the room. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!”

“I’ll tell you where he’s not.” She leans forward. “Making chicken tortilla soup.”

“That’s because Mikey Danger can’t cook,” I say. “Fred told me he had to throw out a pan last week because Mikey burned Kraft Macaroni and Cheese onto it.”

“I think you need to ask yourself: is that what you deserve? A grown man who can’t make a meal meant for children?”

“Not being able to cook isn’t a character flaw,” I say.

“And what did Michael Dangerous say when you told him you were sick?”

I check my phone and see that he’s responded. “Bummer babe.”

Tracey sighs, then leans back in the chair. “You’re right. Not being able to cook isn’t a character flaw. But not checking on your girlfriend/friend with benefits? That kinda is.”

I don’t want to give Tracey the satisfaction of acknowledging that she’s right, so instead I bite my lip. “Interesting theory.”

She smiles. “Did you catch how I called him Michael Dangerous back there?”