Mostly everyone participated in the cleanup, stuffing used plates into a grocery bag and stacking emptied cups for later disposal. Jameer stood off to the side, though, thumbing something into his ancient phone. When the secret grotto was litter free, we piled into the vehicles, got back to the main road. The closer we got to the restaurant, the more it seemed like whatever spell we’d experienced was false magic. Kiera still rode shotgun, though. That was something. The glowing Antonelli’s sign came into view.

Looking tense over whatever happened with Angie, Qwan remained on task, distributing Altoids to cover any lingering wine scent. Then, one by one, parents showed up to retrieve their particular Purity Pledger. Me, Kiera, and a slightly wobbly Jameer greeted each parent like the good chaperones that we were until only the Burton Brothers remained. They’d stashed the half-empty wine box in my trunk, and were buzzed enough to attempt some freestyle raps that were better than that mixtape. There was hope for them.

Their mom’s minivan pulled to the curb, the automatic door sliding. They said their goodbyes and hopped in. Within seconds of them pulling off, a familiar car pulled to the curb in front of Antonelli’s. Me and Kiera had seen it drop Jameer off the night we walked home from Mama Marian’s. Jameer, suddenly overjoyed, ran to greet the driver.

He stepped from the vehicle, taller than all of us. Rail thin. His hair was all shiny curls. Sparse stubble covered his cheeks and chin like moss. He wore a plain gray hoodie and loose jeans, the opposite of Jameer’s daily almost-formal wear. Wardrobe differences aside, the two embraced with warmth and longing that made me jealous considering the foot-long gap separating me and Kiera.

Jameer pried himself away from the boy, and said, “Kiera, Del, this is Ramsey. Ramsey, these are my friends.”

Ramsey waved. “Hi!”

“What’s good, Ramsey?” I dapped him up.

Kiera, reserved, said, “Nice to meet you, Ramsey.”

Jameer patted Ramsey’s chest, then came to us for a word. “I’m not going home yet.”

Kiera went bug-eyed. “You can’t be serious right now.”

Jameer’s demeanor darkened. “Is keeping this secret a problem for you, Kiera?”

“Yes. No. I mean not for the reasons you think. I can’t go home without you.”

“I know. So cover for me. Give me an hour. I’ve done it for you.”

He had? When? For what?

She leaned in, her words pointed. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

The question stung. The answer seemed obvious to me. We—me and her—would talk. Get to know each other even better. But I stayed out of this. Jameer still seemed a little off-balance from all that wine. He smelled of sour grapes and desperation. “I need one night to be me, Kiera. Please.”

She crossed her arms, stared at the sky. When she met his eyes again, she said, “Keep your phone on and don’t be late.”

Jameer threw his arms around her, kissed her cheek. “Thanks, K.”