We both sit in silence for a few beats. I’m sure Marian is thinking through her options, while I’m busy regarding what she’s said. I guess I have always been focused about school. I like having tangible goals. Figuring out how to go from point A to point B and making up a to-do list to get there. Nothing feels as good as crossing something off.

Probably one of the reasons I’ve turned into the kind of student I am is because of the star system Dad came up with. When I started middle school, we had a calendar posted on the refrigerator that listed all my school assignments. For every day that I completed all my tasks, I got a star. Every ten stars meant we’d go out for frozen custard.

Some may call that bribery; I call it motivation.

“Oh!” Marian turns on her side. “I know what we should do: play two truths and a lie.”

I turn to face her. “Yes!”

When I first started sleeping over at Marian’s—usually with Jan and Julia along—we’d play two truths and a lie. Someone comes up with a topic, and then you have to tell two truths and one lie about yourself while the rest have to try to figure out the lie. Of course, it usually devolved into discussing crushes.

On second thought, this might be a bad idea.

“You pick a topic first,” Marian suggests.

“Okay!” I pretty much know everything about Marian at this point. During one late night, we found out that she loves all things gummy, except gummy worms make her gag. So, of course, Jan and Julia got her a bulk bag of gummy worms for Christmas that year. I don’t want to go with anything college related since nobody needs that stressful topic. “Things you want to do before the end of senior year.”

“Oh, I like it.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “Cut class, ace Calc, and wear something so sexy to prom that Rob will be in agonizing pain.”

“Ew! Won’t someone from your family be chaperoning?”

“Which will just make his torture even more delicious.”

“You’re evil,” I say with a nod of respect because that is going to be hilarious to witness. “So that’s a truth. You just aced your last Calc test, so I call cutting class as the lie. No way you’d ever get away with it.”

“Not in this town. Now you.”

“I guess it would be to get enough scholarship money, um …” Sometimes I’m really bad at this, even when I pick the topic. “Dance so much at prom that I’ll have to walk barefoot for a week, and get an A plus in AP Chemistry.”

“Chemistry,” she replies right away. “You’re extremely smart, but no way can anybody ace Ms. Fiehl’s class.”