“Ha ha,” Neil replies with a grimace.

He thinks I’m making a joke. I guess I am because Neil’s not some bulky guy. But …

I scramble trying to think of what I can do to turn this back around. I thought we were being all cute and flirty, and then I had to make him self-conscious.

“I’m glad everything’s cool with your applications,” he says as we round the corner to school.

“Me too. And hey.” I nudge him, looking for any excuse to touch him lately. “Thanks for being so great with everything.”

“Of course.”

“And bringing brownies.”

“Ah, I see how it is.” He nudges me back. “You just want more brownies.”

“Oh, I’m always going to want your brownies.”

Oh my God. What did I just say? I’m always going to want your brownies. You’d think with all the telenovelas I watch, I’d be able to come up with better lines than that.

“That can be arranged,” Neil replies with a shy smile.

What is even happening right now?

Neil takes a deep breath. “So you have the weekend free of applications?”

“Yes, thank God.” And thank Neil for preventing me from making any more horrendous sugar/hookup analogies. I’m probably five seconds away from saying something like, I’m getting a cavity being around someone as sweet as you. For real. I need help. “A weekend of freedom.”

A whole weekend. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself.

“And your birthday’s on Thursday.”

I smile that he remembers. “Indeed it is.”

“So I feel like this should call for some sort of celebration. We should do something this weekend.”

“Yeah.” Then I stop in my tracks. Wait. Who does he mean by “we”? Is he talking about just him and me or the group? The group usually figures out our weekend plans at lunch on Friday if there aren’t any Gleason events. If he’s going to be vague, then so will I. “Sounds good.”

“Saturday?” he asks as he opens the front door of the school for me.

“Okay,” I reply. “I’m babysitting during the day.”

“Saturday night, then?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” He’s nodding to himself. “Okay. We’ll figure it out. I should head to my locker.” He gives me one final look, but he lingers for a small beat. “Okay, Ally. It’s a date.”

I try to not burst into a full-on song-and-dance number in the hallway. Because that’s it. It’s settled.

Best. Week. Ever.

Chapter Eight

Chapter

EIGHT

Something’s happening.

Two days later my Gleason shenanigan radar is starting to go off because Marian is stalling before heading into the cafeteria for lunch.

“It’s just, do I want to keep working at the grocery store or should I get a job somewhere else?” Marian asks as she makes herself comfortable leaning against my locker.