I call for Baxter, but he’s happily chewing on a branch that has fallen from the large oak tree in the backyard. I let him have his happiness while I follow Marian into the house.

“I’ve got some homework to do before Rob picks me up. Oh.” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m going to stay home tonight.”

“Go out. Please. I’m exhausted. You have fun.” Someone should.

Marian gives me a hug and pauses before she heads upstairs and leaves me alone with Neil. He’s standing on the other side of the kitchen table, looking at me like I’m a dangerous animal.

Maybe I am.

“Ah,” he says as he rubs the back of his head. “I’ve got my mom’s car. Do you want to go somewhere?”

I look around the Gleasons’ home. This might be the only view I have for the foreseeable future. But there really isn’t anyplace I want to go, or more importantly, anybody I want to see.

“Not really.” I pull out a chair and sit down. “Sorry that we can’t go out tonight. I’m not really in a social mood.”

“Of course, of course! I wasn’t—that’s not why—I mean, I just—” he fumbles.

“It’s okay,” I assure him.

Although right now I’d love to have a date be the only thing I have to stress over.

Neil nods for a bit. He then goes around the table and pulls out the chair right next to me and sits down. He puts out his hand for a minute before tapping my hand with his. He’s overthinking every move, every word. Is this how it’s going to be now between us? Is this how everybody is going to treat me? Like I’m some delicate flower who could turn into a Venus flytrap at any moment?

“What do people know?” I ask.

Neil grimaces. “Enough.”

It’s exactly what Marian told me yesterday, which is entirely too much for me.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. He rethinks whatever’s going on in his mind before he opens it again and finally speaks. “I can’t believe it.”

Me neither.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a present wrapped in “Happy Birthday” paper with balloons printed on it. “I wanted to give you this.”

A birthday present. Even though my birthday isn’t until January … something. I don’t even remember the date.

I take the rectangular-shaped gift and open it. It’s a leather notebook with AS, my initials, stamped in silver on the front.

“I figured since you prefer to take notes by hand, you’d need something fancy for college.”