He was looking at me, and the tiniest fleck of hope or expectation flickered across his features, and words failed me. It was like preparing to give a speech to a crowded auditorium, then freaking out at the mic. I had no clue where this fear had sprouted from. All I knew was it was paralyzing.

Brougham’s face went default blank again, and he cleared his throat before speaking in a dull tone. “Just … to check in, to make sure we’re on the same page … The other day was weird, but I don’t think it meant anything to either of us, right?”

So that hadn’t been hope on his face. I’d just been reading what I wanted to see again. As quickly and as enthusiastically as I could, praying my face didn’t betray my bewilderment, I nodded. “Right.”

“Okay, good. Because, um, Win asked me to go to prom with her. As her date. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t weird.” He searched my face.

Win.

Since when did he call her Win?

And since when was he back on the Win train?

It was weird it was weird it was weird it was—

“Not weird at all,” I squeaked, twisting my face into what I hoped was a delighted smile. Because I was happy for him. I’d helped him, and I’d gotten him what he wanted, and I was not going to embarrass myself by admitting I thought the other day meant something. Why did you kiss me, if you still wanted her? I wanted to ask. But I already knew the answer. I was there. I was a distraction. I was a stand-in. I knew how he felt about Winona. I couldn’t be surprised, could I?

I almost tried to figure out a way to change the subject, to confirm that everything was okay between us, that we hadn’t broken something that should’ve been unbreakable Tuesday. But he’d set his towel down and turned back to the pool, impatient. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat. So, instead, I said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

And he nodded. “Cool. See ya. And thanks again.”

Thanks again.

Thanks again.

There was nothing else I could do except duck my head, shove my fisted hands inside my blazer pockets, and walk back to Mom.

I spent the next two weeks flatlining.

Even though Brooke and I hung out as often as we ever had—before Ray, anyway—our conversations were falling to listlessness. We didn’t talk about Brougham, and we couldn’t talk about Ray without Brooke getting emotional and me inwardly disintegrating from guilt, so we avoided the subjects.