“Have you heard from her at all?” I asked at last while we both watched the sun rise through the windshield. “Charlotte?”

“Called me a lot of names over text,” Wes said. “But.” He shrugged. “I kind of liked the attention. You?”

“Just one text,” I said. “She wanted to know what caused our fight.”

“And?”

“All I said was that it wasn’t Stephanie.”

Wes got quiet. Then after almost a full minute, “She didn’t say anything after that?”

“She didn’t.”

More quiet. And then, out of nowhere, Wes said, “You know my mom cried when she found out we got into a fight. She likes you. Says you’re a good influence.”

“Really? Because my mom kind of hates you.”

Wes jutted his bottom lip out and nodded. “I feel that.”

Gazes meeting squarely for the first time since yesterday, we both grinned in spite of ourselves. Because my mom was always making Wes food when he came over. And sending him and Patrick home with leftovers and cookies.

“Think Charlotte will ever forgive you?” I asked him.

“For kicking your ass? She might. When she finds out the truth.”

“You mean that we faked the fight?”

“No, moron. When she finds out we were fighting over her. Or . . . that I was. She’s a Leo, so she’ll think it’s super hot.”

I rolled my eyes, then looked up at the cracking of tires over gravel. One glance into my rearview showed me Rastin’s Beamer ambling down the long drive. He’d come more quickly than I had thought. Quickly enough to suggest that he might have even already been on his way. Had he planned to go into the house on his own? It was certainly looking that way.

“That was fast,” I said.

“Faster than Jimmy John’s,” muttered Wes.

“Don’t give him time to argue,” I said.

“None,” Wes replied as, simultaneously, we climbed out of the Dart.

Then I frowned as a far more familiar green Corolla pulled onto the lot.

“Oh God,” said Wes beside me. “We’re dead.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, neither of us even giving Rastin a second glace as he got out of the Beamer. Oddly, he didn’t pay us any mind either as he hurried straight up to the house, stopping just shy of the front porch. “By the way, great plan, Wes.”

“Hold me” was all he said as the car skidded to halt near the Beamer, its blonde driver having caught sight of us both.

Immediately, she tore off her seat belt and kicked open her door.

“What in the hell?” Charlotte screeched at us as she emerged from her Corolla. Seated on the passenger’s side, Patrick shook his head at us through the windshield, and though I couldn’t hear anything he was saying, my lip-reading abilities told he’d almost gotten through all the really bad words.

Her face going scarlet with rage, Charlotte stormed up to us both. Patrick emerged from the car, holding up a hand and continuing to shake his head as though he truly had run out of words to say to us. Or maybe he was praying that Charlotte would not eviscerate us. Hard to tell . . .