I’m getting some serious Single White Female energy from her, so I inch away, my hair slipping from her grasp.

“I’d better get back to the table,” she says. “Need to ensure those last-minute votes. I am not going to the dance dressed like a vine princess. Ugh.”

Natalie leaves, and I’m left with my head spinning. “What was that?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” Amber says wryly, arms crossed over her chest. “So you’ve met Benjamin.”

“Yeah, he’s my grandmother’s intern. What am I missing?”

Another look exchanged.

“We used to be friends,” says Bronte finally. Carefully. “Then some drama happened and things are weird now. He doesn’t really hang out with Natalie—or us—anymore.”

“I love how you sugarcoat things. Adorable.” Amber pecks her on the cheek and then faces me with grim determination.

“Ben’s mom died. He blames the city, ergo he blames the mayor, who is Natalie’s dad, and he’s suing. In a nutshell.”

“Whoa.” I take in the revelation.

“Technically, it’s his grandfather suing.” Now Bronte jumps in with details, though she’s arguing with Amber, not me. “Ben’s not a bad guy. And it’s understandable he’d be hurting. You know I get it.”

“Yeah, I know, but you didn’t sue anyone. Not that it justifies Natalie being a bitch about it.”

“I get her side, too,” Bronte says. And then she turns her big brown sad eyes on me. “Sorry, I should have told you before. I lost my dad, too. A few years ago. So I understand losing a parent, and grief. Which is not the only reason I befriended you, for the record—though it did cross my mind we had that in common.”

She’s right; it is an anvil dropped that we’re in the Dead Parents’ Club together, yet all it does is endear Bronte to me more. It’s oddly comforting knowing there’s someone else at this school who gets what I’m going through, at least in some part.

Two someones. I see Ben with fresh eyes.

“How is it the city’s fault?” I can’t help asking. “What happened?”

“The full story is…messy,” Amber says as Bronte grimaces. “Did you see that news story last year about the section of the 1 that fell into the ocean?”

“Uh, yeah.” The images were mind-boggling, a whole stretch of the PCH simply…gone: the red clay cliff face interrupting the black line of highway, a sharp drop-off to the sea. “Maura took me on a driving tour, too. I saw those half-destroyed houses.” Dread gnaws at my insides.

“Right,” Amber says. “It’s called coastal erosion, and it’s a huge problem here. One of those buildings is—was—Ben’s house.”

I can put together the rest. “Oh God.”