I can’t help the frisson of annoyance buzzing in my brain. Not even a week into dating and we’re having our first fight. Over something so stupid. The heels dig into my skin as I replay the argument in my head. Now I’m definitely going to therapy, and it is going to be amazing, thank you very much.

I went to bed cursing Good riddance, but the morning brings waves of guilt. I’m not the only one with a dead mom, and I know I picked the fight. My queasiness only deepens as the lighthearted text I send about our AP Gov reading goes unanswered. Worry and longing tumble around my insides. I don’t want this to be over before it’s begun. We were just getting started. Homecoming is so close! The game is tonight, and the dance tomorrow. I want Ben to spin me around the dance floor and kiss me under the moonlight while I’m in a stupidly pretty dress. Maura’s promised me something special, and this time I won’t look that gift horse in the mouth.

I plan to apologize to him in AP Enviro, but Ben’s chair is empty come bell ring and stays that way all period. And it’s the same in AP Gov. My fingers hover over my phone. Is his absence because of me? Is it desperate or considerate to send a you OK? text?

In the end, with a bracing breath, I think, Fuck it, and send.

Ben’s text comes back as the bell blares to end the school day.

Granddad had a bad morning had to stay home to take him to doctor. All good.

Plain and perfunctory.

But then another text comes in.

Missing you today. Will I see you tonight at the game?

I’ve barely stopped myself from squealing out loud when Natalie comes up behind me.

“Hey, gorgeous!” She greets me with an air-kiss on each side of my face. It’s Spirit Day, not to be mistaken for Spirit Week, which means she’s in her full-on cheerleading gear and I’m looking like Barney the dinosaur, in a purple sweater and jeans. “Ready to head to my mom’s?” Natalie says.

Right, therapy. “You really don’t have to drive me,” I say for the eighth time this week. “It’s like a five-minute walk, and I don’t mind.”

“Ten minutes, and I have to go there anyway. The stupid dress salon would only deliver to the town house and not the beach house.”

I tilt my head. “You have…two houses?”

Here I was, assuming the address Maura gave me for Dr. Shelby was an office. Not Natalie’s town house. I know she lives in the modernist dream by the beach, but jeez—how rich is she?