“Like you?” I ask. “Sorry,” I say immediately. “That sounded shittier than I meant it to.”

He nods. “It’s fine,” he says with a gruff voice. “It’s true.”

“I’m sorry.” And I really am. I don’t know Tucker’s whole story, but based on what I do know, my grass is definitely greener. “My mom calls it a complaining spiral. I start and I can’t stop and even if there is a bright side, it’s hard for me to see.”

He shakes his head. “You should be able to be upset. That really does suck about Clementine lying to you. I think you’re really cool and . . . I think one day I’ll get to tell people that I knew you before you were an even bigger deal than you are now.”

“You think I’m a big deal?” I ask, my gaze searching for his until he looks up with that slight smirk and our eyes meet.

He chuckles. “I don’t know how it’s scientifically even possible, but I can see your head expanding as we speak.”

I nod knowingly. “My ego is very responsive.” If only he knew how much I doubt myself and how poorly equipped I am to handle the future. But then, he’s one of the few people in my life who doesn’t see me as part of a two-person twin unit. So maybe he can see something I can’t.

He hands me a fresh set of gloves. “Are you ready to fly solo, little bird?”

I take the gloves. “Here’s hoping I don’t absolutely destroy some teacher vehicles.”

We spend all morning circulating the faculty lot and shuffling cars around. It takes me about four or five cars before I do one whole entire oil change by myself, and even after that I still have questions on almost every car, but I’m pretty impressed with myself.

I’m halfway under a Honda Accord when I hear the sound of a car lock chirping. Beside me my dad squats down and says, “Thought I’d bring you boys lunch.”

“Music to my ears!” I pull myself out from under the car and give him a big oily hug.

“Come on now,” he says. “This shirt was clean.”

I give him a look. “Sort of,” he clarifies. “Tuck!” Dad calls. “Lunchtime!”

And even though I’m slowly coming to tolerate Tucker, the familiar nickname grates on me.

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound of my dad’s voice and he jogs over.

“Tacos,” Dad says, nodding over to his truck. “We can eat in the cab if y’all want. Blast some of that AC.”