She made me promise to get at least one photo and to find out which plastic surgeon her mother had used because, after bumping into her at the grocery store a few months ago, my mother was sure Genevieve’s mom had gotten some work done to her face, though it “wasn’t Botox” and my mother needed to know the secret. “Why didn’t you just ask her?” I’d said, to which she’d rolled her eyes and responded in a duh tone, “Because I can’t let her know I know, and I can’t admit I need work too.”

So I had decided, okay, Drew and I would meet up with Gen and her friends, hang out long enough to get a few selfies, and then he and I would break off and do our own thing. I’d used Gen as my cover countless times before, but this time, I felt queasy.

I ignored the pit in my stomach and texted Drew, asking him if we could meet my high school friend at a Palo Alto nightclub. There will still be dancing, I promised. He texted back a smiley emoji and said he couldn’t wait to meet Genevieve. I felt like a moldy piece of Swiss cheese thinking about how it wasn’t a step forward for us, where I was introducing him to a close friend, but just another brand-new web my lies had tangled us into. And because I felt so guilty, I decided I’d introduce him to Gen as Drew, not Andrew, so we’d at least have that first step.

But then, the pickle grew. Past life-size. Just a few moments before our meet time, Genevieve texted me that Luke, Harry, and Christa—all of whom she hadn’t hung around much in high school, but, doy, they were all at UCLA together—were also meeting us tonight. As in Christa with the big hair full of secrets who had been most known for collecting enamel pins and gossip. Which meant… I needed Andrew tonight, not Drew.

My stomach was now roiling like I was free-falling without sheep Cháng’é’s antigravity boots. I was used to hating who I was with my parents, but someone else was involved this time—someone I really cared about. I didn’t know how to reconcile the two.

My Uber pulled up to the nightclub, and, thank God, Drew was already waiting up front. I ran to him and begged, “Are you okay being Andrew tonight? There’s a chance stuff could get back to my parents through the grapevine or whatever, and, you know.”