I’m not sure I believe her, but now that she’s in front of me and looking so unlike her normal self, I have to ask. “You all right?”

“Fine. Just a little tired. I’ve been up late. Catching up on schoolwork so I can come clean to the parents.” She smiles weakly.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her this . . . casual. She’d put on full makeup to go pick up a gallon of milk at the H-E-B.

“Don’t work yourself too hard,” I say. But then I also remember Momma’s words the other night. “I’m sure you’ll be able to catch up in no time.”

She smiles weakly. “Then once I tell my parents everything, you can move back home and you won’t have to do this anymore.”

“That would be nice, but it’s not happening either way. They’re selling the house.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“They want to downsize now that Annabel and I are out and grown.”

She knows some of it, like that Dad has been out of work on injury, but she doesn’t know the money struggles. It’s not something I’ve ever really shared with her. It’s the kind of thing she would judge. She always had whatever she wanted growing up and wouldn’t understand what it’s like being truly in dire straits.

Although . . . Reese’s parents are loaded too, but it’s different with her.

She bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I didn’t know. I’ve been avoiding my parents’ calls so I hadn’t heard.” She takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

But it doesn’t feel right.

It’s something we’ve done since we were practically in diapers, and yet . . . it doesn’t sit well.

I pull my hand from her grasp. “It is what it is. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay here at least for the semester.”

She swallows. “This is all my fault.”

I don’t know what to say. I can’t deny it.

Some shirtless dude on the laser tag field yells, “I am a golden god!” and belly flops into the shallow kiddie pool. Abby uses the distraction to move closer, taking my arm and leaning into me like she used to when she had the right.

“Abby.” I shrug her off and take a step back, nearly running into someone moving behind me. “Don’t do that.”

Her face crumples. “I still want us to be friends, you know?”

My words were a hit and I know it, but I can’t lead her on either.

I wait for her to compose herself, shoving my hands in my pockets and glancing around at the other revelers. I spot Reese inside, by the sliding door, talking to that guy—Sir Butt-Chin or whatever. As I’m watching, he nudges her with his shoulder, leaning into her space.

“Does it make you mad?” Abby asks, and my attention snaps back to her.

“What?”

“You’re frowning. You don’t want to be friends?”

“I . . . we already talked about this, Abby. I need space.”