Libby was making an angry face. There were tears in her eyes. “Didn’t you?”

“No.” He shook his head and let it fall into his hands. He sounded resigned. “You were just there when I got here. I thought you were built in.”

Libby drew her knees up and pulled her sweater down over them.

They both stared at Owen’s duvet cover. It was plaid.

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” Owen said.

“Do you want me to go home?”

“If you want.”

“I’m sorry.”

His head jerked up. “Really?”

She nodded.

“What are you sorry for? You’re never sorry.”

“I am so.”

“Not with me,” he said.

She clenched her jaw for a second. “Well, why should I be? Why would I want to hang out with someone who made me feel sorry all the time?”

“Why are you sorry now?”

She hugged her knees. “Because you told me to come over and help you get ready, and I don’t think that I have.”

“You haven’t.”

“Well. I’m sorry.”

Owen licked his lips. “At some point . . .”

She waited.

“Libby, at some point, we won’t spend every Friday night together.”

“We aren’t spending this Friday night together.”

“Exactly!” he said. “At some point, this has to happen.”

“At this point,” she said. “Apparently.”

“It’s not fair!” Owen almost never lost his temper, but this was what it looked like when he did. “I asked you to the dance!”

“No, Jeremy Wheeler asked me to the dance,” Libby said. “We were standing at the bus stop. He was all tall and nice and Forty percent off outerwear, this week at Target.”

“No,” Owen said. “I asked you. Last year.”

“You mean, to prom?”

“Yes! And you said no!”

“Because I didn’t want to go to prom,” Libby said. “I wanted to watch Star Trek.”

“On your mom’s VHS tapes.”

“Right.”

“You could have watched that anytime.”

“Right,” she agreed.

“I asked you to prom, and you said no.”

What was his angle? “I remember,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “So you have to give me tonight.”

“I wanted to watch Star Trek last May, so I have to let you go to the Snow Ball tonight?”

Owen nodded. “Yes.”

“But you’re going to go whether I let you or not.”

“I am,” he said. He licked his lips.

“So I’m not letting you,” she said. “You’re just going.”

“I want you to be happy for me.”

“Why should I be happy for you? This dance sounds terrible.”

“Not to me,” he said.

“Because you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“Fair enough.”

“I can’t be happy for you, Owen.”

He clenched his fists between his knees. “I asked you to prom, Libby . . .”

“I wanted to watch Star Trek.”

“. . . and you said no.”

“I asked you to watch Star Trek with me.”

“Star Trek and prom aren’t the same,” Owen said.