Thomas watches, waits. I chuckle and say, “Okay, childhood in a nutshell. My parents own an orchard. It’s been in our family for generations. I actually went to the same schools my folks did as kids, got solid A’s all the way through and my teachers liked me. Skipped class a handful of times but never got caught. Spent four years on the swim team, I was a diver to avoid the grueling practices. Lazy or smart?” I ask with an exaggerated wink. “Let your readers decide. During the summers, I climbed trees, rode my bike, had a vegetable garden. I grew green beans, eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes. Whatever we didn’t eat, I helped Mom can for winter. There were lots of chores—no allowance, just the satisfaction of a job well done. Got my first real job at sixteen. I worked in an ice cream shop. My favorite flavor was mint chocolate chip. Sugar cone. No sprinkles.”

“Fascinating.”

I shrug. “Typical boring childhood in a small town.”

“Huh.” Casually Thomas asks, “Are you still friends with anyone from school?”

I tug my hair free from a ponytail, take off my blazer, and get comfortable. My T-shirt is pretty tight but Thomas doesn’t look at my breasts. Disciplined or disinterested? Time will tell. “Seems like you’re the kind of guy who does his homework,” I say, “so why don’t you tell me?”

Thomas glances at his notes. “I got in touch with half of your class of seventy-seven kids. Holly McConnell was the only close friend I could find. Two guys said they’d casually dated you—nothing more than a few months. You broke it off in both cases. The rest of the people I reached said they didn’t really know you.”

I trace shapes on the plastic table with nails cut short, painted black from my last show. “I wasn’t popular.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Pretty usually means popular.”

It’s an opening. I ask, “Would you have dated me in high school?”

Thomas jots something down in his notebook. “You wouldn’t have given me a second look. I was a yearbook geek.”

“You don’t think I liked smart guys?”

He looks up from his notes. “Only if they could help with your homework.”

Dead end. “Like I told you, I didn’t need help getting A’s.” I consider cutting my losses but can’t help asking, “So what else did Holly say?”

“Other than your biological parents’ names and how they supposedly died?”

He’s already barked up that tree. Why push the narrative? My guess is that it’s a rookie move to affect my balance. “Anything else?”

“Huh. Holly said that you took off after high school. Ghosted her.”

Thomas says huh when he’s recalibrating. “She forgot the part about trying to kiss me every time I slept over.” Thomas actually blushes. “We did go to senior prom together. I got drunk, finally kissed her back. It was actually nice—she had really full lips. There was some rolling around in bras and undies, but in the end it wasn’t for me.” Again, his face reddens. I’m on a roll. Two can play this game—and I’m better at it.