My real answer is no: I want to be here with Chaz, who I need to prompose to. But I can’t exactly say that. And maybe a party store will inspire me.

Leaving also lets me do a sorry-dash, which is what Nix calls my bad habit of delivering an apology and then fleeing. I’m sure therapy could explain why I can’t just sit with it when I admit I’m wrong, but my method does at least get the apology out, so it’s not all bad, and the next time I see whoever it is, we’re good, right?

I squeeze Leeza’s arm on the way out the door and whisper, “Sorry I suck” as she raises one eyebrow.

“Mm-hmm.” It’s a noncommittal response, but the eye roll is actually kind of sweet. I hope it means she’s already moving on.

Before we hop in Ma Elena’s car, a lemon-yellow Ford Escort that was never a sweet ride in any decade, Frohmeyer appears.

“Silverthorn!” he barks, and I’m nervous. What did I do? “What’s this I hear about you sneaking around at night? That true?”

Did someone see Leeza and me at the shop? Vin Weasel couldn’t expose me without exposing his own curfew-breaking excursion. My heart is pounding, but I feign puzzlement. “Huh?”

“Mr. Buckman says you were out past curfew last night.”

Whoa. Buckman’s good. He’s already ahead of me, seeding the notion that I’m trouble so that anything I say about him and Leeza will be taken with a grain of salt. “But I wasn’t!”

“Where were you?”

“Shop and then my room.”

Ma Elena is frowning. This debate is not helping her schedule. She turns to Frohmeyer. “You gave us permission to decorate starting last night, and we did. He left when we all left, which was right at curfew, so maybe Mr. Buckman got confused. I made sure every single one of my crew went to their dorms on time.”

Frohmeyer focuses only on me. “That’s not what Buckman said.”

“What?” Now, I wonder whether Leeza has told “Andrew” about our meeting. Whatever. I’m just going to lie because anyone who could fight me on it has a secret I could spill. “That’s just not true.” And now I will deploy the skills which got me Best Actor superlative in last year’s Intrepid. “With everything I’ve been through this year …” I tear up, which I can do on cue; it’s a real gift. “I’d never do anything to lose what I have. I’m glad to be here, and I want to stay.”