Darcy’s lips curl into a grin. “No,” she says, sliding her cold hand inside mine, “and let me do the talking. We got a stroke of good luck with Molly having to clean that living room. It’ll keep Miss Manners out of here for now.”

“Her face is bleeding—”

“It’s only her cheek. I’m gonna talk fast and not repeat myself, so keep your eyes on me and off of Molly.”

“This is why you asked me to be your husband.”

Giggling, Darcy brings my hand to her lips. The kiss clamps my throat as tightly as a blast door, but I understand—Miss Manners can’t hear us, but if she happens to look over, she needs to see two happy, opposite sex people on a date. “Yes, it’s why I asked you. If you partnered with Molly, you’d just be rehashing your same, pathetic opening day escape strategies, and if you went with Lacrishia, she’d probably spend the hour staring at you with heart eyes.”

“Yeah, she really faked it up.”

“That wasn’t fake; Lacrishia is bi.” Darcy nudges her Retro Yearbook Wig back into place and continues at top speed. “Nightlight doesn’t want Lacrishia to want a boyfriend, they want her to have a boyfriend. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend; she has a girlfriend. So, she stays and doesn’t correct them when they tell her she’s here for being gay. Saying you’re bi is a little too complicated for the Noah’s Ark Gang here at Nightlight.”

Hypnotized as I am by Darcy’s whirring lips, I still spot Miss Manners rising from the sofa to direct Molly toward a spot on the floor she missed. If Darcy has anything important to say—other than the intricacies of Lacrishia Sims’s sexual orientation—she’d better spit it out. “Briggs gave you your Expulsion Diary already,” Darcy says, nodding to the notebook at the foot of my chair. An hour ago, it was as crisp as a new dollar, but I have since worried it into a curled tube. “He’s got a file on you, right? A red folder?” At my silent nodding, Darcy’s expression finally softens. “He dredged up something bad?”

“He…he said it was my fault…” My throat denies exit to the rest of my sentence. I don’t know how to begin to describe my situation with Vicky. If I’m going to lie and pretend to be her baby’s father, should I let Darcy in on the truth?

“Did I lose you?” Darcy asks, squeezing my hand across our candlelit table. The Italian restaurant accordion returns me to reality, followed by a swirl of lemons on a dress in the next room. Miss Manners has retaken her seat while Molly attacks the floor with Lysol wipes.

“Huh?” I ask airily. “No, I’m here, I—”