“Aaahahggghaahhh! Fred!” But it’s no use, he’s already halfway underneath me, clutching a box full of expensive equipment. I improvise, kicking my leg even farther up the doorframe and nearly tearing out the ass of my pants at the same time.

Of course, because it’s been years since the universe allowed me to look cool, this is the exact second that my tatted-up super opens the door of her first-floor apartment. I look back over my shoulder at her as her eyes grow wide.

“Just. Trying. To. Move. Some. Boxes,” I tell her, straining between each word because I’m pretty much doing the splits while my friend does the limbo.

She covers the bottom half of her face with her hands, but the damage is done. She’s obviously laughing at us. At me. As usual.

She strides forward and holds the far door for me. My leg falls down and I try to shake some blood back into it. Nothing left to do but flee the scene of the crime.

“Thanks,” I shout back over my shoulder to her as the doors to the building fall closed.

“What were you saying?” I ask Fred, hurrying to catch up to him.

“Oh. Just that people have all sorts of reasons for wanting to maintain anonymity. Think about the internet. People find a lot of freedom or comfort in being anonymous.”

“Sure, but aren’t people usually worse versions of themselves when they’re anonymous? Like, so they can troll? And that’s not JD at all. She’s so sweet. Well, sweet isn’t the right word for her. But she’s got a ton of integrity. You can just tell. I’d be willing to bet that she’s pretty much always the best version of herself, anonymous or not. That’s just the vibe she gives off.”

We’re walking up to my car right now and I’m busy trying to dig my car keys out of my pocket and balance the box on one hip, so it takes a minute for me to register the look that Fred is giving me.

“JD?”

“Oh. That’s what I call her.”

“Hey, Eliot?”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.”

That’s one of the things I like best about Fred. He doesn’t ever feel the need to get the last word. If he were my mother, or even my sister, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. The words would be written all over his face. He’d write it down and get it notarized. He’d call me again in half an hour to remind me. But Fred is Fred. So, instead, he just gives me a look, assumes I’m not an idiot, shuts his mouth, and the two of us drive to drop off the supplies.

Chapter Twelve

Jessie