He’d made the annoying new move of only showing up when my mom was home, so he knew I couldn’t jump his bones.

Piper came over, giving me the distraction I needed.

“Why won’t you come to prom?”

“So I can be a third wheel? No, thank you. Go with Jon. Have an awesome time. I’ll be here polishing my spinster wheel all on my own.” I let out a witchy cackle.

“Stop making me feel bad.”

“It was a joke. I’ll be fine. I don’t even have a dress.”

“You can borrow one of mine. Or we could go shopping for a new one.” She bounced up and down.

“No, not happening. I’m not a prom girl.”

“It’s senior year.” She moaned like I’d said I was turning down a kidney transplant.

“I’ll get over it.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You’re stressing me out. I need snacks and soda to handle this.”

“Be my guest.” I waved her toward the kitchen.

She got up with a harrumph and stomped into the other room. You’d have thought I told her she couldn’t go to prom, the way she was acting.

Cabinets and the fridge opened and closed before she came back out.

“These really are killer cookies. Maybe you can open a baking side hustle at UCLA. I can’t believe we’re going to be apart.” She sat beside me on the couch with her legs tucked under her, flipping open her notebook.

“I can’t believe we’re still studying.” I slipped a cookie off her plate.

“Those are mine.” She clutched the plate against her chest.

“I made them.”

“Which means you can make more. My mom’s been on a health food kick since I was five. This is one of the only places I can get refined sugar.” She gnawed at the cookies like a beaver, sending crumbs flying everywhere.

“You have a cinnamon roll and soda every day for lunch.” I brushed the crumbs off the couch.

“But it’s the weekend. I’m jonesing, Bay. Don’t do this to me.” I could barely hear her around the cookie crumble in her mouth.

“Fine, but stop getting crumbs everywhere.” I brushed more crumbs off the couch and grabbed the broom. The picture of my dad hung on the wall beside the closet. I wished more than anything that I could have one more talk with him. I’d ask him what he thought I should do with my life, what I should do about music, and school, and everything else going on. Would he think I should give music a shot, even though it had never panned out for him? Were the nights in the studio and a steady paycheck enough for him?

I plopped the broom and dust pan beside Piper and glared at her, going back to my spot.

The door opened and she inhaled, choking on her pilfered bounty.

Dare walked in and closed the door behind him like he’d done it thousands of times. Maybe not thousands, but much more frequently over the past couple weeks. Deviant pain in the ass. He’d probably spotted Piper’s car outside. Clever girl.