He whips the door open. And there’s James Dean perched on a motorcycle in the middle of the driveway, looking like a cutout from a magazine. I guess I expected he’d borrow Cody’s car again, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He looks great on the bike—I’m just not sure how I feel about riding it. But I can’t be a coward. The Keely I am for him—the Keely I’ve created—would jump at the chance to ride a motorcycle, just like she enjoys drinking whiskey. And there’s a bit of a thrill in being that girl, the one who doesn’t worry about everything that could go wrong. I don’t want to let Dean down, but I don’t want to let her down either. I want to be a Gryffindor too.

He raises a hand to greet me and gets off the bike, cocking his head to the side when he sees Andrew.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Andrew says, extending an arm to shake. “Andrew.”

“Dean,” Dean says back, bringing his arm up to match. They do a handshake all guys seem to know, full of snaps and bumps and manly aggression. “You’re the Hitchcock guy?”

“I’m a little more than the Hitchcock guy,” Andrew says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Dean laughs. “Got it. Well we’re gonna get going. It was nice to meet you, dude.” He turns to me, nodding his head in the direction of the bike. “You wanna hop on?”

I glance back at the house, wondering if my mom is watching, knowing she’d kill me if she saw me get on the back of some guy’s motorcycle.

“Do you have another helmet?” Andrew folds his arms.

“What?” Dean asks.

“She can’t get on the bike without a helmet.”

“Seriously, Andrew,” I say, feeling my face flush. “You’re not my dad.”

“Her body, her temple,” Dean says.

Andrew turns and walks over to the garage, reaching down and pulling hard on the door handle. The door rolls up slowly and he goes inside, grabbing a helmet that’s hanging from the rusty handlebars of a bicycle. It’s white with bright green reflective racing stripes on the side. He hands it to me and I turn it over, inspecting the inside for spiders.

“Can you please just wear this?”

“Drew,” I say, a warning in my tone. I glare at him but put the helmet on. To be honest, I’m kind of glad to have it. I just wish it didn’t seem like he was forcing me.

Andrew reaches up to help me buckle it, pulling the straps tight under my chin.

“Good,” he says, knocking the top of my head with his knuckles.