When we get there, everyone is standing around in little groups, giddy with excitement and nerves. I scan the parking lot for Dean, but I don’t see him, and I’m struck by the horrible thought that maybe he won’t show up. I can feel all of my earlier confidence fading away as I look around, searching for somebody to stand with so I’m not the girl all alone with her parents. I wish for the millionth time that I hadn’t pushed Hannah away last night because more than anything I want her here with me. I want to tell her I’m sorry, to ask her about Charlie and make sure she’s okay.

“Oh, there’s Diane and Robert,” my mom says, pointing toward where Andrew’s parents are standing. “Let’s go say hi.”

I try to dig my heels into the ground to keep her from dragging me over there, because the thought of seeing Andrew after last night is excruciating. When I do see him, standing with his parents, my breath catches. He’s in a navy blue suit, his hair combed flat to his head. I miss the way it usually flops down into his eyes. He spins around and puts a leg up on the fence post for a silly picture and I hear his mom’s voice as we approach.

“Can’t we at least get one serious picture?”

“Mom,” he says. “Just wait until Danielle gets here.” At the mention of her name, I feel something sharp in my chest.

“I just want one nice picture of my son in a suit,” she says. He shakes his head, laughing as she snaps furiously with the camera. And then he turns and looks right at me and I stop walking, like I’ve run into an invisible brick wall. The smile is frozen on his face, his eyes are dancing, and they’re so green, and I can’t help but think back to last night when there were drops of water in his eyelashes like morning dew on grass. My parents keep walking, meeting up with his, greeting each other with hugs and handshakes, but I’m barely registering it because I can’t move, can’t stop looking at him, can’t breathe. All I can think about, looking into his eyes, is how badly I want to kiss him. I want to be right back in that bathtub, his skin slick against mine, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me tight against him, so tight that it’s like we’re made out of the same particles.

And I realize Hannah is right. Hannah is so, so right, has always been right. I’m in love with him.