Our eyes trail him as he approaches the counter, coming up behind Danielle and Ava. He’s wearing a leather jacket that covers his butt, and I inwardly curse the cold weather. I can tell the moment Danielle notices him. She nudges Ava, who stands up straighter, hands reaching up to smooth her pink hair. They both turn to face him at the same time.

“You’re up,” Danielle says. Then she licks a dollop of whipped cream from the top of her drink, staring at him like she’s licking something else. Danielle’s stare is a powerful thing; she uses eye contact like a weapon.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. His voice is like warm, hot fudge.

The girls rush back to the table.

“Did you see that guy?” Ava hisses, probably not as quietly as she should.

Danielle takes a long frozen sip of her drink. When she pulls her mouth away, there’s a red lipstick mark on the straw. Before Danielle, I always associated lipstick with old ladies, the smell of powder perfumes and hairspray that always hovered around my grandma. But lipstick is Danielle’s signature.

“I should go back and talk to him.” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah you definitely should!” Ava nods vigorously.

Danielle looks back at him and shrugs, then walks to the door instead. “Whatever, he’s not worth it.”

It’s not like Danielle at all to shy away from a guy, especially one as good-looking as James Dean, and I wonder if Chase has messed her up more than she’s letting on.

I glance back once more as we leave, just to get another look at James Dean, and feel myself flush with excited embarrassment when he looks right at me. Then he lifts a tiny cup of espresso to his mouth and takes a long sip.

FOUR

WE’RE DRIVING AGAIN when my phone beeps. I pull it out of my pocket to find a cryptic text from Andrew.

Help!

I suck in a sharp breath, then text back.

Don’t scare me. This better be something serious. Are you dying?

I wait a moment and my phone beeps again.

We’re in so much trouble

I feel my chest clench, like something heavy has been dropped there. My phone begins ringing, playing a tinny, canned version of “Eleanor Rigby.” I pick up even before the violins can start.

“What’s going on?”

“Is that Andrew?” Hannah mouths from the seat next to me.

“My parents found the condom,” Andrew says.

“What condom?” I’m caught off guard by his words. The car swerves, and Danielle reaches up to turn off the music.

“Chase and Danielle’s condom,” he says. “They found the wrapper on the nightstand next to the bed.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “Seriously? They didn’t throw out the wrapper?”