“I needed witnesses,” she says. “Now he can’t make up a story. I dropped him and you both saw it.” She takes another bite of salad and sighs. “I win.”

SIX

HANNAH AND I meet in the student parking lot after school. She’s agreed to take me job hunting, per my parents’ notion that teaching me responsibility will make me stop attending any of Andrew’s parties; as if he would ever let me.

“Ready to face your punishment?” she asks. “Firing squad or electric chair?”

“Definitely poison,” I say.

“That’s how the cowards do it.”

We walk together across the parking lot to Hannah’s Jeep. She got it used for her sixteenth birthday, and at this point, I’ve ridden in it almost as many times as she has. It’s stopped snowing now, but there’s still a light dusting on the ground. The sun is out and the parking lot is white and glittering. For the first time in months, it almost feels like I don’t need a coat.

I take off my woolly mittens—a gift from Hannah—and stuff them into my pocket. She knitted us each a pair for the holidays this year, and mine are scratchy and lumpy and I love them.

“So, where am I taking you?” she asks. “Do you know any places hiring? Would they hire you back at Green Mountain Grocery?”

“I’m not working at Green Mountain again,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Those were dark days in my life.”

“Where’s Andrew gonna work? He’s in this too, right?”

She pulls open the driver’s-side door and I climb in on the other side, knocking the snow off my boots. As usual, the floor by my feet is littered with trash—dirty plastic coffee cups stuffed with napkins, old school folders and binders, papers spilling from the sides. Knowing Hannah, there are probably some essays from sophomore year down there, forgotten and disintegrating. I’ve learned to ignore the trash problem, which is saying a lot, for me.

“Yeah,” I answer, shrugging. “You know how his uncle works at the fire department? He’s gonna help there.”

She starts the engine and turns on the fan. “Wait, as a fireman? Are we okay with him doing that?”

“Just in the office,” I say. “Are you kidding? I would kill him if he got anywhere near a fire.”

“Does he get to wear a uniform?” She side-eyes me, grinning.

“Hannah, no. We’re not in a porno.” This is a new low, even for her.

“Fiiiine,” she says, stretching out the word with a sigh. “Can’t you help? His uncle is basically your uncle too, right?”

“Apparently it only takes one person to make coffee and sort mail.”