“Depends who the sand job is from.” Chase grins. “I’d take a sand job from Danielle.”

“Agreed,” Andrew says, and I look at him, surprised. I didn’t know he saw Danielle that way.

“I’d cut off an arm for a sand job from Danielle,” Ryder says.

“Forget that,” Simon counters. “I’d cut off an arm to see Ava’s tits.”

“Seen ’em,” Ryder says. “Worth it.”

“Can you guys stop?” I interrupt. “You’re talking about my friends. You don’t think I’ll tell them all of this?”

“So?” Ryder shrugs. “We’re complimenting them.”

I’m about to throw the giant tub of guacamole at Ryder’s face, but luckily for him, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone stops talking.

“Who else is coming?” I get up to answer it, like it’s my house. It basically is.

“Oh, it’s probably Cecilia.” Andrew gets up too.

I stop walking. “Cecilia?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s normal for her to be showing up here.

“No girls at taco night!” Ryder calls out to us, and I whirl around to face him.

“What the hell do you think I am?”

“You don’t count.” He crunches into his taco and smiles, his teeth full of beans. I think again that this is why—this is why—I’m still a virgin. Why would I ever be attracted to any of them when I’ve heard these conversations? This is why James Dean matters so much; he’s a chance at a fresh start.

Andrew beats me to the door and opens it, and there she is: Cecilia Brooks. She’s as lovely as ever, wisps of blond hair curling around her face, apple cheeks pink and glowing. When she takes off her coat, she’s wearing a V-neck sweater, soft baby pink and tight around her chest, low-cut so that both our pairs of eyes—mine and Andrew’s—are drawn there, trying not to stare.

“Hi, Drew.” She gives him a quick hug, then turns to me and waves, keeping one arm securely on his shoulder as if he might float away if she lets him go. “Hey, Keely.”

“Hey,” I say, walking back into the kitchen. They follow behind me, and when I turn to glance back, her hand has slid down from his shoulder and is now wrapped around his waist.

The kitchen looks cleaner when we come back. The guys have wiped up the spilled taco fillings that were strewn about the counter and have thrown away their old napkins. They’re all sitting a little bit straighter.

“Hi, everyone!” Cecilia says.

“You want a taco?” Chase asks, getting up from his stool.

“I can make you one.” Andrew peels away from her and opens one of the kitchen cabinets to grab a plate.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not hungry.” He puts the plate back.