“I’m just kidding,” he says, shrugging and glancing over at me. “You look nice, actually.” He pulls out onto the empty street. “It’s just weird to see you dressed like a girl. Where did you get those clothes? I know they’re not yours because they don’t have sleeves.”

“They’re Danielle’s.”

“Right. I should have known.”

We drive past the frat house and I breathe out a sigh of relief, thankful the megaphone guys never noticed me. “Thanks for coming to get me. I know it’s early.”

“I was up already.”

We drive by Main Street where the craft fair is getting set up, zipping right past the turn to Danielle’s house.

“Wait.” I say. “You were supposed to turn back there. I have to get back to Danielle’s before my mom comes to pick me up.”

He turns to me and raises an eyebrow, a smile spreading across his face. “Collins.” He reaches over to pat my knee. “Do you really think I’m just gonna pick you up from a mysterious place on campus dressed like a girl and drop you off at Danielle’s, no questions asked? I’m gonna need some dirt.”

“Drew, I have to—”

“Let’s go get breakfast. Jan’s?”

Jan’s is where we go to get our cheese and meat fix—it’s a tiny little diner downtown with sticky counters, plastic booths, and the best bacon in the entire world. Andrew and I go there way too often, usually on mornings after the vegans have served us leaves for dinner.

He turns the truck onto Pinewood, and we see a collection of tents being set up, strung with woolen mittens and colorful baubles. There are people milling about, signs advertising local beer and hot cider. “Look, the craft fair!” Andrew says, leaning over to get a better look. He pulls into an empty parking spot on the side of the road.

“Drew, the whole point of you coming to get me was to avoid the craft fair.” I pull my phone out of my bag and check the time again. It’s 8:24 already. “I really have to go back to Danielle’s.”

He clicks off his seat belt. “Just tell your mom we’re together. She won’t be mad.”

I glare at him. He glares back, mirroring my expression. Then he picks his phone up and starts typing in a number, bringing it up to his ear.

“No talking on the phone while you’re driving,” I say, reaching a hand out to grab it from him.

“We’re parked.”

“So?” I don’t care if he talks to my mom. I just care about being seen in this outfit. I’m trying to avoid the general public until I can find a less ridiculous pair of shoes. I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes as he talks.