“Hey, Karen,” he says into the phone, his voice all cheery smiles. “Everything’s great . . . I’m with her right now actually . . . Yup, earliest she’s ever woken up I think. A new record. We’re just getting some breakfast . . . Yeah, no problem. See you later!” He ends the call and turns to me. “See? She loves me.” He opens the car door. “Let’s go.”

I grab his arm to stop him. “Wait! I can’t go out there dressed like this. It’s obscene.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he says. “You look normal. Like, my aunt Mildred would wear what you’re wearing to church.”

“You don’t have an aunt Mildred,” I say.

“Fine,” he says, relenting. “I have a sweatshirt in the back.” He reaches behind me and rummages around, pulling out a navy blue Prescott hoodie. It smells like campfire. I grab it from him and pull it on eagerly, covering up my stomach.

“Okay, now can we go?”

“Just Jan’s,” I say. “No craft fair.”

“Just Jan’s.”

He jumps out of the car for real this time, and I follow him out, stumbling a little in the sequined heels. Just as I right myself, I feel my phone vibrate. There’s a text from Dean.

Why’d you sneak out?

I feel warmth flood through me, relieved he’s contacted me. I pause for a minute, trying to think of something to say in response. What would Danielle say?

Had to be somewhere

There. Appropriately aloof. He texts back a minute later.

Nice. See you at work. Last night was fun

Andrew waits impatiently as I put away my phone. I feel a goofy smile spread across my face, and I can see him trying to figure it out.

We head down the sidewalk toward Jan’s, me about five paces behind him because his legs are so much longer than mine, and he’s wearing sensible footwear. Once we get there, I scamper inside as quickly as possible, and he rolls his eyes at me.

It’s not until I have a big pile of steaming pancakes in front of me that Andrew finally breaks down and asks.

“Okay, so what the hell?”

“What?” I feign innocence and reach over to grab a piece of his bacon. He swats my hand away and the bacon drops back onto his plate.

“Why were you hiding in the woods dressed like my aunt Mildred?”

I take a bite of pancakes to stall for time, and they burn the roof of my mouth. “There’s a guy,” I say finally, feeling my face get hot.

Andrew takes a long sip of his coffee and then puts it down on the table, running a finger absently around the rim. “Who is he?”

“We call him James Dean.” I lower my voice so that hopefully he can’t hear me. He does.