RULE NUMBER 21

A bro shalt not make his girl cry.

The first place I went after my mom stopped fussing over me was good ol’ Straight Cheese ’n’ Pizza. The one thing Mr. Hoover ever managed to teach me was that when you don’t sleep enough, or are really stressed out, you start craving fatty and sugary foods—your brain is basically screaming for energy, and fatty and sugary foods are the quickest way to get there. If you get enough sleep and manage stress, it helps with those situations.

I was aware of this, and to Mr. Hoover I say: I really needed the pizza with the mozzarella stick crust. He would know not to mess with me.

The second place I went was the O’Connors’ house. I doubted Carter would be there, since when he was stressed, he went to some kind of ninja-training exercise class to get totally swole. Though I wasn’t there to see him. Not yet.

I sent Eliza a text as I pulled into her driveway. She sat in their backyard against the oak tree. The perfect hiding place from the outside world, and the perfect place to be alone.

The end of the afternoon loomed overhead, beginning to fade into orange as I came up behind her. Somehow, she seemed comfortable in the mid-November air with a baggy sweater and jeans. Or maybe she simply wanted to feel the cold.

“Hey,” she said, focusing on something that was not me. She had her back against the tree, hunched over a spiral notebook.

Her loose hair dangled over her writing, hiding it even as I crouched down. What was the protocol for what to say after you ruin a sibling relationship? Should I try to hold her hand? Is it even right for me to talk first? She wasn’t crying, but a sad energy sat on her soundless lips.

I couldn’t decide which would have been better: For her to be happy to see me, or sad like she was. Either would make what I was about to do ten times harder. Maybe I would regret this, and I was having a kneejerk reaction, like the other instances when girls and I started to get serious.

I stuffed my clammy hands into the pockets of my jacket.

“There’s a rumor going around that we slept together,” she said. “Carter believes it. He texted me about whether he should pick up protection. I cannot stand him right now.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m really sorry. Anything I can do?”

“It’d help if you spread that it isn’t true.”

“On it.” Denying rumors wasn’t really my M.O. All press is good press, you know? For her, I would make an exception. For Carter too.

“Probably won’t change Carter’s mind, though.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

The notebook in her lap stuck out like a giraffe in New York City. I didn’t want to pry, but the scribbles at the top of her page screamed at me. “Dear Nick, What keeps sticking out is the first thing you said to me: Tell me I’m wrong.” Her arms covered the rest.