She was the only one. Chef’s pillow fort de Jell-O would obviously go down in Cassidy High School’s history. The owners of Straight Cheese ’n’ Pizza even proudly displayed Chef’s newspaper picture on their wall, next to a picture of their three extremely handsome and quite stylish best customers. They never said anything to us, but they knew.

Shrieks from the pool faded as we reached our former soccer teammates by my favorite tree in the O’Connors’ yard—the most sacred place Carter and I could think of to do this. Jeff Karvotsky, the new captain, and the youngest ever at Cassidy High, had the troops rallied for us. The guys diligently waited as Carter, Austin, and I pulled them away from the party.

“We got you guys a good-bye gift,” said Carter, “because we’re the best.”

“And because we’re going to be way too far away to bail you guys out of trouble,” said Austin.

“Not that we would anyway,” I added. Even though Carter and I were going to Clarkebridge together, Austin was going to college in Canada. He wanted to try living in another country, though that barely counted. Something about foreign girls.

Carter held out the Top Secret notebook like ancient priests held out their scriptures. The underclassmen rolled their eyes at us, like they no longer had time for us anymore. I knew they were anxious to be the big dawgs, but no matter what they said, the three of us would always “have it.”

Jeff reached for the notebook, but Carter took it away at the last second. “Uh uh,” he said, “First, you guys gotta promise that this will never fall into the wrong hands.”

“Is it pictures of your mom?” said a kid in the back.

“Hey,” shouted Austin. “That’s someone’s mom you’re talking about. Show some respect.”

The guys calmed down. I grinned. Yup. Still got it.

“Do you promise?” Carter asked. “You won’t show this to anyone outside of your broskis. No adults. Definitely no teachers.”

“Obviously, we promise,” said Jeff.

“You have to swear it,” said Austin.

“We swear, okay?”

Carter handed Jeff the notebook. Our former soccer teammates gathered around Jeff to see what all of our overhyped nonsense was about. Jeff’s jaw dropped. “No way . . .”

“The Bro Code?” said Kevin Light, one of the guys on defense. “I didn’t think this was real.”

“Seriously, dude?” Jeff shook his head.

“Get it together.” Another defender, Paul Jones, clapped Kevin on the back.

“It’s real all right,” said Austin, “Just, um . . .” he looked at me.

“Updated,” said Carter. “We’re leaving you guys with everything we know about it.”

“Learn from us,” I said. “And don’t screw up.”

Jeff flipped through the notebook. “Rule number 15,” he read aloud, “A bro shalt not ghost.”

Carter nodded. “That’s right. You send a text.”

“No taking the easy way out with her,” I added. “You’ll be glad you didn’t.”

“Or him,” said Austin. “Per rule 18.”

Jeff balanced the fat notebook on his arm. Kevin and Paul helped him, flipping the pages back as fast as they could.