“Madison—” I started. She hung up before I could ask anything else.

I punched the steering wheel, feeling as if I were at the center of a female-revenge plot. That’s what was happening here, right? The girls were trying to teach me a lesson for being a player?

If only. Because then I’d at least know what to do: an Instagram story and livestream of some Lloyd Dobler–level apology. When did girls get complicated? It wasn’t like all of them were easy . . . but Eliza was next level.

My neck ached with stiffness and pent-up stress. You need to get out of your head, dude. The best way to do that?

Every bro’s favorite pastime: video games.

RULE NUMBER 9

A bro shalt not shop.

Eliza ignored me for the rest of the week, and even for a few days into the next week.

Not that I was keeping track.

Things weren’t going much better in the Carter/Madison fantasy land either.

I heard about it from Carter as we camped out in our regular booth at the back of Straight Cheese ’n’ Pizza. Last year, going there had become a regular Wednesday night thing. It served the dual role of a top-notch, greasy dinner, and a place where we could swap homework answers inconspicuously. Gone were the days of being able to use the library—ever since Austin sent a virus through their computer system after illegally downloading World of Warcraft, he was on some unofficial library watchlist. The librarians had it out for him, and any less-than-savory activities he participated in there would be reported to the school. Austin being Austin, he wouldn’t have minded trying to pull off a homework heist under their noses. But Carter wouldn’t take the chance.

Straight Cheese ’n’ Pizza’s bursting booths and little kids playing in the arcade made a great cover for our homework swap—we looked like students studying, and there were too many screaming children for anyone to detect otherwise.

“How’s the tutoring going?” I asked Carter. “Madison a good student?” They had been on two more tutoring dates since my chicken fiasco. Madison moves fast.

Carter flipped the page in his math textbook, too in the zone to hear me. I was putting the finishing touches on our Freud chapter outlines for AP psych. Austin had blown through his AP history responses and was now playing against himself at air hockey.

“You would know.” The wink in Austin’s voice was evident without even looking up from my notebook.

“Haha,” I replied. “You know, Freud says humor is a way to deflect repressed thoughts.” I tapped my psychology book. “Maybe he’d say you’d want to ‘tutor’ Madison.”

Austin threw the air hockey puck in the air, spinning to catch it behind his back.

“Isn’t he the dude who said we’re all in love with our mothers?” said Carter, because that got his attention. “Do people still take him seriously?”

“Oh, I can wholeheartedly agree that I’m in love with Carter’s mother.” Austin grinned, giving the air hockey table to the two kids waiting.