“Actually,” I said, and the plate he was holding nearly slipped out of his grip.

“What? Really?”

“It’s not supposed to storm tonight,” I said. “Want to meet me out there?”

He hesitated, and I suddenly felt my cheeks redden furiously as I realized how that had sounded.

“There’s a project,” I said. “Something for your mom—”

“Oh,” he said. “What kind of project?”

It was like there was heat radiating off his arm, inches from my own. I took a sidestep away from him. “A gardening project.”

“In the middle of the night,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Does Mom know about it?”

“Of course not.”

He paused, the plate under the stream of water, and looked down at me. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you,” he said. “What time?”

“Um . . . I don’t know. I could just knock on your door. It’ll have to be after everyone’s asleep.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Yeah?” As much as I wanted to spend time with him, the truth was that I really needed his help if this was going to work. I couldn’t do it alone.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen? Mom gets mad and punishes us?”

I almost laughed, then said, “What are her punishments like?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said breezily, slipping the plate into the dishwasher and taking the next one from my hand. “She won’t hit you. She’s more into psychological warfare.”

I stared at him, trying to read his expression. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know if I am.”

IT WENT PERFECTLY according to plan. I sipped my tea when Laura came in, but as soon as she left, I set it aside. It was too strong an association by now—I couldn’t afford to let myself relax if I was going to stay awake for a few more hours. Instead, I read carefully through the gardening book I’d pulled from the library that afternoon. When that got boring, I started reading what seemed to be the tawdriest romance novel I’d been able to find in the house, a slim red-bound book from the 1930s called The Girl Least Likely, which ended up not being tawdry at all, just the story of some “bad” girls who eventually reform and throw out their cigarettes and slang talk and marry their bosses. Then I reorganized my closet by color. Then I changed out of my pajamas into a set of gardening clothes, minus the apron and grandma hat. When that was done, I pulled out my phone and played a game for a while.

Finally, it was time. I slipped the key into one of my pants pockets and went to Barrett’s room. I knocked lightly, and a few seconds later, he opened the door.