“And he was like, ‘I’m already headed there.’ So we just said, why not, and went.” She smiles, and her eyes sparkle.

It was like having a conversation with two aliens who had taken over their bodies.

“Que bueno,” my mother says.

“What?” I blink, back in the present, in my messy dorm room, with someone making a ton of noise in the courtyard as they attempt to blow away the leaves that have just started to fall. Well, as much as they do fall here in paradise.

“That’s good. That your partners aren’t driving each other crazy anymore.”

“Oh, um.” I clear my throat. “Yeah. That’s true.”

Just then there is a knock at the door. I stand and walk over to open it as my mother starts in on a new subject, talking a mile a minute, something about the flowers she is trying to grow.

I yank open the door to see Braden there, radiating energy.

I raise an eyebrow. But he doesn’t explain, he just pushes past me into my room.

“Hold on,” I tell him. “I’m talking with my mom.”

“I can’t hold on.” He is moving around, on the balls of his feet, and I am not sure if he is about to dance or fight me.

“Ugh, okay...” I turn away from him for a moment, as if this gives me more privacy. “Mom, I’ll have to call you back.”

I grumble as I hang up the phone. “What?” I ask. This better be good.

He grabs me by the shoulders “We got a meeting with Thatcher Bell!”

This time the lead-up to the meeting is far less hectic. We have a few days’, not hours’, notice, and are already in a better position, having been live for around a month, not a day. Braden asks me and Sara for a few statistics, but mostly tells us to leave it all to him. I’d feel more comfortable doing so if I hadn’t witnessed him crash and burn in the last meeting. But he’s the one who’s spent every summer since he was in diapers in Martha’s Vineyard and Tahoe with guys like this, so I’d have a hard time correcting him even if he was doing something wrong.

I stand outside my dorm, adjusting my tie and wondering if this suit makes me look too much like a kid about to make his First Communion, as I wait for Braden to pick me up in an Uber.

Well, pick us up, that is if Sara ever finishes getting ready. I glance at the door behind me, still closed, with no one visible through the glass.

Tires crunch on gravel as a black car pulls up.

“Sorry!” A voice says behind me. I turn to see Sara, her blond hair flying as she races through the door. She shakes her head as she reaches me. “I never budget enough time.”