He smiles softly, and there’s so much comfort in the look that he’s giving me. At least with Wyatt, I feel like my story is safe. That this is something that’s just between the two of us. I’ve never told this story to anyone. Of course, Dad figured it out, and he wasn’t happy. So did Mom. Grandma just hugged me when I told her my new name, and she promised that she loved me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all gushy there.” I snatch my napkin and wipe the tears away.

“No, no, I—” Wyatt seems to think for a moment. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll tell them about how you didn’t report a dead guy in a retirement home.”

He lets out this loud laugh. “I don’t know if he actually was dead! It could have just been the Ed Sheeran song I was singing—lots of people have narcoleptic responses to Ed Sheeran.”

“Still, you couldn’t have called a nurse?”

“Oh my God.” He falls back in his seat, covering his mouth as he laughs some more. And then I start to laugh, and we stare at each other from across the table, just looking at each other. He looks so happy, and his laugh is so warm.

Yeah, I think I like being friends with Wyatt Fowler.

Monday: April 18

“You’re joking, right?” Wyatt says.

“What?”

“Cupcakes?”

“But it’s a cupcake ATM! Isn’t that amazing?”

I drag Wyatt down the block, to the nearest Sprinkles Cupcakes ATM. It’s this metal mesh wall painted like a rainbow with straight rows of colors. And right in the pink row, there’s a futuristic-looking little kiosk.

The world’s very first cupcake ATM.

As far as I know.

It’s also one of the most popular. At ten thirty in the morning, there’s already a line.

“Couldn’t we just go inside?” he asks. “The bakery is right there.”

“That takes away from the fun,” I say as we get in the back of the line. It moves pretty fast, thankfully, the cupcakes coming out in record time. “What flavor do you want?” I ask Wyatt when we’re finally at the front.

“What do they have?”

“The usual. Vanilla, chocolate, dark chocolate, strawberry, black and white, salted caramel, carrot cake, red velvet.”

“So, lots of choices.”

“Come on, Fowler—we’ve got people waiting.”

“Okay, okay! Strawberry!”

“A good choice.” I pick salted caramel and swipe my card. A minute later, the boxed cupcakes are delivered from this sliding cylindrical door that I’m guessing leads into the bakery itself.

“This better be the best cupcake I’ve ever tasted.”

“They’re pretty good.”

“Just pretty good? All that hype for pretty good?”

“It’s not the cupcakes to get excited over. This came from a cupcake ATM. How cool is that?”