Before I can answer, I’m saved by the bell over the front door, which jingles as someone we know walks in. I skipped the independent study on Thursday, unable to face the sketch I did and the questions Mr. Strauss has about it, so this is the first time I’ve seen Hope Cheng in nearly a week. Grateful for the distraction, I wave to get her attention; but she’s already headed our way, a shy smile on her face, her eyes focused on Adriana.

“You made it!” my best friend exclaims as Hope sits down beside her. Something passes between them, and I shift awkwardly in my seat, feeling inexplicably like someone watching his bus leave without him.

“Hey, Hope.” I cock an eyebrow. “Um, fancy meeting you here?”

“I told her we’d be studying if she wanted to drop by,” Adriana says, her cheeks a little flushed, and she offers me a shrug. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

I fight the urge to frown, because now I want to mind. Obviously, I’m cool with Hope, but I’d been working up to telling Adriana about Jude—and instead, I’m suddenly the third wheel on what looks like a practice date. Ugh, and ugh, because I’m super happy for them—but I can’t help it: I’m also jealous.

Over the summer, I downloaded one of those gay dating apps. I know you have to be eighteen to use them, but it’s not like they send the FBI to your house to check, and all I really wanted was to see who was out there. My big fantasy was that I would—surprise!—find a secret profile for Boyd, thus beginning a real-life romantic comedy for us. Or a porno. I was not going to be particular on that point.

But I’d wasted both my time and the storage space on my phone, because there was literally no other guy in Fulton Heights on that app. The nearest profile was over ten miles away, and the dude was in his fifties. So I shut it down and deleted it, and I accepted that Adriana and I would be friend-dates to every school dance until graduation and beyond. But maybe that dream was unrealistic, too.

“Yeah.” I find my voice at last, along with a friendly smile. “Of course I don’t mind. What do you want to drink? I’ll place your order.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Hope looks somewhat aghast at the idea of inconveniencing me. “I have money—”

“Give Auggie the money and let him do it,” Adriana cuts in. “Seriously, he wants to.” Nodding at the bar, she adds, “He has sort of a crush on the barista.”

Hope notices Gunnar for the first time, and her eyes go wide as she takes in his perfect perfectness. “Oh. Wow. Uh … I think I have sort of a crush on the barista, too.”