“Maybe you should stay in today.” Dad watches me go down the back steps, propping the door open with his shoulder. I can see him mentally debating what Ma might say, whether he should put me under house arrest until she comes home. I’m anxious to face Bree, though, get this stuff off my chest, no matter how much her response will burn.

Before I can answer him, Bree comes out onto her stoop, probably on her way to the park. She stops when she spots us, then turns away, shutting the door behind her.

Dad raises his voice a bit, lifting a hand. “Hey. How are ya?” Bree looks over at him. “I’m Jay. Clara’s dad. You must be Bree?”

“Hi.” Her voice is low, posture still, watchful, as if his introduction is a lead-up to him bitching us out for something.

Dad picks up on it, says lightly, “Listen, you two are going to stay together today, right? That cop made me jumpy.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, not allowing the silence to stretch out. “We’ll be fine.”

Dad nods, says to Bree, “Nice meeting you,” then goes back inside, wanting to give us our space. Smart guy, my dad.

I walk over to her, stopping at the base of the stoop. “So . . . what did she ask you?”

At first, I think she might not answer. “Same stuff she asked you. I’m assuming.”

“Any chance we could not do this anymore?” I return her stare. “The fighting-without-fighting?” Long pause. “This sucks. I miss you.” I hear her soft snort. “It’s true.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” She comes down the steps, moving past me; I fall in with her. “Because I have fun with you. I miss talking.”

“Kincaid talks, doesn’t he?”

“Not the same thing. You think somebody gets a boyfriend, and they don’t need friends anymore? Like they just write them off?” My exasperation’s showing. “Is that what Sage did?”

Bree looks straight ahead, her fists in her fleece pockets, walking at a fast pace toward the street. The hoodies hang around the corner of one of the units on our left, slumped over their handlebars as they watch us go, whispering to one another. I take a breath, try again. “You said you weren’t mad.” Nothing. “It wasn’t like I wanted to steal him from you. He followed me to the store after school one day, and we started talking . . . he told me he liked me. We never wanted to hurt you. I wish I’d talked to you first, though. I should’ve.” Still stonewalling. “You said I shouldn’t be sorry. That you would’ve done the same thing.” My patience snaps as we reach the sidewalk. “So you lied.”

“I did not lie.”

“Well, you weren’t telling the truth. You’re so pissed you won’t even look at me.”