Pru, Ollie, and I meet up with the Similars at lunch, grabbing sandwiches and bringing them to the shore of Dark Lake for a makeshift picnic. Ollie’s next to me, spreading his backpack and lunch on the grass and stretching his legs. His brown hair hangs in his eyes, which are grayer than ever, and his lips turn up in a smile as he holds out his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich to me.

“Wanna go halfsies?” he asks.

“Always.” I hand him half of my grilled cheese.

I’m hiding how nervous I feel that he’s going to bring up his feelings. It’s like they’re a booby trap, lying in wait for me to step on them so they’ll detonate.

I’m drawn out of my reverie by Jago, who’s referencing this morning’s antics with the goat. “Jake’s getting more immature as he ages. Not less. Must be because he’s back for a fifth year,” Jago says. “He’s embarrassed that he’s not at college yet, so he’s showing off.”

“You mean acting out,” Pru notes.

“But what about Archer?” Maude wonders, directing the comment to Ansel. “What happened on the set of Space Wars this summer that made him so cocky? Besides the paparazzi, I mean. And all those fans… And why is he spending all this time here?”

“He said he was bored after shooting wrapped,” Ansel answers. “NYU doesn’t start till next week, so he’s hanging out at the old alma mater, crashing with me on the floor of my room. I really hope this is a phase. I don’t feel like being ‘bros’ with this new, unimproved Archer.”

“Dash,” I address my bot, feeling suddenly curious, “pull up Archer de Leon’s social media feed.”

“Certainly, Emma,” Dash answers, and within moments, my plum screen is filled with Archer’s posts. There’s a picture of Archer, last week, with his castmates on Space Wars. Archer, five days ago, posing for selfies with fans. And one from last night. A photo taken from a beach in Thailand. Archer’s not in it; it’s a landscape of a gorgeous sunset, captioned “Bangkok Nights. Can’t believe I have to go home next week. Space Wars, it’s been real.”

“Guys?” I say to my friends, interrupting their conversation. “How did Archer take this photo from a beach in Thailand last night, if he was here, at the masquerade ball, acting like an ass?”

Ollie, Pru, and the others crowd around my plum to get a look at the photo.

“That’s weird,” says Pru.

“It’s not just weird; it makes no sense,” Maude counters. “But there’s got to be an explanation. A perfectly logical one. Obviously.”

“Ansel?” Jago asks. “When exactly did Archer finish up filming? Wasn’t he here at the beginning of the school year?”