It went like that for most of the drive. I put Chance’s bike in the back seat, and took him home the long way, his request. Eventually, he was making jokes, telling stories. By the time we reached his street, I wasn’t thinking of Tyra or my brother or all the years I’d had a crush on Becky Collins. The top was down. We were laughing.

“You all good, brother?” Chance dropped his bike in the dirt, then leaned on the car. “You have money? You know where you’re taking her?”

“Yeah, man. I’m good.”

“Be adult, all right? Talk about the war or Nixon or Brezhnev.”

I laughed. “No.”

“Inflation, then. The recession.”

“Are you finished?”

“Just knock her panties off.” He winked and grinned, and went inside.

Chance, I thought.

He was in my head.

Pulling from the curb, I watched the time as I drove. I didn’t want to be early. I didn’t want to be late. On the sidewalk at Dana White’s house, I checked my watch a final time, then smoothed my hair, practicing silently.

Hello, Becky. You look beautiful this evening …

I walked toward the door, feeling I should have brought flowers. I’d never been on a real date …

Flowers. Damn it.

I hesitated at the bottom step.

Hello, Becky …

I was still there when the door opened, and Becky appeared, her face in the crack of the door, a glimpse of T-shirt and jeans.

“Gibby, come on.” Her voice was low, almost a hiss. “You can’t be here. You know that.”

“What? I don’t…” I shook my head, confused. She glanced away, showing the curve of her jaw, a tumble of hair. Turning back, she gestured with a hand. “Around the side. That way.”

The door closed before I could ask what she was talking about. Instead, I followed a line of bushes to a gate and the backyard and an open window. Becky was there, Dana White behind her. I squeezed through the landscaping, my face at the sill. “What do you mean I can’t be here?”

“Hush, all right?”

She made a shushing noise with her hands, and Dana pushed closer. “Becky, this is dangerous.”

“Not if you be cool.”

“My father will kill us—”

“What’s going on?” I interrupted.

Becky looked from Dana’s face to mine, and the conflict was obvious. “Screw it,” she said. “Get in here.”

“Becky, no.”

“Quiet, Dana. It’s not up to you. Gibby, come on before somebody sees.”

I didn’t know what was happening, but scrambled though the window, where I found Becky flushed, and Dana, beside her, pinch-faced and angry and pale. “If my parents find out, I’ll tell them you made me.”