I splash water on my face and take a few deep breaths, and check my teeth, just in case, just in case there is going to be more kissing. Probably not. But maybe. Tristan and Kendra could still be fighting. Who knows? Who knows anything right now?

I walk back out and I can see Jesse and Harper sitting together, on the couch, talking. Henry and Tristan and Kendra are all nowhere to be seen. I walk up behind Jesse, and I don’t mean to eavesdrop, I plan on saying something and moving into their eye line, but before I can, I hear their conversation.

‘But you two just kissed,’ Harper says.

‘Yeah,’ Jesse says, with a little laugh.

I don’t know how to interpret that laugh.

‘It looked intense. It looked real. Are you actually, you know, starting something?’ Harper says.

‘With Brooke? No! No,’ he says. ‘It’s just for the fake boyfriend thing.’

There it is.

Do I like Brooke? No. No. Fuck, no.

A cold, slow prickle is unfurling itself down my back, my arms, my scalp. What the hell am I doing, exactly? This isn’t real. I know it’s not real, and the bit before this, helping me at the hospital, watching TV together, hanging out at home, all the little steps we’ve taken towards—what—friendship? That’s probably not real either. Jesse is the same guy he was six months ago, the same guy he was five years ago, the same guy who casually humiliated me, who broke my heart, and I’m the same girl I was then too, and I don’t know why I thought anything had changed. I let my guard down, for what? For nothing.

Forget the house rules. I need to remember my rules. My rules have always been, don’t let your guard down, and don’t expect anything. He’ll let you down (the original he being Dad, but it has expanded to everyone very nicely).

And I’m right. I’m right.

I turn around, feeling suddenly dizzy.

Henry is standing behind me.

‘Brooke,’ he says. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. I should have done the fake boyfriend thing with you. I was really nervous, meeting you in person, and I’m not good under pressure.’

‘Hey, it’s okay. It all worked out,’ I say. I’m trying to be warm and cheerful, but he’s standing too close to me, and my stomach is hurting and I’m worried I’m going to cry.

‘I was thinking. Well, it’s just an idea. If you want to,’ he stops, takes a breath. ‘We could try a do-over on our date?’