“And then today he found a picture of an actual bat belly button, which then devolved into this whole weird sky puppy conversation and—”

“Sky puppy?”

“He didn’t make up the term or anything. A lot of people call them that.”

“He calls bats ‘sky puppies’?” She grimaces.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know. Instead of getting to know you, he’s sending you bat pictures. That’s weird. That’s a weird thing to do, Jubilee.”

I didn’t think it was weird; I thought it was cute. What does she expect? I’ve known him for like twenty-four hours; it’s not that deep. I roll my eyes. “Oh, what, is he supposed to be sending me dick pics on day one?”

She bursts out laughing, and I cross my arms. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she says, struggling to catch her breath. “Just that there’s a whole world between baby-bat memes and dick pics, you know? Maybe you could find someone more in the middle.”

“I don’t really want to find anyone; this is strictly for the good of my music,” I huff. “And hey, you encouraged this when I told you what this weekend was about.”

Jayla messes with her stereo, plugging in her phone and pushing play. Loud music starts thumping through the speakers, making the world vibrate in her rearview mirror. I glance behind me; I can’t help it.

“Relax, they veered off to get gas ten minutes ago.”

“Thank god.”

“You’re gonna ghost this guy, though, right? The whole point of con crushes is that you leave them at the con. It doesn’t really work if you don’t.”

“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Besides, he texted me earlier that he lives in Seattle and is flying back there tonight, so it’s not like we could ever be a thing anyway.”

Jayla glances at me. “I thought you didn’t have time for . . . things.”

“I don’t,” I say, fumbling with my phone. “I’m just saying, even if I did—”

“Right.” But then she peeks at me again, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m starting to think you actually like like this boy.”

“I don’t even know him.” I’d want to, I think, if there were enough hours in the day and he didn’t live on the complete opposite side of the country. But there aren’t and he does, and I have a cello to get home to.

Jayla goes back to staring at the highway. “Mm-hmm.”

“I don’t,” I say again, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ridley