I JUST HAVE to pretend that I’m skateboarding to a random shop, in a random place, for a random reason. I just have to get a grip, stop digging my nails into my palm, will my heart rate to slow down, and act normal. I just have to be the complete opposite of everything I am.

It’s fine.

I take a deep breath and focus on the sound of my skateboard on the concrete, the steady rhythm of the cracks on the sidewalk. I prefer to ride in the street, but the number of ghost bikes in this town tells me the drivers here are not especially observant. Sidewalks it is.

Skateboarding is a multipurpose hobby for me. One, it’s practical—other than a couple lessons from my well-meaning aunt Mary in Michigan, no one ever bothered to teach me to drive. Two, it burns off a lot of nervous energy—well, normally it does, but nothing’s touching that today. And three, skating is basically my art form. I can’t draw, I can’t play an instrument, but I can do an ollie impossible and a 360 hardflip, so my life isn’t complete shit.

This morning was kind of decent, all things considered. Dad’s been sort of trying, and even “sort of trying” is a massive effort for him. Like, when I was leaving, he handed me a pack of Pokémon cards and said, “Good luck today.” Positive reinforcement is always thrilling, but I still haven’t worked out if the cards were a nod to the old days, when he would have my nanny give them to me if I did well at school, or if he actually thinks I still like Pokémon. Both scenarios are equally likely, and to be honest, I don’t even know which one I’d prefer.

I slow down about a block away from the comic shop and hop off, flipping my board up into my hand and then strapping it to my backpack. I’m kind of surprised by how sweaty I got, even in this cold March weather. This is not the first impression I want to make. I run my fingers over the watch Gray gave me; I could use a little good luck right now.

Shoving down the hood of my sweatshirt, I start to walk, trying hard not to think about what I’m really doing.

Peak texted me until I fell asleep last night, sending me music clips and keeping me distracted. How shitty it was to have her comforting me when I was freaking out about spying on her own shop is another thing I’m trying not to think about.

As is the fact that Vera is apparently a human lie-detector test obsessed with honesty, which I learned when Peak gave me the play-by-play of their argument about her leaving con prom.