While he explains things to me, he asks me questions too. I know I should feel flattered. But instead, I feel nervous, because he’s asking things I can’t answer without giving too much away.

“So where are you from?” he asks as he jots down several shorthand phrases for common menu items.

“California, near Los Angeles,” I say without thinking about it.

“Really?” Nick looks up at me, a surprised expression on his face. “What brought you to Florida, then?”

I think about this for a moment, not sure what to say. Running away? Searching for the long-last parent I haven’t seen since I was three? Trying to figure out how to just be normal? No, none of those will quite accomplish the whole incognito goal. Instead, I settle for saying, “My father.”

“Your father?” Nick asks curiously. “He lives here?”

I nod.

“What does he do?” Nick asks.

“Owns a store,” I say simply.

“That’s cool,” he says, brightening a bit. “Like my parents. So you know what it’s like.”

“Uh, yeah,” I say, neglecting to mention that I actually have no idea what it’s like, as I haven’t seen my dad in more than a decade.

“Where did you go to high school?” he asks.

“Back in California,” I say hurriedly, hating that I have to lie to him. But what am I going to say? Yeah, I was home-schooled on my tour bus. I don’t think so. “You wouldn’t know it.”

“Try me,” Nick says cheerfully. “I have some friends in L.A.”

“Uh,” I stall. “Sweet Valley High,” I say the first thing that comes to mind and again resist the urge to immediately smack my idiot self in the forehead. Nick looks at me funny.

“Amanda,” Nick says slowly. “That’s a series of books.”

“Which they named after my school,” I say quickly, not meeting his eye.

“Listen,” Nick says after a minute. Whatever was between us a few minutes ago seems to have disappeared. “We should call it a night. I have class in the morning. And you must be pretty beat.”

I yawn. “Yeah,” I say, trying not to look as disappointed as I feel. “What I wouldn’t give for a deep-tissue massage.” Then I clap my hand over my mouth. When I said that, I was thinking of the weekly massages I received when I was on the road. But it couldn’t have sounded that way to Nick. He probably thought I was suggesting he give me a massage! A deep red flush spreads over my cheeks.

“So do you need a ride home or something?” Nick asks.

I point toward the deserted parking lot. “No, I have a car. An old Beetle.”

Nick’s eyes twinkle. “So you’re the proud owner of those pink wheels.” Even though I’m living just next door, I made a point of driving my car to D’Angelo’s.