“Are you okay, Bee?” Ash had asked, bringing me back to the Sunday dinner table. I’d nodded but picked at the rest of my food in silence, not saying another word, even when Ash asked again if something was wrong. Once Brad’s homemade sticky toffee pudding had been devoured, the dishes cleared, and Mom had told us we were free to leave, I turned to Ash, my cold shoulder already thawing.

“Want to shoot some hoops?” I said.

“Not now. Maybe when I get back.”

My scowl returned. Ash hadn’t said anything about going out. Usually we spent Sunday evenings watching a movie or playing basketball or baseball outside. “Where are you going?”

“Out for a little while. I’ll see you later.” He gave me one of his big smiles and turned to Brad, who’d already collapsed on the sofa and buried his nose in the newspaper. “Dad, can I take the car?”

Brad lowered his paper, glancing at Ash over the top of it. “Rules?”

Ash grinned and counted on his fingers. “Drive safely. Don’t drink. Call if I do.”

“You got it, kid. Keys are in my jacket pocket. Have fun.”

I watched Ash leave, uncertainty mixing with curiosity and anger, an unpleasant concoction bubbling away inside me as I heard him drive away. “Tell Mom I went outside,” I said to Brad, adding a hasty please so he wouldn’t call me back to correct me on my manners.

“Be home by seven thirty,” he said through a yawn.

I ran to the garage to get my bicycle, a green-and-yellow racer Ash had helped me repair. We’d spent ages on it together, fixing the gears, getting new tires Ash had paid for out of the money he’d made doing carpentry. He’d even saved up and bought me a new seat because I’d complained the old one hurt my butt.

A mile later I got to Celine’s house. Brad’s car stood in the driveway and I hit the brakes on my bike, making sure I stayed hidden behind the leafy trees. Ash leaned with his back against the driver’s door, his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans. Celine stood about a foot away from him. Unlike Keenan and Fiona, who’d inherited their father’s Irish looks, Celine had taken after her Italian mother—or her mom’s lover, if the rumors were to be believed. Whatever her parentage, she had long dark hair, which shone in the sunlight, a mix of dark brown and mahogany, and she’d showcased the tan skin on her arms with a fitted pink T-shirt. She had the perfect round breasts I wanted, hips I’d have killed for and a tiny waist accentuating the curve of her bottom, which was framed in a pair of black shorts. No wonder Ash wanted to spend time with Celine. Everyone in school did.