He has a pair of steaming coffee cups in his hands. As I approach, he presses one into my palm.

“My way of saying thank you.” He flashes that shining grin and then opens my door for me.

I drop into the seat. As far as bribes go, caffeine is at the top of my list, with candy coming in at a close second.

Cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “How long is this gratitude going to last?”

“A week or two, at least.”

I yank the door shut.

While he makes the trip around to the driver’s side, I resist the urge to lock him out. Instead, I listen to Tash’s message.

Sloane-I-need-you. Call-me-right-away. I-I-I-please-call. Miss-you.

Her voice sounds tight and emotional sniffles punctuate her faster-than-usual speech.

As Tru climbs in and starts the car, I dial her number.

She picks up on the first ring. “Sloane,” she cries.

“What’s wrong?”

There are several sharp sniffs before she answers, “Brice broke up with me.”

“Oh.” Part of me, the bigger part—the sympathetic friend part—feels really and truly bad for her. The part that still wasn’t dealing well with the idea that my best friend was dating my almost-boyfriend is doing a little dance.

I punch that part of me in the gut.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tru looks at me, concern in his dark eyes. I shake my head and mouth, Boy trouble.

He nods and puts the car in gear. Nothing gets a guy’s attention elsewhere faster than tears and boy troubles.

“What happened?” I ask, because I know I should.

“I don’t know,” she wails. “He’s been away with his family on Martha’s Vineyard. He gets back tomorrow. We’re supposed to go out for ice cream, but he texted me that he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

I mutter a string of curses that seems to impress Tru, who gives me a thumbs-up.

Even though I have every right to say I told you so, I bite back the words. She doesn’t need to hear that right now. But we both should have seen this coming.

Brice and I met a year ago summer, when Mom and Dad decided to take our first real family vacation in years. Martha’s Vineyard had sounded so romantic, like something out of the Kennedy era. When I saw Brice walking on the beach, I’d been drawn to him. He seemed so perfect. Tall, sweet, interested in me and the things I wanted to talk about—art, culture, philosophy.

When I found out he lived in New York, only a few blocks from our brownstone, I’d thought it was fate. We never actually got around to doing anything more serious than talk, but it felt like it was going somewhere.

We agreed to meet up at a sushi place in our neighborhood when we got back. I’d been nervous, so I brought Tash. I never told her I was interested in Brice that way.

In hindsight, that was a mistake.

“You’re so much better than him,” I tell her. “He’s a loser, and he doesn’t know what he’s giving up.”

Sniffle, sniffle. “I know. I just…” Her voice catches, and it takes her a few seconds to be able to finish. “I thought he was the one, you know? I was going to… I was going to…”

She doesn’t have to finish that sentence.

“And it’s a good thing you didn’t,” I say. “Brice is a slimebucket. He should come with a warning sticker glued to his flat ass.”

That elicits a snot-filled giggle from Tash—and another thumbs-up from Tru, who is steering us into the huge line of cars trying to get away from school for the weekend—so I figure I’m on the right track.

“You’re so much better off without him.” I know I am. “Now you can be all footloose and fancy-free for senior year.”

She sniffs, more decisively this time. “You’re right. I can flirt with whoever I want.”

“Date whoever you want.”

“Kiss whoever I want.”

“Take whoever you want to Whack Tie.”

“You’re right,” she says, almost no trace of tears and self-pity in her voice. That’s the Tash I know.

We talk for a few more minutes, until I’m sure she’s in a better place. I’ve experienced enough Tash breakups to know that, A) the pity party isn’t quite over yet, and B) she’ll be back on her dating feet before Monday. Tash never stays down for long.

When we finally hang up, I feel emotionally drained. I let my head fall back against the headrest and close my eyes.

For a long time, I was mad at Tash. Even though she didn’t know how I felt about Brice, it had somehow seemed like a betrayal. Like she had unknowingly violated the friend code.

But now… Now, I feel guilty. If I had told her about Brice, about how he essentially led me on and then tossed me aside, maybe she wouldn’t be heartbroken right now. I hadn’t warned her, and he did the same thing to her. She’s paying the price for my wounded pride.

I’m a terrible friend.

The sound of the Mustang’s engine is like a soothing rhythm, a white noise that calms my thoughts and helps me get my emotions under control.

Tru maintains the silence until we reach the freeway entrance, when he asks, “Whack Tie?”

I half laugh. That wasn’t the question I expected. Then again, what did I expect him to ask about? Girl talk and feelings?

No, Whack Tie is about right. “Yeah, it’s SODA’s answer to a prom. A big party with crazy rules.”

“Like what?”

“Like…no outfit can cost more than fifty bucks, head to toe,” I say. “No taxis or limos, only public transportation. No Top 40 music.”

“Sounds like my kind of party.” Tru grins. “NextGen has an unProm.”

I gaze out the window as he merges into Friday afternoon traffic. And by merge, I mean inches his car into the standstill. If I thought rush hour traffic had been bad the rest of the week, Friday really blows that out of the water.

“But I guess you’re not planning to be around for unProm,” he says as he makes it into the slow lane.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Traffic moves a few inches forward, and somehow Tru turns that into an opportunity to get across to the fast lane. Which is really false advertising at this point. But at least it’s moving, which is more than I can say about the other lanes.

“So, this Brice guy sounds like a real winner,” he says as we finally pick up speed.

I groan. “He’s a waste of a perfectly good trust fund.”

“Need me to beat him up?”

“Would you?”

Tru laughs and I find myself laughing, too. It’s not that I actually want Brice to get hurt, but a black eye and a bloody nose would probably do him a lot of good.

“Just tell me if I need to hop on a plane,” Tru says. “I’m there.”

It’s a joke. But somehow it almost feels like it isn’t.

“Thanks,” I say, patting his hand that is resting on the gear shift.

My stomach does a little flip-flop-dip, like the thrill when a roller coaster makes a dive.

I let the touch linger a little longer than I probably should. But when I pull my hand into my lap, I notice that Tru is smiling. And, for once, it’s not his charming faker. An honest smile.

As the Austin traffic drips by, I can’t help a smile of my own.

Chapter Nine

I jolt awake Saturday morning, and at first I’m not sure why. As Tru can now attest, I am not a morning person.

I’m more of a noon person.

Stopping for coffee has become our regular ritual. Before that, I am barely intelligible.

Then I hear it. The faint buzzing ring of my phone. It’s buried in here, under the covers…somewhere… Ha! Found it!

Dad’s face stares up at me from the screen.

“Dad! Hey, what’s up?”

“Are you still in bed?” he asks. “At ten o’clock?”

I squint at my phone, trying to make my blurry eyes see numbers. Clearly I’d been out on the roof sketching until the way-too-wee hours last night.

“No, it’s an hour earlier here,” I say when I can finally see them. “Not later.”