“It was all right, I guess.” The truth was it was a little creepy coming home to an empty house after having dinner at Finn’s. I’d fallen asleep on the couch with all the lights on.

“Well, Mom said you can come over whenever you want. And if you do, you can help me torture Brady.” She grinned. Brady was Bianca’s older brother, a senior and star athlete at Westgate, and her boyfriend’s best friend. He picked on all of us because he could, but he was also as protective of Ally and me as he was of his own sister.

The small parking lot was fairly empty, but the normally quiet shop was busier than usual with maybe six other people in the store when we arrived. A woman with a basket full of scrapbooking supplies stood at the register as Molly, one of the owners, rang her up. Her sister Laura straightened a pen display that looked like it had been mauled by hyperactive toddlers or maybe restocked by a color-blind baboon. Bianca and I waved to each of them before making our way to the back of the store.

“What do you need to get?” Bianca said as we turned into an aisle lined with colorful books.

“‘Need’?” I said. “Nothing. But I want a new journal.” I had plenty of mostly blank sketchbooks at home, but there was something almost magical about a new notebook with its empty pages yearning to be filled with something great.

“I’ll look around and see if there’s anything I can give to Ally on opening night.” She moved down the aisle and turned the corner, leaving me to have my regular internal debate about the merits of each book before I could select one.

It took a while, but I’d finally narrowed my choices to a hardbound lined journal and a black spiral notebook. I propped them side by side onto a shelf to study but nearly dropped them when I heard Clover call my name. I turned and saw her walking purposefully toward me with a blue basket, waving as she approached.

“I thought I recognized your car outside,” she said with a broad grin. “Quelle suprise!”

“Hey, Clover.” I eyed the two notebooks again and returned the spiral-bound one to its place before hugging the other book close to my chest. “What’s going on?”

“Just wandering. I had to pop in for some supplies.” She tilted her basket so I could see the beads and pendants she’d selected. “I took a couple of my guitars to Vinyl Cuts to get restrung, and I usually make something out of the old wires.”

“A couple of your guitars,” I repeated.

She rocked back and forth on her heels. “Yeah, I kind of have a collection.”

I was incredulous. Jake got two guitars before learning to play drums, and he said his mom complained about their expense every time he hinted at wanting a new six-string. Even used guitars in good condition weren’t cheap. But maybe it was normal for a music producer’s daughter to collect something so expensive.

“Can’t you restring them yourself?” As soon as I asked, I wondered if this was something else only music producers’ daughters did. After all, I couldn’t count the number of times I’d watched Jake change his guitar strings. Plus, he seemed to enjoy it.

“I can,” she said, emphasizing the second word, “but I’d rather not. The second time I did it, one of the strings broke and lashed my arm.” She grabbed her upper arm and added, “Totally left a mark for weeks. It was hideous.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, so.” She leaned against the notebook display. “Do you know if Jake’ll be there later today?”

I shook my head. “He’s off until Saturday.” He’d started working at Vinyl Cuts a few weeks before Christmas, and it seemed like he was there all the time over winter break. It was the perfect place for him. People brought in old records and used instruments to sell, and Vinyl Cuts serviced some equipment, too, so Jake was surrounded by musicians and audiophiles. He loved it. But since we were back in school, his parents had said he could only work weekends.

Bianca rounded the corner and stopped short when she saw me talking to Clover. “Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Clover gave her more of a smirk than a smile as she appraised my best friend, but Bianca didn’t seem to notice. “You’re Bianca, right? Talia and Jake have mentioned you a couple of times.” She straightened and held out her hand. “I’m Clover. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Oh! Yeah.” Bianca shook her hand but looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Same.”

“Clover and Jake are friends,” I explained. “We hung out at his place a lot over winter break.”

“Jake is seriously talented,” Clover practically gushed. “Like the stuff he writes and the way he plays? It’s like he throws his soul into everything he does.” She beamed. “He’s so amazing.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. She had just vocalized sentiments I already had, but for some reason, I was uncomfortable hearing her say them aloud. It was stupid to feel that way because she was recognizing Jake’s talent, but something in the way she talked about him made me weirdly possessive. I clutched the notebook tighter to my chest.

“So do you want to grab coffee or something?” Clover asked. “Or are you guys already doing stuff?”

I was about to decline when Bianca said, “Coffee’s good.” She smiled and added, “I’m in no rush to look at my geometry homework.”

“Cool. Let me get a couple more things, and I’ll meet you guys up front.”

Bianca and I watched her disappear around the corner before we started for the registers. “Thanks a lot,” I grumbled.

“You don’t want to hang out with her?” she said, her eyes wide. “Why not? She seems pretty cool.”

“I guess.”

“You may have competition running for president of Jake’s fan club, though,” she said with a snicker.

I didn’t respond. I paid for my notebook, thanked Molly for ringing me up, and inwardly seethed while we waited for Clover.

****

A cold, torrential rain began pouring down while we were in the art store. Neither Bianca nor I were prepared for more than an overcast day, so we arrived at the Bookish Bean shivering, our hair plastered to our foreheads. I never understood why people thought it didn’t rain in Southern California. Not only did it rain, but whenever it did, it was icy cold, especially in January, and the fleece hoodies Bianca and I wore did nothing to ward off the chill. Clover, of course, had been prepared for the weather and had stayed dry beneath her long hooded raincoat.

“It’s been a while since I was here,” I said to Clover as Bianca took the seat beside mine. I cupped my hot tea with both hands. “I think it was this past summer. Ephemera was playing some local bands thing.”

Clover’s head bobbed. “Probably. Simon hosts those every couple of months.”

Simon, I repeated silently, quelling the urge to roll my eyes. Of course she was on a first-name basis with the owner.

“Is it always this busy?” Bianca bit into a crumb cake. “It’s like everyone’s here.”

I glanced around the brightly lit coffee shop, checking out the different patrons. It was fairly crowded, and judging by how people were dressed, it looked like every school in the area had sent delegates. A group of girls in St. Lucy’s navy pleated skirts were in a far corner of the shop, lounging on a dark brown couch beside a large, floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Boys wearing St. Francis ties huddled around a pool table in the back, and a bunch of kids in regular clothes — possibly from Lakeridge High — sat in clusters in various parts of the room.

“Around this time? Yeah,” Clover said with a wave to an older guy leaning against the pickup counter. “They get a crazy mad rush because all the kids get out of school and swarm the place.” She sipped her drink and added, “If we stick around long enough, you’ll see a mass exodus, too. It’s pretty funny.”

Bianca frowned. “Don’t you go to school?”

“Sure,” she replied with a broad grin. “Just not a traditional one.” Clover took another sip and explained. “My dad keeps lots of tutors on his payroll. It makes it easy for me to travel with him when he needs to go somewhere for long stretches.”