ME: He’s your dad. No one blames you for loving him.

RYDER: Maybe they should.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I hadn’t spoken to my own father in years, and my mom … well, I was hardly the person to give advice on the subject.

Luckily, Ryder saved me from having to come up with a reply.

RYDER: Sorry. This conversation got incredibly emo incredibly fast. Quick, say something funny.

ME: Something funny.

RYDER: Ha.

RYDER: You’re such a riot.

ME: I know. I should really do stand-up.

RYDER: I’d pay to see that.

ME: I bet you would. Getting tickets to my shows will be nearly impossible. The critics will love me. I’ll be known as the funniest comedian to ever come out of Hamilton.

RYDER: Do you really have any competition in that regard?

ME: Probably not.

RYDER: I didn’t think so.

ME: … You’re not an idiot, Ryder. You don’t have anything to feel bad about. Your dad does.

RYDER: Thank you.

RYDER: For listening, I mean. Or reading? Anyway, I mean it. When I found out, you were the only person I actually wanted to talk to.

RYDER: That probably sounds ridiculous.

ME: No, it doesn’t. I’m flattered, actually.

ME: And the feeling’s mutual.

I hated admitting it, but I’d been thinking about our other IM conversations a lot, too. When I noticed The Parent Trap was on TV, I’d wanted to message him. When I got an old Nirvana song stuck in my head, I’d wanted to send him the link to the video.

It was absurd, especially considering the fact that I’d wanted little more than to strangle him less than a week ago. But I couldn’t deny it. Something about Ryder Cross had gotten to me, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling of not hating him.

Of maybe sort of liking him.

RYDER: I’m glad to hear that, Amy.

Amy.

Damn it. I’d done it again. I’d actually let myself forget. He thought I was Amy. He wasn’t opening up to me but to her. Because while I maybe sort of liked Ryder, he maybe sort of hated me.

I should have told him the truth right then. I know I should have. I should’ve typed out something like, Yeah, about that. This is actually Sonny. Sorry for the confusion. But I didn’t want to make him feel weird or embarrassed after opening up about his parents.

So I decided to wait.

RYDER: By the way, I watched The Parent Trap.

ME: YOU DID?!?!

RYDER: Don’t start with the shouting again. Ha-ha.

RYDER: It was on TV on Saturday, and since I have yet to develop a social life here …

ME: And?

ME: AND???

RYDER: It was okay.

ME: Just okay?

RYDER: Just okay.

ME: Our friendship is over. Done. Kaput. I can’t associate with anyone who doesn’t love The Parent Trap.

RYDER: So we’re friends, then?

I chewed on my lower lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Were we friends? No. No, we couldn’t be. Not when we’d only really had two pleasant conversations before tonight. Not when he thought I was someone else.

But it felt like we were.

ME: Well, we were until you expressed your incorrect opinion of a film classic.

RYDER: It was the Lindsay Lohan version.

ME: Still a classic!

RYDER: I take it back, then. The film was brilliant.

RYDER: So we can be friends now?

I hesitated before replying. Because what I was about to say wasn’t the right answer.

ME: Yes.

RYDER: Good.

ME: Good.

But the closer Ryder and I got online, the more we seemed to argue in real life. Every day, he said something entirely asshole-ish, which, of course, I had to call him out on. It was so commonplace now that Mr. Buckley seemed resigned to letting us fight it out.

But whenever anyone else said something rude to or about Ryder, I felt a little defensive on his behalf. Like, it was okay for me to mock him, but no one else. Because unlike them, I knew the other side of Ryder.

Even if he didn’t realize it.

Not that I hadn’t tried to tell the truth. Twice I’d attempted to IM him from my account to explain, and both times he’d logged off immediately. So that was a bust.

But pretty much any time I was on Amy’s account, he’d message me. And a couple of times, I was the one who started the conversation.

ME: Do you watch the local news?

RYDER: Huh??

ME: The six o’clock news. Do you watch it?

RYDER: Um, no. No one under the age of fifty watches the local news.

ME: Well, give me a walker and call me Granny. Because I do. Every night.

RYDER: I can’t decide if that’s pathetic or adorable.

ME: So one of the anchors, Greg Johnson, lives in Hamilton.

RYDER: And?

ME: And I ran into him today. I was pumping gas when he and his stepdaughter pulled up. She goes to school with us, but she’s a few years younger. A sophomore, I think.

RYDER: Uh-huh.

ME: Anyway, I told him what a fan of his I was, and when we went in to pay for our gas, he was like, “Don’t worry, I got this. Anything for a fan.”

RYDER: That’s nice of him.

ME: HE PAID FOR MY GAS!

RYDER: WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?

ME: BECAUSE IT’S A BIG DEAL!

RYDER: Is it, though?

ME: Excuse me, Mr. Big City, but around here Greg Johnson is practically famous. He’s the closest thing we have to a celebrity in Hamilton.

RYDER: Again, not sure if this is sad or adorable.

ME: He’s also very handsome, so there’s that, too.

RYDER: Is it weird that I’m a little jealous of this guy now?

I felt a smile spread across my face. I knew it was wrong. I knew he thought he was flirting with my best friend, not me. But I couldn’t help it.

ME: If you pay for my gas, I’ll call you handsome, too.

RYDER: Duly noted.

By the end of October, there was no way around it. Somehow, I’d developed a big, stinking crush on Ryder Cross.

And he had one on my best friend.

But somehow, I thought I could fix that. I could turn this around and make Ryder see that I, not Amy, was the girl he should be with. It would just take some planning, a lot of lying …

And a little help from my best friend.

“You want me to do what?” Amy’s eyes were wide and totally freaked out.

I glanced around our table to make sure no one was listening. It was Monday, and I’d spent the weekend piecing together my plan before springing it on her over lunch.

Satisfied that we weren’t being spied on — and that Ryder was nowhere near us — I explained.

“Not just you. I’m in on this, too.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Fair point.” I popped a soggy french fry into my mouth. Once again, I’d lied to the cafeteria lady so I could get a free lunch. Now that I was unemployed, this would likely become an all-too-regular occurrence.

Amy had asked that morning if I needed lunch money, but I’d said no. She was already doing so much for me, letting me stay in her room, and I wouldn’t take money from her, too. I told her I had a little cash saved. And, of course, she believed me.

“Trust me, though,” I said. “This will work.”

“I’m not sure what this is.”

“Right. Okay.” I pushed my empty tray aside and leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “So Ryder likes me, but he thinks I’m you. And he hates the me he thinks I am. Following?”

“Barely. But I’m confused. You chatted with him again after the first time?”