I glanced between the disappointed-looking blond and my anxious-looking friend. Before I could say anything, though, Zombie Cashier returned with my application.

“Here.”

Amy snatched it from him, said a quick, “Thanks,” then tugged me out of the food court.

“I was gonna apply at some other places,” I said.

“You can do it later.” She handed me the application. “You wanted to apply to the bookstore, too, right?”

“Yeah.” I frowned at her. “So who was that girl?”

“Madison,” Amy said.

“Who?”

“She used to date my brother. Before Bianca.”

“Huh.” I glanced back as we walked away from the food court. The girl, Madison, was still eating alone. And she looked rather annoyed about it. “For some reason I don’t remember her.”

“Weird.” She shrugged. “Anyway, about Ryder …”

“Right.” We walked into the bookstore and made our way toward the front counter. “I still can’t believe I chatted with him all night.”

“Do you think you like him?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I said. “I just … maybe don’t despise him? Plus, it’s weird now that I know he thought he was talking to you. But maybe it’s not a big deal.”

We reached the counter and I asked the woman behind the register for an application. Once I had it in hand, Amy and I decided to browse the shelves for a while.

“So, what are you going to do?” Amy asked, picking up a copy of Cyrano de Bergerac. She was supposed to read and analyze a play for her drama class.

And then I said possibly the most ironic thing that has ever come out of my mouth. “I’ll just tell him the truth.”

Amy glanced up at me, and the surprise on her face did not go unnoticed. “That’s it? That simple?”

“I mean, it’ll be weird,” I admitted. “‘Hey, Ryder. So I know you thought you were talking to a smoking hot, boobalicious lady the other night, but actually it was me, her moderately attractive but still utterly charming best friend. Sorry about that.’”

Amy balked. “Sonny, don’t say that.”

“What? That you’re boobalicious?”

“Well, that, too,” she said. “But that you’re only moderately attractive. You’re beautiful.”

I laughed. “I love that you’re trying to boost my ego right after I refer to myself as utterly charming. But let’s be serious. Next to you, anyone looks only moderately attractive.”

She ducked her head and picked up another play in order to hide her face.

“Anyway, it’ll be fine. I’ll tell Ryder what happened. It doesn’t have to be dramatic.”

And the funny thing is, at the time, I really believed that.

When Amy and I returned from the mall that afternoon, Mrs. Rush drove me out to the high school. Luckily, it appeared that the battery had died because I’d accidentally left the lights on, not because it needed to be replaced — that would have been a nightmare. But with a little effort and a pair of jumper cables, Mrs. Rush managed to get Gert purring again. Or wheezing, which was a more accurate description. Either way, I was mobile once again.

Which meant I was able to park Gert in the grocery store parking lot, where she waited for me on Monday morning.

Amy had set her own phone alarm to my schedule, and while the shrill siren noise sent me bolting upright, Amy hadn’t even stirred. I’d reset the alarm to her schedule (and turned the volume up a little) before sneaking out of the house.

Most days, I got up early, got ready at Amy’s, then sat in the parking lot until it was time to head to school. Usually, I dozed off in Gert’s front seat, then had to rush to avoid being late for class. Not today, though. Today I forced myself to stay awake.

I knew Ryder always arrived to class early, and I wanted a chance to talk to him before Mr. Buckley started lecturing about the Crusades or the Inquisition or whatever tragic religious conflict we were learning about now. I was hoping to explain what had happened in our IMs, make it known that I no longer thought of him a complete tool bag (only a partial tool bag) and maybe, just maybe, invite him to sit with me at lunch.

Ryder had other plans, however.

As expected, he was already in the classroom when I walked through the door. He was flipping through the pages of our textbook and jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad as he went. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt with some strange logo on it that, even across the room, made his eyes pop more than usual. Once again, I was struck by how attractive he was. And now that I knew he wasn’t 100 percent awful … well, let’s just say there was an uptick in his hotness factor.

All of a sudden, I was nervous. I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off before walking over to him.

“Hey,” I said, sliding into my seat.

He didn’t look up, and I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. So I cleared my throat and said again, “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was flat and he kept on working, not even glancing back at me.

Okay, so maybe this would be harder than I’d thought.

“So, uh … I need to talk to you about something. The other night —”

Suddenly, Ryder spun around in his seat, facing me. But the look on his face was less than kind. His eyes were narrowed and cold. Even in all our bickering, he’d never looked this pissed. I was so surprised that I sat up straight.

“The other night,” he said. “You mean that e-mail I received?”

“Um …”

“Because I know that wasn’t all Amy,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t. But, Ryder —”

“For the life of me, I can’t understand why she’d be friends with someone like you, Sonny.”

No, this definitely wasn’t going as planned. I gritted my teeth. “Will you just shut up and listen to me for a second?”

“I’m done listening to you,” he snapped. “Despite everything you’ve said, Amy and I have a connection. We chatted online all night after that ridiculous e-mail.”

“I’m aware,” I muttered.

“She’s funny and smart and beautiful …”

I rolled my eyes. Because of course. Of course he mentioned how beautiful she is.

“And you,” he said, glaring at me. “You’re just a …”

I waited, knowing what he was going to say. A bitch. Amy was funny and smart and beautiful, and I, Sonny, was just a bitch.

But he didn’t say it. He just shook his head, turned back around in his seat, and mumbled something. I don’t think he meant me to hear it, but I did.

“And you’re not good enough for her.”

My fists clenched beneath my desk. “Yeah?” I said. “Well, neither are you.”

Just then, Mr. Buckley walked in the room, putting a stop to any snappy retort Ryder might have thrown at me next.

Fuck it, I thought. I’d been wrong. Ryder was an asshole. That all-night chat had clearly been a fluke, and there was no point telling him the truth about it. Even if he let me get a word out, he wouldn’t believe me. Or it would just piss him off even more.

So I got my textbook and went right back to hating Ryder Cross.

I don’t know how I met Amy Rush. I’d love to tell you this charming story about how we bonded over a shared box of crayons in preschool or something — and who knows, maybe we did — but I can’t remember. That’s how long ago it was.

I know we were young, three or four, maybe. It was before my dad was arrested for the first time. He used to drive me to her house for playdates on the weekends. Dad told me I could invite Amy over, too, if I wanted, but I never did.

Because even as a little kid, I was embarrassed. At that point, my parents and I were living in a trailer out on the edge of Hamilton. And Amy lived in a mansion. Plus, there was my mom, who, I was convinced, would forget to make us dinner or something. I didn’t want Amy to see where I lived. I guess there have always been parts of my life I kept hidden, even from her.