“Are you kidding? I’mstarving.” Her tone brightens. “Hot pot? But—ugh, I don’t even want to go outside in case I run into him.”
I glance around. Empty. “Nah, no worries. The coast is clear.”
“What? Oh!” On the other end, I hear her scrambling. She must have accidentally stepped on the cheese puff bag, but she seems unbothered. There’s elation in her voice. “Are you outside? What the heck, Patrick!”
Before I can confirm, she flings open the front door.
I grin. “Surprise.”
We hang up our phones. She’s wearing a striped pink shirt that matches the scrunchie in her hair, which is half up, half down. Sara cut her hair before senior year because she wanted a sophisticated and chic look, something that made her look older and wiser and less like a child. It worked, if you ask me. She got bangs, too, except she’s always pinning them back so they’re out of her face.
Her eyes dance with excitement. “Hot pot?”
“Fine.” I’m only acting like I’m bothered. I love hot pot. “I’ll let you choose tonight’s meal even though it’s my money. My treat, after all.”
She tugs a lavender sweater over her head then slips into her sneakers. “Hey, I’m the one who gave you all that money, you dork.”
I laugh. “You didn’t give methismuch.”
I reach into my pocket and then theatrically display an array of twenties.
“Yeah, I did, Patrick.” She closes the door behind her, locking it with her key. “Even more than that, actually.”
“Nuh-uh, just look”—I wave the money in her face—“at all these bills.”
She playfully swats me away. “You already spent half of it, didn’t you?”
“I’ll never tell.”
It’s clear she doesn’t want to wait around for the elevator and risk running into Subwayboy, so we take the stairs.
Sara’s smart—really, she is—it’s just calculus that doesn’t stick. And she’s already had a hard day. Nobody wants to hang at school longer than they have to, so she deserves this. Yeah, most of itisher money, but her cash has brought us together now, if you think about it, and that’s what really counts.
When she grins up at me, an enthusiastic skip in her step, I know this was a good idea. It’s senior year, she’s my best friend, and we’re as inseparable as ever.
I’d bet anything that isn’t going to change.
ELEVEN
Sara
My eyes are heavy at breakfast the next morning, a general tiredness hanging in my bones. How is it only Tuesday? The week just started and it already feels never-ending.
I’m taking a bite of toast when Dad peers over his coffee, studying me. A crinkle of dissatisfaction deepens across his forehead. He was at the office late last night—which isn’t shocking, considering he often works long hours. I’m never sure how he manages to summon enough energy in the mornings after crunching numbers for so long.
It’s a shame I didn’t inherit his mathematics capabilities. If I had, I wouldn’t have to go to calculus tutoring with Subwayboy.
“When did you go to bed last night?”
“Huh?” I take a bite, toast crumbles falling on my skirt. I brush them away. “Sure.”
He uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch his forehead, like I’m giving him a headache. “That’s not what I asked. Were you out late with that boy Patrick again?”
My eyes jump to his. I set down my toast. “Hm?”
“You know I don’t like you hanging out with him so much.”
“Daaad,” I groan. Ugh, he’s so overprotective sometimes. “It’s fine. We were just eating dinner.”
