Owen coughs “bullshit” into his hand, an intimation I decide to ignore.
“We’ll be okay,” I say. “Remember two years ago when I convinced her I could give her an awesome haircut?”
“Mara, you butchered her hair. It was like a faux hawk on meth.”
“Which led to her getting it fixed by a professional the next day, giving rise to her beloved swoop. So really, she should’ve thanked me.”
“Pretty sure she didn’t talk to you for a week.”
“And we got through it. You’re only proving my point.”
He tilts his head toward me. “This is a bit different from a haircut, Mar.”
I swallow through the sudden ballooning in my throat. My fingers itch for my phone, my mind already forming another text, just to check on her. Maybe I should tell her I’m going to the party at the lake with Owen and Alex. Surely she’d at least grace me with a craughing emoji. Instead, I make myself stay put, literally pressing my butt into the roof.
“We’ll be fine,” I say. Because we will. We have to be.
Wheels crunch over gravel, pulling our attention to the driveway and Alexander Tan’s sunshine-yellow Volkswagen Bug pulling to a stop in front of our house.
“I’m never going to get over his car,” I say, getting to my feet and brushing roof grit off my tunic dress.
“He’s lucky he’s not driving around on a Huffy beach bike. Besides, he loves that thing. Even keeps little flowers in the vase by the steering wheel.”
“Only when you put them there. Are you two courting?”
Owen feigns shock as his best friend steps out of his car. Alex’s hair is so dark, it blends in with the rest of the night and nearly disappears. The rest of him is very, very visible. Checkered button-up under a snug gray sweater. Slim dark jeans and boots. He’s the definition of dapper as hell.
“You ready for this?” Owen asks me, standing and stretching like a cat.
“Oh yeah,” I deadpan. “A night of dodging guys with beer breath and perpetual boners. Can’t wait.”
“Maybe they’ll leave you alone if they think you’re still with Charlie. I don’t think the breakup is common knowledge yet.”
I snort a laugh. Thinking I’m not single is the last thing that will keep some of the cretins masquerading as teenage boys at our school from harassing me. It was bad enough when I came out as bisexual last year, but to date a girl? It’s nothing but threesome jokes and passive-aggressive slut shaming every time I venture into the hallway. Lucky for me, Empower’s monthly newspaper is pretty widely read this year, so I get to eviscerate every last one of those jerks on a regular basis. At least on paper.
“Why are you on the roof?” Alex calls, hooking his thumbs into his jean pockets and peering up at us.
“Thought we’d catapult ourselves into the car tonight,” I say. “Sound good to you?”
“Blood and I aren’t exactly friends.”
“Pansy ass,” Owen mutters as he curls his body back through the window. He and Alex have one of those annoying bro-hate-love relationships. The three of us have known one another since the first grade, when we all sat at the same table in Mr. Froman’s class and shared a box of crayons and safety scissors. They constantly berate and nag each other but can barely go a few hours without texting. They’re like Charlie and me . . . without all the queerness.
And recent and extreme awkwardness. Let’s not forget that.
“Um . . . want me to catch you or something?” Alex asks, and I realize I’ve been staring down at him for a good minute.
I inch toward the ledge, dangling one foot into empty space. “Maybe . . .”
“Mara McHale, don’t you dare.” He stumbles toward me and holds up his hands, his long violin-playing fingers splayed wide as if he could really break my fall if I took a dive.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say, letting my foot continue to hang over the edge.
“Don’t be stupid.”
My lip curls involuntarily. “Don’t be a brute.”
“Don’t be so . . . mean.”
