Penn grins. “Hey, I only bite when there’s an invitation.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I resent how much he still loves to get a rise out of me. And I really hate how much he does. “Leave me alone, Penn.”
He gets quiet. “Is everything okay?”
My eyes drift back to his. There’s a thin scar etched into the middle of his left eyebrow from when he convinced Ryan to jump off the shed with him in third grade. As Penn studies me, his thick brows furrowed together, the slanting scar becomes a vertical stripe. His expression teeters far too close to concern, and I can’t stand it.
“I’m fine. I just…When did you hire Theo Ford?”
Penn rubs his chin, well aware I’m diverting the conversation. Thankfully, he lets me. “Last month. Remind me: Did you get a plaque for being president of his fan club? Or was it more of a medal situation?”
This is the misfortune of knowing someone as long as I’ve known Penn. They know your skeletons, and mine include the humiliating crush I had on Theo back in grade school.
To be fair, I wasn’t alone. As a tween, Theo Ford looked like he belonged on the cover ofTiger Beatmagazine, all swoopy blond hair and sparkling green eyes. He knew it, too. In middle school, he attended an open casting call and snagged the sidekick role on a popular cheesy drama,Noah and the Weekenders. By high school, though, he was back in Lakeville—less Hollywood heartthrob,more hometown hero. And now he’s an enthusiastic presence on Cameo.
“I plead not guilty,” I tell Penn. “We were just conditioned to like bowl cuts back then.”
His laugh is bright. “Theo should bring that back. Might double his tips.” Eyeing me sideways, he adds, “You’ll never guess where he’s living.”
“Where?”
“Mrs. Baker’s carriage house.”
I snort in disbelief. Penn, Ryan, and I grew up too scared to trick-or-treat at Mrs. Baker’s house, convinced she was an actual witch. She lived in a small brick house down the street, and when she wasn’t screeching at Penn, her curtains were drawn.
“She hated me,” Penn says. “Thanks to you.”
“Me? I’m not the one who hit her fence with a paint gun.”
“You gave her my name.”
“I wasn’t going to lie on your behalf. It’s not my fault you can’t behave yourself.”
His eyes flash to mine. He presses his fingers to his lips, scrubbing like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something, or to wipe away the cocky smirk that appears anyway. “You might be surprised,” he says. “Baker’s gotten fond of me in her old age. I grow on people.”
“Only the senile ones.”
Penn’s laugh cuts short as someone behind us clears their throat. Our gazes swing sideways to find Connor, whose eyes leap between Penn and me.
Penn shoots me a look, then stands. On shaky legs, I follow suit, unsure how to play this. I can’t let Penn know anything’swrong, but I can hardly look at Connor. For years he’s been my safest space, and now I can’t even meet his eyes.
Perhaps I should just fling myself into the dumpster and hope for the best.
“Well,” Penn singsongs, grinning wickedly at Connor. “If it isn’t the handsome killjoy.”
Connor’s jaw ticks. In a patronizing tone he reserves just for Penn, he says, “You’ll have to excuse us. Ruby and I were in the middle of something.”
More like the end of something.
Penn’s lip twitches. I can almost see his brain cycling through the many jokes he loves to lob at Connor: jabs about his self-imposed curfew, his blue oxford shirts, his rigid diet. Penn never fails to call out the many ways that Connor, like me, is inflexible. Or used to be, anyway. Apparently, Connor tossed aside his rulebook, and me, and everything else I’ve ever known to be true about him.
I’m taking the job, Ruby.
The pang that slices through my chest is so sharp, I clutch at it.
Penn reaches for me. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No.”
