2

W ait, Sophie broke up with you?” I repeat for the seventh time as I slide into the passenger seat, rocked to my core.

“Yup.” He crumples over the steering wheel, head down, wholly distraught before passing me a bright-purple Slurpee (grape) from the gas station and a box of Raisinets from the console between us.

It’s our snack. We drank Slurpees after every shift, every hangout. He’d complain that they were going to rot our teeth, and I’d be too busy nursing a brain freeze to defend it.

I squeeze the Slurpee cup so hard, the flimsy plastic cap pops off. All I see is red, and my mind floods with ill wishes toward Sophie, like getting the one grocery cart with a squeaky wheel, a harsh sun glare while driving that manages to evade the sun visor, or getting declined from using a one-day-expired coupon.

I’m not a spiteful person by any means, but at the thought of someone knowingly crushing Teller’s heart, I go into protective mode. To me, he’s like one of those palm-size sea turtle hatchlings that struggles through sand mounds in hopes of making it to sea. Innocent. Pure. Filled with good intentions. And right now, he looks as though Sophie flipped him over, shell-side down, and abandoned him, leaving him helpless.

I’m tempted to plot some light, innocent revenge. But for Teller’s sake, I keep my anger at bay and be what he needs: a calm, stable presence. I give him a supportive pat on his shoulder, slow-blinking, staring at the dashboard, which is predictably void of dust and debris.

Here’s the thing—Teller and Sophie have been inseparable for three whole years. They met at one of those Shark Tank –esque regional competitions for teens pitching business ideas and immediately became a couple.

Despite being long distance for two years before college, Teller fell hard in love. I should know, because I’m the one he confided in. The one he went to for peer review of his text responses. The one he consulted when deciding on a gift (a gold-plated, heart-shaped locket or a custom star map of the day they met) in celebration of their monthly anniversary. I even helped him pick out her promise ring. As his best friend, that’s my job.

I raise my brow, and a silent exchange passes between us. You’re kidding me.

I wish I were kidding. His chest falls in a shaky exhale.

With anyone else, I’d be firing off questions, itching to fill that dead space. But with Teller, that space is alive in the echo of our belly-busting laughter, tears, the murmur of secrets shared, and the quiet in between.

“What happened?” I finally ask.

We take a quiet moment to sip the icy sugar through our obnoxiously large neon straws. He reclines against the headrest and flexes his fingers over the wheel, measuring his response like always, never saying more than he has to. As someone who habitually word vomits before processing my thoughts, I found these few-beats-too-long pauses a little unnerving at first. But I’ve come to respect that about him.

“ Game of Thrones ,” he finally says. “During exams we decided we wanted to binge-watch a series. You know, a break and reward from studying. We both came up with a list of shows and assigned point values to the ones we wanted to watch the most. Typical geek-and-numbers stuff.”

“Only you could turn TV-watching into a mathematical puzzle.”

The corner of his lip turns up in the briefest smirk as he pulls onto the empty street. “Anyway, when we tallied it all up, we realized we both wanted to watch Game of Thrones .”

“Isn’t that a good thing, wanting to watch the same thing?”

Teller tosses one palm to the ceiling, the other hand still on the steering wheel. “You’d think, but apparently not. She went on this big rant about how we’ve become too predictable. How we agree on everything all the time, like what takeout to get, what music we want to listen to, our daily routine.”

“I thought having things in common was a positive.” I think about all the times Teller gushed to me about how they liked all the same movies and music. How they’re both introverts who prefer to stay in on Friday nights and do a puzzle. How they share a passion for trivia and big data. How they both make every decision logically, with care and precision, no matter how small, like spending a whole afternoon researching which cutlery set to buy for their apartment.

My grandmother used to tell me that having shared interests is the key to lifelong companionship. That’s probably why my parents worked so well with their shared love of science and true crime.

“Same. But Sophie said she felt suffocated and stagnant. Like we were becoming the same person after being together for so long. We both want to go into data science, get the same designations.” He pauses and lowers his chin. “Basically, she decided she wanted college to be about discovering herself. Said she wanted to explore her identity without me, to have new experiences so she doesn’t regret things down the road. And I get it. I don’t want to get in the way of her finding herself. But ...”

“You wish she would do that with you?” I finish for him.

“Exactly. I told her I’d give her some space and let her grow, but that we didn’t need to break up over it. We went back and forth, and she admitted she was bored.” By the way he says bored , I know that hurt him.

My jaw tightens. He’s always been sensitive, even if he tries to mask it with sarcasm.

I pin him with a serious look. “Teller, you’re anything but boring. Your favorite song is ‘Monster Mash,’ for god’s sake.” It’s one of my favorite things about Teller. I only discovered this tidbit when we started sharing a Spotify account last year; it was one of his most-played songs. He was even among the song’s top 1 percent of listeners. I probably should have known, given his affinity for Halloween.

“I still don’t know why you think that’s so weird. It’s incredibly catchy and playful.” He says it so seriously, it makes me snicker. I can picture it now, him bobbing his head stiffly and mumbling the odd lyric, but only during the loud parts when no one will hear him.

“See? Not boring. You are perfect,” I say, tossing him a wink.

“I have no idea what that one is from.” He lifts a shoulder, not into the Guess the Rom-Com game we used to play, but I couldn’t resist this one.

“Come on! It’s Love, Actually .”

“Ah, right.” He pauses, the right side of his mouth curving into a half smile. “You’re sweet, Lo. But you don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I already know I’m boring.”

I thought he was, too, when we first met.

It was the summer before tenth grade. I was fifteen, and Dad had moved us from suburbia to a trendy downtown neighborhood lined with vegan restaurants and fair-trade coffee shops. He claimed it was to be closer to his work, but I knew his true motive. See, after Mom died, he raised me alone. To his credit, he was the best girl-dad, consulting internet tutorials on how to do hair, watching every rom-com in existence with me (even when they made him sad), and learning the lyrics to Taylor Swift songs so he could sing along in the car. But as I entered my “rebellious teenage years,” he needed reinforcements, which was why he wanted to live near Aunt Mei and Aunt Ellen.

My aunts were thrilled; they wanted to mentor the family gift, which they assumed I’d inherited from Mom. She was excellent at all three of our family’s key traditional Chinese fortune-telling practices, but ironically found her true passion in science. But after months of rigorous practice, it quickly became clear I had no abilities. Sure, I could study the rules of palmistry and face reading. But without the natural intuition to go along with it, I was hopeless. I couldn’t even figure out the math involved in Bazi without error. And if I’m being honest, I was a little impatient with the whole thing, angry over the fact that we weren’t also mediums. We couldn’t communicate with Mom or dead people in general, so what was even the point?

“Maybe it’ll take a little longer than normal to get the hang of,” a nervous Ellen suggested. “Our cousin Cece didn’t demonstrate her abilities until, what, fifteen?”

“Cece was twelve,” Mei mouthed, thinking I wouldn’t see. Even twelve was considered late , historically speaking.

My aunts tried their best to mask their disappointment, but I was devastated. It meant I was a talentless failure. And the worst part? I’d have to rely on my own poor judgment to find The One—just like everyone else.

I mourned my loneliness, lack of talent, and, by extension, Mom by channeling my angst the only way I knew how—working my way through an ungodly number of rom-coms. Without my parent’s relationship as a model, at least I could experience love through Kate Hudson or Sandra Bullock. Dad used to make fun of the cheesy one-liners, priding himself on sniffing out plot points a mile away. But the truth is, I think these movies healed us, in a way.

Sure, some of them hit a little too close to home, like P.S. I Love You . Dad had to excuse himself to the bathroom multiple times during that one. But mostly, they made us laugh. All those giddy, fluffy feelings coursing through me when the final credits rolled were addicting. And most of all, they filled me with hope that I could still find happiness like that, even without the family gift.

Admittedly, I got a little too obsessed with experiencing love via the big screen. Once I’d made a perma-body indent in the couch, I decided to apply for a summer job in hopes of meeting new friends before school started.

The Cinema wasn’t one of those flashy franchise theaters with reclined leather seating and 3D panoramic screens. It was a small, locally owned business that strictly played films from 010 or before for five bucks a ticket. It had its own charm, with its red-velvet seats, flickering neon lights, ticket booth with tarnished brass accents, and retro marquee sign with weathered letters displaying the films of the week. Inside was like stepping into a time capsule with its worn merlot carpet that was always flecked with bits of popcorn.

When I limped into the lobby for my first shift with a broken flip-flop, Teller wasn’t pleased.

“You’re half an hour late,” he said from behind the register. Despite his authoritative tone, he looked my age. A mop of thick, dark waves swooped over one eye. He looked deep in concentration as he vigorously scrubbed the counter with a disinfectant wipe. A baggy maroon polo—The Cinema uniform—hung off his thin frame.

“Sorry. They changed the bus schedule and by the time I realized, I had to sprint three blocks to catch it and the thong of my sandal ripped out. It was a whole thing,” I explained, reading the perfectly straight name tag on his chest.

His face contorted in alarm. “Did you just say thong ?”

“Ew, don’t be weird. My flip-flop thong, obviously.” I brandished my broken flower-power-print sandal for emphasis.

His pale face creased in horror before peering over the counter at my bare foot.

“What?” I asked, hitching my shoulders in defense, catching a whiff of chemicals.

“You’re barefoot. In public. You can’t do your shift without shoes.”

I leaned my elbow on the freshly disinfected counter and whispered, “Are you a germaphobe or something?”

“I wouldn’t put my bare skin on a sticky floor covered with dirt, but I don’t think most normal people would,” he added. “Doesn’t mean I’m a germaphobe.”

“I think that’s the exact definition of a germaphobe,” I pointed out, semi-amused. “Did you know germaphobes actually have weaker immune systems?”

“That sounds like a myth to me.”

“It’s not. I haven’t been sick in six years,” I bragged. It was a half-truth. I’d gotten a couple colds here and there. Admittedly, I just wanted to ruffle his feathers a little. Based on his wide-eyed expression, it was working splendidly. He was far too serious for my liking.

“Six years? I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. Here’s the secret: I have two dogs, Brandon and Brian, a bonded pair of chocolate Labs. Brian is the chunky one. Brandon is skinnier but lazy. Anyway, I let them lick my face. Every day.” I leaned in like I was relaying top-secret information.

“Brandon and Brian? Those are terrible pet names.”

“Excuse you, their birth mom named them, and I felt it was only right to respect her wishes.”

He eyed me sideways.

“Wait, did you say you let them lick you on the tongue?”

“I said ‘face.’ But if the moment strikes, they do occasionally lick my tongue. Brandon and Brian are very affectionate boys, especially Brian. Brandon is a bit more temperamental, but when you rub his ears a certain way, he goes cra—”

Teller just shook his head and tossed over a name tag, along with a pair of black Nikes I assumed were his nonwork running shoes. “You’re ... the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

For that first week of training, I assumed Teller had written me off. We barely talked, aside from communicating the essentials, like how to do certain tasks, or when we’d take our breaks. Whenever I sang along to the radio to fill the dead space, he’d wince. During slow periods, our lack of conversation was awkward, to me at least.

Based on Teller’s cordial, yet concise exchanges with customers, I assumed he just didn’t talk much in general. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was shy or straight-up dull, but I had an urge to find out. To make him like me. Besides, I was in desperate need of someone to talk to other than Dad and my aunts—someone my own age.

“So ...,” I said one slow Friday night while sweeping trampled popcorn bits into a small pile. We had only a handful of customers for a showing of Armageddon . As you can imagine, nineties films that stream for free weren’t exactly drawing large crowds.

He eyed me, waiting for me to continue my thought process.

I started rambling about how it’s not going to be easy and how we’ll need to work hard, every day, in a terrible southern twang, trying to keep a straight face.

He squinted at me over the medium soda cups he was stacking in two neat piles of equal height, trying to figure out what the hell I was talking about.

“ The Notebook . It’s what Noah says to Allie,” I explained, copping to my secret. “I’ve been quoting out-of-context rom-com lines to you all week. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I don’t watch a lot of rom-coms. But that does explain some things.”

“Sorry. I get bored sometimes.” I leaned my weight against my broom handle. “Though I’d be less bored if we actually talked. Since we’re working together all summer, shouldn’t we get to know each other?”

“I already know a lot about you,” he said casually, peeling his eyes from his soda-cup pile.

“Like what?”

“You’re a sicko who likes to be barefoot in public places and lets animals near your mouth. You also have a penchant for floral patterns and a talent for memorizing movie quotes.”

“That’s a strangely accurate description of me,” I admitted. I respected his assessment. Most guys probably wouldn’t remember my name. The bar is truly in hell for boys. “But I still don’t know anything about you, aside from the fact that you like Halloween more than is normal.” I only knew that last bit because I’d caught him making his costume (a guard from Squid Game , sleek black face mask and hot-pink jumpsuit) three months in advance.

“Halloween is superior to any other holiday. I stand by it. And fine. Ask me anything.” He sucked in a breath and held it for a couple beats, as though bracing for me to ask him his darkest secrets.

“What’s your favorite animal?” It was an easy enough question, yet very revealing all the same.

A shrug. “I don’t know.”

I furrowed my brow, taken aback and frankly offended on behalf of the animal kingdom. “You don’t know your favorite animal?”

“I’m not an animal lover,” he said calmly, like that was just a totally normal trait, normal as someone not liking cilantro.

A cough tore its way up my throat. “What? You monster! Why?”

“I’m allergic to most of them. Same with my mom. We don’t have pets.”

I blinked, watching him as he moved on to refilling the straw dispenser. “Wait, you’ve never had a pet? Even a hypoallergenic one? A fish?”

“Nope,” he said quickly, turning to a group of preteen girls who came to report a clogged toilet in the women’s bathroom. “Ugh, not again.” Teller let out a long sigh and ushered me to the supply closet.

“All right, this is going to be one of the most important skills you’ll learn at this job,” he said, handing me a face mask, rubber gloves, and a plunger. We geared up like we were entering a biohazardous site and set forth to the toilet.

“Oh god.” I coughed, staring down at the mess, plunger dangling from my limp hand.

“So there’s a technique,” he said, confidently reaching for the plunger. It occurred to me that he was being brave, particularly for a germaphobe.

“A technique ? Does this happen ... often?” I asked, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“A couple times a week, give or take,” he said, voice muffled under the mask. He then proceeded to demonstrate the “technique,” really putting his back into it.

“I still can’t believe you’ve gone your entire life without the unconditional love of a pet,” I said, trying to distract myself from the grossness.

“Is that so weird?” he asked over the gurgle of water.

“Yes, it’s very weird,” I said bluntly. “You’re missing out. There are so many animals that don’t have fur. Like those hairless cats.”

He faux-gagged, stuffing the plunger into the toilet bowl like it personally offended him. “Those things are wrinkled abominations. They totally negate the cuteness of a cat. And it’s not just the fur I’m allergic to. It’s the saliva.”

I tapped his back to switch places. “Here, let me try,” I said, taking the plunger to give it a whirl. “What about a bird?”

“Allergic to feathers. They’re also distantly related to dinosaurs, a disturbing fact that’s seriously overlooked by the general public.”

“A lizard?” I wagered, leaning my full body weight over the plunger.

“Reptiles make me deeply uncomfortable.”

“Fair. What about a goldfish?”

“What’s the point of a goldfish? They just swim around in a little bowl. You can’t hug them or play with them. They give nothing back.”

“Excuse you. My childhood goldfish, Scrambled and Egg, were very affectionate,” I informed him. I held back a snicker at the image of Teller hugging an animal. I wasn’t certain he was capable of being affectionate with anything.

“You had fish named Scrambled and Egg?” he asked, leaning against the stall doorframe.

“Yes,” I said, slightly out of breath from plunging. “And they were basically puppies with fins and no fur. Every time I put my face to the glass, their gills would expand and they’d swim up to the side of the bowl. I swear they’d lick the glass.”

“Lo, they probably just wanted to be fed,” he said, deadpan.

“I like to think it’s because they knew I was their mom.” He cut me a weird look, which made me feel like a huge loser. So I changed the subject. “When’s your birthday?”

He eyed me for a beat longer than normal, like he couldn’t quite figure me out. “Why do you want to know my birthday?” My aunts asked everyone their birthdays to determine their zodiac compatibility, so I assumed it was a perfectly normal question.

“So I can steal your identity,” I said seriously, coming dangerously close to his leg with the dripping plunger. This toilet was impossible. “I’ll take your full name and social security number, too, while I’m at it. Also, I might faint. Can you try again?”

He took over. “Oh, right. Well, just try not to murder anyone. Or do anything too embarrassing to bring shame to my family name.”

“It’ll just be a little light fraud. No big deal. Might even swing by PetSmart and get a fish or two in your name.” I say, watching the rise and fall of the water with each plunge.

“If you get me any animal, I’d like a pony.”

I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly. Either that, or he was being sarcastic, despite an all-too-serious expression. “A pony?”

And he was. “Ponies are my favorite animal, if you insist I have one.”

Who was this guy? “Why ponies of all things? Aren’t you allergic to them too?”

“A hundred percent. But I like them in theory. They’re adorable and mini.”

“Wow,” I said. It was the first moment I felt like there was hope that we could actually have some common ground. “Teller Owens, lover of ponies.”

He covered his mouth over his mask in a quiet chuckle, stare going rigid again when the plunger splashed water onto his shoe. We spent the rest of the evening taking turns trying to unclog the toilet (unsuccessfully) before deeming it a lost cause and calling our manager to get a plumber. It was revolting, but the smile never left my face all night. Because that day I’d accomplished something huge: I’d made Teller Owens laugh for the first time.

I smile at the memory as we pass a particularly bright streetlight that illuminates Teller’s face in dusky gold. I steal a peek at him. His profile is different. His nose is longer, more mature. Even his lips are fuller. It strikes me that he’s a full-on adult now, probably with a ceramic plate set. Certainly not a cupboard full of red Solo cups like Bianca and her roommates. He probably even does his own taxes. And while all these changes on their own are slight, taken together, they’re a stark reminder of the year that’s passed.

“You aren’t boring, Tel. But I’m sorry either way,” I finally say as we pull into my neighborhood. “Any chance she’ll change her mind?”

“I mean, I begged her. Like ... full-on begged. It’s embarrassing to even think about. But she had her mind made up and asked me to move out. So now I’ll need to find a place for next year.” He left most of his furniture in their apartment, and he isn’t sure where he’ll live next year since all his friends have their living situations figured out. I feel terrible for him. He was so excited to have his own place that he could organize just the way he likes. And now he’s losing it.

“That seems abrupt. Do you think she might have been unhappy for a while?”

He frowns, like he hadn’t thought of that before. “Maybe. It’s definitely possible. I’ve tried asking her. You know, for closure. But she isn’t really answering me.”

“How often are you texting her?”

He sighs and looks down at his phone in the cupholder. “I tried a couple of times. As much as I could without making her feel uncomfortable. I understand she needs some space, but I feel like I deserve an explanation, you know? After everything.”

Upon inspection, his conversation with Sophie is entirely one-sided. He’s sent her a couple multiparagraph texts, which are, frankly, sad.

I ’m always here if you want to talk. I love you and miss you and always will. She’s texted him only once in the past week to arrange for sending back his keys.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you’re back for the summer. I was beginning to think you’d never come home,” I admit. It still feels strange, him being here next to me. He wasn’t planning on coming home for the summer, and I’d resigned myself to the idea that Teller would probably never be back in town for longer than a few days.

He gifts me with the tiniest smile and it feels like a reward, given how down he is.

“You know what you need?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t say it.”

“Another pet—”

“No.”

“Why not? Doris needs a friend. And so do you. There’s an adorable white standard doodle at the shelter named Boris. He has the cutest brown nose. You could have a Doris and a Boris.”

“That would be sweet,” he admits. “But my parents are good with one dog. Besides, I have you.” I have you. I let the words marinate for a few moments as we curve around a corner.

“Seriously, though. It’s been too long. Fill me in on the last year, aside from your breakup. And don’t leave out a single detail,” I warn, unable to suppress my chill. I feel this bursting urge inside to make up for lost time. I’d spent so many hours wondering what he was up to, wishing we could be hanging out.

“The past year ...” He whistles and runs his hand through his hair, like he’s sorting through where to begin. “You go first.”

Embarrassment coils through my gut. Where do I even start? Should I dazzle him with how Dad has switched things up, cooking curly fries instead of crinkled? How Brandon developed a questionable lump on his belly? How I convinced our old manager, Cindy, to give me shifts at The Cinema and that it’s the same as it always was, dead slow? Or the fact that I’m questioning my entire life trajectory and maybe-might-have had a vision but I can’t be sure? It feels unfair to dump on him after not seeing him for so long, especially after his life just imploded. “I asked you first.”

He lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Like”—I wave my hands around, trying to come up with an easy question—“what grinds your gears these days?”

“What grinds my gears?” he repeats with a snicker. “Am I an old man or something?”

“That’s exactly what you are. A grumpy elder who calls bylaw on neighborhood kids playing outside past seven and drives below the speed limit.” I nod toward the speedometer to confirm.

He turns his whole body to check his blind spot before taking a right turn. “Hey, safety is cool.”

“You sound like my dad.”

He places a proud palm over his chest. “The highest honor. Eric is my idol.” He’s not lying. Teller and Dad get along swimmingly, probably because they’re both nerds who live and die by order.

“ Anyway , current pet peeves. Go.”

He strokes his chin, pretending to look deep in thought despite already having an answer locked and loaded, like I knew he would. “Okay, fine. I really hate those news articles that turn out to be slideshows. Why do you have to make me click through to read the whole thing? Or download the app?”

“But they always have the coolest pictures.”

“I’m not there for the visual aids. I want the straight-up facts.” Quintessential Teller.

“Okay, what else?”

He fires off the next one just as quick. “People who sign off texts with their name. Yes, Mom, I know it’s you. ”

“My dad does the same thing! He also starts each text with ‘Hi, Lo.’”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. Even indents each paragraph like a formal email. Does your aunt Ellen still create a new Facebook account every time she forgets the password to her last one?”

“Yes. She’s up to about twelve accounts now. How are your parents, anyways?”

“They’ve been living their best lives since we all left home. Actually, when I told them I needed to crash for the summer, they were kind of put out. My dad made a big deal about hauling my bed frame and mattress back upstairs. They’d already transformed my room into a craft room.”

“A craft room?”

“My mom became kind of obsessed with embroidery. Don’t ask. It’s the bane of my dad’s existence. Every time a new package of thread shows up at the door, he loses his mind because he thinks she’s wasting money.”

“Is she?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. But you know how she is—she gets really into things for a short period of time and then abandons them. Like someone I know.” He softly elbows me in the rib.

“ Ha ha. Very funny.” I snicker because it’s true. “Do you have any weird new hobbies or interests I should know about?”

“Well, I’ve taken up kickboxing.”

My brows shoot up. I didn’t expect him to have a new interest, mostly because Teller is such a creature of habit. “Kickboxing? You?”

He gestures to his torso, mildly offended. “Does it not look like I kickbox?”

“I noticed you got scarily fit. But I guess I just assumed you magically sprouted those muscles overnight,” I tease, noting how he looks away bashfully. “How did you find yourself in a kickboxing gym of all places?”

“A guy from my program, Greg. He’s pretty into it and convinced me to join a session. I was really stressed about those first midterms, and I guess it became an outlet. Doing it every morning makes a huge difference with my anxiety. It’s like a total reset.”

“Damn. And here I am sporting the freshman ten.”

“You look great, Lo,” he says sweetly, his eyes lingering over mine briefly before turning his car into my driveway. “And living at home must be amazing. You get home-cooked meals and your laundry done.”

I work down a swallow. “Well, unless I want Dad’s frozen specials, I do most of the cooking these days. Though I’m missing out on the whole adulting experience. Dad still keeps close tabs on my whereabouts.” My first choice was to live on campus, but given my college of choice is in town and my house is ten minutes away, Dad didn’t think it was worth the expense. Plus, I couldn’t fathom leaving Brandon and Brian, or Dad—especially Dad. The two of us have been a package deal since Mom died. I’ve never gone more than a few days without seeing him, with the exception of when Aunt Mei brought me to New York City for a long weekend in eighth grade. Even then, Dad FaceTimed me daily. “Bianca keeps trying to convince me to get an apartment with her next year, but I feel too guilty leaving Dad at home alone.”

“Why? Do you think he’d be lonely?”

“A hundred percent. I mean, he’s never said it outright, but he wouldn’t know what to do without me there. Who would walk the dogs? Or pack his lunch? Watch TV with him in the evenings?” Sadly, Dad’s entire life revolves around three things: work, comic books, and me. Oh, and complaining while watching rom-coms with me but secretly loving every second. Dad hasn’t dated since Mom died, nor does he really socialize, except with Jones and Arjun, two forensic-nerd colleagues he occasionally sees Marvel movies with.

“Understandable. But I think he’d be happier if you’re doing what makes you happy. Besides, you’d only be like, ten minutes away.”

I’m not entirely sure about that, given his reaction to my monthlong backpacking trip. I already feel guilty enough about that. So much so, I secretly asked Arjun to arrange a weekly D&D night while I’m gone, in lieu of our father/daughter movie nights. Aunt Ellen also assured me she plans to ask him to fix a bunch of her electronics since she’s terrible with technology, which should keep him busy.

I don’t take my seat belt off. I’m not ready to end our conversation, and clearly neither is he, because he turns off the ignition. “Speaking of doing things that make me happy, did I tell you I’m going to Italy?”

He raises his brows in surprise. “You’re finally going to Italy? When?”

“In two days. For a month, with Bianca. We’re gonna backpack around the country and eat our weight in gelato and pasta.”

“Backpacking, huh? You better not become one of those Well, back when I did Europe people.” He mimics an obnoxious British accent.

I snort, knowing exactly who he’s mocking. Cindy. She was a manager at The Cinema for about two weeks before jetting off to Thailand. She’d spent a year abroad, returning for a few months to make money before going back again. Cindy was notorious for adopting a fake British accent and always found a way to bring up what countries she “did.” Everything was “I’ve done Egypt,” “I’ve done Scotland. You have to go.” Teller and I used to laugh about how she’d take pictures with unsuspecting orphans and poor people she met on her travels, treating them like props to get likes. According to her socials, she’s now a Reiki healer in the Costa Rican jungle.

“So you’ll be gone a whole month?”

I let out a groan. “Of course, the one summer you come home, I’m gone.”

“We’ll still have half of summer when you get back,” he reminds me. “And be careful with the gelato. You are lactose intolerant even if you’re in permanent denial.” He always reminds me of the time I got violently ill in his car after eating too much ice cream.

Shockingly, he didn’t kick me out of his car and banish me from his life entirely. Instead, he reached over the console to hold my hair back. That was probably the moment I knew for sure Teller was a true friend.

He’s looked out for my stomach ever since, promptly reminding me I can’t eat cheese or ice cream or anything that makes life remotely worth living. Annoying as it may be, I’m grateful.

“So where are you guys staying? In hostels?”

“Exactly. My mom and aunt stayed in hostels when they went, since they had no money. Well—except for one place. My grandparents gifted them a baller agriturismo called Villa Campagna in Tuscany,” I explain, recalling a photo Mei has on her mantel. It’s of her and Mom, playfully posing with exaggerated confidence, chins and pinkies up, on the balcony of the villa. According to Mei, she and Mom felt laughably out of place among the wealthy, middle-aged guests, so they told everyone they were tobacco heiresses. No one actually believed them, which was the best part.

“What’s an agriturismo?”

“Kind of like a farm stay, on a vineyard. Not that it matters. I looked it up on Expedia and it still exists, but it’s like a bazillion dollars a night, so hostels it is.”

“Hostels with ... communal showers?” He whispers communal like a church boy uttering a swear word. I can’t help but chuckle.

“Absolutely. It’s the only way we can afford it.”

A dramatic shiver. “Make sure you check your bed daily for bedbugs. Under the mattress, around the frame.”

I give him a light smack on the bicep. “There won’t be bedbugs. They’re extremely rare, but it makes the majority of hostels look bad.”

“Google reviews don’t lie. And it’s not necessarily the hostel’s fault. The bugs come in off the hundreds of people traveling through who don’t even know they’re infested.”

I smirk. There’s no arguing with him. “Well, I’ll let you go. I feel like I’m delaying your sacred nighttime ritual.”

“I don’t have a nighttime ritual.”

“I doubt you, Teller Owens, just plop into bed without a bubble bath, brushing your teeth, flossing, sipping some detox tea, meditating—”

“First, I would take a shower. Baths are just soaking in your own filth. Two, everyone brushes and flosses, or at least they should,” he informs me. “And don’t knock my mindfulness podcasts. I need them to fall asleep. You’d listen to them, too, if you lived in my house. It’s chaos.”

He’s the middle of three boys. And while Teller is impressive on his own, he’s convinced he’s the invisible middle child next to Kurt, a newly minted foot doctor, and Nick, who’s competed on every reality TV game show known to man ( Big Brother , Survivor , The Challenge ) and won zero. He’s got this “villain” persona that’s made him popular, allowing him to make a whole career of it (and peddling random products on social media).

Teller once told me in jest that he thought he was adopted, or switched at birth, because he was so different from the rest of them. He even looks different. His brothers are fair, with blondish hair and light eyes. Teller inherited his darker features from his grandmother.

The first time I went to his house, his theory of invisibility was confirmed. In all the chaos zigzagging around in the family room, neither brother bothered to acknowledge him, except for Nick, who took the time to ask why “someone like me” would hang out with “someone like him.”

I spot Dad peering through a crack in the curtains. Even though I’m nineteen, he still can’t sleep until I’m safe at home. As a recovering military child, Dad grew up with strict curfews—not that he went out anyways.

“I better go in. Let’s hang out tomorrow? You need to get out of the house before you spiral into a depression.” Teller’s always curled into his shell when he’s sad.

“Who says I’m gonna spiral?”

I dart a knowing look. “If you could, you’d spend days in your room with your galaxy light, sulking and listening to Coldplay or something equally depressing.”

“Don’t knock Coldplay. They have emotional depth, okay? And I’ll have you know I’m keeping busy. I begged my mom to give me some shifts at Roasters. I’m working tomorrow, six to three.” His mom’s coffee shop is just a couple blocks from my house.

“Perfect, I’ll meet you at the end of your shift. Thanks for the ride, Tel,” I say, exiting before he can come up with an excuse.

Gooseflesh erupts along my bare arms and stomach from the chilly spring air. Before going inside, I fire off a text to my aunts in the group chat.

Lo: so ... something interesting happened tonight.

Mei: Define interesting. Do you need me to pick you up somewhere?

Ellen: Hello?

Ellen: Hurry up. Tell us! I can’t handle the suspense.

Mei: If you don’t respond in 5 min, we’ll assume you’ve been arrested or are in the hospital.

Lo: sryy for the delay, just got home. dad wanted a play-by-play of the night.

Lo: PS. i like how you assume something tragic happened to me.

Ellen: You don’t have the best luck or track record, sweetie.

Mei: Yes, your life is kind of a series of unfortunate events.

Lo: true. But I think I might have ... maybe had a vision??

Lo: I Think

Lo: maybe not. IDK.

Ellen: !!!!!!!!!!!!!! FaceTime me in!! Hank is gone this weekend so I’m here with Maisey.

Mei: I’ll be over first thing in the morning.

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