It’s an innocent gesture, but it’s out of habit, and Dylan knows where it’s coming from.

He may have brushed past the mention of James, but my breaking the dividing line between us was not warranted, apparently. He acts like I’ve betrayed him, somehow, by offering him warmth and closeness.

“What are you doing?” Dylan asks, tearing his arm from my grasp.

“I don’t even know,” I say.

“I’m not him, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m not a replacement because he’s unavailable, Reed.”

“Of course you’re not—”

“God, it’s like you can’t function without the idea of him,” he says sharply. “I told you, you need to get your independence, Reed, not substitute me or whoever else is around in his place. You can’t even walk on your own.”

He flings open the door, and I follow him, realizing that his scolding might have revealed more about his insecurities than mine.

His reaction last Friday is starting to make a lot more sense.

“What am I buying?” Dylan snaps, gesturing helplessly to the store.

I shake my head in disbelief before I grab a basket and fill it with a variety of bars and bags of sweet, savory, sour, and melty treats.

The total comes to just over twenty dollars, which is actually kind of impressive when you’re only buying candy. I slide the cash across the counter before Dylan can argue with me about another thing.

When we’re back in my car, the lightness is gone, but it doesn’t stop me from insisting he try every single candy bar I bought on the way home.

All things considered, I think he enjoys the experience.

And I do, too.

12

“Let’s go to the movies tonight,” James says.

I already planned on working more on my essay tonight. In the week since I’d started my outline at the Archer family home, I’ve added a few sentences to it, and I planned on knocking out a few more after James’s track meet and a nice long bath.

“Come on,” he says, nudging my elbow with his. “We’ve barely hung out all week.”

That’s because James is in a dating phase where he spends every single spare minute with his tongue down Lyla’s throat. I’m just glad he’s busy with track or else her productivity with the yearbook would dramatically decline.

This sort of behavior is standard for him. It’s kind of a relief that I’ve never had a boyfriend or relationship that distracted me from my schoolwork in that way. I don’t think I would want to be with someone who derailed me and my plans like that.

James, of course, has the benefit of copying my notes, whereas I’d be totally screwed.

“Okay,” I agree.

I suppose my essay could wait until tomorrow, even though I blocked off the first half of the day to study for my Physics midterm before my parents drag me to one of their regular company outings.

Accounting seems like a terribly boring profession, but they seem to try and change the stereotype with “family friendly” outings each month. Tomorrow, we’re doing a group cooking class, and they insist that I can’t stay home.

“What do you want to see?” I ask.

I know that he’s going to try and make me sit through a new action movie. It looks very bloody and intense.

He shrugs. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet. Just wanted to make sure you’re free.”

It’s a harmless statement, but it sits strangely with me.

A few times this week, he has texted me, asking what I’m up to with no intention of hanging out. He’s checking in with me more than usual. Spending time with Dylan last week must have really thrown him for a loop, but he didn’t bring it up after our text exchange.

Dylan and I have seemingly crossed the line into not quite being friends but also existing on a more personal level. I read through and gave him the thumbs up on the essay on the Billy Collins poem. He worked on a short answer assignment on the dashboard of my car after practice and yearbook earlier this week.

Now, I can practically feel the tension radiating off James beside me in Independent Study.

I got so caught up in reading last night that I didn’t realize it was midnight until I went to bed. I’ve been dragging all day, and I’m ready for the day to be over so that I can go home, change out of my uniform and binge on popcorn in a dark movie theater. Even if it’s not my first choice of movie, it’ll be nice to just relax and be entertained for a bit.

When the hours pass and I’m finally at home, rifling through the fridge for something that will soak up all the oil and butter I’m about to ingest, James texts me.

Change of plans, H. Team party at Brandon’s tonight.

Brandon isn’t on the team, and according to him, he doesn’t regularly attend meets, so I’m curious as to how this came together. I don’t dwell on it for long because I’m so relieved that I get to stay home instead.

Before you can come up with an excuse to get out of it, don’t bother. You’re coming with me. I’ll pick you up at 7.

I groan. James, I’m not really up for socializing tonight.

Please, H?

I chew on my lip. I guess it wouldn’t be so horrible to spend time with Brandon again. And I am kind of curious as to how everyone looks outside of their school and track uniforms.

Maybe we can just make an appearance and then I can convince James to leave early.

You owe me popcorn, I tell him.

On the bright side, I have a few hours to get ready, so I take my time doing so.

After I’m showered and dried, I pull on my fluffy robe and video call Audrey, who is also in the process of getting ready for her night out.

“I have a date tonight,” she announces when the connection goes through. “So whatever crisis of the mind you’re having, it can’t take up more than an hour of my time.”

“And I have a party to go to,” I say with a cringe.

Her eyes, slightly pixelated from the internet in her college dorm, bug out. “A party? My sister? No way.”

“What do girls normally wear to parties?” I ask her.

I’m pretty sure the last time I went to an event for kids my own age, treat bags were handed out.

“Short skirt, heels, crop tops, things you wouldn’t be caught dead in,” she admits.

Innocent.

Cute.

Predictable.

The words James has used to describe me haunt me in that moment.

“No,” I say as strongly as I can.

“No what?”

“I’m going to go to your closet, flip the camera, and you’re going to pick out my outfit for me. Shoes, hair, make-up, everything.”

“Is this some sort of trick?” Audrey asks.

“Nope.”

She takes a long, deep breath. “Okay then.”

I feel a little bit like we’re kids again and playing dress-up.

She has me angle the phone so I can try on half her closet while she applies fake eyelashes, which she insists are a necessity for every night out. Unfortunately, she won’t have time to walk me through the process, so I’ll have to do a few extra coats of mascara instead.

By the time she’s off for dinner with a hockey player and I’m waiting for James to pick me up, I feel like a total fraud.