“This is Lila.”

Who says, “I’d shake, but we’ve been garbage picking. Is there somewhere I can wash up?”

“This way.” I show her to the bathroom, decorated in Aztec style, with orange and yellow accents. In the middle of winter, it’s a burst of much-needed warmth.

“Cute house.”

I beam because my aunt and I spent hours picking out things together; she said it would make me feel more at home—and she was right. I love this house. It’s pretty much the only real home I’ve had since I was seven years old.

“Dinner’s done!” Aunt Gabby calls.

At first, Lila is skeptical of seitan tacos, but once we load them up with peppers, onions, cheese, pico de gallo, and sour cream, her eyes say, “yum.”

“I’d probably eat a shoe, prepared like this.”

My aunt grins. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“You should try her lasagna,” I say, three tacos later. “She makes it every other Sunday because the cheese poundage she uses is a sin somewhere.”

Lila laughs. “I could be down with copious amounts of cheese. Huh. Why does that sound so wrong?”

I make the I-can’t-even face at her while snarfing the last of my black beans and corn.

Smiling, Aunt Gabby starts to clear the table, but I jump to my feet. “No way, it’s my turn.”

Though I don’t say so, it’s always my turn. I have to earn my keep. Lila raises a brow at me; I guess she’s never seen anyone so eager to clean up. I have my reasons.

My aunt relaxes back into her chair with a tired, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

It’s nice listening to them talk while I work. My aunt seems to like Lila, who’s on her best behavior, though she’s still a little sharp on some notes. She wouldn’t be herself without a little sarcasm. Their laughter is warm, contented, and I enjoy the feeling. It occurs to me that this is the perfect time to talk to my aunt, while there’s a witness.

“Uhm. I have good news and bad news,” I say at the next pause.

Aunt Gabby comes over to the sink, propping a hip beside me. “Bad first.”

This is SOP for us. “I got two Fs, both in geometry. One was a test, the other a quiz.”

Through clenched teeth, she asks, “What’s the good news?”

“I found a tutor, and I think I did a lot better on the quiz I took today. He said he can help me bring my grade up to a B by the end of the term.”

“That is good news. Okay.” Aunt Gabby exhales, pushing the stress out of her body. “I’ll spot you a couple of bad grades, but you better not bring me a D or an F on your report card.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“I’ll have to get medieval.” She tries to maintain a stern look but she just can’t do it, and we both burst out laughing. “So, a he-tutor? A not-Ryan he?”

Oh, crap.

“Yeah.” Hopefully I’m not the color of a Christmas ornament right now.

“Hot?” she asks Lila.

Who tilts her head and asks, “Shane?”

I nod.

“Then yeah,” she tells my aunt. “A little grunge, a little emo, but a hundred percent cute.”

“He is not emo.”

“Sorry. Dreamo.” She’s not sorry at all; she’s loving this, and so is my aunt.

Who asks, “Is that a thing?”

“No,” I say at the time Lila answers, “Totally.”

“Dreamo is not a thing.”

Lila has an argument ready. “Sure it is. Dreamy plus emo equals dreamo. Shane.”

Aunt Gabby laughs. The worst part is, if she means it, like, he daydreams a lot and doesn’t talk much, then yeah. Well, whatever. I’m not bickering with them. Muttering, I finish up the dishes, and by this time, it’s almost nine.

“Where do you live, Lila?” my aunt asks. “I can run you home.”

“It’s not that far. I could walk—”

“Forget it,” I say. “Unless you plan on letting her cover you in reflective tape.” The irony of me coming across protective with Shane doesn’t escape me.

“Never. Not in a thousand years.” Lila shakes her head repeatedly.

“Then get in the car.”

While my aunt gets her keys, Lila hugs me unexpectedly. “Thanks. Your aunt is great. I mean, seriously great. You’re so lucky.”

“I know.”

“The way you two are together, it’s seems so easy. You can actually talk to her without worrying she’ll rip your head off or give you an hour lecture.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky all right.”

But I wonder if Lila would still think that if she really knew me. I wonder if she’d still want to be my friend.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When my aunt gets back from dropping Lila off, I remember to ask, “Do you know of any place that’s hiring?”

She cocks her head. “Aren’t you happy at the Curly Q?”

“Not for me. For my friend. Shane.”

“The dreamo guy who’s tutoring you in geometry?” She knows perfectly well who he is.

But I nod anyway. “Yeah, he could use a part-time job after school.”

“I saw a sign that they were looking for somebody over at the P&K.”

“Better than DQ. I’ll let him know. Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” She sinks down onto the couch with a weary sigh.

I head to the kitchen to make tea; it’s our nightly ritual, one we started early on, so we’d always have a few minutes a day to catch up. Prowling through the cupboards, I look at all the interesting and exotic choices. Tonight seems like it calls for some green matcha, so I boil the water and prepare the cups. There’s something calming about the process, and by the time I bring the cups back to the living room, she’s already curled into the pillows.

See how helpful I am? There’s no reason to send me back to state care. I’m an asset. I don’t cause trouble. I make your life easier. I hope she thinks that when I do nice things. I hope she keeps me.

She takes the mug and warms her fingers around it before taking a sip. “So tell me.”

“How do you know there’s anything up?”

“You just confirmed it.”

I have to smile. It would be impossible for me to put anything over on my aunt. She’s ridiculously smart. So I dump the whole mess with Ryan in her lap, hoping it will distract her from Shane. I am not ready to talk about him. Maybe there’s nothing to say, anyway.

“So,” I finish, “do you think I’m overreacting?”

She looks positively astonished. “Ryan? We’re really talking about Ryan.”

“Yep. Apparently he’s got game.”

“I suppose this explains a few things,” she says thoughtfully.

I summon a smile. “I kinda wish he was gay.”

Aunt Gabby ticks the points off her fingers as she considers. “Let see if I have this straight. You’re hurt because he went after some older girl when you kind of liked him. You’re upset that he used and lied to you … because that’s not the way you treat a friend.”

“That’s the gist.”

“Do you still like him?”

“Not as a boyfriend. But … I’ll probably forgive him. Eventually.”

“Then you need to ask yourself why you’re punishing him. Is it ego or are you trying to teach him a lesson?”

“I’m not—” I start, but I totally am.

I’m changing my life, hoping he’ll see how awesome I am and be sorry he went after this Cassie person instead. Which is so immature since I don’t even want to be with him. Sometimes I hate how perceptive my aunt is. She’s also incapable of being mean to anyone, even the hyper-querulous Mr. Addams, who gets in line with four things at the P&K and then argues for half an hour about the price of three of them. Gabby says he’s just lonely.

“You think I should forgive him, don’t you?”

“Is it worth damaging your friendship permanently?” she asks. “Everybody makes mistakes, sweetheart. But if you can live with the possibility that this silence between you might last forever, if that’s what you want, then go ahead.”

“No,” I say softly. “But I also don’t want the whole school thinking we’re back together.”

“Make it clear you’re not.”

“How?” I demand.

“Post it on Facebook.”

Sometimes she just doesn’t get it. “It’s not like the whole school sees my wall. And it would be so lame to write, ‘Dear World, I have forgiven Ryan McKenna, but we are not dating.’”