“So which of those ideas do you think I should use for the diorama, Meen? I can’t pick.” Gracie stared at me over the table, her face and lips scrunched up in a look of agonized indecision.

“I . . . um . . .” I squeezed my mug and frantically tried to pull up what Gracie had just been saying. Science, I think. Ocean? Space?

A cheery loud knock came from the front door. My mom dropped the spoon she was rinsing and Gracie jumped from her chair, the question over the diorama already forgotten. I exhaled, relieved to be off the hook. But then I remembered.

Jesse. My heart thudded. And my palms—those damn palms—were already sweating again. I had never mentioned Jesse’s offer to my mom. And now he was here, on my porch, ready to take me to school.

“Oh, right. Mom, I forgot to tell you that a friend was picking me up today.” I pushed my chair back and stood up so fast, I almost spilled the rest of my coffee on Gracie’s curious upturned face. “A friend from work. Jesse. The boy who, you know . . .”

Recognition flashed in my mom’s eyes before I had to finish, along with a suspicious glint that made my cheeks burn.

Jesse knocked again, and I grabbed my backpack from the floor as I rushed to get the door. I looked over my shoulder to say bye, and jumped when I saw that my mom and Gracie were both right behind me, following me down the hall.

My stomach flipped and I almost tumbled over the step leading up to the front door. I forced myself to smile as I swung the door open.

“Hey, Jesse.”

“Hey, Mina.” Jesse smiled back at me, of course, and I couldn’t help noticing that he looked especially adorable, standing there in a faded vintage bomber jacket and dark green pinstripe pants, his curly hair still wet and tangled from the shower. His warm brown eyes shifted from me back to my mom and Gracie, who opened the door wider as they huddled behind me.

“Hi, I’m Jesse,” he said, reaching out his hand to my mom. Gracie latched on first, pushing her way past me as she pumped his arm vigorously up and down.

“I’m Gracie. Mina’s little sister. Well, not that little anymore. But still her sister.”

I could tell Jesse was holding back a laugh, but he caught himself, mirroring Gracie’s own very serious expression. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mina’s not-so-little sister.”

My mom gently pulled Gracie away from Jesse. “Thanks for picking Mina up, Jesse. I hope it wasn’t too far out of your way.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Dietrich. I actually just live a few roads over, so I’m happy to give Mina a ride whenever.”

My mom chuckled and draped her arm around my shoulders. “That’s lovely, really, because between you and me, Mina’s father and I breathe much easier when she’s in the passenger seat. A little too skittish to be behind the wheel, if you ask me.”

“I am standing right here, Mom, so I can actually hear you,” I said, shooting her what I hoped was a subtly threatening look. “On that note, time to go.” I kissed my mom and Gracie on the cheeks and darted across the porch, motioning for Jesse to follow me.

He still beat me to the passenger side of his fire-engine-red pickup truck, which, based on the rust around the headlights and the dents clustered along the rear, was quite the antique.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the pickup truck type,” I said, ignoring the hand he held out to help me climb up to the seat. “Seems too—I don’t know—rural and uncivilized for you.” I cringed, wondering if that had sounded more judgmental than I’d intended. “I just mean that you seem like more of an old rusty Beetle or Saab type of guy. You know, smart, edgy, a touch of Euro cool.”

He laughed as he started toward the driver’s side. “It’s the newsy cap, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s the whole mysterious loner thing, am I right? I’m just one big walking stereotype.”

“No, not at all, I . . .” He was right, it was exactly that. I was kicking myself for saying anything about the truck at all—kicking myself because once again I’d assumed I’d known more about Jesse than I really did. I’d assumed he was just that easy to read.

He saved me, though, continuing on as he climbed into the seat next to mine. “Well, my dad’s certainly not a Beetle type of guy, and this was his for the past fifteen years or so before he bequeathed it to me. He’s in construction, so it’s always a pickup truck. And it’s not so bad, really; it’s actually pretty useful. I have an uncle on my mom’s side of the family who does a lot of camerawork in the Philly area for low-budget indies—documentaries, things like that—and I help him out a lot on nights and weekends when I’m not at Frankie’s. The truck comes in handy for carting around cameras and props and whatnot. There’s no money in it for me and I’m basically everyone’s slave, but I want to major in film at college next year. I figure I should soak up whatever experience I can.”

“That’s really cool,” I said quietly. My lips suddenly felt too dry to speak actual words. What was wrong with me? Pull yourself together, Mina. I glanced around the front seat as he pulled out of my driveway, searching for anything that could possibly be the next subject of conversation. It was surprisingly nondescript and neat for a guy’s car, especially compared to the scattered hoodies and empty coffee cups that rolled around my backseat every day.

He reached out for the radio, twisting the knob until the static dimmed and the sound of “Sweet Home Alabama” covered any awkward silence. I grinned and rolled down my window, letting the cool morning air mix with the smell of soil and metal that hovered in the truck. There was something about the scent that I liked—it smelled real and earthy and made me feel protected from the world outside.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way to school, though we both tried our best to sing along with the random oldies station he’d landed on—me humming through the vague parts, Jesse creatively improvising the lyrics he didn’t know. For those ten minutes I could almost forget that it was a Monday morning, that we were on our way to school, and that I’d soon inevitably be seeing Izzy and a whole crowd of other undesirable faces. Almost.

I resisted the urge to slouch down and duck as we pulled into the school parking lot.

I had no one to hide from. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Jesse turned the music down to a barely audible buzz. “Are you okay, Mina?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, more for myself than for Jesse. “I’m totally fine. Really.”

I pushed open my door before Jesse could ask any other questions. I scanned the lot and saw Hannah standing alone at her car in the next row, lost in her usual morning daze as she mentally ticked through the list of everything she might have forgotten already that day. All her books and assignments? School ID, lip gloss, lunch money? I smiled to myself, relieved that Hannah was still so completely familiar to me—relieved that some people and some things in my life hadn’t changed.

“Hannah!” I called out, my hands cupped around my lips. She looked up, turning her head left and right as she searched for my usual silver Jetta. When she zeroed in on me standing in front of the red truck, her head tilted in confusion.

I’d talked to Hannah on the phone the day before, but I’d been too distracted by other things to mention Jesse—I told her about Gracie and Izzy, of course, but most of the conversation revolved around the fact that Hannah had finally become an aunt that weekend. She’d spent most of the time at the hospital with her sister, Lauren, and her precious new baby niece, Ella, and was busy cooing to me about everything I had to look forward to—and how much love I would instantly feel for such a tiny little human being.

“Babies are such miracles, Meen!” she’d screamed into the phone, cracking up when she realized the irony of her words. “Though maybe yours qualifies just a bit more than Ella.”