“Okay, Sloane, your turn,” Mrs. K says.

I hand over my flash drive, and soon my portfolio cover slide is projecting onto the screen. But before she can plug it into the computer, Jenna comes bursting into the room.

“It’s gone,” she gasps.

Mrs. K looks at her. “Jenna, are you okay?”

“No,” she says, panting as she shakes her head. “My portfolio,” she says between gasping breaths. “It’s gone.”

“You must have misplaced it,” Mrs. K suggests.

“I’ve looked everywhere,” Jenna says, her voice getting tighter and higher with every word.

She is clearly on the verge of tears.

“Don’t you have a backup copy?” I ask.

Aimeigh shakes her head. “Jenna works on paper.”

“My sketchbook,” Jenna says, “is all I have.”

Then the tears start, and we are all at Jenna’s side in an instant. A big, sympathetic art group hug. Even Aimeigh, who can’t stand Jenna. I can imagine what I would feel like if the entire archive of my art—even a portion of it—disappeared. I would be devastated.

For once, I think everyone is on Jenna’s side.

Tru is waiting outside the AGD classroom when the first period bell rings. He falls in step with us as Aimeigh and I walk into the hall. “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten at Abbey Road.”

“What?” I ask with a laugh.

“It is an Austin institution,” Aimeigh says.

“They have an entire menu full of your granola vegan rabbit food.”

“I’m not vegan,” I argue, as if that’s the point. “Why are you tormenting me with this now, when I’m trapped on campus for lunch?”

We reach the end of the hall and I push open the door to outside, preparing to head for the cafeteria. Tru blocks my path.

“Aha!” He raises his finger. “That is my point. You are not trapped on campus for lunch.”

“Yes I—”

He presses his raised finger to my lips before I can finish. I throw Aimeigh a help me look, but she just shrugs.

“I have wheels,” he says, “and you have lunch followed by free period.”

Aimeigh nods. “More than enough time to get there and back.”

I wrap my hand around Tru’s wrist. “Oh no. I am not getting caught sneaking off campus for lunch. Mom would weld me into my room.”

I push past him and step out into the sunlight.

Aimeigh winces. “That sounds painful.”

“Exactly,” I say, as if she’s made my point.

“We won’t get caught,” Tru argues, catching up to me in two long strides. “I promise. If we do, you have my permission to say I kidnapped you.”

“Again,” I mutter.

“I’ll cover for you,” Aimeigh says. “If you’re not back in time, I’ll tell Mr. Vasquez we have ArtSquad practice.”

“You aren’t coming?” Tru asks.

“I have my gourmet lunch.” Aimeigh lifts her brown bag. “And library aide after. You two kids have fun.”

“I can’t,” I repeat, although no one seems to be listening to me.

Tru pulls me to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing other students to stream around us.

“Please.” He gets down on his knees, like convincing me to go with him will make him the happiest man on earth. “My treat.”

One look into his soft brown eyes, glinting with danger and adventure, and I know I’m lost.

“One time,” I say, holding up my own finger. “That’s it.”

Tru jumps to his feet and grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Be safe!” Aimeigh calls out cheerfully. “Don’t do anything I would do!”

We cross the lawn and circle around Building A as casually as possible, trying to make it look like we are going somewhere totally legitimate. But the moment we clear the edge of the parking lot, we run. Dashing for Tru’s car, which is—of course—in the far back corner.

By the time we’re inside and driving away, we’re both panting.

“Oh my God,” I say between pants, “I haven’t run that fast since fifth grade field day and I wanted to win the Superman tee prize.”

“Did you?”

“You know it.”

He laughs as we pull onto the freeway. Traffic isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but by the time we get to the tiny green house that houses the Abbey Road restaurant, I’m starting to feel nervous that we won’t get back in time.

But I push that worry away as we go inside.

The interior is small, but luckily there is a table open and we get seated right away. After I order migas—a Tex-Mex skillet scramble that Tru insists is the house specialty—and he orders a jumbo stack of cinnamon swirl pancakes, the waitress takes our menus and we’re left to fill the silence.

“Pancakes?” I raise my brows skeptically. “For lunch?”

He grins. “It’s always the right time for pancakes.”

“Fair point,” I reply with a smile of my own.

There is just something so easy about talking to Tru. Like we’ve been friends forever, instead of only a few days. One minute we’re discussing last meal choices, the next his plans to become a filmmaker and mine to become the next Stan Lee. Favorite pets (we’re both dog people), car movies (I’m a Fast & Furious girl, he prefers the more atmospheric Gone in 60 Seconds), and holidays (he picks St. Patrick’s Day for the color palette, while I choose the extreme fireworks of Independence Day and/or New Year’s). We cover anything and everything. Except family situations—his or mine.

For this space of time, we’re in our own bubble. Nothing outside of Abbey Road matters. By the time our waitress returns with our food, I feel like we know each other better than anyone else.

“One vegetarian migas,” the waitress says, sliding the plates onto the table, “and one cinnamon swirl stack.”

My mouth starts watering immediately.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” she asks.

“We’re good,” Tru says.

Oh yeah. We are so good.

I practically inhale the food. Between my overflowing plate and the several bites of pancake that Tru makes me try, soon I feel like I’m ready to explode.

“You know, I’m actually glad I came,” I tell him, collapsing against the back of my chair.

“Did you think you wouldn’t be?” he asks with a laugh.

I shrug. “It was a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Then why did you come?”

The question takes me aback. Why did I come?

“I think…I needed a taste of freedom. Mom’s kept me on such a short leash I feel like I’m strangling.”

Tru leans his elbows on the table and smiles. “Then I’m double glad I convinced you to come.”

There is something so sweet about his words that my cheeks burn. I look around to hide my blush.

Abbey Road has a simple décor, with a mishmash of different tables and chairs and walls covered in big stars and Texas flags. The music is cool, too. A steady stream of indie beats.

Just as I’m starting to nod my head to the groove, the song changes to “Pieces of Heart” by Buffalo Range.

I sigh. “I love this song.”

“You dig Buffalo Range?”

“With a fiery passion.”

He purses his lips. “They’re coming to Austin City Limits next month.”

“Seriously?” I bolt up straight in my chair. “You’re not messing with me?”

“Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up his hands in a mock Boy Scout salute.

No way Tru Dorsey was ever a Boy Scout.

“If you’re still around,” he says, “I’ll take you. My dad’s office always gets tickets.”

“If I’m still around,” I reply with a smile, “I’ll let you.”

We’re both grinning when, from across the small restaurant, a familiar voice says, “Table for two, please.”

I look up to see Mom and a woman in a gray pantsuit standing just inside the door, waiting for the hostess to find them a table.

“Oh crap.”

I don’t think. In a flash, I’m on my hands and knees under the table.

“Um, Sloane,” Tru leans down to look at me.

“Shhhh!” I try to mouth, My mom is here, but he just frowns in confusion.

Then, before I can explain, he’s on the floor right next to me.

“What’s going on?” he whispers in my ear. “Are we ditching on the bill?”