WHITNEY AND I ARE THE last ones in the locker room after rehearsal on Tuesday. I know she’s killing time waiting for Jay to be done with basketball practice. It’s what I used to do, which is why I’m taking advantage of this rare one-on-one time I have with her.

“Whit?”

She glances at me in the mirror, carefully applying her lip stain.

I sigh. “Will things ever not be weird with us?”

She considers my words for a moment. Ever since I didn’t show up for the homecoming dance, she’s been treating me like she’s better than me. At practice, she’ll only talk to the seniors, leaving Raegan and me to break on our own. And the other day at lunch, when I said I was thinking of dying the ends of my hair purple, she sneered and said, “It’ll clash with our uniforms.”

When she wasn’t looking, Lin glanced at me and rolled her eyes.

But that’s the thing. I don’t want Whitney to be someone I roll my eyes at behind her back. She was someone I told everything to, including my crush on Alex freshman year. Our one-sided friendship isn’t just frustrating, it’s infuriating.

When Whitney speaks, her voice is soft. “I don’t know.”

This is not the answer I wanted to hear, but if I’m being honest with myself, it was the one I expected.

I don’t try and hide my annoyance. “Okay, well when you do know… you know where you can find me.”

I walk out of the locker room before she can say anything else. It doesn’t feel good, but I’ve already apologized. Her insecurities are out of my hands.

I’m pushing open the double doors to the junior/senior lot when I spot someone standing by my car. My heartbeat quickens. He has a different beanie on today—this one’s dark blue—but I’d recognize him from across a football field.

“Hey,” Alex says, his smile warming me to my core. Before I can reply, he gently takes my hand and drops something inside.

I immediately open it. There are three strawberry banana Starbursts, the best kind.

The corners of my lips turn up into a smile as I start to unwrap one. “You saved them for me.”

“You sound surprised.” He smiles. “But actually, I was just about to text you. Want to stop by the restaurant for dinner?”

I nearly choke on the candy. Alex looks startled. I hold up a hand to tell him I’m fine, but I’m not sure if I am. Because I know he’s talking about Rosita’s, his parents’ restaurant. So does that mean Alex is asking me on a date? Or is this, like, a casual oh-we’re-just-getting-burritos thing?

“Sure,” I say, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

I used to go to Rosita’s with Alex in middle school to do homework. The last time I remember going with him was freshman year when we were working on an English essay, but something tells me that we’re not going to work on algebra.

Alex smiles at me, and a slow tingling spreads from my belly to the tips of my fingers. It’s been a week since our kiss, and I haven’t been able to forget it. I want to tell him I feel the same way, that I want our friendship to be something more, but I can’t seem to find the opening words.

“Cool.” He unlocks his truck, which is only a few spaces over from mine. “I’ll drive?”

The fluttering returns, because going together actually feels like it could be a real date.

On the way over there he fills me in on the fall play and the upcoming Little Shop of Horrors auditions and the finishing touches he needs to put on Audrey II. I listen, my gaze falling on his mouth every so often.

But suddenly the sun is dipping below the skyline and we’re at Rosita’s. Everything I want to say becomes stuck in the back of my throat.

When we walk inside, I spot Alex’s mom refilling drinks for a couple sitting near the window. Her face brightens when she sees me.

“¡Mijo!” She gives Alex a quick squeeze before enveloping me in a bear hug. I let myself relax, hugging her back. “¡Te ves bien! You’ve been well?”

“Yes! Thank you,” I say, smiling. It’s the less complicated answer, anyway. “It’s great to see you.”

“Vamos a comer,” Alex says, then switches back to English. “I’ll help you close later.”

His mom gives him a grateful look. “Sí, sí, necesitas comer,” she says, then goes back into the kitchen.

“Food?” I guess.

He grins. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving, actually.”

“Good. If you recall, she doesn’t exactly hold back.”

Alex and I sit down at the bar. “It looks exactly how I remember it.”

“Not much has changed. But hey, my dad might be coming home soon. Hopefully by December. We think we might have a buyer for the restaurant.”

“Alex.” His smile is contagious. I’m really happy for him. “That’s amazing.”

“My mom could really use help with my little cousins. Ana and I switch off evenings closing here, but she’s buckling down with her college apps. She shouldn’t have to be distracted.”

I can’t help staring at him. He’s so selfless. He’s not the only one who has more people living under his roof, and he’s never complained about it. Not once.

Alex meets my gaze. “What?”

I blush, looking away. I’ve been staring too long. “Nothing,” I say, then reconsider. “Actually, promise me something?”

“Depends, but go ahead.”

“Finish a screenplay by next summer.”

Alex looks surprised. “I don’t—”

“What do you have to lose?”

He thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ll have more time with my dad back.”

“You will,” I insist.

His mom returns with a platter of food for us. Chips and salsa, tortillas and rice and beans, and plenty of beef tamales. She sets the spread down in front of us, and we offer our thanks before she heads back into the kitchen.

“You’re going to have to roll me out of here,” I say, looking at the plate in front of me. I smile at him. “I’m going to eat everything.”

“I’m sure she has pan dulce back there, too.”

I dramatically clutch my chest. “Obviously we have to eat that, too.”

He grins. “Obviously.”

I’m about to dig in when I hear the door open. To my surprise, Lacey Woodward walks in. Her blond hair flows elegantly behind her, something straight out of a shampoo commercial. My insides immediately coil in defense. What is she doing here?

Alex puts on his typical good-natured smile when he spots her. “Hey, here for pick-up?”

“Yup,” Lacey chirps. “Mrs. Henson is having us run lines until nine tonight, but, whatever, she’s buying us dinner so I guess that makes up for it.”

“Let me grab my mom, one sec.” He hops off the barstool, leaving me alone with Lacey.

I try sitting up a little straighter, pulling my shoulders back. No wonder Alex went to Sadie’s and homecoming with Lacey. She’s straight out of a Disney movie with her petite frame and endearing spackle of freckles across her nose. Compared to her, I’m a frump with frizzy hair.

I take a deep breath. That was two years ago. Why are you worrying?

“It’s good to see you,” Lacey says. “I mean, I know I’ve seen you at rehearsals and stuff, but I just meant here. Like, back at school.”

My jealousy toward her dissolves, just a little. “Thanks. I did miss it here.”

Alex reappears with two carry-out platters wrapped in a plastic bag. “Go forth and feed the masses.”

“Cool, I’m starving.” Lacey hands over the credit card, and Alex quickly rings up the transaction. “See y’all later.”

I watch as she leaves. When I look back, Alex is staring at me. Smiling.

“What?” I ask, embarrassed and defensive at the same time.

“You don’t have to worry about Lacey.”

“Who said I was worrying about Lacey?”

Ugh, my attempt to be cool about this is quickly backfiring. Even I can hear it.

Alex stares at me, raising an eyebrow. “You do remember that you’re the one I kissed the other day, right?”

Heat flows through my body, creeping up the back of my neck as I remember the gentle desperation of his lips on mine. That’s not a moment I’m likely to forget.

We finish our meal and then, as promised, Alex brings a variety of pan dulce for us to share as dessert. I’m lost in our conversation. His eyes never leave mine as I bring up memories of all the notes we wrote to each other on Starburst wrappers we eventually turned into bracelets. He admits to keeping them, and I tell him I have mine, too. We switch to discussing ideas for his screenplay, and I scribble down notes on a napkin, growing warm as he leans closer to watch me write.

In the quiet, I hear a soft buzzing noise. My phone. I dig through my book bag and find it buried at the very bottom. And crap. Triple crap. There are fourteen missed calls from my dad. I check the screen: 9:43 p.m. I’m never home this late. He must be wondering where the hell I am.

Alex looks at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. I fire off a quick text to my dad to let him know I’m on my way and that I’ll explain when I get home. “I forgot to tell my dad I was going out. I should get back.”

“I can take you back to your car,” he insists.

“Actually,” I say, feeling brave. “Want to drive me home?”

I want this to feel like a first date—one that doesn’t end in me abruptly leaving. I can always get a ride to school in the morning.

“Sure,” Alex replies, nervously fumbling for his keys.

I spend the entire ride home wondering if Alex will kiss me goodnight, or if I should be the one to make the first move. But when he rounds the corner onto my street, I immediately realize my mistake. Because they’re there. All of them—my dad and Nonnie and Saylor—gathered in my front yard for the entire world to see.