Lyle grabs a cup from a plastic sleeve and fills it with various liquids lined up along the counter.

“Here you go,” he says proudly, holding it out to me. When I take the drink from his hands, he reaches out his own in cheers. I force another smile and knock my cup against his. I pretend to sip from my drink. The smell of it makes my eyes water.

“Are you two going to hide in here all night?”

I turn and find Jonah looking bored as he enters the kitchen. He wants my attention, and I think it bothers him that I won’t give it easily.

“Would you like a tour?” he asks me.

I laugh. “You don’t even live here,” I say.

“Then we’ll discover it together,” he says. “Come on. Give me a reason to stick around. I want to get to know you better.” He smiles. “You’re so mysterious.”

It takes all my patience to not roll my eyes. He thinks he’s charming, but in truth, his words sound like well-rehearsed lines. They’re inauthentic. But I nod.

“Sure,” I tell him, and then glance at Lyle. He seems hurt that I’m leaving, and I debate it, but ultimately, I’m here on a mission. That means helping Lyle feel better about himself doesn’t make the list.

I walk with Jonah into the living room, and he introduces me to “the guys.” He doesn’t bother naming them, and they seem to take the hint. I get a few chilly waves, and then I see their side glances at each other. Jonah has called dibs.

“Now,” he says, “I think there’s an office or something over here.” We start to round the stairs, and I worry about walking in on Sydney mid-search. I quickly grab Jonah’s arm.

“Wait,” I tell him, completely at a loss for what to say next. He looks down at where I’m touching him, and I quickly drop my hand.

“What’s upstairs?” I ask, lifting my cup in that direction. Jonah smiles slyly and it turns my stomach.

“Let’s go find out,” he replies in a breathy voice. He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it as he leads me toward the steps. His palm is wet and warm, and I think I might throw up a little, so I take a sip from my drink, wincing the second I do.

As Jonah pulls me up the stairs, I crane my neck over the railing to see if I can catch Sydney, but all the doors to the rooms are closed. For now, I’m on my own.

“Turn up the music!” Jonah yells, slapping his hand on the railing. The other guys cheer the suggestion and turn it up loud enough for the bass to rattle the windows.

25

The staircase is narrow, so thankfully, Jonah drops my hand to walk in front of me. My phone buzzes in my purse, but I don’t check it, worried that it’ll tip Jonah off that I’m recording him. As we ascend, I notice the row of framed pictures on the wall. There are photos of Lyle—school pictures of him throughout the years in various stages of awkwardness.

It occurs to me that I don’t have pictures like that. I was never a little girl. I was never the awkward child. There’s a devastating reality to that, the fact that I’m not like any of these people. I’m not people.

When we get to the second story, the ceilings are low, but again, it’s kind of homey. There are four doors, two on each side of the hallway.

Jonah looks back over his shoulder at me, smiling like we’re having great fun. He opens the first door and peers inside.

“This must be Matty’s room,” he says, poking his head around before closing it. I’m surprised at the level of respect he’s showing Lyle’s little brother, but then I remember that Matt’s on the team. This clearly gives him worth.

We get to the next door, and Jonah opens it and then quickly shuts it, turning to me with a smile. “I think this one’s Mommy’s room,” he says.

He is insufferable and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend to find him entertaining.

“Should we check her drawers?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Okay, that might actually work.

“Yes,” I say, and he steps back with exaggerated shock.

“Philomena,” he says. “I thought you were a good girl.”

My skin crawls, and I’m barely able to contain myself before reaching to touch his arm, smiling innocently.

“What?” I ask playfully. “I’m curious.”

Actually, Jonah, I need to search through her belongings to see if she’s part of the system that’s trying to decommission me. Mind?

He opens the door and ushers me inside. The room is dark at first, and I have a sinking feeling before he flicks the light on. Relieved, I turn as Jonah closes the door, a grin on his lips.

The room itself is average, the bed unmade. A pile of laundry waiting to be folded on a chair in the corner. There’s a small desk near the closet. I immediately cross to it and begin sorting through the drawers.

“Oh, hey. Check this out,” Jonah says excitedly. He reaches into the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a pack of condoms. He begins to laugh, waving it like it’s something unusual. I, for one, commend Lyle’s mom on her safe-sex practices. When I show no sign of amusement, Jonah drops them back in the drawer and slams it shut, looking for something else to impress me.

He is exhausting.

In the desk, I find some bills, a few receipts, and a stack of printed emails. Curious, I pick one up and see that it’s from Lyle’s dad, arguing about child-support payments. Lyle’s mom must have printed them out. There’s nothing about Ridgeview other than a copy of Lyle’s last report card.

Disappointed, I close the drawer.

“This is kind of awesome,” Jonah says, sliding open the window at the back of the house. I get on my tiptoes, looking past him. There’s an expanse of roof just outside, making its own little slanted patio.

“Come on,” Jonah coaxes, holding out his hand to me. “We’ll finish our drinks out there. Talk.”

Right. We have to talk.

I leave my too-strong drink on the desk and head his way. Jonah climbs out the window first, and then he takes my elbow to help me. When I’m standing outside, a soft breeze rustles my hair. It feels good, free, in the night air. I went years without going out in the nighttime, trapped behind barred windows.

Jonah takes a spot on the roof and pats the tiles next to him for me to sit. I carefully walk that way, making sure I don’t fall, and sit down. For a few moments, it’s peaceful. The breeze, the bass of the music from downstairs. The crickets in the garden.

“So … ,” Jonah says, knocking his knee against mine. “Heard you had an interesting afternoon.” He laughs and takes another sip of his drink. In the moonlight, his eyes are glassy, a buzz of alcohol probably working through his system right now.

I hope the phone is recording our conversation. I set my purse between us to assure his voice can get picked up.

“Did you see what happened?” I ask him. Jonah smirks, shaking his head.

“No,” he says. “I have a different lunch hour. Wasn’t the first time, though. Dude can never keep his hands to himself.”

“You’re talking about Garrett?” I ask.

“The one and only,” Jonah replies.

“So he has a reputation?”

“You talk like an adult, you know,” he says. “It’s kind of weird.”