Livie grinned. “You catch on quick.”
Sawyer peeked at me. “We could do it at my house instead. I can give you a ride if you need one, Sloane.”
I internally winced. I couldn’t go to Jason’s house, yet I didn’t want to encourage Sawyer by taking him up on his offer.
“We can’t do it at your house,” Jason said. “You said your mom was hosting some book club thing.”
“Crap. I forgot about that.”
“Besides,” Jason continued, “my mom will be at work. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” He gave me a half smile. “Want to come over and help us decide what to put on the shirts?”
His mom wasn’t going to be there. That changed things. I wanted to see where he lived and what his room looked like and maybe find out what happened to his parents. “I can come for a little while.”
“Great!” Sawyer exclaimed with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought I’d just agreed to go to the prom with him. “I can still give you a ride if you want.” He grabbed his phone out of his bag. “Or I can text you directions to J’s.” He frowned at the phone for a moment. “There’s something wrong with my phone.” Then he looked up and gave me a lopsided grin. “It doesn’t have your number in it.”
I snorted. “I can’t fix that.”
Livie shot Sawyer a smug look. “Crash and burn.”
“No,” I insisted, “I meant I don’t have a phone.” Under the table, I ran a hand over the pocket where my phone was hiding. My secret only-use-to-keep-in-touch-with-Mark-and-never-share-the-number-under-strict-penalty-of-death phone.
All three stared at me like I’d just sprouted wings.
“I had one,” I mumbled. “I got really addicted to it a few years ago and gave it up cold turkey. No social media accounts either. You should try it. I have so much more free time now.”
Livie’s mouth dropped open. “I could never live without my phone.” From the seriousness of her voice, she clearly ranked phone on her list of necessities right next to food and oxygen.
I reached into my backpack, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and slid them over to Jason. “You can be old-school and write your address down. I’ll find my way there.”
He scribbled something, folded the paper, and slid it back to me just as a middle-aged woman wearing a suit and stiletto heels approached us. “Gentlemen, I expect you to clean up the remnants of your little basketball game.” She rapped a knuckle on our table as she walked by.
“Yes, Principal Thompson,” Jason and Sawyer replied in unison.
They both jumped up to collect the trash. As soon as they were out of earshot, Livie leaned across the table, her voice low so the boys wouldn’t hear. “How’d you get Oliver Clarke to talk to you?”
“Who?”
She made an impatient sound. “Oliver Clarke? Voice so smooth you just want to eat him up? Eyes so green they make everyone else’s jealous?”
Um, okay. I’d admired his voice earlier, but eating him hadn’t popped into my head. “Oh, him.”
“Yes, him.” Livie sighed. “He broke up with his girlfriend about a week ago. Or maybe she broke up with him. No one knows exactly what happened, but the rumors are flying. He basically hasn’t been talking to anyone since. They’d been dating forever, even though she’s probably the worst person in this school, so it was kind of a big deal.”
“Let me guess. His ex-girlfriend has short black hair?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“She didn’t seem to like it when I talked to him.”
Livie slapped a hand on the table. “I knew it! He must’ve dumped her.”
“What’s her deal?”
Livie watched Oliver’s ex for a few seconds, eyes serious. “She knows everyone’s secrets and likes to share.”
I peered over my shoulder at Oliver, reading quietly at his deserted table. He’s in some kind of self-imposed social exile because of a gossip-inducing breakup with the secret-sharing “worst person” in the school? There are so many reasons to stay away from him.
“Nobody in their right mind would break up with Oliver,” Livie said. “I mean, there are definitely hotter guys here.” Her gaze darted around the cafeteria, presumably landing on all the boys she thought were better looking, but she never once glanced in Jason’s direction. “But that voice.” She looked at me. “I would do absolutely anything he asked if he sang it to me.”
Hold up. Did she just imply Oliver was a better catch than her boyfriend? He was kind of cute. And apparently single, not that I would’ve done anything about it. I’d learned the hard way not to get attached to anyone because I never knew when I’d have to leave at the worst possible time. But Oliver didn’t have anything on Jason.
Livie launched into a story about some elaborate revenge Oliver’s ex got on the last girl to hit on him, but I wasn’t listening. I unfolded the piece of paper in my hands. Under his address, Jason had written two sentences: Bet you Sawyer uses at least five inappropriate pickup lines on you while you’re at my house. Loser has to teach him the meaning of moderation?
I smiled. Oliver definitely didn’t have anything on Jason.
The back screen door slammed shut behind me. “Mark?”
“In here, Kid.”
I smiled at the nickname and followed his voice to the family room of our rental house. It was smaller and a little more run-down than some of the other places we’d lived in, but it had the beachy feel of home. Mark was sprawled on the blue couch, legs propped up on the square glass coffee table next to a pile of mail.
“Did you hear about this one?” he asked, shaking his head at his laptop. “Nineteen-year-old broke into a condo, stole a bunch of electronics, including a cell phone, and left his own phone sitting on the condo’s kitchen table.”
I snorted.
“Wait! There’s more. When he realized what he did about an hour later, he called his phone. The condo’s owner, who had since come home and realized she’d been burglarized, answered and he gave her his name and asked if he could have his phone back.” Mark grinned widely. “The cops arrested him half an hour later.”
I plopped on the couch next to him. “Amateur.”
“Seriously. What’s happening to criminals these days?”
I watched Mark laugh as he set his laptop aside. I’d always been amazed at how much older or younger he could look with a few little changes. When he let his hair grow longer and was clean-shaven, he could easily pass as someone in his early twenties. But when he looked like he did now, with a shorter haircut and a few days’ worth of facial hair, he seemed fifteen years older. It was a skill that let him pose as a wide variety of men in my life, from father to uncle to older brother. Which was funny, because he’d never felt like an actual father or uncle or older brother, not even when I was younger. He’d always been more like the older brother’s best friend you see in the movies, the one who’s always around, teasing and annoying you, but who’ll beat up the guy who’s mean to you at school without blinking an eye. The one you choose to count as family. That’s Mark.
“What?” he asked, realizing I was staring.
“Just admiring my old man.” I ruffled his