“Hey,” he said, after a second. “Would you want to get out of here? Go for a walk or something?”

I thought my brain might explode. He wanted to go somewhere with me. He wanted to take a walk with me. There was no Amy, no reason we should talk about school. It was just Ryder asking me to hang out with him.

Finally.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure. Let’s go.”

However, my exuberance faded pretty much as soon as we stepped out into the cold afternoon and Ryder said:

“I was hoping to talk to you about Amy.”

Fuck.

Of course.

What was wrong with this boy? As far as he was concerned, Amy had been leading him on for over a month with IMs and texts, only to be a completely different person (literally) in real life.

I knew it was partly my fault for keeping up the correspondence, but come on. Was that really enough to keep him clinging to the idea of her? They hadn’t even kissed. Hell, they hadn’t even touched.

“Amy. Right.” I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my old, battered coat. “What about her?”

“It’s just … I’m confused. Really confused.” He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, and I watched as it rolled away from us, wishing I could follow it, away from this conversation. “Do you know why she avoids or ignores me when we’re in the same room?”

I shrugged. “That sounds like a question for Amy.”

“I’ve asked,” he said. “A thousand times. I never get a straight answer.”

It was true. Ever since our first bout of texting back at the start of November, Ryder had sent multiple messages, asking why I (read: Amy) didn’t talk to him in person. Why they hadn’t been on a date yet. Why things were so different in texts and IMs than they were in real life.

Most of the time, I ignored these messages. They’d come midconversation, and they’d serve as the end of the correspondence. Sometimes I’d respond with something vague — a simple I don’t know or a blatantly untrue I don’t avoid you!

I was hoping all the inconsistencies would scare him away from Amy.

But he just kept trying, in real life and via text message.

“You’re her best friend,” he said. “I figured if anyone would know what’s going on with her, you would. And since you and I are friends now….”

Friends.

He thought we were friends. A smile fluttered onto my lips, and I had to hurry to hide it. At least it hadn’t all been in vain.

“Do you have any idea why she’d avoid me?” he asked. “Does she … does she even like me? No. No, I know she does. Of course she does. It’s just that when we’re together, she’s so … different.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She seems pretty normal to me.”

“She doesn’t act like the Amy I know.”

“Then maybe you don’t know her that well.”

“I do, though,” he insisted. “Or I think I do. When we’re texting or talking online, she’s so … She’s great. She’s funny and smart and it’s so easy to talk to her. The virtual Amy is incredible.”

I got all shivery when he said that, and not just because it was cold.

“I just wish the Amy I saw in real life was more like that.”

My hands balled into fists in my pockets. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to come clean so bad. That person he thought was “incredible,” the person he’d fallen for, was standing right here.

Instead I said, “I’m sorry, Ryder. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why are you friends with her?” he asked.

I was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you friends with her? What do you like about Amy?”

“Well …” I probably should have said something vague. Or something shallow. Something to reinforce this image of the flaky, bizarre Amy he couldn’t figure out. But this, Amy, was one thing I couldn’t lie about. “She’s generous, for one thing. She’d do anything for the people she cares about. Hell, she’s letting me live with her right now. She’s always been there when I needed her.”

He nodded. “What else?”

“She balances me out. I’m the loud, dramatic one and she’s the quiet, practical one. She’s my other half, in a lot of ways. People talk about soul mates in a romantic way, but I think if soul mates do exist, Amy would be mine. I think I’d be lost without her.”

I had to shake off a pang of guilt. Since Thanksgiving break, I’d been telling myself things were fine between us. Me sleeping in the guest room was just a natural progression. We couldn’t sleep in the same room forever, after all. Amy didn’t act mad at me. She was still sweet and giggly and we still hung out. But something was different.

“I like the way you describe her,” Ryder said. “Why doesn’t she show that side when she’s around me?”

I didn’t answer. There were only so many times you could say “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it has something to do with her mom?”

“What?”

“She’s told me a little about her mom.”

It took me a minute to understand what he was talking about. Mrs. Rush was amazing — what would Amy’s weirdness have to do with her? But then I remembered. I’d talked to him about my mom. Great. Another subject I’d rather not discuss.

“Oh. Yeah. Her mom.”

“She said once that she thinks her mom might regret even having her,” Ryder said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Amy’s mom is … Well, she’s interesting. Complicated. That relationship has definitely screwed her up in a lot of ways.”

“I know how she feels,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don’t think you do.” Seeing an opening to change the subject, though, I added, “But, hey, congrats on your dad winning the election.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice flat. “It’s official: My parents are getting a divorce.”

That seemed like a good thing to me. At least things were being decided. But I couldn’t say that because I wasn’t supposed to know the backstory. So instead I replied, “I thought they were already divorced?”

Ryder shook his head. “My dad’s been holding out. Asshole. He’s still waiting a few months so it doesn’t look like he was just waiting until he got elected. Even though that’s precisely what he was doing.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“God. He’s such a cliché. Cheating on my mom with some young model,” Ryder said bitterly.

“Then as shitty as it is, maybe the divorce is for the best.”

“He’s still a dick. And I’m done talking to him.”

Guess Ryder and his dad hadn’t resolved their issues yet.

We were passing the elementary school, and without even saying a word, we both started walking toward the empty playground.

“What does your mom have to say about that? About you not talking to him?”

“I don’t really talk to her about Dad,” he admitted. “She gets upset about it. Mad, even. I can’t blame her. She’s a great person, and he screwed her over.”

I wanted to point out that, not long ago, Ryder was (rightfully) upset that she’d dragged him all the way to Illinois without even asking how he felt first.

But Sonny wouldn’t know that; Amy would. So I had to bite my tongue.

“What about you?” he asked as we made our way toward the swings. “What’s your family drama?”

I shrugged and sat down on one of the swings. The leather was cold, even through my jeans. “It’s pretty boring.”

“That seems unlikely,” he said, sitting on the swing beside mine. “You just said you’re living with Amy. Doesn’t sound too boring to me. Where are your parents?”

I’d already had to move the conversation away from my mother, and I wasn’t eager to return to it. So instead, I blurted out something I hadn’t talked about in years:

“My dad’s in prison.”

“Oh.” Ryder looked startled, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he moved away from me a little. Like he suddenly remembered that I wasn’t the rich, beautiful girl he wanted.

I was poor white trash.

At least by his standards.

But, to my surprise, Ryder shifted again on his swing, his hands wrapped around the chains, and swiveled to face me. And he didn’t look disgusted at all. “How long?”

“In and out since I was seven. But I haven’t seen him in … I don’t even remember the last time I saw him. My mom stopped taking me to visit after she divorced him, when I was still in elementary school.”

“Does he ever try to write to you?” Ryder asked. “Or call?”

“No,” I said. “Although I’ve moved since the last time I saw him. My granddad died and we moved into his old house. Plus, I don’t have the same cell phone number. So I guess I don’t really know. I just assumed he hadn’t because my mom always told me what a deadbeat he was. Not that she’s the most reliable …”

I shook my head, and before he could ask about my mother, I started talking again.

“I’ve thought about him some. I’ve considered writing him a few times, but I always talk myself out of it.”

“Why?”

Ryder’s green eyes were watching me, glued to me. Intent. It sent a shiver up my spine. And yet … it was easy. Telling him all this. Being honest about something I usually wasn’t.

“I’m scared.” It was something I’d never said out loud. “I’m scared he’ll let me down … or that he won’t want me. And I figure maybe it’s easier if I just don’t give him the chance.”

“Sonny.” He reached out and put a hand on my arm. It was like a bolt of electricity shot through me, starting where his palm touched my arm. Maybe he felt it, too, because he pulled back and wrapped his hand around the chain again. “Sorry,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for touching me or for everything I’d said about my father.

“It’s okay,” I said, deciding I’d rather he apologized for the latter. “He probably is the deadbeat I’ve always imagined. Chances are I’m better off.”