I’VE HAD A LUMP in my throat since lunch, when Josh told us he’s going to the bonfire with Sydney. He looked embarrassed saying that in front of me, but he doesn’t even know the latest about my miserable future. The last time he saw it, I was living in London with Kevin Storm. Since then, I’ve divorced Isaac Rawlings, and now I have a complicated relationship in California.

Worst of all, Josh has no idea that our friendship will never heal.

I’m walking to track, but I’d rather be sitting in front of my computer, seeing if I’ve changed my password yet. If I haven’t, then I could read as much as possible before I lose Facebook forever.

“Hey, Emma,” Cody says. He’s jogging across the parking lot, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is spiky with sweat and his T-shirt is stretched tight over his chest. “Looks like we’re both late.”

“I was walking my friend to the chem lab,” I say.

Cody falls into stride beside me. “I got stuck in traffic coming back from Senior Skip Day.”

“How was it?”

He shrugs. “It was boring. I’m over all of this. Now it’s just a countdown until Duke. That’s where I’m going in the fall.”

“Oh,” I say, as if the information is new to me. I actually know more about Cody’s future than he does. Someday he’ll live in Denver and visit the White House. And in fifteen years, he’ll still be single. But right now, he loves a movie that I just watched.

“What you said reminded me of a funny quote.” I wipe my palms across my shorts as I slip into an impression of Wayne. “‘I thought I had mono for a year. It turns out I was just bored.’”

“Close,” Cody says, a grin sliding across his face. “‘I once thought I had mono for a year.’ I didn’t know you liked Wayne’s World.”

The truth is, I hated it even more the second time.

“You’ve seen it?” I ask.

“A few times,” he says. “So, Emma Nelson’s into Green Day and Wayne’s World. I’m impressed.”

Cody slings his arm loosely over my shoulders as we walk toward the field. The sides of our bodies touch the entire time. I can feel his muscular frame against mine, and he smells like aftershave.

I can’t believe it, but this actually might be working.

* * *

THE COACH CALLS OUT our times as we loop around the track. Every quarter mile, I beat my personal best.

Coach McLeod blows his whistle for encouragement. “Whatever’s gotten into you, Emma, it’s good stuff. Keep it up!”

I keep running even though my legs are burning. I’m doing it to impress Cody, but it’s also clearing my head. I’m currently fighting with Josh, my dad, and now my mom. The only person I have left is Kellan, and I have a feeling I’m losing her to Tyson again.

“Walk it off, Emma,” the coach says after my final four hundred.

I’m rounding the track, my hand pressed into my side, when Cody jogs up next to me.

“Do you feel like you’re going to hurl?” he asks.

I stare at him. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s from Wayne’s World.”

I force a laugh. “Right. Of course.”

“Hey, do you want a ride home? I need to drive out and pick up my class ring, but I put that bootleg tape in the car… .”

“Which bootleg?” I ask, stalling to give myself time to figure out what to do. My car is in the student parking lot, and I’m supposed to pick up Kellan from the chem lab and drive her home.

“Dave Matthews,” he says. “But I have to talk to McLeod about tomorrow’s timed trials first. So if you want, meet me in the parking lot in ten minutes. I’m the silver Toyota.”

As if I didn’t know.

* * *

“WHY ARE YOU OUT OF BREATH?” Kellan asks, setting a beaker into a metal stand. She’s wearing plastic goggles and has an assortment of chemicals in front of her. Kellan completed AP Chemistry last year, but still drops into the lab to assist the teacher.

Ms. Monroe is up front with a few students. I step closer to Kellan to make sure no one hears. “I ran here from track,” I say. “Cody asked me to come with him to pick up his class ring, and then he’s giving me a ride home.”

“Why?” Kellan asks. She spoons yellow powder into one of the beakers, and it instantly emits a putrid-smelling gas.

I step back, waving a hand in front of my nose. “Is this safe?”

Kellan pushes her goggles up to her forehead. “I’m not going to drink it. And don’t change the subject. Why does Cody want you to go with him?”

I can’t hold back my smile. “We’ve been talking recently. It turns out we have a lot in common.”

As Kellan writes something on the lab chart, I study her face. I’ve only seen one picture of her daughter, but it was obvious that Lindsay looks so much like her.

“Let me guess,” Kellan finally says. “You’re asking me to drive your car home.”

I reach into my backpack and dig out my keys, setting them beside the Bunsen burner. “I don’t think we’ll be very long. You can hang out at my house, and then I’ll drive you home. Or you can take my bike from the garage if you don’t want to wait.”

Kellan doesn’t respond.

“Please,” I say. “I’ll owe you big-time.”

“Huge-time,” she says, dropping my keys into her purse. “It’s like riding the Tour de France from your house to mine. And I don’t need to tell you to be careful with Cody. We both know he expects a lot from girls.”

“We’re getting his class ring,” I say. “That’s all. And I’ll drive you home the second I get back.”

“Or maybe I’ll ask Tyson to come pick me up.”

“Okay, what’s going on with you guys?” I ask.

Kellan turns her attention to another beaker.

“Kellan Steiner!” I say. “You barely got over Tyson from the last time. You don’t need any more drama.”

“I know I’ve had my ups and downs with him,” Kellan says, looking me in the eye. “I actually called that therapist yesterday to set up another appointment. I want to be serious about keeping my emotions in check.”

“So it’s official? You and Tyson are getting back together?”

“I didn’t say that.” Kellan picks up some metal tongs, but then immediately sets them back down. “But speaking of drama, and I want the truth, what’s going on with you and Josh?”

I flinch. “Nothing.”

“Yesterday, you didn’t even want to go to lunch because he was there. And then today you were almost in tears when he brought up Sydney.”

I pull my backpack over my shoulders. “People grow apart,” I say, “and sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

I turn and walk out the door.

53://Josh

“BEND YOUR KNEES!” I yell through cupped hands.

Up on the half-pipe, the stoner guy is about to make his first drop. I tried talking him out of it, but he’s determined to impress his girlfriend. She’s standing at the other end of the ramp with her arms crossed, shaking her head. With one foot on the tail of his board, and the rear wheels locked against the lip of the ramp, he slowly lifts his other leg and sets it near the front of the board.

Tyson and I are next to the ramp, sitting on our boards.

Tyson rocks from side to side. “I’ve never seen anyone die on a half-pipe before.”

“Keep watching,” I say, and then I cup my hands again. “Bend your knees!”

The stoner guy nods like he heard me. As his board begins tipping forward, he lets out a primal scream. He flies down the ramp, but he’s not bending his knees. The board jets out from under him, his legs rocket into the air, and he lands hard on his back.

His girlfriend drops in from the other end, then jumps off her board and runs over to him. She helps him stagger away.

Tyson applauds. “He didn’t die. I guess that’s a success.”

I slide my backpack over my shoulder and stand up. “I’m heading home.”

Tyson laughs. “But what if he tries it again?”

I shake my head. I’m too stressed about tonight’s bonfire to enjoy anything going on here. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Maybe this is the night Sydney and I finally click. Or maybe this is the night we part for good.

I slap Tyson’s hand. “I’ll see you at the lake.”

* * *

I SLIDE OPEN my closet door. On the long shelf above my shirts, I keep everything I can’t throw away. Skater magazines. A cast I once wore on my leg, signed by everyone I know. A shoebox of bootleg punk tapes that David gave me. I jiggle out a box of well-worn charcoal sticks and a large sketchpad I haven’t touched since last year.

It feels good to hold this sketchpad again. Years ago, I wrote “TEMPLETON” in bold letters across the front. That’s what I wanted to go by when I became a famous artist.

I flip open the cover and laugh at my first masterpiece: Twenty-one Tweety Birds. It’s twenty-one pencil sketches of Tweety, but I only colored three of them yellow. I don’t remember the significance of those three, but it meant something at the time.

The next page is Toons & Tins. The Tasmanian Devil and Porky Pig shout into tin-can telephones, frustrated that they can’t understand each other, with spittle flying everywhere. Seriously, what the hell was I on?

A few pages later, I turn the sketchpad on its side.

At the beginning of my freshman year, Emma and I were studying on her bed when I asked if I could sketch her. She set aside her book and sat patiently while I drew, but it frustrated me that I couldn’t get her just right. It may have looked like her, but it felt like anyone.