“Hello?” Tig said.
“Hey,” Will said.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Claire just left a little while ago. She spent the night last night.”
“Oh. Did y’all have fun?”
“Yeah.”
“How was the gig?”
“Good.”
A long pause.
“I need to talk to you,” Will said. Something in his voice sounded ominous.
“Okay,” Tig said. “Go ahead.”
“I need to talk to you in person.”
“Like, at school Monday?”
“No. I need to talk to you . . . alone.”
Tig’s stomach dropped. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Will said. “I mean, yes. I mean . . . I don’t know. Sort of.”
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“I don’t think so,” Will said. “My older brother has a car. I could get him to drive me over to your house if that’s okay.”
A dozen different thoughts went through Tig’s head. What would Olivia think about Will coming to her house to talk to her? Would Tig’s parents allow a boy to come over to see her? What did he want to talk about that couldn’t be said over the phone?
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask my folks if it’s all right with them.”
“I understand. Can you ask them and call me back?”
“Okay,” Tig said. She hung up with Will and went to find her mom.
Her dad was in the laundry room, replacing a fuse in the dryer. “Dad,” Tig said, “have you seen Mom?”
“Yes,” he replied. “She’s about five-foot-five, brown hair . . .”
Tig didn’t laugh. “Dad, do you know where she is?”
“She’s at the grocery store. Probably be back in about another hour. What’s the matter?”
Tig sighed. It would’ve been awkward enough to talk to her mom about this, but her dad? Of all the luck!
“Is it okay if my friend Will comes over for a little while?”
“Your friend Will?” her dad asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Will sounds like a boy’s name. Is your friend Will a boy?”
“Dad, you know Will. He played guitar for the band last year at Kyra’s birthday party. He came over here for practice a bunch of times.”
“Ah yes,” her dad said. “That Will. But you’re telling me he wants to come over here by himself, without your bandmates around?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmmm,” said her dad. “What will the three of us be talking about?”
“Dad,” Tig said, losing her patience.
“Okay, okay,” Mr. Ripley said. “I guess he can come over for a little while. But I’m not sure I like this.”
I’m not sure I do either, Tig thought.
“And just so this fellow knows . . .” Tig’s dad made a V with his index and middle fingers and pointed at his eyes, then at Tig, to mean, I’ll be watching.
Tig called Will back. “You can come over,” she said. She thought of her dad’s V signal. “But I think maybe we should just sit outside on the studio steps.”
“Good enough,” said Will. “I’ll be there in twenty.”