“Why aren’t you dressed for the party yet?”
Abe stood in the doorway to Jen’s bedroom. He’d changed into khaki pants and a polo shirt and had slicked back his hair, pulled it into a tiny ponytail. His unworn loafers, bought early last year in anticipation of bar mitzvah invitations that had never materialized, reflected the overhead light. They were at least a size too small.
“Because we’re not going.”
“You need to get out of bed.” Abe walked stiff-legged—the shoes must be killing him, but he did not complain—into Jen’s closet. She could hear the hangers squeaking over the rod.
“This is pretty.” He emerged with a bloodred, in-your-face silk sundress with a voluminous flounce around her feet. She’d had it for years but never worn it because every time she tried it on, she thought nope.
“Totally inappropriate,” Jen said. “Why do you even want to go?”
Nan’s gentle, concerned voice. Do you think Abe has plans to hurt his friend?
“The points,” Abe said matter-of-factly. “I wrote my apology note to Laurel, and Dad said that’s fifty points. I get another fifty when I hand it to her. I don’t have to be her friend, but he explained to me that I can’t get stuck in the usual cycle. I have to break free.”
Jen searched his face. Feel free to chime in, gut.
He held up the dress, gave the hanger a shake. Neutral it was not. At the thought of showing up in that dress, Jen started to laugh the hyenic laugh of a madwoman.
Abe smiled. “What?”
Jen’s phone chimed with an incoming text.
She reached into her pocket and glanced at the screen.
“Deb Gallegos,” she said aloud.
“What does she say?”
Jen was sure it was nothing good.