For the next week, I avoid Chris and Lindsay as much as possible. I fake a headache and spend Tuesday afternoon in the nurse’s office to get out of chem lab. I can’t deal. I really can’t. But Friday is an A Day, and I know I have to face them eventually, so I force myself to walk into the cafeteria and sit at their table.

Dammit. When did I start thinking of it as their table?

“There she is.” Chris’s smile is almost enough to lift my sour mood.

“Where do you stand on matching ties?” Lindsay accosts me before I can even set down my tray.

Chris widens his eyes and shakes his head, and she slaps his chest. “No signaling.”

I look from one to the other. “Matching ties? What kinds of ties, and what are they supposed to match?”

Massey groans. Apparently, he’s had enough of whatever conversation I’ve walked into.

“Sorry, sorry.” Lindsay laughs and waves her hands around in an apology. “We were having a discussion about prom. I bought a red dress. Should Chris or should Chris not wear a matching red tie?”

“Um. I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really given ties much thought.” I want to ask, what difference does it make since the two of you will no doubt tear off your stupid red dress and your tux and make mad, passionate love halfway through the night anyway? But I refrain. Instead, I mumble, “He should wear whatever looks best on him, I suppose.”

Lindsay pouts. “You’re no fun.” She leans across the table and lowers her voice. “So, who are you going to prom with?”

Massey snorts, and I shoot him a dirty look. Is it so unthinkable that I would go to prom with someone? I shrug and bite into my slice of pepperoni pizza. “I dunno.”

“Okay. Let me ask it this way: Who do you want to go with? Who do you like?”

My face grows warm. Despite the fact that I am very specifically not looking at Chris, I can feel him staring at me. My throat closes up, and I have to force the pizza down. I roll my eyes and try to assume a casual tone. “This is why I tend to hang out with guys instead of girls. Not a single boy has ever asked me that question.” I smile coyly. “Maybe there’s someone. Maybe not.”

Massey slams down his empty soda can, crushing it against his tray. “Enough about prom. Let’s talk about after prom. Party at Briggsy’s. It’s going to be massive. He’s getting a band and everything.”

Hmm. Much as I’d like to continue to steer away from the topic of prom rather than back toward it, I can’t help but ask. “Who’s Briggs going with?”

Massey shakes his head. “As of right now, no one. He’s still hung up on that little snot, Abi.”

“What? Abi’s not a snot. She’s a sweetheart. Briggsy’s the one who—” Oops. All three of them are staring at me.

“Since when are you and Abi so tight?” Massey asks.

“We’re not. I just … when she and Briggsy were together, we hung out sometimes. She’s nice. And you have to admit he can be kind of a jerk, what with all of his extracurricular flirting.”

Massey shakes his head. “That’s the problem with you girls. If a guy pays too much attention, you complain he’s smothering you, but if he so much as looks at another girl, you call him a jerk. We can’t win.”

“Oh, please.” Lindsay points a celery stick at him. “We’re not that complicated. Guys simply don’t make an effort to figure out what we want.” She grins up at Chris. “Except for you. You’re perfect.” She gives him a quick kiss. “And feel free to smother me, by the way. I’m all about being smothered with attention.”

I toss my pizza crust onto my tray. This was a mistake. The two of them are like nails on a chalkboard. Every time they touch I want to scream. And the thought of them together—together together—turns my stomach. I need to get out of here. I pull out my phone and pretend to check my texts. I hold it up and nod vaguely toward the door. “Coach Reilly needs to see me. I should—”

“It’s Jerod, isn’t it?” Chris’s eyes bore through me. He’s sitting with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his back slumped casually against his chair, but I can hear the tap, tap, tap of his left foot beneath the table.

“What?” I gesture again toward my phone. “I just told you. It’s Coach Reilly.”

“Not that.” He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, his expression serious. “You said you liked someone. Jerod.”

“I said maybe I liked someone, and …” I tug at my ponytail, flustered. “And it’s really none of your business who that is.”

“It’s my business if it’s Jerod.”

“What? Why? Why would you possibly care if I liked Jerod?”

Chris glances away. “I don’t want you to get hurt; that’s all.”

Too late for that.

“How exactly would I get hurt by liking Jerod? Speaking theoretically, of course.”

Chris’s lips twitch, and he still won’t meet my eyes. “Just be careful.”

There’s something he’s not telling me. Half of me is dying to know what that is, but the other half decides I’m being silly because I do not, in fact, like Jerod. As I push back my chair and grab my books, Lindsay leans over and gives Chris another kiss. And another. I clench my teeth.

Wonder how Jerod feels about matching ties? Speaking theoretically, of course.