Dad texts me while I’m at MJ’s and asks me to have dinner with him. He offers to take me to my favorite dive restaurant, Buddy’s.

The fact he’s willing to go to a place he considers both unhealthy and tacky makes me uneasy. Is it a prelude to him asking me to do something I don’t want to do?

But I say I’ll meet him there anyway and text Mom to let her know I won’t be home for dinner.

It’s crowded at Buddy’s when I get there, but Dad’s already got us a table.

“So what have you been up to since your camp job ended?” Dad asks as soon as I sit down.

I think about making out with Dara.

What I actually say, though, is: “Did like a million practice tests for the SAT, retook the SAT, and researched colleges. Slept. Oh, and I hung out with MJ this afternoon.”

“Yeah? How’s your girlfriend doing?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She will be someday,” Dad says.

“No, she won’t. I—”

I almost slip up and tell him I am seeing someone (kind of? I think?) and it’s not MJ, but luckily I bite my tongue in time.

“MJ, my friend-who-just-so-happens-to-be-a-girl, is fine, Dad.”

“You spend so much time with your friend-who-just-so-happens-to-be-a-girl, I worry that you’re never going to have an actual girlfriend,” Dad says.

“I’m hungry. Can we just order?” I say, trying to change the subject.

He nods and picks up the menu.

I order the usual, a loaded steak sandwich and onion rings. Dad shakes his head, but before he can launch into his usual that’s-a-heart-attack-on-a-plate lecture, I remind him that I’ve been running every day all summer.

“I invited you out to dinner because I want to talk to you about your college strategy,” Dad says after the waiter walks away.

There it is. The price of dinner at Buddy’s.

“What do you mean?” I ask, barely holding in a sigh.

“You should apply to Stanford early,” Dad says. “The acceptance rate for early action is nine percent, versus less than four percent regular admissions. Between that, track, Robotics Club, and being a legacy, you’ll have better odds, because the pool you’re competing against is smaller, and they know you really want to go there.”

What if I don’t know if I really want to go there?

That’s what I would say to my dad if I wasn’t so much of a coward.

Instead, I ask, “What if my SAT scores didn’t improve enough?”

“All the more reason to apply early. The smart move is to use every advantage you’ve got.” He leans forward. “And forget about all the it’s-not-fair-to-everyone-else garbage. Do you think if other people had the edge you do they’d refuse to use it?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard. Just do it,” Dad says. “Listen to your old man.”

“You said old, not me,” I say, trying to lead the conversation away from college.

“Yeah, and the reason I’m still in such good shape for a not-so-old man is because I don’t usually eat at places like this.”

I sigh. Guess it’s two-for-one lecture night here at Buddy’s.

The next day when Mom’s at work and Sadie’s over at a friend’s house, I text Dara. We’re going to the movies tonight, and maybe I’m not playing it cool enough by doing this, but I want to see her.

Me: Hey. I’m sitting in an empty house.

Me: Wanna come over and pick up where we left off on Friday?

Dara: Okay.

Dara: As long as you have AC, because I’m going to ride my bike over and it’s disgustingly hot and humid.

Dara: I hope you’re not squeamish about sweat.

Me: Like I never saw you sweaty at camp?

Dara: Ha-ha, true.

Me: See you in half an hour!

I spend the next thirty minutes in a state of nervous anticipation. I’ve been thinking about Dara constantly since Friday night. Figures this happened right as camp ended. I kind of miss seeing her every day.

When the doorbell rings, I walk to the door, my heart beating fast and my mouth dry.

Dara’s on the front step, in cutoffs and a slightly cropped tank top, leaving a line of tanned stomach showing. Her skin glistens with perspiration.

“Hi!” she says.

“Hi. Welcome to my air-conditioned abode,” I say. “Can I get you a cold drink?”

“Yes, please!” she says, following me into the kitchen and dropping her helmet on the counter.

When we get there, I turn and put my arms around her.

“I’m so gross and sweaty,” she says, pulling back.

“Don’t care. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop,” I reply.

I kiss her and she winds her arms around my neck. She smells of sunscreen, vanilla, and sweat.

She finally breaks away and says, “I need a drink, please.”

I feel like a selfish jerk.

“Sorry,” I say. “What can I get you? Water, soda, iced tea?”

“Iced tea sounds perfect,” she says.

I get her a glass and then we head into the family room. She sits next to me on the sofa, and I pull her close.

“So what have you been up to?” I ask.

“Went to the office supply store to get school supplies, Ada and I went to the mall to shop, and other than that, a whole lot of nothing. Watching TV and reading and taking it easy, because once school starts … well, it’s going to be all go, all the time.” She looks up at me. “Oh, and on Saturday I have a six-hour EMT shift. What about you?”

“Hung out with MJ,” I tell her. “And Amir and Sam.” Then I tell her about last night’s dinner with Dad and how he’s pressuring me to apply early to Stanford.

“Why wouldn’t you want to apply early if it gives you a better chance of getting into your first-choice school?” she asks. “That’s why I’m applying early decision to Johns Hopkins. I’m sure it’s where I want to go.”

“Can I tell you something?” I ask. “Something I’ve only told MJ?”

“Of course you can.”

The scent of her makes my heart thud in my chest. At least I want to think it’s that, and not that I’m afraid to confess this to someone as motivated and driven as Dara.

“I’m not sure I want to go to Stanford.”

She tips her head and looks at me. “Why not? Their computer science department is one of the best in the country and you’d be right there in Silicon Valley.”

“I know, I know. But … it’s also really high pressure.”

“You’d give up the chance to be at one of the top schools in the country, where you’re going to make really great connections, because you want to be more chill?”

She makes it sound like I’ve lost my mind, and I start to wonder if maybe I have.

“It’s not just that. There are really good programs for game development at other schools,” I say defensively. “Besides, not everyone who is super successful goes to a top-tier school, and lots of smart people can’t afford to go even if they do get in.”

“I’d be one of them if it weren’t for my dad’s life insurance. There’s no way I could afford to go to Johns Hopkins if my mom hadn’t put most of that away to pay for my college,” Dara says. She looks down. “It makes me feel guilty … like, assuming I can get in, I can afford to attend a top-tier school and still be able to graduate with little to no debt.”

Now it’s my turn to look at her like she’s crazy. “Yeah, but you’ve had to grow up without your dad. Being able to graduate debt free is great, but it doesn’t sound like nearly enough to compensate for that.”

“I know,” she says. “But lots of people grow up without one or both of their parents, for a lot of different reasons, and they don’t all get a pile of money to pay for college.”

“True. Still, there’s no reason why you should feel guilty about it.” I reach for her hand and her fingers twine with mine.

She stares at our hands, where my thumb has started to run circles on her knuckles. “Can we talk about when we go back to school?” she asks.

“What, you mean like next week?”

“Excellent calendar skills, Will,” she says with a wry smile. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not second in the class for nothing,” I tell her. “Well, at least second for now. I’m planning to take you down, Dara Simons.”

“In your dreams,” she says. “But … can we be serious for a second?”

“What makes you think I’m not serious about beating you for valedictorian?” I say.

“Ha-ha. Okay, well, serious about … whatever this is.” She gestures between us with her free hand. “And going back to school.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking … maybe we should keep our relationship on the down low.”

My hand stills. “Why?”

She looks up at me. “Funnily enough, because of what you just said.”

“What did I just say?”

“About taking me down as valedictorian,” she says.

“That was a joke!”

Dara raises her eyebrow. “Was it, though?”

She has me there.

“I guess I’m … half-serious,” I say slowly. “I do want to be valedictorian, and you’re the person I have to beat to do it. But MJ told me yesterday that she wants to beat both of us, so it’s not like the competition is just between us two.”

“I know. But this thing, us, whatever it is, it’s been less than a week. We made out. And it was awesome,” she says before I can object. “This is not a relationship, though. Maybe it will be, but who knows. And it’s weird enough that we’ve got overlapping friend groups and we’re in competition to be valedictorian. You and MJ being best friends is just another aspect of it. Adding the layer of us dating is just going to make people focus on it and talk about us even more.”

“Who cares what people think?” I say.

One of the things I like most about Dara is also one of the things about her that drives me crazy: namely that she isn’t afraid to call me on my crap. She did it. All. Summer. Long. Now she sits up, untwining our fingers, and turns sideways on the sofa to face me. “Really, Will? So … have you told MJ about us?”

I push myself to sitting, too, and run my hand through my hair because I know I’m busted and it gives me a few extra seconds to come up with an answer.

“No,” I admit.

“Look, I’m glad you haven’t, but why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess because we haven’t been more than friends for very long and I wasn’t sure where this was going. And because there’s enough stress in my life right now, what with Dad pressuring me about Stanford and—”

A broad smile cracks her face, and I realize I just walked right into the trap.

“Bingo!” she says. “Because I have enough stress in my life, too.”

“Fine. Maybe you do have a point,” I admit.

“So you’re okay with it?” she says. “Staying in stealth mode?”

“Stealth mode … I like it,” I say, leaning forward so our lips are almost touching. “Now that I think about it, it’s kind of … hot.”

“Will, you think that everything is hot,” she says, smiling as she closes the distance between us.

Stealth mode it is.

When I pick Dara up for the movies later that evening, she looks like a different person. She’s changed from her shorts and tank into this floaty sundress, and her hair, which is usually up in a high ponytail, falls around her shoulders.

“Wow,” I say when she gets into the car. “You look different!”

She tilts her head to one side. “Um … thanks?”

“Oh! I mean, not that you don’t look good. You look amazing. Wait, I don’t mean you normally don’t look amazing. I mean …” I hit my head on the steering wheel. “Ugh, that was supposed to be a compliment, but … I think I’ll just stop talking now.”

Dara laughs. “You need to work on your game.”

“Obviously,” I say. “I’ll spend the entire movie trying to think of a better compliment. Hopefully by the time I drop you home I’ll have thought of something.”

We head to the multiplex at the mall. While we’re in the line for the box office, one of the other movies lets out, and people stream into the lobby.

“Oh my god, Dara! What are you doing here?” Ada comes over with her older sister, Grace, and some of Grace’s friends.

“Um, seeing a movie?” Dara says. “That’s kind of what you do at a movie theater.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to the movies!” Ada says. Then she looks from Dara to me, and back to Dara. “Uh … what movie are you seeing?”

“The Mind Paradox,” Dara says.

“That’s what we just saw,” Grace tells us.

“It was really good,” Ada says.

“What’s not to love about a movie starring Morgan Riley?” Dara says. “She’s amazing.”

“And Martin Cain is a snack,” Ada says.

“I know, right?” Dara says. “Can’t wait.”

“Come on, Ada, the chili fries at the diner are calling my name,” Grace says. “I’m heading back to Tulane on Monday, so see you at homecoming, Dara.”

Dara hugs her and wishes her a good semester.

As their group walks away, I see Ada texting and then hear Dara’s phone buzz. She looks down at it and then stuffs it in her pocket. It buzzes again. And again. And again while I get the tickets.

Finally, she pulls it out and types furiously.

“Everything okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Just … well, Ada is asking what’s going on. Like, you know, are we dating.”

“Huh. And what did you tell her?”

Dara shrugs. “She knows we worked together at camp. I said we were friends.” She looks up at me. “I feel bad about—well, if not exactly lying, not telling her the truth. But the truth is, we don’t know what we are exactly, right?”

“Right,” I say. “And anyway, we agreed to keep whatever we are top secret for now.”

The smile of relief lights up Dara’s face. “Yeah.”

“So … you think Martin Cain is hot?”

Dara gives me a sidelong glance. “He’s not bad to look at,” she says. “But I really stan him because he’s funny.”

As the trailers start, and the lights go down, I reach over and take Dara’s hand. I also resolve to google some jokes. I can be funny, too.