"I'm sure you will - work hard and be careful, that is. So, can you start tomorrow?"

"Uh . . ." I calculate the drive in my head. If I left right now, I could be home by tomorrow morning. But I can't leave just yet. I haven't done what I came here to do.

"Matt?"

"Yeah, yeah . . . I'm here. It's just . . ."

"Are you OK? You're not . . . hurt, are you? Or . . ."

"No, I'm fine, but . . . I'm not at home, and I don't think I can get back in time to start tomorrow."

"Where are you? Are you in trouble?"

Yeah. But not like he thinks. "I'm fine. I'm just . . ." And once Dad is done with me. "Uh, I'm out of town. And it'll take me until tomorrow afternoon, at least, maybe tomorrow night, to get home. Can I start Tuesday instead?"

"Yes. Yes, Tuesday is fine." His breath rushes across the receiver in a gust. "Tuesday will be great. Just come by the house on Henry and I'll take you over to Southside and introduce you to Raymond. He heads up the crew there. OK?"

"Great. Thanks, Mr. Anders. I really appreciate this. You won't be sorry."

"I know I won't, Matt. I'll see you Tuesday."

My heart is pounding. I realize I'm squeezing my phone in my hand, and the beeping on and off of the speaker phone reminds me I have another call to make.

I steel myself for Shauna. It barely rings before Shauna answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey." Short.

"Sorry. About not calling. Things have been . . . Sorry."

I wait for her to yell, or cry, or whatever. I deserve it. But she's not saying anything. I can't actually hear her at all. I look at my phone to make sure the call wasn't dropped. Then I hear something. She's still there, even if she's not talking.

"Shaun . . . I'm sorry." Whiny and stupid, even in my own ears.

"Whatever. Listen, when are you coming back?"

"Tonight."

"Really?" That got her attention.

"Yeah, well, I won't get home until tomorrow sometime, but I'll leave tonight."

"Good." She breathes out hard, like she had been holding her breath. "Good."

"What?"

"Nothing," she says, but it's clearly something.

"What?"

"I just . . . When you didn't call, and wouldn't answer, I just worried . . . that you weren't coming back. And that you'd just leave, and I'd . . ."

"What?"

"Never see you again." Her voice breaks on the last word.

I am such a fucking asshole. "I'll be home tomorrow, promise." Even as I say it I cringe.

"I wouldn't. Come back. If I were you. But if you were gonna leave . . ." She gulps. "And . . . I acted so stupid and . . . said all that crap . . ." Full out tears.

"It's OK," I whisper, pressing my fingers into my eyes.

Her face. Her smile. Everything she did for me, even after she was pissed at me. And she would totally be right here with me, right now, if I had let her.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say. I can't wait to see her, to tell her. And I can picture how she'll look, like when she was reading the letters, but better.

She's still crying, just a little, and trying hard for me not to know. I have to help her out.

"Couldn't let my best friend brave senior year all alone, now, could I?"

She cries harder, and there's nothing I can say but her name and shushing sounds until she calms down.

"I thought," she says, still swallowing tears, "maybe I had screwed that up, too. At Stacy's."

"What?"

"Best friend," she says, like that explains it.

I'm so confused. "I shouldn't have taken off."

"It's OK. I was stupid," she says. "And I know we're not . . . You're not . . . It's OK, as long as we're OK, still . . . friends."

Friends. Like it tastes bad.

"'Cause I couldn't stand it," she says, "if . . . I mean, if you didn't want to even be friends anymore." More tears.

"Why wouldn't . . . Shaun?"

"I'm really sorry," she says.

"For what?"

She laughs. "Matt, don't make me say it."

"For. What?"

She huffs into the phone. "Look, I said I'm sorry. Can we move on?"

She didn't do anything. Except wear that freaking insane shirt. And suck the life out of that candy. And smell so freaking good. And try to kiss me.

"But . . . I don't . . . Shaun, I'm the one who bolted. I'm the one who should be apologizing, who -"

"But -"

"For . . . for . . . everything. I should be apologizing for . . . everything . . ."

"But . . ."

I can hear her breathing. I can practically hear her confusion, loud as mine. This is all my fault. I take a deep breath. Time to say what I should have said a long time ago, instead of sulking and giving her a hard time.

"Of course we're friends," I say. "Best friends." I gulp down how much it burns to even think the next part, so that I can say it. "No matter who you date. I know I screwed up, by bolting instead of . . . and I know we can't go back. But . . ."

The lack of sound is loud. I replay what I said. Something's wrong. Did I screw this up again?

"Even if you decide to date Michael again, or whoever, I'll -"

"Stop."

"I can totally -"

"Seriously, just shut up."

Huh?

Silence. Nothing. I look at the phone, but the call hasn't been disconnected.

"Shaun?"

"Yeah," her voice comes through from far away. I put the phone back to my ear. "Yeah . . . When you took off, I thought -"

"I'm a jerk. I should have waited, but I was worried -"

". . . and you said you couldn't bring a friend. A friend -"

"What?"

"You said -"

"Yeah, I know. And I know it pissed you off, that I said -"

"Matt! Shut. Up. And let me . . . let me . . . Shit!"

"OK."

"Shit!" she yells into the air, away from the phone.

"Shaun?"

"When -" she starts, and then stops. I wait. "When you weren't interested, and -"

"Whoa! No 'not interested.' Interested, but -"

"Matt! I was doing everything to . . ." She takes a deep breath. "Shit. I can't believe I'm going to say this."

"Shaun?"

"The shirt. And the makeup. And my stupid hair." She laughs but it's not funny. "Kara did my hair and makeup. Jenna made me wear that stupid shirt. They said I hadn't been sending the right signals, and that if I just . . . That if you were interested, you'd want me to come with you. And if you weren't . . ."

"Signals . . . and . . . Shaun! I had to go on my own. Had to. But that didn't mean I don't, that I didn't . . ."

"But you said 'friend' - it didn't feel right to take a 'friend' along, like I'm -"

"It's not that I didn't want you . . ." Shit. "Or want you to come . . ." Fuck. "I just, I needed to go alone. To prove to myself that I could do this, do anything, by myself."

"Yeah, but I did everything but crawl into your lap! And you didn't, didn't even - friend, Matt. You called me -"

"Yeah, but not 'cause I didn't want. I wanted. Hell, I had to get away so I wouldn't . . ."

"Wouldn't?"

"Wouldn't . . . Shaun! You were making me crazy."

"Crazy?"

"Totally." The whole night replays in my head in flashes, but like with a spotlight highlighting things. Her hair hanging in her face. Her eyes all kind of sparkly. That insane shirt. The fucking candy. The way she kept looking at me. "Totally, insanely crazy."

I can hear her breathing. She's breathing hard. Makes me twitch. I go for broke.

"And I liked the shirt." My face is hot, and I can picture it in my head. "Too much." I swallow. "Feel free to wear it anytime." Fuck. "Or pretty much anything else you feel like wearing."

She laughs hard, for real this time, and everything gets hot.

"I'm sorry, Shaun. I'm . . . an idiot."

"Yes, you are," she says, her voice deeper. Damn, I want to kiss her. I'd kiss her right now if she were here. And if she had that shirt on . . . Shit. There are so many things to say, and none of them sounds right, not now, over the phone. And my brain's a little blood deprived. I pinch the skin between my thumb and finger. Take a breath. "So, uh . . . my dad came to your house? What, uh . . . ?"

"It was actually OK," she says, returning to normal. "I mean, a little weird, and at first I was kind of freaked, but he was . . . it was . . . OK."

"Was he pissed?"

"He's upset," she says carefully, "worried."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"You know I'm not a fan, but he seemed really worried more than anything else."