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Tulsa was much busier than Foley, Texas, or even the surrounding towns like Odessa. Being here reminded me of those women on TV who lived in major metropolitan areas, and a part of me had always wanted to try it. I wanted to experience what it was like being young, independent, and living in a city.

Turned out, all that meant was being chronically late on bills and working two jobs and going to school, meaning absolutely zero life and a lack of sleep. Moving in with Dad had been a no-brainer for both of us after I’d been back in town for a couple months. I was drowning in bills and couldn’t keep up the way I wanted because I was so busy, and Dad wanted to reconnect. He had an apartment in Tulsa, right by the interstate on Main Street.

So after a six-month lease, I moved in with him and settled as best I could. It was less lonely with Dad there, but he wasn’t exactly the most engaging person, and he still drank a lot. At least he was a sleepy drunk. I’d come back from class to find him six or seven beers deep and watching a movie with one eye closed, and then find him in the exact same spot the next morning when I got up for work. His job as a trucker meant that he often wasn’t home at all, and my only responsibility was to make sure the place didn’t burn down and keep his one cactus alive.

Such was the case when I came home from class on a Wednesday night to an empty apartment. I tossed my bookbag on the floor by the couch and made my way to the kitchen. A box of microwavable Thai noodles in the pantry was what I was making a beeline for, and I got my meager dinner going just in time for my phone to ring.

I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was. It was eight-thirty. Tamara was calling like she did every single night at this time.

“Hey, you,” I said, answering the phone.

“Oh my God, you are not going to believe this,” my sister said, her voice vibrating with excitement. I tried to go through the Rolodex of all the things I wouldn’t be able to believe from her perspective and settled on it being a boy. Which one was the problem.

“What?”

“Collin Montogomery asked me out!”

I cocked my head to one side in confusion and got my dinner out of the microwave, popping the top and sticking a fork inside.

“Collin? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said defensively. “I can tell the Galloway boys apart, Charlotte.”

I didn’t bother to correct her. Mom and Tamara weren’t going to just start calling me April no matter how much I insisted. They were both positive I was going to move back in a few weeks and start going by my first name again. Mom was already preparing my room at the old house, reconverting it from the poorly-thought-out workout room they had initially turned it into.

“I’m just surprised,” I said. “Collin doesn’t seem like the type to askanyoneout.”

“Well, I mean, he didn’tdirectlyask me out,” Tamara said. “I mean, not in those words.”

I sighed and shook my head. Oh, boy crazy Tamara.

“What did he say, exactly?” I asked.

“He said I should come to Crockett’s tonight,” she said. “He said he’s going to be there and that I should come. But like… suggestively.”

“Suggestively?”

“It’s hard to convey it over the phone,” she said. “But, like, with his eyes. He was saying a lot with his eyes.”

“Ahh,” I said. “Well, are you going to go?”

“Of course not,” she said.

I paused for a moment, trying to work out her logic, then gave up.

“Why?”

“Because Jesse is going to be there, and I’m still not talking to him.”

I tried to hide my emotions at hearing his name. It was rare for me to hear it, but I thought it all the time. We had only been seeing each other a few weeks and hadn’t done much more than get past second base, so it wasn’t like we had some big, intimate thing. And I knew he had been with a bunch of women before. It was why I was hesitant to jump in bed with him. But he didn’t mind. He was into me as I was him.

And then…

I shook my head to get my brain out of it. I couldn’t think about Jesse right now. I couldn’t think about him at all. He was the past. I didn’t need the past.

“Well, I think you should go,” I said. “You can’t deny yourself happiness because of other people. They’re doing another under twenty-one night, right?”

“Maybe,” Tamara said.