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He gives me an exhausted look but does as told, probably grateful to have someone else fielding Gina’s suggestions.

“Hi, Gina,” I say, plopping down next to Lorenzo. “I’ll take care of your son, don’t worry.”

Lorenzo looks taken aback.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “Lorenzo said you’re starting a new job the same day. And I just can’t believe the timing, because we’re moving my mother-in-law into assisted living that very morning.”

“The job’s flexible. I’ll talk to my boss about starting a few days later.”

“What?” Lorenzo cuts in. “You said your boss was a total hard-ass.”

“No, I didn’t. I said—” I hesitate, not finding anything clever at the ready. “Fart-ass,” I say quickly. “He’s very flatulent.”

Lorenzo looks briefly amused. “I mean, smart-ass would have been the obvious choice.” Then he rolls his eyes, quickly reverting to his grouchy self. “Anyway, stop,” he says in a warning tone. “You’re not doing this.”

“It’s not a big deal, L, relax. It’s just a couple days.”

“Ruby, you are a gem,” Gina says, and I can hear the smile on her face. “This is such a relief. I was already losing sleep worrying who would take care of him.”

A deep crease forms in Lorenzo’s forehead.

“Great, it’s settled. And don’t worry. I’ll call you after surgery to let you know everything’s fine.”

As soon as we hang up the phone, Lorenzo hits me with a glare.

“Oh, no, don’t thank me or anything, Groucho,” I say, chucking him under the chin.

“Knock it off, Ruby. You know I’m grateful, but what the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t die at the hands of Cash Hartnell.”

“He’d be there for me.”

“I’m sure he would, but is that who you’d like holding your hand when you come out of anesthesia? Handing out your medications? Cooking your meals?”

“I have plenty of friends. And that’s not even the point! You were on top of the world yesterday when you got this job, now you’re going to piss it away? Plus you have class.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say again, wondering whether it’s myself I’m trying to convince. “Bree will give me class notes, and I’ll just talk to my boss.”

“And say what?”

I shrug, suddenly filled with dread. If I lose this job, I’ll probably have to grovel to my parents for a summer gig ... and spend the next ten weeks listening to their lectures on responsibility. But I’ll deal with that later. I stand up and start uselessly tidying the couch pillows. “This is more important than the job. Okay?” I turn for the kitchen, not giving him a chance to respond, but he grabs my hand, so of course I stop. I always do.

“Ruby.” His fingers wrap around my wrist. He waits for me to look at him. “Thank you.”

Lorenzo has the most beautiful eyes on earth. Blue-eyed boys get all the glory, but Lorenzo’s are dark as night and impossible not to drown in if you don’t look away in time. “You’re welcome.”I slip free of his grasp but can’t help adding with a smile, “Ingrate.”

As twilight settles over the neighborhood, we head up the block to University Boulevard, a dogwood-lined street just off campus with wide brick sidewalks and businesses catering to Shafer’s after-dark crowd—a twenty-four-hour convenience store, a late-night movie theater, and a slew of bars. We hit up the Phantom—the go-to bar among students—for food and a few rounds of pool. Even though the summer crowd is a fraction of what the place gets during the school year, it still feels mildly claustrophobic thanks to the overabundance of furniture, the lack of air-conditioning, and the moody red lighting. Lorenzo asks me at least three times if I’m sure I want to play nurse for him, and each time I bury myself deeper. Even when he says I can back out as long as he has a couple of days’ warning to ask his friends to help, I promise him I won’t. And I won’t back out, even though I don’t know what I can possibly say to my would-be boss. How many times has Lorenzo waded through shit with me? Every single time I’ve needed him, and most of those were messes of my own making. There’s nothing I want more than to be there for him.

“You up for buying me a drink, loser?” I ask after beating Lorenzo twice in a row.

He pulls out his wallet and hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Here, go wild.”

“Come with me!” I fit my pool cue into the rack on the wood-paneled wall.

“No, ma’am, it’s almost my bedtime. I’m not touching booze between now and surgery.”

It’s not just the surgery, though. Lorenzo hardly drinks anymore. I respect the changes he’s made, but sometimes it’s hard to reconcile this guy with the kid who got me drunk forthe first time in ninth grade ... and basically every weekend thereafter. “Fine, fine, be mature and sensible. See if I care.”