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Sebastian doesn’t know why he bothers running his eyes over the plastic menu. He’s been to the diner enough over the last three summers. Nothing about it has changed, not the stench of grease-dripping burgers or the collection of framed vintage photos featuring Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Audrey Hepburn fromBreakfast at Tiffany’slining the pastel blue walls. The neon vinyl stools complete the nod to ’50s nostalgia.

Sebastian sits alone. He smiles at Liza. “Can I have a—?”

“Root beer, right?”

“Valerie Jones,” Sebastian says, his mouth curving slyly. Val is another girl who’s big on nicknames and never forgetting a face. It’s ironic, because Sebastian can’t forget her doe-brown eyes, sculpted rosy cheeks, and snarky smile.

She teases Sebastian with a raised eyebrow before hugging him. He reciprocates with one arm, breathing in her coconut suntan lotion.

“It’s still root beer, right?” Val asks.

Sebastian nods a confirmation for her, then Liza.

Liza rolls her eyes. He’s ordered the same thing forever, including the free slice of pie Liza slides him after every meal. “I’ll let you two catch up,” she says, snapping her gum. “Just call me when you’re ready to order the usual.” She saunters off with the limp of a grandma who’s been on her feet too long.

Val peeks around him, tilting her head. “Alone?”

Sebastian doesn’t mind being by himself. It’s easier to keep track of the team, who bookend the booths inside the diner. They’re lean but big, taking up as much space as possible. And they’re loud, rowdy guys, knocking back milkshakes and clearing their plates as if they’re starved. The slop here beats anything the dining hall produces.

Sebastian’s head has been stuck on Emir. That doesn’t make for good conversation with this wild bunch. It’s not that hecan’ttalk about his attraction to dudes, it’s just that—well, the team hasn’t made their minds up about Emir yet.

Neither has Sebastian.

“Just chilling,” he says with his best laid-back shrug.

“Still the babysitter?”

“I prefer the term ‘Big Brother.’”

“Bastian,” Val says, skeptically, “you’re half the size of some of those beasts.” Her nose wrinkles at him in an intensely loveable way.

“Enjoy,” Liza says, sliding him his drink. An extra scoop of ice cream sends root beer burbling over the rim and a cherry sits on top. “Hey! You make a mess, you’re licking it up!” She scurries to a table stuffed with defensive players.

Val’s chin is on her knuckles. She fills their silence with eyebrow wiggles and grins. They’ve always been good at replacing useless words with goofy facial expressions.

“Are you alone?” he asks.

Val jerks a thumb toward a corner booth where three gorgeous girls share a plate of fries drenched in ketchup. Their fine cheekbones and shiny hair scream “Private School Life.” “Friends from school,” Val explains.

Sebastian makes a horrified face.

Val rolls her eyes. “They’re visiting for the weekend. Brunch with my parents tomorrow ’cause my life is so glamorous.” She twirls a finger around her head. Val doesn’t take anything too seriously, except for Mason Riley. Well, shedidtake him seriously, but a lifetime happens between summers.

“They look like fun,” teases Sebastian.

“Oh, yeah,” Val says, playing along. “About as much as future sorority-row, trophy-wives-in-training can be.”

Sebastian lets Val steal a sip of his drink. She crinkles her nose, gags, and passes it back. “Awful.” Then, seriously, she asks, “Are you still with Sam?”

Somewhere between the breakup and realizing he didn’t love Sam, Sebastian developed a certain face at the mention of her. Mason told him the expression makes him look like a zombie, which is fair, since he was pretty dead during the last half of their relationship.

“Ouch,” Val says, holding back a laugh. “That bad?”

“Kinda.”

Behind Sebastian, Mason is holed up at a table with Willie, Hunter, and Charlie. Judging by all the hand gestures andMacbeth-like reenactments, it’s obvious Mason is talking about the family trip to California three years ago.

Val gives him an equally undead look when Sebastian turns back to her, so he avoids broaching the subject. She sighs. “It’s like us.” She lowers her chin.