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Gibby and Jazz were waiting for him at the Franklin Street metro stop when Nick stepped off the train. They sat on a metal bench, pressed close together. Gibby was glaring out at the milling crowd as people were herded toward the stairs to the street above. Jazz blew a bright pink bubble, twirling her dark, shaggy hair in her fingers. Her phone was in her lap, earbuds attached, one in her ear, the other in Gibby’s.

Gibby had decided she was a baby butch a while back, which led to her shaving her head and wearing a wallet chain. She made sure everyone knew that if they called her Lola, they were getting a boot to the nuts. Anyone who hadn’t thought she was serious was corrected when a brainless jock had winked at her and she had done just that. He’d had to sit on an ice pack for a couple of days. Gibby got detention for a week.

It’d been worth it, or so she claimed. She said the world needed more Black dykes, and she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone anymore.

Nick decided then he’d support her 100 percent in every decision she’d make from that point on. It helped that she looked good with a shaved head, something Nick would never try, given that he’d end up looking like a bobblehead.

Jazz’s bubble popped when she saw him approach, and she smiled prettily as she sucked her gum back into her mouth. “Nicky. I saw a pigeon eating a burrito on the train. I was going to take a photograph of it because I thought it was artistic, but then a homeless man wearing an orange coat kicked it and ruined the shot.”

Nick bumped one of his Chucks against her chunky shoes thatprobably cost more than the entire contents of his bedroom. “Kicked the burrito or the bird?”

She shrugged. “Both, I think. Then I was going to take a picture of the homeless man, but he started peeing in the corner, and I decided it was a good idea to switch cars rather than suffer for my art.”

“You’re a regular van Gogh.”

“For what it’s worth, I like all your parts where they are,” Gibby said, squeezing her knee.

“I would give you my ear if you wanted,” Jazz said, blue eyes wide as she snapped her gum. “But then my face wouldn’t be perfectly symmetrical.” She frowned. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Uh-huh,” Nick said. “Fascinating. Really. So, Gibby, you survived the Summer of Love. Congrats.”

She’d been gone for the last few months, her parents deciding that their family needed to rent an old van and travel the country under the guise of touring colleges, but in actuality, they were commune-hopping as they’d both embraced a midlife crisis head-on (Gibby’s words) and believed they made better hippies than they did accountants. Apparently, they thought the free love community needed more Black people.

Nick didn’t know what to do with any of that, so he’d patted Gibby on the arm in June and told her to have fun.

He’d managed to avoid a boot to the balls. Barely.

Lola Gibson was fierce that way.

Her girlfriend, Jasmine Kensington, hadn’t been pleased at the idea of Gibby being gone for so long. It certainly hadn’t helped her anxiety that Gibby was in her senior year and would be graduating, heading off into the big, wide world before she did. Jazz told Gibby she wasn’t allowed to fall in love with some flower child who wore skirts made of hemp that she later smoked. Gibby had agreed immediately, not bothering to correct her girlfriend that most flower children didn’t smoke their clothes.

Nick thought they were disgustingly sweet. Or sweetly disgusting. It really depended on the day.

Gibby had gotten back a week ago, but Jazz had made it clear inno uncertain terms that she’d get all of Gibby’s time before school started. Which was fine, seeing as how Nick had been busy trying to finish up the latest chapter ofThis Is Where We Scorch the Earth.They had their priorities, and he had his.

Besides, hanging out with Jazz and Gibby while they reconnected after a months-long separation would have probably meant watching them make out and whisper lovingly in each other’s ears, and Nick wasn’t masochistic enough to bear witness to that for any length of time. He loved his queer girls. He just didn’t want to watch them swallow each other’s tongues, which was why he’d given them their space. He was selfless that way.

“Summer of Love,” Gibby repeated. She didn’t sound amused.

Nick took a step back to protect his nuts. Her boots looked new. He didn’t want to take the chance they were steel-toed. Also, her wallet chain was bigger than the one she’d had before, and he wasn’t versed well enough in lesbian to know if that signified anything.

Gibby rolled her eyes. “If I ever have to sit in another drum circle again in my life, I’ll likely end up a mass murderer.”

“Pick a school yet?”

Jazz frowned. Gibby glared. Nick took another step back.

“I haven’t decided,” Gibby said through gritted teeth. “But thank you for caring about my future and bringing it up right at this very moment.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I tend to speak before I think. I’ll just—”

“I can take it,” Jazz said earnestly. “I mean, sure, I’ll probably cry and then my makeup will be ruined and it’ll be all your fault, but I can take it. I have lady balls.”

“I know you do,” Gibby said. “But I haven’t made any decisions yet. You’ll be the first to know.”

Jazz seemed placated for the moment. Nick wondered how long it would last.