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“I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he said—reaching out and running his palm along the silky ridge of Tris’s backbone, reassuring. Memorial Day weekend was the anniversary, was the other thing. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. He glanced down at his still-scabby knuckles, not the first time like a drumbeat at the back of his head. “Well, then. It’s a date.”

They talked a little while longer, about her Maxine Waters project and a news story he’d seen about a skunk running around a Cleveland suburb with a yogurt cup stuck on its head and the Senate race she was forever trying to get him to be interested in. Annie Hernandez was behind in the polls, which seemed unsurprising to Colby, though Meg was relentlessly optimistic about her chances. “I looked on her website about maybe doing an internship,” she confessed, sounding shyer than he thought of her as being. “Tonight when I was at work.”

That got Colby’s attention. “What, like, for the fall?” he asked, propping himself up on elbow. “Like, instead of Cornell?”

“I mean, no, I’m totally going to Cornell,” she said quickly. “I guess I just... I don’t know. I was curious.” She cleared her throat. “Hey, speaking of job stuff: Have you called that guy Doug back yet?”

“Nah,” he said, yawning a little; it was getting colder, and he had to be at work at seven a.m. “Not yet.”

“You probably need to get back to him, right? If you’re going to do it?”

Colby frowned. This wasn’t the first time she’d asked, actually—always like the thought had just occurred to her, her tone always just a little too casual. He almost wished he hadn’t told her about it in the first place. “Who says I’m going to do it?” he asked.

Meg paused at that, infinitesimally. “I mean, you did, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“I—okay,” she said, her voice hardening. “Whatever. You don’t have to get defensive about it. I’m just asking.”

“Are you, though?”

“What’s that mean?”

“I mean, I’m just saying.” Colby sat up in the grass and pulled his knees up, rocking forward a little and raking his free hand through his hair. “Do you want me to get this job for me, or do you want me to get this job because you don’t want me to come visit and have to tell your friends you’re messing around with a guy who works at Home Depot?”

Another pause, this one just long enough for Colby to realize that was more or less 100 percent the wrong way to put it. Sure enough: “Is that what we’re doing?” Meg asked—her consonants getting crisp like they always did when her hackles were raised, like she wanted to remind him just how educated she actually was. “Messing around?”

Colby exhaled. “Don’t do that,” he said, sliding a hand down over his face.

“Do what?”

“Try to make this conversation about something other than what it’s about. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, Colby. I’m just trying to clarify the terms, that’s all.”

“Meg,” Colby said, though it came out more like he was sighing at her. “Come on.”

“You come on,” Meg snapped. “Is that what you think of me, seriously? That’s how shallow I seem to you?”

“It’s not about being shallow,” he tried. “I’m just saying that kind of stuff matters to—”

“You’re making me sound like this huge monster who’s obsessed with appearances.”

“You are obsessed with appearances!”

“Wow.” Her voice was flat. “Okay. Screw you, Colby.”

Shit. “Meg,” he said again. “Wait. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

Meg blew a breath out. “Why are you picking a fight with me right now?”

Colby felt himself bristle. “I’m not picking a fight with you,” he protested. “I’m just—”

“You are, though,” she interrupted. “Which sucks, because I literally just invited you to this wedding, and now I’m actually kind of thinking maybe it’s about the wedding, which, like—”

“It’s not,” he said, though suddenly he wasn’t totally sure if that was the truth. Hadn’t he just been wondering if there was a way to get out of it, in the back of his secret brain? “It’s not.”