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We cross the Hudson, and it’s a whole new tier of surreal. It’s one thing when your favorite YouTuber personally chauffeurs

you down the thruway. But Mamaroneck? Downtown Larchmont? This whole time, I’ve been half-expecting this car to turn back

into a pumpkin. But we’re passing Trader Joe’s and IHOP and the entrance to Jordan Cohen’s subdivision, and it’s that double

exposed feeling all over again.

“Amelia, should I drop you off first?” Walter glances up at the rearview.

For the barest split second, I picture him slowing to a stop in front of my house, turning to face me as soon as he parks.

My pie-in-the-sky prom. The prom that never came true. I can hardly remember what it feels like to want that.

“Just drop me off at the twins’ house. If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Mark says, but I’m still looking at Nat. My heart’s beating so loudly, I can barely hear my own thoughts.

She smiles a little. “Sounds good.”

The rest of the ride is a blur. My brain won’t let anything stick.

We’ll stop at a light, and I’ll realize we were moving.

But I won’t notice we’re stopped until we start moving again.

Walter makes the left into the twins’ neighborhood, and every single house looks just like we left it.

Not a single new petunia in a single neighbor’s garden.

But the sameness is what’s making me feel so terrifyingly different.

It’s like the DeLorean. The movement’s strictly chronological. A dimensional gear shift.

Did I just accidentally become a whole new person in the span of a weekend?

“All right, promise me we’re still gonna hang,” Walter says.

Four days ago, that would have put me in the hospital, probably. My heart would have blown up like a balloon.

“We can hang right now,” Mark replies. “Stay as long as you want.”

“You sure?” Walt shoots me a hopeful smile in the rearview. Like he half expects me to tell him to fuck off. Most precious

boy. Absolute clown and a half.

“The more the merrier,” I say.

Two minutes later, I’m not just eating my words—I’m choking on them.

The absolute least merry sight on this earth: Claire Zimmerman’s Subaru parked in Natalie’s driveway. I repeat: Claire’s dumbass

green Subaru with its illustrated decal of heart hands smack-dab on the bumper. In Natalie’s driveway. But there’s an even

bigger jump scare perched at the edge of the stoop:

Claire, wearing her prom dress. Holding a handwritten sign that reads: Can we start over?

“What,” I say softly, “the fuck.”

Natalie sucks in a sharp, quiet breath. But her expression’s so cloudy, I don’t have a clue what she’s thinking.

Walter turns to Mark. “Is that—”

“Yeah.” Mark rubs his forehead.

Like, it’s almost too fucking predictable. Claire, sweeping in at the eleventh hour for one purpose and one purpose only: to unleash destruction. And chaos. Okay, two purposes. Three, if you count fuckery.

Walter pulls to a stop near the curb, but none of us move for a moment.

I turn to Nat. “I can just—”

“No,” she says quickly. She presses my arm, like she’s locking me in. “Wait—”

“Nat, it’s fine. I’ll text my mom—she’ll come get me.”

“What? No! I’ll give you a ride,” Walter says.

I nod slowly. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I’ll come too,” Mark says, eyes flicking quickly toward Claire.

Nat holds my gaze. “Okay, but—I’ll call you in a second, okay?”

She leaves, without grabbing her bag. Not even her guitar. Claire drops the poster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she

sees her.

I swear, it feels like time’s jerking forward. By the time I give Walter my address, Natalie’s reached the foot of the stairs.

And by the time he backs out of the driveway, she and Claire are hugging.

“You okay?” Mark’s voice is completely devoid of grump or snark. Not even implied grump or snark . Honestly, it’s a little concerning.

“Fine,” I say, gripping the strap of my seat belt. “Great. Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Walter laughs gently, glancing quickly at Mark. “I mean, I personally don’t think you have anything to worry about—”

“I’m not worried!”

Walter drums the steering wheel. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I just... really don’t like her. And I called this! I literally knew this would happen.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I bet they’re already making out.”

“Um, I doubt it,” Mark says.

I crane my neck to scope it out, but we’re too far up the street to see them.

“There was definitely a vibe,” I say darkly, and Mark shoots me a skeptical half smile. “No, for real! You just didn’t see

it. It’s invisible to straight guys.”

Mark pauses. “Speaking of missing vibes.”

I replay the hug in my mind, trying to decipher their exact body language. It definitely wasn’t a back-from-war kind of hug.

But it wasn’t a polite, distant colleagues hug either. Somewhere in the middle, I guess. But at least they’re not—

“Wait.” I whip my head up. “What did you say?”

Mark blushes all the way up to his ears. “About you missing vibes?”

For a moment, I just stare at him, speechless. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you think I’m saying.”

I grip both front seats, leaning forward. “Marky Mark, are you gay?”

“What? No!” He laughs sharply.

I clap a hand to my mouth. “Okay, wow. Sorry, I just completely—”

“More like bisexual. I think?”

“I’m sorry— what ?”

“I’m—”

“No, no. Wait. I heard you. I’m just—” I stare at him, smiling. “You’re bisexual ?”

“That okay?” He flicks his gaze up.

“Markillean Freddie Markury, it’s more than okay —”

“Oh boy.” He bites back a smile.

“Not just oh boy, Markosaur. It’s oh any gender. ”

Walter laughs. “Is that how it works?”

“You tell me—” I stop short. “Wait, do you realize this is an all-bisexual vehicle right now?”

“A bicycle, as it were,” Walt contributes, pulling to a stop at the light.

“Exactly. Yup. This is so—oh my God.” I punch Mark’s arm. “Man. The bisexuals cannot stop winning .”

Walter high-fives me. “Are we the three bi-sketeers?”

“No,” says Mark.

“The three bi-sketeers!” I hit Walt with a fist bump. “Alexa, play ‘Sweater Weather.’”

“Help.” Mark shoots Walter a quick sidelong glance.

Except. It isn’t a Jesus-Christ-Amelia glance.

My jaw actually drops. Honest to God. Chin’s on the floor of this car. “I’m sorry, was that a soft-eyed look?”

“What’s a soft-eyed look?”

“You know perfectly well what a soft-eyed look is, Walt Disney.”

Mark lets out a choked laugh, tipping his palms up. “I guess so?”

“Wait.” I look back and forth between them. “For real? Like, you guys—”

“Anyway, that’s what’s up with me!” Mark clears his throat, blushing. “How are you?”

“Never been better.” I smack my palms down. “Does Nat know?”

“About me being bi? Yeah.”

“But not about Walt.”

Walter tilts his head, smiling up at me in the rearview. “I mean, that part’s pretty recent.”

“Yeah, no. Obviously. Wow .” I rub my cheek. “All that time pretending to hate Walt.”

Walter laughs. “He pretended to hate me?”

“No! Ha. Not like that! I just mean—he pretended to hate your content —” I stop short, face-palming. “Not, like, as a euphemism—”

“I don’t even know what you think ‘content’ is a euphemism for,” Mark says.

Walter pulls into my driveway and parks, smiling at Mark for just a beat longer than normal. Which makes me melt a little,

sure.

But there’s something hollow beneath it. A Natalie-sized hole in the ozone layer.