I shot him a look that said, I’m always nice, but it was not a very nice look, which negated the message. Carson and Janna sat on my bed. Kevin and Justin did this fist bump thing with Decker, then sprawled out comfortably on my floor.

“Our girl looks good!” Carson smacked his hand on the bed, indicating I should sit next to him. Me and Carson on a bed felt awkward now, especially since I was sure they all knew about the incident at Decker’s house. I looked back at Decker, wondering if this was his idea of being nice, but he wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at Carson with an unreadable expression. I sighed and wedged myself between Carson and Janna.

Carson leaned over and kissed me, a smacking, wet kiss that landed half on my mouth and half on my cheek. Decker was staring at my lips, like he could see the mark from Carson’s mouth. I could feel it, wet and getting colder, and I desperately wanted to wipe my sleeve across my face, but that would be Not Nice. So I was stuck with this sloppy, chafing, physical mark of Carson’s presence on my face. I felt the heat rising up my neck.

“God, Delaney,” Carson said, “I seriously thought you were dead. But imagine the sympathy—last guy to kiss Delaney Maxwell. Girls would be lining up to comfort me.” He smiled his killer smile at me. Only Carson could joke about my death and getting girls in the same sentence and get away with it. I even smiled. I was being nice, and I wasn’t even trying.

“You’re vile, you know that, right?” Janna reached around me and smacked her brother on the back of the head. “But anyway, Delaney, if you need help studying for finals, just give me a call.”

Carson rubbed the back of his head. “Janna, you’re such a nerd. Seriously, she just got out of a coma and you’re thinking about her grades. Freak.” But he smiled when he said it. Because even though they were nothing alike, Carson took Janna with him everywhere. He secured her spot in the social pecking order. She was free to be whatever kind of nerd she wanted.

“So, are you coming to my party at the lake house this year?” Justin leaned his head back against my lavender wall. He was lanky and generic, and I never understood his appeal. Maybe it was just his proximity to Carson and Kevin and Decker. Maybe their appeal rubbed off. Or maybe since he was part of the group, girls just assumed he was cute.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“What? You have to,” Carson said. “You’re all anyone will be talking about.”

“Yeah,” Justin said. “You have to come. I’d say it’s the least you could do.” Then they all started grinning and talking about who was coming and who was bringing what and who would be home from college. And then I realized something—I was their achievement, their trophy to show off. And, as Justin pointed out, I owed them.

And then Tara Spano, who had been at the lake that day but was not involved in the rescue story in any way, bounced into the room.

She bounced directly over to Decker. “Hey, Deck.” She touched his arm, and he smiled a big toothy smile. Apparently, Decker’s status had risen significantly since he rescued me from the ice. It’s not that Decker wasn’t cute. He was, actually. But it was kind of a new thing.

His hair was really dark and his skin was pretty pale. His eyes were set fairly deep, and the corners of his mouth always hung down unless he was smiling. But he’d grown into it all during freshman year. The second week of freshman year, to be precise.

I’d said good-bye to him at the bus stop on a Monday afternoon, but I was incapable of saying hello Tuesday morning. I just stared at him, having one of those completely socially awkward moments, wondering when he’d gone from being the Decker who built snow forts with me to the Decker who was looking at me sideways and grinning like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I recovered by refusing to talk to him the rest of the day. Or the day after that. But I got used to it by Friday. So, girls liked him, and I could see why they did, but I always assumed Tara was out of his league.

Tara noticed me, almost as an afterthought, and opened her arms. “You, get over here!” she said. I cut my eyes to Decker for guidance. I was not a hugger as a general rule. I was not a fan of Tara as a specific rule. But Decker made his eyes go wide and tilted his head toward Tara, making it abundantly clear that this was part of being nice. So I got up and walked into Tara’s open arms.

“I was so worried about you!” she said, though she didn’t visit me at the hospital or send any cards. Then she squeezed and tilted me side to side. I felt the rib fractures give a little, a sharp stab of pain below my heart, and then I threw up. I spewed hospital-issued Jell-O and non-hospital-issued french fries down the back of Tara’s turquoise sweater. And then I collapsed. Even from the floor, I could see that the ends of Tara’s long dark hair were caked in my lunch.