“True, but I’ve never seen him hanging out with them one-on-one.” Karlie grabbed her textbook, placing it back in her lap and highlighting the bejesus out of it, her eyes glued to the page. “And it’s been a while since Tess. Just remember what I said, Shaw. He might be nice, but he’s trouble.”

“Actually …” I sat up straight, feeling bizarrely protective toward West. “He’s not trouble at all. He’s really nice. The other day, he noticed Marla went home before I had a chance to take a shower and watched over Grams for me for a few minutes.”

“That’s why I’m reopening the invitation to go to his fight on Friday.” She flipped another page in her textbook.

“Because he is nice to me?” I blinked, confused.

“No, because he is putting up a front. He is on his best behavior at the food truck because it’s a different environment, but he is still a beast.”

She rolled her eyes when I didn’t respond.

“Look, aren’t you curious to see if your friendship is just a food truck thing or goes beyond it?”

Curious? I was rabid to find out. My communication with West at school was nonexistent. He’d taken my request not to draw any attention for me extra far and didn’t even acknowledge me when we passed each other.

It was like I didn’t exist to him.

A part of me didn’t want to find out what we were outside of our bubble, but a bigger part of me realized I had to find out whether I was a convenient friend he kept in secret and was ashamed of or a person he considered his equal.

“Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll go to the fight.”

“Yes!” Karlie pumped her fist in the air. “That’s my girl. Now let’s get slutty clothes to distract him.”

“Wait, didn’t you say dating him is a terrible idea?”

“Dating? Yes. Teasing? No. It is high time you realize you’re hot shit, Shaw. And if West St. Claire is the guy to make you realize it, I’m all for it.”

I grabbed one of her pillows, pressing it over my face and yelling into it in a mix of horror and excitement.

“Quick. If you could bring one thing back from the nineties, what would it be—Blockbuster or hot Keanu Reeves?” Karlie tapped my knee.

I dumped the pillow on the floor, my eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. “Excuse you! Keanu Reeves is still bangin’.”

Karlie threw her head back, laughing. “Ding, ding, ding. That was a test. And you just passed with flying colors.”

I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to stop myself from grinning like a loon.

Ten tons of foundation?—check.

Catlike eyeliner?—check.

Blow-dried hair?—check.

Sparkly pink lip gloss and a matching ball cap?—check.

Tiny, long-sleeved, black mini dress that showed off my legs?—triple check.

Karlie’s honks blasted through my bedroom window, signaling her arrival. I bolted downstairs, my heart flipping desperately like wings. Grams was sitting in the living room, knitting and listening to a Johnny Cash record. She was having a good day, thank the Lord, but I still asked our neighbor, Harold, to check in on her a few times tonight.

“Church’s out, Grams!” I hollered as I picked up my small clutch. I was dressed for a fancy club or a restaurant, not a fighting ring, but I couldn’t help myself. It was the first night I’d gone out since I’d given up on having a social life, and it was a big deal for me.

Grandma waved her hand up in the air without lifting her eyes from her knitting.

“You be careful, Gracie-Mae. And if you drink, please give me a call. I’ll pick you up.”

I stopped dead in front of the door. She spoke like the old Grams. The coherent one. My throat burned with tears.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “Karlie’s the designated driver. She’ll have a dry night, and so will I.”

“Contreras blood runs true. Karlie took after her momma. She’s a real good kid.” Grams nodded approvingly, taking a sip of her tea.

Why couldn’t she be like this all the time?

Karlie honked again, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“All right! I’m off!”

“Ta-ta. Oh, and Gracie-Mae?”

“Yeah?” I paused, halfway out the door.

“Come back home when the first streetlamp goes on. Curfew’s at six-thirty, young lady.”

It was already nine. My smile collapsed, and the dull ache in my chest resumed.

Not completely lucid after all.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Grams.”

We got to Sheridan Plaza ten minutes late and spent fifteen minutes driving around looking for a parking space. Karlie had to drive extra slow because there were clusters of people marching toward the Plaza, laughing, drinking, and making out. I hadn’t realized the fighting ring was that big an event in Sheridan. Friday Night Lights had nothing on this thing.

I knew West wasn’t the only guy who fought—there were about five fights every Friday—but he was always the main event and the reason tickets sold like hotcakes.

On our fourth round trying to find a parking space, a senior jock signaled Karlie to roll her window down. She did.

“Y’all gonna run outta gas if you keep circling the lot. Park wherever you can; they don’t give out tickets around here, doll.”

Karlie flashed me a disapproving glance.

“I didn’t know your boy was that popular.”

“Stop callin’ him my boy,” I half-asked, half-begged. I couldn’t allow myself to believe it.

“You’re right. If you date him, I will punch your tit. Your heart’s too good for this guy, Shaw.”

We parked and stabbed the dunes with our high heels, ascending toward the Plaza. We paid at the entrance—twenty bucks a pop, by no means a cheap night out—and proceeded inside.

There were dozens of people crammed into the second floor. College age crowd, but also a few randoms who were clearly in high school or way past twenty-five. Everybody was holding red Solo cops, chatting and laughing as two shirtless guys fought in the ring. They were clearly just the warm-up act, because nobody paid much attention.

There was no sign of West or his friends.

“I’ll beer us.” Karlie tilted her head toward a dude who stood behind a few crates, pouring keg beer into cups.

I nodded. “I’ll go find West, wish him good luck.”

“No canoodling.” She waved a finger my way.

I saluted her before wandering about, scanning for his face. Realizing he was nowhere near the ring, I strolled toward the small bare rooms with the mattresses. At first, I peeked into each of them, trying to spot West. But after encountering a guy jerking off, half-dressed, as two cheerleaders licked each other, I passed them swiftly, not looking sideways.

Groans and moans rose from the mattresses in the coves. I hated this place. Absolutely despised it. And with every single second that ticked by, the possibility I was going to find West with someone else became more and more real. I wanted to be sick. Why had I thought it was a good idea to come here?

He warned you not to. Called it a cum dumpster. You are not even welcome here.

I was about to turn around and run for my life when his gruff voice came from behind one of the concrete walls.