“What do you mean, she doesn’t do the same for you?”

I launch into the entire story about Clem and college and keeping it all a secret from me, and when I’m done Tucker emerges from beneath the van with a few more stains than he had going in.

He sits there on the pavement for a moment with his arms propped up on his knees. “That’s tough.”

“What can I say? My Clementine knows what she wants.”

“But what do you want?” asks Tucker. “To go to Austin?”

I laugh bitterly. “Me? I knew what I wanted. She’s the one that changed course without even telling me.”

He shrugs. “You could go to Georgia with her.”

“. . . I could.” I reach a hand out to help him up and he takes it, but once he’s standing he doesn’t let go.

We stand, eye to eye, close enough for me to smell the coffee on his breath. “But you won’t,” he says.

“I don’t really like the idea of following her out there, if you get what I mean.”

He smirks. “Yeah, you don’t strike me as a follower.”

I pout and cross my arms, yanking my hand free of his. “It’s just really shitty of her.”

“God, Waylon, maybe this isn’t even about your sister.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but are you frustrated with my feelings about my own life?”

He shakes his head and walks off.

“Say it!” I yell to him. “You can’t roll your eyes at me and then say it’s nothing.”

He whirls around and throws his arms up. “You have cool-ass parents. They’re not on you about your future, and you can basically do anything you want with your life. Your sister changed plans without telling you and that sucks. I get it. But you’re not stuck here.”

“Like you?” I ask. “Sorry,” I say immediately. “That sounded shittier than I meant it to.”

He nods. “It’s fine,” he says with a gruff voice. “It’s true.”

“I’m sorry.” And I really am. I don’t know Tucker’s whole story, but based on what I do know, my grass is definitely greener. “My mom calls it a complaining spiral. I start and I can’t stop and even if there is a bright side, it’s hard for me to see.”

He shakes his head. “You should be able to be upset. That really does suck about Clementine lying to you. I think you’re really cool and . . . I think one day I’ll get to tell people that I knew you before you were an even bigger deal than you are now.”

“You think I’m a big deal?” I ask, my gaze searching for his until he looks up with that slight smirk and our eyes meet.

He chuckles. “I don’t know how it’s scientifically even possible, but I can see your head expanding as we speak.”

I nod knowingly. “My ego is very responsive.” If only he knew how much I doubt myself and how poorly equipped I am to handle the future. But then, he’s one of the few people in my life who doesn’t see me as part of a two-person twin unit. So maybe he can see something I can’t.

He hands me a fresh set of gloves. “Are you ready to fly solo, little bird?”

I take the gloves. “Here’s hoping I don’t absolutely destroy some teacher vehicles.”

We spend all morning circulating the faculty lot and shuffling cars around. It takes me about four or five cars before I do one whole entire oil change by myself, and even after that I still have questions on almost every car, but I’m pretty impressed with myself.

I’m halfway under a Honda Accord when I hear the sound of a car lock chirping. Beside me my dad squats down and says, “Thought I’d bring you boys lunch.”

“Music to my ears!” I pull myself out from under the car and give him a big oily hug.

“Come on now,” he says. “This shirt was clean.”

I give him a look. “Sort of,” he clarifies. “Tuck!” Dad calls. “Lunchtime!”

And even though I’m slowly coming to tolerate Tucker, the familiar nickname grates on me.

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound of my dad’s voice and he jogs over.

“Tacos,” Dad says, nodding over to his truck. “We can eat in the cab if y’all want. Blast some of that AC.”

The moment he mentions air-conditioning, I realize how sweaty I’ve become. I’d been in such a zone that I honestly hadn’t even noticed. All those years Dad worked under the Texas sun, I wondered how he did it. He always said it was about getting into a rhythm, and I’d never quite understood what he meant about that until now.

We pile into the truck and devour a bag of tacos. Tucker and Dad talk about guys from work and an upcoming project Dad is trying to land. It’s like watching my dad talk to a peer, and for some reason, watching the two of them interact makes me a little bit jealous, but I stuff that feeling down when I remember what Tucker said about me being lucky.

After lunch, Dad sticks around and watches me change the oil on a Subaru. He hovers and tells me things I already know—well, admittedly, things I’ve only known for a few hours. Thankfully, right as I’m about to absolutely explode and tell my dad to drink a gallon of motor oil, Bekah Cotter calls out to us from the courtyard. “Hey, y’all! Could I talk to you two?” She waves to Dad. “Hi, Mr. Brewer!”

“How do you know Bekah Cotter?” I ask in a whisper.

“What? Scared your dad’s popular?”

I laugh. “Not even a little bit.”

“I play softball with her dad.”

“Got it. Dad, I better—”

He throws his hands up. “I hear ya loud and clear. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I love you! Especially when you bring me tacos!” I call after him as he gets into the truck.

“Hey, Bekah!” Tucker says as she draws closer.

She smiles at him, bouncing on her toes. Ah, yes, she definitely thinks he’s cute. There’s a twinge in my stomach and I can’t tell if it’s jealousy or the tacos.

“I needed to talk to y’all about some prom court biz,” she says.

“This sounds juicy,” I say.

Her eyebrows jump up and down excitedly. “Volunteer hours.”

I grimace.

Bekah doesn’t miss a beat. “Hannah has us all signed up for after school on Friday.”

“I usually help my dad out on Fridays, but I’ll see if I can get out of it,” Tucker says.

Bekah grins. Eyeballing our uniforms, she says, “Oh, now this was a good idea.”

“You think?” I ask.

“Oil changes?” She nods feverishly. “That’s like a real thing people need. Melissa decorated teachers’ doors and I heard a bunch of them were actually annoyed because she got glitter everywhere.”

“Glitter is dangerous,” I say. “You don’t wield glitter. Glitter wields you.”

She leans in to add, “And Bryce didn’t even help her.”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Flake. Probably thinks he can phone it in.”

Bekah nods knowingly. “But I think y’all actually stand a chance here.”

Something about hearing that from Bekah, the kind of girl who the social hierarchy was built for, actually makes me believe it might be true. Cue Julie Andrews.