Caitlin was on her third serving of triple sec. Destiny’s eyes were turning glassy. They were both looking at her. Looking, and waiting, and expecting. Alexa could hardly stand it.

“One. I failed my driver’s test the first time I took it and never told you guys. Two. I’m not going to college. Three. I’ve cried every day since Peter died.”

“Whoa,” said Destiny. “This just took a turn.”

“You failed your driver’s test?” said Caitlin.

“I don’t know,” said Alexa savagely. “Did I?”

“I think the game is supposed to be a little more lighthearted?” said Caitlin. She was clearly buzzed, because she had started ending every one of her sentences with a question mark. “Something along the lines of how Destiny did it? Here, I can go. Want me to go, Alexa? One. I have never been swimming on a beach where there’s been a shark sighting. Two—”

She stopped and stared, because now Alexa was standing, almost quivering.

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t feel like playing this game. I’m sorry I’m not lighthearted enough. I’m sorry that my dad died and I didn’t get over it immediately. I’m sorry if it’s been a little—complicated on my end.”

Destiny glanced nervously at Caitlin. Alexa watched their eyes meet, watched a look pass between them that was definitely not meant for Alexa to share. It was the look an exasperated set of parents would pass back and forth over the head of a toddler in a tantrum, a look that said, Here we go again. Let’s just wait it out.

“But it’s been a long time now, Alexa. And it’s not like—” Caitlin clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could keep the evil words inside.

“It’s not like what? Say it, Caitlin.” The rage was rising, rising.

“Nothing.”

“Say what you were about to say.”

“Nothing,” said Caitlin, around her hand.

“You were about to say, it’s not like he was my real father, right?” Alexa could tell by Caitlin’s face that this was 100 percent correct.

“No, I—”

Alexa’s voice was steel. “Then what were you going to say?”

Miserably, mutely, Caitlin caved. “That?” she whispered. “But I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it,” said Alexa. “This game is stupid. I’m going home.” She started toward the kitchen, where her phone and car keys were.

They both said things like, What? And Why? And We didn’t mean anything! And (this was the most infuriating one, the one that set her teeth on edge): Stop being so sensitive!

“Are you mad at us?” Caitlin was pleading now. Good. Let her. “Alexa, please don’t be mad at us? We didn’t do anything?” She looked at Destiny for confirmation.

“Big surprise,” said Destiny. “Alexa’s leaving.”

Alexa turned around slowly. “Big surprise?” she repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You leave everything, if you even show up in the first place. You’re, like, totally disengaged. And it’s not just around us. Tyler told me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alexa. “Tyler told you the same thing?” Problem number one with this story was that Tyler was unlikely to use a word like disengaged. Problem number two: why was Tyler talking to Destiny about Alexa?

“Yeah.” Caitlin looked like she used to in middle school, when she had an overbite and zits along her hairline, before she had a big glow-up and learned how to dress to flatter her skinny legs. “He talks to me sometimes too, you know. He’s allowed to have other friends.”

“I know he’s allowed to have other friends!” Alexa snapped. “Caitlin, obviously I know that.” She wasn’t that kind of girlfriend. Tyler could have all the friends he wanted. But she didn’t think he should talk to her friends about her behind her back. That felt sneaky and mean.

“He worries about you, Alexa. That’s all. Because he cares. But he said you can be prickly sometimes.” That was Destiny.

Alexa let out a short, derisive laugh. She faced Destiny and spat, “Now you’re both turning on me? Now I’m prickly?”

She and Destiny and Caitlin had existed as a threesome since Destiny moved to town in fourth grade, with a trace of Southern accent lingering from her early Tennessee years. Three had never been a crowd with them. But now Alexa felt like the loneliest person in the entire universe: lonelier than a hermit living in Siberia. She was a third wheel here, and if she went home she’d be a third wheel there too.

“I’m going home,” she said anyway.

“Don’t be mad?” said Caitlin. “I’m sorry for what I said?”

Alexa’s head was aching and her heart was aching. “I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m tired. And I forgot I have to get up early tomorrow.”

Two truths, one lie.

Now Alexa heard someone saying her name, and she looked up. It was Cam Hartwell, smiling that giant, goofy smile. She felt herself flush. She remembered the cup of tea he’d put by her bed. Something about this memory made her feel happier than she had in a while.

Next to Cam was a reddish golden retriever attached to a navy blue leash. “This is Sammy,” he said. “You didn’t meet him the other day because he was at the lake with my parents.” Sammy looked like a dog in an L.L.Bean advertisement. He was sporting a navy blue bandanna to match the leash and a collar with anchors on it. Very nautical. Sammy licked Alexa’s hand and then did a thing where he pulled back his gums and really looked like he was smiling. It was hard not to smile back.