Melanie Harlow

No, my friend Noah is picking me up.”

“Noah McCormick?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I know him a little bit. Nice guy.”

Frannie rolled down her window. “Is she telling you about her friend, Noah? Don’t believe her. They have sex. He handcuffed her.”

“Frannie!” I gave her a murderous look over Mack’s shoulder. “That was a secret!”

“You can trust Mack,”

I suppose, but I still haven’t forgotten the mean things he did to me when we were younger.”

“Like when he convinced you that you had Dutch elm disease?” April teased.

“That wasn’t funny,” I snapped, although the rest of the table burst out laughing.

“I never knew that,” said Frannie. “How did he do it?”

“He told her that freckles on the nose were a sure sign, and if she started to grow hair on her legs, she should definitely cover them with peanut butter,” blurted April, that traitor. “He told her that was the only known cure.”

Now, Chloe. People change. Oliver may have been a bit unruly in his twenties but he’s really settled down over the last few years.”

“We don’t get along, Mom.”

“Oh, posh.” My mother dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “You two may have scrapped a bit when you were younger, but that was just because you were so alike—so headstrong and competitive. But you’ve known each other forever. For heaven’s sake, he even took you to his prom.”

I gave her a flat stare. “His mother made him ask me. And you made me say yes.”