“It is. I hope not. Maybe.”

“What about?”

“Something I did.”

He hesitated, making a few strokes with his paintbrush. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I…It’s bad.”

“Did you wreck the car?”

“No.”

“Did you steal from her?”

I craned my neck at him. “What?”

He turned and shrugged, seeming shocked at himself. “I don’t know why I said that. My mind is racing, wondering what serious thing you need to talk to her about. I don’t think you’d steal from her. Or anyone.”

I nodded, satisfied, but the smug expression faded. “It’s almost as bad.”

“Jesus, Erin, just tell me.”

“I…went into Alder’s room.”

His eyebrows shot up. I looked at the cement under my shoes and puffed out a breath of air.

“I saw her prom dress. It’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “White. She told me about it.”

“She has dozens of journals in a tub in the back of her closet.”

“You read them?” he asked, suddenly worried.

I nodded, my cheeks catching fire.

He began painting again, but didn’t respond.

I waited, and when the silence threatened my sanity, I turned to him. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That it’s wrong.”

“What did they say?” he asked. “When was the last entry?” He kept his eyes on the wall, but his questions were tinged with concern.

“I didn’t read much. Just a couple of entries. I feel bad enough reading them. I’d feel worse if I told you what she wrote.”

“Anything about me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. They were vague.”

“I don’t have to tell you that it’s wrong, Erin. It’s all over your face. Just…don’t. Don’t read them.”

He was right. Arguing was useless. But from my peripheral, I saw him fidgeting, and that made me curious.

“She has some really old ones. Maybe she wrote about why she and Sonny stop talking to me.”

“They stopped talking to you because they were bitches,” he snapped. “Even in grade school.”

“Did Alder ever talk to you about it?”

He dropped his brush. He tried to jump back, but green paint splattered his jeans and shoes.

“Dammit!” he growled, holding his hands up.

“Get a wet rag,” Mrs. Cup said, rushing over. She tried to help, but the paint was only smearing.

“Can I go home and try to get this out?”

Mrs. Cup looked at her watch. “We only have twenty more minutes. Go ahead. Don’t speed.”

Weston nodded and then hugged me and touched his lips to my cheek, letting his mouth linger against my skin for a bit.

“Don’t read anymore, Erin. She’s gone. None of it matters anymore.”

He walked quickly to his truck and started the engine. He pulled into the street, but after a few seconds, I could hear his engine rev.

A frustrated groan emanated from Mrs. Cup’s throat. “Boys.”

After another productive day at the mural, Mrs. Cup let us leave five minutes early. I drove straight to the Dairy Queen, parking next to Frankie’s Taurus.

The door on the BMW had barely swept shut when I heard Frankie’s screeching.

“What in the fricking frack is that?” she asked, pointing to my car.

I walked toward her with a sheepish smile. “My car.”

“Your car? Your car? Sam and Julianne bought you a BMW? Don’t answer that. The answer is obvious, but mother bear, Erin!” she said, following me into the back entrance.

I slipped my apron over my head and tied the back. “I know. Believe me, I know. So…can I talk to you a minute?”

All excitement left Frankie’s face, and she eyed me for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Julianne wants me to…She’s asked me to ask Patty to, uh…work less hours.”

Frankie watched me for a moment. “Are you quitting?”

“No,” I said emphatically and drawn out. “She said something about me enjoying my senior year and summer. She wants me to ask Patty for weekends off and to cut back my summer hours.”

“You’re okay with this?”

I shrugged.

“I mean,” she said, shrugging too, “of course you are. What teenager wouldn’t want more free time? Yeah. I mean, I’ll let Patty know you want to talk to her, but I get it.”

“You look mad.”

She waved me away. “Hell no. Not at all.”

“I know Patty might have to hire someone new. I’ll stay until they get trained.”

“I’ll do it. It’s no biggie.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Am not.”

A little girl with chocolate already all over her face came to the window. When Frankie didn’t acknowledge her, she knocked on it.

Frankie glanced at her and put her hand on the glass to block the sight of her. “Beat it, Milky Way, we’re talking.”

“Frankie!” I said, frowning. I opened my window and took her order. Her mother was waiting in a minivan, eyeing my car.

After handing her the two chocolate dip cones and an M&M Blizzard, I shut the window and crossed my arms. “You’re mad.”

Frankie was busying herself with cleaning already spotless countertops. “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed. Not in you. It’s always been you and me, you know? We’ve always kind of been in the same boat. Stuck here.”

“I like working at the Dairy Queen.”

“I bet you don’t say that when you’re my age.”

“Patty likes it.”

“Patty owns it.”

“Oh wow.”

“What?”

“Patty just pulled up.”

Frankie’s smirk prompted me to toss an empty cup at her. Her mouth fell open, and the site of Frankie made Patty’s initial cheerful grin disappear.

“Afternoon, ladies. Everything okay?”

Frankie bent down to pick up the cup. “Princess Alderman has a request.”

This time my mouth fell open.