“First!” she said, ignoring me. “Randall Baucom.”

“Oh, Randall,” Lissa sighed. “I loved him too.”

“That was sixth grade,” I pointed out. “God, how far back are we going?”

“Next,” Jess said, “seventh grade. Mitchell Loehmann, Thomas Gibbs, Elijah what’s-his-bucket…”

“The one with the jug head,” Lissa added. “What was his last name?”

“I never dated anybody with a jug head,” I said indignantly.

“Then we had the six months of Roger,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “Not a good time.”

“He was an asshole,” I agreed.

“Remember when he cheated on you with Jennifer Task and the whole school knew but you?” Lissa asked me.

“No,” I said darkly.

“Moving on,” Chloe sang out, “we get to ninth grade, and the triple whammy of Kel, Daniel, and Evan, as Remy methodically works her way through the offensive line of the soccer team.”

“Now, wait just a second,” I said, knowing I was getting defensive, but God, I had to stick up for myself sometime. “You’re making me sound like a total slut.”

Silence. Then they all burst out laughing.

“Not funny,” I grumbled. “I’ve changed.”

“We know you have,” Lissa said earnestly, patting my hand in her sweet way. “We’re just talking about the old days here.”

“Why don’t we talk about you guys, then?” I said. “How about Chloe and the fifty-odd people she’s dated?”

“I cheerfully claim every one of them,” she said, smiling at me. “God, Remy. What’s up with you? Lost your touch? Not proud of your conquests anymore?”

I just looked at her. “I’m fine,” I said.

The count continued, while I tried not to squirm. There were guys I didn’t remember-Anton, who’d worked selling vitamins at the mall-and guys I wished I didn’t, like Peter Scranton, who’d turned out to be not only a total jerk but also involved with a girl from a school in Fayetteville who’d made the two-hour trip to town specifically to kick my ass. That had been a fun weekend. And still the names kept coming.

“Brian Tisch,” Lissa said, folding down a finger. “He drove that blue Porsche.”

“Edward from Atlantic Beach,” Jess added. “The two-week required summer fling.”

Chloe took a deep breath, then said dramatically, one hand fluttering over her chest, “Dante.”

“Oh, man!” Jess said, snapping her fingers. “The exchange student. Remy goes international!”

“Which leads us,” Chloe said finally, “to Jonathan. And then Dexter. And now…”

“Paul,” Lissa said sadly, into her beer. “Perfect Paul.”

Who was now, as I watched, walking in the door of Bendo, pausing to get his ID checked. Then he saw me. And smiled. He started across the room, the same way Jonathan had, unaware of what was about to happen. I took a deep breath, telling myself that by now this should be second nature, like falling into the water and instantly knowing to swim. But instead I just sat there as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, sliding in beside me.

“Hey.”

He took my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine, and suddenly I felt so tired. Another breakup. Another end. I hadn’t even taken the time to figure out how, exactly, he’d react, the kind of prep work that had always come naturally before.

“You need a beer?” he asked me. “Remy?”

“Look,” I said, and the words came on their own, no thought required. It was just process, cold and indifferent, like plugging numbers into an equation, and I could have been someone else, listening and watching this, for all I felt. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Fifteen

“And for when she told that awful Mrs. Tucker to sit down and wait her turn…” Talinga said, her glass wobbling.

“And for the time she untangled the judge’s wife from the overhead dryer…” Amanda chimed in.

“And,” Lola said, louder than either of them, “for all the days she just wouldn’t put up with our mess…”

A pause. Talinga sniffled, then wiped her eye with one very long, bright red, perfectly shaped nail.

“… To Remy,” Lola finished, and we let our glasses knock together, champagne sloshing onto the floor. “Girl, we’re gonna miss you.”

We drank. It was all we’d been doing, toasting and drinking, since Lola had officially closed down the salon for appointments at four o’clock, two hours early, so we could celebrate my leaving in high style. It had hardly been a workday up until then, anyway. Talinga brought me a corsage, which she insisted I wear, so I’d spent the day answering the phone and looking as if I was waiting for my prom date to pull up in his father’s car. But it was a sweet gesture, as was the cake, the champagne, and the envelope that they’d given me, which held five hundred bucks, all mine.

“For incidentals,” Lola had said as she pressed it into my hand. “Important stuff.”

“Like manicures,” Amanda added. “And eyebrow waxing.”

It was almost enough to choke me up, but I knew that would only set them all off. Joie girls loved a good cry. But even more so, it reminded me that this was all really happening. Stanford. The end of the summer. The beginning of my real life. It was no longer just creeping up, peeking over the horizon, but instead lingering in plain sight.