“Wyatt?” Toby asked, turning to him, looking more and more worried.
Wyatt shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Miss Palmer speaks the truth.”
“But . . .” Toby looked from me to Bri, like we hadn’t been trying to stop her a minute before. “How am I supposed to tell my mom I’m running late for dinner? Or ask someone to cover my shift at work?”
“Be creative,” Palmer said with a grin. “I mean, emojis can express whatever you need them to. Someone told me that.”
“Fine,” Toby snapped, like she hadn’t just agreed to these terms. “I can totally do this. Just watch.”
“I will,” Palmer said, “and don’t think we won’t be checking your phone to make sure you’re not cheating.”
“Andie,” Bri said, turning to me with the air of someone who knows that a subject change would be wise, “how was your date?”
“Oh, yeah, the date,” Tom said, turning to me and smiling wide. “So?”
“Ugh,” I said, as the earlier part of my night came back to me, and my friends’ expressions immediately changed from excited to sympathetic.
“Oh, no,” Palmer said, reaching out and giving my hand a squeeze. “Not Dogboy! I had high hopes for him.”
“Dogboy?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah, well,” I said with a shrug. “One of those things.”
“Was it a bad date?” Bri asked, scooting closer to Palmer so that I could sit next to her.
“I didn’t think it was terrible,” I said, thinking back to the actual time spent at the restaurant. It would have been fine if Clark had gone along with any of my conversation suggestions. “But then when he drove me home . . .”
“Bad kisser?” Tom asked sympathetically.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We didn’t even come close to that. He just had a really bad time.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Palmer said immediately.
“No, he did have a bad time,” I said. “He told me he did. Apparently, he was mad that I didn’t ask him anything about himself or tell him anything about me.” A moment after I’d said it, it was like I actually heard what I was saying. My friends looked back at me, slightly frozen expressions on everyone’s faces.
“Um . . . did you do that?” Bri asked, hesitation in her voice after a pause in which everyone had become very interested in the ground, or the contents of their cups. “Or . . . not do that?”
“I did what I always do on dates. He was just weird.”
“I think it sounds like he called you on that thing you do,” Palmer said, and Bri and Tom nodded knowingly.
“What thing?” Palmer, Tom, and Bri all took a breath at once, like they were preparing to detail just what was wrong with me, and I shook my head. I didn’t think I wanted to hear it, and anyway, I needed to get to work scoping out new prospects. I shook my head. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I looked around the group, trying to think of anything that didn’t involve emoticons or my dating life. “Wyatt,” I said, feeling like he was the most neutral person here, as well as the one currently least likely to make fun of me, “are you here for the whole summer?”
“Three whole months,” he said, nodding. “I’m going to have to look into the job thing one of these days.”
“The coffee place next to the movie theater is hiring,” Bri said with a shrug. “I know, because every time I go in there to get lunch when I’m working, they ask if I want to apply.”
Tom frowned. “But aren’t you in uniform?”
Bri nodded. “Apparently, they think I wear a white shirt and bow tie every day.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst look on you,” Palmer said with a smile.
“Cool,” Wyatt said. “As long as I can get a discount, I’m happy.”
“Or, um, I could see if the museum is hiring,” Toby said, clearly trying to figure out what it was she normally did with her hands. “And then we could hang out.” She seemed to regret saying this almost immediately and looked down at the ground, her cheeks turning the same color as her Solo cup.
“Sure,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “I’m up for anything.” He took a sip of his beer, then turned to Tom. “You doing the theater thing again?”
“Yep,” Palmer said proudly. “He’s got the male lead.”
“That’s awesome, brother,” Wyatt said, hitting Tom on the back.
“Yeah,” Tom said, wincing and moving a little farther away from him. “Um, thanks.”
I felt my phone buzzing in my bag and pulled it out, squinting at the screen. My immediate thought was that it was Peter, before I realized that there was nothing for Peter to contact me about any longer. I didn’t recognize the number—it came up as being from Colorado. I remembered the plates on Clark’s SUV and realized that over the course of the night, I’d never actually gotten around to finding out why he had them. But could he really be calling me? Calling to . . . what, exactly? I switched my ringer to silent, dropped my phone in my dress pocket, and leaned forward to pretend to listen to Tom, while my gaze roamed around the Orchard. There was a kind of cute guy in a baseball cap by the keg . . . and a decent one sitting one picnic table away. . . .
I felt my phone buzz again and saw I had a voice mail from the same Colorado number, as well as two missed calls that must have come through when I was in the dead zone by the Orchard entrance. Suddenly worried that something was actually wrong, I slid off the table, took a few steps away, and pressed the number to call it back. It rang only once before it was answered, the person on the other end sounding out of breath.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I said. “Um, I got a call from this number?” I was ninety percent sure it was Clark, but that didn’t mean I had to necessarily let him know that I knew that.
“Andie? I’m sorry to call like this—it’s Clark McCallister.”
“Hi, Clark,” I said, still not sure why this was happening. Why was he calling me? And how, exactly, had he gotten my number?
Clark? Palmer mouthed at me, looking incredibly excited. I nodded, then took a step farther away so I wouldn’t have to have this conversation with my friends all looking back at me, listening to every word.
“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear his voice was high and stressed, much more raw than usual. “I’m so sorry to call you—I just . . . I can’t get ahold of Maya, and I had your number from her. . . .”
“It’s okay,” I said, realizing that this had something to do with the dog and wondering a moment later why I was feeling disappointed. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Bertie,” Clark said, and when he said the dog’s name, I could hear something else in his voice—fear. “I . . . He ate something, and I’m not sure what to do. I’m trying to call his vet, but . . .”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound like I had any idea at all what to do. “It’ll be okay. I . . . um . . . Did you google the symptoms?” I glanced back to see Palmer looking confused, Toby and Bri not paying attention, and Wyatt looking amused by all of this.
“Must have been a pretty good date,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me as I turned away from him and walked a few more steps away.
“Yeah,” Clark said, and the tone in his voice made my stomach drop. This was, I realized from that one word, serious. “I don’t think it’s good. Would you—could you come by and see if you can help? I’m sorry to ask. I just . . . He’s not doing too great.”
“Of course,” I said, and even as I said it, a piece of me was wondering what the hell I was doing. But I knew I was going to go. Because it was what Maya, I was pretty sure, would want me to do. And because I knew if I didn’t, it would be all I’d think about for the rest of the night. “I’ll be there soon.”