I hate math; Wish is a math geek. If he were here, he’d laugh at me and say, in a very Buddha-like way, “Duh, Gwen. The answer is twelve,” without even having to think. As I’m about to burst into tears, Evie saunters in. Again she looks like she’s going to break into song. I push my pencil against my notebook so hard that the tip almost breaks. “Your ever-so-dreamy new boyfriend is a turd,” I say, not looking up. She practically floats into the overstuffed chair across from me. “He is not my boyfriend,” she says, not very convincingly at all. “I’ll give it a week before he is.” She clicks her tongue. “Dough, I’m not an idiot. I remember what happened last week. I know what he’s like.” “Then why were you …” “I’ve always wanted a ride in a BMW. But that’s all he’s good for. Seriously.” And she gives me this wholesome grin, the heart-melting kind. “I’ve got your back, girl.” Since Evie has never done anything really trashy to me before, I guess I have to believe her.
