Practice ran late because Coach Miller had apparently decided lecturing counted as cardio.

He lectured about timing, trust, safety, regionals, and the kind of reputation Briarwick cheer was supposed to protect. Then he made them run the new lift again until Roxie’s arms felt weak and Karen started whispering that graduation was starting to sound optional.

By the time Roxie left campus, she was late.

She checked her phone while walking fast down the sidewalk, cheer bag bouncing against her hip. Five twenty-two. Mrs. Robinson expected her at five thirty, and Roxie still had to cross town.

The Robinsons lived in one of those gated neighborhoods with clean sidewalks, trimmed bushes, and houses that looked like something she’ll never afford. Roxie picked up her pace, already planning the apology she would give at the door.

A car slowed behind her.

At first, she ignored it. Cars slowed all the time near school. Parents picked up students. Rich seniors looked for friends. People stared through tinted windows and pretended they were above staring.

Then the car kept pace with her.

Roxie’s shoulders tightened.

She glanced over and saw a sleek black car rolling beside the curb, the kind of expensive that made people look twice even when they pretended they didn’t care. The windows were tinted, but not enough to hide the driver.

Zac Prescott.

Roxie stopped walking, turned around, and marched toward the passenger side. The car stopped immediately.

She knocked on the window.

Zac rolled it down.

Roxie leaned toward the opening. "You’re acting like a creep."

He looked caught, which was briefly satisfying. "You’re not going home?"

"That is a terrible answer to what I just said."

"I’m asking."

"And I’m telling you this is creep behavior. Have you been following me?"

Zac’s mouth tightened. "I saw you walking."

"So you decided to trail me slowly in your rich-boy murder car?"

"It’s not a murder car."

"It is when you do this."

He looked like he wanted to argue, then wisely chose survival. "I was worried."

"You said you’d give me space."

"I know."

"Then give it."

"I can drive you wherever you’re going."

Roxie opened her mouth to snap at him, but laughter came from behind her before she could start. A group of Briarwick students was walking down from the campus side, loud and careless, still wearing varsity jackets and uniform pieces. Two girls walked along the curb with their arms linked, and one boy kicked a bottle cap ahead of him.

One of them looked straight at Zac’s car and slowed.

Roxie’s stomach tightened.

She walked around the front of the car before anyone could get closer. Zac reached across and opened the passenger door from inside.

Roxie got in fast and shut the door. "Drive nowhere. I just need to hide for a minute."

Zac looked at her, eyebrows lifting.

"Do not smile," she said.

His mouth pressed into a line, which meant he was absolutely fighting it.

Outside, the students passed the car. One girl looked at the emblem on the hood. A boy pointed like he recognized it. Roxie sank a little lower in the seat and stared at the dashboard like the dashboard had personally become fascinating.

"Did they see me?" she asked.

Roxie sank lower in the seat. "Why are people here so obsessed with cars?"

"It’s Briarwick."

"Ugh." She sat down straighter.

"Let me drive you."

Roxie checked her phone again. Five twenty-five.

Coach Miller had ruined her arms, her mood, and her schedule. Zac was beside her in a car that smelled expensive, offering help like help from him did not come with complications.

She sighed and gave him the address.

Zac typed it into the navigation, then glanced at her. "What are you doing there?"

"Driving would be useful right now."

"Roxie."

"Just drive."

He did.

For the first few minutes, neither of them said anything. Roxie looked out the window and tried to ignore how smooth the car felt. His truck was already nicer than the broken car they had in their driveway but this car was worse. It barely made a sound. The seats were soft. The dashboard was clean.

Everything about it made Roxie feel like she was sitting inside a price tag.

Zac stopped at the gate of the neighborhood.

A security guard stepped out of the booth.

Roxie was already reaching into her bag for her ID, because usually Mrs. Robinson had to leave her name at the gate and the guard still checked like Roxie might be trying to sneak in and steal a chandelier.

Then the guard reached Zac’s window and smiled.

"Afternoon, Mr. Prescott."

Roxie’s hand froze inside her bag.

Zac nodded. "Hey, Mike."

The guard leaned slightly to look at the car. "New car? I didn’t recognize it at first."

Zac glanced at her then back to the guard. "My mom’s," Zac said.

"Nice." The guard glanced briefly at Roxie, then back at Zac with a polite smile that made her feel weirdly exposed. "You’re all set."

The gate opened.

Zac drove through.

Roxie stared ahead. "You live here?"

"Yeah."

The neighborhood opened around them with wide streets, huge lawns, and houses that looked like they came with their own committees. Roxie had passed the gate before. She had seen cars slide in and out and wondered what kind of people lived behind it.

Apparently, Zac did.

That made sense.

It also annoyed her.

They turned down a street lined with big trees and even bigger houses. Zac slowed near one property with a long driveway, tall windows, and a stone front that looked like it belonged on a brochure.

Roxie stared before she could stop herself. "That’s yours?"

Zac followed her gaze. "My parents’."

She glared at him.

Zac coughed. "Yeah."

Roxie looked away. "Must be a difficult life."

His mouth moved like he almost smiled, then he stopped himself.

"It has issues," he said.

"Does the chandelier have emotional problems?"

"Probably."

She hated that she almost laughed.

The navigation told him to turn two streets later. The Robinsons’ house was smaller than Zac’s, which still meant it was huge by normal standards. White exterior, clean porch, flower beds, two cars in the driveway, and a basketball hoop near the garage.

Zac slowed in front of it. "You know the Robinsons?"

Roxie unbuckled her seatbelt. "I babysit for them."

The words came out normal, but the car felt different right after.

Roxie grabbed the door handle.

"Wait," Zac said.

She looked at him. "I’m late."

"I know I said I’d give you space."

Her fingers tightened around the handle.

He kept his voice careful, which was almost more irritating than his usual confidence. "The team is going to the carnival on Saturday."

Roxie stared at him. "Okay. Enjoy."

"I was wondering if you’d be there."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Are you asking me out on a date after following me in your mother’s car?"

Zac shook his head fast. "I’m asking if you’ll be there. It’d be nice to see you."

That made her pause.

"I don’t know." She answered. "I’m not into carnivals."

Zac looked at her. "Maybe you can go with Angela and Karen."

Roxie looked toward the Robinsons’ house. One of the front curtains moved slightly, which meant Mrs. Robinson had probably seen the car and was pretending she had not.

Another audience.

Angela had mentioned the carnival. Karen wanted to go too. They had not picked a day yet, and Saturday was possible.

That was the problem.

"Maybe," Roxie said.

Zac looked at her.

Then he smiled, small enough that she wanted to take the word back just to punish him.

"I’ll see you then."

Roxie got out before her face could betray her. "I said maybe. And if I go, it has nothing to do with you."

"Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it."

She glared at him. "Goodbye, Zac."

"Bye, Roxie."

She shut the door and walked up the Robinsons’ driveway without looking back.

The car stayed by the curb for a moment before pulling away.

Roxie reached the porch and stopped with her hand near the doorbell.

She had said maybe.

To Zac.

After telling him they should not talk for a while, after fighting with him, after accepting the drink without answering his text, after spending all day pretending she had control over herself.

Why had she said that?

The door opened before she could come up with an answer.

Mrs. Robinson smiled. "Roxie, hi. Come in."

Roxie smiled back like she had not just made her life harder in someone else’s driveway. "Sorry I’m late. Practice ran over."

Before Mrs. Robinson could answer, Jason came running from the hallway in socks, hair messy, one sleeve twisted.

"Roxie!" he yelled, grabbing her hand. "Come see my train. Dad got the one with the bridge and the tunnel, and Mom said I can’t use the smoke because it smells weird, but it has smoke."

Roxie let him pull her inside. "Hello to you too."

"You have to see it now."

Mrs. Robinson laughed. "He’s been waiting since four."

She looked like one of those wives from a Beverly Hills reality show, the kind who wore a designer dress just to leave the house for dinner. Her hair was done, her earrings were expensive, and her heels probably cost more than Roxie’s entire outfit.

But she was warm. That was the annoying part. She smiled like Roxie belonged there, not like Roxie was just the girl watching her kid.

Mr. Robinson came out from the hallway, fixing his cuff.

He was bald, tall, and still built like he worked out before breakfast. He paused when he saw her, and for a second, his face did something strange.

Then it was gone.

"Roxxane," he said. "You just got in?"

Roxie’s hand tightened around Jason’s. "Yes, Mr. Robinson. Sorry I’m late. Coach kept us after practice."

He always called her Roxxane. Her mother had found this job for her. Roxie still did not know how. She had never asked because there were answers she did not want. The Robinsons were kind. They paid on time. Jason liked her. Their house felt clean in a way Roxie needed it to stay.

She did not want to imagine her mother and Mr. Robinson in the same sentence for too long.

"That’s all right." He looked at her a little longer than usual. "Cheer has been busy?"

"Regionals," Roxie said. "Coach Miller is taking it very seriously."

Mrs. Robinson brightened. "Oh, I remember that. I cheered in high school too."

Jason groaned. "Mom says that every time."

"Because my team won district," Mrs. Robinson said.

"That was a long, long, long time ago," Jason said.

Mr. Robinson laughed, but his eyes stayed on Roxie for another moment. "And school? Briarwick treating you well?"

Roxie blinked. Adults usually asked that like small talk. He asked it like he wanted the real answer.

"It’s fine," she said.

Mrs. Robinson checked her purse. "We should go before we lose the reservation."

Jason tugged Roxie’s hand again. "Train."

"In a minute," Roxie told him.

Mrs. Robinson handed her a paper even though Roxie already knew the routine. "Emergency numbers are here. The alarm code is the same. Front door, back door, patio door. Please check all of them after we leave."

"Yes, ma’am."

"And no smoke train."

Jason gasped. "Mom."

Roxie looked down at him. "The law has spoken."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

Mrs. Robinson smiled. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Have a nice date," Roxie said.

Mr. Robinson held the door for his wife, then glanced back at Roxie before leaving. "Call if anything happens, Roxxane."

"I will."

The door shut behind them.

Roxie locked it, checked the patio door, checked the back door, then followed Jason upstairs.

His train set covered half his bedroom floor. Tracks looped around a tiny town, through a tunnel, over a bridge, and past plastic trees Jason treated like sacred landmarks.

"This is the passenger train," he said, dropping to his knees. "This one carries rocks. This one is old but fast. Don’t press the red button too many times because Mom says it sounds haunted."

They played until Jason made her the station manager, which apparently meant she had to announce every train arrival in a bored voice while he corrected her about cargo routes.

Her phone buzzed beside her knee.

Zac.

Zac: Goodnight.

Roxie stared at the message.

Jason leaned over the tracks. "Is that your boyfriend?"

Roxie locked the phone fast. "No." How does he even know the word boyfriend? "Focus on your train."

She opened her phone again and stared at the message.

She had told Zac they should not talk for a while. He had listened. Mostly. One goodnight was technically small. Barely anything.

Still stupid.

She sent a sleeping emoji before she could think too hard.

Then she grabbed the nearest throw pillow, pressed it to her face, and screamed into it.

Jason froze. "What happened?"

Roxie lowered the pillow.

"I acted stupid."