Free Roomies by Sara Zarr, Tara Altebrando

makes it worse, but I don’t really think it does. Betrayal is betrayal.)
    I get the sense that these are questions that someone like Lauren might actually understand, might even ponder along with me.
    I go back to my room to hide until he’s gone. Her, too.

    I spend most of the week hiding, really. From my mother. From Justine, and Alex, and the rest of the six-pack. Even from Tim, who has me doing a bunch of nursery runs and solo check-ins on gardens we did last summer. I like seeing how a garden has started to grow into itself after a full cycle of seasons, seeing the way plants start to find their own way toward the sun and to mingle with each other, or not.
    Friday I have no choice but to go back to Mark’s house, on Tim’s orders, to see how the gardens are faring, and whether the mulchborders got muddied at all by a big rain we had. I’ve been avoiding Mark, too. Which is all tied up in why I’m also avoiding answering Lauren’s e-mail. It’s not like she even asked how the party was; I just feel like I should tell her about it, and I don’t want to lie by omission. But what is she going to think of me if I tell her that I kissed a guy I barely know even though I already have a boyfriend? Did I even tell her I have a boyfriend? What does it mean if I didn’t?
    And I mean, I really kissed him. And it was so lovely and intense that just thinking about it again makes me a little woozy.
    He’s home, of course. And when I’m pulling dead leaves off a few annuals on the border of the garden—mostly pansies, with their weirdly sad sort of smiley faces—he comes right over and says, “Hey.”
    I look up and then stand and my knees feel weak.
    “Where’ve you been?” He has sunglasses on so I can’t really read him. “I texted you. Multiple times this week.”
    “Oh.” I push some hair out of my face and say, “Yeah, I saw those.”
    I haven’t stopped looking at them, in fact. One said, That was nice. Another said, Better than nice . The last two were Can I see you again? and If so, when?
    He laughs. “Oh, you did, did you?”
    I laugh, too, because it’s honestly kind of funny how bad I am at this.
    “So you saw them.” He nods fake-seriously. “That’s good. ’Cause you know it’s not like you’re supposed to, I don’t know, text back or anything. That would be crazy.” He waves his hands in a gesture to mean crazy, palms out and shaking. Then he’s smiling and waiting.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, and I’m about to add, “I have a boyfriend.” Butthen a car pulls into the driveway, the same sort of car that was parked in my driveway earlier that morning, and Mark’s dad gets out and Mark says, “I thought your flight got in later,” and the dad says, “Caught an earlier one but have to drive down to Philly for an overnight,” and it all clicks.
    His voice in my kitchen that morning.
    Money manager. Hedge fund manager. Wall Street type.
    Then his father says, “Hi, are you a friend of Mark’s?” and I nod and he gives me a small wave. I can’t be sure I’m breathing.
    Mark turns back to me when his father goes inside and says, “I had fun the other night and I think you did, too.”
    He’s right. I did. I had more fun with him than maybe I’ve ever had with anyone. And it didn’t have anything to do with the party or even the kissing. After realizing we weren’t mingling or trying to, we went down to the bay and found two Adirondack chairs and talked about who our friends were, maybe trying to find people in common but not coming up with any, then moved on to things like the dumbest movies we’d ever seen or the world’s most overrated songs. For what felt like hours, we played this game where we thought up funny last words, like “These wild berries are absolutely delicious” or “I can totally jump over to that building.” Then after that, we were quiet together, skipping stones on the bay. That was when he turned to me out of nowhere and put his arms around me and