“Didn’t think so,” I say, just as Mateo deadpans, “It never is.” I snicker, but Cal doesn’t join in, so I get myself under control. “Then what is it about?” I ask.
He tugs at the hem of his shirt. It’s a blue button-down with subtle green polka dots—not nearly as flashy as the bright patterns he used to wear in middle school, but still more interesting than standard Carlton High guy attire. Cal has a colorful fashion sense that he inherited from precisely neither of his dads. Wes and Henry are both crewneck sweater–and–khaki guys who never met a neutral palette they didn’t like. “Relationship stuff,” he says. “You know how it is. Or maybe not. You guys seeing anyone?”
The question catches me off guard, even though it’s a perfectly natural topic for old friends to talk about. For a moment I’m tempted to tell them about Angus MacFarland, a boy I dated in Scotland over the summer. But even I have to admit that he sounds made-up. “Not presently, no,” I say.
Mateo doesn’t chime in, and Cal prods, “What about you, Mateo? I thought I heard that you and Carmen Costa are a thing.”
My stomach gives an uncomfortable little twist. I don’t want to hear about Mateo’s relationship with Carmen Costa, which is probably perfect because Carmen is great. She even came up to me after the election results were announced yesterday, when most people were treating me like I was radioactive, and told me she’d voted for me.
“Not anymore,” Mateo says, and my brows lift in surprise.
“Since when?” Cal asks.
“Summer.”
I wait for him to say more, but he stops in the middle of the sidewalk instead, hands on his hips as he gazes around us. The buildings have been getting progressively more run-down and graffiti-covered with every step we take. “Cal, where exactly are we going?” he asks.
“Huh?” Cal blinks, like it hadn’t occurred to him to figure out a new destination. “Oh, well…I guess…there’s an art store nearby that I like. Maybe we could stop in?”
“Fine by me,” Mateo says. “Ivy?”
“Okay,” I say, even though I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than watch Cal choose between seventeen shades of green pencil. Though I guess after that, I’ll feel a lot less guilty about abandoning him.
We start walking again in silence, until my need for information outweighs my need to look cool and unbothered. “So, Mateo. What happened with you and Carmen?”
He shrugs. “Just ran its course. I started working a lot, and she was spending all her time with her friends, so we weren’t hanging out. After about a month of that I saw her and she was like, We might as well be broken up. I was like, Yeah, and she was like, Maybe we should be, and I said, Okay.” His face is as stoic as ever, and I can’t tell if he’s putting up a front, or if the whole thing really was that casual.
Cal looks dubious, too. “Really? That was it?” Mateo nods and Cal sighs. “Well, at least she didn’t dump you at Veggie Galaxy.”
I wait for Cal to add some kind of context to that statement, but before he can, Mateo nods sagely and says, “I tell myself that every day.”
I laugh and then notice Cal’s glum expression. “Wait, did that happen to you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Right after Noemi told me I was a pod person going through the motions of life.” I make a sympathetic noise, and he adds, “It’s fine. Gave me a chance to get to know someone I have a lot more in common with. We’re not, like, officially dating or anything, but it’s…good for me.” He swallows almost nervously. “I think.”
“You think?” I ask. This sounds like the lead-up to the kind of conversation I used to have with Cal all the time: one where he needs advice, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.
Before I can press him, though, a blur of tie-dye catches my eye across the street. At first I think I must be seeing things; there’s no way it’s the same cursed pattern that’s been haunting my dreams since last week’s class president debate. But when I focus on it and see it’s attached to a familiar, blue-tipped fauxhawk, I stop in my tracks and grab hold of Cal’s arm, anchoring him in place. There’s no denying it.
“You guys, wait,” I say, pointing at the figure across the street from us. “Do you see that?” Mateo stops, too, turning with a questioning look. “What the hell is Boney Mahoney doing here?”