Thatcher texts me that he will pick me up in fifteen minutes. Apparently, his dad is being a huge jerk again, no surprise there, so Thatcher got held up from an argument with him. I get the text while my mom and I sit on the couch finishing up our coconut milk based ice "cream", our after dinner dessert.

"Who was that?" Mom asks after cleaning her spoon.

"Thatcher. He'll be here in fifteen."

She checks her watch. "I thought you said—"

"I did, but his dad started an argument with him about something, I don't know."

She rolls her eyes. "It could be anything with that man."

"Seriously."

"Why doesn't he move in with his grandma?"

"She lives outside of the district. He'd have to switch schools."

She nods. "Got it. Definitely don't want that."

"No."

"And what is the party tonight? Patti and Moth's going away?"

"Just Patti's. Moth is going away, but only I know at this point. And Moth isn't really going away. He will be away on weekends, but his parents can't do what Patti's are and take him out there for a while."

"His sister could, probably. Isn't she getting close to graduating college?"

"Yeah, she's a year away I think, but then she'd have to either not work or get a job in LA."

Mom shrugs as she licks another spoonful of ice "cream" from her spoon. "It could happen, you never know. What are you and Thatcher going to do without them around all the time?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. Just be a couple, I guess? Make new friends? Emma and Sean already invited us to come over to Sean's house to film some sketch comedy scenes for their YouTube channel."

Mom grimaces. "I don't like the sound of that."

"No, this would be a good opportunity for me. Here, I'll show you." I open my YouTube app and go to their channel. I click on the sketch with the most views, a sketch in which they play newscasters reporting on various strange situations in which they also play the weirdos the reports are about. It already has 100,000 views.

Mom's eyes widen when she sees that number, and as the video plays on, she even laughs a few times. When it ends, she leans back and asks, "So this would be something that would allow you to get noticed by agents too?"

I shrug. "Yeah, maybe."

"That's what you want, right?"

"Yeah, I want to act."

"Are you... okay that your friends are going to Hollywood? Are you jealous?"

I have to stop and think. I hadn't really thought about being jealous of Patti and Moth, I'd only thought about my fear of not seeing them again, about our little group separating and never coming back together the same way.

"I don't think what I'm feeling is jealousy. I think it's more so anxiety."

"About?"

"About never seeing them again or, like, never having friends like them again. Like, they'll leave me and I'll be alone, and I won't find another experience like I had, have, with the Misfits. So, we just read 'Self-Reliance' by Emerson in English class, and I read through it and panicked; because I'm not self-reliant. Not at all. I'm super dependent on my friends and on our little theater family. I'm so scared of what I'll be without them."

"Well, you'll still have Thatcher, so you don't need to panic too much. Moth will be around in school, too. Plus these new people, Emma and Sean. You won't be alone. And, I know as a teenager this doesn't mean as much, but you're never going to be alone, I'll always be here for you. We haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but we've been better lately, right?"

"Yes," I say with a smile. "I know you're always here. I just mean with friends. I don't want to go back to being a loner."

My mom stares off for a moment. "That's not all of what Emerson was trying to say with self-reliance, was it? Wasn't his main message about not conforming to other people's expectations and to be yourself, basically?"

"Basically."

She chuckles. "You don't conform anymore, Miss Get Suspended for Skipping Class."

I scoff. "Sure, okay, I guess not. I'm just not sure who I am in solitude, I guess. That's my issue."

"You're kind and fun and smart and talented."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks Mom. Speaking of kindness, I'm going to get coffee with Gina tomorrow."

"What?" Her tone isn't as supportive anymore.

"We aren't friends, we just want to mend bridges."

"Okay. I'm suspicious of this."

"Don't worry. Like you said, I'm a smart girl."

She smiles. "I am working on that not worrying part."

My phone buzzes. It's a text from Thatcher: "Outside."

"Thatcher's here," I say, standing up. I hurry to the kitchen to put my bowl and spoon in the sink after rinsing them off, and grab a scarf from the coat rack. It's not cold enough yet for a jacket, but cool enough for you to need to put on something extra.

"Have fun, honey. You know to be home by curfew."

"11:00pm, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I love you Mom. See you then," I say, opening the front door.

"Love you too," she says as I close the door behind me.

There are only a few steps between my stoop and Thatcher's beat up old car, so it isn't long before I'm leaning across the seat to give Thatcher a kiss on the lips. His face is warm, and I wonder if it's from fighting with his dad. I close the car door and ask, "What was the argument with your dad about?"

"Good to see you too," he jokes.

"Sorry, hey. Now what was the argument about? Is everything okay?"

He shakes his head as he puts his car into drive. "Everything is fine, I don't really want to talk about it tonight."

That's weird, he always shares everything with me. But I'm not going to push it if that's what he wants. Maybe he just needs some time to chill.

"You got it," I say. "When and if you want to, I'm here."

"I know," he says. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. "Tonight is about us, though. And then also about Patti."

"Where are you taking me for the us portion of the evening?"

He lifts his brows and asks, "What if I told you we were going to Le Grand Macaron?"

I squeeze his hand. "Really? But you hate macarons."

"Yes, but you forget that I love you."

"Thank you, Thatcher babe."

"Welcome, babe."

"We are going to get some delicious macarons, babe."

"You and Patti and your macarons. Should we get some for Patti too, babe?"

"If you have enough money, babe."

"Oh, I have money, babe."

I laugh. "Okay, enough of that."

"You sure, babe?"

"Just drive," I say with a smile.

Across the bridge on Patti and Moth's side of Riverside is a strip mall with a bunch of fancy shops—boutiques, salons, jewelry stores—and a macaron place that Patti and I went to at least twice a week all summer. We'd eat our little, fancy desserts and dream about going to Paris on our way to the Cannes Film Festival one day. We'd, of course, both be stars in films showing at Cannes, so we would have lots of expendable income to travel and eat as many macarons as we want before hiring trainers to help us work them off. We dragged Moth and Thatcher along with us to Le Grand Macaron a couple of times, but they didn't get it. The decadence and extravagance of it didn't appeal to them.

Continued in the next part...