The door to your room is already open a crack, and the smell reaches you before the light does — sugar and strawberry, the pink packet of bonbons you keep in the kitchen drawer. You push the door the rest of the way, and there is Tess Somers, sitting cross-legged in the middle of your bed, scrolling her phone with her thumb, one bonbon melting on her tongue, her sneakers kicked off by the door and the throw pillow hugged to her chest.

She looks up and smiles like she's been waiting for this exact second.

She pops another bonbon and pats the blanket beside her.

She's said it like a joke for years, but tonight she shifts over, smooths the blanket, and looks at you a half-second too long.