Laurel wanted to offer some encouragement, but she didn’t know what to say. She remembered Chelsea telling her that she and Ryan had agreed that they would both apply to Harvard and UCLA, then wait and see what happened with acceptances. Ryan had apparently changed his mind. “Did you . . . ask him about it?” Laurel finally asked. “Maybe he just didn’t want to let his parents know he was planning to apply to Harvard. You know how pushy his dad can be.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging.

“You should ask him,” Laurel said. “Come on, you guys have been dating for more than a year. You should be able to talk about stuff like this.”

“Maybe I don’t want to know.” Chelsea refused to meet Laurel’s eyes.

“Chelsea!” Laurel said with a grin. “You are the ultimate proponent of brutal honesty!” She paused and giggled. “Proponent. That’s an SAT word.”

Chelsea raised one eyebrow. “Seriously. If our relationship is going to end soon anyway, maybe I’d rather not know how early he knew. And if he’s just doing it to appease his dad, maybe it’ll be a good surprise.”

“Maybe,” Laurel said. “But is it going to eat you up inside if you don’t know?”

Chelsea grimaced. “Apparently.”

“So ask.”

They sat in silence for a while and Laurel marveled at how effectively worrying about someone else’s problems stopped her from worrying about her own. Even if only for a little while.

“Hey, Chelsea,” Laurel said softly as an idea began to form in her mind. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Now?” Chelsea asked.

Laurel glanced out the window. “We’ve got an hour if we hurry,” she said, slipping into her sandals.

“Um, okay . . .”

They headed down the stairs and Chelsea yelled to her mom that she was leaving for an hour. Her mom yelled back that it was spaghetti night and to please be back in time for dinner. Laurel had rarely seen a conversation take place in Chelsea’s house that didn’t involve yelling. Not angry yelling, but the kind of yelling that happens when everyone is rushing around and can’t take the ten seconds that would be required to stop what they are doing and get close enough to hear the other person talk in a normal tone of voice. Then again, in a household with three boys under the age of twelve, yelling probably was a normal tone of voice.

“So where are we going?” Chelsea asked as she pulled her seat belt across her chest.

“Yuki’s,” Laurel said.

“Yuki’s?” And after a pause, “Are we going to spy on her?”

“No!” Laurel said, although she knew the question was entirely rational. “I thought we could go pick her up and take her to Vera’s.”

“For . . . smoothies?” Chelsea asked. Vera’s blessedly nondairy blended fruit drinks had made it Laurel’s favorite whole foods store.

“Yeah, sure,” Laurel said, flipping on her turn signal as she approached Yuki’s street. “Klea wants me to keep an eye on her, Tamani wants me to keep an eye on her. I was thinking we could all go to that autumn dance together.”

“So we show up on her porch out of the blue, kidnap her, feed her frozen fruit, and ask her on a date. Genius,” Chelsea said sarcastically.

“I’ll buy you one of those carob chocolate truffles you like so much,” Laurel said with a grin as they pulled up in front of Yuki’s house.

Chelsea clapped her hand over her heart, melodramatically. “Using my love of chocolate against me. I have no choice but to crumble like a . . . chocolate cookie. Or whatever,” she said when Laurel eyed her. “My metaphors suck. Let’s go.”

Yuki’s house was about the size of Laurel’s garage. It was set back from the road and mostly hidden by two shaggy elm trees growing at the front of the walk. According to Aaron, Yuki was almost always there alone, but so far nobody in the neighborhood had made a fuss. It was possible they simply hadn’t noticed.

If so, they were a lot less nosy than Laurel’s neighbors.

They rang Yuki’s doorbell, which could be heard clearly through the flimsy front door and single-pane windows. Despite Klea’s claims that Yuki was here for her own protection, security didn’t seem to be a major priority.

“I don’t think she’s home,” Chelsea said in a whisper.

Laurel nodded toward the bike Yuki sometimes rode to school. “Her bike’s here. And I don’t think she has a car.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t go for a walk,” Chelsea countered. “She is . . . like you.”

Laurel sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Obviously this isn’t going to work.”

“Do I still have to go to Vera’s?” Chelsea asked as they turned.

The click of a deadbolt made Laurel look back. She suppressed the urge to smooth her khaki skirt and straighten her hair. Yuki’s face appeared in a narrow crack in the doorway and she stared in obvious surprise for a moment before opening it all the way.

“Hi,” Laurel said, trying to not sound too chipper. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” Yuki said warily.

“We were going to Vera’s and thought you might like to come along,” Laurel said with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.

“The grocery place?” She didn’t look any less nervous. If anything, she looked more suspicious.