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“Hey,” Wallace said, sounding wounded.
“I’m okay,” I called to her. “But thanks.” I looked over at Montana, who was bustling around the kitchen. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Just relax,” she said, pulling out a container of parmesan and sprinkling some of it over the pasta. “Tell me about yourself!”
“Oh.” My mind was suddenly a blank. Why was it whenever anyone asked you something like that, you couldn’t think of anything? Like when someone wanted to know your top five movies, you suddenly couldn’t remember any movie you’d ever seen. Or when you were asked to name a celebrity and all you could come up with was Steve Guttenberg. “Um…”
Montana put the bowl of pasta in what was apparently a microwave—it looked like another cabinet. Why was everything in this kitchen pretending it was just a cabinet? “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“So you know Russell from school?” She took a sip of her wine.
“No, we um… met in a bus station?”
Montana’s eyes got wide. “Oh?”
A moment later, I heard how that sounded. “I was at Silverspun too,” I added hurriedly so she wouldn’t think some weird Nevada drifter had wandered into their home. “And then after the festival, we were both stranded. At least I was. I… um…”
“Oh, when he disappeared,” Montana said, nodding. “He went to a bus station? So weird.”
“Russell went to a bus station?” Connor asked, wandering up to us, carrying his book and a wineglass. “That’s a choice.” He reached for the bottle of white that was on the other island and poured himself a refill. I glanced at the book he’d set down—The Last Holdfast by C. B. McCallister. It was a thick hardcover that looked like a fantasy novel.
“No,” I said quickly. “We were both on the bus from the festival to LA, but then it broke down, so we were stuck at the station. And we ended up walking around and talking.… We were only in the bus station by accident.”
“Gotcha,” Connor said as the microwaved beeped. He wandered away with his novel and his wine, and Montana set the bowl down on the island. She pulled up one of the stools, then gestured for me to do the same, placing a fork and a striped linen napkin in front of me.
“Thank you so much,” I said, sitting on the stool and picking up my fork. I took a bite, then another. Whatever modifications the sauce had undergone were worth it—the spiciness had been tamped down, and it was really good.
“That’s so cool,” Montana said with a sigh as she picked up her glass. “The two of you, in the middle of nowhere by happenstance, meeting like that… it’s like something out of a movie!”
I nodded as I concentrated on my pasta, keeping my face averted. Just because my romantic delusion bubble had been popped tonight didn’t mean I had to wreck Montana’s.
“I mean, it just seems… really romantic.” Then she looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Or not?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her expression, so nakedly interested. “I mean,” I said, turning my fork between my fingers. I was very aware I was saying this to Russell’s sister. “Russell is really great, but…”
“Not interested,” Montana finished with a knowing nod. “I get it. Is it the hair? I keep telling him to cut it. I don’t want him to make Wallace’s mistakes.”
“Wait, what?” Wallace called, not looking away from the game, where a very violent battle seemed to be taking place in front of a rain-swept castle. “I have a girlfriend, I’ll have you know.”
“She lives in Hawaii,” Montana pointed out.
“She’s still my girlfriend!”
“No,” I said quickly, lowering my voice so that hopefully this would just be between me and Montana. I was suddenly seeing a downfall to open-plan houses. “I mean… we were, um… we did… I liked him.”
“Liked, past tense?” Montana asked as she took a sip of her wine, her eyes above the glass not leaving mine.
“Well…” I looked down into my pasta bowl and took a breath. “He told me that he had a different last name. And he didn’t tell me about his dad, or any of you. It wasn’t until he had to call for help that I found out he’d been lying to me all night.”
Montana set down her wineglass and raked a hand through her dark hair. “Yikes. Yeah, that’s not good.”
“What’s not good?” Connor called.
“Lying about being Wylie Sanders’s kid,” Montana called to Connor.
Wallace paused the game and turned around to face the kitchen. “Oh, come on,” he said, shaking his head at Montana. “Don’t pretend you’ve never done it.” Montana shrugged, but I could see that her cheeks had reddened. “But I do get it,” Wallace continued, adjusting his glasses. “It can be a lot when you first meet someone. I mean, for you guys. Even with my last name, nobody assumes I’m Wylie’s son, because racism.” The game un-paused, and there was a squelching sound as Sydney’s avatar swung her sword and Wallace’s avatar fell to the ground, sans head. Wallace picked up his controller again with a sigh.
