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“Okay.”

He smirked. “Do you always have to get the last word?”

“No, I think you do.” I picked up a box of Triscuits from the shelf next to us and pushed it against his chest. “Here. Maybe these will help keep you quiet for once.”

He barely caught the box as it slid down his chest when I let go. Then he tore open the top, fished out a cracker, and put it in his mouth. “Didn’t work,” he said through the mouthful.

I let out a laugh, genuinely amused.

He smiled. Not his fake, condescending smile but a real one. He finished eating the cracker, then took another one and tipped the box toward me. My initial instinct was to refuse. But one, it felt like a peace offering, even though they weren’t his crackers to give. And two, I was actually hungry. Starving.

I reached my hand into the box and pulled out two crackers.

Ryan placed the box back on the shelf, then took out his phone again. “My turn to text for help.”

I glanced down at my phone to see if Fiona had written back. Nothing. I wondered if she was trying to work her way back through the crowd to rescue me or if it was too loud and she hadn’t heard or felt her phone vibrate, hadn’t seen my message. I tried calling her, but the call dropped.

Hello?! I wrote to her again. Some help??

“Make sure you use the words evil villain in your text,” Ryan said, nodding toward my phone.

“Make sure you use the words beautiful goddess in yours,” I said.

“In reference to … ?” He narrowed his eyes in a teasing fashion. “The crackers? They were pretty amazing.”

I shoved his chest and he laughed. He pressed a button on his phone, I assumed to send his text, and tucked it back in his pocket.

I wondered who he’d texted. Did he feel the same way I did, like we shouldn’t be in here together? Like we couldn’t tell our families that we were?

“Are your parents here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Somewhere. But I texted a friend.”

That confirmed my suspicions.

His eyes started traveling the shelves. “You really picked the worst cracker to shove in my mouth, didn’t you?” He opened and closed his mouth as if still chewing.

My mouth was dry too. That was the nature of the Triscuit. “I didn’t actually pick it … or shove it in your mouth. You did that.”

“True. Is there some form of liquid in this pantry?”

“Warm water? Warm soda?” I said, pointing toward the back.

“What’s your preference?” His hand moved between the case of water and the box of grape Fanta.

“Water,” I said.

He plucked a water bottle out of the plastic-wrapped case and passed it to me, then took one for himself. Then he slid a twelve-pack of paper towels out from under the lowest shelf and put it in the middle of the floor. He gestured for me to sit down. I did. But when I noticed there was nowhere for him to sit, I made room on the paper towel chair.

“You think we can both fit?” he asked with a laugh.

“Is your butt more than three paper towel rolls wide and two long?” I asked.

He lifted his hoodie and turned in a slow circle. “You tell me.”

I laughed. “Sit down, doofus.”

“Doofus?”