“Hullo?”
I turn. “Oh, hey, Hank.” How long has he been standing there? How did he get up my steps without my noticing?
“Bit lost in thought, are we?” Hank moves to look out at the quad from where I’m standing. He sees Joey walking over the grassy area. “Ah, the elusive artist.” He watches her walk away. “Where’s she off to?”
I shake myself out of my reverie. “Who can say? She’s off. That’s all I know.”
“Hmm.” Hank pulls out his phone.
“Who are you texting?” I ask him.
“Ginger.”
I growl, my natural reaction to mentions of Ginger Rogers. I don’t really dislike her, because I know she’s great, even if she’s kind of cold and aloof. But it’s fun to have a nemesis. And who better to play that part than the person Joey goes to when she leaves my place? The one Joey picks to spend her time with? Maybe it’s not a contest, but it’s absolutely a contest and I don’t like it when Ginger wins.
I watch Hank text Ginger while still actually watching Joey climb the stairs to her front door. When she closes it, I look at Hank.
Who is uncharacteristically hasty to stash his phone.
“What?” I demand.
Hank gives a shrug that feigns innocence. “What what?”
I am not fooled. “What did the evil chemist say?” I know I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice. It’s not just the game of hating her—it’s that Joey chooses her over me.
Hank gives me a condescending look. The look that says, ‘I’m a much better human being than you are.’ We are both familiar with Hank giving me this look. It’s kind of our thing. “Ginger is terrific, and you are missing out with your silly need to have an archenemy.”
I know this.
Hank says, “You should give her a chance.”
I also know this. “Not likely. What did she say?”
Shrugging, Hank walks inside and checks his hair in the entry mirror. “She says Joey’s on her way out of town.” He says it like it’s not going to change all my plans.
I feel myself deflate.
“Where?”
As if Hank knows.
“Boston.”
All right, so Hank knows.
“When?”
Hank is flipping his fingers through his hair, as if to add more careless messiness. The grooming ritual is familiar to me. “Now. Bag is packed. Ginger’s driving with her.”
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she say anything? “What for?”
Hank turns away from the mirror. Away from me. “See some bloke.” He walks into the living room and through to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and closes it with a disgusted sound before I remember to breathe.
She’s going away. With Ginger. To see a man?
This is not good.
I hurry into the kitchen after Hank. “What bloke? And what did the text really say? Because no way did Ginger say ‘bloke’.” I reach my hand, palm up, ready to take Hank’s phone.
Hank shakes his head, but, when I don’t move, he hands it over. I read his message first. ‘Where does Miss Joey go when she leaves Dex leaning pathetically on the veranda rail?’
The reply stings more than I was prepared for, considering I already know what it says. ‘We’re heading to Boston so she can see a guy.’
Even I can’t willfully misunderstand that.