When I came back inside, Brooke was waiting by the door to the terrace.

She'd fixed her makeup. She was smiling her best smile.

“Nick!” she said. “Oh my gosh. I had no idea! You should have said. We should totally get lunch. Chad and I would love to talk about business. Maybe Whitmore Motors and Sullivan Auto could, like, work together?”

“Maybe,” I said.

She touched my arm.

“And about the group chat. The fundraising thing.” She laughed lightly. “I didn't technically say I raised the money. I just said I'd worked really hard.”

“Brooke,” I said, “you put me at the overflow table by the kitchen. You said you didn't think I'd actually come.”

Her smile froze.

“I didn't pay for tonight so people would thank me,” I said. “I paid for it so Jenny and Danny and Owen could come. So nobody had to stay home because they couldn't afford it. That's all.”

I looked over at table twenty-four, where Jenny was showing Lucy photos of her kids. “They're the reason I came. Not you. Not Chad.”

Brooke opened her mouth. Then she closed it again.

For the first time since ninth grade, Brooke Whitmore had nothing to say.