Page 72 of Falling Like Snow

And even though I would love to focus on Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan falling for each other without realizing it, I can’t—because I’m too busy freaking out about apparently having my first real date.

The next morning, I walk with Asher to his locker. The crowd in the hall is thinning as he grabs what he needs for his early classes.

“So…,” I say, leaning on the locker next to his. “About Friday…”

“I don’t have to go?” he asks, closing his locker.

“What? No, of course you do.”

“The guy was asking you out, Sloane. I don’t know how I got dragged into it.”

“I don’t either, but I need you there!”

He starts walking in the direction of his homeroom. “Why? You hung out with him at a party last weekend without me.”

I think of all the flirty texts I’ve sent Micah since we almost kissed and the panicky feeling I had when his lips were only millimeters from mine.

That’s why.

“Because I want to keep it chill,” I say, jogging to keep up with his long strides. “So I was thinking you could bring someone too.”

He arches a brow at me. “Like a double date?”

“Well, no. Like a casual hangout.”

“But you’re there with someone, and I’m there with someone…,” he says.

“Yes.”

“That’s a double date.”

“Normally, maybe. But this would just be some friends roasting marshmallows and watching a movie together.”

Asher groans.

“Please,” I say, sticking out my bottom lip.

He closes his eyes and sighs, and I know I have him.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Excellent! Hannah’s got Gammy duty on Friday nights now, but I can ask Preeti or Parker.”

He shakes his head and hitches his thumb toward the classroom door behind him. “I’ll just ask Daph. She’s usually down for whatever.”

My stomach plummets. “Oh. Um, yeah, okay.” I plaster on a smile. “Perfect.”

He heads into class, where I watch him sit in the seat next to a beaming Daphne.

And as I walk to my homeroom, I’m inexplicably queasy, despite getting exactly what I wanted.

Asher: Daphne’s in

Me:

Chapter Nineteen

I haven’t gone to school on December 16 since Ms. Clutter, the middle school principal, pulled me out of science class in eighth grade and walked me silently to the office, where Mom was waiting with puffy, bloodshot eyes to tell me Dad had unexpectedly died.