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next to me. “River?” She didn’t need to say
What are you doing here,
it was in the way she said my name.
    “How are your eyes?”
    “They’re fine, thanks.”
    “Good. So are you getting the surgery? I don’t think I ever told you, but I really like you in your glasses.”
    “You did tell me you like me in my glasses. Lots of times.”
    “I did? Good.”
    “I think you need to go.”
    “I brought you soup. And flowers.”
    “Please, River. My mom is inside. And Ben. This is embarrassing.”
    “I’m going to fix this, Penny. I’m going to be better.”
    She stood up and walked back into the kitchen. I followed her.
    “River, will you stay for dinner?” Juana asked. “I made extra chicken. And the potatoes you like. The crispy ones.”
    “No, Juana,” Penny said. “River is
not
staying for dinner.”
    “Oh, okay.” Juana turned back to the stove. I did love Juana’s potatoes. I loved all Juana’s cooking.
    I gestured to the vase on the island. “Those are the flowers I was talking about.”
    “I see them. Thank you. That was very nice of you.”
    We stood and stared at each other. The only sound in the room was the sound of Juana’s potatoes frying on the stove.
    “Well, I guess I’ll go, then.”
    “Yes, you should go.”
    “Good-bye, Juana,” I said.
    “Good-bye, River. You come back soon.”
    “Don’t worry, I will.”

It was all over school by the end of the week.
    Penny and River broke up.
    Most people thought I’d broken up with her, except for the people who really knew me and knew it would never go down like that.
    We only had one class together, Penny and me: Spanish 2, which was
muy, muy
awkward. I arrived first on Tuesday and staked out a new seat on the opposite side of the room. Aside from those fifty minutes, from 12:55 to 1:45 each day, I didn’t see her at all.
    By Friday afternoon I started to feel the weight of a looming Penny-less weekend.
    “I should have gotten you a ticket to Tig Notaro tomorrow,” Maggie said. We were sitting in a diner sharing an order of fries. Maggie had to fight like a champ to get her share, but she was skilled in holding her own.
    “What’s a Tig Notaro?”
    She looked at me. “River. I’ve seen like every one of her shows at Largo. You know that.”
    “I do?”
    “Yeah, you do, because I told you about them.”
    “Oh, right. What does she play again?”
    “She’s a comedian,” Maggie said. “She plays her wit and unbridled humor like a freaking violin. And she has cancer. Get this: she found out right after her mother died
and
her girlfriend left her.”
    “She sounds like a real riot.”
    “Trust me.” Maggie swiped the final fry. “She’s amazing. I would have asked you to go if I had any idea you’d be single by the time the show came around.”
    I tried to ignore the dig. “I have plans Saturday anyway.”
    “You do? Really?” She couldn’t hide her shock.
    “Yeah, I do.” Since I couldn’t tell her I had to bring the snacks to the support group for my fake marijuana addiction, I said, “I’m going out to dinner with Leonard. Male bonding or whatever. He’s pretty much forcing me.”
    “That’s nice.” Maggie did a little pouty face at me. Everyone loved Leonard, but Maggie loved him especially because she knew me in the years between when my dad left us and when my mom met Leonard, and let’s just say those weren’t the golden years for what remained of the Dean family. Mom struggled to balance her job at the nonprofit where she worked on global access to water with raising a boy who was often described, lovingly, as a “major handful.” I spent most of my formative afternoons at Maggie’s house baking cookies, having tea parties and letting Maggie give me makeovers until Mom could leave the office. Mom and I ate a lot of microwave dinners back then. We didn’t have a Juana.
    “Maybe I’ll see you after,” I said.
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    —
    Everyone knows that nobody walks in LA, there’s even a