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least two years, and I can’t really say when it will happen again. I’m planning to drink every drop of that Tsunami or die trying.”
    Ana rolled her eyes and turned to Brandon. “Can’t I just have a sip of yours?”
    Brandon pointed at Emily. “What she said.”
    â€œUgh.” Ana flopped back against the booth and sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Bring us three of them. But I’ll need a to-go cup for mine.”
    The waitress laughed. “Comin’ right up.”
    Emily checked her watch and smiled. “Right on time,” she said, happily.
    â€œDoes it really matter if we’re a few minutes later than we thought we’d be?” Brandon asked.
    Emily simply winked in his direction. Brandon had never understood the simple pleasure it brought her to know that all things were going according to plan. A place for everything, and everything in its place; this was a rule that applied not only to closets and sock drawers, but also to schedules—especially important schedules. And what could be more important than this party? When things were on schedule, that meant nothing was going wrong. And when nothing went wrong, that meant the maximum relaxation time. When relaxation time is limited, getting the most possible is crucial.
    Ana was staring out the window, eyeing a couple of diners who had just walked by. Emily followed her gaze and saw the pair from behind as they made their way to the door. The guy was short and stocky and was wearing combat boots with red track pants and a hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Both of his arms were fully covered in tattoos, and the biceps that bulged when he held open the door looked like something from a comic book superhero. Or villain—Emily couldn’t decide.
    â€œLike what you see, mamacita ?” Ana nudged Emily in the ribs, and Emily immediately blushed and turned away.
    â€œWhat is he wearing?” she whispered.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Ana. “Some sort of grunge garage-sale chic. Don’t stare too long though. He’s not headed to Harvard.”
    Brandon laughed. He’d turned around to catch a glance ofthe couple over his shoulder. “Can you imagine if Em brought him home to her dad?”
    Emily laughed, imaging the scene. “With my luck, my dad would let him move in. That guy looks like exactly like the type of person who would be building the World’s Largest Collection of Bongs.”
    After the man walked in, the woman with him followed. Emily couldn’t help but stare as she stepped into the diner.
    The woman was lean and tall, almost two heads taller than the man she’d come in with. Her hair was short and spiky, sticking out all over her head and dyed a blue-black that seemed to shine under the neon lights of the restaurant. She was dressed like she’d just stepped out of one of the Matrix movies, with black leather pants, a long black trench coat, and heeled boots. Big red sunglasses covered her eyes, and the color on her lips was the same vibrant shade.
    â€œHoly moly,” Ana said, shaking her head. “Is there a costume party?”
    Emily sighed. “I want to think so, I really do, but I don’t.”
    At that moment, the waitress appeared with three towering parfait glasses expertly balanced on a tray. She set each down, then handed out spoons, straws, and a fresh pile of napkins. “There you go, hons. You kids enjoy. I’ll be right back with your to-go cup and your check.” She winked at Ana, who groaned and fell over onto Emily’s shoulder.
    â€œI can’t even look at that, I’m so full,” Ana whined.
    â€œOh, enough. Belly up to the bar, young lady.” Emilylaughed and picked up both her straw and her spoon, then glanced at Brandon. “How do we even go about this?” she asked him.
    Brandon shrugged and a big grin spread across his face. “I’m going in head