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there were no limits on what she could buy. Lulu had her own credit card, and her parents paid the bill, no questions asked. But she still regularly pocketed small items … a shirt, a lipstick, a stuffed animal from the Hallmark store. Why? Chelsea had asked her friend. Why would you do that? Lulu had looked at her somewhat blankly, as though she’d never considered the question. I don’t know .
    “I saw him on the Today show,” said Lulu. Now she was looking at Chelsea pointedly over a rack of yoga pants. Rihanna was singing on the speakers. I love the way you lie , she crooned.
    “Oh,” said Chelsea.
    She didn’t like it when her father was on television. The man shesaw on the screen was a bad facsimile of the man she knew, someone put on and false. People would inevitably mention that they’d seen him or that they’d seen his book in the store. They were impressed and communicated it by looking at Chelsea with something like awe and wonder—or sometimes, she thought, pity. Chelsea didn’t like it one bit. Because they didn’t know the whole story of who he was, just the one he had chosen to tell. Only she and her mother knew everything. And having a best-selling book or a national television appearance didn’t make up for the other things, not even close. Not that she was mad or anything. Chelsea decided to change the subject.
    “I got a friend request from a really cute guy today. Adam McKee? Do you know him?”
    Lulu started walking toward the door. “Maybe,” she said. “What does he look like?”
    “Black spiky hair, brown eyes. Lives in Brighton.”
    Lulu offered an elaborate shrug, a mask of indifference. “I don’t know,” she said. “Show me?”
    Was she being cagey? Chelsea wondered. It was so hard to tell with Lulu. As close as they were, there were times when Chelsea wasn’t sure what her friend was up to. Lulu sometimes held back, at least for a while—like when she lost her virginity last year. Or when she tried pot for the first time. Chelsea hadn’t done either.
    “He’s your friend on Facebook,” Chelsea said.
    “Honey,” Lulu said, world-weary. They’d left Forever 21 and were strolling toward the food court. “I have five hundred friends. I can’t keep track of them all .”
    Chelsea took the phone out of her bag, pulled up the request, and held the device out to Lulu.
    “He is cute,” said Lulu, grabbing it from her. “He looks familiar.”
    “So you accept friend requests from people you don’t know? You’re not supposed to do that,” Chelsea said.
    Lulu launched a dramatic eye roll. She thought Chelsea was toonervous, too square. It was a long-running argument. “Isn’t that the whole point of Facebook?” she said. “To make friends ?”
    “Hello,” said Chelsea. “You’ve never heard of Internet predators? You know: Hey, I’m a sixteen-year-old hottie. Meet me at Starbucks! Then: Oops, my bad! I’m a thirty-year-old serial killer, let me give you a ride in the trunk of my car!”
    “God, Chelsea,” said Lulu. She pushed out a little laugh, put a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “Chill out.”
    Lulu pressed the accept button and gave Chelsea a sly smile.
    “Lulu!”
    “You have a new friend!” said Lulu. “Ask him to meet us.”
    “No way.”
    Lulu took off with the phone. Before Chelsea could reach her, she saw her thumbs going.
    “What are you doing ?” Chelsea said once she’d caught up to Lulu in a plush seating area in the aisle between Coach and Tiffany.
    Lulu sank onto a leather couch, put her feet up, then handed the phone back. “I told him to meet us at the food court, near Panda Express.”
    “You’re kidding!” Chelsea was horrified—and thrilled. After all, wasn’t she just lecturing her mother on the low incidence of stranger crime? “That’s insane. How could you?”
    “So call your mom,” said Lulu. It was a dare. “Have her come get you. I’ll wait for him.”
    Lulu and Chelsea had been friends since kindergarten.