Have you ever tried to talk a banana out of something? They might look all mellow yellow and accommodating, but it turns out that they're stubbornly stubborn when they want to be.

After my slightly out of character (disgraceful, humiliating, incomprehensible, never-to-be-spoken-of-again) reaction to Trav in the library and my run in with Bethany in the bathroom, I do everything I can to put Trav off the idea of taking me on a platonic date.

But the boy will not be dissuaded.

Cass is over the moon and reads way more into it than there are chapters to the book.

"I'm telling you he likes you," she says, bouncing up and down on my bed like an over-eager puppy.

It's Saturday morning. I'm meeting Trav in the city in two hours. I'm stomping on all the feelings. I have no feelings. Cold as stone. That's me.

"Of course, he likes me, we're friends."

"No, he 'likes' likes you."

"Cassie, stop it, he has a girlfriend."

"Not any more he doesn't," she says in an annoying sing-song voice. She's grinning from ear to ear and practically bursting with excitement. "They broke up last night."

"What? How do you know?"

"Hello? My boyfriend's his best friend." She emphasises the word boyfriend like she still can't quite believe she has one.

"Who ended it?" I ask, while telling myself that I don't care either way. Nope. Don't care. Couldn't care less. Absolutely zero cares.

"He did. Apparently, Bethany gave him some sort of ultimatum about who he hangs out with and he called her bluff."

Whoops.

"Right, well, I better ring Trav and cancel then." Is it getting hot in here? It feels hot in here. I am definitely sweating. Why am I sweating? Maybe I'm getting the flu? I start to pace back and forth.

"Franks, stop. You're not cancelling." Cass grabs my arm to stop me from pacing and shoves her glasses up her nose with her other hand. Oh dear, I'm in trouble. Cass only fiddles with her glasses when she means business.

"Francesca Burton, I want you to listen to me very carefully," she says. "Trav is not your Dad. You are not your Mum. You can go on one date with a nice boy without risking life or limb or your heart. Just don't overthink it."

Cass is the one person I've told about my Dad's affair. I didn't intend to (blame the vodka) but most of the time I'm glad that I did. Today is not one of those times.

"It's not about that Cass. Not everything comes back to my relationship with my Dad."

"Not everything, no. But this certainly does." Cass is wearing her determined face. It's the same one she puts on to solve hard maths problems or hit particularly high notes. It makes her look more than a little scary.

"That's not true. I just don't do dates."

(When called out on prickly stuff by your emotionally astute best friend, I always find it's best to deny, deny, deny).

"Well, you're doing this one. And you're not doing it wearing that," she says, gesturing at my decidedly distressed jeans and off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" I ask innocently, though I know exactly why she has a problem with it.

"I am not letting you leave this house with our friend – our friend who has spent the past 24 hours planning a day that's all about things he thinks you'll like – while you are wearing a top that says 'Bite Me' and paint-splattered jeans."

"Party pooper," I mutter under my breath.

Cass gives me a look but says nothing.

"Fine," I finally say. "I'll get changed."

"Good girl," she says, patting me on the cheek as she bounces out my bedroom door. "Call me later and spill all the tea."

She really can be very parental.

Just two friends doing stuff together on a Saturday. Just two friends doing stuff together on a Saturday. Just two friends doing stuff together on a Saturday.

This is the mantra that I repeat over and over in my head as I wait for Trav on the front steps of Flinders Street Station. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous. After all, this is a platonic date, not a 'date' date. Just two friends doing stuff together. I don't do romance or relationships or golden boys. I'm not looking to fall in love or to have some boy make my life complete only to have him rip the rug out from under my feet when I least expect it. So, there is absolutely no reason for me to be feeling this jittery. None. Can't think of a single one.

"Hey," my friend says near my right ear and I jump in fright.

"Holy crap, Riordan, you scared me."

"Sorry," he laughs apologetically but his eyes twinkle in a way that makes me think he enjoyed seeing me jump.

I narrow my own eyes at him.

"You did that on purpose."

"Maybe." Another lopsided smile and much eye twinkling. The sun bounces off his golden curls and tanned skin in a way that really annoys me. The group of pretty girls beside us is clearly trying to catch his attention. That annoys me too.

"Prick," I say, with a little too much venom and not nearly enough playful.

"Now, now, that's no way to speak to your platonic date Miss Burton."

"Well, it's how I speak to all my dates so... deal." I shoot daggers at him with my eyes.

In return, he rolls his eyes at me. I really shouldn't have taught him to do that so well.

"Franks, at the risk of getting my head bitten off... do you think you could maybe just relax a bit and holster your weapons? This is just you and me hanging out. It's no different to any morning we've spent together in the library. There's no need to stab me, behead me or take my eye out with your razor-sharp tongue."

I open my mouth, fully prepared to argue with him.

"Francesca..."

"Okay. Fine. I'll try."

"Thank you. Come on, let's show you how to date."

I have very little to compare it to but I have to hand it to Trav – he plans a mean platonic date. First, we play laser tag – an activity he claims he chose in honour of my love of laser pointers and general aggression.

It turns out that I'm really, really good at shooting people. We are only supposed to play two rounds but we're challenged to a re-match by the group of ten-year-olds whose butts we kick. Trav tries to convince me to go easy on them but there is no way I'm willing to let the little tweens claim that our initial victory was accidental. They go down hard and I love every second of it.

After laser tag, we head to Chinatown for dumplings before walking down Swanston Street towards the NGV.

"You mentioned last week that you wanted to see that new photography exhibition," Trav explains. "I got us tickets."

"But art's not really your thing," I point out.

"Not usually, no," he says. "But it's yours. That's part of the fun of dating. You get to experience the things that someone else likes. When it's Cec's turn to plan a date she's forever dragging me to slam poetry readings and dark wave gigs. They are 100% not my idea of fun but I have fun hanging with her at them."

"Have you and Cec ever tried being more than friends?" I have no idea what possesses me to ask, the words are out there before my brain and my mouth have had a chance to consult each other.

Trav doesn't skip a beat.

"We kissed once. It was weird. Not horrible or anything, there was just no spark. I love her and she's my best mate and objectively I know she's attractive but I don't want to jump her and she doesn't want to jump me. And that's kind of a relief, you know?"

"Mmm hmm," I say, like I have any idea what he's talking about.

"What about you and Cass? Have you guys ever kissed?" He waggles his eyebrows at me so I know that he's joking.

"Don't be that guy Riordan."

He shrugs his shoulders and turns his hands up in defeat but he's still grinning like a demented Cheshire cat.

"Fine," he says. "What about you and Darver then."

"Yes, we've kissed," I deadpan.

"Burton, the whole world knows you've kissed. You guys have turned kissing into an Olympic sport. There are actual support groups that have been set up for the benefit of those of us who've stumbled upon the two of you in a darkened garden. But... It...ahh... looks like there's been a bit of tension since Robbo's party?"

I sigh.

"He's not speaking to me," I admit.

"Why not?"

"I don't really know."

"Okay, let me ask this a different way. What would you say that Felix is to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if he was currently talking to you, how would you describe your relationship?"

(I'm sure I mentioned that I don't do relationships. Or talking about relationships. Or talking about feelings. I so do not want to be talking to Trav Riordan about what is or isn't going on between me and Felix Darver. Why, oh why, did I have to ask him if he'd ever hooked up with Cecily?)

"I wouldn't say we have a relationship. We flirt a bit at school, we kiss at parties. End of story."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe that answer is why Felix is upset with you?"

"Huh?"

"Frankie, by my calculations you and Felix have been hooking up for a little over nine months now. I think maybe he sees your non-relationship a little differently than you do."

"How do you know that?"

He shrugs.

"I eat chips and I pay attention," he repeats the line I threw at him at Robbo's party.

I stick my tongue out automatically but my conscience twinges. Maybe I really have hurt Felix without intending to? God, I hope not. I so do not want to be that person.

In the face of conscience twinges there's only one logical thing to do – change the subject.

"I heard that you and Bethany broke up."

"Yeah, we did."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says. He gets this funny look on his face like he wants to say more but isn't sure whether he should.

"What?"

"I don't know," he says. "I guess I feel guilty because I'm not more upset. Don't get me wrong, Bethany's a great girl and I really like her but... probably not enough. She was mad at me that we weren't spending more time together but with everything that's going on with my Dad I just... I don't have more time, you know?"

Forget the twinging conscience, guilt hits me like a freight train – hard, heavy and sudden.

"Trav. God, I'm so selfish. What are you doing here with me? You should be home with your Dad. You..."

Whatever I was about to say flies clear out of my head as Trav grabs my hand and links our fingers, pulling me to a sudden halt on the pavement.

"Frankie, stop. I'm here because I want to be. Besides, my parents are also having a date day today, just the two of them. So, I couldn't hang out with Dad right now even if I wanted to."

I start to smile at him but freeze as I spot another couple over Trav's shoulder. They're standing much as we are – stationary on the pavement, close together, smiling. As I watch, she hands him a small navy bag and reaches up to kiss his cheek. He pulls her in for a hug and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, before teasingly blowing him a kiss and walking away.

I try to take a deep breath and realise that I can't. Instead a strangled sound escapes my throat, a primitive noise somewhere between a sob and a wail. It's loud enough that the man glances in our direction and I step behind Trav to avoid being seen. My ears are ringing and I'm shaking so hard I wonder if I'm about to pass out.

I'm vaguely aware of Trav saying my name, of him tugging gently on my hand as he leads me towards the State Library and sits me down on a park bench. He's talking but I can't hear him. Or really see him, even though he's right in front of me. My vision blurs and my heart races. All I can see is that woman and that man. Like a car crash on slow-motion repeat, I see her touching him, laughing with him, standing on her tippy toes to lay her lips against his skin, over and over again.

And I see him. Even though I don't want to. Even though I try to block it out. I see him. With her. Her with him.

Him.

He.

The man who used to be my Dad.

With a woman who is very definitely not my Mum.