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I,SonnyElizabethArdmore,doherebyconfessthatIamanexcellentliar.ItwasneversomethingI

aspiredtobe,butratheratalentthatIcouldn’tavoid.Itstartedwithliesaboutmyhomework—Icouldactually

convinceteachersthatmydogateit,withfaketearsandeverythingifneeded—andthenItoldliesaboutmyfamily—myfatherwasaninternationalbusinessman,notadeadbeatthiefwho’dbeentossedinjailwhenIwasseven—and,eventually,Iwaslyingabouteverythingelse,too.

ButasexcellentaliarasImaybe,lyinghasn’tledmetomuchexcellencelately.SolettherecordshowthatthistimeIamtellingthetruth.Allofit.Thewholeshebang.Evenifitkillsme.

***

Itellthemostliesonbaddays,andtheFridaymycellphone—oneofthoseold,

clunky,pay-as-you-gobricksthatonlyplayedpolyphonicringtones—decidedtostopworkingaftersixlongyearsofuse,wasaparticularlybadday.Ithadflatlinedsometimein

thenight,apeaceful,quietsortofdeath,andleftmewithoutmyusualfivea.m.alarm.Instead,Iawokewhen

Amy’sphone(thenewest,mostexpensivemodelofsmartphone,naturally)beganblaringanall-too-realisticfiretruck–stylesiren.Iboltedupright,myheart

jackhammering,whilenexttome,onhersideofthebed,mybestfriendsnoozedon.“Amy.”Ishovedherarm.

“Amy,shutthatthingoff.”

Shegroanedandrolledover.Thesirenkeptwailingasshefumbledwiththephone.Finally,itwentsilent.“WhyinGod’snamewould

youwanttowakeuptothatsound?”Iaskedherasshestretchedherlong,thinarmsoverherhead.“It’stheonlyalarmloud

enoughtowakemeup.”

“Anditbarelyaccomplishesthat.”Itwasn’tuntilthenthatI

realizedwhatAmy’shorriblewake-upcallmeant.Iwassupposedtobeupbeforeher.Iwassupposedtogetreadyandsneakoutofherhousebeforeherparentswokeupatsix.Butmyphonewasn’tworkinganditwassix-fifteen

andI,toputitbluntly,wasfuckingscrewed.“Whydon’tyoujusttellmy

parentsyoufellasleepherelastnight?”AmyaskedasIscrambledaroundtheroom,draggingouttheduffelbagofwrinkledclothesIkepthiddenunderherbed.“Theywon’tcare.”“Becausethenthey’llwant

togoreassuringmymomaboutwhereIwas,”Isaid,pullingagreenT-shirtonovermyincrediblyimpressivebedhead.“Andthat’llopenupawholenewsetofquestions,andjustno.”“Istilldon’tseewhyyou

can’tjusttellthemshekickedyouout.”Amystoodupandstartedcombingherdark

curls,which,despiteallthelawsofphysics,stilllookedperfectafteranight’ssleep.Amywasoneofthoserarepeoplewholookedgorgeousfirstthinginthemorning.Itbroughtawholenewmeaningto“beautyrest.”IwouldhavehatedherforitifIdidn’tlovehersomuch.“It’sjusttoocomplicated,

okay?”Itookthecombfromher

andbegantoworkouttheknotsinmyhair.ThatwastheonlythingAmyandIhadincommon—webothhadinsanelycurlyhair.Likecorkscrewcurls.Thekindthateveryonethinkstheywantbut,inreality,youcan’tdoadamnthingwith.But

whereAmy’swerelong,darkbrown,andperfect,minewereshoulderlength,blond,andslowlydestroyingmysanity.Ittookforevertopickoutthetangleseachmorning,andtoday,Ididn’thaveforever.“Well,Ihopeyouandyour

momgetitworkedoutsoon,”shesaid,“becauseIlove

havingyoustayhere,butthisisgettingalittletoocomplicated.”“You’retellingme.”She

wasn’ttheonewhowasabouttomakeatwo-storydropoutofawindow.Inthehall,IcouldhearMr.

Rushmovingaround,gettingreadyforwork.Now,withmyteethunbrushedand

withoutaspeckofdeodoranttocoverupmygloriousnaturalodor,wasthetimetomakemyescape.IranovertoAmy’swindow

andshoveditopen.“IfIdiedoingthis,pleasedeliverasomewhathumorousbutoverallheartbreakingeulogyatmyfuneral,okay?”“Sonny!”Amygrabbedmy

armanddraggedmeawayfromthewindow.“Noway.You’renotdoingthat.”“Whynot?”“Forstarters,it’snotsafe,”

shesaid.Whensherealizedthatwasn’tenoughtodeterme,sheadded,“Andalsoyou’dbedroppingrightpastthekitchenwindow.IfMom’sdownthereeating

breakfastandseesagirlfallingfromthesky…”“Goodpoint.Damnit.What

doIdo?”“Justwaituntileveryone

leaves,”shesaid.“Youcansneakoutandlockthedoorwiththesparekey.It’sunderthe—”“Flowerpotnexttothedoor.

Yeah.Iknow.”

Andwhilethiswasamorepracticalplan,tobesure,itwasn’tthemostsuitedforpunctuality.Amy’sparentsdidn’tleaveuntilseven-thirty,onlyfifteenminutesbeforeIhadtobeatschool.Theminutethefrontdoorslammed,Iscrambleddownthehallandintothebathroomtofinishmynecessary

hygieneritualsbeforeboltingdownstairsandoutthedoormyself.Ilockedup,thencutacross

theirbackyardanddownMiltonStreettotheGrayson’sGroceriesparkinglot,whereIhadleftmycarthenightbefore.“Hello,Gert,”Isaid,

tappingthehoodoftheold

silverstationwagon.Shewasoneuglybeastofacar.Butshewasmine.Iclimbedintothefrontseat.“Hopeyousleptwell,butI’minahurry,sopleasedon’tbeinashittymoodtoday.”Iturnedthekeyinthe

ignition.Itrevved,buttheenginewouldn’tturnover.Igroaned.

“Nottoday,Gert.Havesomemercy.”Itriedagainand,asifshe’d

heardme,Gert’smotorfinallystartedtohum.And,justlikethat,wewereoff.Thebellhadalreadyrung

bythetimeIpulledintotheseniorparkinglot,whichmeantthemaindoorhadlockedandMrs.Garrison,the

perpetuallygrumpyfrontdesklady,hadtobuzzmein.“Sonya,”shesaid,greeting

mewhenIgottothemainoffice.Icringed.Ihated—hated

—myfullfirstname.“You’relate,”she

announced,asifIsomehowwasn’taware.“Iknow.I’msorry,Ijust

…”Showtime.Mylipstartedtoquiverand,

oncue,myeyesbegantowellupwithtears.Ilookeddownatmyshoesandtookadramatic,raspybreath.“Myhamster,Lancelot,died

thismorning.Iwokeupandhewasjust…inhiswheel…lyingsostill….”Icovered

myfacewithmyhandsandbegantosob.“I’msorry.Youprobablythinkit’sstupid,butIlovedhimsomuch.”“Oh,sweetheart.”“Iknowit’snotanexcuse,

but…Ijust…I’msorry,Lancelot.”IwasworriedImightbe

playingituptoomuch,butthensheshovedatissueinto

myhandandpattedmyarmsympathetically.“Letitout,”shesaid.“I

knowitcanbehard.WhenIlostWhiskerslastyear…Listen,I’llwriteyouanoteforfirstblock.I’llsayyouhadafamilyemergency.Don’tworryaboutit.I’llmakesurethisisexcused.”“Thankyou,”Isniffed.

ThetearshaddriedupbythetimeIreachedmyAPEuropeanhistoryclass.Mr.BuckleywasinthemiddleofhislecturewhenIslippedintotheroom.Unfortunately,henevermissedanything,sotherewasnochanceofmesneakingbacktomychairwithouthimnoticing.“Ms.Ardmore,”hesaid.

“Youfinallydecidedtojoinus.”“Sorrytointerrupt,”Isaid.

“Ihaveanote.”Ihandedhimtheslipof

paperI’dbeengivenatthefrontdesk.Hereaditquicklyandnodded.“Fine.Takeyourseat.Isuggestyouborrownotesonthefirstpartofthelecturefromoneofyour

classmates.”“That’sit?”RyderCross

askedasIslidintotheseatbehindhis.“Shecomesinhalfanhourlateandtherearenoconsequences?”“Shehasanotefromthe

office,Mr.Cross,”Mr.Buckleysaid.“Whatconsequenceswouldyousuggest?”

“Idon’tknow,”Ryderadmitted.“Butshedisruptedtheclassbycominginlate,andit’snotasifthisisthefirsttime.BackatmyschoolinDC,theteachersweremuchmorestrict.Excuseswererarelyaccepted.Andthestudentscaredmuchmoreabouttheireducation,too.Here,itseemslikejustabout

anythingcangetexcused.”Irolledmyeyessohardit

hurt.“Thengoback,”Isuggested.“Don’tworryaboutussimplefolkhereinHamilton.We’llmakedowithoutyou.Iassureyou,youwon’tevenbemissed.”Therewasanappreciative

murmurfromtherestoftheclass.EvenMr.Buckleygave

thetiniestofnods.Ryderturnedinhisseatso

thathecouldlookmeintheeye.Thesadthingwas,ifhehadn’tbeensuchatool,heprobablywouldhavebeenpopulararoundhere.Hehadsmoothbrownskinandshockinglybrightgreeneyes.Hisblackhairwaskeptshortandneat,buthewasalways

dressedasifhewasonhiswaytoaconcertforabandnoonehadeverheardof.Slightlydisheveled,butinaverydeliberateway.Hisclothes,though,alwayslookedlikethey’dbeentailoredtofithislean,muscularframe.OnoccasionI’devenseenhimwearthick-rimmedglassesthatIknewhe

didn’tneed.Inotherwords,hewashot,

butinanannoying,hipsterysortofway.Sincehe’darrivedat

HamiltonHighatthebeginningofthesemester,he’ddonenothingbutdiseverythingabouttheschoolanditsstudentbody.ThelunchesathisschoolinDC

weresomuchbetter,thekidsathisschoolinDCwalkedfasterinthehallways,theteachersathisschoolinDCweremorequalified,thefootballteamathisschoolinDCwonmoregames,etcetera,etcetera.Now,Iwasn’texactly

burstingwithschoolspirit,butevenIcouldn’tstandhis

attitude.WhichbecameevenmorerepulsivewhenhestartedpostingsnarkyFacebookstatusesabouthowlameoursmalltownwas.You’dthinkourlackoffive-starfinediningwasputtinghiminphysicalagony.Thelongandshortofitwas,

Rydercamefrommoney.Politicalmoney.Hisfather

wasacongressmanfromMaryland—afactheneverfailedtoshareatanyopportunity—andinhisnot-so-humbleopinion,Hamiltonandeveryonewholivedheresucked.Everyone,thatis,except

Amy.BecauseRyderhaddevelopedadisgustinglyobviousandtotally

unrequitedcrush.Icouldn’tfaulthimforthat,though.Amywasgorgeousandrich,justlikehim.Amy,however,wasthekindofgirlwhogavepersonalizedChristmascardstoallofthelunchladies,andhewasadick.Hewasstillstaringatme,

andIsuddenlybecamealltooawareofthejeansI’dbeen

wearingforalmostaweekwithoutwashingthemandthetornhemonthesleeveofmyT-shirt.Istraightenedupandstaredhimdown,daringhimtocomparemetothegirlsathisschoolinDC,butbeforehecouldsayanything,Mr.Buckleyclearedhisthroat.“Okay,class.Enough’s

enough.Historyislong,but

weonlyhaveayeartogetthroughthismaterial.Now,let’sgetbacktotheGreatSchism,which,Iknow,soundsvaguelyliketoilethumor,butwe’regoingtopresson,regardless.”Ryderturnedbackaroundin

hisseat,andIwentaboutmybusinesstakingnotesonthatunfortunatelynamedmoment

inhistory.Thingswerelookingup

untilthirdblock,whenIrealizedI’dleftmychemistrybookatAmy’s.IhadtoconvinceMrs.Taylor,whowasatotalhard-assandknowntogivedetentionforlesserthings,thatI’dbeentutoringatthelocalchildren’shospitalinOakHillandhad

accidentallyleftitwithoneofthekids.“I’llgetitbackfromher

tomorrow,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtoseeherbeforeshestartshernextroundofchemo.Ipromisetogetitbackthen.”Andsheboughtit.Hook,

line,andsinker.Iwasawareofmystatusas

aterribleperson.ButIliked

tothinkofmylyingabilitiesasgifts.AndwhyelsewouldIhavethemifnottobeused?Especiallyondayslikethis,whereeverythingjustseemedtobegoingwrong.Ididn’thaveenoughmoney

inmywalletforlunch,soratherthanadmittingthatthingswereshittyathomeandIwasbroke,Itoldthe

much-too-soft-heartedcashierthatI’dgivenmylastdollartothehomelessmanwhooccupiedthecornerafewblocksfromschool.Shecovereditforme.Thenthestraponmycrappy

two-dollarflip-flopbroke,avolleyballslammedrightintomyfaceingymclass,and,totopitoff,Istartedmyperiod.

Amywouldcallitkarma.She’dsaythiswastheuniverse’spunishmentforallthelies.But,thetruthwas,thelyinghelped.Wheneverythingfeltoutofcontrol,itputmebackincontrol.Iwassurethedaycouldn’t

getworse,whichwas,perhaps,myfatalflaw.Whenyouletyourselfthinkthat

thingscan’tgetworse,theyinevitablywill.“SoI’llseeyoutonight?”

Amyaskedasweheadedoutintotheseniorparkinglot.“Yep.Ican’ttextyou,

though,soyou’llhavetowatchforme.I’llbeoutsidearoundtheusualtime.”“Okay.”Shegavemea

quickhug.“Havefunat

work.”Iwavedasshehurriedoffto

herLexus.ItriedtotellmyselfIwasn’thorriblyjealousofherandherrichparentsandherfancycar.IhadGert,afterall.Whowouldn’twantGert?Imighthavebeengoodat

lying,butevenIdidn’tbuythatoneforaminute.

Iclimbedintothecarandtossedmybackpackintothepassenger’sseat.“Allright,Gert,”Isaid,stickingthekeyintheignition.“Timeforwork.”ButwhileIwasareliable

employee(mostofthetime),Gerthaddecidedshewasn’tinthemoodtoday.Theenginerevvedandrevved,but

nothinghappened.Thebatterywasdead,andIhadtobeatthemovietheaterformyshiftintwentyminutes.Igrabbedmycell,planning

tocallAmytoaskforaride,onlytothenrememberthatmyancientphonehadrecentlybreatheditslastbreath.Ihoppedoutofthecar,hopingtoflagherdown

beforeshelefttheparkinglot,butIwastoolate.IcouldalreadyseetheLexusspeedingoffintothedistance.Therewasnowayaroundit.

Iwasstuck.I’dhavetofindsomeonetojump-startmycar,andwhoknewhowlongthatwouldtake.Andjustthen,becauseit’s

possiblethatallAmy’s

theoriesabouttheuniverse’srevengeweretrue,theskyopenedupanditbeganpouringrain.Leavingmewithonlyonethingtosay:“Motherfucker.”

Theseniorparkinglotwasalreadyclosetoemptywhentherainstarted.IsatinsideGert,watchingtheexitandhopingsomeonewouldcomeoutsoon.Unfortunately,thefirstpersontoappear,mywould-besavior,wasatall

boyintheT-shirtofanobscureband,adistressedbutstillclearlyexpensivehoodie,andtwo-hundred-dollarjeans.“You’vegottobekidding

me,”IsaidasIreachedforthedoorhandle.Iwantedtojustwaitforthenextpersontocomeout,butwhoknewhowlongthatwouldbe.Chanceswere,therestof

thesecarsbelongedtotheoverachievingtypeswhostayedafterschoolforchessclubandstudentgovernment.Thosenerdsandtheirresume-buildingactivitieswerenogoodtomerightnow.SoRyderCrosswasmyonlychoice.Ihoppedoutofthecar,

holdingmyhistorytextbook

overmyheadtoprotectmycurlsfromthedownpourofdoom.“Ryder!”Ishouted.Hewas

alreadyhalfwayacrosstheparkinglot.“Hey,Ryder!”Hestoppedandturnedto

lookatme.Hedidn’thaveanumbrella,andtherainwasmakinghisclothesclingtohim.Theviewwasn’thalf

bad.Unfortunately,however,mynextquestionwouldrequirehimtospeak.“Mycar’sdead,”Isaid.“Do

youhavejumpercablesorsomething?”Hestartedwalkinginmy

direction,buthewasshakinghishead.“Idon’t.”Isighed.“Ofcoursenot.Let

meguess,thecarsinDC

don’tdie?Orneedrepairs?”“Can’tyoucallsomeone?”“Myphonedoesn’twork.”“Seemslikeeverything

aroundyouisfaulty.”“Well,noteveryonehas

politicianparentstopayforourthings.Someofusactuallyhavetoworkforwhatweown.Yourconcernisappreciated,though.”

Herolledhiseyes.“Ifyou’regoingtobelikethat,thenforgetit.Iwasgoingtoletyouusemyphone.”“Really?”“Yeah.I’mnotanasshole.”“Debatable.”“You’dbecallingAmy,

right?”Andthereitwas.The

ulteriormotiveI’dbeen

expecting.Hewasright,though.WhoelsewouldIcall?Iknewshewouldn’thavejumpercables,butshe’datleastbeabletogivemearidetothetheater.WeclimbedintoGert,both

ofussoaked.Thecarpetedseatswouldbebrilliantlymoldythenextday—somethingtolookforwardto.

Hehandedmehisphone,thesamemodelasAmy’s,andIquicklydialedhernumber.ItwastheonlyoneIhadmemorized.“Hello?”“Hey,Amy.”“Sonny?Whereareyou

callingfrom?Idon’trecognizethenumber.”“Ourfavoritehumanbeing

waskindenoughtobestowthehonoroftelephoneusageonme.”Silence.“I’mborrowingRyder’s

phone.”“Oh.”Ididn’thavetoseeherface

toknowhertinybuttonnosehadwrinkled.“Mycar’sdeadandmy

phoneisbroken.Andmyshiftisin…oh,sevenminutes.Pleasehelp.”“Onmyway.”Ireturnedthephoneto

Ryder.“She’scomingbacktogetme.Soyoucangonow.”Andthen,witheveryounceofwillpowerIhad,Iforcedmyselftoadd,“Andthanks.Forthephone.”

Heshrugged,buthedidn’tmovetogetoutofthecar.“Doyouneedsomething?”I

asked.“No.IjustfiguredI’dstick

arounduntilAmygetshere…justtoseeyouoffsafely.”Isnorted.“Oh,yes.I’msure

mysafetyisapriorityofyours.StopwastingyourtimewiththiscrushonAmy.It’s

annoyingandpatheticand,ifyouwantthetruth,she’snotintoyou.Atall.”“Sorry.Ididn’trealizeyou

spokeforAmynow.”“I’mherbestfriend.Iknow

howshefeelsaboutprettymucheverything.I’mjusttryingtosaveyoutheheartbreak.”“Youcareaboutmy

heartbreakaboutasmuchasIcareaboutyoursafety.”Heshookhishead.“I’dratherhearAmy’sfeelingsfromAmy,ifyoudon’tmind.”“Youwon’t.Asmuchasshe

can’tstandyou,shewouldn’ttellyouthat.She’stoonice.”“Clearlyithasn’trubbedoff

onyou.”Asecondlater,Amy’s

Lexusturnedthecornerintotheparkinglot.Igrabbedmybagandclimbedoutofthestationwagon,Rydernottoofarbehindme.Amyslidintoaparkingspace,andIheardtheclickofthepassenger-sidedoorbeingunlocked.“Later,”Isaid,hoppinginto

theLexus,butRydergrabbedthedoor,stickinghishead

intothecabbeforeIcouldcloseit.“Hello,Amy,”hesaid.“Oh.Hi,Ryder.”“Howareyou?”“I’mfine.”“Whichiscodefor

‘annoyed,’”Isaid.Sheelbowedme.“Sorryforthe

inconvenience,”hesaid.“It

wasreallyniceofyoutocomebackandgetSonny.”“Ofcourse.Thankyoufor

lettingSonnyuseyourphonetocall.”“Sonnyisrighthere,”Isaid.

“AndIalreadythankedhim.”“So,Amy,areyoudoing

anythingthisweekend?”Ryderasked.Amyglancedatme,her

eyeswideninginawaythatclearlymeant,Oh,dearGod,helpmegetawayfromhim.“Um…Idon’tknow,”she

said.“Well,weshould—”“Go,”Iinterjected.“Ican

seeyou’retryingtocourtmylovelyfriendhere—”Ryderflustered.“—butit’srainingand

you’reholdingthedooropenandgettingmyrightsidesoakedintheprocess.”“Andshe’slateforwork,”

Amyadded.“That,too.”“Right.Sorryaboutthat.I

guessI’llseeyouatschoolMonday?”“Probably,”Amysaid.“Excellent.Seeyou

around.”Rydersteppedback,buthe

heldthedooropenforjustasecondlonger,ensuringtherightlegofmyjeanswasthoroughlydrenchedbeforeheclosedthedoor.Iglaredathimoutthewindow.Somehow,hedidn’tseemtomindthathewassoppingwet.Andfromapurely

aestheticperspective,Ididn’tmindthathewaseither.“Whymustsomeoneso

handsomebesuchanass?”IaskedasAmypulledoutoftheparkinglot.“Allofthehandsomeones

are,”shesaid.“Notyourbrother.”“Heusedtobe.”Amy’sbrother,Wesley,was

afewyearsolderthanus.He’dbeenblessedwiththesamegodlikeDNAastherestoftheRushfamily.Hehadthesamedark,curlyhairasAmy,thesametallframe,onlywhereshewasslender,hewasbroadandtoned.ItwouldbefairtosayI’d

hadaslightcrushonWesleygrowingup.Itwouldbemore

accurate,however,tosayIwasmadly,deeply,headoverheelsinlovewithhimupuntilacoupleofyearsago.Throughoutmostofhigh

school,Wesleyhadbeenwhatyoumightcalla“player.”Hehookedupwitheverygirlwhoshowedinterest.Everygirlbutme.Tohim,I

waslittleSonnyArdmore,hissister’stroublemakingbutundeniablyadorablebestfriend.FlirtasImight,Wesleyneverseemedtoseemeasanythingotherthanthenine-year-oldwhohadoncebrokenherarmattemptingtoridethebanisterinhishouse.Notthatitmatteredmuch

now.Hissenioryear,Wesley

hadactuallystarteddatingsomeoneseriously.HernamewasBianca,andnowtheywerebothoffatcollegeinNewYorkCity,stilltogether.Itwasseveralminuteslater

whenwepulledintothemovietheater’sparkinglot.IworkedatatinymovietheaterinOakHill,thenexttownoverfromHamilton,

whereallthebigboxstores,restaurants,andalcoholcouldbefound.Hamiltonwasadry,one-stoplighttownwithaminusculepopulation.OakHillwastheclosestthingtoa“city”wehaduntilyoureachedChicago,whichwasacoupleofhoursaway.Theoh-so-cleverlynamed

CindependentTheateronly

showedforeignandindieflicks.AndIhadthehonorofhandingourpretentiouscustomerstheirextra-buttery,fat-loadedpopcorn.Notexactlymydreamjob,buthey,itpaid.“Thanks,”ItoldAmy.“I’ll

getaridebacktoyourplace.”“Withwho?Noneofyour

coworkersliveinHamilton.”

“Icanhitchhike.Therearesomereallycutetruckdriverswhocomethroughhere.”Amyswattedmyarm,andI

laughed.“I’llfiguresomethingout.”“OrIcouldjustpickyouup

anddriveyoubacktomyplace.”“Butyourparents—”“It’sFridaynight.It’s

normalforyoutostayover.Theywon’tmind,andtheywon’teventhinktocheckinwithyourmom.Andtomorrowmymomcangojumpyourcar.”Shesmiled.“Itdoesn’talwayshavetobecomplicated,youknow?”Inodded.“Fine.”Ileaned

acrosstheseatandhuggedher.“You’rethebest.Idon’t

knowwhatI’ddowithoutyou.”Ifanyonehadsaidthatto

me,Iwouldhavemadeafunnyquiporrepliedwithsomethingsnarky—purelyoutofhabit.ButnotAmy.Shejusthuggedmebackandsaid,“Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyoueither.”IclimbedoutoftheLexus

andhurriedthroughthenearlyemptyparkinglot,towardthetheater.“You’relate!”avoice

yelledthesecondIwalkedthroughthedoor.“Sorry,Glenda.”“Notgonnacutitthistime,

Sonny.”Myboss,atall,broad-

shoulderedwomanwitha

chin-lengthblackbobandcat-eyeglasses,steppedoutfrombehindthepopcornmachine.Judgingbythescowlonherfaceandtheveinsbulginginherthinneck,Ihadatheory—aninkling,really—thatshemightbepissed.“Wejuststartedscreening

thatnewseaturtle

documentaryandyoumissedtherush.Youleftusshortstaffed.”Iglancedoutthewindow.

Therewere,atmax,sixcarsintheparkinglot.“Rush?Really?”“It’sFriday.”“It’sthree-thirty.”“No.Three-thirtyiswhen

you’resupposedtobehere.

It’salmostfour.”“Glenda—”“I’msickofthis,Sonny.

Thishappensallthetime.Itoldyoulasttimeyouwerelatethatifithappenedagain,you’dbefired.”Shehad,thatwastrue.But

I’dkindoffiguredshewasblowingsmoke.She’dthreatenedtofireGrady,one

ofmycoworkers,athousandtimes,buthewasstillhere.I’dhonestlythoughtitwasimpossibletogetfiredfromCindependent.“Ontopofthat,youcomein

herelookinglikecrap.Lookatyou,Sonny.You’resoakingwet.Noonewantsyouhandlingtheirfoodlikethat.”

“I’msorry,Glenda.Mycarbrokedownandmyphoneisn’tworking.Iwastryingtogethelp,butthenitstartedraining—”“Stop.Yourliesdon’teven

soundbelievableanymore.”“ButI’mnotlying!”Not

thistime,anyway.“WhyshouldIbelieve

you?”Glendaasked.

Icouldn’tthinkofananswer.IntheyearI’dbeenworkingatCindependent,I’dliedtohercountlesstimes.Yes,Ididcleanthegumoffthebottomoftheseatsintheatertwo….No,Ididn’tspitinthatasshole’ssoda….I’mlatebecausemygrandfatherhadaheartattack—don’tworry,he’s

finenow!ShereallyhadnoreasontobelieveawordIsaid.“I’mdone,Sonny,”she

said.“You’refired.”“ButI…”Andagain,I

actuallytoldthetruth.“Ireallyneedthemoney.Rightnowmorethanever.”Herfacesoftened,butonly

alittle.“Thenmaybeyou’ll

bemoreresponsibleatyournextjob.”Andwiththat,sheturnedandheadedtoheroffice.IhadtoborrowGrady’s

phonetocallAmy.Ithadathincoatofbutteronthekeypad,andIkeptitaboutaninchfrommyfacetoavoidcrosscontamination.Amyhadn’tevengottento

Hamiltonyet,soshejustturnedaroundandheadedbacktothetheatertopickmeup.Iwaitedoutside,intherain.

IknewifIwaitedinside,I’djustenduppunchingthepopcornmachine.NotbecauseI’dgottenfired.Whoneededsomeshittyjobatamovietheater?Imean,Idid,

butthatwasbesidethepoint.No,itwasn’tgettingfired—itwaseverything.Everythingwithmymomandmyphoneandmycarandmyawfuldayandmyawfullife.Yes,Iwasawhining,

teenagecliché.And,accordingtoAmy,Ihadaflairforthedramatic,sotherewasaslightchancethat,hadI

stayedinthetheater,ImayhavemademattersworsebypouringaCherrySlushieonGlenda’shead.Itwas,afterall,somethingI’dfantasizedaboutdoingsinceI’dbeenhired.ButIstillhadmydignity—

dentedthoughitmayhavebeen—andIrefusedtogiveintomywrathfuladolescent

urges.“Youokay?”Amyasked

whenIclimbedintotheLexusafewminuteslater.Itwasatestamenttohow

muchshelovedmethatsheletmegetintoherfancycar—twicenow—whileIwassoppingwet.Shehadn’tevencringed.“Swell,”Isaid.“Justswell.

Let’sgetoutofhere.Please.”

***

“Goodnight,girls,”Mrs.Rushsaid,pokingherheadintoAmy’sbedroomlaterthatnight.“We’reheadedtobed.”“Night,Mom,”Amysaid.“Goodnight,Mrs.Rush.”Shesmiledatus,then

slippedbackoutoftheroom.

Itwasjustpasteleven,anddespitebeingdryonceagain,snuginsomefrog-patternedpajamasAmyhadlentme,Iwasstillinanawfulmood.Amywasdoingherbesttocomfortme,seeminglyunawarethatIwasalostcause.“WhataboutGiovanni’s?

ThatItalianrestaurantinOak

Hill?Youcouldgetajobthere,”shesuggestedoncehermotherhadgone.“BrennaStewardworks

there.Shesaystheownermakespassesatalltheyoungwaitresses.”“Ew.Doyouthinkthat’s

true?”“Idon’tknow,butI’drather

notfindout.”Iflopped

backwardontoherbed.“Besides,mydrywit—charmingasIknowyoufindit—isn’talwaysappreciatedbythegeneralpublic.Whichdoesnotbodewellformewhenitcomestotips.”“That’strue.”Iglaredather.“Youwere

supposedtodisagreewithme.”

“Oh,Imean…peopleloveyou,Sonny.I’msureyoursenseofhumor—”“Toolatenow,”Isaid.

“Jumpshipwhileyoucan.”“You’llfindanotherjob,”

sheassuredme.“Mymomwillgohelpyouwithyourcarinthemorning,andyoucanusemyphoneuntilyoursisfixed.NoonebutWesley

evercallsmeanyway.Besidesyou,butyou’realwayshere,so…”“Thanks,”Isaid.“You’re

beingverysweet,andit’sappreciated.Butrightnow,IthinkI’dratherjustwallow.”Amysighed.“Allright.”Iburiedmyfaceinher

pillowandlistenedasshestoodupandwalkedacross

theroom.Iheardherlaptopbootingupatherdesk.Ifiguredshewasdoinghomeworkuntil…“Um,Sonny?Iknowyou’re

busywallowing,butyou’renotgoingtobelievethis.”Ikeptmyfaceinthepillow.

“I’vetoldyoubefore—ifit’saNigerianprinceofferingtowireyoumillionsofdollars,

don’tsendhimyourbankaccountinformation.”“It’snotthat.RyderCross

e-mailedme.”NowIsatup.“Whatdidhe

say?”Iwasacrosstheroom,

peeringoverhershoulder,beforeshecouldanswer.

Hey, Amy —It was really nice talking

to you this afternoon inthe parking lot. I’m justsorry the awful weatherand your friend’sschedule cut ourconversation short.

Isnorted.“‘Yourfriend’?Likehedoesn’tknowmyname.Andwhatconversation?Youwerebarelytalkingtohim.”

“Keepreading,”shesaid.

But I’d really like to keeptalking to you. Maybewe could get dinnersometime? I know therearen’t any nice places toeat in Hamilton, but OakHill has a few decentrestaurants. I wasthinking maybe nextFriday night?

“OhmyGod,”Isaid,unabletoevenreadthelastlittlebitofthee-mail.“Heaskedyouout.”“Iknow.Idon’tevenknow

whyhewould.”“Becauseyou’regorgeous?

Thatpartisobvious.”Sheblushed.“Lessobvious,”Isaid,“is

whyhethinkshehasa

chance.Amy,youhavetoreplytohim.Youhavetosayyou’lldoit.”“What?Idon’twanttogo

outwithRyder.”“Youwon’t.You’lljustsay

youwill.Justtoteasehimabit.”“Ican’tdothat,”Amysaid.

“It’stoomean.”“ThenI’lldoit.Move

over.”“Sonny,youcan’t.”“Please,”Ibegged.“I’ve

hadanawfuldayandfuckingwithRyder’sheadwillmakemefeelsomuchbetter.”“Ithoughtyouwere

wallowing?”“Beingmeanissomuch

morefunthanwallowing.Andhe’ssuchanasshole.

Youknowit,too.Hedeservessometortureafterthewayhe’stalkedaboutHamiltonandeveryonewholiveshere.Letmepickonhimalittlebit.Please?”Shechewedonherbottom

lip.Amywasanythingbutmean.Eventopeopleshehated,shewasalwaysincrediblypoliteand

respectful.Itwasunnerving,really.Butifanyonecould

convinceher,itwasme.SonnyArdmore—abadinfluenceforthirteenyearsandcounting.“Fine,”shesaid,scooting

oversowecouldsqueezetogetheronthechair.“ButonlybecauseIknowitwill

cheeryouup…andbecausehereallyisawful.Maybethiswillgethimtoleavemealone.”“That’smygirl.”IhittheREPLYbuttonand

startedtocomposemymasterpiece,readingitaloudasItypedeachsentence.“Hello,hottie.”“OhGod,”Amysqueaked.

“I’malreadyfeelingweirdaboutthis.”“I’dlovetokeeptalkingto

you.”Ireadittoherinaslow,sexyvoice.“Butnotatarestaurant.Myroomismuchmorecomfortable.AndtheonlythingIwanttobeeatingiswhippedcreamoffyourchest,loverboy.”“Sonny!”Amycried.“You

can’tsaythat!”“Whynot?”“He’llthinkI’msomesort

offreak.”“That’sthepoint.He’llbe

creepedout—andperhapsslightlyturnedon,thoughhe’dneveradmitit—byyourover-the-tope-mailandtooembarrassedtoeverspeaktoyouagain.”

“Butwhatifhetellsotherpeopleaboutthise-mail?”“Whowouldhetell?Noone

canstandhim.Hedoesn’thavefriends.”Shesighed,whichItookas

permissiontocontinue.“Youmentionedmyfriend

inyoure-mail.Sonnywouldalsoliketobepresentforthis‘conversation.’Shelovesto

watchmefoolaroundwithguys.Thoughrecently,IfoundsomecreepyvoodoodollsoftheguysI’vebeenhookingupwithinherdrawer.And,cometothinkofit,afewofthemhavehadsomeseriousaccidents.Ihopethepossibilityofafewbrokenbonesdoesn’tscareyouoff.”

Thistime,shegiggled.Justalittle.“Ihavetosay,Ryder,I’m

sogladyoue-mailedme.I’vehadmyeyeonyousinceyougothere.Itriedtoplayitcool,butsecretly,I’vebeenbuildingashrinetoyouinmyclosetformonths.It’snothingspecial—justafewpicturesItookofyouonmyphone

whileyouweren’tlookingandalife-sizesculptureImadeofyouusinggarbageandgumIscrapedoutfromunderyourdesk.”“Oh,that’ssogross!”Amy

gasped.“Ew.”Icontinued,“Ican’twaitto

showyoumyworkofart.Iknowyou’llappreciateit.Soit’sadate.Fridaynight.I’m

goingtoblowyourmind,Ryder.Youhavenoidea.Love(becausethat’swhatIam,inlovewithyou),Amy.”Isatbackandadmiredmy

brilliantprose.Besideme,Amywasgiggling,butshealsolookedabitnervous.“Youcan’treallysendthat,

youknow,”shesaid.“Yeah,”Iagreed.“That’s

cool.Igotitoutofmysystem.Butyou’vegottoadmit—it’saprettyepicloveletter.”“Sure,”Amysaid.“I’msavingit,”Itoldher.

“You’regoingtowanttolookbackonthisonedaywhenI’msomesortoffamouspoet…orcriminalmastermindbeinghuntedbythe

authorities.Whichevercomesfirst.It’llbeworthsomething.”Ileanedforwardandmoved

toclicktheSAVEbutton,butAmy’selbowbumpedminebyaccident,andmyhandslipped.InsteadofSAVE,IclickedSEND.“Uh-oh.”Amysawitatthesametime

Idid.Hereyeswentwideandsheslappedahandoverhermouth.“Whatjusthappened?”Iclickedovertodrafts,

hopingtoseethee-mailthere,safeandsound.Butno.“Itsent,”Isaid.“No,no,no!”Amylooked

horrified.“OhmyGod.”“Well…he’llneverask

yououtagain?”Ioffered.“Ugh.I’msorry.Thatreallywasn’tonpurpose.Iswear.”“Iknow.Ibumpedyou.”

Shebitatherpinkienail.“Thisisawful.Ican’tbelievewesentthat.It’ssomeanand…There’snowayof,like,gettingitback,right?”“That’snotexactlyhowthe

Internetworks.”

“Ugh.”Sheburiedherfaceinherhands.“Ihopehedoesn’treadit.”“Hemightnot,”Isaid.“He

mightrealizetoolatethataskingyououtwasamistakeandhedoesn’thaveachanceinhell,sohewon’treadthee-mail.He’llsavehimselffromtheheartache.There’sactuallyagoodchanceof

that.”Amylookedskeptical.“I’mserious,”Isaid.ButIwasjustsayingthatto

makeAmyfeelbetter.Iknewhe’dreadit.He’dbeanidiotnotto.Ijusthopedhedidn’tforwardittoanyone.IfsomeoneteasedAmyaboutthis,I’dneverforgivemyself.Iwasn’tconvincingher,

though.Icouldtellshefeltawful,andIwishedthatI’djustwallowedearlier.“Ishouldsendhiman

apologye-mail,”shesaid.“No,”Isaid.“I’lldoit.I’m

theonewhowrotethestupidthing.I’lle-mailtheapology.”“Areyousure?”“Yep.”Iwouldhateevery

secondofit,butI’ddoitforher.“Thankyou,”shesaid.

“Nowlet’sgotobed.I’mexhausted.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mtired,

too.Practicallyfallingasleepaswespeak.”Itwasn’tthelastlieI’dtell

thatnight.

IpretendedtosleepuntilAmystartedsnoring.Itreallywasastonishingthatsomeonesoadorablecouldmakesuchahorrificnoise.Itwasabouttentimeslouderthanherspeakingvoice,anditcamefromdeepinherthroat.Amy

wasn’tusuallyamouth-breather,butatnight?Jesus.Itusedtokeepmeupwhen

wewerelittle.We’dhavesleepovers,andI’dstayupallnight,staringattheceiling.Eventually,IgotsousedtothedemonthatpossessedAmy’sbodyatnightthatitbecameasortofrhythmic,gutturallullaby.

Nottonight,though.TonightIwaswide-awake.Slowly,Icrawledacrossthe

hugebedandclimbedoverAmy.Shekeptsnoring.Onceshestarted,therewasnostoppingheruntilsomeoneshookherawakethenextmorning.Shetookbeingaheavysleepertoawholenewlevel.

Evenso,Ifoundmyselftiptoeingacrossthecarpettowardherdesk.Ipickedupherlaptopandslippedoutthedooranddownthehall.TheRushes’housewas

ridiculous.Threefloors,giantbathrooms,ginormouswalk-inclosets—Wesley’sroomevenhadafreakingbalcony.Butmyfavorite,favorite

roomintheRushhousewastherecreationroom.ItwasjustdownthehallfromAmy’sroom,anditwaseveryteenager’sdream.Therewasapooltable;huge,comfycouches;and,asofAmy’sseventeenthbirthday,anold-fashionedpinballmachine.Butthebestpartwas,hardlyanyoneknewit

washere.I’dbeentoafewpartiesat

theRushhouse—usuallythrownbyWesleywhenhewashomefromcollege—andnooneeverseemedtofindthisroom.Withthedoorshut,itwaseasytomistakeitforjustanotherbedroom.Whichmadeittheperfectlittlehideawaywhenyou

wantedabreakfromtherowdyyouths.Or,youknow,whenyouwantedtomakeout.TheonlytimeI’dever

foundtherecroomoccupiedduringapartywasthisyear,ontheFourthofJuly,whenIcaughtCaseyBlythe,aformerHamiltonHighcheerleader,suckingface

withherboyfriend,thisnerdykidnamedTobyTucker.ButCaseywasbestfriendswithWesley’sgirlfriend,soshehadinsideintelonwhereallthebestplacestofoolaroundintheRushhousewere.Otherthanthatlittle

incident,nooneeverseemedtocomeintotherecroombesidesmeandAmy.We

hungoutinheresometimes,whenwedidn’thavehomeworktodo.I’dplayagameofpoolagainstmyselfwhileAmyutterlydestroyedonthepinballmachine.Tonight,though,itwasjust

me.Iwasn’tinthemoodforasologameofpool,soinsteadIgotcozyononeofthecouchesandpropped

openAmy’slaptop.IhadapaperdueinEnglish,andIfiguredImightaswellgetstartedonitwhiletheproductivityboosterknownasinsomniastuckaround.I’djustopenedanewWord

documentwhenIheardasmallpingandfrowned.Thentherewasasecondping.Thesamesound,butsomehow

moreinsistent.Ihadn’trealizedanInternet

windowwasevenopen,butwhenIclickedaroundforasecond,IdiscoveredIhadaninstantmessageonmye-mailserver.FromRyderCross.

RYDER:I know I’m notthe most well-liked guyright now, but that e-

mail really wasn’tnecessary.RYDER:I was puttingmyself out there, and Idon’t appreciate youand your friend (I knowyou didn’t work alone)mocking me.

Ishrankbackintothecushions,shamewrithinginmygut.Ididn’tgiveashitifI

wasajerktoRyder,butIhatedthathethoughtAmyhadbeenpartofit.Imean,shehad,butnotwillingly.Neitherofushadactuallywantedtosendthate-mail.Isighedand,sinceI

promisedAmyI’dapologizetohim,startedtowriteback.

ME:I know. I’m sorry.We got carried away.

It’s not an excuse, but Ihad a shitty day and Itook it out on you. Wereally never meant to hitsend. I’m sorry.

Asecondlater,heresponded.

RYDER:I accept andappreciate yourapology.

RYDER:I’m sorry aboutyour bad day.ME:Thanks.

IopenedmyWorddocagain,thinkingthatwastheendofit,butbarelytwominuteslater,therewasanotherpingandIgroaned.“Damnit,Ryder.Ialready

apologized.Whatmoredoyouwantfromme?”

ButwhenIsawhisinstantmessage,Icouldn’thelpbutsmilealittle.

RYDER:I know this israndom, particularlysince we’re not in thesame class, but youhave Mrs. Perkins forEnglish, right? Have youwritten the paper onJulius Caesar yet?

ME:Funny. I wasliterally about to start onthat. I know. I’veprocrastinated.

Andthen,becauseIcouldn’thelpmyself:

ME:I bet the kids backat your school in DCweren’t so irresponsible.RYDER:Ha-ha. I know.

I bring up my old schooltoo much. Is it thatannoying?ME:Yes.ME:Incredibly.RYDER:Sorry.RYDER:But, if it helps,whether the kids in myold school procrastinateor not, I do. At least withEnglish.

RYDER:Especially withShakespeare.ME:Not a fan of thebard?RYDER:I wouldn’t sayI’m not a fan. But I amnot the best with iambicpentameter. Every wordof dialogue goes rightover my head.ME:Alert the press!

Ryder Cross justadmitted he’s notperfect at something.Quick, has hell frozenover?RYDER:Never mind.Forget I said anything.ME:I suck withShakespeare, too.RYDER:Yeah?ME:Yeah.

Itwastrue.IwasthemostmiserabletranslatortohaveevertouchedtheworkofSirWilliam.Lastyear,whenwewerestudyingMacbeth,IgotsolosttryingtounderstanditthatatonepointIthrewmybookacrossAmy’sbedroomandsworeI’dnevergotoschoolagain.“WhoneedsEnglish?”I’daskedher.“I’ll

beamime.I’lljointhecircus.Screwmyeducation!”Luckyforme,Amyis

excellentatdecipheringShakespeare’slongmonologues,andshetaughtmeatrick—itallstartsmakingsenseifyouhearit.Seeingthewordsonthepageistoomuch,toodifficulttofindtherhythm,butifyou

hearit,itbecomesclearer.Andluckyforme,Amy,whowouldmakeabrilliantthespianifsheweren’tsopainfullyshy,waswillingtoreadtome.I’dgottenanAonmyMacbethpaperbecauseofher,andnowIwasabouttohaveanencoreperformancewithmyJuliusCaesarpaper.

Amyhadreadmetheplaytwonightsago,andshehadn’thadtodonearlyasmuchexplainingthistime.

ME:It helps to hear it.RYDER:What?ME:If you can getsomeone to read it toyou — someone whounderstands it — itstarts making a lot more

sense.RYDER:Oh. I don’treally have anyone whocould read it to me.RYDER:My mom could,but I’m not asking her.ME:What about a studybuddy? Someone elsefrom English class?RYDER:Again, I’m notthe most well-liked guy

at school right now.Even the teachers can’tstand me.

Ididn’tknowwhy,butsomehowhishonestyaboutthissurprisedme.Notthatitwasasecret.NoonereallytriedtoohardtohidetheirdisdainforRyder,buthewassoarrogant,soconceited,thatIjustassumedhethoughtthe

worldwasasfondofhimashewasofhimself.Butjustthen,hedidn’tseem

tooconceited.Actually,hewasalmosttolerable.

RYDER:Which, if youask me, is entirelyunprofessional. Not thatI’m surprised. Most ofthese people are hardlyqualified to call

themselves educators.

Scratchthatpartabouttolerable.

ME:I’m going to ignorethat.ME:Maybe you couldwatch a staged play? Ibet you could find avideo online. Or at thelibrary?

RYDER:That’s not abad idea, actually.

Whenhedidn’ttypeanythingelse,Iassumedtheconversationwasover.Iwentbacktomypaper,butafterwriting,deleting,rewriting,anddeletingthefirstparagraph,IrealizedtherewasnowayIcouldfocusrightnow.SomethingRyder

saidhadlingeredinmyhead,andperhapsIamnosy,butIjusthadtoask.

ME:Why won’t you askyour mom for help?RYDER:It’s …complicated.

Aminutelater:

RYDER:Do you reallywant to know?

ME:Sure. It’s not likeI’m doing anything elseright now.RYDER:What aboutyour paper?ME:I already told youI’m a procrastinator. I’msure your parentaldrama is far moreinteresting than Brutus’sbetrayal of Caesar.

ME:Though hopefullyless bloody?RYDER:LOL. Yes, lessbloody.ME:My, my, RyderCross. I never took youfor the chat-speak type.LOL indeed.RYDER:That’s my dirtylittle secret. I sometimeswrite like an actual

teenager. Don’t tellanyone.ME:Too late. I nowhave dirt on you.Mission accomplished.

Hewrotebackwithanemoticonofafacestickingitstongueoutatme.Ilaughed.

ME:More dirt! This ismy lucky night!

RYDER:Damn it. I’mplaying right into yourhands, aren’t I?ME:That you are, sir.That you are.

Whoa,wait.WasIbanteringwithRyderCross?Myarchnemesis?TheLexLuthortomySuperman?TheLokitomyThor?Thepeanutbuttertomyjelly?Okay,Iknow

mostoftheworldthinksthoselasttwogotogether,butIpersonallyfindthecombinationratherabhorrentandjustew.ButItotallywas.Ryder

CrossandIwereteasingeachotherinasurprisinglynonhostileway.IsupposethiswasthepoweroftheInternet.

ME:So … your mom?

IttookRyderalittlewhiletotypeouthisresponse.

RYDER:My mom leftmy dad. But instead ofjust divorcing him andmoving to a new houseand letting me continueat the school I’ve beenattending since I wasfive, she insisted onpacking up everything,

moving hundreds ofmiles away, anddragging me with her.It’s like she didn’t carewhat I wanted. I hadfriends in DC. I had agirlfriend. I was at one ofthe top schools in thecountry. But that didn’tmatter. She had gottena new job and I had to

come with her to thistiny town in the middleof nowhere. I freakinghate it here.RYDER:Sorry. I knowmy saying that is whyeveryone here hatesme. I guess to be fair,it’s not so much thetown as the situation. Idon’t want to be here.

ME:No … I get it,actually.

AndIdid.IknewRyderdidn’tlikeHamilton—everyoneknewthat—butI’dneverreallythoughtaboutitfromhisperspective.Beingpulledoutofaplacewhereyouwerehappy,whereyouhadfriends,couldn’tbeeasy.Icouldn’timaginehow

miserableI’dbeifI’dbeenforcedtomovesomewherehundredsofmilesfromHamilton.FromAmy.I’dprobablybekindofan

asshole,too.

RYDER:So, yes. That’swhy I’m not asking mymom for help. I’vebarely spoken to hersince we got here in

August. Petty, I know.ME:You’re seventeen. Ithink you’re allowed tobe petty. Especiallyabout something likethis.ME:But why can’t yougo back? Live with yourdad?

Again,Rydertookawhiletowritehisanswer.

RYDER:I asked. Beforewe left, I asked to stay.But my mom wouldn’t letme.ME:Why?RYDER:I have no idea.Because she’s selfish?Because she wants topunish my dad bykeeping me away? Notthat she has any right to

punish him. She’s theone who left. She’s theone who asked for thedivorce. Dad doesn’twant it. He still hasn’tsigned the papers.ME:Do you think theymight get backtogether?RYDER:That would bedifficult with her being a

few states away and all.RYDER:I don’t know.And lately, I can neverget ahold of my dad. Hissecretary always sayshe’s busy, and hedoesn’t answer his cell. Iknow he’s got a lotgoing on in Washington,but …RYDER:Okay, I know

this isn’t the cool thingto say, but I miss him.ME:I’m sorry, Ryder.RYDER:I don’t wantyou to be sorry. I don’twant anyone to besorry. Except maybe mymom.

IpulledupGoogleandtriedtofindapictureofRyderandhisfamily.Ifiguredit

wouldn’tbehardsincehisdadwasinCongress.Theyprobablyhadplentyofphotosfromthecampaigntrail.Withinaminute,I’dfound

one.Inthepicture,Ryderwasstandingbetweenhisparents.HisdadwasolderthanIexpected.Ormaybehejustlookedoldbecauseofstress.Iknewpoliticianssupposedly

agedquickly.Hishairwasgraybutwellkept.HehadRyder’sbrightgreeneyesandacharismaticsmilethatcoulddefinitelywinavoteortwo.OnRyder’sothersidewashismom,averyprettyblackwomaninaperfectlytailoredsuit.Shewastall—tallerthanherhusband—andwhilehereyesweredarker

thanRyder’s,theyhadthesameshape,largeandstriking.Andinthemiddlewas

Ryder,dressedinasuitverysimilartohisdad’s.Hishairwasalittlelongerthen,butnottoomuch.WhatIcouldn’thelpnoticing,though,washissmile.Itwashugeandgenuineand…so

happy.I’dneverseentheboyfrommyclasssmilelikethatbefore.Ididn’tknowhecould.

ME:I could help youParent Trap them if youlike?RYDER:What?ME:The Parent Trap?RYDER:Sorry. Still lost.ME:Oh. My. God.

ME:You’re kidding,right?ME:THE PARENTTRAP? Twin girls meetfor the first time atsummer camp andscheme to reunite theirparents? The remakestarred pre-train-wreckLindsay Lohan?ME:YOU HAVE

NEVER SEEN THEFREAKING PARENTTRAP????RYDER:I have not, butdoes this really warrantcyber-shouting?ME:YES!!!!!!RYDER:Okay.ME:I weep for yourchildhood.

Ispentthenexttwenty

minutesexplainingtheplotofTheParentTraptohim,completewithYouTubeclipsfromboththeoriginalfilmandtheremake.WhenIwasdone,Ryderinformedmethatitdidn’tsoundlikethatgreatofamovie,andItoldhimto,withallduerespect,shoveit.ButwekeptIMingafter

that.Aboutothermovies(he

wastotallyintoindieart-houseflicks,themoresubtitlesthebetter,whichis,frankly,disgusting)andbooks(webothstruggledwithShakespeareandhatedNathanielHawthornewithequalpassion)andjust…randomstuff.

ME:Okay, deep darksecret time. I am a

wannabe grunge rocker.RYDER:Seriously?ME:Seriously. I don’tplay any instruments. Ican’t sing to save mylife. But I guess thatdidn’t stop CourtneyLove. And I have a lot ofsecret angst.ME:If I could pull offflannel, I’d wear it every

day.RYDER:I think you’dlook cute in flannel.

Iblushed,thenrealizedIwasblushingandimmediatelyfeltdisgustedwithmyself.

RYDER:So what areyou secretly angstyabout?

RYDER:If I can ask.ME:Mostly my mom.RYDER:This seems tobe a running theme thisevening.ME:She is … flaky. Tosay the least.Unreliable. Truthfully,sometimes I think shewishes she never hadme. Sometimes I think

she pretends she didn’t.

ThesecondIsentthatmessage,Iregrettedit.ItwaswaymorethanI’dplannedtoshare.Itwastoohonest.Toomuch.Tooclose.Ididn’ttalkaboutmymom.

Notindetail.NotevenwithAmy.Iwasthequeenofglossingoverthings.Ofturningsmalltruthsintobig

lies.ButnowRyderCross,ofall

people,knewoneofmydarkestsecrets.Or,atleast,atinypieceofit.Ifeltuncomfortable,suddenly,andIwaseternallygratefulthathecouldn’tseeme.ThateventhoughI’dsharedtoomuch,Icouldatleasthidebehindthiscomputerscreen.

RYDER:Wow. Thatdoes sound likeinspiration for a grungealbum.RYDER:I won’t pushyou to talk about it, butobviously I understandcomplicated familysituations, so if you everwant to share, I’m hereto listen.

ME:Thank you.

Wechattedforalittlewhilelonger,mostlyabouthisfavoriteband—GoatsVoteforMelons,whichI’dneverheardof,despitehisfearsthattheywerebecomingtoo“mainstream.”

ME:God, you are sucha hipster.

RYDER:Ugh. I’m NOTa hipster.ME:Exactly what ahipster would say.

Hesentmethesmileyfacewithitstonguestickingout.Verymatureandall.Thenhewrote:

RYDER:I shouldprobably go. It’s late.

RYDER:Whoa — lookout your window.ME:Both creepy andcryptic, but all right.

Iglancedupandgasped,startled.Outsidethewindow,thesunwasjustbeginningtopeekoverthetrees.Ilookedattheclockandwasstunnedtoseethatitwasnearlysixinthemorning.

I’dbeenIMingwithRyderallnight.

ME:Wow.RYDER:I know.ME:I had no idea wewere on here this long.RYDER:Me either.ME:I should get to bed.RYDER:Me, too. But Ireally liked “talking” toyou.

ME:I liked “talking” toyou, too.

And,weirdly,Ihad.

ME:Let’s do this againsometime.RYDER:I’d like that.ME:Okay, well … goodnight. Or, goodmorning?RYDER:LOL. Good

morning, Amy.

Ifrowned,readinghismessageagain.Amy?Iwasabouttowriteback,to

correcthim,buthe’dalreadyloggedoff.Ifiguredmaybeitwasjustatypo,amistake.Wewerebothsleepdeprived,afterall.ButasIwasabouttologout,aterriblerealization

hitme.Amyhadneverloggedout

earlier.Whywouldshe?Itwashercomputer,afterall.I’dbeeninstantmessaging

withRyderforhours,andthiswholetime—thiswholedamntime—hethoughtIwasAmyRush.Andthat’showthiswhole

stupidthingbegan—witha

liethatI,foronce,hadn’tevenmeanttotell.

“Wait…sohethinkshewastalkingtome?”Amyturnedtofaceme,stoppingourSaturdaymorningtrekthroughthehubofcommercialismandpublicmassagechairsknownasOakHillMall.

Igaveherasheepishgrin,oneIhadperfectedalongtimeago.Amydidn’tlooksomuchangryas…horrified.“Iknow.I’msorry.Ididn’t

realizeyouwereloggedin.Ontheplusside,he’snotmadaboutthee-mail.”Iexpectedhertopointout

thatitwasherlaptopandRyderhade-mailedhersoof

courseshewasloggedinandhowcouldIbesostupid?ButthiswasAmy.Ever-sweet,ever-forgivingAmy.“It’sanhonestmistake,”she

said.Wekeptwalking,dodgingaroundagroupofmiddleschoolgirlswhowereemergingfromHotTopic.“Butwhatdoesthismean?Whatdidyoutwoeventalk

aboutallnight?”“Nothing,”Isaid.“And…

everything?Itwasbizarre.He’sobnoxious,but…maybehe’snotquiteasawfulasIthought?”“Well,Iguessthat’sniceto

know.”Westeppedintothefood

courtandheadedtowardtheclosestcounter.Abored-

lookingguystoodbehindthecashregister,readjustinghisnavy-bluehatthatwas,byfar,theworstpartofhisworkuniform.ItmademewishIdidn’thavetoaskhimmynextquestion,butalas,agirl’sgottamakealiving.Oratleastmakeenough

moneytobuyanewcellphone.

“Hey,”Isaidtotheboredguy.“Thisplacehiring?”“Yeah.”Thatwasseriouslyallhe

said.Thenhestaredatme,hiseyesnearlyasdeadashismonotonevoice.DearGod,Ihopedsomethingbesidesthisjobhadbeenresponsibleforsuckingouthissoul.“CanIgetanapplication?”I

asked.“Iguess.”Heturnedaroundandwent

insearchofanapplication,movingslowandstiff,likeazombie.Azombiethatsmelledlikedelimeat.IturnedtoAmyandraised

aneyebrow.Sheshrugged.“So,anyway,”shesaid.

“AboutRyder—”

“Amy!”Amyjumpedandweboth

turnedtoseeathin,blondgirlwaving.Shewasprobablyafewyearsolderthanus,andshewassittingalone,eatingaburrito.Shekeptwaving,thensignaledAmytocomeoverandjoinher.IlookedatAmy.Thesmile

shegaveinreturnwasfake,

butonlyIwould’veknownthat.Sheraisedherhandinasmall,embarrassedwaveandthenturnedaway,duckingherheadasifshehadn’trealizedthegirlwantedus—well,notus,Amy—tojoinher.Iglancedbetweenthe

disappointed-lookingblondandmyanxious-looking

friend.BeforeIcouldsayanything,though,ZombieCashierreturnedwithmyapplication.“Here.”Amysnatcheditfromhim,

saidaquick,“Thanks,”thentuggedmeoutofthefoodcourt.“Iwasgonnaapplyatsome

otherplaces,”Isaid.

“Youcandoitlater.”Shehandedmetheapplication.“Youwantedtoapplytothebookstore,too,right?”“Yeah.”Ifrownedather.

“Sowhowasthatgirl?”“Madison,”Amysaid.“Who?”“Sheusedtodatemy

brother.BeforeBianca.”“Huh.”Iglancedbackaswe

walkedawayfromthefoodcourt.Thegirl,Madison,wasstilleatingalone.Andshelookedratherannoyedaboutit.“ForsomereasonIdon’trememberher.”“Weird.”Sheshrugged.

“Anyway,aboutRyder…”“Right.”Wewalkedintothe

bookstoreandmadeourwaytowardthefrontcounter.“I

stillcan’tbelieveIchattedwithhimallnight.”“Doyouthinkyoulike

him?”sheasked.“Ofcoursenot,”Isaid.“I

just…maybedon’tdespisehim?Plus,it’sweirdnowthatIknowhethoughthewastalkingtoyou.Butmaybeit’snotabigdeal.”Wereachedthecounterand

Iaskedthewomanbehindtheregisterforanapplication.OnceIhaditinhand,AmyandIdecidedtobrowsetheshelvesforawhile.“So,whatareyougoingto

do?”Amyasked,pickingupacopyofCyranodeBergerac.Shewassupposedtoreadandanalyzeaplayforherdramaclass.

AndthenIsaidpossiblythemostironicthingthathasevercomeoutofmymouth.“I’lljusttellhimthetruth.”Amyglancedupatme,and

thesurpriseonherfacedidnotgounnoticed.“That’sit?Thatsimple?”“Imean,it’llbeweird,”I

admitted.“‘Hey,Ryder.SoIknowyouthoughtyouwere

talkingtoasmokinghot,boobaliciousladytheothernight,butactuallyitwasme,hermoderatelyattractivebutstillutterlycharmingbestfriend.Sorryaboutthat.’”Amybalked.“Sonny,don’t

saythat.”“What?Thatyou’re

boobalicious?”“Well,that,too,”shesaid.

“Butthatyou’reonlymoderatelyattractive.You’rebeautiful.”Ilaughed.“Ilovethat

you’retryingtoboostmyegorightafterIrefertomyselfasutterlycharming.Butlet’sbeserious.Nexttoyou,anyonelooksonlymoderatelyattractive.”Sheduckedherheadand

pickedupanotherplayinordertohideherface.“Anyway,it’llbefine.I’ll

tellRyderwhathappened.Itdoesn’thavetobedramatic.”Andthefunnythingis,at

thetime,Ireallybelievedthat.

***

WhenAmyandIreturnedfromthemallthatafternoon,

Mrs.Rushdrovemeouttothehighschool.Luckily,itappearedthatthebatteryhaddiedbecauseI’daccidentallyleftthelightson,notbecauseitneededtobereplaced—thatwouldhavebeenanightmare.Butwithalittleeffortandapairofjumpercables,Mrs.RushmanagedtogetGertpurringagain.Or

wheezing,whichwasamoreaccuratedescription.Eitherway,Iwasmobileonceagain.WhichmeantIwasableto

parkGertinthegrocerystoreparkinglot,whereshewaitedformeonMondaymorning.Amyhadsetherownphone

alarmtomyschedule,andwhiletheshrillsirennoise

sentmeboltingupright,Amyhadn’tevenstirred.I’dresetthealarmtoherschedule(andturnedthevolumeupalittle)beforesneakingoutofthehouse.Mostdays,Igotupearly,

gotreadyatAmy’s,thensatintheparkinglotuntilitwastimetoheadtoschool.Usually,IdozedoffinGert’s

frontseat,thenhadtorushtoavoidbeinglateforclass.Nottoday,though.TodayIforcedmyselftostayawake.IknewRyderalways

arrivedtoclassearly,andIwantedachancetotalktohimbeforeMr.BuckleystartedlecturingabouttheCrusadesortheInquisitionorwhatevertragicreligious

conflictwewerelearningaboutnow.IwashopingtoexplainwhathadhappenedinourIMs,makeitknownthatInolongerthoughtofhimacompletetoolbag(onlyapartialtoolbag)andmaybe,justmaybe,invitehimtositwithmeatlunch.Ryderhadotherplans,

however.

Asexpected,hewasalreadyintheclassroomwhenIwalkedthroughthedoor.Hewasflippingthroughthepagesofourtextbookandjottingdownnotesonayellowlegalpadashewent.HewaswearingadarkgreenT-shirtwithsomestrangelogoonitthat,evenacrosstheroom,madehiseyespop

morethanusual.Onceagain,Iwasstruckbyhowattractivehewas.AndnowthatIknewhewasn’t100percentawful…well,let’sjustsaytherewasanuptickinhishotnessfactor.Allofasudden,Iwas

nervous.Itookadeepbreathandtriedtoshakeitoffbeforewalkingovertohim.

“Hey,”Isaid,slidingintomyseat.Hedidn’tlookup,andI

thoughtmaybehehadn’theardme.SoIclearedmythroatandsaidagain,“Hey.”“Hey.”Hisvoicewasflat

andhekeptonworking,notevenglancingbackatme.Okay,somaybethiswould

beharderthanI’dthought.

“So,uh…Ineedtotalktoyouaboutsomething.Theothernight—”Suddenly,Ryderspun

aroundinhisseat,facingme.Butthelookonhisfacewaslessthankind.Hiseyeswerenarrowedandcold.Eveninallourbickering,he’dneverlookedthispissed.IwassosurprisedthatIsatup

straight.“Theothernight,”hesaid.

“Youmeanthate-mailIreceived?”“Um…”“BecauseIknowthatwasn’t

allAmy,”hesaid.“No,itwasn’t.But,Ryder

—”“Forthelifeofme,Ican’t

understandwhyshe’dbe

friendswithsomeonelikeyou,Sonny.”No,thisdefinitelywasn’t

goingasplanned.Igrittedmyteeth.“Willyoujustshutupandlistentomeforasecond?”“I’mdonelisteningtoyou,”

hesnapped.“Despiteeverythingyou’vesaid,AmyandIhaveaconnection.We

chattedonlineallnightafterthatridiculouse-mail.”“I’maware,”Imuttered.“She’sfunnyandsmartand

beautiful…”Irolledmyeyes.Becauseof

course.Ofcoursehementionedhowbeautifulsheis.“Andyou,”hesaid,glaring

atme.“You’rejusta…”

Iwaited,knowingwhathewasgoingtosay.Abitch.Amywasfunnyandsmartandbeautiful,andI,Sonny,wasjustabitch.Buthedidn’tsayit.Hejust

shookhishead,turnedbackaroundinhisseat,andmumbledsomething.Idon’tthinkhemeantmetohearit,butIdid.

“Andyou’renotgoodenoughforher.”Myfistsclenchedbeneath

mydesk.“Yeah?”Isaid.“Well,neitherareyou.”Justthen,Mr.Buckley

walkedintheroom,puttingastoptoanysnappyretortRydermighthavethrownatmenext.Fuckit,Ithought.I’dbeen

wrong.Ryderwasanasshole.Thatall-nightchathadclearlybeenafluke,andtherewasnopointtellinghimthetruthaboutit.Evenifheletmegetawordout,hewouldn’tbelieveme.Oritwouldjustpisshimoffevenmore.SoIgotmytextbookand

wentrightbacktohatingRyderCross.

Idon’tknowhowImetAmyRush.I’dlovetotellyouthischarmingstoryabouthowwebondedoverasharedboxofcrayonsinpreschoolorsomething—andwhoknows,maybewedid—butIcan’tremember.That’show

longagoitwas.Iknowwewereyoung,

threeorfour,maybe.Itwasbeforemydadwasarrestedforthefirsttime.Heusedtodrivemetoherhouseforplaydatesontheweekends.DadtoldmeIcouldinviteAmyover,too,ifIwanted,butIneverdid.Becauseevenasalittlekid,

Iwasembarrassed.Atthatpoint,myparentsandIwerelivinginatraileroutontheedgeofHamilton.AndAmylivedinamansion.Plus,therewasmymom,who,Iwasconvinced,wouldforgettomakeusdinnerorsomething.Ididn’twantAmytoseewhereIlived.Iguesstherehavealwaysbeenpartsofmy

lifeIkepthidden,evenfromher.Butthatdidn’tstopusfrom

becominginsanely,maybeunhealthilyclose.Weweretwohalvesofawhole.Weneededeachotherforbalance.Shekeptmecalm,putmeat

easewhenIwasfreakingout.Likewhenwewereseven

andIaccidentallybrokethearmoffmyfavoritedoll.Mydadhadjustbeenarrested,andRamonawasthelastgifthe’dgivenme.AsIsatthere,onthevergeofanall-outtantrum,AmygentlyremovedRamonafrommyarms,retrievedsomegluefromherdad’sdesk,andputthedollbacktogether.Sure,

herarmwasalittlecrookedafterthat,butthatwasokay.Amyhad,forthemostpart,solvedtheproblem.Meanwhile,Ispokeupfor

her,gotangryforher,whenshewastooscaredorembarrassedto.LikewhenwewerefreshmenandthisgrossupperclassmannamedRandysmackedherassinthe

hallway.Amywassoupsetand

humiliated,andIwaspissedonherbehalf.SothenexttimeIsawRandy,Ithrewhimupagainstthewallandgavehimaswiftkneetothegroin.WhocaredifIwashalfhissize?Hellhathnofurylikeagirldefendingherbestie.Igottwoweeksin

detentionforthat,butheneverbotheredAmyagain,soitwasworthit.AmyandIneededeach

other.Neitherofusreallyhadotherclosefriends.Wewerethetypewhowerefriendlywitheveryone—excludingRyderCross,ofcourse—butIthinkmostpeoplefeltsortofleftoutwhentheyspent

timewithAmyandme.Therewastoomuchhistory,toomanyinsidejokes,and,yeah,maybeourclosenesswasalittlebitweirdtosome.Butwewereokaywiththat.

Itwasjustus.SonnyandAmy.AmyandSonny.Whereshewent,Iwent.WhichwaswhyIgotalittle

panickedwhenIsawthe

stackofcollegeapplicationssittingonherdesk.“Isitalreadytimefor

these?”Iasked,pickingupaCornellapplication.“Yep.Igotthosefromthe

guidanceofficetoday.”She’djustletmeintothehouseafterherparentshadgoneofftobed,sowehadtokeepourvoiceslow.

“Wow.”Iflippedthroughthestack.“Dartmouth,Stanford,Columbia…Veryambitious,Ms.Rush.”“Thereareafewsafety

schoolsinthere,”shesaidasshechangedintoherpajamas.“Haveyouthoughtaboutwhereyou’reapplying?”“Notreally,”Iadmitted.“I

figuredI’dfollowyou

whereveryouwereacceptedandliveunderyourbedinyourdormroom.”Shelaughed.ButIhadn’texactlybeen

kidding.“Youbetterstartthinking

aboutit,”shesaid.“Thesenextfewmonthsaregoingtogofast.Iknowyougetoverwhelmedwithpaperwork

—”“False.”Sherolledhereyes.“You

takethreedaystofilloutaone-pagejobapplication.”“I…liketobethorough.”“Anyway,”shesaid.“I’dbe

gladtohelpyoufillthemout.”“Thanks,”Isaid.“We’ll

see.”

Thetruthwas,Iwassortofdeliberatelyavoidingthoughtsofcollege.Sure,Ihaddecentgrades(IwasanAPstudent,afterall),butIwasn’tgoingtobeabletoaffordtuition.EspeciallynottotheschoolsAmywasapplyingto.Injustafewmonths,we’dbeseparated.She’dbeoffatsomeIvy

Leagueuniversity,andI’dbestuckhere.Andthatterrifiedme.I’dbeenavoidingit,

pretendingcollegewasalongwayawayandIhadnoreasontoworryaboutityet,butwewereseniorsnow,whichmeantitwastimetostartfiguringmyshitout.Iwasn’treadytodealwithit

yet,though.Maybethat’swhyIgotso

enragedwhenRyderhatedonHamilton,becauseIknewthisplacewasgoingtobemyhomeforavery,verylongtime.WhetherIlikeditornot.Amyfinishedrunninga

combthroughherhair.“Okay.Youreadyforbed?”

Ishookmyhead.Allthecollegetalkhadgottenmetooworkeduptosleep.“Ineedtoworkonapaper.MindifIuseyourcomputer?”“Ofcoursenot.It’sall

yours.”“Thanks.”Ipickedupthe

laptopandsteppedoutintothehallway.“Sleeptight.”“Seeyouinthemorning.”

I’dbarelygottenthelaptopsetupintherecroomwhenIheardapingfromthee-mailtab.Irolledmyeyes,knowingbeforeIevenlookedwhowasmessagingme.OrAmy,rather.“Notnow,Ryder,”I

mumbled.“Notinthemood.”Aminutelater,therewas

anotherping.

RYDER:How was yourday?RYDER:Are you donewith that English paperyet?

Iwasdeterminedtoignorehim.Afterthewayhe’dtalkedtomeinclassthatmorning,hedidn’tdeservemytime.Butfiveminuteslater,therewasanotherping,

andthistime,Icouldn’tignorehismessage.

RYDER:So Pearl Jamis going to have aconcert in Oak Hill.ME:WHAT?!?! When?Where? Link????RYDER:Ha. I knew thatwould get your attention.

Isighed,disappointed.

ME:Not cool.RYDER:Sorry. I had totry.ME:How did you know Ilike Pearl Jam?RYDER:You lovegrunge, so I just thoughtof the most clichégrunge band I could.Other than Nirvana, ofcourse.

ME:Wow. So nowyou’re calling me acliché. Nice.RYDER:You call me ahipster. It only seemsfair.

Hesignedthatoneoffwithasmileyface.

ME:I’m a cliché, butyou are the King of the

Emoticons. Tell me,Ryder, how many selfieshave you taken today?RYDER:None. I don’teven have anInstagram.ME:Hipster.RYDER:I can’t win withyou.ME:This is probablytrue.

RYDER:That’s notgoing to stop me fromtrying.

Despitemybetterjudgment,thismademesmile.AndthatwashowIended

upchattingwithRyder—again—formostofthenight.

RYDER:My mom is

driving me insane.ME:Welcome toadolescence. You’ll fit inwell here.RYDER:She won’teven let me watch thecoverage of Dad’scampaign. It’s hardenough to find it anywaysince he doesn’trepresent this district,

but if she hears one ofhis ads on my computer,she shouts at me to turnit off.ME:Wow. Harsh.RYDER:Hopefully I canget to DC forThanksgiving nextmonth. I’m desperate toget out of this stupidboring town.

ME:Again. Harsh.RYDER:Sorry. I’mworking on it.ME:But I hope you areable to go back to DC.I’m sure your dad andyour friends will be gladto see you.

Ihatedmyselfforkeepinguptheconversation.ButasmuchasIwantedtodespise

him,Ryderwaskindofbeingtolerable.

ME:So, you had agirlfriend in DC?RYDER:Yeah.Eugenia.ME:Whoa. Terriblename.RYDER:It really, reallyis.ME:So what

happened?RYDER:Nothing. Webroke up when I movedand she’s already datingsomeone else. My bestfriend, actually.ME:Oh. Ouch.RYDER:I’m honestlynot that upset about it.We dated for over ayear, but it never really

felt serious. Moreconvenient thananything.ME:So romantic.RYDER:I don’t carethat she started datingAaron (my friend).That’s fine. I’m moreupset that she andAaron and everyoneseem to have moved on

without me so fast. Theywere the reasons I wasupset to leave DC.They’ve been my friendssince elementaryschool. And now, just afew months afterleaving, I hardly hearfrom them. I get theoccasional comment onmy Facebook posts, but

that’s it.ME:Well, if you don’tmind me saying so, theysuck.RYDER:Ha.RYDER:They don’t,really. That’s the worstpart. I get it. It’s easy todrift apart. It probablywouldn’t be so bad if I’dactually managed to

make friends here. If I’dmoved on, too.ME:Not to harp on this,but if you’d just ease upon the constantHamilton bashing, youmight be surprised howmany friends you’dmake.RYDER:I know. I reallyam trying.

RYDER:But even if Istopped, I don’t knowhow simple it would beto make friends.Hamilton’s a smallschool. You all haveknown each otherforever. I’m an outsiderhere.ME:Maybe, but itwouldn’t be too difficult

for you. If you’d be cool,people at Hamiltonwould love you.Especially the girls.You’re fresh meat, a boywe’ve never seen throwup on the school bus orgo through the worstparts of puberty. Plus,you’re not a bad-lookingguy, you know.

IcouldnotbelieveI’djusttypedthat.Mortifieddoesn’tevenbegintocoverit.Itwastrue,ofcourse.Hewashot,andifhewasn’tsuchadickaboutourhometown,girlsprobablywouldhavethrownthemselvesathim.No,notprobably.Mostdefinitely.ButIdidn’thavetotellhim

that.

Rydersentbackasmileyfaceemoji.Isentbackonerollingitseyes.Andeventuallythisdevolvedintoanoh-so-sophisticatedemojiwar.Thebattlewaslongandthereweremanycasualties,buteventually,withthepeaceofferingofemojisushi,acease-firewascalled.Ifonlyitweresoeasyin

reallife.

***

Thenextday,though,Ryderwasbacktobeingunbearable.“Mr.Buckley,”hesaid,

raisinghishand.“WhenarewegoingtostartpracticingDBQs?”“Excuseme?”“DBQs,”Ryderrepeated.

“Itstandsfordata-based

questions.They’llbeontheAPtestinthespring.”“I’mawarewhataDBQis,

Mr.Cross.Iamtheteacherhere,afterall.”IexpectedRydertomakea

snidecommentaboutthis,buthemanagedtorestrainhimselfandinsteadasked,“Sowhenwillwestartpracticingthem?”

“AfterThanksgiving.”“Don’tyouthinkthat’s

awfullylate?”“Ohdear,”Isaid.Iwasless

abletorestrainmyself.“That’sfartoolate.DidyouknowthatinDC,studentsstartpreparingforAPtestsjustoutofutero?”Ryderturnedtofaceme,

mid-eye-roll.“Whileyour

hyperboleisridiculous,wedostartpreparingwayinadvance.AndourAPtestresultsreflectit.”“Ifonlyyou’dspentas

muchtimeworkingonyoursocialskills.”“Youaregoingtolectureme

onsocialskills?”“I’msorry.Dousignorant

countryfolkhereinHamilton

notcommunicatetoyourliking?”“It’snotaproblemwitheveryoneinHamilton.”“Enough,”Mr.Buckley

said.Iwasactuallyamazedathowlonghe’dletthisgoon.Isuspectedhegotasmuchentertainmentoutofthesparringastherestoftheclassdid.

And…IthinkIkindofenjoyedit,too.Honestly,though,itwas

amazinghowfunnyandpleasantRydercouldbeoverIM,onlytoturnaroundandbeapompousjerkinreallife.Iwasgettingsomeseriouswhiplash.WhichwaswhyIcouldn’t

respondtohisIMsanymore.

Nomás.Iwasdone.Itwasalreadyweirdenoughsince,bothtimes,I’dbeenonAmy’saccount.Shedidn’tknowaboutthesecondconversation,andI’dhadtoliewhensheaskedmeifIknewwhyRyderhadgivenheramixtape(seriously?Whohastapesanymore?)ofsomeweird,poorlyrecorded

bandandaskedifshe’dsitwithhimatlunch.“Noidea,”I’dsaid.“Imean,

weknowhelikesyou….Whatdidyousay?”“Thankyou,butthatI

alwayssitwithyou,”she’dreplied.Well,thatwaseasyenough.

Ryderwouldneversitatalunchtablewithme.SoIjust

shrugged.Lyingwaseasy.Whatwas

worsewasthattheseconversationshadtotallyconfusedmyonceunwaveringdisdainforRyderCross.IthadbeeneasierwhenI

hatedhim.

Iwould.Not.Respond.Onceagain,insomniahad

mesittingintheRushes’recroomwellaftermidnight,onlythistimeIdidn’thaveanyhomeworklefttodo.Instead,Iwastorturingmyselfbylookinguphowfar

allofthecollegesAmywasapplyingtowerefromHamilton.Answer:Reallyfreakingfar.WhatthehellwasIgoingto

do?Ihadn’theardbackfromanyofthejobsI’dappliedfor,Ihadnomoney,andwhenAmyleftforcollege,I’dessentiallybehomeless.Itwasn’tasifIcouldkeep

sneakingintoherparents’house.Needlesstosay,Iwas

alreadyfeelingabitdepressedandalittlelonelywhenIheardtheping.“Notfallingforitthistime,

Ryder,”Imumbled.Ping.Nope.Ping.

“Damnit.”ItoldmyselfIwasjust

goingtologoutofAmy’se-mail.ItoldmyselfIwasn’tgoingtolookatthemessage.But,aswe’veestablished,Iamaliar,evenwhenI’mtalkingtomyself.

RYDER:Hey, Amy, areyou there?RYDER:I’m sorry. It’s

late, and you’reprobably not even nearyour computer. But I justfound something outand I need to talk tosomeone. You were theonly person I could thinkof.RYDER:Sorry. Nevermind.

AsmuchasIwantedto

ignorehim,Icouldn’t.TherewassomethingsortofdesperateinthosemessagesthatIcouldn’tjustwalkawayfrom.Tomysurprise,Iwas…

concerned.AboutRyderCross.

ME:Hey, I’m here.What’s going on? Areyou okay?

RYDER:Not really.RYDER:Do you have afew minutes?

Ishould’vesaidno.Ishould’veloggedoff.Butmyownloneliness—

mixedwithmyconcernandcuriosity—gotthebetterofme.

ME:I’ve got all night.

IclosedouttheotherInternettabs,almostgladforthedistraction.Icouldn’tkeepthinkingaboutAmyleavingmeforcollege.Iwantedtogobacktocoveringmyearsandpretendingitwasn’thappening.AndifmyonlydistractionwasRyder,sobeit.

RYDER:My friend

Aaron called me tonight.I knew something wasup when I saw his nameon my phone. He hasn’tcalled me in over amonth.ME:This is the onewho’s dating your ex-girlfriend, right? The girlwith the terrible name?RYDER:Right, but it

wasn’t about that.RYDER:He was callingbecause he saw mydad, and he wanted towarn me.ME:Warn you aboutwhat?RYDER:He saw mydad leaving our house(Aaron lives next door)with this woman.

RYDER:This model.

HesentalinktoaGoogleImagespage,andIclickedit.Myscreenfilledwithdozensofshotsofabeautifulbrunette—AnnaliseStone.ShewasarunwaymodelfromNewYorkandonlyafewyearsolderthanRyderandme.

ME:Wow. She’s pretty.ME:Wait. Do you thinkhe’s seeing her?RYDER:Why elsewould she be leavingour house?

Iwantedtomakesomesortofjokeinresponsetothisquestion,butIgotthesensethatthiswasn’ttheappropriatetime.

ME:I don’t understand.I thought he didn’t wantto divorce your mom.RYDER:That’s what Ithought, too. So I askedher.RYDER:She didn’twant to tell me, butapparently that’s whyshe left. Because he’sbeen seeing this woman

for a while.ME:He’s beencheating?RYDER:Yeah.RYDER:But he refusesto give Mom a divorcebecause he thinks it’llhurt his chances in theelection in a couple ofweeks.ME:Well, so will

sneaking around with amodel half his age.RYDER:I’m guessinghe’s trying to keep thatsecret. But if Aaroncould find out, the othercandidates could, too.ME:I’m sorry, Ryder.

AndIwas.Iknewjusthowfraughtwithdisappointmentparentalrelationshipscould

be.Andhowfuckingmuchitcouldhurtwhenthepeoplewhoraisedyouletyoudown.

RYDER:I feel like anidiot.ME:Why???RYDER:This wholetime I’ve been blamingmy mom. I’ve thought ofher as selfish and cold.In reality, she was trying

to keep me from hatingDad. No matter howmuch he hurt her.ME:That doesn’t makeyou an idiot.RYDER:Maybe not, butworshipping Dad does.I’ve been thinking hewas this saint. Evenwhen I couldn’t get himon the phone, I made

excuses for him.ME:He’s your dad. Noone blames you forloving him.RYDER:Maybe theyshould.

Ididn’tknowhowtorespondtothat.Ihadn’tspokentomyownfatherinyears,andmymom…well,Iwashardlythepersontogive

adviceonthesubject.Luckily,Rydersavedme

fromhavingtocomeupwithareply.

RYDER:Sorry. Thisconversation gotincredibly emoincredibly fast. Quick,say something funny.ME:Something funny.RYDER:Ha.

RYDER:You’re such ariot.ME:I know. I shouldreally do stand-up.RYDER:I’d pay to seethat.ME:I bet you would.Getting tickets to myshows will be nearlyimpossible. The criticswill love me. I’ll be

known as the funniestcomedian to ever comeout of Hamilton.RYDER:Do you reallyhave any competition inthat regard?ME:Probably not.RYDER:I didn’t thinkso.ME:… You’re not anidiot, Ryder. You don’t

have anything to feelbad about. Your daddoes.RYDER:Thank you.RYDER:For listening, Imean. Or reading?Anyway, I mean it.When I found out, youwere the only person Iactually wanted to talkto.

RYDER:That probablysounds ridiculous.ME:No, it doesn’t. I’mflattered, actually.ME:And the feeling’smutual.

Ihatedadmittingit,butI’dbeenthinkingaboutourotherIMconversationsalot,too.WhenInoticedTheParentTrapwasonTV,I’dwanted

tomessagehim.WhenIgotanoldNirvanasongstuckinmyhead,I’dwantedtosendhimthelinktothevideo.Itwasabsurd,especially

consideringthefactthatI’dwantedlittlemorethantostranglehimlessthanaweekago.ButIcouldn’tdenyit.SomethingaboutRyderCrosshadgottentome,andas

muchasItried,Icouldn’tshakethefeelingofnothatinghim.Ofmaybesortoflikinghim.

RYDER:I’m glad tohear that, Amy.

Amy.Damnit.I’ddoneitagain.

I’dactuallyletmyselfforget.HethoughtIwasAmy.He

wasn’topeninguptomebuttoher.BecausewhileImaybesortoflikedRyder,hemaybesortofhatedme.Ishouldhavetoldhimthe

truthrightthen.IknowIshouldhave.Ishould’vetypedoutsomethinglike,Yeah,aboutthat.ThisisactuallySonny.Sorryfortheconfusion.ButIdidn’twant

tomakehimfeelweirdorembarrassedafteropeningupabouthisparents.SoIdecidedtowait.

RYDER:By the way, Iwatched The ParentTrap.ME:YOU DID?!?!RYDER:Don’t start withthe shouting again. Ha-ha.

RYDER:It was on TVon Saturday, and since Ihave yet to develop asocial life here …ME:And?ME:AND???RYDER:It was okay.ME:Just okay?RYDER:Just okay.ME:Our friendship isover. Done. Kaput. I

can’t associate withanyone who doesn’tlove The Parent Trap.RYDER:So we’refriends, then?

Ichewedonmylowerlip,myfingershoveringoverthekeyboard.Werewefriends?No.No,wecouldn’tbe.Notwhenwe’donlyreallyhadtwopleasantconversations

beforetonight.NotwhenhethoughtIwassomeoneelse.Butitfeltlikewewere.

ME:Well, we were untilyou expressed yourincorrect opinion of afilm classic.RYDER:It was theLindsay Lohan version.ME:Still a classic!RYDER:I take it back,

then. The film wasbrilliant.RYDER:So we can befriends now?

Ihesitatedbeforereplying.BecausewhatIwasabouttosaywasn’ttherightanswer.

ME:Yes.RYDER:Good.ME:Good.

ButthecloserRyderandIgotonline,themoreweseemedtoargueinreallife.Everyday,hesaidsomethingentirelyasshole-ish,which,ofcourse,Ihadtocallhimouton.ItwassocommonplacenowthatMr.Buckleyseemedresignedtolettingusfightitout.Butwheneveranyoneelse

saidsomethingrudetooraboutRyder,Ifeltalittledefensiveonhisbehalf.Like,itwasokayformetomockhim,butnooneelse.Becauseunlikethem,IknewtheothersideofRyder.Evenifhedidn’trealizeit.NotthatIhadn’ttriedtotell

thetruth.TwiceI’dattemptedtoIMhimfrommyaccount

toexplain,andbothtimeshe’dloggedoffimmediately.Sothatwasabust.ButprettymuchanytimeI

wasonAmy’saccount,he’dmessageme.Andacoupleoftimes,Iwastheonewhostartedtheconversation.

ME:Do you watch thelocal news?RYDER:Huh??

ME:The six o’clocknews. Do you watch it?RYDER:Um, no. Noone under the age offifty watches the localnews.ME:Well, give me awalker and call meGranny. Because I do.Every night.RYDER:I can’t decide if

that’s pathetic oradorable.ME:So one of theanchors, Greg Johnson,lives in Hamilton.RYDER:And?ME:And I ran into himtoday. I was pumpinggas when he and hisstepdaughter pulled up.She goes to school with

us, but she’s a fewyears younger. Asophomore, I think.RYDER:Uh-huh.ME:Anyway, I told himwhat a fan of his I was,and when we went in topay for our gas, he waslike, “Don’t worry, I gotthis. Anything for a fan.”RYDER:That’s nice of

him.ME:HE PAID FOR MYGAS!RYDER:WHY AREYOU SHOUTING?ME:BECAUSE IT’S ABIG DEAL!RYDER:Is it, though?ME:Excuse me, Mr. BigCity, but around hereGreg Johnson is

practically famous. He’sthe closest thing wehave to a celebrity inHamilton.RYDER:Again, not sureif this is sad or adorable.ME:He’s also veryhandsome, so there’sthat, too.RYDER:Is it weird thatI’m a little jealous of this

guy now?

Ifeltasmilespreadacrossmyface.Iknewitwaswrong.Iknewhethoughthewasflirtingwithmybestfriend,notme.ButIcouldn’thelpit.

ME:If you pay for mygas, I’ll call youhandsome, too.

RYDER:Duly noted.

BytheendofOctober,therewasnowayaroundit.Somehow,I’ddevelopedabig,stinkingcrushonRyderCross.Andhehadoneonmybest

friend.Butsomehow,IthoughtI

couldfixthat.IcouldturnthisaroundandmakeRyderseethatI,notAmy,wasthegirlheshouldbewith.Itwouldjusttakesomeplanning,alotoflying…Andalittlehelpfrommy

bestfriend.“Youwantmetodowhat?”

Amy’seyeswerewideandtotallyfreakedout.

Iglancedaroundourtabletomakesurenoonewaslistening.ItwasMonday,andI’dspenttheweekendpiecingtogethermyplanbeforespringingitonheroverlunch.Satisfiedthatweweren’t

beingspiedon—andthatRyderwasnowherenearus—Iexplained.

“Notjustyou.I’minonthis,too.”“That’snotexactly

comforting.”“Fairpoint.”Ipoppeda

soggyfrenchfryintomymouth.Onceagain,I’dliedtothecafeterialadysoIcouldgetafreelunch.NowthatIwasunemployed,thiswouldlikelybecomeanall-too-

regularoccurrence.Amyhadaskedthat

morningifIneededlunchmoney,butI’dsaidno.Shewasalreadydoingsomuchforme,lettingmestayinherroom,andIwouldn’ttakemoneyfromher,too.ItoldherIhadalittlecashsaved.And,ofcourse,shebelievedme.

“Trustme,though,”Isaid.“Thiswillwork.”“I’mnotsurewhatthisis.”“Right.Okay.”Ipushedmy

emptytrayasideandleanedforwardwithmyelbowsonthetable.“SoRyderlikesme,buthethinksI’myou.AndhehatesthemehethinksIam.Following?”“Barely.ButI’mconfused.

Youchattedwithhimagainafterthefirsttime?”“Just…once,”Isaid,

cringingalittle.Ithadbeenmorelikehalfa

dozentimes.“Oh,”Amysaid,clearly

madealittleuncomfortablebythis.“Thatmighthavebeennicetoknow.Itwould’veexplainedwhyhe

keptwavingtomeinthehallway,ifhethoughtwe’dbeenchattingonline.Iwishyou’dtoldmesooner.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Butitjust

sortofhappened.Ididn’tmeantodoitagain.”Andagain…andagain…“Well,I’mstillnotsurewhy

youcan’tjusttellhimit’syouhe’sbeentalkingto.”

“We’vebeenoverthis,”Isaidwithagroan.“I’vetried.Hewon’tletmegetawordoutinperson,andwhenItryoverIM,hejustlogsoff.AndI’mscaredifItellhimnoworwriteitinane-mail,he’llthinkI’vejustbeenscrewingwithhim.”“Sothealternativeis…

lyingtohimmore?”

“Precisely.Butforagoodcause.”“Agoodcause,”Amy

repeated,dubious.“Mylovelife,”Isaid.“It’s

indesperateneedofsomecharity.Helpingmewouldreallyjustbedoingagooddeed.”“Idon’tknow…”“What’stherenottoknow?”

Iasked.“Itwon’tbehardanditwon’ttakelong.Basically,wejusthavetoconvinceRyderthatit’sme,notyou,he’sinterestedin.Really,it’llbebeneficialtobothofus.”“Howdowedothat?”“I’mgladyouasked,my

dearest,bestestfriend.It’ssimple.Westartbymakinghimwarmuptome.I’llact

likeI’mjustplayingniceforyoursake,andhe’llagreebecausehe’sintoyou.Butthen,weconvincehimthatyouaren’tatallthekindofgirlhewantstobewith,makehimthinkhewaswrongaboutyou.Bythenhe’sgottenclosertome,realizedjusthowcharmingIactuallyam,andbam!RyderandIare

makingoutinGert’sbackseatwhileBoyzIIMenplaysonthestereo.”“Who?”Igaveheradisappointed

stare.“YoushouldreallylistentothatninetiesplaylistImadeyou.You’dunderstandsomanymoreofmyreferences.”Amydecidedtoignorethis

andreturnedtothemoreimportantconversation.“I’mstillnotsurewhatyouexpectmetodo,”shesaid.“HowdowemakeRyderthinkI’mwrongforhim?”“Well,first,Iwon’tIMhim

onyouraccountagain.AndifheIMsyou,youignorehim.Orsaysomethingrude.”Amygrimaced,asifthe

ideaofbeingrude,eventosomeoneshedisliked,wasphysicallypainful.“Oryoucanaskmetosay

somethingrude.Whatever.”“Andwhataboutin

person?”sheasked.“Wegotoschooltogether.Hethinkswe’vebeentalkingthiswholetime—he’salreadytryingtohangoutwithme.”

“Youblowhimoff,”Isay.“Actflaky.Orself-absorbed.”EvenasIsaidit,Iknewthis

wasgoingtoprovetobeachallengeforAmy.“I’llhelpyou,”Isaid.“You

guysdon’thaveanyclassestogether,anyway.Butwhenhedoescomeuptoyou,I’llbeyourdirector.We’reprettymuchtogetherallthetimeas

itis,andIknowexactlywhatittakestopissoffRyderCross.ImightaswellhaveaPhDinit.”“I’mstillnotsure…”“Please,Amy.”Iclasped

myhandstogetherandgaveherthebiggest,saddesteyesIcouldmanage.“Please.Ineedthis.”“Youreallylikehimthat

much?”sheasked.“Yeah.IthinkIdo.”Iwasnotaparticularly

romanticperson.Upuntilnow,I’donlyeverhadtwocrushesinmylife.ThefirstwasmychildishobsessionwithAmy’sbrother.ThesecondequallyasunattainablecrushwasonGregJohnson,thenews

anchor.Acelebritycrush,ifyouwill.ButRyderwasdifferent.

TheflutteryfeelingIgotinmystomachwasn’tbasedonhowhelooked(thoughstaringathiminhistoryclasswasnotentirelyunpleasant)orjustbecausehewasnicetome(becausehewasn’talways).Myfeelingsforhim

hadformedoverthecourseofourinstantmessageconversations—allofwhichhadlastedhours.I’dnevertalkedtoanyoneforhoursbefore,asidefromAmy.We’djustclicked.Hewassmartandsurprisinglyfunny.Evenifhewasalsoa

pretentioushipster.“Youhatedhimacoupleof

weeksago,”Amysaid.“Whatifyouchangeyourmindabouthimagain?”“Iwon’t,”Iassuredher.

“Believeme,Amy.He’snottheassholewethought.Imean,hesortofis,butnotexactly.Ugh.IknowIsoundcrazy.Justtellmeyou’llhelp.Youhaveto.”Shelookeddownather

half-eatenlunch.“IguessIwill.Aslongasitdoesn’tgoontoolong—”“Eee!Thankyou!”Isprang

acrossthetabletothrowmyarmsaroundher,mychestlandingrightinherplateoffrenchfries.“Iloveyou,Iloveyou,Iloveyou!Youaremyfavoritehumanbeing,AmyRush.”Andwiththat,I

plantedakissrightonhercheek.Sheblushed,eitherpleased

orembarrassed.Thenshesaid,“Um…Mr.Buckleyjustwalkedintothecafeteria,andhe’sgivingusaverystrangelook.Probablybecauseyou’reontopofthetable,so…”Ilaughedandpushedmyself

upandawayfromher,easingbackintomyseat.“I’vedoneweirderthingsinclass.He’susedtoit.”“Idon’tknowifthat’s

somethingtobragabout,”shesaid.Thenhereyeswidened.“Oh,no!Yourshirt.”“What?”Ilookeddown.Ketchup.Onmywhiteshirt.

Allovermyboobs.“Fan-freaking-tastic,”Isaid,

eventhoughIwaslaughing.“Sorry,”Amymoaned.Asif

itwasherfaultI’dlaunchedmyselfacrossthelunchtable.“It’scool,”Isaid.“I’lljust

telleveryoneI’mdressedasamurdervictim.Imean,we’reonlyafewdaysfromHalloween.Noonewillthink

twice.”Thebellrangandwethrew

ourtrashoutbeforeheadingtoourthirdblockclasses.“Ihavemygymclothesin

mylocker,”Amysaid.“YoucouldborrowthatT-shirt.Itmightbealittlestinky,butthere’snoketchuponit.”“It’sfine,”Isaid.“Maybe

I’llstartanewtrend.”

ButmymindchangedwhenIspottedRyderheadingdownthehallwaytowardus.TherealityofwhatImustlooklikehitme,andIwassuddenlyfarlesscomfortablewithit.Iwassupposedtobemakingagoodimpression,afterall,andperhapsitwasn’tbesttostartoffwithagiantredsplotchacrossmy

breasts.Iduckedintoanalcove,

draggingAmywithme.Wepressedagainstthewallandstayedquietashewalkedby,alone.Hewasalwaysalone.Myheartachedforhima

little,almostoverridingmyembarrassment.Oncehe’dturnedthenext

corner,headingtowardthelibrary,IletoutabreathIdidn’tknowI’dbeenholding.Amygavemeasmall,knowingsmile.“So…,”Isaid.“Yeah.

AboutthatstinkyT-shirt.”

“HowdoIlook?”Amysquintedtwovery

sleepyeyesatme.Shewasn’treallysupposedtobeawakeyet,butIwasabouttosneakoutbeforeherparentsgotup,andIneededheropiniononthiscrucialmatter.So,with

greateffort,I’dshakenheroutofsleeptoshowhertheoutfitI’dchosen.Jeans,newlycleanandalittlesnug,andahunter-greencowl-necksweaterwithelbow-lengthsleeves.ItwastheonlynicetopI’d

broughttoAmy’swithme,andI’dbeensavingitforspecialoccasionsor,nowthat

Iwasunemployed,jobinterviews.Interviewsthat,tomyintensedistress,hadnotyetoccurred.Itwasmygood-impressiontop,andtodayIneededtomakeadamngoodimpression.“Idon’tthinkyou’veever

askedmethatquestionbefore,”Amysaid.“Well,I’maskingyou

now.”Iglancedatthefull-lengthmirrorthathungonthebackofherbedroomdoor.Mycurls,despitemybestefforts,werestillalittlewild,buttheyweren’ttoooutrageous.“I’vegottobefriendlywithRydertoday,andSnobbyMcSnobbersonwon’tbesowillingifIlooklikethehomelessruffianthat

Iam.”“It’stooearlyforyoutouse

wordslike‘ruffian,’”Amymumbled.Shestretchedherarmsoverherheadandletoutahugeyawn.“Andifhe’ssosnobby,whyareyoudoingthis?”“Becausehe’scuteandI

wanttokisshisface.”“Right.”

“Theproblemis,hewantstokissyourface.Sotodayisthebeginningofourmasterplantochangethat.WhichmeansIneedtolookdecent,so…howdoIlook?”“Likeaback-to-school

clothingcommercial.”“Perfect.”Ipickedupmy

backpack,gavemyhaironelastcheck,andgrinnedat

Amy.“Today,itbegins.”“Mm-hm.”Sheflopped

backonthebed,eyesalreadyclosed.IhurriedoutoftheRushes’

houseanddownthestreettowhereGertwaited.And,tomyrelief,shedecidedtorunthatmorning.Iarrivedatschoolwith

enoughtimetopopintothe

bathroomandgivemyselfonemoreonce-overbeforeheadingtoMr.Buckley’sclass.Iwasfeelinguncharacteristicallynervous.Imighthavehadamajor

crushonRyder,buthestillcouldn’tstandme.WhichmeantIhadtoeasehimintoit.IfIcouldgethimtotolerateme,itwouldonlybe

amatteroftimebeforeherealizedthatI,notAmy,wasthepersonhewantedtomakeoutwith.Thiswasthemostcrucial

stepoftheplan,andIcouldn’taffordtoscrewitup.Theclassroomwasalmost

fullbythetimeIslidintomyseatbehindRyder.Hedidn’tevenlookupasIwalkedpast.

“Goodmorning,”Isaid.Noresponse.Butthat

wasn’tasurprise.I’dgoneoverandoverthe

wordsIwantedtosaytohim,thephrasingI’dusetoconvincehimtohearmeout.Butstaringatthebackofhishead,atthehunchedmusclesinhisshoulders,Ifeltmyselfstarttopanic.Whatifitjust

wentdownlikelasttime?Whatifhedidn’tletmegetawordout?WhatifImadehimhatemeevenmore?Whatifthiswasalljusta

wasteoftime?BeforeIcouldclimboutof

thedoomspiralI’dbeguntosinkinto,thebellrangandMr.Buckleyappeared.“So,”hesaid,walkingtothe

whiteboard.“WhowantstotalkabouttheTudors?”Isankbackintomyseat,the

momentlost.Iwouldn’tgetachancetotalktoRyderagainuntiltheendofclass,andthatwasonlyifhedidn’trushout,inahurrytogettohisnextclass.Theboydidputalotofemphasisonpunctuality.JustwhenIstartedtothink

I’dwastedmynicesweater,anideahitme.RyderandImayhavehad

somecommunicationproblemsoftheface-to-facevariety,butwewereaceswhenitcametocorrespondingviatext.Sure,hewasn’tawareofthatfact,butIwas.Andhecouldn’tinterruptmeifmywords

wereonpaper.Irippedasheetfrommy

notebookandpretendedtotakenotesonMr.Buckley’slecturewhilesecretlyscribblinganotetoRyder.Ittookmeafewtriestofigureouttherightwords,buteventually,Ihadit.

Hey.So,Iknowwehaveourissues,butyou’vebeen

talkingtoAmy,right?She’smybestfriend,andasawfulasyouthinkIam,Idowanthertobehappy.Socanweplaynice?Callatruce?Forher,attheleast.—S

I’llbehonest—writingsomeofthatmademenauseous.Ihadtofighttheurgetoripupthepaperand

justwritethetruth,thatitwasmehe’dbeentalkingto.ButIknewthatwouldgetmenowhere.He’djustthinkIwaslying,ironically.Orthatithadallbeensomemeanjoke.BeforeIcouldsecond-guess

mydecision,Ifoldeduptheslipofpaper,tappedRyderontheshoulder,andtossedit

intohislap.Iwatchedhimeyeitforaminute,nottouchingthepaper.Likehethoughtitmightexplodeorcontainanthraxorsomething.“Don’tbesodramatic,”I

whispered.Hesighed,justloudenough

formetohear,thenpickedupthenote.Slowly,heunfoldeditandbegantoread.

Ittookhimforever.Hiseyesmusthavescannedoverthewordsathousandtimes.Itwasagonizing.But,atlast,hepickedupapenandbegantoscribblehisownresponse.IheldmybreathasRyder

foldedthepaperbackup,neaterthanIhad,andquicklytosseditoverhisshoulderontomydesk.

IscoopeditupandalmosttorethepaperasIscrambledtoread.

Fine.ForAmy’ssake—truce.

Igrinnedaseverymuscleinmybodyrelaxed,relieved.Onlytothengorigidonce

moreasMr.Buckley’slectureshiftedawayfromsomeHenryoranotherand

ontoRyder.“Mr.Cross,”hesaid.“DidI

justseeyoupassMs.Ardmoreanote?”“Uh…”“BecauseIdon’tknowhow

theydidthingsatyouroldschoolinWashington,DC”—Mr.Buckleypausedassomeofourclassmateschuckled—“butatHamilton,

wedon’tcondonenotepassing.”“Mr.Buckley,I—”Ryder

began.“Hewasn’tpassingmea

note,”Icutin.Mr.BuckleyandRyderboth

turnedtofaceme.ButIwastotallycool.BecausewhilecommunicatingwithRydermayhavemademeanervous

wreck,lyingaboutitwassomethingIcoulddoinmysleep.“Excuseme,Ms.

Ardmore?”“Ryderwasn’tpassingmea

note,”Isaid.I’dalreadyswipedthepaperoffmydeskandhiddenitinmylapwhileMr.BuckleywaslookingatRyder.“Hewas…tossing

mesomethingelse.”“Oh?Andwhat’sthat?”“I’mnotsureifIshould

say,Mr.Buckley.”“Youcaneithersayittome

ortheprincipal,Ms.Ardmore.Yourchoice.”“Oh,okay.Ryderwas

tossingmea…uh…sanitarynapkin.Itfelloutofmypurseandhewasgivingit

backtome.”“A…oh.”Mr.Buckley’s

facehadturnedquitered.Ryder,however,looked

confused.Iwonderedifhe’deverheardapadreferredtoasasanitarynapkin.Sincehehadn’tgrownupreadingJudyBlumenovels,Idoubtedit.“Sorryaboutthat,Ms.

Ardmore,”Mr.Buckley

chokedout.“Ididn’tmeantodrawattentionto…suchaprivatematter.”“Nobigdeal,”Isaid.“It’s

justapad.”NowRyderhadcaughtup.

But,tohiscredit,helookedonlyslightlyuncomfortable.WhichwasmorethanIcouldsayforMr.Buckley.Whiletheclassbrokeoutinto

giggles,helookedtotallymortified.God,maleteacherswereso

easy.“Let’sgetbacktoEngland,

shallwe?”Heturnedtotheboard.Isatbackinmychair,

fightingasmirk.Itpaidtobeshameless.Afteranotherhalfhourof

takingnotes,thebellrang.IleanedforwardasRydershovedpapersintohisneatlylabeledhistoryfolder.“SorryifIembarrassed

you,”Isaid.“Youdidn’t.”Hisvoicewasstiff,andhe

didn’tlookatmeashegottohisfeet.Istood,too,andforaminute,Ithoughthewas

goingtowalkoutoftheclassroomwithoutanotherword.Buttomysurprise,heturnedtofaceme.“Thankyou,”hesaid.“For

thelie.Theweird,slightlyover-the-topliethat,nonetheless,keptmeoutoftrouble.”Didhejustusenonetheless

incasualconversation?Oh,I

knewIlikedhim.“Hey,whatarenon-enemies

for?”Iasked.“Besides,itwasmynote.Icouldn’tletyoutakecreditformyrulebreaking.Peoplemightstartthinkingyouwerecool.”Thecornersofhismouth

twitched,likehislipswantedtosmilebuthisbrainrefusedtoletthem.

Isawit,though.Andsomehow,IknewI’djustsucceededatsomething.“Seeyouaround,Ryder,”I

said,myshouldergrazinghisasImovedpasthim,headingfortheclassroomdoor.Ididn’tlookback,butpart

ofme,thepartthathadseenathousandbadromanticcomedies,hopedhewas

watchingmewalkaway.Amywaswaitingforme

outsideoftheclassroom,andweheadedtowardsecondblocktogether.“Howdiditgo?”sheasked.Ismirkedupather,Ryder’s

almost-smilefloodingmewithunexpectedconfidence.“He’llbeminesoonenough.”

Okay,somaybeIwasalittleoverconfident.Just,like,atinybit.Butsofarmyplanwas

workingprettybrilliantly.OnTuesday,IaskedRyderifIcouldborrowapen,andheletme.AndonThursday,he

helpedmepickupmybooksafterIaccidentally-on-purposeknockedthemoffmydesk.Progress!Myplanhadonefatalflaw,

however,becausewhileIwasmakingRydernotdespiseme,makinghimnotadoreAmywasprovingtobeimpossible.

Ryder,obviouslythinkingheandAmyhadagreatcyberconnection,kepttryingtoconnectwithherinreallife.Overthenextweek,hewalkeduptoherinthehallwaysatschool,wavedtoherintheparkinglot,andhecontinuedaskinghertositwithhimatlunch.Amyalwaysgavean

excuse,butthatwastheproblem.Amywassosweet,sopolite,thatnoonewouldrealizeshewastryingtoavoidthem.“We’vegottodosomething

aboutthis,”Isaid.“Steeringclearofhimisn’tgoingtobeenough.”“Idon’tknowwhatelseto

do,”shesaid.We’dmetin

theparkinglotbeforeschoolthatmorningandwerewalkingintothebuildingtogether.“Andhekeepstextingmethesushiemoji.”Ilaughed.“Idon’tgetit,”shesaid.“It’saninsidejoke.Wehad

anemojiwaronce.Itendedoveremojisushi.”“Well,Idon’tknowhowto

respondtoit.”“Don’t,”Isaid.“Infact…

letmedoit.Youmightbetoonicetoscarehimoff,butI’mnot.Here.Givemeyourphone.”Shepulleditfromherpurse

andhandeditover.“Youcanholdontoit,”shesaid.“LikeItoldyoubefore—theonlypeoplewhoevercallortext

meareyouandmybrother.Well,andRydernow,Iguess,buthe’sactuallytextingyou,so…”Ipocketedthephoneand

gaveheraone-armedhug.“Thankyou.HaveItoldyoulatelythatyou’rethebest,mostgenerous,prettiestfriendIhave?”“Yes.LastnightwhenIlet

youborrowmynailpolish.”“Right.”“Andagainfiveminutesago

whenIletyouhavethelastsipofmycoffee.”“Noted.I’mavery

appreciativeperson.You’reluckytohaveme.”“Andyou’resomodest,

too.”Sheelbowedmewithagrin.“Butwhatarewegoing

todoaboutRyder?Ifmeavoidinghimisn’tgoingtowork,then—”ButbeforeAmyhadeven

gottenthequestionout,wefoundourselvesface-to-facewiththedevilhimself.Ryderhadjustroundedthecorner,andhewasheadingourway.Amyonlyhadtimeto

mutteranervous“Crap”

beforehewasstandingrightinfrontofus.“Amy,”hesaidwitha

brightsmile.Asmilethatshould’vebeen

forme.ButIshookoffthesudden,irrationalpangofjealousy.“Hi,”Amysaid,fidgeting

nexttome.“Howareyou?”heasked.

“Okay.”Sheglancedatme,hereyesbeggingforhelp.OnlythendidRyderactuallyseemtonoticethatIwasstandingthere.“Oh,Sonny,”hesaid.“Hito

you,too.”“Hey.Didyoureadthe

chaptersforMr.Buckley’sclass?”“Ialwaysreadthe

chapters.”Hisvoicewasflatandobvious,withoutatraceofhumor.“Right,”Isaid,feelinglike

anidiotforasking.Becauseofcoursehehad.HewasRyderCross.Anddespitetheprogresswe’dmade,apparentlyweweren’tquiteatsmalltalklevelyet.“Reallyinterestingstuffwe’vebeen

readingabout.Englandandbeheadingsandall.”Buthiseyeswerealready

backonAmy.“Listen,”hesaid.“Iknow

you’vebeenbusylately,butIwasthinkingmaybewecouldgettogetherthisweekend.There’sanIranianfilmthatjustcameout,andIthoughtwecouldgoseeittogether.”

“Um…well.”Amylookedatmeagain,asifIcouldsomehowhelpheroutofthisone.WhenIjustshrugged,her

eyesbegansearchingelsewhere,andafterasecondshegrabbedmyarm.“Ihavetopee,”she

announced.“Berightback.”Andshepromptlybegan

draggingmetowardthebathroom,leavingRyderwithalookofpronouncedconfusionetchedonhisface.“Well,that’sonewayto

makehimstopworshippingyou,”Isaidoncewewerestandinginfrontoftherowofsinks.“Talkingaboutyourbodilyfunctions.”“Hekeepsaskingmeout,”

shesaid.“Andhe’sjustgoingtoaskagainifItellhimI’mbusythisweekend.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“We’ve

gottacomeupwithanotherwayto…Wait.”“What?”“Ihaveanidea.Avoiding

himisn’tgoingtowork,right?You’retooniceandhejustkeepstrying.Somaybe

whenyoudohavetotalktohim,youcoulddothingslikewhatyoujustdid.”“Talkaboutmybodily

functions?”“Amongotherthings,”I

said.“Beweird.Beallthethingshecan’tstand.”“Idon’tknowwhathecan’t

stand,”shesaid.“Well…Iknowhedoesn’t

likepeoplewhoareflaky.Orpeoplewhoarelateforthings.Hehateswhenpeopleareirresponsibleandhe’skindofasnob,sopopculturereferencesgetonhisnerves.”“So…Ishouldactlike

you?”sheoffered.“Heynow.”“I’mkidding.”Shechewed

onherbottomlip.“But…I

don’tknow.Idon’twanttoberude.”“Yes,”Isaid.“Youdo.For

onceinyourlifeyoudo.”“Sonny…”“Itwon’tkillyou,”Iassured

her.“Comeon.Please.Justbealittleweird.Andnotcute,adorkableweird.He’dprobablybeintothat.”“Idon’t—”

“Notime,”Isaid.“Let’sgo.”Idraggedherbackoutof

thebathroom.Asexpected,Ryderwasstillwaitingrightwherewe’dlefthim.HesmiledatAmy.“Everythingokay?”he

asked.“Oh,ye—”Shestopped,

glancedatme,andthen

clearedherthroat.“No.I’malittlebloated,so…”Ryderraisedaneyebrow.

“Okay…anyway.Soaboutthatdate?”“Can’t,”Amysaid.“I,uh…

There’saRealHousewivesmarathononthisweekend.Ihavetowatchit.”“YouwatchrealityTV?”As

expected,heappearedtobe

disgustedbythisrevelation.“She’sobsessed,”Isaid,

chimingin.“Deeplyobsessed.She’sseeneveryseasonofTheRealWorld,too.Eventheoldonesthatcameonbackinthenineties.”Amynodded.“Yep.SoI’ll

bebusythisweekend.”“Can’tyourecordit?”

Ryderasked.“The

marathon?”“I…um…No.Ican’t.I

haveto,uh,live-tweetit.”Butshecouldn’tresistadding,“Sorry.”“That’sokay.Maybe

anothertime.NextSaturday—”“Amy,don’tyouneedtoget

toclass?”Iasked.“Thebell’sabouttoring.You’llbelate.

Again.”“Huh?Oh.”Shenodded.

“Right.Late.I’malwayslate.LateAmy.That’swhatmyteacherscallme,so…Okay.Bye.”Shetookoffdownthe

hallway.Ryderfrownedafterher,thenheturnedtome.“Thatwas…different.Issheokay?”

“What?No.She’salwayslikethat,”Ilied.“Sheis?”Ryderlooked

skeptical.“Thatdidn’tseemliketheAmyIknow.”“Youdon’tknowheras

wellasyouthink.”“Hmm.”“Comeon,”Isaid,eagerto

changethesubject.“Weshouldgettoclass,too.”

RydernoddedandhefellintostepwithmeasweheadedforMr.Buckley’sclassroom.Despitemyfailedattemptbefore,Itriedtostartaconversationwithhimagain.Iskippedthesmalltalk,though,andwentstraightforthebigguns.“Sohow’syourdad’s

campaigngoing?”

Rydershrugged.“Noidea.Why?”“I’mjustcurious.Tuesday

iselectionday,andIknowhe’srunningforreelection.”ButsinceSenatorCrossdidn’trepresentourregion,Irealizedthatmighthavebeenaweebitstrange,soIadded,“Amytoldme.”“MydadandIaren’t

exactlyspeakingrightnow.AndIdon’tseethatchanginganytimesoon.”“Oh.I’msorrytohearthat.I

knowhiscampaigniskindofabigdeal.IjustthoughtyoumightbegoingtoDCtohelphimwithit.”“I’msureyouandeveryone

elseinthisschoolwouldlovethat,”hesaidasweentered

theclassroomandtookourseats.“No,”Isaidquickly.

“That’snotwhatImeant.Iwasjustwondering.”“Well,toansweryour

question,no.Idon’tparticularlywanthimtowin,so…”“That’sprettyharsh,”Isaid,

surprised.Iknewwhathis

dadhaddone,butI’dalsodonesomeresearchonSenatorCross.Hewas,withoutquestion,ashittyhusband,butbyallaccounts,hewasagoodpolitician.He’dbeenthechampionofseveralprogressivebillsoverthepastfewyears,andheseemedtobedoingalottohelpthepoorandmiddle

classinMaryland.Hotsupermodelmistress

aside,Iwould’vevotedfortheguy.“Nothinghedoesn’t

deserve,”Rydersaid.Iwasn’tsurehowto

respondtothat,notwhenItechnicallywasn’tsupposedtoknowthedetailsofthefalling-outwithhisdad.Iwas

savedthetrouble,however,whenthebellrangandclasswasunderway.Anhourandahalflater,I

caughtupwithAmyassheleftherfirstblockclass.“Ifitisn’tLateAmy,”I

teased.“Youstillbloated?Also,wow,thatsoundslikeapregnancyjoke.”“Ugh.”Shegroaned.“I

didn’tknowwhattosay.Thatwassoawful.”“No,itwasn’t,”Itoldher.

Wewereweavingourwaythroughthecrowdedhallway.Foraschoolthatbarelyhadfourhundredstudents,HamiltonHighcouldgetsurprisinglycongested.“Actually,youwereperfect.Justdothateverytimeyou

seeRyder,andhe’llbeoveryouinnotime.”“ButIdon’twanttodo

that,”Amysaid.“Itwassoawkward.”“Itwassupposedtobe.”I

loopedmyarmthroughhers.“Don’tworry.It’llbefine.Justafewmoreencounterswithweird,flakyAmyandthisthingwillallbedone.”

Amylookedlikeshewasabouttoprotest,butthenIrealizedsomething.“Crap.Ileftmytoothbrush

inyourbathroomthismorning.Youdon’tthinkyourparentswillgointhere,right?Andnotice?”“Noticeyourtoothbrush?”

Amyshookherhead.“Idoubtit.Theyhavenoreason

togointhere.Theyhavetheirownbathroom.”“Good,”Isaid,relieved,as

weslidintoourseatsinMrs.Perkins’sEnglishclass.“I’vebeengettingsloppylately.Ileftmyshoesonthemattheothernight,andtwodaysagoIforgottolockthefrontdooronmywayout.”“Well,”Amysaid,pulling

outhertextbook,“theyhaven’tsaidanythingtomeaboutanyofthosethings.”“Yeah.Iknow.I’mjust

paranoid.”“Ifyou’rereallythat

worriedaboutit,wecouldjusttellthem,”shesuggested.“Theywon’tcarethatyou’restaying,Sonny.I’vetoldyou.Ifyoujusttellthemyouwere

kickedout—”Ishookmyhead.“No.It’ll

betoocomplicated.They’llwanttotalktomymomand…justno.It’sbetterifwekeepthingsthewaytheyare.”Amysighed.“Okay,”she

said.“Istilldon’tseewhattheproblemis,butit’syourchoice.AfewweeksagoI

would’vesaidthere’snowaywecouldkeepitfrommyparentsforthislong,butclearlythat’snotthecase.”“Iamamagnificentsneak,”

Isaid.“TheRussiansshouldhiremeasaspy.Infact,forallyouknow,maybetheyalreadyhave.”“Youjusttoldmelikethree

thingsthatcould’vegiven

youaway,”Amypointedout.“Buttheydidn’t!”I

declared.Amyshookherhead,

giggling.“Ishouldstopworrying

aboutit,though,”IsaidasMrs.Perkinsenteredtheroomandbeganscribblinginstructionsonthewhiteboard.“Yourparents

figuringthingsout,Imean.It’sbeenafewweeks.IftheyweregoingtofindoutIwaslivingwithyou,theywouldhavebynow.I’mprobablyintheclear.”

“WeknowSonny’sbeenlivinghere.”SomaybeI’dspokentoo

soon.Itwasthenextday,

Saturday,whichmeantI’dbeensecretlylivingintheRushes’houseforalmosta

month.I’dreallythoughtIwasintheclear,butwhenMr.RushhadaskedAmyandmetocometalktohimandMrs.Rushinthelivingroom,Iknewwewerebusted.“What…whatareyou

talkingabout?”Amysqueaked.Poorthing.Theguiltwasalloverherprettylittleface.Shehadtheworst

pokerfaceI’deverseen.“We’veknownforawhile,”

Mr.Rushsaid.“Contrarytopopularbelief,mywifeandIaren’ttotallyoblivious.”“You’veleftafewclues,”

Mrs.Rushpointedout.“Andwe’veheardyousneakinginatnight.You’renotexactlythequietestperson,Sonny.”“Wealsoseemedtobe

runningoutoffoodfasterthanusual,”Mr.Rushadded.“Whydidn’tyousay

anythingbefore?”Iasked.“Ifyou’veknown…”“Wewerehopingyou’d

cometouswithwhateverwasgoingonwhenyouwereready,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Butitwasbecomingclearthatmightnothappenanytime

soon.”Ileanedbackagainstthe

couchcushion¸pullingmysockedfeetupandhuggingmykneestomychest.Iwasholdingdownthewaveofpanicrisinginmystomach.“Sonowwehavesome

questionsofourown,”Mr.Rushcontinued.“Yes,”Mrs.Rushagreed.

“Like,Sonny,whyhaveyoubeenlivinghereforthepastfewweeks?Youknowyou’realwayswelcomehere,butyousecretlymovinginissomethingelseentirely.We’reconcernedandwe’dliketoknowwhat’sgoingonunderourownroof.”“I…I…”Iswallowed.Comeon,Sonny.Yougotthis.

You’regoodatthis.Justlie.Lie,lie,lie.“Idon’tknow.It’snothing,really.Homeisjustboring,so…”Damnit.Notmybestwork.Butmyheartwasracingandmypalmswereallsweaty.“I’lljustgohome.It’sfine.”Buttheideaofgoingback

tomyhousemadethepanicevenworse.

Istartedtostandup,butAmycaughtmyarm.“No,”shesaid.“Tellthem,

Sonny.”Mr.Rushraisedaneyebrow

whilehiswifefrownedwithconfusion.“Telluswhat?”sheasked.ButI’dlostmywords.I

couldalwayscomeupwithananswer.Ihadalieready

foranything.AndI’dliedaboutthis,aboutmymom,athousandtimesovertheyears.Itshould’vebeeneasy.Butthisliewasalittlebigger—itinvolvedmorepeoplewithmorepotentialtopokeholesinwhateverIsaid—andIfeltsuddenlystuck.Icouldn’tthinkofalieto

tell.Notonethatwouldn’t

involvemorequestions.Ineededasecondtothink.Luckily,Amyboughtmea

littletime.“Shewaskickedout,”she

toldherparents.“Shedidn’twanttotellyou,buthermomkickedherout.Soshe’sbeenstayinghere.”“What?”Mr.Rushsaid.

“Whywouldshekickyou

out,Sonny?”Istaredatmyfeet,theheat

ofembarrassmentcreepingupmyneck.Icouldn’tseetheirfaces,andIhopedtheycouldn’tseemineasIshovedouttheonlylieIcouldthinkof.“Pot,”Imuttered.“Really?”Amywhispered.

“Youdidn’ttellmethatpart.”

Amyhadbeenbegging,inherindirectsortofway,fordetailsofmyejectionfrommymother’shomeforweeks.I’dalwayschangedthesubjectorsaidIdidn’twanttotalkaboutitorpretendedIhadn’theardherask.ThelessItalkedaboutmymom,thebetter.“Marijuana?”Mrs.Rush

said.“That…doesn’tsoundlikeyou,Sonny.”“No,”Mr.Rushagreed.“It

doesn’t.”“I…Ionlyuseditonce,”I

managed.“Butmymomfoundout,and…”“Andshekickedyouout,”

Mr.Rushfinishedthesentenceforme.“Well,Iwouldn’tbethrilledifIwere

hereither,butthatseemslikeabitofanoverreaction.”“That’swhyshe’sbeen

stayinghere,”Amysaid.“I’msorrywedidn’ttellyoutwosooner.Butcanshekeepstayinghere?Please?”“Sonny’salwayswelcome,”

Mrs.Rushsaid.“ButIthinkweshouldspeaktohermotherabout—”

“No.”Myheadshotup.“No,that’sabadidea.”“It’sbeenweekssinceshe

kickedyouout,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Surelyshe’srealizedwhatanoverreactionthisis.”“Weshouldtalktoher.Try

toconvinceher…,”Mrs.Rushbegan.ButIwasshakingmyhead

sohardithurt.“No,”Isaid

again.“I’ve…I’vetried.She’sreallystrictaboutthisstuff.She’snothavingit.”“Doessheatleastknow

whereyouare?”Mrs.Rushasked.Inodded.“Yeah.Imean,

whereelsewouldIbe?”Amysqueezedmyhand.“Weshouldstillcallher,”

Mr.Rushsaid.“Justsoshe

knowsforsurethatyou’resafeand—”“I’lldoit,”Isaidquickly.“Areyousure?”Mrs.Rush

asked.“Shemightwanttospeaktousabout—”“Ifshedoes,I’lltellyou,”I

said.“Justletmedoit.Please.Thatis,ifyou’regoingtoletmestayhere?”Amy’sparentsglancedat

eachother,thenbackatme.“Sonny,ofcourseyoucan

stayhere,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Infact,youshould’vetoldussooner.Wewouldn’thavebeenupset.”“Thatsaid,wedon’t

condoneillegalsubstancesinthishouseeither,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Soifyouaregoingtocontinuestayinghere,no

pot.”“Noproblem,”Isaid.Truthbetold,I’dnever

smokedpotinmylife.Notforanymoralorethicalreason(clearlymymoralswereallovertheplace),butIjusthadn’thadmuchofaninterest.Ilikedtobeabletothinkquickonmyfeet.Allthebetterforlying,mydear.

Adrugthatsloweddownthebrain,evenjustforalittlebit?Nothanks.“Youhavethesamecurfew

asAmy,then,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Allthesamerules.”“Andyouhavetocallyour

mother.Rightafterwefinishuphere,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Iknowyouthinksheknowswhereyouare,butI’drather

notleaveherguessing.Shestillcaresaboutyou.She’llwanttoknowyou’resafe.”Inodded.ButIwasn’tsosurehewas

right.Mrs.Rushgottoherfeet.“I

bettergogettheguestroomsetup,then.”“That’sokay,”Isaid.“I

don’tmindstayinginAmy’s

room.”“Areyousure?”Mrs.Rush

asked.“It’sgottobealittlecrowdedinthereforthebothofyou.Aslumberpartyisonething,butfull-time…”“Wedon’tmindsharing,”

Amyassuredher.“Well,I’matleastgoingto

cleartheclosetsoshecanhangherclothesup,”Mrs.

Rushsaid.“Goodlord,Sonny.Haveyoubeenlivingoutofaduffelbagthiswholetime?”Inodded.Sheshookherheadand

gavemeahug,asifthiswasthesaddestthingshe’deverheard.Oncesheletgo,sheheadedforthestairs.“Amy,honey,whydon’tyougoput

somefreshtowelsforbothofyouinthebathroom.”“Okay.”Amystoodup,

gavemeafleetingglance,thenfollowedhermotherupthestairs.WhichleftonlyMr.Rush

andme.Therewasalongsilenceat

first,anditwassopainfullyawkwardthatIhadtosay

somethingormybrainmightexplode.“Thankyouforlettingme

stay.”“Don’tevenmentionit,”he

said.“YouandAmyhavebeenbestfriendsforhowlong?Wemightaswellmakeyoulivinghereofficial.”Hesmiled,buttherewasasadnessinit.“Sonny,areyou

sureyoudon’twantmetocallyourmother?”“I’lldoit,”Isaid.“I’lltell

herwhereIam.”Henodded.“Butifyoudo

needtotalkaboutsomething,don’thesitatetocometoMrs.Rushorme.Iknowthatprobablygoeswithoutsaying,but…”“Thankyou,”Isaid.“I

will.”“Good.”Hestoodup.“I’m

goingtogogetdinnerstarted.Callyourmother,okay?”“Yes,sir.”IstillhadAmy’scellphone,

andwhenMr.Rushlefttheroom,Ipulleditout.Istaredatthekeypadforalongtimebeforedialingthefamiliarnumber.OneI’ddialedover

andoverandoveragaininthepastfewweeks.“Sorry,butthenumberyouhavedialedisdisconnectedorisnolongerinservice.”Ihungupandputthephone

away,blinkingbacktears.“Theclosetandthedresser

areempty,”Mrs.Rushannouncedasshemadeherwaybackdownthestairs.

“They’reallyours.”“Thankyou.”Istoodup.

“I’llgoputmyclothesaway.”“Didyoucallyourmother?”

sheasked.Inodded.“Yeah.Shesaid

she’snotreadyformetocomehomeyet,butshe’sgladI’mokay.Shesaysthanksforlettingmestay.”

Mrs.Rushsmiledandtouchedmyshoulder.“Good,”shesaid.“Letmeknowifyouneedanything,okay?”“Iwill.Thankyou.”Icouldn’tsayitenough.

Thankyouforlettingmestay.Thankyoufornotaskingmorequestions.ItwasmorethanIdeserved.More

thanmostpeoplewouldgivetheirdaughter’sdelinquentbestfriend.Iwasn’tactuallya

delinquent,butbasedontheliesI’djusttold,theythoughtIwas.Butstill,theywerelettingmelivehere.That’sjustthekindofpeopletheRusheswere.IwentuptoAmy’sroom

andgrabbedmybag.Itookittotheguestroomandstartedtossingmywrinkledclothesintodrawersandputtingthenicerthings(i.e.,myonenicesweater)onhangers.Iwasalmostdonewhen

Amy’sphonebuzzedinmybackpocket.IlookedatthescreenandsawthatitwasatextfromRyder.

My dad knows I knowabout the model andnow he won’t stopcalling. I never answer.He won’t take the hint.

Iwassupposedtorespondwithsomethingobnoxiousorbizarre.Somethingtomakehimquestionwhyhe’deverlikeAmy.ThatwaswhyIhadthephone,afterall.But

justthen,withmymother’ssilenceringinginmyears,Icouldn’tholdbackthewordsIreallywantedtosaytohim.

Answer him. He mightbe a dick, but at least hewants to talk to you.

ItonlytookRyderasecondtorespond.

That wasn’t the reply I

expected. Is everythingokay?

Notforthefirsttime,Ifounditwaseasiertobehonestintextformthaninreallife.

Not really.

Is it your mom?

Yes.

Do you want to talkabout it? I’m here tolisten. You’ve listened tome complain plentyabout my parents.

Actually, I’d rather talkabout anything but thatright now.

We can do that, too.

Weshouldn’thave.I

shouldn’thave.Butwedid.

***

Thenextday,myhuntforemploymentfinallypaidoff.Igotane-mailfromthe

bookstoreatthemall,invitingmeforaninterview.Isatdownwiththemanager

afterschoolonMonday,butonlyforafewminutes.Igot

thesensetheywouldhireprettymuchanyone.“It’sretail,”themanager,

Sheila,said.“Wegetprettybusyaroundtheholidays.”“Sothiswouldjustbe

seasonal?”Iasked,alittledisappointed.Anyjobwoulddo,butIwasgoingtoneedonewellpasttheendoftheyear.

“Yes,”Sheilasaid.“Butthere’salwayspotentialforyoutobehiredoninthenewyear,too.”“Potentialisgood.”“Soyou’rein?”“Definitely.”WhileIfeltalittleguilty

aboutmoochingofftheRushes,atleastnowI’dhavemoneytopayformygasand

lunchwithouthavingtolieorborrowfromAmy.Icouldalsostartsavingupfornewclothes,sinceIhadn’tpackedmanywinteroutfitswhenIleftmyhouse.“Also,”AmysaidwhenI

toldherthegoodnewsthatnight,“youcangetmeadiscountonbooks.”“Becauseyoudon’thave

enoughofthose,”Isaid,gesturingtotheoverflowingbookcasenexttoherdesk.“Haveyouevenreadallofthose?Orevenhalf?”“It’smoreaboutthe

collection,”shesaid.Irolledmyeyes.“Oneday,

you’regoingtobeonarealityTVshow,buriedunderyourcollectionandneedinga

seriousmentalhealthintervention.”“Andyou’llbethe

concernedfriendwho,insteadoffindingmethehelpIneed,decidestogetmeonTV.”“Hey,girl.Ineedmyclose-

up,too.”Webothburstintogiggles,

foroncenotworriedaboutbeingtooloudorwakingher

parents.Ihavetoadmit,itwasnicetobedonewiththesneakingaround.Betweenthatandthenewjob,ahugeweighthadbeenliftedoffmyshoulders.Unfortunately,therewere

stillacouplemoreIcouldn’tseemtoshake.

IhadthisrecurringnightmarethatstartedwhenIwaseleven,whenthingswithmymombegangoingsouth.Ormoresouththanthey’d

alreadybeen.Thedreambeganinmy

bedroombackhome.Iwas

doingsomething—homeworkorreading,Iwasneverreallysure—whenIheardthefrontdoorslam.Fromthere,itwasalwaysthesame.I’dgetupandcallouttomymom,buttherewouldonlybesilence.Thick,unnaturalsilence.Eventhebirdsoutsidemywindowseemedmutedallofa

sudden.SoI’dleavemybedroomandfindthatthehousewasnearlypitch-black.Thesun,whichhadbeenshiningthroughmybedroomwindow,vanished.I’dkeepcallingformymomandhuntingforalightswitch,buttheyweren’twheretheyweresupposedtobe.Andneitherwasthefurniture.I’dreachto

putmyhandonthecounterorgotositonachairandfindnothingthere.Eventually,I’dgotomymom’sroom,sureshe’dbethere.Sureshe’dbeabletofixwhateverhadhappenedtoourhouse.Butthedoortoherroom

wasliketheentrancetoablackhole.Thedarknesswasthicker.Darkerthanblack.I

screamedforMom,buttheholeswalloweditup.ThatwaswhenI’dwakeup,

shakinganddesperateforasound,anysound,justtoknowIwasn’talone.SometimesI’dgomonths

withouthavingthedream,andsometimesithappenedeveryothernight.Ithadbeenawhilethis

time.IguessAmy’ssnoreshadchasedanynightmaresofsilenceaway.ButthedayafterIgotmynewjob,thenightmarecameagain.Iwokeupwithanother

screamonmylips,andIhadtobiteitback.Theroomwassodarkthat,foraminute,Icouldn’trememberwhereIwas.Nexttome,Amy

snored,loudandlong.Itwasasmallcomfort,butafterafewsecondsofdeepbreathsandcalmingthoughts,Istillcouldn’trelax,letalonegetbacktosleep.“Amy,”Iwhispered,

nudgingherarmandfeelingonlyalittleguiltyaboutdisruptingherbeautysleep.“Hey,Amy.”

Apparently,Iwasn’tinterruptinganythingtonightbecauseallshedidwassnortandrollawayfromme.Don’tbestupid,Ithought.You’renotalone.She’srightthere,evenifshecan’thearyou.Gobacktosleep,Sonny.Buttheroomseemedtoo

dark,andtheideaofclosingmyeyes,ofaddinganother

layerofblackness,mademyheartthumpuncomfortablyinmychest.“Screwit,”Imumbled,

throwingtheblanketsoffofme.IclimbedoverAmy,grabbedhercellphonefromthedresser,andtiptoedoutoftheroom.Theminutethelightinthe

recroomflickeredon,itwas

instantlyeasiertobreathe.Likethedarknesshadactuallybeenpressingdownonme,crushingmychest.Iwalkedovertothecouchandfloppeddownonmyback,Amy’sphonestillinmyhand.Oneofthebenefitsofborrowingherphonewhileminewasoutofcommission:Shehadasmartphone.Which

meantgames.I’dalreadydownloadedafewfreeones,alongwithsomehumorous,inappropriatetexttonesthatAmyhadn’tfoundquiteasfunnyasIhad.Butevensillyphonegames

withtheirbrightcolorsandfunnysoundscouldn’tchaseawaythelingeringnightmare.Ortheknowledgethat,even

thoughtherecroomwasbrightandfamiliar,Iwasstillaloneinhere.Ican’texplainwhatIdid

next.Itwasstupidandself-destructiveandwrongonmany,manylevelsIdidn’tcaretothinkabout.ButIwaslonely,andIneededtotalktosomeone.Anyonewouldhavedone,really.Butthere

wasonlyonepersonIknewmightbeawakeatoneinthemorningonaschoolnight.WhichjustsohappenedtobethefirstTuesdayinNovember.Well,IguesstechnicallyitwasWednesdaynow.Whatever.

So did your dad win theelection?

Ryderhadtextedafew

timesinthepastcoupleofdays,butI’deithernotrespondedorjustrepliedwithemojisthatmadenosenseinthecontextofhiscommentorquestion.Andwhenhesentbackaquestionmark,Ididn’treply.Howwasthatforflaky?Honestly,itwasprobablyprettygoodprogressonthemake-him-think-Amy-

was-a-weirdofront,buthereIwas.Messingitallupagain.JustasI’dexpected,hewas

awake,anditonlytookhimasecondtotextmeback.

He did. Unfortunately.

Not so unfortunate forhis constituents, though.I looked him up. Heseems to be doing some

good things.

Sure. When he’s notdoing the model.

BeforeIcouldrespond,Rydersentanothermessage.

He still wants me tocome visit forThanksgiving.

Will you?

Of course not.

But don’t you want tovisit DC? I know youmiss it.

I don’t think I doanymore. I’m pretty sickof DC.

Ifrowned.Iknewthingswerebadwithhisdad,butthiswasasharpturnaround

fortheguywho’dcomparedeverylittledetailofHamiltontotheinfinitelysuperiorWashington,DC,sincehe’darrived.But,thinkingaboutit,IhadseenfarfewersnarkyFacebookstatusessincehe’dlearnedthetruthabouthisdad.Still,DCwashishome.Itwaswherehe’dgrownup.Itwaswherehisoldfriends

were,eveniftheyhaddriftedapartsome.Iwouldhaveexpectedhimtotakeanyopportunitytovisit,evenifforonlyadayortwo.Hedidn’tseemeagertotalk

aboutthat,though,becausehesentanothermessagestraightaway.

I know it’s only been aweek, but I’ve missed

these late-night chats.

Yeah. Me, too. I’ve beenkeeping my insomniamostly at bay. But Icouldn’t sleep tonight.Nightmare.

What about?

It wouldn’t make anysense if I explained it.

Try me.

Ialmostdidn’treply.Ialmostendedtheconversationrightthere.Ishouldhave.I’dnevertoldanyoneabout

mynightmare.NotevenAmy.I’dcalledherinthemiddleofthenightafewtimes,panickedanddesperatetohearsomeone’svoice,butI’dalwaysglossedoverwhat

thedreamwasabout.I’djustsaysomethinglike,“Somethingbadhappenedtomymom”or“Iwastrappedinadarkhouse.”Ineverwentintodetails.Ididn’twanttoopenthatdoor.Toexposethatdark,brokenplaceinsideofmewhereallthebadthingslived.Butforsomereason,I

wantedtotellRyder.Maybebecause—andyes,Iknewthiswassick—hewouldn’tknowitwasme.Therewassecurityinknowinghe’dthinkitwasAmy’snightmare.Amy’sdark,brokenplace.Iwasstillfreakedoutand

didn’twanttocutoffthecontactwithanotherperson

justyet,soIfoundmyselfwritingoutthedream,takingupseverallongtextstodoso.WhenIhitSENDonthelastone,theonethatexplainedmymother’sbedroom,Ifeltapangofregret.Toomuch,Ithought.Toohonest.Tooclose.Ididn’tthinkhe’dreply.

Maybethiswouldhelphim

getoverAmyonceandforall.Butthen:

Things really are badwith your mom, aren’tthey?

Yeah.

I’m sorry about thenightmare. But they sayif you talk about it, you

won’t dream it again.

Does that count withtexting?

I guess you’ll find out.

Ismiled.Actually,Ididfeelalittlebetterhavingitoffmychest.Theshakinghadstoppedandmyheartbeathadsloweddown.Imightevenmanagetofallbacktosleepif

Itriedto.Butrightnow,forbetteror

worse(definitelyworse),Iwantedtokeeptalkingtohim.

Thanks for letting meshare.

Of course. I just wish Iwas there with you.

Ifeltamischievoussmile

tuggingatmylipsasItypedmyresponse.

Oh, yeah? Why? Whatwould you do if youwere here?

Foraminute,hedidn’trespond,andIwasworriedImighthavescaredhimoff.Ishould’veknownbetter,though.Attheendoftheday,hewasstillaguy.

Are we really doing this?

Do you WANT to dothis?

I do, but I have no ideahow. I’ve never done itbefore.

You never sent sexytexts to Eugenia?

No. Have you?

No, I have never sextedwith Eugenia.

You’re hilarious.

I know.

Pause.

If I were there, I wouldlie on the bed next toyou and pull you into myarms.

I’m actually on a couchright now.

Are you TRYING tomake this difficult forme?

No. Sorry. Continue.

Then I would … kissyour neck?

Isnorted.

You seem unsure aboutthat.

You make me nervous.I’d be nervous if I werethere with you.

Ifeltmyheartpoundharder.Therewassomethingsosweetabouthimsayingthat.Aboutthesnobby,confidentRyderadmittinghe’dbenervousifwewerealone

together.

I’d be nervous, too.

Here’sanothertruth:Iwasavirgin.Notonlythat,butinseventeenyears,I’donlybeenkissedonetime,byDavyJenningsattheninth-gradehomecomingdance.Hisbreathtastedlikerootbeerandithadbeenenoughtokillourfledglingromance.

MostofwhatIknewaboutsexcamefromcopiousamountsoftelevision,unintentionallyhilariousCosmoarticles,andmyinterrogationofAmy,whohadswipedherV-cardatsummercamplastyear.That’ssomethingIdoubted

anyonewouldexpect.Thatoutofthetwoofus,Iwasthe

virginwithvirtuallynosexualexperiencewhilegoody-goodyAmywasnot.Butrightnow,tryingto

thinkofthingstosaytoRyder,IfoundmyselfwishingIhadmoreexperiencetopullfrom.Hewasright.Thiswasdifficult.

It’s your turn.

BRB. Googling how to

do this.

LOL! So you give me ahard time, but you don’tknow what you’re doingeither.

OK, some of thesesexting examples arehilarious. So that was nohelp.

We don’t have to do this

if you don’t want to.

No. Now I amdetermined to type atleast one sexy thing,damn it.

Itookadeepbreathandclosedmyeyes.Ihadtobeoverthinkingthis.Iwenttomyimagination,whereRyderwaslyingnexttome.Wherehe’djustnervouslykissedmy

neck.Whatnext?Itriedtoletthesceneplayout.

I’d slide my hand downyour chest. Slowly.

Idon’tknowwhy,butIfeltlikeeverythingsoundedalittlesexierwhenyouaddedslowly.Iheldmybreath,myface

scorchingred,asIwaitedforRydertorespond.

I’d reach for the hem ofyour nightgown …

Nightgown? You think Isleep in a nightgown?What century is this?

I don’t know what girlssleep in.

Well, right now I’m injust a baggy T-shirt andunderwear.

Wow. That’s actuallyhotter than a nightgown.

Wewentonlikethisforaboutanhour,fumblingourwaythroughtextsthatwereusuallymoreawkwardandfunnythanseductive.ButIwasleftgigglingandfeelingflutterynonetheless.

We’ll get better at thiseventually.

Itwasn’tuntilIreadthatmessagefromRyder,though,thatthedirtyfeelingbegantosinkin.Notfun,I’ve-been-sending-sexy-textsdirtyeither.Thegross,I-need-a-showerdirtythatcamewithsuddenlyrememberingthatallthosemessages,allthosethingshe’dimaginedusdoing,hadbeenforAmy.

Everyvirtualkissandtouch,he’dimagineddoingtomybestfriend.He’dpicturedherhands,herlong,thinbody.Herdark,curlyhair.Herface.Herlips.Andhethoughtwe’dget

betteratit.Thatwe’ddoitagain.IthoughtIwasgoingtobe

sick.

Ididn’twritebackafterthat.Ididn’tsaygood-byeorgoodnight.Instead,Iwentthroughanddeletedeverysingletextwe’dsentoverthepasthour,knowingAmywouldkillme(andhaveeveryrightto)ifshesawthosemessages.WhenIcreptbackinto

Amy’sroom,shewasstillsnoring.Icrawledovertomy

sideofthebedandpulledthecoversovermyhead,wishingIcouldhidefromtheguiltandtheshameofwhatI’djustdone.

TheArdmoreshadneverbeenbigonThanksgiving.Oranyholidaythatinvolvedgathering,really.Mydadwasn’tclosetohis

parents.I’donlymetthemonce,whenIwasfive,andnowallIknewaboutthem

wasthattheylivedinFloridasomewhere.MymaternalgrandmotherhadpassedawayafewmonthsafterIwasborn,andmygrandfatherhaddiedwhenIwasnine.Hemighthavelefthishousetohisonlychild,mymom,butbeforethat,he’dbeenthecold,unfriendlysort.Momneversawthepointof

makingafussoveradinnerforthreepeople,andaftermydadwasarrested,Iguessitseemedevenmorepointless.TheRushes,ontheother

hand,lovedThanksgiving.Therewereafewyearsa

whilebackwhereAmy’sparentsweren’thomemuch.Theyjettedfromonebusinesstriptoanother,andAmy

spentmostofthetimeathergrandmother’s.Buteventhen,whenthefamilyseemedtobedriftingapart,Mr.andMrs.RushalwayscamehomeforThanksgiving.Theymadeabigdealoutofit:ahugeturkey,thebeststuffingyou’devertasted,andenoughsidedishestofeedanarmyofhungrysoldiers.Theyalso

invitedeveryonetheyknew:theirextendedfamily,theirfriends,theirkids’friends.WhichmeantIgottobeapartoftheannualfeast.Itwasalwaysahighlightofmyyear,anditwasalwayshardtogohome,fullandhappy,toadark,quiethouse.Thisyearwasdifferent,

though.ThisyearIwasable

toexperiencetheThanksgivingfestivitiesfromthetimeIwokeupinthemorninguntilIwenttobedthatnight.Iwasincrediblyexcited

aboutthis,andevenMrs.Rush’srequesttoinvitemymomcouldn’tbringmedown.“Therewillbemorethan

enoughfood.Iknowthingsareroughwithyoutworightnow,butshe’salwaysinvitedtoThanksgivingdinnerandwe’dbeheretoserveasabuffer.Itmightbegoodforbothofyou,”Mrs.RushsaidasIhelpedhercleanthehousethatmorning.“I’llsee,”Isaid.“ButI

thinkshe’llprobablyhaveto

worktoday.Youknowhowretailisthesedays….”Mrs.Rushshookherhead.

“ForcingpeopletoworkonThanksgivingisjustterrible.”Inodded,relievedwhen

therewerenofollow-upquestions.Afterthat,thedaywas

fabulous.Goodfood,lotsofpeople,theMacy’s

ThanksgivingDayParadeoninthebackground.TheRushescelebratedThanksgivingallday.Andintothenextmorning,

too.BecausetheRushesnotonly

lovedThanksgiving,theyalsolovedBlackFriday.“Idon’tunderstand,”Itold

Amyaswestoodonthe

sidewalkoutsideofTechPlus,anelectronicsstore(theonlynon-grocerystoreinHamilton)atfoura.m.IhadtoworkatthebookstorelaterthatafternoonandknewIwasgonnaregretbeingupthisearly.“You’reloaded.Isn’tBlackFridaymeantforpoorpeoplelikeme?Soyouallcanwatchusfighttothe

death,HungerGamesstyle,overahalf-priceiPod?”“We’renotloaded,”Amy

said.“Excuseme.Whatkindof

cardoyoudrive?”“ALexus.”“Andyourbrother?”Shesighed.“APorsche.”“Irestmycase.”Sheshrugged.“Iguessmy

parentslikedeals.”Atthatmoment,Mr.and

Mrs.RushwereinOakHill,waitingoutsidethemalltodosomehardcoreChristmasshopping.AsmuchasIhatedbeingawakebeforeseven(okay,let’sbereal,IhatedbeingupbeforenoonifIcouldhelpit),Icouldn’tcomplainmuch.AmyandI

didhavetheeasiestoftheBlackFridaytasks.Wejusthadtorunin,grabthenewestvideogameconsole,andgetout.“YourbrotherbetterknowI

wasapartofthisgift,”Itoldher.“Imaynotbecontributingfinancially,butitisatestamenttomyaffectionforhimthatIgotmyassout

ofbedforthis.”“AndhereIthoughtitwas

soIwouldn’tbefightingthecrowdsalone,”Amysaid.“Nah.WhywouldIeverdo

anythingforyou?”Shegiggled,thenletouta

hugeyawn.“Whattimedoesthestoreopenagain?”“Five.”Shewhimpered.

“Iknow,”Isaid,pattingherontheback.“It’scrueltohavesalesstartsoearlyrightaftereveryone’sloadedthemselveswithsleepyturkeychemicals.”Tomakemattersworse,it

wasalsocold.Wewerebundledupinoursweatersandcoats,buttheydidn’tdomuchtodeflectthe

occasionalgustofwindthatblewintoourfaces.TheamazingpartaboutthiswasthatAmy’shairstilllookedflawless.Foura.m.,coldandwindymorning,andshestilllookedlikeamodelwithaclassy,curlyupdo.Iwasn’ttheonlyonewho

noticedeither.“OhmyGod.Youhaveto

tellmehowyoudidthat.”AmyandIbothturned

whenweheardthevoicebehindus.Therewasagirlthere,drinkingStarbucks.Shecouldn’thavebeenmucholderthanus,andshelookedalittlefamiliar.ProbablyaHamiltonHighgrad.Shewaswearingsomeamazingblackbootsovermulticolored

leggingsthatIonlywishedIcouldpulloff.“Sorry?”Amysaid.“Yourhair,”thegirlsaid.

“Youhavetotellmehowyoudidthat.”ItwasonlythenthatI

noticedherowncurls.Browncorkscrews,eventighterthanmineorAmy’s.Theywerealittlefrizzybecauseofthe

wind,buttheystilllookedtentimesbetterthanmine.Damnit.“Oh,”Amysaid,pattingher

hairself-consciously.“It’sreallyeasy.Youjustneedahairtieandafewbobbypins.”“Andby‘easy,’shemeans

impossibleforuscommoners,”Isaid.

“Right?”Thegirllaughed.“Bobbypinsandhairtiesjustleavemewitharat’snestontopofmyhead.”“It’sreallynotthathard.

Youjust—”“Chloe!”Twomorepeoplewere

comingourway:agirlwithstraightblackhairandacuteboyIrecognizedasCash

Sterling,aformerplayerontheHamiltonHighsoccerteam.(SoccerwastheonlysportIkeptupwith.Mostlybecauseitwasanexcusetostareatboyswithreallynicelegs.)“Sorrywe’relate,”Cash

saidtothecurly-hairedgirl,Chloe.“You’renot.Thestore

hasn’topenedyet.”“Iknow,”Cashsaid.“But

accordingtoLissa,weweresupposedtobeherebyfour.SoIwastoldtoapologizeformakingherlate.”Lissa,meanwhile,wastoo

busydigginginherpursetoarguewithCash.“Ihaveamap,”shesaid.“Idrewitlastnight.Ifiguredoutthebest

routetogetbacktotheTVswhenthedoorsopen.”“OhdearGod,”Chloe

moaned.“Wehavetodothis?”“IfIhavetodoBlack

Friday,”Lissasaid,“I’mdoingitefficiently.”Shesighed.“WhydoesmystupidbrotherwantaTVforaweddingpresent?Why

couldn’thejustaskforablenderlikeeveryoneelse?”“He’sgonnaneedaTVto

drownJennaout,”Cashsaid.“Istillcan’tbelievethey’regettingmarried.”“Ijustcan’tbelievehe’s

gettingmarriedbeforeIhadachancetohookupwithhim.”“Ew,Chloe.Ican’tdeal

withyoulustingaftermy

brotherrightnow.I’malreadyfreakingoutoverthecrowdhere.Ugh.It’sgonnabeawfulinthere.Here.Let’sstudythemap.”AmyandIglancedateach

other,thenturnedaround,clearlynolongerapartofthisconversation.“Weshould’vemadea

map,”Amywhispered.

“Idon’tthinkwe’reneuroticenoughforthat,”Iwhisperedback.Theminuteslurchedbyas

thelinegotlongerandlongeronthesidewalkbehindus.Therewasnodoubtaboutit—whenthosedoorsopened,wewereinforafreakingstampede.“Ready?”Amyaskedwhen

therewasonlyaminutetogo.“WhydoIfeellikeI’m

abouttogotowar?”Iasked.Butshedidn’thavetimeto

answerbecauserightthenthefrontdoorsofTechPlusswungopen.Andeveryonecharged

forward.Iran,trippingovermyown

feetinordertoavoidbeing

trampled.Withmyrelativelyshortlegs,thiswasnoteasy.Butafteralotofpushingandshovingandcursingatcompletestrangers,Imadeitinsidethedoors.Itwasstillamadhouse,butpeoplespreadout,runningfortheitemsthey’dcometobuy.“Okay,wherearethegame

consoles,Amy?”

ButwhenIturnedtolookather,Amywasn’tthere.Shewasn’tanywherenearme.“Shit,”Imuttered,realizing

toolatethatwe’dbeenseparatedbythecrowd.Findingherinthischaos,especiallywhenIwasn’tallthatfamiliarwiththelayoutofTechPlus,wasgoingtobeimpossible.

Maybepackingamapwasn’tasneuroticasI’dthought.Iwovemywaythroughthe

crowd,hopingtospotatall,curlyheadsomewhere.Afewtimes,IpoppeduponmytiptoessoIcouldlookovertheheadsofthepeoplearoundme.Unfortunately,withmyneckcranedandmy

balancecompromised,IendedupfallingflatonmyassinfrontofaniPoddisplay.“I’msosorry.Areyou

okay?”Ilookedupattheperson

who’djustslammedintomeandwasmetwithtwoverysurprisedgreeneyes.“Sonny,”Rydersaid.“I

didn’trecognizeyou.”“I’msureIlookdifferent

fromthisangle,”Isaid.“Helpagirlup?”“Sorry.”Hetookmyhand

andpulledmetomyfeet.Iwantedtorelishthatmomentofhavinghishandinmine,butitwasoversofastIbarelygottoenjoyit.“Areyouallright?”

“I’mfine.Justsurprisedtofindyouhere.”Lie.ConfessionTime:Ryder,

notAmyorWesley,wasthereasonIwasatTechPlusthatmorning.Ithadbeenacoupleof

weekssinceourlittletextingtryst(whichstillmademefeelickywhenIthought

aboutit)andRyderhadbeensendingmessagesalmosteverydaysince.I’dignoredmostofthem,knowingthatrespondingwascounterproductive.Thatlastconversationhad,apparently,givenhimtheconfidencetoapproachAmyinpersonagain.Luckily,IwaswithAmyprettymuchanytime

shewasn’tinclass,whichmeantIwasabletoshutdowntheconversationandhurryherawaybeforeshefoundoutaboutthetexting.IknewIshouldn’trisk

givinghimmoreencouragementtopursueAmy,nomatterhowtempingitwastoreplytohismessages.Weweremaking

someprogressinperson,butnotasquicklyasI’dhoped,andtextingwastheonlywayIreallygottotalktohim.I’dbeenholdingontomy

lastshredofwillpower,fightingmyself-destructiveurges,butThanksgivingbreakmeantnotevenseeinghimatschool,andwhenhesentatextaboutneedinga

newiPod,Icouldn’thelpsuggestinghegotoTechPlusonBlackFriday.IknewAmywouldbegoing,anditwouldmakeperfectsenseformetojoinher.SohereIwas,inthemiddle

ofBlackFridaymadness,allsoIcouldrunintoaguywhodidn’tevenknowhelikedme.

“I’msurprisedtofindmehere,too,”headmitted.“ButmyiPodbrokeandAmysaidthisplacewouldhavethemonsale,so…Hey,ifyou’rehere,isshe?”“Um,yeah.Somewhere.

I’velosther.”AndIsortofhopedshe

stayedlost.AtleastuntilRyderandIhadhadafew

minutestogether.Notthatthiswasthemost

romanticsetting,butI’dtakewhatIcouldget.“Oh.Doyouthinkwe

shouldgolookforher?”“No,no.Shehadsome

shoppingtodo.I’msureI’llfindhersoon.”Iclearedmythroat.“So.AnewiPod?Whatsortofmusicdoyou

listento?”“IfItoldyou,you’d

probablycallmeapretentioushipster.”“Yeah…probably.ButI

alreadydothat.”Helaughed.“Atleastyou’re

honest.”NotsomethingIheard

often.“Soindiestuffnooneelse

hasheardof,then?LikeGoatsVoteforMelons,maybe?”Ryder’seyeswidened,

shocked.“YouknowGoatsVoteforMelons?”“I’veheardasongortwo.”I’dcheckedoutsomeof

theirstuffafterRyderhadravedaboutthem.Asexpected,itwaspretty

terribleforthemostpart.Allacoustic,nocatchyhook.Yes,Iwaspartofthemasses.Iadmitit.Ilovedbadpopmusic,especiallyifitwasreleasedinthenineties,andgrunge,ofcourse,butthatwasawesome.GVMjustwentwayovermyhead.Theydidhaveonedecent

lovesong,though,

inexplicablytitled“OfLionsandRobots,”whichI’dbeenlisteningtoalotlately.“Well,I’malsotryingto

broadenmymusicalhorizons.”“Oh,yeah?”Henodded.“I’vebeen

exploringsomeothergenres.Kindofgettingintoninetiesgrunge,actually.”

Thegrinthatsplitmyfacewasalmostpainful.Grunge!Hewasbroadeninghismusicalhorizonsbecauseofme!Iwantedtosqueal.Tohughim.Andthentomakeoutwithhim,righthere,inthemiddleofthiscrowdedelectronicsstore.ButIcouldn’t.Because,inRyder’smind,

wewerelittlemorethanacquaintances.SometimesIhadtoremind

myselfofthat.“Grungeisgreat,”Isaid.

“Whatalbumshaveyoutried?Anythingyoureallylike?”Heopenedhismouthto

respond,buthisanswerwasdrownedoutbyanother

voice.“Sonny!”Igroaned,andthenfelt

awfulforit.Amyhadfoundus.Shewas

comingupbehindme,aboxtuckedunderherarm.“Thereyouare,”shesaid.“I’msosorrywegotseparated.Ididn’tmeantoloseyou.Ilooked—”Shestopped

midsentencewhenshenoticedRyder.“Oh.Hi.”“Hey,Amy,”hesaid,his

facetotallylightingup.AndnowIwantedtoshake

him.Evenifhiscontinuing

affectionforherwassortofmyfault.“Youplayvideogames?”he

asked,gesturingtothebox

underherarm.“Huh?Oh.No.Thisisfor

mybrother.”“Hey,speakingof

shopping,”Isaid,myvoicelouderthanI’dintended.“YoushouldprobablygetthatiPod,Ryder.Youdon’twantthemalltobetaken.”“Goodpoint.I’llberight

back.”

Hewalkedafewfeetaway,disappearingintoacrowdofdesperatepeopleclamberingtogettheirhandsonAppleproducts.IgrabbedAmy’sarm.

“Whenhecomesback,dosomething.”“Somethinglikewhat?”“Idon’tknow.Something

weird.Somethinghewon’t

like.”“Sonny,youknowI’mbad

atthis.”“You’renot.You’dbea

greatactressifyoutried.”“ButIdon’thaveascript

here,”shepointedout.“Idon’tknowwhattodo.Idon’tknowhowtobeweird.”“You’retheonlyteenager

withthatproblem.”Iglanced

around,searchingforinspiration,andfounditstandingafewfeetaway.Therewasaguy—blond,earlytwenties,builtlikeaKendoll—ontheothersideoftheaisle.AndhewastotallytryingtocatchAmy’seye.“Perfect,”Isaid.“What?”Ijerkedmyheadtowardthe

stranger.“Him.”“Whatabouthim?”“WhenRydercomesback,

goflirtwithhim.RightinfrontofRyder,”Iwhispered.“It’llmakehimthinkyou’resuperflakyandkindofmean.”“Sonny,Idon’twanttodo

that,”Amywhisperedback.“That’stoomuch.It’scruel

toRyderandtothatguy.”“Please.You’llbemaking

theotherguy’sday.Plus,he’scute.Soitcouldbeworse.”“But—”“Herehecomes.Getready.”“Idon’t—”“GottheiPod,”Ryder

announcedashemovedtowardus.“Someguywithamullettriedtotakeitrightout

ofmyhands,butImanagedtoholdontoit.”“Gladyousurvived,”Isaid.“Me,too.”Heglancedover

atAmy,asifwaitingforhertosaysomething.AndIelbowedher.Hard.Sheletoutatinysqueak.“I,

um…”Shelookedatme,hereyesdesperate.Go,Ithought,staringback

ather.Justdoitalready.AmyturnedtoRyder,a

forcedsmileonherprettypinklips.“Justasecond,”shesaid.ThenshewalkedovertotheKendoll,whowascheckingoutsometabletsnow,justdowntheaisle.HisfacebrightenedwhenhesawAmyapproaching.Andeventhoughhergreetingof“Hey

…you”wassuperawkward,hedidn’tstopsmiling.“Hi,”KenDollsaid.Therestoftheir

conversationwasdrownedoutbyapackofwomennearby,shoutingataTechPlusemployeeaboutaguywhohadtakenoneoftheiritemsbeforetheycouldcheckout.Butwecouldstillsee

whatwashappening.TheguyleanedtowardAmy;shegiggled,battedhisarm.Allthetypicalobviousflirtingmoves.Actually,itwasprobablymoreconvincingthisway,withAmy’sinevitablyembarrassingwordsonmute.“Doessheknowthatguy?”

Ryderasked,frowningas

KenDolltookastepclosertoAmy.“No,”Isaid.“That’sjust

Amy.She’salwaysflirtingwithsomeone.”“Oh.”Webothwatchedthescene

foraminutelonger,thenRyder,facefallen,tookastepback.“Ishouldgopay,”hesaid.“I’mprettyexhausted.”

EventhoughIknewthiswasinbothofourbestinterests,Ifeltbadforhim.HethoughthehadaconnectionwithAmy,andhereshewas,seeminglyapathetictothatandhittingonotherdudesrightinfrontofhim.Ithadtosting.Itwassupposedtosting.“Itwasnicerunninginto

you,”Isaid.“Literally.”“Yeah.Sorryaboutthat.

Anyway…tellAmyIsaidgood-bye.”“Okay.”HegaveAmyonelast

glancebeforeturningaway,disappearingintothecrowd.Assoonashewasgone,I

ranovertoAmy,interruptingherconversationwiththeKen

doll.“Hey,”Isaid.“He’sgone.

We’regood.”“Excuseme?”KenDoll

asked.“Hey.Sorry.She’s

seventeen,sothisisn’tgonnahappenforyou.Thanksforplaying.”IgrabbedAmy’sarmanddraggedheraway,towardthecheckoutcounter.

ThoughImadesuretotakeadifferentroutethanRyderhadsoasnottoriskcrossingpaths.IfullyexpectedAmyto

scoldmeforhowI’dtalkedtoKenDoll.Topointouthowrudeitwas.Butshedidn’t.Shedidn’tsayanything.Infact,shewassilentthe

restofthetimewewereinthestoreandthewholewaybacktoherhouse.Herparentsstillweren’t

homefromtheirownBlackFridayadventurebythetimewepulledintothedriveway.Amygrabbedtheconsoleandcarrieditintothehouse,metrailingbehindher.“Doyouwantmetohelp

youwrapthat?”Iasked.“No.Icandoit,”she

mumbled.“Okay…Hey,thanksfor

yourhelp.Ithinkitmayhaveworked.Ryderseemedprettyupset.”“Ididn’twanttodothat,

Sonny,”Amysaid.Sheputthegameconsoledownonthecoffeetable.“Itwas

awkwardandembarrassing.Andgross.YoumademeflirtwithaguyIdidn’tknowanddidn’tlike.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“I’msorry,

but—”“Idon’tthinkyoudo

know,”shesaid.Afterapause,sheshookherhead.“I’mtired.I’mgonnagotakeanap.”

Shewentupstairstoherroom,andforonce,IhadthestrongsensethatIwasn’tsupposedtofollowher.Shejustneedsherspace,I

thought.Sheneedssometimetoherself,andit’llbefine.ButIknew,deepdown,that

itwasmorethanthat.That,withoutmerealizingit,I’dcrossedalinethatday.

Andforthefirsttimeever,inoveradecadeofvisitingtheRushes’house,Ididn’tsleepinAmy’sbedroomwhenIgothomefromworkthatnight.Orthenightafterthat.

ThenexttimeIranintoRyderoutsideofclasswasn’ttheresultofanyscheming—foronce.Thistime,onachillySaturdayinthebeginningofDecember,webothendedupattheHamiltonPublicLibraryby

sheercoincidence.Iwaswalkingaroundthe

firstfloor,scanningtheshelves,whenafamiliarvoicecalledmyname.Ilookedupandsawhimsittingatoneofthewoodentablesinthecorner,alegalpadandahuge,leather-boundbookinfrontofhim.Hewaswearinggiantretro-styleheadphones.

Whenheraisedahandtowavemeover,myheartbeganpoundingjustalittletoohard.“Hey,”Isaid,approaching

thedesk.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Research,”hesaid,tugging

hisheadphonesdownsotheyhungaroundhisneck.“Forthehistoryessay,actually.”

Hetappedtheleather-boundbooknexttohim.“TakingsomenotesontheFrenchRevolution.”“Yayguillotines.”“Asentencethathasoft

beenuttered.”Ismiledandpickedupthe

book.Itwasmassiveandheavy.“Areyouactuallyreadingthiswholething?”I

asked.“Youknow,theyhavethisnewinvention.It’scalledtheInternet.Itcontainsallofthisandmore—withoutthepapercuts.”“Papercutsarelikebattle

scarsfortheacademic,”hesaid,smilingback.“IguessI’moldschool.Iliketogetmyinformationfromarealbook,andItakemynotesby

hand.”“I,ontheotherhand,am

bestfriendswithWikipedia.”“Youknowthatsiteis

woefullyinaccuratealotofthetime,right?Becauseanyonecanchangetheinformation.”“Yep.I’mthegirlchanging

theinformationtomakeitwoefullyinaccurate.”

“Sohalfthehighschoolersaroundthecountryhaveyoutothankfortheirfailinggradesonresearchpapers.”“Yes,sir.I’mpracticallya

celebrity.Or,Iwouldbeifitwasn’tanonymous.”Helaughed,andeven

thoughtherewerestillbutterfliesinmystomach,Ifeltrelaxed.Thisfeltnatural.

Itfeltlikeithadwhenwewereinstantmessagingallthoseweeksago.Likeitdidinourtextmessages,which,admittedly,I’dbeensendingagain.Ihadn’tsleptinAmy’s

roomsincetheBlackFridaydebacle,andthesilenceoftheguestroomhadcontributedtomyinsomnia.Andtomy

recurringnightmare,whichI’dhadatleastthreetimesinthepasttwoweeks.WhenIwokeup,panickedandalone,itwaseasytotexthim.Toreachoutandknowsomeoneelsewouldanswer.IkepttellingmyselfIwould

stopsoon.Orthatitwasn’tactuallydetrimentalfortheplan—thatmaybe,

somehow,itmadeAmyseemevenflakiertobetextinghimwhenshewassoweirdinperson.I’dtoldmyselfsomanylies,

Ididn’tevenknowwhattobelieveanymore.IjustknewthatIlikedhim.Alot.Andfinally,aftermorethan

amonthofinchingcloserandcloser,wewerehavingthat

sameconnectionface-to-face.“Sowhatareyoudoing

here?”heasked.“Ifyou’resuchadenizenofthetwenty-firstcentury.”“Droppingoffsomebooks

forAmy,”Isaid.“MyonedayofffromthebookstorejobandIstillfindmyselfsurroundedbybooks.”“Isthatabadthing?”Ryder

asked.“No.Justironic.Iactually

appliedforajobhere,too.Unfortunately,Iwasinformedthatthelasttimethelibrarianhiredteenagerstohelpher,theywerecaughtmakingoutbetweentheshelves…multipletimes.”“Interesting,”Rydersaid,

tappinghischinwiththeend

ofhispen.“WhoknewtheHamiltonLibrarywassuchascandalousplace.”“Right?Ishouldhangout

heremoreoften.”Henodded,andthenwejust

staredateachotherforthislong,intensemoment.Atleast,Ithoughtitwasintense.Alittlevoiceinmyheadwassilentlycallingouttohim:

Seeme.Figureoutthatit’sbeenmeallalong.Ofcourse,thatwouldbeadisaster.IthadbeenlongenoughthatanyhopeofRydernotbeingpissedthatI’dbeensortof,accidentally,andthendeliberatelycatfishinghimwasoutofthequestion.Ididn’twanthimtoknow

thatitwasmesendingall

thosemessages.Ididwanthimtoknowthat

Iwasthegirlheshouldbewith.IfIhadn’tbeensabotaging

myselfwiththosetextmessages,maybehewouldhavebynow.“Hey,”hesaid,aftera

second.“Wouldyouwanttogetoutofhere?Goforawalk

orsomething?”Ithoughtmybrainmightexplode.Hewantedtogosomewherewithme.Hewantedtotakeawalkwithme.TherewasnoAmy,noreasonweshouldtalkaboutschool.ItwasjustRyderaskingmetohangoutwithhim.Finally.

“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sure.Let’sgo.”However,myexuberance

fadedprettymuchassoonaswesteppedoutintothecoldafternoonandRydersaid:“Iwashopingtotalktoyou

aboutAmy.”Fuck.Ofcourse.Whatwaswrongwiththis

boy?Asfarashewasconcerned,AmyhadbeenleadinghimonforoveramonthwithIMsandtexts,onlytobeacompletelydifferentperson(literally)inreallife.Iknewitwaspartlymy

faultforkeepingupthecorrespondence,butcomeon.Wasthatreallyenoughto

keephimclingingtotheideaofher?Theyhadn’tevenkissed.Hell,theyhadn’teventouched.“Amy.Right.”Ishovedmy

handsdeepintothepocketsofmyold,batteredcoat.“Whatabouther?”“It’sjust…I’mconfused.

Reallyconfused.”Hekickedatapebbleonthesidewalk,

andIwatchedasitrolledawayfromus,wishingIcouldfollowit,awayfromthisconversation.“Doyouknowwhysheavoidsorignoresmewhenwe’reinthesameroom?”Ishrugged.“Thatsounds

likeaquestionforAmy.”“I’veasked,”hesaid.“A

thousandtimes.Inevergeta

straightanswer.”Itwastrue.Eversinceour

firstboutoftextingbackatthestartofNovember,Ryderhadsentmultiplemessages,askingwhyI(read:Amy)didn’ttalktohiminperson.Whytheyhadn’tbeenonadateyet.WhythingsweresodifferentintextsandIMsthantheywereinreallife.

Mostofthetime,Iignoredthesemessages.They’dcomemidconversation,andthey’dserveastheendofthecorrespondence.SometimesI’drespondwithsomethingvague—asimpleIdon’tknoworablatantlyuntrueIdon’tavoidyou!Iwashopingallthe

inconsistencieswouldscare

himawayfromAmy.Buthejustkepttrying,in

reallifeandviatextmessage.“You’reherbestfriend,”he

said.“Ifiguredifanyonewouldknowwhat’sgoingonwithher,youwould.AndsinceyouandIarefriendsnow….”Friends.Hethoughtwewerefriends.

Asmileflutteredontomylips,andIhadtohurrytohideit.Atleastithadn’tallbeeninvain.“Doyouhaveanyideawhy

she’davoidme?”heasked.“Doesshe…doessheevenlikeme?No.No,Iknowshedoes.Ofcourseshedoes.It’sjustthatwhenwe’retogether,she’sso…different.”

“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Sheseemsprettynormaltome.”“Shedoesn’tactlikethe

AmyIknow.”“Thenmaybeyoudon’t

knowherthatwell.”“Ido,though,”heinsisted.

“OrIthinkIdo.Whenwe’retextingortalkingonline,she’sso…She’sgreat.She’sfunnyandsmartandit’sso

easytotalktoher.ThevirtualAmyisincredible.”Igotallshiverywhenhe

saidthat,andnotjustbecauseitwascold.“IjustwishtheAmyIsaw

inreallifewasmorelikethat.”Myhandsballedintofistsin

mypockets.Iwantedtotellhim.Iwantedtocomeclean

sobad.Thatpersonhethoughtwas“incredible,”thepersonhe’dfallenfor,wasstandingrighthere.InsteadIsaid,“I’msorry,

Ryder.Idon’tknowwhattotellyou.”“Whyareyoufriendswith

her?”heasked.Iwastakenaback.“Excuse

me?”

“Whyareyoufriendswithher?WhatdoyoulikeaboutAmy?”“Well…”Iprobablyshould

havesaidsomethingvague.Orsomethingshallow.Somethingtoreinforcethisimageoftheflaky,bizarreAmyhecouldn’tfigureout.Butthis,Amy,wasonethingIcouldn’tlieabout.“She’s

generous,foronething.She’ddoanythingforthepeopleshecaresabout.Hell,she’slettingmelivewithherrightnow.She’salwaysbeentherewhenIneededher.”Henodded.“Whatelse?”“Shebalancesmeout.I’m

theloud,dramaticoneandshe’sthequiet,practicalone.She’smyotherhalf,inalot

ofways.Peopletalkaboutsoulmatesinaromanticway,butIthinkifsoulmatesdoexist,Amywouldbemine.IthinkI’dbelostwithouther.”Ihadtoshakeoffapangof

guilt.SinceThanksgivingbreak,I’dbeentellingmyselfthingswerefinebetweenus.Mesleepingintheguestroomwasjustanatural

progression.Wecouldn’tsleepinthesameroomforever,afterall.Amydidn’tactmadatme.Shewasstillsweetandgigglyandwestillhungout.Butsomethingwasdifferent.“Ilikethewayyoudescribe

her,”Rydersaid.“Whydoesn’tsheshowthatsidewhenshe’saroundme?”

Ididn’tanswer.Therewereonlysomanytimesyoucouldsay“Idon’tknow.”“Doyouthinkithas

somethingtodowithhermom?”“What?”“She’stoldmealittleabout

hermom.”Ittookmeaminuteto

understandwhathewas

talkingabout.Mrs.Rushwasamazing—whatwouldAmy’sweirdnesshavetodowithher?ButthenIremembered.I’dtalkedtohimaboutmymom.Great.AnothersubjectI’drathernotdiscuss.“Oh.Yeah.Hermom.”“Shesaidoncethatshe

thinkshermommightregret

evenhavingher,”Rydersaid.“Yeah,”Isaid.“Amy’s

momis…Well,she’sinteresting.Complicated.Thatrelationshiphasdefinitelyscrewedherupinalotofways.”“Iknowhowshefeels,”he

said.Ishookmyhead.“Idon’t

thinkyoudo.”Seeingan

openingtochangethesubject,though,Iadded,“But,hey,congratsonyourdadwinningtheelection.”“Thanks,”hesaid,voice

flat.“It’sofficial:Myparentsaregettingadivorce.”Thatseemedlikeagood

thingtome.Atleastthingswerebeingdecided.ButIcouldn’tsaythatbecauseI

wasn’tsupposedtoknowthebackstory.SoinsteadIreplied,“Ithoughttheywerealreadydivorced?”Rydershookhishead.“My

dad’sbeenholdingout.Asshole.He’sstillwaitingafewmonthssoitdoesn’tlooklikehewasjustwaitinguntilhegotelected.Eventhoughthat’spreciselywhathewas

doing.”“Thatsucks,”Isaid.“God.He’ssuchacliché.

Cheatingonmymomwithsomeyoungmodel,”Rydersaidbitterly.“Thenasshittyasitis,

maybethedivorceisforthebest.”“He’sstilladick.AndI’m

donetalkingtohim.”

GuessRyderandhisdadhadn’tresolvedtheirissuesyet.Wewerepassingthe

elementaryschool,andwithoutevensayingaword,webothstartedwalkingtowardtheemptyplayground.“Whatdoesyourmomhave

tosayaboutthat?Aboutyounottalkingtohim?”

“Idon’treallytalktoheraboutDad,”headmitted.“Shegetsupsetaboutit.Mad,even.Ican’tblameher.She’sagreatperson,andhescrewedherover.”Iwantedtopointoutthat,

notlongago,Ryderwas(rightfully)upsetthatshe’ddraggedhimallthewaytoIllinoiswithoutevenasking

howhefeltfirst.ButSonnywouldn’tknow

that;Amywould.SoIhadtobitemytongue.“Whataboutyou?”heasked

aswemadeourwaytowardtheswings.“What’syourfamilydrama?”Ishruggedandsatdownon

oneoftheswings.Theleatherwascold,eventhroughmy

jeans.“It’sprettyboring.”“Thatseemsunlikely,”he

said,sittingontheswingbesidemine.“Youjustsaidyou’relivingwithAmy.Doesn’tsoundtooboringtome.Whereareyourparents?”I’dalreadyhadtomovethe

conversationawayfrommymother,andIwasn’teagertoreturntoit.Soinstead,I

blurtedoutsomethingIhadn’ttalkedaboutinyears:“Mydad’sinprison.”“Oh.”Ryderlookedstartled,

andIcouldn’thelpbutnoticethewayhemovedawayfrommealittle.LikehesuddenlyrememberedthatIwasn’ttherich,beautifulgirlhewanted.Iwaspoorwhitetrash.Atleastbyhisstandards.

But,tomysurprise,Rydershiftedagainonhisswing,hishandswrappedaroundthechains,andswiveledtofaceme.Andhedidn’tlookdisgustedatall.“Howlong?”“InandoutsinceIwas

seven.ButIhaven’tseenhimin…Idon’tevenrememberthelasttimeIsawhim.Mymomstoppedtakingmeto

visitaftershedivorcedhim,whenIwasstillinelementaryschool.”“Doesheevertrytowriteto

you?”Ryderasked.“Orcall?”“No,”Isaid.“AlthoughI’ve

movedsincethelasttimeIsawhim.Mygranddaddiedandwemovedintohisoldhouse.Plus,Idon’thavethe

samecellphonenumber.SoIguessIdon’treallyknow.Ijustassumedhehadn’tbecausemymomalwaystoldmewhatadeadbeathewas.Notthatshe’sthemostreliable…”Ishookmyhead,andbefore

hecouldaskaboutmymother,Istartedtalkingagain.

“I’vethoughtabouthimsome.I’veconsideredwritinghimafewtimes,butIalwaystalkmyselfoutofit.”“Why?”Ryder’sgreeneyeswere

watchingme,gluedtome.Intent.Itsentashiverupmyspine.Andyet…itwaseasy.Tellinghimallthis.BeinghonestaboutsomethingI

usuallywasn’t.“I’mscared.”Itwas

somethingI’dneversaidoutloud.“I’mscaredhe’llletmedown…orthathewon’twantme.AndIfiguremaybeit’seasierifIjustdon’tgivehimthechance.”“Sonny.”Hereachedout

andputahandonmyarm.Itwaslikeaboltofelectricity

shotthroughme,startingwherehispalmtouchedmyarm.Maybehefeltit,too,becausehepulledbackandwrappedhishandaroundthechainagain.“Sorry,”hesaid.Iwasn’tsureifhewas

apologizingfortouchingmeorforeverythingI’dsaidaboutmyfather.“It’sokay,”Isaid,deciding

I’dratherheapologizedforthelatter.“HeprobablyisthedeadbeatI’vealwaysimagined.ChancesareI’mbetteroff.”“Maybe.”Wesatontheswingsfora

while,nottalking.Andthatwasokay,too.AsmuchasIlikedtalking,ortyping,toRyder,itwaskindofniceto

justsitwithhimandwatchasthesunbegantosetinthedistance.“Weshouldgetgoing,”he

saidafterawhile.“It’sabouttogetdark.”“Oh,yes,”Isaid.“Because

elementaryschoolplaygroundsareknowntobeahotbedofcrimeanddebaucheryaftersundown.”

“Imeantbecauseit’sgoingtogetevencolder,smart-ass.”Hestoodupandofferedmehishand.Itookitandhepulledmetomyfeet.Ourfingersstayedlockedtogetherforjustaninstantlongerthantheyshouldhave,andwhenheletgo,myhandfelttoocold.Ishovedbothhandsinmy

pocketsandfollowedRydertowardthesidewalk.Wewalkedbacktothe

libraryinsilence,ourshouldersbrushinglightlyagainsteachother.“Thisisme,”Isaidwhen

wereachedGert.Islappedtheoldclunkeronherhood.“Sweetride,huh?”“Isitgoingtostart?”Ryder

asked,raisinganeyebrow.“Isn’tthatthemillion-dollar

question.”Ipulledmykeysfrommypurseandunlockedthedriver’ssidedoor.“Itwasnicehangingoutwithyoutoday,Ryder.”“You,too.”Iexpectedhimtowalk

away,butwhenhedidn’t,Ilookedathimagain.

“Youshouldwritetoyourdad,”hesaid.Ifrownedathim.“Why?I

toldyou,he’sprobablythedeadbeatlosermymomalwaystoldmehewas.”“Buthemightnotbe,”

Rydersaid.“It’sbeenyears,yousaidityourself.Andifyou’vebeenthinkingabouthimanyway…Maybeit’s

worthashot.”“But…butwhatifhe

doesn’tcareaboutme?”Myvoicetrembledalittleonthelastwords.“Whatifheletsmedown?”“Youwon’tknowunless

youtry,”hesaid.“Ifthere’sonethingI’velearnedsincemovinghere,it’sthatsometimespeoplesurprise

you,ifyouletthem.”Hewaslookingrightatme

whenhesaidthis,andthebutterfliesswarmedinmystomachonceagain.Hetookastepbackand

startedmovingtowardhiscar.“Seeyouatschool,Sonny.”Inodded,butIdidn’tgetin

thecar.Ijuststoodthere,in

theDecembercold,andwatchedhimwalkaway.

***

Thatnight,aloneintheguestroom,Icouldn’tsleep.Ilaythere,replaying

everythingthathadhappenedwithRyder.Thewayhe’dsmiledatme.Thewayhe’dlookedatme,likeforoncehewasactuallyseeingme,not

justhisdreamgirl’sannoyingbestfriend.But,mostly,Ikeptthinking

aboutwhathe’dsaidaboutmydad.Sometimespeoplesurpriseyou,ifyouletthem.Ihadn’tseenmydadin

years.Ihadn’tevenmentionedhimtoanyoneinyears.Notuntiltoday.ButI’d

thoughtabouthim.Alot.Heusedtopushmeonthe

tireswinginourbackyardwhenIwaslittle.Heusedtobringhomebiggallonsofcookies-and-creamicecreambecauseitwasmyfavorite.Heusedtosay,“Quiet.You’llwakeupSonny,”whenMomraisedhervoiceduringafight,eventhough,

mostofthetime,Iwasstillawake.Thenhegotarrestedforthe

firsttime.Andthenthesecond.Thefirsttimeitwasfor

boostingcars,butIonlyknewthatbecauseI’dheardsomepeopleintowntalkingaboutitwhenIwaslittle.“Isn’tthattheArdmoregirl?

Youhearaboutherdad?Goddamnthief.”That’swhenIstartedlying,

tellingpeoplehewasaninternationalbusinessman,notaninmate.Ididn’tknowwhathe’d

beenchargedwiththesecondtime.Oranyofthetimesafterthat.AllIknewwasthatDadhadn’tspentmorethana

coupleofweeksoutofjailsinceIwasseven.Momtookmetoseehim

everyweekuntilshedidn’tanymore.Hewasanasshole.Hewasadeadbeat.That’swhatshesaid.That’swhatIbelieved.Maybeitwastrue,and

maybeitwasn’t.Ryderhadmequestioningallofitnow.

Mydearfriendinsomniawasn’tgoinganywhere,soIpeeledmyselfoffthebedandheadeddownstairs.Mr.Rushkeptanofficeonthefirstfloor,butAmyandIwerewelcometouseitifweneededthedesktop.AndsinceIwasn’tsurehowwelcomeIwastoAmy’slaptopthesedays,itseemed

likeamoresuitableoption.Itwas1:12a.m.whenI

openeduptheWorddocument.Anditwas1:36a.m.beforeImanagedtotypethefirstword.Itwasashortnote.Butit

feltlikepullingteeth.Eachwordwasscaryandraw.Eachwordmademevulnerable.Whatifitwas

easiertojustleavehimoutofmylifethantoreachoutandhavehimhurtme?Ichokedbackallthefears

asmycursorhoveredoverthePRINTbutton.Iswallowedonce,twice,closedmyeyes,andclicked.BeforeIcouldchangemy

mind,IfoundanenvelopeinMr.Rush’sdesk.Ishovedthe

letterinside,scribbledthetoandfromaddresses,andsmackedonastamp.I’daskMr.andMrs.Rushpermissiontogivetheirhomenumbertomorrowmorning.Iftheysaidno,Iwouldn’tsendit.Butiftheysaiditwasokay,

Ididn’twantanyexcusenottodroptheletterinthemail.

Iputtheenvelopeonthebreakfasttable,whereIwouldn’tbeabletohidefromitcomemorning,thenIranbackupstairs,buriedmyfaceinmypillows,andspenttherestofthenightpanicking.

IhadhopesofsleepinginonthefirstdayofChristmasbreak.Therewasnoschoolandmybookstoreshiftdidn’tstartuntiltheafternoon.Amy,however,hadother

plans.Theguestroomdoorburst

openateight-thirtythat

morning.“Theygothereearly!”shesquealedasshedashedpastmybedtothewindow,whichlookedoutontotheRushes’driveway.“Mmmm,”Igroaned,butI

forcedmyselftositup.Amyhadn’tbeenthisexcitedaboutsomethinginawhile,especiallynotsincetheawkwardflirtingincidenta

fewweeksago.“Who’shereearly?”“WesleyandBianca!”She

hoppedupanddownasshewatchedacarpullupoutside.Sheturnedandmadeadashforthedoor.“Comeon!”Idraggedmyselfoutofbed

andfollowedherdownstairs.Veryfewthingsinlifegot

Amythisanimated.Infact,

onlythreethings:puppies,privateShakespearerecitations,andWesley.Myfeethadjusttouchedthe

bottomstepwhenthefrontdooropenedandapackofRushes,plusone,spilledin,alongwithaburstofcoldDecemberwind.AmyshriekedandthrewherselfatthetallestRush,whogreeted

herwithopenarms.WhenAmydetachedherself

fromherbrother,sheturnedandrepeatedtheperformancewiththeshorter,auburn-hairedgirlathisside.“Hey,Amy,”Biancasaid,

pattingherawkwardlyontheshoulder.“It’sgoodtoseeyou,too.”Atfirstglance,Bianca

didn’tfitinwiththeRushfamily.ShewasagoodhalffootshorterthanevenMrs.Rush,whowasthesmallestmemberofthefamily.Sheworetatteredjeans,T-shirts,andfadedredConverse,wheretheyworepolished,expensiveclothesmostpeopleinthistowncouldn’tafford.

Atfirstglance,Biancaseemed…morelikeme.Butifyoulookedcloser,at

thewaytheywelcomedher,atthewayWesleylookedather,itmadeperfectsense.Biancawassmartandfunnyand,fromwhatAmyhadtoldme,she’dplayedaroleinbringingthefamilybacktogetherafewyearsago,

whenithadallbutfallenapart.Andnow,shewaspartofit.Ididn’tknowherthatwell,

butitwasclearshebelongedwiththisfamily.Meanwhile,Isuddenlyfelt

likeanintruder.Justsomekidmoochingofftheirgenerosity.WhichwaswhyIstayedputonthestairs.As

gladasIwastoseeWesley,Icouldn’tbringmyselftointerruptthefamilyreunionhappeningbeforeme.ButWesley,whotowered

overeveryoneelseinthefamily,onlytookasecondtonotice.“Sonny!”hecalled,waving

meoverforahug.“SoAmyfinallyconvincedourparents

toletherkeepyou,huh?It’sabouttime.”Ilaughedandacceptedthe

quickhug.“It’snicetoseeyou,Wesley.”“Isit?”heasked.“I’ve

textedyouafewtimes,butyouneverreplied.Ithoughtmaybeyouweretoocoolformenow.”“Oh,Iam,”Iassuredhim.

“But,also,myphoneisbroken.I’vebeenusingAmy’s.”WhichremindedmethatI

hadafewtextmessagesfromRydertodelete.“It’snicetoseeyouagain,

Sonny,”Biancasaid.“You,too.How’sNew

York?”“Cold.”

“Luckily,she’sgotmetowarmherup,”Wesleysaid,puttinganarmaroundher.Biancarolledhereyes.“Well,Ihatetocutthis

short,”Mr.Rushsaid,glancingathiswatch.“ButI’msureBianca’sfatherwillbeeagertoseeher.Wecan’thogallhertime.”“I’lltakeherhome,”

Wesleysaid,grabbingasetfromthehookbythedoor.ThekeystohisbelovedPorsche.Hehadn’ttakenitwithhim

toNewYork.Iguesstherewasn’tmuchofaneedforitthere.Buthewasclearlyexcitedtogetbehindthewheelnowthathewashome.“Comebackoversoon,”

Amysaid.“Wehavetocatchup.”“Obviously,”Biancasaid.Andasquicklyasthey’d

arrived,WesleyandBiancasweptbackoutthedoor,whileAmy,herparents,andImigratedtothekitchenforbreakfast.“I’msogladthey’rehome,”

Amywassayingasshe

pouredherselfabowlofcereal.“It’snicetohavethewholefamilytogetheragain.”“Itis,”Mrs.Rushagreed.Aknottwistedinmy

stomach,andIfoundmyselfblinkingbacksuddentears.Iclearedmythroat.“Um,Mr.Rush?Hasthere

beenanymailforme?”Mr.Rushhadjustfilleda

mugwithcoffee.Helookedatmeovertherim,hiseyesknowing.He’dbeentheonetoputmyletterinthemail,soheknewexactlywhyIwasasking.“No,Sonny,”hesaid.“I’m

sorry.”“Areyouexpecting

something?”Amyasked.“Yeah,”Imumbled,the

acheinmychestgrowingasIwatchedtheRushesbustlearoundthekitchen,laughingastheybumpedintoeachotherandtrippedoveroneanother’sfeet.“ButIprobablyshouldn’tbe.”Amyraisedaneyebrow,and

Iknewshe’dbeaskingmeaboutitlater.Istillwasn’tsureiforwhatIwasgoingto

tellher.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid,

“whydon’tyouinviteyourmotherfordinneronChristmasEve?IknowshehadtoworkonThanksgiving,buthopefullyshehasChristmasEveoff.”“Maybe,”Isaid.“I’llsee.

I’msureshe’dappreciatetheinvitation.”

Lie,lie,lie.

***

“Ryder.”Itwasembarrassinghow

surprisedIsounded,buthewasthelastpersonIexpectedtofindontheRushes’frontporch.Well,okay.Maybenotthelast.ThattitlemostlikelybelongedtotheQueenofEnglandorthereanimated

corpseofEdgarAllanPoe.Ormymom.ButRyderwasunexpected,

nonetheless.Hewaswearinganarmy-greenutilityjacket,hisnonprescriptionblackglasses,andabeanie.HelookedhotinthatawfulhipsterwayI’dsomehowgrowntoappreciate.“Hey,Sonny,”hesaid,

smilingatme.Theremayhavebeenalittle

bitofflutteringinmystomach.Maybe.Justalittle.Unfortunately,itwasquicklydrownedoutbytheawfulrealizationthatIlookedlikeshit.I’donlygottenoutofthe

showertenminutesbeforethedoorbellrang.Iwasdressed,

thankGod—thoughmaybeifIhadn’tbeen,he’dhaveother,moreinterestingthingstolookatthanmyhair,whichwaswetandtangledandpulledbackfrommyfacewithatie-dyedheadbandIusedwheneverIputonafacemask.WhichI’dbeenonlysecondsawayfromapplyingwhenthedoorbellrang.

Soastiminggoes,itwasn’tasbadasitcouldhavebeen.Butwhy,whyhadn’the

chosentocomebyonadaywhenIlookedamazing?OrwhenIwaswearingsomesortofsexyyetclassylingerie?Ididn’tevenownlingerie,butthatseemedlikeanexcellentscenario,andonethatwouldlikelygoalong

waytowardfurtheringprogressonmymasterplan.Ryderdidn’tseemtonotice

myunflatteringhairdo,however.“Hey.IsAmyhome?”he

asked.Imanagedtokeepmy

composuredespitemydisappointment.“Nope.Shewentouttorunsomeerrands

thismorning,andsheinsisteditwouldbeboringandIdidn’thavetocome.”Ismirked.“Youknowwhatthatmeans,right?”“What’sthat?”“She’soutbuyingmy

Christmaspresent.”“Oh?”heasked.“Whatdo

youthinkshe’llgetyou?”“Well,Iaskedforapony,”I

informedhim.“AndI’mnotsureIcouldsettleforanythingless.”“Anygoodfriendwouldget

youapony,”heagreed.Thenweweregrinningat

eachother,andthoseflutteryfeelingsmadetheirtriumphantreturn.“Doyouwanttocomein?”

Iasked.“It’sjustmehere.

Everyoneelseisoutdoinglast-minuteshopping.”Mortificationcreptovermy

faceasIrealizedwithastartexactlywhatIwasoffering.MeandRyder.Inagiant,emptyhouse.Withinfiniteroomsjustbeggingtobemadeoutin.Or,youknow,wemightjust

watchTV.

Although,knowingRyder,heprobablyhatedtelevision.Butforafullsecond,I

thoughthewasgoingtosayyes.Hismouthopenedtospeak,butthenhesnappeditshut.Helookedatme,thenlookedaway,shakinghisheadasifshakingwaterfromhisface.“That’sokay,”hesaid.“I’d

bettergetgoing.”Itriednottoletthedisappointmentshow,butIwasn’tstrongenoughtohideitwhenhesaid,“ButwillyougivethistoAmy?”ItwasonlythenthatI

noticedthethin,rectangularbox,coveredingreenwrappingpaper,tuckedunderhisarm.Itwasthesortofbox

clotheswerealwaysgiveninonChristmas,anditwasforAmy.“Ofcourse,”Isaid,taking

theboxfromhim.“Noproblem.”Andthen,spottinganopeningtopushmyplansalongalittle,Iadded,“ButI’msorry.Idon’tthinkshegotyouanything.”Rydershrugged.“That’s

okay,”hesaid,onlyatinybitcrestfallen.“Youneverknow.Maybeshe’llpickmeupsomethingwhileshe’soutbuyingyourpony.”“Maybe.”Westaredateachotherfor

anotherlongmoment.Inthesilence,IhadthesuddenurgetotellhimaboutmylettertoDad,butIshovedtheimpulse

away.Ihadn’theardfromDadyet,andImightnot.Ifhenevercalledorwroteback,Iwasn’tsureIcouldstandhavingtoanswerquestionsaboutitlater.Ryderdidthatsamehead

shakehe’ddoneaminutebeforeandfinallyturned,movingtowardthefrontsteps.“MerryChristmas,

Sonny,”hesaidoverhisshoulder.“MerryChristmas.”Butatthatmoment,thegift

boxfeelingheavyandcruelinmyarms,itdidn’tseemallthatmerry.

***

AsmuchasIdidn’twanttoknow,IwasdyingtoknowwhatwasintheboxRyder

hadgiventoAmy.“Whydidn’tyoujustopen

it?”sheaskedwhenshegothomethatevening.“Becauseit’sforyou.”The

wordscameoutharshandbitter.Andyes,Iknewthatwasn’tfair.Amyhadn’taskedforthis.Butdamnit,ifshewasn’tsoirresistible,wewouldn’tbeinthissituation.

Wasitreallytoomuchtoaskforashrewasabestfriend?Ididn’tthinkso.“Notreally,”shesaid,but

shepickeduptheboxanywayandsatdownonthebedwithitinherlap.Shepeeledoffthegreenpaper,carefulnottotearit.WhereIwouldhavejustshreddedit,Amywasalwaysneatabouttheway

sheunwrappedgifts,asifshemightwanttoreusethepaperlater.(Sheneverdid,though.)Onceshe’dfinishedwith

thattask,shebeganworkingatthetapethatheldthewhiteboxclosed.Ittookherasecond,butthenthelidwasflippingopenandshewaspullingoutashirt.Aredbuffaloplaidflannel

shirt.Myheartswelled,then

promptlysank.Because,asIkept

remindingmyself,itwasn’tforme.“Oh,”Amysaid,examining

theshirt,whichwasclearlynotatallherstyle.“It’s…cute.”“It’sflannel,”Isaid.

“Uh-huh.”“It’sforyourfuturenineties

grungeband.”Amyblinkedatme.

“Excuseme?”“Nothing.It’sstupid.”I

stoodupandmovedtowardthedoor.“Enjoytheshirt.”“Sonny,youcanhaveit,”

shesaid.“Obviously.It’snotreallyforme.”

“It’snotformeeither,”Isaid.“You’retheonehethinkswouldlookcuteinflannel.”“I’mgoingtodisagreewith

himonthat.”Sheputtheshirtbackintheboxbeforelookingatmeagain.Myhandwasonthedoor,

butIwaswatchingher.OrmaybeIwasglaringather.

Unintentionally.“Areyoumadatme?”she

asked.“No.”Iwas,though.AndIhated

myselfforit.ThissituationwithRyderwasn’tAmy’sfault.Itwasmine.Iwasbeinganasshole.Itwasn’tjustaboutRyder,

though.Itwasthisstupid

holiday.ItwasaconstantreminderthatAmyhadeverythingIdidn’t.Afamily,afuture,ahome…andnowRyder.Shehadpeoplewholovedher.Peoplewhowantedtobuyhergiftsandspendtimewithher.AndIhadnoone.Noone…excepther.Ifeltmyselfdeflate,my

shouldersslumpingforwardastheangerseepedoutofme,replacedbytheweightofguilt.“No,”Isaidagain.“I’mnot

madatyou.I’msorry.”“Youcanhavetheshirt,”

shesaidagain,holdingtheboxouttome.“It’sreallyforyou.”“That’sokay.Itprobably

wouldn’tfitmeanyway.”ButIstilltookitfromher.Afterasecond,Iforcedasmile,andeventhoughitwasn’treal,Iknewitwasbelievablebecause,well,itwasme.“Yourbrotherbroughthomesomeofthosecookieswiththeicingwelove.I’mstealingone.ShouldIgrabtwo?”

Amy’sfakesmilewasmoretransparent.“Sure.Wannaplayagameofpoolintherecroom?”“You’reon,”Isaid.

Bah,humbug!Betweenthegiftdramawith

Ryder,thelingeringawkwardnessbetweenmeandAmy,endlessshiftsatthebookstore,andmygenerallackofafamilytospendtheholidayswith,Ihadbecomea

scrooge.EverycommercialfeaturingahappylittlekidopeninggiftswiththeirlovingparentsmademewanttokaratechoptheRushes’flat-screenTV.EveryChristmassongontheradiogavemeroadrage.AndIwasnolongerallowedtoanswerthefrontdoorforfearofwhatImightdotosome

unsuspectingcarolerwhomightcomeknocking.I’devengottenreprimanded

bySheilaforscowlingtoomuchatwork.Dealingwiththegeneralpublicdayinanddayoutwhileforcingacheeryattitudewastorture.AndeventhoughIneededthemoney,I’dcalledinsickacoupleoftimesjusttokeep

myselfsane.Sufficeittosay,Iwasnot

particularlyeagertogodownstairsonChristmasmorning.Don’tgetmewrong,Iknew

theRusheswouldbenice.They’dprobablyevengottenmeasmallgift—someassortedlotionsoranewsweater,allofwhichIwould

havebeenincrediblygratefulfor—butIwasn’tthepersontheywantedtoseetoday.They’dinvitedmeintotheirhomeandneverletmefeelunwelcomeforamoment,butintheend,Iwastheirguest.AndChristmaswasadayyouwantedtospendwithfamily.AmyandIwouldexchange

giftslaterthatday.Iwouldlet

theRusheshavethemorningtothemselves.Atleast,thatwasmyplan.UntilWesleythrewopen

mybedroomdoorateightinthegodforsakenmorning.“MerryChristmas!”he

bellowed.“Timetogetup.”Igroanedandsmushedmy

faceintothepillow.“No.”“Comeon,now.Where’s

yourholidayspirit?”Iheardhisheavyfootstepsmovequicklyacrossthefloor,thenmycurtainswerethrownopenandblindingsunlightfilledtheroom.“Riseandshine,Sonny.ComedownstairsandseewhatSantabroughtyou.”Isighedandrolledontomy

back,squintingagainstthe

light.“IfyouhonestlythinkIstillbelieveinSanta,weneedtohaveaconversation,Wesley.”“Let’shaveitdownstairs,”

hesaid.“Comeon.Everyone’sbeenwaitingonyoutoopenpresentsforalmostanhour.”Ifrowned.“Waitingonme?

Why?”

“Becausetheydidn’twanttowakeyouup.Thoughtitwouldberude.I,ontheotherhand,havenosuchreservations.”Thatwasn’twhatI’dmeant,

though.BeforeIcouldclarify,

Wesleygrabbedmywrist,pulledmetomyfeet,andbegandraggingmetoward

thedoor.ThankGodIwaswearingAmy’sfrogpajamas.“Okay,okay,”Isaid,having

tojogtokeepupwithhislongstrides.“I’mcoming.Noneedtousebruteforce.”“Igetaggressiveabout

presents.”“Clearly.”HereleasedmywristandI

followedhimdownstairs.The

restofthefamilywassittingaroundthehugelivingroom,allintheirpajamas.Mr.RushhadamugofcoffeeinhishandandAmywasmunchingonafrozenwaffle.TheylookedupwhenWesleyandIentered.“Wetoldyounottowake

herup,”Mrs.Rushscolded.“IfwewaitedforSonny,we

wouldn’tbeopeningpresentsuntilnoon,”Wesleyargued.“So?”Mrs.Rushasked.“Mother,thatis

unacceptable.Evenyouknowthat.”“Sonny,I’dliketo

apologizeformyson.Hismannersareobviouslylacking.”ButIbarelyheardher.Iwas

toobusystaringatthemanteloverthefireplace,wherefivestockingshadbeenhung.Theyhadn’tbeentherewhenI’dgoneuptobedthenightbefore.Buttheretheywere.Five.Oneforeachmemberofthe

Rushfamily.And,rightinthemiddleof

them,onethatsaidSonnyin

glittery,hand-paintedletters.Itwasasmallthing,onthe

surface,butitfelthuge.Ihadtoswallowalumpthathadriseninmythroat.Ihadneverhadastockingwithmynameonit.Momhadneverhungthem.Hell,wehadn’tevenhadaChristmastreeinatleastfiveyears.“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,

callingmyattentionbacktothefamily.“Comesitdown.WehavetopassthesepresentsoutbeforeWesley’sheadexplodes.”Inoddedandmigratedover

tothecouchtositbetweenhimandAmy,whoofferedmeawarmsmile.“MerryChristmas,”she

said.

“MerryChristmas,”Ireplied,beamingbackather.Wesleypassedoutthegifts,

butnoneofusopenedthemuntileverypackageunderthetreehadbeengiventoitsrightfulowner.Thenwewerefreetotearin,thoughnoonedidthiswithquiteasmuchenthusiasmastheeldestRushchild.

“You’renearlytwenty-oneyearsold,”Mr.RushremindedhissonasWesleyimpatientlyshreddedthepaperononeofthegifts—thegameconsoleAmyandIhadpickedup.“TheChristmasspirit

doesn’thaveanage,”Wesleyassuredhim.Asforme,Ihadasmallpile

ofgifts,prettymuchasI’dexpected.AnewredsweaterfromMr.Rush(wasthatcashmere?Ididn’tevenknowwhatcashmerefeltlike)andaboxoflavender-scentedlotion,bodywash,andperfumefromMrs.Rush.Wesleyhadgottenmesomething,too,thoughthepresentitselfconfusedmea

little.“Oh,thankyou,”Isaid,

lookingdownatthesmartphonecasethathadclearlybeencustomdesignedwithmynameinpink,swirlyletters.Ididn’thaveasmartphone,butIdidhavetheabilitytofakeenthusiasm.“It’sreallycute.”“Thatactuallygoeswith

anothergift,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Gocheckyourstocking.”“Uh,okay.”Istoodupand

walkedovertothemantel.Carefully,IreachedmyhandinsidetheSonnystockingandpulledouttheonlyitem.Andgasped.Asmartphone.Abrand-new,working

smartphone.

“That’sfromallofus,”Mr.Rushsaid.“ButitwasAmy’sidea,”

Mrs.Rushinformedme.“Weknowyourphone’sbeenbrokenforawhile,andwefigureditwastimeforanupgrade.”“Weaddedyoutoour

phoneplan,too,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Wetransferredyour

oldnumberandeverything.”Thatlumpwasbackagain.

Persistentbastard.Ijustshookmyhead,barelymanagingtochokeoutthewords,“I-Ican’tacceptthis.”“Youcan,andyouwill,”

Wesleysaid.“It’salittleselfishonour

parts,”Mrs.Rushadded.“Wewanttobeabletokeepin

touchwithyouwhileyou’relivinghere,andyouandAmycan’talwaysbeattachedatthehip.Sothisisforus,too.”“I’msureit’llalsomakeit

easierforyourmothertogetaholdofyouifsheneedsto,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Doyoulikeit?”Amy

asked.Shewasgrinningatme,hereyeswideandbright.

Inodded.“Ido.Ido—thankyou.Thankyousomuch.”“You’rewelcome,”Mr.

Rushsaid.“AndthankyouforspendingChristmaswithus.We’regladtohaveyouhere,Sonny.”Ismiledathim.“I’mglad

I’mhere,too.”Imaynothavebeenas

filledwithholidayjoyasWesley(IdoubtedIeverwouldbe),butifIwasgoingtospendChristmaswithanyone,therewasnootherfamilyI’dratherbewith.Except,maybe,myown.

***

TheonlycallIgotthatdaywasn’tonmynewcellphone:ItwasontheRushes’house

phone,anditwascollect.“Yes,I’llacceptthe

charges,”Isaid,feelingalittleguiltydespitetheirinsistencethatthey’dbeokaywithpayingthefeeswhenI’doriginallyaskedthemaboutit.Ihadafeelingthiswasthe

firsttimetheRushhousehadreceivedacallfromaprison.

“Sonny?”Ihadn’theardhisvoicein

years,butIrecognizeditimmediately.Itwasdeep,butlight.Youcouldhearthesmileinit.Inallmymemoriesofmyfather,hewasalwayssmiling.“Hey,Dad,”Isaid,myown

voiceatadshaky.“MerryChristmas.”

“Yousoundsogrown-up,”hesaid.“You’reprobablytoooldformetocallyouSonnyBunnynow,huh?”“Maybealittle,”Isaid.I

wassurprisedbyhownormalhesounded.Howconfidentandpleasant.Somehow,I’dexpectedprisontorobhimofthat.Hejust…didn’tsoundlikeacriminal.“It’sbeena

while.”“Iknow.Iwassohappyto

getyourletter.”“Youwere?”“Ofcourse,SonnyBunny.

I’vetriedtocallandwritebefore,butIcouldnevergetintouch.”“Wemovedafewyears

ago,”Isaid.“IntoGranddad’shouse.AndMomnevergota

housephone.Andhercellnumberhaschangedafewtimes,so…”“Yourmother,”hesaid,a

slightlaughinhisvoice.“She’sapieceofwork.”“Yeah…Sothat’swhyI

gaveyouthisnumber.I’matmyfriend’shouserightnow.HerparentssaidIcouldtakeyourcallshere.”

“Oh,”Dadsaid.“Well,tellthemthankyouforme.”Hepaused.“Howisyourmom,anyway?”Timetolie.“Great,”Isaid.“She’sgota

goodjobrightnowandshe’sseeingsomeone,sothat’sgoodforher.WehadagreatChristmasthismorning,andthenIcameovertomy

friend’shousefordinner.”“That’sgreat,”Dadsaid.“I

missyou,SonnyBunny.”“Imissyou,too.”Ididn’tknowthewords

weretrueuntiltheyleftmymouth.DespiteeverythingI’dsaidabouthimovertheyears,despitealltheangerandhurtIfelt,I’dmissedhim.Especiallynow.

“Listen,”hesaid.“Iknowyou’rebusy,butI’dlovetoseeyouifyoueverwanttocomeforvisitation—”“Iwill.”“Yeah?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Imean,I

don’tknowwhen,butI’llcomesoon.”“Thatwouldbegreat,

Sonny.Youcancomemake

funofmeinmyveryfashionableorangejumpsuit.”Andeventhoughhisvoicewasstillconfident,Icouldsensethatlittletouchofrelief.Nooneelsewouldhavecaughtit,butIdid.Ihadtoremindmyselfof

that.Mydadmightnothavesoundedlikeacriminal,buthewasone.Therewasno

disputingthat.Maybehe’dchangedovertheyears.Maybehewasn’ttheassholemymotherhadonceclaimed.Butforallhischarm,hewasaliar.Justlikeme.Thequestionwas,how

muchwashelyingabout?Therewasachancethat

lettinghimbackintomylife

wasamistake.ButRydersaidDadmightsurprisemeifIgavehimachance,andhealreadyhadjustbycalling.“Youstillthere,Sonny

Bunny?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mhere.

ButIcanonlytalkforafewmoreminutes.Thephonechargesarekindof…”“Iunderstand,”Dadsaid.

“But,ifyouhaveafewmoreminutes,I’dlovetolearnalittlemoreaboutthisgrown-upyou.”Ismiled.“Whatdoyou

wanttoknow?”“Everything,”hesaid.Iwouldn’tgivehimthat.I

couldn’tgiveanyonethat.Butforthenextfiveminutes,Itoldhimasmanytruethings

asIcould.

“Areyoufreakingkiddingme?”Islammedmyfistinto

Gert’ssteeringwheelandjumpedattheresoundinghonk!itelicited.Because,despitealllogic,ithadsomehowsurprisedme.

I’djustmanagedtopullmypiece-of-shitcarontotheshoulderoftheroadasitgroanedandcreakedtoastop.ButnowIwasstuck,strandedonthestretchofhighwaybetweenHamiltonandOakHillonthedayafterChristmas.AndIwasgoingtobelate

forwork.

“Pleasejustbethebattery,”ImutteredasIclimbedfromthecarandwenttoopenthehood.“Pleasejustneedajump.”Imayhavehadajobnow,

butbetweengasmoney,Christmaspresents,andbuyingsomenewwinterclothes,Ididn’thavethemoneytofixGert.Iknewthe

RusheswouldpayforitifIasked,butIstillfeltguiltyaboutlettingthemgivemeanewcellphone.Ipulledopenthehoodand

stareddownatthetangleofmachineryinside,suddenlyrememberingthatIknewabsolutelynothingaboutcars.Iwasn’tevensurewhyI’dpoppedthehoodotherthan

thatwasjustwhatyouweresupposedtodowhenyouwerestrandedonthesideoftheroad.“Damn,”Isaid,looking

downatwhatIthoughtmightbethebattery.Ireachedintomyback

pocketandpulledoutmynewcellphone,whichonlyhadahandfulofnumbers

programmedintoit.ItriedAmy,buttherewasnoanswer.She’dgonetothelibrarytoworkonanessayforhercollegeapplications,somaybeshe’dputitonsilent.ThenIrememberedthatIhadn’tgivenAmyherphonebackyet—itwasstillinmyroom.SoItriedWesleynext.

“Hello,Sonya.”“Notfunny,”Isaid.“Hey,

areyoubusy?”“We’rejustwatchinga

movie.Why?”Iheardsomeonelaughingin

thebackground,andIrealizedhemust’vebeenatBianca’shouse.“Gert’sdead.”“Who?”

“Mycar.”“Oh…okay.Whereare

you?”Igavehimdirectionsandhe

assuredmetheywereleavingimmediately.Ihungupandshovedmyphonebackintomypocketwithasigh.“Damnit,Gert,”Isaid,

restingmyhandonthehood.“Getyourshittogether,

woman.”Idialedthebookstore’s

number,buttherewasnoanswer.IwasabouttotryagainwhenIheardsomeonecallouttome.“Hey.Youallright?”Ilookedupandnoticeda

Hondaslowingtoastopnexttome.Aguywithmessybrownhairstuckhisheadout

thewindow.Beyondhim,Icouldmakeoutaprettybrunetteinthepassenger’sseat.Neitherofthemweremucholderthanme.“Fine,”Isaid.“Mycarjust

sucks.”HeturnedtheHondaonto

theshoulder,justafewyardsinfrontofmycar,makingroomforothercarstospeed

pastus.Thenheandthebrunettebothclimbedoutandstartedwalkingtowardme.Istiffened,thinkingthatthis

wasexactlyhoweveryhorrormoviebeganandhopingthatAmywouldavengemymurder,regardlessoftheweirdnessbetweenusatthemoment,butthenIrealizedwewereonabusyhighway

inbroaddaylightandanysmarterserial-killingteamwouldnotbesocareless.“Sorry,”thebrunettesaid,

noticingtheuneasylookonmyface.Therewassomethingvaguelyfamiliarabouther,butIcouldn’tplaceit.“NathanherehasaGoodSamaritancomplex.Wepromisewe’renotgoingto,

like,kidnapyou.”“That’sjustwhatanygood

kidnapperwouldsay,”Ipointedout.Thegirl,whowaswearinga

UniversityofKentuckysweatshirt,snorted,andherblueeyestwinkledjustabit.“It’snotaGoodSamaritan

complex,”Nathanargued.“It’scalledbeingadecent

person.Tryitsometime.”“I’llpass.Thanks.”Theystaredateachotherfor

amoment,bothsmiling,andsuddenlyIfeltasthoughIwasintrudingonsomething.Worriedtheymightstartmaulingeachotherinfrontofme,thereonthesideoftheroad,Iclearedmythroat.“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mfine.

Justacraptasticcar.Myfriendsareontheway.”“See.Shedoesn’twantour

help,”thegirlsaid.“Let’sleaveheralone.I’mfreezing.”“Doestheheatworkinyour

car?”Nathanaskedme.“Doyouwanttowaitinourcarwithus?”“Oh,Idon’t—”

“Iwastryingtoconvinceherthatweweren’ttryingtokidnapher,”thegirlsaid.“You’renothelpingmycasehere.”Nathanlaughed.“Sorry.

Whitley’sright.Wearen’ttryingtokidnapyou.”“Wait,”Isaid,lookingat

thebrunette.AndsuddenlyIrealizedwhyshelookedso

familiar.“Whitley?WhitleyJohnson?You’reGregJohnson’sdaughter?”Whitleystiffenedalittle.

“Yeah.”“OhmyGod,”Isaid.

“Okay,Iswear,I’mnotusuallyasquealingfangirl,butyourfatherisamazing.”“SoI’vebeentold.”“Hepaidformygasonce.”

WhitleymetthiscommentwiththesamelackofenthusiasmIhadreceivedfromRyder.Shejustgaveavague,placatingsmile,andIrealizedwhatanidiotIsoundedlike.Nonetheless,Iwassuddenly

waymorewillingtowaitintheircaruntilBiancaandWesleyarrived.

ThethreeofusclimbedintotheHonda,meslidingintothebackseat,andNathancrankeduptheheat.IlistenedwithcuriosityasheandWhitleytalkedaboutotherthings—school,plansfortheweekend,someawkwardfamilyChristmasdrama—onlythenrememberingthatthesetwowerenotonlya

couplebutstepsiblings.Thathadreallygottenthe

rumormillstirredupafewyearsago,shortlyafterGregJohnsonmovedtoHamilton.Hisdaughter,Whitley,alreadyhadareputationforbeingapartyanimal,butthegossiponlygotworsewhenshestarteddatingherstepmother’sson.Talk

aroundtownhadmostlyfadedafterthetwowentofftocollege,butsometimesflaredupagainwhenWhitleyandNathanwerebackforschoolbreaks.Thiswasmyfirsttime

meetingeitheroftheminperson,andIwasfascinatedbyhowarelationshiplikethatwouldwork.

Ialsowonderedifmylovelifewasmoreorlessscrewedupthantheirs.Probablymore.“Arethoseyourfriends?”

NathanaskedasaPorscheeasedontothesideoftheroad,rightbehindGert.“Yeah,”Isaid,thoughIwas

mildlydisappointedtobeejectedfromthisriveting

couple’spresence.IhoppedoutoftheHonda

andsawWesleyandBiancaapproaching.WhitleyandNathanspottedthem,too,andtomysurprise,theyalsoclimbedoutofthecar.“Hey,”Nathansaid,

beaming.“Hey.”Wesleygrinned.

“Longtimenosee.”

“Youguysknoweachother?”Iasked.“Sortof,”Biancasaid.She

andWhitleygaveeachotherapolitenod.“Whitleyherestolemybest

friend,”Wesleyexplained.“HowisHarrison,anyway?Ihaven’theardfromhiminages.”“That’sbecausehehasa

newboyfriend,”Whitleysaid.“He’sspendingChristmasinLosAngeleswithAntonio.I’dbemadathimforit,butthey’redisgustinglycutetogether.”“Goodforhim,”Wesley

said.“BiancaandIweretalkingaboutgoingouttovisithimifhedoesn’tcomehomethissummer.”

TheykepttalkinguntilBiancanoticedmestandingthereshiveringandclearedherthroat.“Well,wejustcametopick

upthestray.”Shejabbedathumbatme.“Thanksforkeepinganeyeonher.”“I’mnotapuppy,”Isaid.“Wediscussedkidnapping

her,”Whitleysaid.“Justso

youknow.”“Gladyoudidn’t,”Wesley

said.“ThenI’dhavetofindmysisteranewbestfriend,andthosecantakeforevertohousebreak.”Irolledmyeyes.“Ha-ha.”WhitleyandNathansaid

good-byeandclimbedintotheircar,thenWesley,Bianca,andIheadedback

overtoGert.“Sowhat’stheproblem?”

Biancaasked,tappingthehood.“Idon’tknow,”Iadmitted.

“Itstoppedrunning.I’mhopingit’sjustthebattery.Doyouguyshavejumpercables?”Wesleyopenedhismouthto

answer,butBiancajust

poppedopenthehood.“Letmetakealookfirst.Ihaveplentyofexperiencewithcrappyoldcars.”“Bemyguest.”Shepokedherheadaround

insidewhileWesleyandIwatched.Afterasecond,shetookastepbackandslammedthehoodshut.“We’llneedtocallatow

truck.”Igroaned.“What’swrong

withGert?”“Youralternator.Thebeltis

totallyjusthangingthere.It’llneedtobereplaced.”“Thealternator,”Wesley

said,nodding.“Imean,obviously.”Biancarolledhereyes.“For

someonewithsuchanicecar,

youknowsolittleaboutthem.”“Howmuchisthatgoingto

costme?”Iasked.“Hardtosay,”Bianca

admitted.“Ifit’sjustthebelt,itwon’tbethatbad.Ifit’stheactualalternator…alittlemore.”“MorethatIdon’thave,”I

muttered.“AndIdon’tget

paiduntilnextweek.”“Don’tworryaboutit,”

Wesleysaid.“I’lltakecareofit.”“Ican’tletyoudothat,”I

said.“Oryourparents.Youguyshavealreadydonewaytoomuchforme.”“Don’tbesilly,”hesaid.

“Wedon’tmind.”“ButIdo,”Iargued.

Biancaputanunderstandinghandonmyshoulder.“Maybeyoucouldconsideritaloan,then,”shesaid.“Tobepaidbackwhenyoucan.”Istillwasn’tthrilledabout

this,butitwasn’tasiftherewereatonofoptions.So,reluctantly,Inodded.“Deal,”Wesleysaid.“I’ll

evenchargeinterestifyou

like.”“Let’snegotiatethatinthe

car.Whereit’swarm,”Biancasuggested.Ittookabouttwentyminutes

forthetowtrucktoarrive,andbythen,Iwassuperlateforwork.PoorGertandherbrokenalternatorwerehauledoff,andIsilentlypromisedherI’dcometorescueher

soon.“Sowherewereyou

headed?”WesleyaskedashesteeredthePorschebackontothehighway.“Themall,”Isaid,checking

thetime.“Myshiftstartedhalfanhourago.Mybosswillbesopissed.AndnowIhavenowaytogethomeafter…”

“Wecancomepickyouup,”Biancasaid.“Youdon’thavetodothat,”

Isaid.“Ofcoursewedo,”Wesley

said.“Youdon’tthinkwe’dleaveyoustranded,doyou?Justgivemeacallwhenyourshiftends.”“Thankyou,”Isaid.

“Really.”

Wesleysmiledatmeintherearviewmirror.“Anytime.”

Well,thiswassomeseriousdéjàvu.“Sheila,comeon,”I

begged.“Itoldyou.Mycarbrokedown.Ihadtowaitforthetowtruck.”“Youcouldhavecalled,”

shesaid.

“Itried,”Isaid.“Nooneanswered.”“Whydidn’tyoutryagain?”Fairquestion.“Wehadtocallsomeone

elsetocoveryourshift,”shesaid.“ThedayafterChristmasisalwaysbusy,andyouweren’there.”“Itoldyou.Mycar—”“Youalwayshavean

excuse,”shesaid.Tobefair,theexcusesabout

Gerthadbeentrue.I’dhadmoreproblemswithherlatelythanusual.Iseriouslyneededanewcar.Butthatrequiredmoney.Whichrequiredajob.WhichGertwasmakingitincrediblyhardtoholdonto.Well,Gert,andmyhatred

oftheholidays.

“Look,”Sheilasaidassherearrangedafewpicturebooksthathadbeentossedaroundbysomekidsafewminutesbefore.Iwasfollowingheraroundthestorelikeapathetic,lostdog.“Youwereseasonalanyway.Wewereprobablygoingtobelayingyouoffintwoweeksasitis.”

Butthatwastwoweeks’worthofpaythatIneeded.EspeciallynowthatIowedWesleyforGert’srepairs.Ijuststoodthere,staringat

her.“Sorry,Sonny,”shesaid.

“Butyou’refired.”Istormedoutofthe

bookstore,pissedatSheilaandatGertandatmyself.I

thoughtofcallingWesley,askinghimtoturnbackaroundandcomepickmeup.ButItookadeepbreathanddecidedtobemoreproactive.Iwasalreadyatthemall,so

Imightaswellstartmyjobhuntrightaway.IsighedasIheadedtoward

thefoodcourt,rememberingthedayAmyandIhadcome

herewhenIwasfirstapplyingfornewjobs.SomedaysIfeltlikearat

onawheel,runningandrunningandrunningandnevergettinganywhere.

***

“Sonny?”Iwaswalkingoutof

Daphne’s,avintage-inspiredclothingstore,afterdropping

offmyapplication.Ryderwasstandingafewyardsaway,ashoppingbaginhishandandhisgreenutilityjacketslungcasuallyoverhisshoulder.Helookedlikeamodel.Likeapictureanyoneofthesestoreswouldhavelovedtohaveadvertisingtheirbrand.“Hey,Ryder,”Isaid.

“What’reyoudoinghere?”Wesaiditinunison,then

laughedtogether.“IfIwasseven,Iwouldyell

jinxrightnow.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sucha

shamewe’retoooldfor—JINX!Youowemeasoda.”Ryderrolledhiseyes.

“Seriously?”“Ofcourse.Itakethese

thingsveryseriously.Ipreferorangesoda,bytheway.ThoughIwillalsoacceptgrape.Norootbeer,though.Disgusting.”“Noted.”Heglanceddown

atthestackofapplicationsstilltuckedbeneathmyarm.“So,backtomyquestion.Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Seekingemployment.”

“Ithoughtyouworkedatthebookstore?”“Nolonger.”“Oh.Sorrytohearthat.”“Whataboutyou?What

bringsyoutothemallonthisfinewinter’sday?”“Somethingjustasfun.”He

lifteduptheshoppingbags.“Returningunwantedgifts.”“Unwantedgifts?That’san

oxymoron,Ryder.”“You’veneverbeen

honoredwithapresentfrommygrandmother,then.”“Thatbad?”“Shegavemesuspenders

once.”“Well,Imean,thoseare

makingacomeback.Especiallyamonghipsterslikeyourself.”

“I’mnotahipster,”hesaid.“AnddoIlooklikesomeonewhowearssuspenders?”“Imean,maybe…”“Brightpurpleones?”Igiggled,tryingtopicture

it.Ryderinhisexpensivebluejeans,redGoatsVoteforMelonsT-shirt,andbrightpurplesuspenders.“No,notreally.ThoughIwouldpay

moneytoseeit.”“Yes,well,payallyoulike.

It’snotgoingtohappen.”Hesighed.“Luckily,I’vebeenabletotradethingsinforitemsIwouldwear,soatleastitwasn’tawasteofanicegesture.”Withoutsayinganything,

withoutplanningit,westartedwalking.Together.

Ourshouldersnearlytouchingaswewoveourwaypastfamilieswithstrollersandseniorsintracksuits.“SodidAmygetyouthat

pony?”heaskedafterwe’dpassedafewstores.“Sadly,no.I’mvery

disappointed.We’renolongeronspeakingtermsbecauseofit.”

“That’sashame.Youknowshe…”Ilookedathimashetrailed

off.Myheartwasalreadybeginningtosink.BacktoAmy.Barelyaminutetogetherandthat’swhathewantedtotalkabout.Ihadn’tevenbeentextinghimfromherphonelately.Atleast,notmuch.Justacoupleoftimes,

onceortwice,whentheguestroomfeltespeciallylonely.ButI’ddefinitelysloweddownsincethestartofChristmasbreak.Especiallyafterhebroughtherthatgift.Asfarasheknew,Amyhadnevereventhankedhimforit.Yethestillwantedtotalkabouther.Heshookhishead.“You

knowwhat?Nevermind.”Ormaybehedidn’t.“Sowhereelsedoyouhave

todroptheseoff?”Ryderasked,takingtheapplicationsfrommeandthumbingthroughthem.AfterSheilafiredme,I’d

gonearoundthemall,pickingupapplications,thenfilledthemoutinthefoodcourt.

NowIwasjustdroppingthemoff.“Thecandyshop.The

smoothieplace.Andthatsportinggoodsstoreontheothersideofthebuilding.Youknow,thatonewhereallthemiddle-agedmenincamostandaroundcomparingfishingpolesforhours?”Rydergrimaced.“You’re

goingtoputanapplicationinthere?”“Mycarbrokedownonthe

wayhere,andIhavetopayfortherepairs,soIcan’taffordtobepicky.”Itooktheapplicationsbackfromhim.“Yourcarbrokedownon

thewayhere?”“Yeah.Ihadtocallatow

truck.Thankfully,Amy’s

brotherwasabletopickmeup,soIwasn’tstrandedlong.”Islowedaswenearedthecandystore,andRyderfollowedmein.HewasquietasIhandedmyapplicationtotheladybehindthecounter,whowastednotimeinformingmethattheyweren’thiringrightnow,butthatthey’dkeepmy

applicationonfile.“Listen,”Rydersaidaswe

wereleavingtheshop.“Iwasabouttoleavehere,butI’dbegladtogiveyouaridehomeifyouneedone.”“Thatwouldactuallybe

great,”Isaid,surprised.“Ifyoudon’tmind.Itwouldsavemyfriendsanothertripouthere.”

“Idon’tmindatall.”HowhadIeverthoughtthis

guywasajerk?Idroppedoffmylastfew

applications,including,yes,oneinthesportinggoodsstore.AfterIhandedittothemanatthecounter,IsentatexttoWesley,lettinghimknowIhadfoundanotherridehome.ThenIwentin

searchforRyder,whohadwanderedoffsomewhereinthefewsecondsIwasn’tlooking.Ifoundhimlookingatbrightorangehuntingjacketsandvests.“Thinkingofchangingyour

wardrobe?”Iasked.“Marvelingatthefactthat

mygrandmotherhasn’tgottenmeoneoftheseyet,”hesaid.

“Ablaze-orangevestwouldgosplendidlywiththosepurplesuspenders.”“Mythoughtsexactly.”He

turnedtomewithasmile.“Areyoureadytogo?”“Notuntilyoutryoneof

thoseon.”“Ha-ha.You’rehilarious.”“I’mserious,”Isaid.“Ifyou

doit,you’llnolongerowe

measoda.”“No.”“Oh,comeon,Ryder,”I

said,punchinghisarmplayfully.“Bealittlespontaneousforonce.”Hehesitated,butImust’ve

beenpersuasivebecausehesighed,resigned,andputdownhisshoppingbags.“Givemeyourphone.”

“What?Why?”“BecauseIdon’twantyou

takingpicturestouseasblackmail,that’swhy.”“Oh,that’sagreatidea.But

Idon’thaveaphone,remember?”“Youdidn’tbefore,butyou

donow.Isawyouusingitasecondago.Handitover.”Isighedandpassedhimmy

newcellphone.Helookedatitandchuckled.“Yournameisonthecaseandeverything.Worriedyou’llforgetwhoitbelongsto?”“Justshutupandputonthe

jacket.”Heshovedmyphoneinto

hispocketandturnedtotherackoforangeattire.Afterasecond,heselectedacoat.He

tossedmehisjacket,thenslidthebulkyorangemonstrosityontohisarms.Itwasimpossiblenotto

laugh.“PleasecanIhavemy

phoneback?”Ichokedthroughthegiggles.“Absolutelynot.”“Youjustlook…so

different.”Andhedid.He

didn’tlookbad—hell,ifallhunterslookedlikethis,I’dbeupinadeerstandinaheartbeat.Buthedidn’tlooklikeRyderatall.Itwasfunnyhowoneitemofclothingcouldcompletelychangeaperson.“Looksgreatonyou,kid,”

oneoftheemployeessaidashewalkedpastus.“You’re

readyfordeerseasonnow!”Embarrassmentfloodedhis

face.Idoubtedhe’deverbeenhuntinginhislife.“He’salsointhemarketfor

anewfishingpole!”Icalledtotheemployee.Rydershovedthejacketoff

hisshoulders,hungitbackup,pickeduphisbags,andgrabbedmyhand,pullingme

totheexitasIlaughed,leavingthestoreemployeelookingverybewildered.Hishandwaswarmagainst

mine,anditsentaspikeofadrenalinethroughme.“Happynow?”Ryderasked

whenwewereawayfromthestore,butIcouldtellhewasholdingbackalaugh,too.“Oh,very,”Itoldhim.

“Extremely,even.”“Good.Thenlet’sgetoutof

herebeforeyoutrytomakemeplaydress-upanywhereelse.”Westoodthereforaminute,

ourhandsstilllocked.Iwaitedforhimtoletgoandhopedthathewouldn’tallatthesametime.But,afteramomentthatlastedaninstant

toolong,hedid.Andmaybeitwasmyimagination,butIthinkhewasjustasdisappointedtolosethatcontactasIwas.Itradedhisjacketformy

cellphoneandweheadedoutside,tohiscar.Itwasn’tlate,butitwasalreadydarkout.Wewalkedclosetogether,ourheadsducked

againstawindthathadpickedupinthehourssinceGerthadbrokendown.AndasIclimbedintothefrontseatofhiscar,shivering,Irealizedthatthelasttimewe’dbeeninacartogetherwasinOctober,onanotherdaywhenGerthadgivenmetroubleandI’dbeenfired.Thedayallofthishad

started,really.We’dcomealongway

sincethatday,butnotnearlyasfarasI’dhoped.“It’llwarmupinasecond,”

Rydersaidafterhestartedthecar.TheenginehadapurrsoquietIbarelynoticedit.“So.Thisisthe

Rydermobile,eh?”Ilookedaroundattheleatherinterior.

Itwasspotless.Otherthantheshoppingbagshe’djusttossedintothebackseat,therewasreallynothinginit.Nodiscardedwaterbottlesorforgottenfast-foodwrappers.IknewGertwasamess,butjeez.Thiscarwasalmostscaryclean.Asifhe’dreadmymind,

Rydersaid,“Yeah.My

mom’salwaysonmetokeepitclean.She’salittleanalaboutstufflikethat.Probablybecausemydadwassuchaslob.”Thedisdaininhisvoicewasundeniable.“Butthereareworsethingsthanacleancar,soIdon’tcomplain.”Thoughsomehow,Iknew

hewouldhavebeforethe

truthabouthisfathercameout.Hewouldhavethoughthismotherwasatyrantbackthen.Backbeforehedecidedshewasasaint.Iwasn’tgoingtobringthat

up,though.Instead,Idecidedtobringupmyowndysfunctionalfamilyunit.“Hey.I’vebeenmeaningto

tellyou…”Wewerepulling

outoftheparkinglotnow,smoothlyturningontothehighwaythatwouldleadusbackintoHamilton.“I,um…Iwrotetomydad.”Heglancedatmebefore

turningbacktotheroad.“Youdid?”“Yeah.Afterwetalkedat

theparkthatday.Whatyousaid,aboutlettingpeople

surpriseyou…Well,anyway,Iwrotetohim.Ididn’twanttosayanythingunlesssomethinggoodoutofit.Ididn’twanttobeembarrassed—”“Youwouldn’tneedtobe

embarrassed,”hesaid.“Ifhedidn’twriteorcallyouback,he’stheonewhoshouldbeembarrassed.”

“Well,actually,hedid.Yesterday.Hecalledme.”“Really?That’sawesome,

Sonny.”“Itwasjustashortcall.

Whoknowswhatkindofguyhereallyis.Youcan’ttellfromacall,but…butit’sthefirsttimeI’vetalkedtohiminyears,andIdidn’trealizehowmuchI’dmissedhim.”I

wrappedmyarmsaroundmyself,suddenlyfeelingnaked.Thatwastoomuch.Toohonest.Tooclose.ButthenRyder’shandwas

onmyarm,andeverythinginsidemerelaxedalittle.Hegentlytuggedmyarmfreeandhisfingerssliddowntocirclemywrist,leavingatrailofelectricityintheirwake.

Thenheplacedhispalmagainstmineandheldmyhandagain,thewayhehadinthemall,onlythistimehisfingerslacedwithmine.“I’mgladyouwroteto

him,”hesaid,hiseyesneverleavingtheroad.“Yeah.Me,too….AndI

wouldn’thavedoneitifitweren’tforyou.So,thanks.”

Weweresilentforaminute,andIwaskeenlyawareofhishand,stillwrappedaroundmine.Iwasgiddyandnervousandeventually,Ihadtosaysomething.“Anyway…badgiftsaside,

howwereyourholidays?”“Fine,”hesaid.“Quiet.

Momhasn’treallyfeltlikedoingmuchcelebrating.

Instead,she’sbeenmuchmoreconcernedwithmespendingthebreakfillingoutcollegeapplications.”Igrimaced.“Ugh.Idon’t

evenwanttothinkaboutthat.”“Iknowwhatyoumean,”he

said.“MymomwenttoStanfordandmydadisaPrincetonalum,andthey

expectmetoattendatopschoolaswell.Atmyoldschool,Iprettymuchwould’vebeenashoo-inwhereverIwantedtogo.Butnowthatwe’vemovedhere,I’malittleworriedaboutmychances.”Hepaused,thenquicklyadded,“That’snotmecomplainingaboutHamilton,bytheway.At

least,notintentionally.”“No,”Isaid.“Iknow.And

itmakessense.Hamilton’snotexactlyaprepschool.”“It’sgrownonme,though.”

Heclearedhisthroat.“Sowhyareyoustressedaboutcollege?”“BecauseIdon’tthinkIcan

go.”ItwasthefirsttimeI’dsaid

itoutloud,anddoingsomadeitfeelsomuchmorerealandscary.I’dbeenignoringtheissue—ortryingto—formonths,butnow,withonlyasemesterleftinmysenioryear,Iwasrunningoutofplacestohide.“Butyou’reinAPclasses,”

hesaid.“Thatseemslikealotofstressforsomeonewho

isn’tcollege-bound.”“Iknow,”Iagreed.“It’snot

thatIdon’twanttogo.But,Imean,howcouldIaffordit?”“Loans?”“Idon’tevenlivewithmy

parents,andIjustlostmyshittypart-timejob.Whointheirrightmindwouldgivemealoan?”“Sowhatareyougoingto

doaftergraduation?”“Ihavenofuckingidea.”Onceagain,IwasscaredI

mighthavesaidtoomuch.Thathe’drealizeIwasagirlfromaPodunktownwithnofuture.But,justlikeintheparkafewweeksago,hedidn’tseemfazedbythis.Hedidn’tevenletgoofmyhand.Infact,hegaveitasoft,

reassuringsqueeze.“Don’ttellanyone,”Isaid.

“You’rethefirstoneI’veadmittedthatto.Ihaven’teventoldAmy.Shestillthinkswemightbeabletogotoschooltogether,andIhaven’tbeenabletoletherdownyet.”“Iwon’tsayanything,”he

said.

“Thankyou.”Hishandstayedinmineas

wedrovethroughthedarkness.AnditwasstilltherewhenwepulledintotheRushes’drivewaytenminuteslater.“Thanksfortheride,”Isaid.Hewasstillholdingmy

hand.“Thanksforthefun

afternoon,”hesaid.Hewasstillholdingmy

hand.“Soyouhadfunplaying

dress-up,then?”“Don’ttellanyone.”Hewasstillholdingmyhand.Itmayhavebeenthedead

ofwinter,butitfeltlikethehottestsummerdayinthat

car.Everynerveinmybodywasonend.EverymuscleIpossessedwastense.RyderandIwereinadarkcar,holdinghands,andhewaslookingatme.Reallylookingatme.Staringatmyeyes.Atmylips.Hehadsomenicelips

himself.Hewasabouttokissme.I

knewit.Istartedtoleantowardhim.Myeyesstartedtoslipshut.Andthen—Hepulledhishandfree,

turnedhishead,andscootedawayfrommesofastthatIwasn’tsureifI’dimaginedeverythingthathadcomebefore.“So…doyouknowifAmy

hasanyplansforNew

Year’s?”Itwaslikehe’ddroppeda

bucketoficewaterovermyhead.Iwasmortified.Andpissed.Isatbackinmyseatand

usedmynowemptyhandtoundomyseatbelt.“Um…yeah.Ithinkwealreadyhaveplans.Sorry.”Myvoicewas

coldandbrittle.“Oh.Toobad.”Hewasn’t

lookingatme.Infact,itlookedlikehewasfocusingvery,veryhardonthesteeringwheel.“Right.Well,seeyouat

school,Ryder.”Beforehecouldsayanother

word—notthathewouldhave—Igotoutofthecar

andhurriedinside,slammingthedoorbehindme.

“Weshoulddosomething,”Wesleysaidasheslidintotheseatacrossfromme.“Couldyoubemore

specific?”Biancaasked.Shewassittingnexttohim,sippingaCherryCoke.Itwasacoupleofdaysafter

Christmas,andthefourofus—Wesley,Bianca,Amy,andme—werespendinganeveningattheNest,alocalhangoutpopularwithsomeofHamilton’shighschoolpopulation.AmyandIdefinitely

weren’ttookeenontheplace,butWesleyhadinsistedwegofor“oldtimes’sake.”His

oldtimes,notours.Butalas,we’dcavedin.Wesleypluckedafrenchfry

fromthebasketinthemiddleofthetable.“Winterbreak’snotthatmuchlonger.WeshoulddosomethingfunbeforewehavetogobacktoNewYork.”“Ithoughtwewerehere

becauseyouthoughtitwould

befun,”Isaid.“Itis.”“Wewillagreetodisagree.”“Oh,comeon.Thisplaceis

great,”Wesleysaid.“They’rehiring,youknow.Don’tyouneedanewjob?”“There’snotenoughmoney

intheworld,”Isaid,cringingasagroupoffreshmangirlssquealedwithdelightasthey

ranthroughthefrontdoor.“I’mwithSonnyonthis

one,”Biancasaid.“Amy’swithme,though,

right?”Wesleylookedathissister,whodidn’tdisagreebutalsorefusedtomeethiseyes,whichwastellingenough.“Somethingiswrongwithyouthree.Everyoneelsehereagreesthatthisisthebest

placetohangoutinHamilton.”“There’snotexactly

competitionforthattitle,”Ipointedout.Wesleyignoredme.“You

know,”hesaid,awickedgrinspreadingacrosshisfaceasheputanarmaroundhisgirlfriend,“thisisthefirstplaceBiancaandIever

kissed.”Biancasnorted,almost

spittingoutherCherryCoke.“Um,it’salsothefirstplaceIeverthrewadrinkinyourface.”“Hasthathappenedenough

timestowarranta‘first’?”Iasked.Biancanodded,andAmy

andIbothburstoutlaughing.

Wesley,however,pressedon,undeterred.“Iwasseriousbefore,

though,”hesaid.“Aboutdoingsomethingfunbeforeschoolstartsagain.”“Likewhat?”Amyasked.“Likemaybewecould

throwaparty?”Biancarolledhereyes.

“Again,”shesaid.“Funfor

who?”“Idon’tseeyoucomingup

withanybetterideas.”“Actually,”shesaid,“I

thinkIhaveone.MygranddadhasacabindowninTennessee,intheSmokyMountains.Momisconstantlynaggingmetobringsomefriendsdowntostaythereforalongweekend.

We’dhavetheplacetoourselves.”“Oh,”Amysaid,perking

up.“Thatsoundsfun.”“Actually,itdoes,”Wesley

admitted.Ilookeddownatthesurface

ofthetable.Ithadbeencarvedupovertheyears,namesanddatesandcursewordscutintothewood.I

focusedonit,pretendingtoreadasthethreeofthemdiscussedplanstoheaddowntoTennesseeinafewdays.Itriedtothinkofsomethingelse,ofmyownplansforNewYear’sEve,butthepulsingrhythmoftheelectronicdancemusickeptmybrainfromgettingtoofar.“We’llleaveonThursday,

then,”Biancasaid.“Afewdaysinthemountains.I’llletMomknow.She’llbethrilledthatsomeoneisfinallyusingtheplace.”“Isthereahottub?”Wesley

asked.Biancadidn’tanswer.“It’ll

becold,butit’sagorgeousplacetohike.Sopacksomebootsifyouhavethem.”

“Ijustgotanewpair,”Amysaid.“Excellent.Whataboutyou,

Sonny?”Myheadjerkedup.“Huh?”“Boots,”Biancasaid.“Do

youhavesome?Ifyoudon’t,Ihaveanextrapairthatmightfit.Whatsizeshoeareyou?”“Oh.Sizeseven,but…”Thetruthwas,ascloseasI

felttoWesley,Ididn’tknowBiancathatwell.I’dmetherseveraltimesovertheyears,sure,wheneversheandWesleywerehomeforholidaybreaks,andIlikedheralot.We’dhungoutplenty,butitwasalwayswithWesleyandAmy.Sheknewmethroughthem,andIdoubtedshesawmeasa

friend.Morelikeanoccasional,not-entirely-unpleasanttagalong.Iwasn’tsomeoneshelikedwellenoughtoinvitetohergrandfather’scabin.I’dassumedthisdiscussionrelatedstrictlytothetwoRushsiblingsatthetable.“Butwhat?”Biancasaid.

“You’recomingwithus,

aren’tyou?”“Ifyouwantmeto,”Isaid.

“Ijustfigureditwouldbethethreeofyou.Afamilytriporsomething.”“Youarefamily.”Wesley

saiditlikeitwasthemostobviousthingintheworld.Likeitwassomethingnoonecoulddeny.Theskywasblue,theEarthrevolved

aroundthesun,andIwasfamily.Ifeltanembarrassing,

unexpectedlumprisinginmythroat.Luckily,BiancachimedinbeforeIhadto.“Ofcourseyou’reinvited,”

shesaid.“Doyouthinkwe’reassholeswhowouldtalkaboutthetriprightinfrontofyouifyouweren’t?”

“No,but—”“Besides,”shesaid,cutting

meoff.“EverywhereAmygoes,yougo,right?Youtwoarelikeapackagedeal.”IglancedatAmy,whowas

selectingafrenchfryfromthebasket.Maybewewereapackagedeal,butlately,ithadn’tbeenaprettypackage.Shewasstillactingalittle

distant,andshepracticallyshutdownanytimeImentionedRyder,givingmonosyllabicrepliesuntilshefoundawaytochangethesubjectorareasontoleavetheroom.Maybegettingawayfromit

all,takingthistripwithWesleyandBianca,wouldbegoodforus.

“Okay,”Isaid.“I’mcoming.”Biancasmiledatme.“Excellent,”Wesleysaid,a

twinkleinhiseyes.“SomeonewillhavetokeepAmyoccupiedwhileBiancaandIsneakoffto—”“Ew!”AmyandIboth

shrieked.“Perv,”Biancasaid,butshe

waslaughing.“Iwasgoingtosaytogohiking,”Wesleysaid,allmockinnocence.“It’syouthreewhohaveyourmindsinthegutter.”“Sure.Whateveryousay.”

Biancapoppedthelastfryintohermouth.“Nowcanwego?I’malmosttwenty-one.Ifeellikeacreepyoldladyin

here.”Onourwayout,Iriskeda

glanceoveratAmy.Shecaughtmeandgaveasmallsmile.Itwasn’tfake,butitwasn’tquiterealeither.ItoldmyselfIwouldfixit.

Thatafewdaysinthemountainswouldbringuscloseragain.Unfortunately,thingsgot

worsebeforetheygotbetter.

***

“Hey,Sonny?”Ilookedupfromthe

suitcaseIwaspackingtofindAmystandinginthedoorwayoftheguestroom.Therewasasweaterslungoverhershoulderandapairofbootsinherhand,andIknewshemust’vebeenpacking,too.

WeweresettoleaveforTennesseeearlythenextmorning.We’dbegoneonlyafewdays,butBiancahadwarnedusthatitwouldbecoldinthemountains,solayerswererequired.Prettymuchmyentirewardrobewasfoldedintothesuitcase,plusapairofsnowbootsIhadborrowedfromMrs.

Rush.“What’sup?”“Nothing.Iwasjust

wonderingifIcouldgetmyphonebackfromyou?”sheasked.“Nowthatyouhaveone,Ifigureyoudon’tneedmineanymore.”“Oh,right.”Istoodupand

glancedaround,tryingtorememberwhereI’dleftit.

“I’msorry.Icompletelyforgottogivethatback.”“Nobigdeal.It’snotlikeI

missedanycalls.”Ifounditinthepocketof

somedirtyjeans,waddeduponthefloor.Iheldthephoneouttoherandshetookitwithherfreehand.“Thanks,”shesaid.“Are

youalmostdonepacking?”

“Yep.Goteverythingbutmytoothbrush.”“Definitelydon’tforget

that.”“Amy,areyousayingIhave

badmorningbreath?”Iasked,feigninginsult.“I’mdevastated.”Shegavealittlegiggle,but

Inoticedshedidn’tdenymyaccusationeither.“I’m

lookingforwardtothis,”shesaid.“Thistrip,Imean.Ithinkit’llbegoodtogetoutofHamiltonforafewdays.Justthefourofus,youknow?Noschool.Nodistractions.”NoRyder.Shedidn’tsayit,butshe

didn’thaveto.Iknewwhatshewasthinking.“Me,too,”Isaid.

“Well,Ishouldfinishpacking.Thanksforthephone.”“Yeah.Noproblem.”Whenshewasgone,Iwent

backtomysuitcaseandbegantozipitshut.I’donlymovedthezipperacoupleincheswhenIheardthelittletrillfromdownthehall.Thefamiliarsoundofatext

messagecomingthroughonAmy’sphone.Amy’sphone.Amynevergottext

messages.ExceptfromRyder.ThenIrealizedwithhorror

thatIhadn’tdeletedthelastfewtextmessageswe’dsent.Theywerefromafewdaysago—beforeChristmas,

beforeouralmost-kissinhiscar—and,tomakemattersworse,theywereofthesexiervariety.“Oh,shit!”Ijumpedtomyfeetand

sprinteddownthehall,flingingopenAmy’sbedroomdoor.Butitwastoolate.Shewasholdingthephone,

staringdownatthescreenwithwideeyes.“Amy,”Isaidslowly,my

heartracing.Shelookedupatme,her

shockmeltingintoanexpressionI’drarelyseenherwear.Fury.“You’vebeentextinghim?”

sheasked.“You’vebeen

textinghimthesemessagesandpretendingtobeme?”“Icanexplain,”Isaid.

Becausethat’swhateveryonesaidinasituationlikethis.Inreality,though,Ididn’tevenhaveagoodlietocovermyass.“Idon’tthinkyoucan,”she

said.Hervoicewassocalm,soquiet,thatitsentchillsup

myspine.Thesharpcontrastbetweenhertoneandherblazingeyeswasterrifying.“Youweresupposedtobemakinghimnotlikeme.Youweresupposedtobescaringhimoffsohe’dlikeyou.Sowecouldbedonewiththis.Butallthistimeyou’vebeen…”Shelookeddownatthephoneagain.“HethinksI

sentthese?”“Amy…”Shethrewthephoneonthe

bedandturnedawayfromme.“Ihavetofinishpacking.”“Amy,I’m—”“Justgo,Sonny.”She

wasn’tlookingatme.“Just…Justgetoutofmyroom.”Itwasthefirsttimeshe’d

everkickedmeoutofherroom.Beforeithadbeenmychoice,mydecisiontogiveherspace.Butthistime…Thistimeshewastellingme

toleave.Andshehadeveryrightto.BecauseI’dreallyfuckedup

thistime.

Itwasanalmost-seven-hourdrivefromHamiltontoBianca’sgrandfather’scabininTennessee.Anditwaspossiblythe

mostpainfulsevenhoursofmylife.ThoughIwouldsaythe

feelingwasmutualforeveryoneinthecar,foronereasonoranother.Tostartwith,Wesley

insistedontakingthePorsche.“Therearefourofus,”

Biancaargued.WewerestandingoutsidetheRushes’housethenextmorning,readytogo.

Amyhadn’tsaidawordtomesinceshe’dkickedmeoutofherroomthenightbefore.“Therearefourseats,”

Wesleysaid.“Areyouactuallycounting

thatbackseatasaseat?”Biancaasked.“Because,havingsatbacktherebefore,I’dbegtodiffer.”“Well,wecan’ttakeyour

car,”hesaid,pickingupherduffelbagandtossingitintothetrunk.Although,isitcalledatrunkwhenit’satthefrontofthecar?Iwasreallyconfusedaboutthis,butitdidn’tseemliketheappropriatetimetoask.“Youstillhaven’tgottenthatheaterfixed.AndIknowSonny’scarisoutoftheshop,butdo

youreallytrustthatthingtogetusacrossstatelines?”Hepickedupmylittlesuitcaseandshoveditintothetrunk,too.Itwasareallysmalltrunk,andIwasn’tsureallofourstuffwouldfit.“WhataboutAmy’scar?”

Biancaasked.Wesleyputthelastbaginto

thetrunkand,withwhat

seemedlikegreateffort,shutthehood.“Toolate,”hesaid.“We’realreadypacked.”Biancagroaned.“You’re

suchanass.”“Anasswithanicecar.”“Anice,impracticalcar.”“Andhavingabroken

heaterforthreeyearsispractical?”“I’mhardlyeverhometo

drivethething!”IglancedoveratAmy,who

—ratherpointedly,ifImaysayso—didnotlookatme.SinceBiancaandIwerethe

verticallychallengedmembersofthisfoursome,wewereplacedinthe,aspreviouslynoted,tiny-as-hellbackseat.Mykneeswerecrampingwithintenminutes,

andwehadalongwaytogo.Andinacarthatsmall,

therewasnohidingthetensionbetweentwobestfriendswhowerenotonspeakingterms.Particularlywhentheothertwopassengerswereofabanteringnature.“OhmyGod,Wesley,”

Biancasaid.“Wearenot

listeningtothisshitallthewaytoTennessee.”“BillyJoelishardly‘shit,’

thankyou.”“IlikeBillyJoel,butnot

sevenhoursofBillyJoel.”Biancaturnedtome.“He’sbeenobsessedwith‘NewYorkStateofMind’formonths.Ican’tanymore.Sonny,Amy,backmeup.”

ButAmyjustshrugged,andIfelttooweirdarguingwitheitherBiancaorWesley,evenifitwasinjest.Mygutwastellingmetokeepmymouthshutforonce.AtleastaroundAmy.MyfoolishhopewasthatifIwasquietlongenough,she’dcooldownaboutlastnight’slittlediscovery.Ididn’twantto

fantheflamesbysayingsomethingunintentionallyinfuriating.“Silence?”Wesleyasked.

“Really?Fromyoutwo?”“Seriously,”Biancasaid.

“Areyouguysokay?”“I’mfine,”Amysaid.But

therewasthatlittleinflection,thatslightlyclippedtone,thattoldmeshedefinitelywasn’t.

“Me,too,”Imumbled.“Okay…,”Wesleysaid.InoticedhisandBianca’s

eyesmeetintherearviewmirror.Thiswentonforever.And

BiancaandWesleyjustdidn’tknowwhentogiveitarest.“No,thatwasn’tourexit,

Bianca.I’mpositive.”“Excuseme?Whointhis

carhasactuallybeentothiscabinbefore?”“Andwhohastheworse

senseofdirection?”“Idonot.”“Yougotlostinmidtown

Manhattan.Thisyear.You’vebeengoingtoschoolthereforhowlong?”“Itcouldhappento

anyone.”

“Thestreetsarenumbered,”Wesleypointedout.“It’sagrid.”“Imighttrustyoumoreif

youusedtheGPSonyourphonetogetusthere.”“Ican’t.Thevoiceis

annoying.”“Yourvoiceisannoying,”

Biancasnorted.“Aw.Iloveyou,too.”

Shelaughed.“Okay,let’sasktherestofthecar.Ladies,whodoyoutrusttogetyoutothecabinsafely?Thepersonwhohasbeentherebefore—”“Andwhogetslostinher

owndormbuilding.”“Shutup.That’snoteven

true.”Biancaclearedherthroat.“Thepersonwhohas

actuallybeenthere,orthecockyjerkwhowon’tevenuseaGPS?”Butalltheygotwereshrugs.Theymadeafewmore

attemptsbeforefinallygivinguponconvincingAmyormetospeak.Theytalkedalittlemore,

buteventuallyeventheyfellsilent,swallowedupbythe

potentblendofhostilityanduneasefillingthecabofthePorsche.Evenasmykneesached,I

stayedasstillaspossible,worriedmymovementsmayjostlethebackofAmy’sseat.Itwasdumb,Iknew.Itwasn’tlikenudgingheralittletogetcomfortablewouldmakeherhatemeany

morethanshealreadydid,butthefearhadcreptupinsideofmeandwrappeditselfaroundmychestlikeaboaconstrictor.Thewide,flathighways

eventuallyturnedintonarrow,windingbackroadsthattwistedtheirwaythroughrolling,faintlybluehills.Myanxietyandachingknees

aside,itwasabeautifuldrive.Atlong,longlast,Wesley

madeaturnontoagraveldrivewaythattwistedthroughtalltreesbeforecomingtoastopinfrontofaquaintlittlecabin.Itwassmallbutwellkept.

Thefrontporchhadaswinginonecorner,andalayerofsnowcoveredtheroof.

Honestly,itlookedlikethepictureyou’dfindonaHallmarkChristmascard.“Oh,thankGod,”Iheard

BiancamutterunderherbreathasWesleyshutofftheignition.Ditto,Ithought.Thefourofusclimbedout

ofthecarandretrievedourstufffromthefront-trunk.

Biancafoundthehiddenkeybeneaththedoormatandunlockedthedoor.Theinteriorwaspretty

plain,butcozy.TherewasanoldboxTV,afireplace,andahallwaythatledbacktothebedrooms.Ofwhichtherewereonly

two.WhichmeantIwasbackto

sharingwithAmy.“Thiswillbeyourroom,”

Biancasaid,openingthedoortothesmallerofthetworooms.Itwasplain,too,withasmallclosetandaqueen-sizebedshovedupagainstthefarwall.AmyandIglancedateach

other,thenbackatthesmallroom.

“Yeah,”Biancasaidslowly.“I’mgonnaletyoutwosettlein.”Andthensheduckedoutoftheresofastshemighthavebeenmistakenforacartooncharacterontherun.Ishutthedoorbehindher

beforeturningtoAmyandofferingasmallsmile.“Cutehouse,”Isaid.“Yeah.”

“It’llbeafuntrip.”“Mm-hm.”“Nicetogetawayforafew

days.”“Definitely.”ThatwasallIcouldgetout

ofher:one-wordanswers.Butitwasn’tasifshewas

likethiswitheveryone.Asthefirstnightandnextdayworeon,Icaughthertalking

toBiancaandtoherbrother,laughingwiththem,even.ButtheminuteIenteredtheroom,hermouthshut.She’dbeendistantsince

BlackFriday,butnothinglikethis.Andwithnocellphone

serviceandnowhereelsetogo,itdidn’ttakelongforthesilencetostartgettingtome.

***

Itwasfreezinginthemountains.Althoughitwasfarcolder

insidethecabinthanout.BiancaandWesleytriedto

fillthesilencewithbanterandmockarguments.Ormaybenot“mock”arguments.Itwasalwayshardtotellwiththem.I

wasn’tsurehowawaretheywereoftheintenseteenangstthatwasbrewing,butIhadtogivethemsomecreditforattemptingtodefusetheawkward.Still,Ispentmostofmy

timeoutside,hikinginthesnowandbitterwind.Melancholymoodaside,Icouldn’tdenyhowprettythe

mountainswere.Theywereblueandmisty,andmorelowandroundedthanI’drealized.They’dbeenquiteaptlydubbedtheSmokyMountains,becausetheyreallydidlooklikebillowingpuffsofsmoke.OntheafternoonofNew

Year’sEve,Iheadedoutofthecabinforanotherhike.

MyskinwasdryandcrackedfromallthehoursI’dspentinthefreezingcoldoverthepastfewdays,butitwastheonlywaytokeepfromgoinginsane.SoIputonmybootsand

pulledahatdownovermycurlsbeforeheadingoutthedoor.AndranrightintoBianca

andWesley.Makingoutontheporch.“Jesus,”Isaidastheybroke

apart.Biancalookedappropriatelysheepish.Wesley,ontheotherhand,justgrinned.“Youtwohaveyourownroom.Inthehouse.Whereit’swarm.”Biancaclearedherthroat

andshookthecarkeysinher

hand.“Iwasjust…onmyway.Youneedanythingfromthegrocerystore,Sonny?I’mgettinglotsofsnacksfortheballdrop.”“Thanks,butI’mgood.Not

reallyfeelingthatfestive.”BiancaandWesleyglanced

ateachother,thenshestartedbackingofftheporch.“Well,givemeacallifyouchange

yourmind.”“There’snocellreception,”

Wesleyremindedher.“ThenIhopeyoudon’t

changeyourmind.I’llbeback.”Shehoppedofftheporch,

herfeetcrunchinginthesnow,andunlockedWesley’scarbeforeslidinginside.“Youletherdrivethe

Porsche?”Iaskedhim.“Iletherdowhatevershe

wants,”hesaid.Iwasn’tsureiftherewasa

lasciviousnoteinthatresponseornot.WewatchedasthePorsche

droveoff,disappearingdownthelong,windingdriveway.Onceithadgone,Istarteddownthewoodensteps.“See

youlater.”Wesleyfollowedme.

“Whereareyougoing?”“Onahike.”“I’lljoinyou.”Itwasn’taquestion.Wemadeourwayaround

thesideofthecabin,towardthethickestpartofthewoodsandsomeofthebesttrails.Snowclungtothebare,

skeletontrees,somehigherthananyI’deverseen.Neitherofusspokeforafewminutes,andIstartedtothinkthatthiswalkmightactuallypassinsilence.But,ofcourse,thiswasWesley.Hewasn’tknownforbeingquiet.Orformindinghisown

business.“Sowhat’sgoingonwith

youandAmy?”“Whatdoyoumean?”ButevenI,convincingasI

typicallywas,couldn’tplaydumbonthis.EspeciallynotwithWesley,who’dknownbothofussinceweweretoddlers.“Comeon,”hesaid,rolling

hiseyes.“You’vebarelyspokensincewegothere.

Amymightbethequiettype,butyouaremostdefinitelynot.”“Thatdoesn’tmeanthere’s

somethingwrongwithmeandAmy.”“Yes,itdoes,”Wesleysaid.

“She’sactingweird,too.Comeon.Justtellme.I’llnagyouuntilyoudo.”Unfortunately,Iknewhe

wasn’tbluffing.IalsoknewthatifIdidn’ttellhimonthiswalk,he’dgetBiancainonhelpinghimandI’dneverescape.Mightaswellgetitoverwith.Ishovedmyhandsdeepinto

thepocketsofmycoat.“It’s…it’saboutaboy.”Wesleyraisedaneyebrow.

“Seriously?Aguyiswhat’s

comingbetweenyoutwo?”“No,”Isaid.“Well…yes.

Butnotinthewayyouthink.It’scomplicated.Amydoesn’tlikehim.Ido.”“Sowhat’stheproblem,

then?”“It’scomplicated.”“Asyou’vesaid.Butwe

havelotsoftimetohike.Whichmeanslotsoftimefor

youtoexplain.”God,hewaspersistent.How

thehelldidBiancaputupwithit?Iduckedunderalow-

hangingtreebranch,bothtoavoidhiseyesandtosavemyselffromgettingsmackedintheface.“He’snewinHamilton,andhe’skindofatool.IthoughtIhatedhim,

butthenIgottoknowhimandhe’snotsobad….He’skindofgreat,actually.”“Doesn’tsoundtoo

complicatedsofar.”“Well,here’swhereitstarts,

then,becausehelikesAmy.”“Oh.”“Yeah.”Wesleythoughtaboutthis

foralongmomentaswe

wovebetweenthetrees,ourfeetsinkingdeepintothesnow.“Doesthisguy—thiskindofatool,kindofgreatguy—knowthatyoulikehim?”Ishookmyhead.“Sohowdoyouknowthat

hedoesn’tlikeyou?”“PleaseexcusemewhileI

havehorrifyingmiddleschool

flashbackstriggeredentirelybythisconversation.”Helaughed.“Fine.Better

question.Whydoyoulikehim?”“He’s…”Ismiledalittleas

asnowflakedrifteddownandlandedonthetipofmynose.“He’salotlikeme.Hegetsmeinawayaguyneverhasbefore.AndIthinkIgethim,

too.”Wesleygrinned.“Wow,”he

said.“That’sshockinglysentimentalcomingfromyou.I’veneverheardyousaysomethingsoheartfeltaboutanyonebesidesAmy.”Imighthaveblushedifmy

facewasn’tmomentsfrombecominganicecube.“Youshouldtellhimhow

youfeel,”hesaid.Itwassononchalant.Socasual.Likewhathewassuggestingwasthesimplestthingintheworld.Ihadnoideahewasso

dumb.“Ican’t.”“Whynot?”“It’scomplicated.”“We’vealreadyestablished

this.”Ibitmylip.“Fromwhatyou’vesaid,it

soundslikehemightfeelthesamewayaboutyou.”“I’vebarelysaidanything,”

Ipointedout.“And,no.HelikesAmy.She’ssweetandgorgeousandI’m…”“You’rewhat?”Hewasn’tlettingmeoffthe

hook.“AndI’m…notAmy.”Wesleystoppedandputhis

glovedhandonmyarm,turningmetofacehim.Ihadtotiltmyheaduptomeethiseyes.“Okay,”hesaid.“Listento

me.First,stopcomparingyourselftoAmy.”“There’snocomparison—”

“Stop.”Heglaredatme,daringmetospeakagain.Ididn’t,andhecontinued.“You’vegottostopsizingyourselfup.Iknowitseemslikeitmattersnow—Iusedtothinkso,too—butitdoesn’t.Trustme.”Irolledmyeyes.Thatwas

easyforhimtosay.HewasaRush.Hewasgorgeousand

wellliked.Anditwasn’tlikeIthoughtIwashideousoranything.IjustknewthatsomeonewhofoundAmyattractiveprobablywouldn’tbeasinterestedinme.“Second,”Wesleysaid,

drawingmyattentionback.“Areyoureallygoingtoletthisgetbetweenyouandmysister?”

Guilttwistedmystomach,andIswallowed.“Idon’twantitto.”“Thendon’t,”hesaid.“This

guymightbeasgreatasyousay,butyoutwohavesomethingspecial.You’vebeeninseparablefromtheminuteyoumet.Likepeanutbutterandjelly.”“Ew.”

“Right.Iforgetyoudon’tlikepeanutbutterandjelly…butAmyneverforgets.Didyouknowthatwhenourparentstookyoutwotothebeachaskids,Amywouldmakeyoursandwichesherself?Dadwouldalwaysforgetandmakepeanutbutterandjellyforeveryone.SoAmywouldmakeyoua

differentsandwichandpackitherself.”Ilookeddownatmyfeet.I

didn’tknowthat,butitdidn’tsurpriseme.“Idon’tknowexactly

what’sgoingonwithyoutwo,”headmitted.“Idon’tknowhowthisguyfiguresintoit.ButIdoknowthatbothofyouwillregretitif

youdon’tfixthings.”“Shewon’ttalktome,”I

said.“HowcanIfixthingsifshewon’ttalktome?”“Bepatientwithher,”he

said.“YouknowAmy.She’snotlikeyouandme.Sometimesittakesherawhiletoputwordstowhatshe’sfeeling.She’llcometoyouwhenshe’sready.”

“Yeah,”Isaid,sighing.“You’reright.”“Iknow.Iusuallyam.”Isnorted.“Whateveryou

say.”“Comeon.Let’sheadback

tothehouse.BiancawillkillmeifIdieoffrostbiteathergrandfather’scabin.”“Butyou’dalreadybedead,

so…”

“Thatwouldn’tstopher.”Wegotturnedaroundafew

timesonthewayback—inourconversation,bothWesleyandIhadforgottentopayattentiontowhereweweregoing.JustwhenmorbidthoughtsoftheDonnerPartywerestartingtopopintomyhead,wespottedthecabinandmadeourwaytowardit.

WeroundedthecornerofthecabinjustashisPorschebeganmakingitswayupthedriveway.“Hey,Sonny.Seriously,just

telltheguyhowyoufeel,”Wesleysaid,eventhoughthatconversationhadlongsincebeendropped.“But—”“Anddon’tassumeyou

knowhowhefeels,”hesaidfirmly.“Youcan’treadhismind.Givehimachance.Hemightsurpriseyou.”Hesmiled,watchingBiancaassheclimbedfromthecar.“Hey,”sheyelled,waving

himover.“Areyougonnacomehelpmewiththesegroceriesornot?”Hissmileturnedtoagrinas

hehurriedtoher,ourconversationclearlycompletelyvanishingfromhismind.“What’sinitforme?”heaskedassherolledhereyesandshovedabagintohishands.Ihungback,watchingthem

foralongmoment.Wesley’swordshadleftmealittleastunned.Ryderhadsaid

almosttheexactsamethingwhenheencouragedmetocontactmydad.Andhe’dsortofimpliedit

aboutme.MaybeWesleywasright.

MaybeRyderwouldsurprisemeifIjustgavehimachance.AndasforAmy,Ijust

neededtobepatient.She’d

cometomeeventually,andwe’dworkthingsoutwhenshedid.

Biancahadn’tdisappointedwhenitcametosnacksforthenight.Sheboughtcandy,popcorn,andagallonofchocolate-swirlicecream.NottomentionmoreCherryCokethanapersoncouldorshouldevendrinkintwo

days,whichwasallthatremainedofourAppalachianadventure.Thefourofuspiledintothe

livingroom,thefireplaceblazing,towatchtheballdrop.Amystayedquiet,assheusuallydidwhenIwasintheroomnow,butItriedtokeepmyspiritsup.PartlybecauseofwhatWesleyhad

said—knowingthatwhenAmywasready,she’dtalktome—butmostlyforBianca’ssake.Thistriphadbeenheridea,afterall,andIhadn’tbeenthemostpleasantguest.“Yousureyoudon’twant

anyicecream,Amy?”Biancaasked.“No,thankyou,”Amysaid.

“Noteveryonelikesicecreaminthedeadofwinter,”Wesleysaid.Biancashuthimupby

shovingaspoonfuloficecreaminhismouth.Hereeledback,cuppinghishandsoverhishead.“Oh,I’msorry,”Biancateased.“Brainfreeze?”Wesleytookafewdeep

breaths,thenlookedup.“You’regoingtopayforthat,”hesaidjustbeforeleapingontopofher.Sheshriekedashebegantoticklehersides.Itwastoodisgustingly

adorable,andIhadtolookaway.WhichwaswhenIcaughtAmy’seye.Shewaswatchingme,I

realized.Igaveherasmallsmile,butitfellfastwhenshelookedaway.“IthinkI’mgonnagoto

bed,”shesaid,gettingtoherfeet.BiancaandWesleysatup,

bothstilllaughing.“It’sonlyeleven-thirty,”

Biancasaid.“Areyousure?”“Yeah.I’malittletired.I’m

sorry.”“Okay,well…we’llsee

youinthemorning.”“Goodnight,Amy,”Wesley

said.“Goodnight.”Shestarted

downthehallway,towardourlittleroom,thenstoppedandlookedback.“Hey,Sonny?”Iturnedtoher,surprised

andalittlehopeful.“Yeah?”

“Willyoucometalktomeforaminute?”“Sure,”Isaid.“Ofcourse.”Istoodup,thenlookedover

atWesley,whowasgivingmeaveryI-told-you-solook.“Night,”Isaid,andleft

BiancaandWesleyaloneinthelivingroom,waitingfortheballtodrop.IfollowedAmyintoour

roomandquietlyshutthedoorbehindme.Amysatdownonthebed,chewingonherbottomlip.Iremainedstanding,leaningagainstthewall.“So,I’vebeenthinking…

aboutthiswholeRyderthing,”shesaid.“Amy,I’msosorryabout

thetexts,”Isaid,unableto

holditback.“Iknowitwaswrong.IknewitevenwhenIdidit,andyouhaveeveryrighttobepissedatme.ButIswear,itwon’thappenagain.”“Iappreciatethat,but—”“Imean,youhaveyour

phonebacknow,”Isaid.“AndIhaven’tIMedRyderinforever,sothecatfishingis

over.”“Good…”Shetookadeep

breath.“Butit’smorethanjustthat.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Thetexts

werekindofdirtyandthat’sweirdforyou,andI’mreally—”“Sonny,no,”shesaid.“I

mean,yes.It’sweird.Butthat’snotwhatI’mtryingto

say.”“Well,then,sayit.”“I’mtrying.”Shesighed.“I

knowyoureallylikehim.AndIknowyoudidn’tmeantoupsetme.You’dnevermeantodothat.But…thiswholethinghasgoneonalotlongerthanIthought.”“Whatwholething?”“Yourplan,”shesaid.“To

makeRyderlikeyouandnotlikeme.Meactingweirdandrudearoundhim.Ijust…Ireallydon’tfeelcomfortabledoingit.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Iknow.

Butwe’resoclose.”Imovedtositonthebedbesideher.“Really,reallyclose,Amy.Itwon’ttakemuchlonger.”“You’vesaidthatfromthe

start,”shesaid.Shewasn’twrongabout

that.“But,Amy—”“Wait.Just…letme

finish.”Shetuggedonacurlandstaredatthewallforasecond,silent.“Iknowyoulikehim,”shesaidagain.“ButIdon’tthinkIcandothisanymore.Ican’tkeep

lying.I’mnotgoodatitthewayyouare.AndIdon’tlikebeingrude.AndIdon’tlikehimthinkingI’vebeensendingthosetexts—”“Itoldyou.Idon’tdothat

anymore.”“Butit’salreadybeen

done,”shesaid.“Andhethinksitwasmewhosentthem.”

“So…whatareyousaying?”Iasked.“IguessI’msayingthatI

wantout,”shesaid.“Idon’twanttodothisanymore.”“Butyousaidyou’dhelp

me.”“Itdidn’tfeellikeIhada

choice,”sheadmitted.“AndIdidn’tthinkitwouldgothisfar.I’msorry,Sonny.Ijust

…Ican’t.”Shewrungherhandsinherlapandtookanotherdeepbreath.“And…andIwantyoutotellhimthetruth.Thatnoneofitwasme.”“Oh.”Ihadn’tseenthatlast

partcoming.“Ijust…Ithinkheshould

know,”shesaid.Everywordseemedtocosthersomething.

“AndIneedhimtoknow.It’llbebetterforallofus.”Inodded,butinsideIwasa

messoffeelings.AngeratAmy,guilt,regret,heartbreak.BecauseforallthegoodthingsWesleyhadsaidonourhikethatday,aboutRydermaybesurprisingme,Iknewitdidn’tmatternow.

IfAmywasn’tgoingtoplayalonganymore,Ididn’thaveachoice.Iwasgoingtohavetocomeclean,andthatmeantIhadnochancewithRyder.Allofourprogresshadbeenfornothing.“I’msorry,”shesaidagain.“Iunderstand,”Isaid.AndIdid.AsupsetasIwas

thatshewasbailing,Iknew

whyshewantedout.Thisschemehadgoneonalotlongerthaneitherofushadexpected,andI’dknownforawhileshewasn’thappyaboutit.I’djusthopedthatifIpressedon,thingswouldgetbetter.Theyhadn’t.“So…you’lltellhim?”she

asked.

“Yeah,”Isaid.“IguessIwill.”“Thankyou.”Shewrapped

herarmsaroundmyshouldersandrestedherheadontopofmine.“Thankyouforunderstanding.”Aswechangedintoour

pajamasandclimbedintothebed,Itriedtolookonthebrightside.Everythingwas

abouttocrumblewithRyder,butatleastIhadAmyback.That’swhatreallymattered,

right?ItwaslikeWesleysaid.AmyandIhadbeentogetherforever.Weneededeachother.Itwouldbecrazytoletaguy—evenagreatguylikeRyder—comebetweenus.Thatdidn’tmakewhatshe

wasaskingeasy,though.Intheotherroom,Bianca

andWesleycheeredasthetelevisioncounteddown.“Three!Two!One!”“HappyNewYear,Sonny,”

Amywhispered.“HappyNewYear.”

IwasdreadinghistoryclassonWednesdaymorning,thefirstdaybackfrombreak.Notonlywoulditbemy

firsttimeseeingRydersinceouralmost-kissintheRushes’drivewayandmyfirstcontactwithhimsince

I’dpromisedAmyI’dtellhimthetruth,butwewerealsobeginningourunitonWorldWarI,whichI—personally—foundsuperboring.Ihadn’tfiguredoutyet

whenorhowIwasgoingtoconfessmymyriadofliestotheboyofmydreams,butIhadafeelingthatdoingitat

school,witheveryonearound,wasabadidea.Whilepartofmewasgladtohavealittlemoretime,anotherpartjustwantedtoripoffthedamnBand-Aidandgetitoverwith.ItwasgoingtobeuglynomatterwhenIdidit,andIknew,withoutadoubt,thatitwouldendanyhopeI’dhadofwinninghimoverinthe

longrun.Whichwaswhyseeinghim

smileupatmewhenIwalkedintoclassthatmorningwassoincrediblypainful.“Hey,Sonny,”hesaid,

swivelinginhisseattofacemeasIsatdownbehindhim.Hegavemeaslightlynervoussmileandadjustedhisthick-framedglasses.

“Howwastherestofyourbreak?”“Good,”ImumbledasI

pulledoutmytextbook.“Howwasyours?”“Itwasfine.”Therewasalong,awkward

pause.Ifidgetedinmyseatandfiddledwiththepagesofmybook.Finally,Ilookedupandcaughthimwatchingme.

IexpectedhimtoaskaboutAmy,buthedidn’t.“Youokay?”heasked.“Youseemalittle…off.”Hewasright.Sonny

Ardmorewasn’tknownforavoidingpeople’seyes.Orformumbling.TodayIwasdefinitely“off.”Ishookmyhead.“I’m

good.Just…tryingtoget

backintotheswingofthings.It’salwayshardafteralongbreak….AndyouknowhowmuchIhatetalkingaboutWorldWarOne.”Helaughed.“Yes.Ithink

thewholeclassdoes.You’vebeenprettyvocalaboutit.YouactuallyaskedMr.Buckleyifwecouldskipthewholeunitlastsemester.”

“AndI’mgoingtoaskagain,”Iassuredhim.“Persistenceisavirtue.”“Ithoughtpatiencewasa

virtue.”“AvirtueIlack.”Oh,no.Iwasdoingitagain.

Sinkingintotherhythmofourconversation,lettingmyselfgetsweptupinit.Ineededtostopthis.Icouldn’t

letmyselffallanyharderforhim.Notwhenitwasallabouttogoupinflames.TimetogetstartedonthatBand-Aid.“Hey,listen,Ryder,”Isaid.

“Areyou…areyoubusythisweekend?”Heraisedaneyebrow,andI

realizedwithajoltwhatmyquestionmusthavesounded

like.“Justtohangout…as

friends,”Iadded.IalmosttoldhimthatIneededtotalktohimaboutsomething,butIknewthatwouldjustsolicittoomanyquestions.Iwantedtotellhimontheweekend,sometimewhenhewouldn’thavetoseemethenextday.Ifigureditwouldbekinderto

thebothofus.“Actually,”hesaid,

brightening,“Iwasgoingtoinviteyoutoaparty.I’vesomehowmanagedtoacquireaninvitationtoChrisLawson’sonFridaynight.Iguessmyeffortstobelessofanassholehavepaidoff.”Apartywasn’texactlythe

scenarioI’dhadinmind—

again,toomanyofourclassmateswouldbearound.Butatleastthemusicwouldbeloudenoughthat,hopefully,noonewouldhearhimscreamingatme.OrmaybeIcouldpullhimintoabedroomorsomewhereoutside.Or,evenbetter,IcouldgethimdrunkbeforeItoldhimthetruth.

OrmaybeIjustsecretlywantedtogotoapartywithRyderCrossatleastonetimebeforethisallfellapart.“Thatsoundsgreat,”Isaid.

Butthen,knowingwhathemightsaynext,Ipreemptivelyadded,“Idon’tthinkAmycancome,though.She’sgotplansthisFriday.Withherparents.”

“Oh,”hesaid.Buthedidn’tlookasdisappointedasI’dexpected.Itriednottoreadtoomuchintothat.“Well,that’sfine.Wecanstillhangout,right?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sure.If

you’reokaywiththat.”“Iam,”hesaid.Hesmiled.

“It’llbefun.I’mactuallyexcitedtogotoapartyhere.

Maybefinallymakesomefriends.ShowpeopleI’mnotapretentioussnob.”“Oh,Ryder.”Isighed.“You

areapretentioussnob…butyouhaveafewredeemingqualities.Namelythatyou’rerich.”“Ha-ha,”hesaid.“Iwas

wrong.You’renotofftoday.You’reverySonny.”

“Andby‘Sonny,’youmeandelightful?”Mr.Buckleywalkedinthen,

andRyderhadtoturnbackaroundinhisseat.Iwasrelieved,honestly.ThemoreItalkedtoRyder,thelessIwantedtotellhimthetruth.Andnottellingthetruthwasn’tanoptionanymore.I’dpromisedAmy,andIwas

goingtofollowthroughonit.Nomatterhowharditmightbe.Orhowmuchitmightbreak

myheart.

***

“Soyou’retellinghimtonight?”“Yep.”ItwasFriday,whichmeant

I’dsurvivedthepasttwodays

seeingRyderinclass,knowingtheendwascoming.Butherewewere,anhourbeforetheparty,andIcouldalmosthearthecountdowninmyhead,tickingawaylikeoneofthosetimebombsonTV.Amystoodupandgrabbed

thepickfrommyhand.“You’regoingtoripyourhair

out,”shesaid.“It’sgonnabeokay,Sonny.”Istaredatthemirrorover

Amy’sdresserasshetookasectionofmyhairandbegancombingthroughthecurlsherself.I’dalreadydonemymakeuptwice,butitstilldidn’tlookright.ProbablybecauseIneverreallyworemakeup.Butwaitingforthe

partyforhoursafterschoolwastoonerve-racking.Ineededsomethingtodowithmyhands.SomethingIcoulddoanderaseandredotoperfection.NotthatI’dachievedmakeupperfection.“Itwon’tbeasbadasyou

think,”shesaid,movingtoanothersectionofhair.“He’sgoingtohateme,

Amy.”“No,hewon’t.”“Justbecauseyou’reso

forgivingdoesn’tmeaneveryoneelseis.”Ituggedonthesleeveofmysweater.Itwastootightandtheturtleneckwaschokingme.“He’llneverspeaktomeagain.”Amydidn’tsayanythingas

shefinishedwithmyhair.Underhercarefulguidance,mycurlsactuallylookednice.Shesmiledatherhandiwork,oureyesmeetinginthemirror.“Thanks,”Isaid.Shewrappedherarms

aroundmyshouldersandpulledmeintoatighthug.“Iknowthisishard,butit

meansalottome.”Inoddedandleanedmy

headonhershoulder.“Ishould’vedoneitalongtimeago.I’msorryIdraggedyouintoallofthis.Ireallydidn’tthinkitwouldgothisfar,but…”“Butitendstonight,”she

said.Shereleasedmeandbrushedafewofmycurls

behindmyear.“Andyou’llfeelsomuchbetterafterward.”Inodded,thoughIknewit

wasn’ttrue.“Andwhoknows?”she

said.“Youtwohaveaconnection.You’vesaidsoyourself.Maybeoncehelearnsthetruth,he’llrecognizethat.Maybehe’ll

understandandyoutwowillfinally—”“Don’t,”Isaid,shakingmy

head.“Don’tgivemefalsehope.”“Irejectanddenythenotion

of‘falsehope.’Hopeisneverfalse.”Sheputherhandsonherhipsandliftedherchin.“Ifhe’ssmart,he’lllisten.Hemightbemad,buthe’llhear

yououtandrealizehowperfectyouareforhim.”ButIknewRyder.Hemay

havebeensmart,butheheldagrudge.He’dgonefrompracticallyworshippinghisfathertowantingnothingtodowithhim.Whathisfatherhaddonewasawful,nodoubt,buthewasstillhisfamily.AndwhowasI?The

bestfriendofthegirlhethoughtheliked?Theannoyinggirlfromhistoryclass?Heowedmenoloyalty.Amywouldn’thearit,

though,soIjustnoddedandsatdownonthebedtotiemysneakers.Itwasseven-thirty,andthepartystartedateight.TheRusheshadcurfewsetat

elevenonweekends,soatleastthiswouldallbeoverinthreeandahalfhours.Whichwouldlikelybethe

worstthreeandahalfhoursofmylife.“Justsoyouknow,Itold

Ryderyouhadplanswithyourparents,”Isaid.“Iknowyou’retiredofthelying,butifIhadn’tsaidsomething,

he’dexpectyoutobethere,so…”“It’sokay.”Shesatdown

nexttomeonthebed.“It’sthelastlieyou’lltellinallofthis.”Shesighed.“Iknowthisishardforyou,butI’mreallygladit’sgoingtobeovertonight.I’mnogoodatlying,andalwayskeepinganeyeoutforRyderatschool

—duckingintobathroomsandaroundcorners—I’mwaytootallandawkwardtobeasuperspy,Sonny.”Ilaughed,despitemyself.

“Youcansaythatagain.”Igottomyfeet.“Okay.HowdoIlook?”“Adorable,”Amysaid.

“Lovetheblueturtleneck.Isthatmine?”

“Yep.Don’ttell,butIhadtostuffmybraalittlebittomakeitlookrightonme.IliketothinkthatifIlookniceenough,Rydermightbelike,‘Yeah,I’msuperpissed,butyou’rehot,soallisforgiven.’”“Seemstotallyplausibleto

me,”Amysaid.“Butifthatdoesn’tworkout,I’llbe

waitingherewithicecreamandAudreyHepburnmovies.”“YouknowI’mmoreofa

Marilyngirl.”“We’renothavingthisfight

again.”“Anothertime,”Iassured

her.“Butnow,I’mofftomydoom.Enjoyyourevening.”Iexitedthebedroomwith

dramaticflair,whichwassomewhatundercutbyAmyfollowingmedownstairs.“Hey,”shesaidasIslidon

mycoatbythefrontdoor.“CanIsayjustonemorething?”“Youneverhavetoaskme

that.”“He’sprobablygoingtobe

madatfirst,”shesaid.“Butif

hedoesn’trealizehowgreatyouare,despitethislittlekerfuffle—”“‘Kerfuffle’?OhmyGod,

you’vebeenaroundmetoolong.”“Shutupandlisten.”But

herlipstwitchedtowardasmile.“Despitethiskerfuffle,ifhedoesn’tseehowawesomeyouare,Sonny,it’s

hisloss.”“Thankyou,”Isaid,

acceptinganotherhugthatIdefinitelydidnotdeserve.Shewaswrong,though.If

—when—Ryderrejectedmeandrefusedtospeaktomeagain,thelosswouldbeentirelymyown.Theguilttwistedinmystomach,andIwished,notforthefirsttime,

thatI’dfoundawaytotellhimthetruthearlier,whentheliefirstbeganasjustanaccident.Butnow,ithadgonewaytoofar.“Seeyoulater,”Isaid,

openingthefrontdoorandsteppingoutontotheporch.“Goodluck,”Amycalled.Idraggedmyfeetdownthe

driveway.WhenIfinally

reachedGert,Ipulledoutmykeysandsighed.“It’sgonnabealongnight,girl,”Isaid,slidingintothedriver’sseat.“Let’sgetitoverwith.”

ChrisLawsonwasn’toneofthosepopularjocktypes.Butman,hewantedtobe.Hewasconstantlytryingtobethecoolguy,seeminglyunawarethatcoolpeoplewerecoolbecausetheydidn’ttry.AndChris’spartywaskind

ofareflectionofhimself.Itwasn’tbadasfaras

partiesgo.Itwasjusttryingtoohard.Thespeakerswereblasting

loudrapmusicwhenIwalkedin.Peopleweremillingaboutthelivingroom,redSolocupsinhand,thoughnooneseemedquiteasenthusiasticaboutthepartyasChris,who

dartedovertogreetme.“Sonny!”heshouted.

“Awesome!Gladyoucame!”“Thanks,Chris.”“Youshouldgodance!

Everyone’sdancing!”Noone—notasingle

person—wasdancing.“Maybelater,”Isaid.“Wannawatchmedoakeg

stand?”

“Sure,butnotrightnow.I’mactuallylookingforsomeone.IsRyderhereyet?”“Who?”“RyderCross.”“Thenewkid?”Chris

asked.RyderhadbeeninHamilton

formorethanasemester,soIwasn’tsure“thenewkid”wasstillanappropriatetitle,

butInoddednonetheless.“Yeah.Ishehereyet?”“Yep.Sawhimwalkback

intothekitchenafewminutesago.”“Great.Thanks.”“Noproblem,”hesaid.

“Enjoytheparty,Sonny!We’regonnablowthisplaceup!”“Uh-huh.Definitely.”

Aspromised,IfoundRyderinthekitchen,aredcupinhishand.“Youdrink?”Iasked,a

littlesurprised.Helookedupandsmiled

whenhesawme.“Sometimes,”hesaid.“Butnottonight.Thisiswater.Idon’thaveenoughfriendsheretoknowI’llhavearide

home.”Damn.Iwassortofhoping

togethiminebriatedbeforethetruthcameout.Whydidhehavetobesomatureandresponsible?“Youcandrink,though,”

Rydersaid.“IknowAmyisn’twithyou,butIcangiveyouaridehomelaterifyouwanted.”

“AndleaveGerthere?Whereanyonemightstealher?”Hesnorted.“Ihavethe

feelingnoonewantstostealyourcar.”“Hey,don’tdisGert.She’s

vintage.”“Isthatwhatwe’recallingit

now?”Thetruthwas,Iwouldhave

lovedforRydertodrivemehome.Tomaybe,possibly,gothroughwiththatalmost-kissfromacoupleofweeksago.ButIknewthat,afterwhatIwasabouttotellhim,therewasnowayhe’dwanttobestuckinacarwithme.Infact,he’dprobablybemorethanhappytostrandmehereatChris’sparty.

Ryderfinishedhiswaterandtossedthecupintotherecycling.“It’sforthebest,”hesaid.“I’msurethebeerhereisnogood.”“Oh,great.Areyouabeer

snob,too?”“No,”hesaiddefensively.

“IjustpreferPBR.”Isnorted.“Ofcourseyou

do.Ishould’veknown.”

Ryderlookedalittlesheepish.“Youknow,”Isaid,“thisis

somethingyouandImayhaveincommon.PabstBlueRibbonmightbethedrinkofhipsters,butit’salsothedrinkofmypeople—poorwhitetrash.Itwasalwaysmydad’sfavoritebeer.”“Don’tcallyourselfwhite

trash,”hesaid.Hewassuddenlyveryserious,andlookingatmeinawaythathehadn’tbefore.Inawaythatmademecatchmybreath.Nowwasthetimetotell

him.Getitoverwithandgohome.Iopenedmymouthtobegintheconfession,tofinallytellhimthetruth,butthewordsthatcameout

weren’tatalltheonesI’dintendedtosay.“Doyouwannadance?”Ryderblinkedatme.“What

wasthat?”Takeitback,Ithought.That’snotwhyyou’rehere.Mymouthandmybrainseemedtobeatwarwitheachother.“Let’sdance,”Isaid,

alreadytryingtojustifyit.Ihadafewhours.MightaswellhavealittlefunbeforeIbrokethenews,right?“But…nooneelseis

dancing.”“Perfect.Thenyoucanbea

hipsteraboutitlater.Weweredancingbeforedancingwascool,”Isaid,doingafakeRydervoice.

“Idonotsoundlikethat.”“Whateveryouneedtotell

yourselftosleepatnight.”Igrabbedhisarmandstartedpullinghimintothelivingroom.“Comeon.Bespontaneous.”“Thelasttimeyousaidthat

tome,Iendedupinabrightorangehuntingjacketinthemiddleofthemall.”

“Andwasn’tthatfun?”Theanswermusthavebeen

yes,becauseRyderdidn’targue.Instead,hegrabbedmyotherhandandspunmeintothelivingroom.Theheavybasship-hopwasn’texactlytherightjamforspinninganddippingagirl,butRyderdidn’tseemtocare.Hetwirledmelikeaballroom

dancer,andsomehowmanagedtokeepusinrhythmwiththemusic.“Wow,”Isaidwhenhe

swungmebackintohisarms,hishandrestingonmyhip.Weweresoclose,closerthanwe’deverbeenbefore.AndIfeltlikeIwasonfire.Andthentherewasthefactthateveryonewasstaring.“Thisis

howyoudanceatparties?”“Mymommademetake

ballroomclassesinmiddleschool,”heconfessed.“It’stheonlywayIknowhowtodance.Sorry.It’sprettyembarrassing.”“No,”Isaid,shakingmy

head.“It’stheoppositeofembarrassing.It’sfantastic.Theseidiotswishtheycould

beusrightnow.”Rydersmiledandgaveme

anotherspin.Wedanceduntilwe

couldn’tanymore.Untilourfeethurtandwewereshortofbreath,eitherfromtheexertionorfromstandingsoclosetoeachother.Forme,itwasdefinitelythelatter.“Doyouwantsomewater?”

Ryderasked.Inodded,andwemadeour

waybacktothekitchen,stumblingdespiteoursobriety.Rydergrabbeduseachared

cupandbegantofillthemwithtapwater.Ihoppedupontothecounter,takingsomeofthepressureoffmyfeet.“Damn.Thatwas—”

“That.Was.Awesome!”Chrisannouncedashechargedintothelivingroom.“Youtwokilleditoutthere!Everyone’stalkingaboutit!”“Thesamewayeveryone

wasdancingearlier?”IaskedasRyderhandedmemycup.Chrisdidn’tseemtohear

me.“Ryder,dude,thatwaswicked!Ithoughtdancing

waslame,butallthegirlsoutthereateitup!You’vegottateachmeyourmoves!”IsnortedintomywaterasI

imaginedChristryingtodancethewayRyderdid.He’dprobablygetalittletoointoitandendupgivingsomepoorgirlaconcussion.“I’llputonwhatevermusic

youwantifyouguyswantto

danceagain!”“Maybeinalittlewhile,”

Ryderagreed.Helookedoveratme,thosegreeneyesmeetingmineinawaythatmademeshiver.“IfSonny’supforit.”Weheldeachother’sgaze

foralongmoment.“Sweet!”Chrissaid.“I

bettergetbackoutthere.

Gottakeepthingsundercontrol.”“Whatwasoutofcontrol?”

RydermurmuredsothatonlyIcouldhear.Ilaughed,andChrisran

backintothelivingroom.“Youknow,”Rydersaid,

“weprobablywerethehighlightofthisparty.”“Areyoukiddingme?I’m

thehighlightofeveryparty.”Rydersmiled.“Idon’t

doubtthat.”Againwiththeshiver.Everyonemust’vefinished

theirbeersatonce,becauseallofasuddenthekitchenbecameahigh-trafficarea.RydertookmycupfrommesoIcouldhopoffthecounterwithoutspilling.Hegestured

formetofollowhim,andwewoveourwaythroughthepackofthirstypartyers,dartingintothehallwaytoavoidanotherrun-inwithChris.Somehow,weendedupin

anemptybedroom.Itookmycupbackfrom

Ryderandsatdownontheedgeofthebed.“So,”Isaid.

“What’stheverdictonyourfirstHamiltonparty?”“Nottooshabby,”hesaid.“ButI’msureitdoesn’t

evencomparetothepartiesbackinDC,right?”“Thispartyismuchbetter

thantheonesinDC.”“Oh,comeon,”Isaid,

settingmycuponthenightstand.“That’snoteven

remotelypossible.Youpartiedwithpoliticians’kids.IwatchenoughTVtoknowitgetswild.Plus,you’vegotmoney.Whichmeansbetterbooze,attheveryleast.”“Maybethepartiesback

homehadsomeadvantages,”heagreed,puttinghisownwaterdownbeforesittingnexttome.

Reallyclosetome.“But,”hecontinued,his

eyesonmeinthatwayagain.Thatwaythatgavemechillsandmademyfaceburnallatonce.Iwassuddenlyveryawareofwherewewere—anemptybedroom,onabed.“Thecompanyhereismuchbetter.”“Ryder,”Isaid,eventhough

everyinchofmewasfightingme,tryingtokeepmesilent.ButIcouldn’tputitoffanymore.“Ineedtotalktoyou…aboutAmy.”Heshookhishead.“Amyis

thelastthingIwanttotalkaboutrightnow.”I’dbeendyingtohearthose

wordsformonths.Dyingforhimtolookatmethewayhe

wasrightnow.Butitwastoolate.I’dpromisedAmy,swornI’dtellhimthetruthtonight.Iswallowed.“Listen—”“Sonny,wait,”hesaid.“I

just…Ineedto…”Thenhekissedme.Andhismouthdefinitely

didn’ttastelikerootbeer.Itwasmint.

Oneofhishandswasonmyneck,theotheronmyknee.Ididn’tmove—couldn’tbreatheorthink—ashislipsmovedovermine.Iwasstunned.Paralyzed.Butwhenhepulledaway,

evenjustaninch,itfeltlikeImightdie.“Was…wasthatokay?”he

asked.“ShouldInothave

donethat?”No.Hedefinitelyshouldn’t

have.BecauseIneededtotellhimthetruth.Now.Justsayit,Itoldmyself.Beforethisgoesanyfurther.“Sonny?”Hisvoicewas

quiet,nervous.“I’msorry.Ishould’veasked.Orjustnot…Ididn’tknowIwasgoing

todoituntil—”“Shutup,”Isaid.Igrabbed

him,ahandoneithersideofhisface,andpulledhimbacktowardmeforanotherkiss.MyheartwaspoundingandeverythingI’dwantedoverthepastfewmonthswasspinninginmyhead.Thistime,whenourlips

met,Iwasn’tparalyzedatall.

***

AmywasalreadyinbedwhenIslippedinthatnight,butshewasn’tasleep.“Hey,”shemurmuredasI

climbedoverherandintomysideofthehugebed.I’dbeensleepinginhereagainsincecomingbackfromTennessee.“Howdiditgo?”“Great,”Isaid.

We’dmadeoutinthebedroomforawhilebeforeChriswalkedinonus.Andthen,whenRyderwalkedmeouttomycar,hekissedmeagain.Iwassureitwassupposedtobeaquickgood-nightkiss,butithadlastedmuchlonger,mybackpressedagainstGert’sdriver’ssidedoor,myarms

aroundRyder’sneck.I’dhadtospeedhometo

makecurfew.Icouldstillfeeltheghostof

Ryder’slipsonmine,hisphantomhandonmyhip.Ishiveredandhidmyfaceinthepillow,thoughinthedarkness,Amycouldneverhaveseenmyblush.“Really?”Amyasked,her

tiredvoicegoingupanoctavewithexcitement.“That’sarelief.Soyoutoldhimthetruth?”Everythingwasgoingright.

Amywasn’tmadatmeanymore.Ryderhadkissedme.Like,alot.IhadeverythingIwanted.EverythingI’dbeenhopingforsincethisstartedin

September.Butitallcould’vefallendownwithalittlegustofwind.Onewrongmove,andIwouldloseeverything.SoIdidwhatIdobest.

WhatIalwaysdidwhenIwasscared.“Yeah,”Ilied.“Itoldhim

everything.”

ByMondaymorning,Iwasdealingwithsomeseriouspost-make-outregret.Notregretaboutthekissingspecifically—thathadbeenawesome—butabouthowithadcometopass.Namely,mewussingoutontelling

Ryderthetruth.AndnowthatIknew

exactlywhatIwasgoingtobemissing,tellinghimwouldbeevenharder.ButIhadto.Becausethat

hotmake-outsessiondidn’tchangeanything.SowhenIwalkedinto

historyclassthatmorning,Iwasdeterminedtodothe

rightthing.Nomatterhowanxiousthewholethingmademe.“Hey,”Isaid,slidinginto

theseatbehindhis.“So…weshouldtalkaboutwhathappenedFriday.”Ryderhadalreadyswiveled

inhisseatsowewerefacingeachother.“Iwasactuallythinkingthesamething.”

Foramoment,myheartsank.Heregrettedthekiss,too,Ithought.Butforcompletelydifferentreasons.Heprobablycouldn’tbelievehe’ddoneit.Heprobablydidn’tlikemethatmuch.Iwaspoorandlessattractive.Butwe’dbeendancingandlaughingandthenwewerealoneinastranger’sbedroom

…Iwassurehewasgoingto

sayitnevershouldhavehappened.Butthen—“Whydon’tyoucomeover

thisafternoonsowecandiscussit.”AndincaseIhadn’tnoticedtheslightlyarchedeyebroworthesuggestivetoneinhisvoice,

headded,“Mymomwon’tbehomeuntillate.”“Oh.”Ormaybehedidn’tregretit

atall.Thisshouldn’thavemade

mehappy,particularlybecauseitmadewhatIwasabouttodosomuchharder,butitdid.Thatlittlegrinonhisfacegavemebutterflies

andthrillsandallthoseothersillymiddle-school-crushfeelings.Anditwouldbeeasierto

tellhimathishouse,withnooneelsearoundtooverhear.Ijusthadtostayawayfromhisbed.Andhiscouch.Andhislips.No,Ithought.Don’tdothisagain.Tellhimrightnow.

“Look,Ryder,Iactually—”“Allright,class,”Mr.

Buckleyboomedasheenteredtheroom.“Let’stalkaboutGermany.”Andtherewentmychance.Ifeltbadforfeelingso

relieved.

***

Ryderhadpassedmeanotewithdirectionstohisplace,

whichwasonlyafewminutessouthofAmy’shouse.WhenIpulledintothedrivewayaroundthreethatafternoon,Iwassurprisedtofindafairlysmallbrickhouse.IguessI’dexpectedsomethingmoreextravagantjustbecauseIknewhecamefrommoney.Butthen,itwasonlyhimandhismom

sharingtheplace,soitdidn’tneedtobehuge.Hewaswaitingformeon

thenarrowfrontporchandsmiledwhenIstartedwalkingtowardhim.Thesunlighthithiseyesinjusttheperfectway,makingthegreenseemevenbrighter.Thewayhelookedatmetookmybreathaway.

Itriedtoswallowbackthepanicrisinginsideme.HewassobeautifulandsoamazingandIdidn’twanttolosehim.WhenIreachedhim,he

gavemeaquickkiss.“Comeinside,”hesaid,

takingmebythearmandescortingmethroughthefrontdoor.“Welcometomy

humbleabode.”“Humble?”Irepeated,

staringatthelivingroom,thefurniturethatmostdefinitelyshowedwherethemoneyhadgone.Everythingwasbrand-newandshiny.TheTVwashuge.Thesofaswerelushandfancy.Andtheplacewasimmaculate.Rydertookmycoat,his

fingersskimmingacrossmyshouldersashesliditoffmyarms.“It’shumblecomparedtowherewecamefrom,”hesaid.“Ha.Ifthisishumble,then

youshouldseewhereIlive.”“Don’tyoulivewithAmy?”“Right.Well…whereI

usedtolive.”“Yeah.I’vebeenmeaning

toaskyouaboutthat.”Hehungmycoatonahookbythedoor.“WhydoyoulivewiththeRushes?Iknowaboutyourdad,but…whataboutyourmom?”Imeanttolie.Thesamelie

I’dtoldAmyandherparents.Shekickedmeout,endofstory.Butinstead,Ifoundmyselfsayingthetruth.At

least,partofit.“Mymom…iskindofa

mess.”Ifollowedhimintothelivingroom,butwhenhesatdownonthecouch,Istayedstanding.“There’vebeensomeproblemsathome,soAmywasniceenoughtoletmestaywithher.”Hescoffed.“Thatsurprises

me.”

Ifrowned.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”“Shejustdoesn’tseemlike

thecaringtype,”hesaid,hisvoicebitter.“She’sso…inconsiderate.Andrude.Plus,isn’tshetoobusydealingwithherownmomissues?”Ittookmeasecondto

rememberthatlasttimeI’dtalkedtoRyderaboutmy

mother,he’dstillthoughthewastalkingtoAmy.“Hey,”Isaid,feelingdefensiveeventhoughthatwasexactlytheimageI’dwantedhimtohaveofAmy.“Shegetsit,okay?Besides,she’smybestfriend.”“Iknow,”hesaid.“Ijust

don’tknowwhy.You’vesaidshe’sgreat,butIdon’tseeit.”

“Yousawitbefore,”Ipointedout.“Infact,itwasn’tthatlongagothatyousaidthesamethingaboutme.Thatyoucouldn’tseewhyAmywouldbefriendswithsomeonelikeme.”Heshrugged.“Iwaswrong.

IthoughtsheandIhadsomething,butitwasIMsandtextmessages.Inperson,

therewasnothing.Shewasn’tthepersonIthought.Itjusttookmeawhiletoacceptit.Butwithyou…”Helookedupatmeandsmiled.“There’salwaysbeensomethingthere,Ithink.EvenwhenwewerefightinginMr.Buckley’sclass,therewasthis…energy.Chemistry,Iguess.Ijustdidn’trealizeit.Andthen

onFriday…”“Yeah.”Ilookeddownat

myfeet.“Look,aboutFriday,thingswerealittlecrazyand—”“Idon’tthinkitwascrazy,”

hesaid.Hishandfoldedovermine,andhepulledmetowardthecouch.“Infact,IthinkkissingyoumayhavebeenthemostsanethingI’ve

donesinceImovedhere.”Irolledmyeyes,because—

let’sbereal—thatwasacheesyline.Evenifitdidkindofgivemebutterflies.Iwasstandingrightinfront

ofhim,mylegstouchinghisashelookedupatme.MyheartwaspoundingandI’msuremyfacewasbeetred.“Youbarelyknowme,”I

said.Butthatwasn’ttrue.Ryder

knewmebetterthanmostpeopledid.HesawmoreofmethanI’dletanyonesee.Hejustdidn’tknowit.“Iknowthatyoumakeme

laugh,”hesaid.“IknowthatyouthinkfasteronyourfeetthananyoneelseI’veevermet.IknowthatyouuseSAT

wordsineverydayconversation.”“Sodoyou,”Isaid.“OnlyI

doittobecuteandfunny.Youdoitbecauseyou’reaprep-schoolsnob.”“Iknowthatyounamed

yourcarbecauseyouloveit,eventhoughit’sapieceofjunk,”hecontinued.“Iknowthatyourrealnameis

Sonya.”“What?Whotoldyou?I’ll

killthem.”Helaughed.“Iknowthat

you’resmart.Andwitty.Andincredible.”Incredible.Itwasn’tthefirsttimehe’d

usedthatwordtodescribeme.BeforeChristmas,he’dcalledthepersonbehindthe

IMsandtexts“incredible.”HethoughtitwasAmy,sure,butthoseweremywords.Iwastheonehethoughtwasincredible.“Well,um…didyouknow

I’malsoaserialkiller?”“Whydoyoudothat?”he

asked.“What?”“Anytimethingsgetserious

orsentimental,youdeflectwithhumor,”hesaid.“Why?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“I

guessbecauseI’mnervous.”Hesmirked.“Imakeyou

nervous?”And,despitemybetter

judgment,Itoldthetruth.“Very.”Therewasaflickerof

recognitioninhiseyes,andIsuddenlyrememberedthattextmessageconversationbackinNovember,wherewe’dadmittedtomakingeachothernervous.Forasecond,Ithoughthemightfigureitout.Mightrealizethatithadbeenmeallalong.Iheldmybreath,notsureif

Iwantedhimtofigureitout

ornot.Butthemomentpassedas

quicklyasithadcome.Hegavemyhandalittletug,andIfellintohislap.Andthen,eventhoughI’dtriedtoavoidit—sortof—weweremakingoutagain.Istillhadn’tgottenthehang

ofthiswholekissingthing.Iwasn’talwayssurewhattodo

withmyhandsorwhichwaytotiltmyhead.Webumpednosesmorethanonce,butRyderjustlaughed,likemyclumsykissingskillsweremoreadorablethanannoying.Withhishandsinmyhair

andhistongueslidingintomymouth,Imadeadecision.Iwasn’tgoingtotellhim

thetruth.

Helikedme.HewastotallyoverAmy,andhewantedtobewithme.HethoughtIwasincredible.Partofmestillwantedto

comparemyselftoAmy.HowcouldRydergofromwantingsomeoneasbeautifulashertosomeonelikeme?Shewasgorgeousandrich,andIwas…average.And

definitelynotrich.Butthatwasn’thowhe

lookedatme.Orhowhetreatedme.MaybeWesleywasright.

Maybecomparingmyselfwasawasteoftime,andRydersawmeasmorethanjustthemoderatelyattractive,somewhatobnoxiousbestfriend.

Myplan—thoughithadtakenmonths—hadworked.ThiswaswhatI’dwanted.

WhatI’dbeenhopingforallalong.Iwasn’tgoingtotellhim.Hedidn’tneedtoknow.Afterawhile,thenecessity

ofbreathingdroveusapart.ButonlylongenoughforRydertoask:

“Iwaswondering:Doyouwanttogooutthisweekend?Onarealdate?”“Maybe,”Isaid,mynose

touchinghis.“Whatwereyouthinking?”“Dinnerandamovie?”“Soundsfun,”Isaid.“Oh,

actually,there’sthisnewromanticcomedythatjustopened.IthinkRachel

McAdamsisinit.”Ryderwrinkledhisnose.

“Ugh.”“Youdon’tlikeRachel

McAdams?”Iasked,appalled.“What’swrongwithyou?”“It’snother,”hesaid.“I

just…don’treallylikemainstreamHollywoodfilms.Iwasthinkingthatwecould

goseethatnewKoreanfilmthatjustopenedatCindependent.”“OhmyGod,”Isaid,rolling

myeyes.“Everythingyoujustsaidissowrong.”Butthatdidn’tstopmefrom

kissinghimagain.

“You’vebeenspendingalotoftimewithRyderlately,”Amysaid.Shewassittingonherbed,watchingasIappliedalittlebitoflipstickinthevanitymirror.“Whereareyouguysgoingtonight?”“Amovie,”Isaid.

ItwasthenextSaturday,aweeksinceourfirstkiss,andithadbeenoneofthemostblissfulweeksofmylife.Suddenly,Iwasgladtobeunemployed.We’dspentalmosteveryafternoontogether—sometimesdoinghomeworkatthelibrary,sometimesmakingoutinhisbedroom—doingwhatever

wefeltlikethatday.Wewerealwayseitherlaughingorarguing,whichusuallyledtolaughing.Yes,mylife,foronce,was

awesome.Evenifhehadwonthe

moviedebate.“It’saKoreanfilm,”Itold

AmyasIputthecapbackonthelipstick—alipstickI’d

stolenfromher,actually.“AndyouknowhowIfeelaboutsubtitles.Ugh.I’msortofhopingwecanbenormalandjustmakeoutinthebackofthetheater.KnowingRyder,though,he’lllikelythinkthat’sfartoopedestrian.”Ilaughedandturnedtoface

her,butAmyonlygavea

smallsmile.“Whataboutyou?”Iasked.

“Whatareyoudoingtonight?”“I’mnotsure,”shesaid.

“Probablyfinishingupafewcollegeapplications.”“Youpartyanimal,”I

teased.Shelaughed.“Well,I’m

almostdone.I’vealready

mailedoffmyapplicationsforBrown,Cornell,andDartmouth.I’mhopingtogettheothersinthemailbyMonday.Whataboutyou?”“Whataboutmewhat?”I

asked.“Haveyourapplications

yet?”“Um,yeah,”Ilied.“Mostof

them.”Iturnedbacktothe

mirror,checkingmyoutfitonemoretime,andtriedtoignorethesinkingfeelinginmystomach.Istillhadn’tfiguredoutwhatIwasgoingtodoaftergraduation,orhowIwasgoingtotellAmythatcollegewasn’tanoption.Honestly,Icouldn’tbelieve

shethoughtitwas.“Good,”shesaid.“Because

there’snotmuchtimeleft.Wheredidyouapply?”“Oh,youknow,”Isaid,

tuggingonthehemofmysweater.ItwastheonethattheRusheshadgivenmeforChristmas.“Mostlythesameplacesasyou.”“Great,”shesaid.“We’ll

definitelygetintoatleastacoupleofthesameschools.

Wouldn’titbegreatifwecouldberoommates?I’mnotsureifIcouldshareadormroomwithanyoneelse.”“Iknowwhatyoumean.”“Weshouldgoshopping

soon,”Amysuggested.“Wecouldgoaheadandpickoutsomestuffforourfuturedormroom.Iwasthinkingwecoulddecoratetheroom

ingreenand—”“Thatsoundsgreat,”Isaid,

eventhougheverywordshesaidwaskillingme.“ButIbettergetgoing.IhavetopickRyderupinafewminutes.”“Whyisn’thepickingyou

up?”Amyasked.“Gottochallengethose

gendernorms,”Isaid.“Also,

ifIhavetoseeaforeignfilm,hehastobeseenridingaroundinGert.”“Iguessthatseemsfair.”“Havefunwithyour

applications,”Isaid,grabbingmypurseandheadingforthedoor.“Don’twaitup,darling.”“Yeah,”shesaid.Hervoice

wasquietasIheadedoutthe

bedroomdoor.“Youhavefun,too.”

***

ImayhavebegunmyrelationshipwithRyderwithlimitedkissingexperience,butIwasmostcertainlymakingupforlosttime.Forthenextfewweeks,

RyderandIcouldhardlykeepourhandsoffeach

other.Weweremakingoutinhiscar,inmine,athishouse—occasionallyinthehallwaysatschool.SittingbehindhiminAPhistorywastorturous,becauseallIwantedtodowasleanforwardandpressmylipsintohisneck.IhadafeelingMr.Buckley

wouldn’ttaketookindlyto

that.Therewasonlyonething

thatcoulddistractusfromkissingwhenwewerealonetogether.“We’renotmakingouttoa

GoatsVoteforMelonssong,”Isaid,turningmyheadsothatRyder’slipshitmyjawinsteadofmymouth.Wewerehorizontalin

Gert’sbackseat,parkedoutbeneathsometreesonLyndwayHill.Ryder’scarmayhavebeenfancier(andcleaner),butGertboastedalargerbackseat.VictoryforGert.Hegroanedandsatupa

little,proppinghimselfonhiselbows.“What’swrongwithGoatsVoteforMelons?”

“It’snotsexy.WeneedtogetsomeBoyzIIMenplayingupinhere.”“Who?”“Ugh.I’msurroundedby

unculturedidiots.”“Funny.Ioftenfeelthe

sameway.”Ishovedathisshoulders,

forcinghimupandoffme.Hemovedtooquickly,

though,andhisheadslammedintoGert’sroof.“Ow!”“Servesyouright,”Isaidas

IreachedforhisiPod.“Let’ssee.Whatelsedowehaveonhere?Hipsterband,hipsterband,hipsterband…Oh,grunge.That’sanicechange.”Nexttome,Ryderseemed

todeflateslightly.Foraminute,Iwasconfused;thenIrealizedthat,tohim,Iwasn’tthegrungegirl.Amywas.Thatwashermusic,andshewasthereasonhe’dgivenitachance.Partofmewantedtocorrect

himonthis.TotellsomestoryabouthowIwastheonewholovedgrungeandhad

pulledAmyintoit.Butreally,AmywasthelastthingIwantedtotalkaboutrightnow.SoIclearedmythroatand

wentbacktoskimmingthroughthesongsonhisiPod.Eventually,Igaveuponfindinganythingdecentandselected“OfLionsandRobots,”theonlyGVMsong

Ididn’thate.Ryder,havingregainedhis

composure,gentlyremovedtheiPodfrommyhandandtosseditintothefrontseat,outofreach.“Makeyouadeal,”hesaid,

kissingjustbeneathmyear.“I’lladdsomebettermake-outmusictomycollection,ifyoudropitforthe

moment….”Hislipstraveleddownmyneck,sendingchillsupmyspine.“Fine,”Isaid,asifthiswas

somegreatsacrificeonmypart.Heeasedmebackdown

ontothecarpetedseat,andIwrappedmyarmsaroundhisneck.Hekissedhiswayuptomymouth,tuggingslightly

onmylowerlipwithhisteeth.Igiggledandarchedmyback,pressingmyselftighteragainsthim.ButthenRydershifted

slightly,andIwassuddenlylessfocusedonhismouthandmorekeenlyawareofhishand,whichhadbeguncreepingbeneathmyshirt.Despitetheconstantmaking

out,wehadn’tquitereachedsecondbaseyet.NotthatIwasatallopposedtoit.Butthehigherhishand

crept,themorenervousIbegantofeel.Whatifhemanagedtogetmybraoffonlytobedisappointed?Whatifmyboobsweretoosmallorweirdlookingorsomething?Amy’swere

muchbiggerthanmineandprobablyperfect.Though,admittedly,Iwasn’treallysurewhatmadeboobsperfectorweird.Itdidn’tstopmefromworrying.“Hey,”Rydersaid,pulling

awayalittle.“Isthisallright?”Theminutehiseyesmet

mine,Ifeltmyselfrelax.His

expressionwassosoft,sogentle,anditeasedsomeofmyworries.StopcomparingyourselftoAmy,Ithought.Hedoesn’twanther,hewantsyou.“Yeah,”Isaid.“Definitely.”Hesmiled,thenwentback

tokissingme.Andtotryingtounhookmy

bra.Apparently,thisisavery

complicatedactforboys,particularlytodoone-handed,becauseitseemedtobetakinghimlongerthanI’dexpected.Buthe’dalmostmanageditwhen—Crunch!Thesnowballsmackedinto

thewindshield,followedbyaburstofretreatinglaughterfromoutsidethecar.

RyderandIbothgroaned.“Assholes,”Isaid.“Whyarewehereagain?”

heasked.“LyndwayHillisthecool

placetomakeout.Atleast,soI’vebeentold.”“Right,well,Iwouldargue

thatmyhouseiscooler.”Heeasedoffme,allowingmetositup.HesmirkedatmeasI

attemptedtosmoothdownmyhair.“MightIsuggestthatwecontinuethisthere?”Ijustgrinned.

***

Unfortunately,Ryder’shousewasnotasemptyaswe’dthought.Weburstthroughthedoor,

laughingatthefreshsnowthathadfallenonusaswe’d

runupthefrontsteps.Heflickedsnowfrommyhair,andIlaughed,pushinghimaway.Hecaughtmyarmsandmovedmebackward,soIwaspressedagainstthefrontdoorasheleanedintokissme.Butourlipshadbarelymet

whenweheardtheloud“Ahem”andjumpedapart.

“Mom,”Rydersaid,spinningaroundtofacethewomanthatneitherofushadnoticedstandinginthelivingroom.“Ididn’tthinkyouwerehome.”“AndIthoughtyouwere,”

shesaid,hervoicedevoidofanyhumor.“Yourcarisinthegarage.”“Right.IwaswithSonny.”

Iraisedahandandgaveasmallwave.“Hi,Mrs.Cross.”Yeah.ThiswasnothowI’dplannedonmeetinghismomforthefirsttime.“It’sMs.Tanner,”she

corrected.“Inolongerusemymarriedname.”“Right.Sorry.”I’mnotgoingtolie.Iwas

alreadyprettyscaredof

Ryder’smother.ShewassostrictabouthowcleanherhouseandevenRyder’scarwerekept.AndRyder,despiteseemingtothinkshewasperfect,haddescribedherasprettystrictandcold,thingsthathadonlygottenworsesincetheseparation.Nottraitsthatparticularlymeshedwithmypersonality.

Asifthatwasn’tenough,inperson,shewasentirelyintimidating.I’dknownshewasprettyfromthephotoI’dseenofRyderandhisfamily,withhersmoothdarkbrownskinanddarkeyes.Butshewasalsoquitetall.Andhadbroadshoulders.Andthentherewasthewayshewasdressed,inacrisp,neat,

expensivenavy-bluesuit.“Isthatyourcaroutside?”

sheasked,glancingoutthewindow.“Uh,yes,ma’am.Itis.”And

thenItried,perhapsfoolishly,tomakeherlaugh.“InamedherGert.”Butshedidn’tlaugh.

“Hmm.Charming.I’msuretheneighborswillbevery

curiousaboutwhatacarlikethatisdoinginthedriveway.”Ouch.Iwantedtosaysomething,

todefendGert,assillyasitsounds,butluckilyRyderspokeupfirst.“It’svintage,”hesaid,

laughing.Andthefactthathewasobviouslyquotingme

mademesoftenabit.“Indeed,”Ms.Tannersaid.

“I’msorry.Imissedyourname.Whatwasitagain?”“Oh.Sonny,”Isaid.But,

becauseIthoughtitmightbemoreimpressivetoher,Iadded,“ShortforSonya.”“Sonny,”sherepeated.“I

mustbebehindonmyson’slovelife.HereIwasthinking

hewasinterestedinagirlnamed…Amy?”“Notanymore,”Rydersaid.

“SonnyandIhaveactuallybeenseeingeachotherforaboutthreeweeksnow.”“Wow,”Ms.Tannersaid.

“Yousuremovedonfast.MustbethatCrossDNA.”Ryderflinched.“Ifyou’llexcuseme,”she

said,“Ibroughtsomeworkhomewithmethatneedstogetdone.Nicetomeetyou,Sonny.”Thefeelingwasnotmutual.Whenshe’dlefttheroom,I

turnedtoRyder.“Thatwas…interesting.”Hewasstaringathisfeet,

hishandsshoveddeepintohiscoatpockets.Clearly,the

interactionhadbeenjustasunpleasantforhim.ButIknewnottosayanythingelse.“ShouldIgo?”Iasked.“Youdon’thaveto,”he

said.Butsomethingtoldmethat

therewouldbenogettingtosecondbasetodayafterall.“It’sokay.Iprobably

should.Ihavealotofhomework.”Ryderwasquietashe

walkedmeout.Whenwereachedmycar,Iturnedtohim.“Hey,”Isaid,grabbinghishand.“Iseverythingokay?”Iworriedthatmaybehismother’sobviousdisapprovalofmeandmypoor-personvehiclemightbe

enoughtoscarehimoff.“Yeah,”hesaid.

“Everything’sfine.”Andeventhoughtherewas

nohesitationwhenheleanedintokissmegood-bye,Iknewsomethinghadchanged.SomethinghismotherhadsaidwasbotheringRyder,evenifhewasn’ttellingmewhatjust

yet.

“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”IaskedRyder.Itwasanotherdaywhenhis

motherwouldn’tbehomeuntiltheevening(we’dcheckedthistime),whichmeantwewereathishouse,inhisroom,onhisbed.Only

Ryderdidn’tseementirelythere.Likehewaspreoccupiedwithsomethingbesidesfeelingmeup.“Amy,”hesaid.Ifrowneddownathim.

“Okay.NottheanswerIwashopingfor.”Heshookhishead.“Not

likethat,”hesaid.“Obviously.IjustfeellikeI

shouldapologizetoher.”“For…?”“This.”Hegestured

betweenus.“I’mnotexactlyherbiggestfananymore,butwedidhavesomethinggoingonbetweenusforawhile.ItmustbeweirdthatI’mnowdatingherbestfriend.”“It’snot,”Iassuredhim.

“She’stotallyfinewithit.”

Whichwasmostlytrue.AmyknewthatRyderandIhadbeenseeingeachotherforthepastmonth,andshewastotallysupportive.Happyforme,even.ShejustthoughtRyderwasmoreinformedthanhereallywas.Andofcourse,shehadnoideathathenowconsideredhertobeoneoftherudest,flakiest

peopleontheplanet.Youknow.Smalldetails.Sofar,Ihadn’thadtodo

muchworktokeepthetruthfromcomingout.Itwasn’tasifRyderandAmyhungoutever.AndwiththewayRyderfeltaboutAmynow,Ididn’tthinkitwouldbetoohardtokeepthemseparateduntilgraduationinMay.

ButRyderandhisdamnconscienceweregoingtoruineverything.“I’mgladtohearthat,”he

said.“Ijust…Idon’twanttobelikemydad,youknow?”“Howcanyouevensay

that?”Iasked.“Youheardmymomthe

otherday.CrossDNA.”“Areyouserious?Ryder,

youdidn’tcheatonAmy.Youtwoneverevenkissed.Iknowyouguyshadavirtualconnection…”Believeme,Iknewalltoowell.“But,likeyoutoldme,therewasn’treallyanythingthere.Sheknowsthat.You’renotlikeyourdad.”“Ihopenot,”hesaid,

buryinghishandsinmycurls

asheleaneduptokissme.“But…speakingofyour

dad…”Hefloppedbackontothe

bedwithagroan.“Okay.DefinitelynotwhatIwanttotalk,orthink,aboutwhenthere’sagirlinmybedroom.”“Sorry,butyoustartedit,”I

said.“Iwasjustcuriousif

you’dheardfromhimlately.”Rydersighed.“Hecalled

yesterday.Leftavoicemail.Thesameoldthing.Heapologizedandprettymuchbeggedmetocallhim.Hesayshewantstoseeme.ThinksIshouldcometoDCforspringbreak.”“Maybeyoushould.”Heraisedaneyebrow.

“Wouldn’tyoumissme?”“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“But

I’msureIcanfindsomeoneelsetomakeoutwithwhileyou’reaway.”Hegavemeanexaggerated,

playfulfrown,andIlaughedasIleaneddowntokissthetipofhisnose.“Seriously,though.You

shouldcallhim,”Isaid.“I

knowhescrewedupprettyterribly.Butmydadhasdonesomebadthings,too.Prison-worthybadthings,infact.Buthe’sstillmydad.AndI’mgladtohavehimbackinmylife.Andthat’sbecauseofyou.”IsmiledasIfoundhishandandtwinedourfingerstogether.“Ioweyouforthat,soletmereturnthefavor

here.Givehimachance.”Hesighed.“I’llthinkabout

it.”“Okay,”Isaid,knowingthat

eventhatwasseriousprogress.“Inthemeantime…”Isquealedwithlaughteras

heflippedmeontomybackandplacedalongkissonmylips.

“NomoretalkingaboutAmy,”hewhispered,hismouthafractionofaninchfrommine.“Ormydad.”Inodded,thekisshaving

leftmebreathless.“Deal.”ButRyderhadbarelygotten

hishandupmyshirtwhenhiscellphonebegantoringfromthedresser.“That’smymom’s

ringtone,”hesaid,rollingoffme.“Ofcourseitis,”Isaid.

“Theuniverseisdeterminedtokeepmeclothed.”“Theuniverseisawful,”he

said.Thenhepickedupthephone.“Hello,Mom.”Withthemoodsufficiently

killed,Iclimbedoffthebedandbeganwalkingaround

Ryder’sroom,investigatingareasIhadn’tyet.Likehiscar,itwasimmaculatelyclean.Serial-killerclean.EventheDVDsandBlu-raysonhisshelfwereinalphabeticalorder.“Yes.I’llbesuretodo

that….Seeyoutonight,Mom.Iloveyou.”Hehungupthephoneandturnedto

lookatme.“Didyouwanttowatchamovie?”heasked.“Maybe.Butonlyifwecan

watch…”IgrabbedtheDVDofftheshelfandspuntofacehim,grinning.“Clueless?”Ryder’seyeswentwide.“I

…um…”“OrCruelIntentions?Or

maybe10ThingsIHateAboutYou?”

“Okay,Igetit.”“She’sAllThat?AmericanPie?Can’tHardlyWait?Thatonewasn’tevenverygood.”“It’snotbad.”“Ithoughtyoudidn’tlike

mainstreamHollywoodfilms?”Iteased.“Yes.Allright.Youcaught

me,”hesaid.“Ihaveasoftspotforninetiesteenmovies.

It’saguiltypleasure.I’mnotproudofit.Happy?”“Ecstatic,”Isaid,waving

theCluelessDVD.“Thisprovestomethatyouare,indeed,human.Andifwe’rebeinghonest,itmakesmelikeyousomuchmore.”“Really?”“Really.”Iwalkedoverto

wherehesatonthebedand

kissedhim.Hesmiledagainstmylips,thentuggedonmyhand,pullingmecloser,butItookastepback.“Oh,no,”Isaid,holdingtheDVDupagain.“NowIactuallywanttowatchthis.”And,atleastforthe

moment,thesubjectofAmywasdropped.Butitdidn’tstaythatway

forlong.

***

EverythingfellapartonValentine’sDay.Ryderhadn’tdroppedthe

wholeapologything.NomatterhowmanytimesIassuredhimthatAmywascoolwithusdating,hekeptbringingitup.Icouldhavekilledhismotherforplanting

theseedinhisheadandmakinghimthinkhewasanythinglikehisdad.Keepingthemawayfrom

eachotherwasbecomingincreasinglydifficult.Ifeltlikeacharacterinasitcom,constantlyjugglingthetwoandkeepingmystoriesstraight.SowhenIsawhimwalking

towardusinthehallwayatschool,Iknewshitwasabouttohitthefan—ametaphorthatneverfailedtogrossmeoutalittle.“Weshouldgoiceskating

thisweekend,”Amysaidaswewalkedtolunch.“TherinkinOakHillwillclosesoon,andwehaven’tgoneallwinter.”

“Thatsoundsfun,”Isaid.“ButIthinkIalreadyhaveplanswithRyder.Valentine’sDayweekendandall.”“Valentine’sDayisaday,

notaweekend.”“Itcanbeaweekendifyou

doitright,”Isaid,grinning.“Oh.”Amylookeddownat

herfeet.“Yeah.Ishould’veguessedyou’dbebusy.”

IwasabouttosuggestwewatchamovieorsomethingSundaynightinstead,whenRyderwalkedup.“Ryder,”Isaid,forcinga

smile.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Igotoschoolhere?”“Right.Ijustmeanyou’re

usuallynotinthishallway.”Iclearedmythroat.“Anyway,

we’rejustheadingtolunch,so—”“Thiswillonlytakea

second,”hesaid,kissingmeonthecheek.TherewasagoodchancethatwasthelastkissI’devergetfromhim.“IjustneedtotalktoAmy.”“Me?”sheasked,surprised.“Youreallydon’t,”Isaid,

shakingmyhead.

“Everything’sfine.Hey,let’sgogetsomebadcafeterialasagna.”“Amy,”Rydersaid,

completelyignoringme.“Iknowthesepastfewmonthshavebeenstrange,butIwantedtoapologizeandmakesuretherewerenohardfeelingsaboutmeseeingSonny.”

Shefrowned.“Ofcoursetherearen’t.Whywouldtherebe?”“See?”Isaid,tryingto

shoveRyderdownthehall.“She’sfine.Let’sgo.”Hedidn’tbudge.Instead,he

scoffed.“IguessIshouldn’tbetoosurprisedbythatreaction.It’sfairlyinkeepingwiththewayyou’vebeen

treatingme.”“Excuseme?”Iwantedtohide.Torunand

lockmyselfinabathroomstall.Or,betteryet,tovanishcompletely.Becausethecrackswerebeginningtoshow,andtheliesI’dbuiltbetweenAmyandRyderwereabouttocomecrashingdownontopofme.

“Justthat,despiteaconnectionthatseemedveryrealonline,you’vealwaysactedasifnothinghappenedbetweenus.Soit’snotexactlysurprisingthatyou’dcontinuethetrendnow,eventhoughI’vestarteddatingyourbestfriend.Somethingthatwouldbothermostpeople.”

Amygawkedathim.“Wh-What?”Shefroze,andthen,slowly,sheturnedtolookatme.Ishrankbeneathhergaze,andthewordsshespokenextweresoquiet,socold,thattheymademeshiver.“Youdidn’ttellhim?”“Tellmewhat?”Ryder

asked.Theywerebothlookingat

menow,waitingformetoanswer.Iwasanexcellentliar.ButI

hadnolieforthis.NothingIcouldthinktosayordothatwouldfixit.Nothingthatwouldletmekeepthemboth.Amy’seyesflashed,andI

sawthefurytherethatI’donlyseenoncebefore,andIshrankawayfromher,

flinchingasifshe’dstruckme.“Fine,”shesaid,voicestill

low.“Ifyouwon’ttellhim,Iwill.”SheturnedtofaceRyder.“Inevertalkedtoyouonline,Ryder.Ineverinstantmessagedortextedyouoranyofthat.ItwasallSonny.”Rydertookastumblingstep

backward.Likehe’djustbeen

shoved.“What?Sonny,isthat…isthattrue?”“I…um…”Iswallowed.

“Sortof.”Horrorbloomedacrosshis

faceandsuddenlytherewassomuchhurtinhiseyes.“Youwerecatfishingme?”heasked.Ifeltmyselfshrinkawayfromhimastheshameswelledinsideofme.“Wasit

somesortofjoke?Wereyouscrewingwithme?”“No!”Icried.“Ofcourse

not.”“Whatthehelliswrong

withyou?”hedemanded.“Howcouldyouletmethink…JesusChrist.Thisissofuckedup.”“Ryder,please,justletme

explain.”

“Explainwhat?Thatyoupretendedtobesomeoneelse?Andliedtome?We’vebeendatingforoveramonthand…wereyoujustnotgoingtotellme?”“I…”IhopedIwouldn’thaveto.Iclearedmythroat.“Ryder,justgivemeasecond.”Heshookhishead.“No.I

shouldgo.”“I’msorry,”Amysaid.“She

toldmeyouknew.”“Well,then,lookslikeshe

liedtobothofus.”“Ryder.”Thedisgustwhenhelooked

atmeshatteredanycomposureImighthavehad.Ifeltmylipbegintotremble.I’dhadeverythingIwanted,

andinamatterofseconds,ithadallcometumblingdown.“I’mgoingtolunch,”he

said.Heturnedandbegantowalkaway.“Ryder!”Icalledoutagain.

“Please.Just…listen.”Buthedidn’tstopwalking.IspuntofaceAmy,anger

andguiltandheartbreakatwarinsideme.“Howcould

youdothattome?”Idemanded,myhandsballedintofists.Sheleveledasteady,dark

gazeatme.Thensheshookherhead.“Howcouldyoudothattome?”sheasked.Ilookeddownatmyfeet,

shamewinningthefight.Shewasright.AsmuchasIwantedtoblameherfor

tellingRyder,itwasallonme.I’dhadthechancetotellhimsomanytimes,butI’dchickenedout.AndI’dkeptlyingtobothofthem.HowstupidwasItothinkthatthey’dneverfindoutthetruth?ThatIwouldn’tenduphurtingthemboth?“I’msorry,”Isaid.ButwhenIlookedup,Amy

wasgone.AndIwascompletelyalone.

Lonelywasnotanewfeelingforme.Infact,itwasafeelingI

knewbetterthanmost.Butnormally,whenIwas

feelingaloneorabandoned,IknewIcouldgotoAmy.Iknewshe’dbethereforme.

AndrecentlyI’dhadRyder,too.Butnotanymore.Ithadbeenaweeksincethe

Valentine’sDayMassacre,andneitherofthemhadspokenawordtomesince.Ihadtriedtoapologizeto

Rydereverydaysincetheincidentinthehall,buthewouldn’tevenlookatme.I’d

called,I’dtexted,I’de-mailed,andI’dgottennoresponse.Inclass,heworehisgiantheadphones,freezingmeoutuntilMr.Buckleystartedteaching.So,oneday,Itriedadifferenttactic.Onethathadworkedinthepast.Iwroteanote.

Please.Givemeachance

toexplain.IknowIscrewedup,butitwasn’tallalie.Hearmeout,okay?—S

ItosseditoverRyder’sshoulderandheldmybreathashereadit,hopinghe’dwritesomethingback.Instead,heputthenoteawayandraisedhishand.“Yes,Mr.Cross?”Mr.

Buckleysaid,alreadysoundingexasperated.“MayIswitchseats?”Ifeltmyselfdeflate.“Whywouldyouwantto

switchseats?”Mr.Buckleyasked.Ithoughthewouldoutme.

PlaythetattletaleandletMr.BuckleyknowIwaspassingnotes.Itwasn’tasifIdidn’t

deserveit.ButRyderhadmoreintegritythanthat.WhichwasoneofthereasonsI’dfallenforhim,Iguess.“I’mhavingtroubleseeing

theboard,”Rydersaid.“CouldIsitcloser?”IfeltlikeI’djustbeen

kickedinthechest.Isankbackintomyseat,tryingnottoletmyfeelingsshow.

Mr.Buckleysighed.“Sure.Comeonup.Andmaybethinkaboutgettingsomereallensesforthoseglassesofyours.”Hehadn’tsatnearmesince.Amycouldn’tavoidme

quiteaseasily,butdamnifshedidn’ttry.Wemayhavelivedunder

thesameroof,butAmydid

herbesttoneverbeinthesameroomasme.WhenIwalkeddownstairs,shewentbackupthem.WhenIcameintothekitchen,shemovedtothelivingroom.WhenIenteredtherecroom,sheranout.“You’vegottotalktome

eventually,”IsaidoneSaturdayasshebrushedpast

me,headingoutofthekitchen.I’dhadenoughofthesilenttreatment.WhenAmydidn’tlook

back,Ifollowedher.“Comeon,Amy,”Isaid.“I

knowyou’repissed,andI’msorry.Ishouldn’thavelied.HowmanytimesdoIhavetoapologize?”Shestoppedatthefootof

thestairsandturnedtofaceme.ThatsamedarkglintI’dseenthedaysheoutedmetoRyderwasthere.Thatraresparkofanger.“Howmanytimes?”Amy

asked.“Idon’tknow,Sonny.You’veapologizedalotinthepast.ButI’mstartingtothinkthatwordsdon’tmeananythingtoyou,becauseyou

alwaysjustgoanddosomethingworse.”Shewasn’twrong.I’d

apologizedformakingherflirtwiththatguyonBlackFriday.I’dapologizedforthetextstoRyder.I’dapologizedforhowlongmyplanhadtakenbeforeswearingI’dbehonest.ButI’djustkeptgoing,makingitworseand

worse.“I’msorry,”Isaidagain,

becauseIhadnocluewhatelseIcouldsay.“Imeanit.IjustgotsocaughtupineverythingwithRyderandme….Amy,wehavetoworkthisout.We’rebestfriends.We’reSonnyandAmy.Youmeanmoretomethananyone.”

“DoI?”“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“Thenwhydoyoudothis?”

shedemanded.Itwasthefirsttimeshe’deverraisedhervoicetome,thatcalmcoolnesstotallygone.“IfI’msoimportanttoyou,howcanyoukeepwalkingalloverme?”“I—”

Sheshookherhead.“Letmetalknow.Youalwaysdothetalking,Sonny.That’stheproblem.Youneverletmespeak.Imightbeaquietperson,butthatdoesn’tmeanyouhavetospeakformeorspeakoverme.”“Ispeakforyoubecause

youdon’tspeakup!”Iargued.“That’swhatIdo.I

defendyou.Iprotectyou.”“Ineveraskedyouto,”she

said.“Andthat’sdefinitelynotwhatyou’vebeendoinglately.Noneofthishadanythingtodowithhelpingme.Itwastohelpyou.BecausewhenIdidspeakup,whenItoldyouhowIfeltinTennessee,youjustwalkedalloverme.Completely

disregardedeverythingIsaid.Howisthatdefendingme?”“Amy—”“I’mgoingtotalkoveryou

thistime!”sheshouted.Itwassostartling,soun-Amy-like,thatItookastepback.“Youaresoselfish,”shecontinued.“YousaythatI’myourbestfriend,butyouusedme.Youpretendedtobeme.

Ican’tunderstandthat.”“Becauseeverything’seasy

foryou!”Iyelledback.“AmyRush:beautiful,rich,sweet.Agoodfamily.Agoodfutureaheadofyou.Everythingjustfallsintoyourfuckinglap!”“That’snottrue.”“Oh,right,”Isaid.“You’re

shy.Whatafreakingchallenge.Howhardthat

mustbe,”Iscoffed.“Youdon’tevenrealizehowgoodyouhaveit.Orhowharditisfortherestofus.Guesswhat,Amy?We’renotgoingtoberoommatesincollege.BecauseIneverappliedanywhere.”Amyblinked,startled.

“What?”“I’mnotgoingtocollege,”I

said.“Ifyoustoppedandthoughtaboutitfortwoseconds,you’dknowthere’snowayI’mgoingtoDartmouthorBrownorwhatever.Idon’thavemoney.Yourparentsarepayingformygasrightnow!Idon’tevenhaveafamilytosignthedamnfinancialaidforms.You’regoingto

college,andIhavenofuckingcluewhatI’mdoingafteryouleave.”“Soyouliedtomeabout

that,too.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Idid.”Sheshookherhead,then

turnedandwalkedupthestairs.Ifollowedher.“That’sit?”Iasked.Iwas

riledupnow.AmyandIhad

neverbeeninafightbefore.UsuallyshejustgotquietandIwaitedforhertocomearound.We’dneveryelledateachother.Itusedtobeapointofpride,actually,butnowIwantedtoyell.IknewI’dregretitlater,butatthemoment,IwantedtomakeherhurtasmuchasIdid.“Yeah,”shesaid,stopping

inherbedroomdoorway.“That’sit.I’mdone,Sonny.I’mdonelettingyoupushmearoundandusemeand…”Sheletoutalongbreath.Shewascalmnow.Quiet.“Ialwaysknewyouwerealiar,”shesaid.“Ijustneverthoughtyou’dlietome.GuessIwaswrong.”Myinstinctwastogetthe

lastword.Thatthepersonwhospokelastwonthefight.Logical,Iknow.Butherwordshitmeharder

thananythingelseshe’dsaid.Asitturnedout,Ididn’tneedtomakeAmyhurtnow.Ialreadyhad.AndbeforeIcouldcomeup

withanythingtosay,anythingthatwouldmakeme

feelevenmomentarilyvictorious,Amyslammedthedoorinmyface.

***

Ourfightwentonforanotherweek.Coldshoulders,angryglares,slammingdoors.Ispentmostofmytimeintheguestroom,wallowinginmymisery.Morethanonce,Ifound

myselfdialingRyder’snumber,wantingtohearhisvoice,togethisadviceonwhattodo,tohavehimmakemelaugh.ThenI’drememberthathehatedme,too,andI’dbeleftevenmorecrushedthanI’dbeenamomentbefore.I’dhopedAmy’sparents

hadn’tpickeduponthe

tensioninthehouse,butofcoursetheyhad.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid

fromoutsidethebedroomdoor.“Canwecomeinasecond?”“Yes,”Isaid,sittingup.I’d

beenlyingonmyback,staringattheceiling,contemplatinghowawfulmylifewas.Youknow,

productivestuff.“Comeonin.”Mr.andMrs.Rushstepped

inside,andMr.Rushshutthedoorbehindhim.Iknewbythelooksontheirfacesthatnothinggoodwasgoingtocomeofthis.“Wewantedtocomeinand

checkonyou,”Mrs.Rushsaid,sittingontheedgeofthe

bed.“Weknowthatthings

betweenyouandAmyhavebeen…off,”Mr.Rushsaid.Understatementofthe

century.“Yeah…Um.I’mokay.”“That’sgood,”Mrs.Rush

said.“YouknowwelovebothyouandAmy,andwe’resureyoutwowillworkthis

outeventually.”Iwasgladshewas,because

Iwasn’tsosure.“Wedon’tknowwhat’s

goingonbetweenyoutwo,”Mr.Rushsaid.“You’vebeenveryquietonthetopic.Andthat’syourprerogative.Wejustwantyoutoknowthatwe’rehereforyouboth.”Icouldsensethe“but”

coming.“We’vebeenthinking,

though,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Thishasbeengoingonfortwoweeks,and…maybethebestthingforbothofyouistotakesometimeapart.Togetsomespacefromeachother.”“Oh.”Ifeltthepanicbeginningto

rise.BecauseIknewwhatcamenext.Iknewwhattheyweregoingtosay.AnditwasthelastthingI

wantedtohear.“We’vebeenhappytohave

youhere,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Butlivingtogetherishard.Evenforbestfriends.Soperhapsit’stimeforyoutogohome.”

Theyinsistedondrivingme.ItoldthemIhadGert.Itold

themIcouldgoalone.Itoldthemnottoworry.Buttheywouldn’thearit.Wepulledintothedriveway

aroundnoon,andeventhoughitwassurprisingly

sunnyforthebeginningofMarch,everythingaboutmyhouseseemeddarkandgray.Likeitwashaunted.Liketherewasapermanentshadowhangingoverit,clingingtothetreebranchesinthefrontyard.“Youdon’thavetocome

in,”Isaid,forcingmyselftosoundconfident.“Icantalk

toMomonmyown.”“Issheevenhere?”Mrs.

Rushasked.“There’snocarinthedriveway.”“She’s…she’sprobablyat

work,”Isaid.“She’llbehomesoon.Ihavemykey,so…”“Whydon’twewaitwith

you,”Mr.Rushsaid.Itwasn’taquestion,though.He

andMrs.Rushwastednotimeunbucklingtheirseatbeltsandgettingoutofthecar.ButIstayed,frozeninthe

backseat.No.No,itcouldn’thappenlike

this.“Comeon,Sonny,”Mrs.

Rushsaid,openingthedoor

nexttome.“It’llbeokay.Iknowit’sprobablyscarytoconfrontyourmom,butthat’swhywe’rehere.”Butthatwasn’twhatwas

scaringme.Iclimbedoutofthecar,

tryingtokeepmycomposureaspanicbubbledinmystomach.Ifumbledformykey,whichhadspentmonths

atthebottomofmypurse,unused,unwanted.Ihesitatedbeforeslidingitintothelock.“Iappreciateyoucoming

withme,”Isaid.“Butreally,youdon’thavetostay.It…it’llprobablybebetterifItalktoheralone.Icancallyouafter—”“Ithinkweshouldbehere,”

Mr.Rushsaid.“Basedon

whatyoutoldusbefore,yourmomhasatendencytooverreact.Ifwe’rehere,maybeshe’llkeepacoolerhead.”“Wejustwanttomakesure

everything’sokay,”Mrs.Rushsaid,rufflingmyhairalittle.“Let’sgooninside,Sonny.It’scoldouthere.”Myhandswereshakingso

hard.“Youreallydon’thaveto—”“Weknow,”Mr.Rushsaid.

“Butwewantto.”Withbothoftheireyeson

me,Ihadnootherchoicebuttounlockthefrontdoorandlettheminside.Thelivingroomwasdark,

theblindsdrawn,andthestaleodorofitnearly

suffocatedme.Ishiveredinmyjacket.Itwasn’tmuchwarmerinside.Outofthecornerofmyeye,InoticedMr.andMrs.Rushglanceateachother,andthepanicroseupintomythroat.“Mymommightbea

while,”Isaid.“Sheworksweirdhours.”“Wecanwait,”Mr.Rush

said,buttherewasaskepticaltonetohisvoice.Hesatdownonthecouch,apuffofdustrisingaroundhim.Hehadthegracetopretendhedidn’tnotice.“Comesitwithme.We’llwaittogether.”“Um…”Ilookedoverat

Mrs.Rush,whoseemedtobescopingouttheplace,hereyesinvestigatingevery

cornerofthelivingroom.“Youknow,mymommightnotbeokaywithcominghometofindsomanypeopleinthehouse.Youdon’tknowthisabouther,butshe’sreallyanintrovert.Thismightbetoooverwhelmingand—”“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,“is

theresomethingwrong?”“No.”Butmyvoice

cracked.“No,I’mjustworriedmymomwon’tbeokaywiththiswhenshegetshome.Ireallyshouldjusttalktohermyself.”“It’ssodarkinhere,”Mrs.

Rushsaid.“Letmegetthelight.”“No!”Butitwastoolate.She’d

flippedtheswitchonthe

wall.Andnothinghadhappened.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid

quietly,“istherenoelectricityhere?”“No…thebulb’sjustburnt

out.”“Theheat’snotoneither.”“Momlikesitcold.”“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid.“It’sfine.Everything’sfine.

Youtwoneedtogo.”“Noone’sbeenherein

months,havethey?”Mrs.Rushasked.Hervoicewassosoft,sogentle,thatithurt.Itriedtolaugh,butitcame

outmaniacalandcold.“Don’tberidiculous.Mom’shereeveryday.She’llbehomesoon.”Mr.Rushstoodupand

walkedovertome,puttingahandonmyshoulder.“Youdon’thavetolietous.Justtelluswhat’sgoingon,okay?”Andthat’swhenitbroke,

everyounceofcoolI’dkeptoverthepastfewmonths.Maybeitwasthishouse.MaybeitwastheunwaveringkindnessinMr.Rush’svoice.

Maybeitwasbeingtoldnottolieforthethousandthtime.Butitjustsnappedandfellaway.Andtherewasnowayto

pulltogetherthepiecesnow.“Nothing’sgoingon!”I

screamed.Itleftasharpacheinmythroat,andtearsspilledfrommyeyes.“It’sfine.Justgo!”

“Sonny—”“Go!”IpushedMr.Rush’s

handoffmyshoulder.“Getout!”“Sonny!”Mrs.Rushgasped.“Getout!”Iscreamedagain,

stompingmyfootandclenchingmyfists,likeachildthrowingatantrum.“Getout!Getout!Getthefuckout!”

“Sonya!”Mrs.Rushgrabbedmyarm,butIyankeditaway.“Justleave!Momwillbe

heresoon—justGO!”Thetearswerehotasthey

rolleddownmyface.MywholebodyshookasIpleadedwithbothofthemtoleave.Leavesotheywouldn’t

havetoknow.Wouldn’tfindout.Butitwastoolate.Theyknew.ThesecretI’dkeptfrom

everyone.ThemostpainfultruthI’dlockedaway.Itwasabouttocomeout,andIcouldn’tbearit.“Stop,Sonny.”Mr.Rush

caughtmywristsandpulled

metohim,holdingmeinahugsotightIcouldn’tresistanymore.Ithrashedforaminutetono

avail.Iwastootired.Toohurt.“She’scomingback,”I

cried.“She’llbeheresoon.”“Shhh,”Mr.Rushsaid.“It’s

okay,Sonny.”Hepulledmetothecouch

andwesankdowntogetherasIsobbedintohisshoulder.Hestrokedmyhair,thewaymydadhadwhenIwaslittleandhadnightmares.Noonehadheldmelikethisinalmostadecade.Ishould’vebeentoooldforit.Toooldtobecomfortedthisway.Butjustthen,Ifeltlikea

littlekidagain.

Likethelittlekidwhohadbeenleftbehindallthoseyearsago.IcouldhearMrs.Rush

walkingaroundthehouse,butIneverlookedup.Ineverstoppedcrying.“She’sonherway,”I

mumbledeveryfewminutesorso.“She’scomingback.”Butnoonebelievedme

anymore.Ididn’tbelieveme

anymore.Idon’tknowhowmuch

timepassedlikethat,buteventuallyMrs.Rushcametositdownonthecouchwithmeandherhusband.Sherestedahandonmyback,andtheshowofkindnessjustmademecryharder.

WhenthetearsfinallyslowedandIwasabletocatchmybreath,Mrs.RushaskedthequestionI’dbeendreading.“Where’syourmother,

Sonny?”Ishookmyhead,butI

couldn’tlieanymore.Ididn’thavetheenergyorthestrength.

“I…Idon’tknow.”“Howlonghasshebeen

gone?”“Awhile.”Iswallowedand

rubbedmyeyeswiththebackofmyhand.“Sheleavessometimes.But…butshealwayscomesback.Butthistime…”“Oh,Sonny,”Mr.Rush

murmured.“Youwerenever

kickedout.”Ishookmyheadno.Theydidn’taskwhyI’d

lied,andforthatIwaseternallygrateful.Ididn’twanttotalkaboutit.Ididn’twanttotalkaboutanything.Iwantedtogobackintime.BeforetheRushessawthisempty,dusty,lonelyhouse.BeforeIfuckedupeverything

withAmyandRyder.BeforeIwasalone.“Comeon,”Mr.Rushsaid.

“Let’sgo.”“No,”Isaid,clutchingathis

arm.Ihatedmyself.IhatedthepatheticsoundofmyvoicewhenIsaid,“Don’tleaveme.Please.”“Oh,sweetheart.”Mrs.

Rushwrappedherarms

aroundme.“No.Sonny,we’renotleavingyouhere.You’recomingbackwithus,okay?”“ButAmy—”“Lovesyou,”Mr.Rushsaid.

“Andsodowe.”“Whateverisgoingonwith

youtwo,you’llworkitout,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Andshe’dwantyoutocomebackwith

us,too.”Iwasn’tsosureaboutthat,

though.NotaftereverythingI’ddone.ThiswasjustanotherlieI’dtoldher.Justanotherreasonforhertohateme.Mr.Rushwalkedmeoutto

thecarwhileMrs.Rushgatheredsomemoreclothesfrommybedroom.Noneof

ussaidawordonthedrivebacktotheirhouse.Istaredoutthewindow,myeyeswetandburning.Itwasover.Thecatwasout

ofthebag.Ifeltnaked,humiliated.Raw.Whenwegotbacktothe

Rushes’house,Amywassittinginthelivingroom,watchingTV.Shelooked

stunnedtoseemewalkthroughthedoor.Iturnedmyfaceawayfrom

her,hiding.Ididn’tsayawordtoanyone,justranupthestairstotheguestroomwhereI’dbeenstaying.Ididn’tmeantoslamthe

doorbehindme,butIdid.Ifellontothebed,myface

inthepillow.ButIdidn’tcry.

Icouldn’t.Thereweren’tanytearsleft.

Ididn’tleavetheguestroomfortwodays.PartlybecauseIwassadand

miserableanddidn’twanttoinflictmypainonanyoneelse.ButmostlybecauseIwasashamed.Ashamedofmymeltdowninfrontof

Amy’sparents.Ashamedofthetruth.Mr.andMrs.Rushknocked

onthedoorafewtimes,butIdidn’tanswer.IwantedtogotoAmy,to

findsafetyandcomfortwithherthewayIalwayshad.IwantedtocallRyder,orbetteryet,tohavehimherewithme.Tohavehimputan

armaroundmeandtellmeitwouldbeokay.TosaysomethingpretentiousandridiculoussoIcouldmakefunofhimandstopthinkingabouteverythingelse.Imissedthem.But,morethananything,I

wantedtobarricademyselfinthisroom,tobealoneforever,punishingmyselfforevery

awfulthingI’ddone.Eventually,however,my

needforfoodoutweighedmydesiretolockmyselfawayRapunzel-style.Iwaiteduntileveryoneelsewasasleepbeforesneakingdowntothekitchen.Atleast,Ithoughteveryone

wasasleep.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”

IlookedupfromthebowlofcerealI’djustpoured.Amywasstandinginthekitchendoorway,dressedinpink-and-black-stripedpajamasandfuzzygreenslippers.IduckedmyheadandfocusedmyattentionontheCocoaPuffsIwasabouttoconsume.“Ithoughtyou’dbeasleep,”

Isaid.“Ihaven’tsleptwelllately.”

Shewalkedpastmeandopenedacabinet,grabbingabowlforherself.Onceshe’dfilleditwithcereal,shecameovertotheislandandstoodacrossfromme.“Myparentstoldmewhathappenedatyourhouse….Igetwhyyoudidn’twantthemtoknow,

butwhydidn’tyoutellmeshewasgone?Iwould’vekeptitsecretforyou.Iwould’vetriedtohelp.”Therewasanoteofhurtinhervoice.“Iknowyouwouldhave,”I

said,swirlingmyspooninmybowl.Myappetitewaswaningallofasudden.“But…itwasn’taboutadmittingit

toyou.Itwasaboutadmittingittomyself.”“Whatdoyoumean?”Ishrugged.“Idon’tknow.It

waseasiertosayshe’dkickedmeoutfordoingsomethingwrong.ThenIcouldpretenditwastrue.Ithurtlessthanacknowledgingthatshe’d…she’dleftme.Justleftme.”“Doyouhaveanyidea

whereshewent?”Ishookmyhead.“No.She

wasseeingaguy.Sheprobablytookoffwithhimsomewhere.Whoknows?It’snotlikeit’sthefirsttime.”I’dcalledmymother

“flaky”foryears,butthatwasanunderstatement.FromthetimeIwaseleven,Ineverknewifshe’dbehomewhen

Igotoffthebusafterschool.Sometimesshe’dstickaroundformonths,andthingswouldbealmostnormal.Shemightforgetmybirthdayoraccidentallylockmeoutofthehouse,butshewasaround.Andthen,sometimes,she

wasn’t.Iwasinsixthgradethefirst

timeshepulledherdisappearingact.She’dbeenseeingthisguy,Dave.Hewasyoungerthanher,andeventhenIknewhewaskindofaloser.Oneday,Icamehomeandthehousewasempty.Luckily,bythen,Iknewhowtotakecareofmyself.Ilivedoffcerealandmicrowavablemeals,evenwhenshewas

home.She’dcomebackthreedays

later,tannedandhappy.DavehadsuggestedanimprompturoadtriptoFlorida,andshecould’veswornshe’dleftanote.Asifthatmadeitbetter.AfterDaveitwasCarl.AfterCarlitwasTrevor.AndthenIstoppedkeeping

upwiththeirnames.Itwasn’t

likeIsawthemmuch,anyway.SometimesMomwouldbegonefordays,andI’dfindoutlatershe’djustbeenacrosstown,crashingatherboyfriend’shouse.Sometimesshe’dvanishforaweek—ashoppingtripinAtlanta,aromanticgetawayinSt.Louis,aweekinChicago.Shelostseveraljobs

becauseofthoserandomtrips.SowhenIcamehomeone

afternoonlastSeptember,Iwasn’tsurprisedtofindhergone.Butaweekturnedtotwo.Tothree.Tofour.She’dneverbeengonethat

long.Andthehousewastoo

quiet.Thenightmareshappenedalmosteverynight.SoI’dcalledAmy,toldher

Ineededaplacetostay.ToldherI’dbeenkickedout,becauseIdidn’tknowhowtosaythetruth:thatmymomwasgoneforrealthistime.Thatshe’dleft,andIdidn’tthinkshe’dbecomingback.“I’msorry,”Amysaid.“But

maybethingswillgetbetter.Myparentsusedtobegoneallthetime,too,and—”“It’sdifferent,”Isaid.

“Yourparentsweregone,buttheypaidthebills.Theymadesureyouhadaplacetostay.Youcouldcallthem,andyouknewthey’dbebackeventually.Ihaven’theardfrommymomin…five

months?”Ipushedmybowlaway,barelytouched.“Herphonedoesn’tevenworkanymore.ForallIknowshecouldbedead.”“Don’tsaythat.”“EvenifIdon’tsayit,I

can’tnotthinkit.And—thisisterrible,but—sometimesIwonderifthatwouldmakemefeelbetter.IfIknewshe

hadn’tcomebackbecauseshecouldn’t.Notbecauseshedoesn’tcare.”Ishookmyhead.“Sorry.That’smorbid.YoualreadythinkI’mabadpersonandIjusttoldyouIwishmymotherwasdead.Nicejob,Sonny.”“Idon’tthinkyou’reabad

person,”Amysaid.“No.Justabadfriend.”I

pickedupmybowlandtookittothesink,dumpingmyfoodintothegarbagedisposal.OnceitstoppedrunningandIturnedaround,IfoundAmystaringatme.“CanItellyousomething?”

sheasked.“Sincewe’rebeinghonestwitheachother?”“Sure.Whatisit?”Amychewedonherbottom

lipandlookeddownatherownbowl.“ImeanteverythingIsaidtheotherday.Aboutyoupushingmearound.Butthat’snottheonlyreasonIwasmad.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“It’salwaysbeenjustus,

youknow?”shesaid.“SonnyandAmy.AmyandSonny.Wewereateam.Andthen

everythingstartedhappeningwithRyder,anditfeltlikeyouonlywantedmearoundtohelpyouwinhimover.”Ryder.Justthementionof

himcausedapainfulacheinmychest.Amycontinued,“Andit

wasn’tjustthatyouwerepushingmearound—I’mkindofusedtothat.”

Igrimaced.Thatwasn’tsomethingIwantedmybestfriendtobe“usedto.”“It’sthatyouweredoingit

forhim.Youweredoingeverythingforhim.Youtalkedabouthimallthetime.AndIstartedtorealizeyouweren’topeninguptomethewayyouusedto.Youweretellinghimthingsinstead.I

didn’tevenknowyou’dwrittentoyourdaduntilhecalledonChristmas.That’sthekindofthingyouusedtotalktomeabout.AndthenwhenyoustarteddatingRyder,youhardlyspenttimewithme.Iwasjealous.SowhenI’dfoundoutyou’dliedabouttellinghimthetruth…Itreallyhurt,Sonny.Ididn’t

feellikewewereateamanymore.It…itfeltlikeyoudidn’tcareaboutme.”Shelookedupatme,eyes

wideandalittlewet.Andseeingheronthebrink

oftearsbroughtmethere,too.“I’msorry.Forallofit.Of

courseIcareaboutyou,Amy.Morethananybody.You’remybestfriend.Inevermeant

tohurtyou.”Itookadeepbreath.“PartofthereasonIspentlesstimewithyouafterIstarteddatingRyderwasthewholecollegething.”Amylookeddownather

feet.“Ishouldn’thavesaidall

thattheotherday,aboutyouhavingitsoeasy.”“Youweren’twrong,”she

said.“Istillshouldn’thavesaid

it.AndIshouldn’thaveliedtoyouaboutcollege,”Isaid.“Buteverytimeyoutalkedaboutit,Ijustfelt…scared.BecauseIknewyou’dbeleavingme.AndIknewthatifyouknewIwasn’tgoing,you’dbeupset,too,and…Idon’tknow.Ididn’twantto

thinkaboutit.AndIdidn’thavetowhenIwaswithRyder.”“I’msorrythatIjust

assumedyouweregoing,”shesaid.“IguessIdotakethegoodthingsinmylifeforgrantedsometimes.”“Ithinkwe’rebothprobably

guiltyofthat.”Shehesitated.“Whydidyou

lietomeabouttellingRyderthetruth?”“BecauseIdidn’twantyou

tobemadatme?”Isaid.“Thatsoundsridiculousinhindsight.ButIguessIjustthought…IthoughtthatifIlied,Imightbeabletokeepyouboth.Instead,Ilostyouboth.”“Youdidn’tloseme,”she

said.“Butyouwillifyoukeepdoingthis.”“Iknow,”Isaid,wrapping

myarmsaroundmyself.“Butit’sscarytotellthetruthsometimes.I’vealwaysbeenabletohidebehindlies.Toshieldmyself.”“Whatareyoushielding

yourselffrom?”sheasked.“Judgment?Scorn?Idon’t

know.”Iwantedtolierightthen.Togetoutofthisconversationbeforeitgottoohonest.ButAmywasright.Icouldn’tkeeplying.“Thefunnythingis,IhidbehindliesbecauseIwasscaredthat…thatifpeoplekneweverything,sawallofme,they’dtakeoffrunning.Likemymomdid.SoI’donlylet

bitsandpiecesshow.Instead,theliesendedupdrivingeveryoneaway.”“Noteveryone,”shesaid.

“You’vegottheRushesinyourcorner.Butyou’vegottostartlettingusin.Lettingushelp.Youknow…youmentionedcollege.”“Idon’twanttotalkabout

thatanymore.”

“Justhearmeout,”shesaid.“That’sanotherthing.Nomoretalkingovermeorpushingmearound.That’sgottochange.”Inodded.“Sorry.”“That’sonme,too,”she

said.“I’vegottostartspeakingup.I’vegottostopbeingquiet,weakAmyandstartbeing…FierceAmy.”

“FierceAmy?”Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.“Someone’sbeenwatchingAmerica’sNextTopModel.”Sheignoredme.“Backto

thecollegething.Itmightbetoolatefornextsemester,butthatdoesn’tmeanitcanneverhappen.Therearescholarships—I’llhelpyoufindthem.Andmyparents

aren’tjustgoingtokickyououtonthestreetafteryougraduate.”“Ican’tletthemkeeptaking

careofme.”“Thenyoucanpaysome

rentwhenyoufindajob,”shesaid.“Butletushelp.You’repartofthefamily,Sonny.Whetheryoulikeitornot.You’restuckwithus.”

“IguessIcanthinkofworsepeopletobestuckwith,”Isaid.“Butwhataboutus?Arewebacktonormal?SonnyandAmy?”“Notquite,”shesaid.

“That’sprobablygoingtotakeawhile.Iloveyou,Sonny,butyou’regoingtohavetoprovethatIcantrustyouagain.Thatyou’renot

goingtolietomeanymore.”“Icandothat,”Iassured

her.“It’llbeahardhabittobreak,but…butIcantakeanoath.Avowofhonesty.”“Thatsoundsalittlemore

dramaticthanwhatIwashopingfor,butokay.”Sheputherbowlinthesink.Shehadn’teatenmuchofhermidnightsnackeither.“Now

comeon.Iknowit’ssilly,butIhaveahardtimesleepingwhenyou’reintheotherroom.”Weheadedtowardthestairs

together.“Youknow,”Isaid.“Whilewe’retryingtobuildahealthierfriendship,wemightwanttodealwithourwholecodependencything.”“Probably,”sheagreed.

“Butmaybeanothernight.”

“Okay.Heregoes.Ahem.I,SonnyElizabethArdmore—”“Shouldn’titbeSonya?”

Amyasked.“No.”“I’mjustsaying,ifyou’re

goingtobeallofficialabout

it,itshouldprobablysayyourfullname.”“Ugh.Fine.”Ipickedupa

penandscratchedoutSonnybeforescribblingSonyaaboveit.“There.Sonya.Happy?”Amyshrugged.“Personally,

Istillthinkthewholethingisalittleontheridiculousside.ButIguessthat’snotreallya

surprisecomingfromyou.”“Forgivemeforlikinga

littlebitofformalitywhenitcomestotakingmyoaths.”Ipickedupmypaperagainandclearedmythroat.“I,SonyaElizabethArdmore,hereaftersweartotellthewholetruth,nothingbutthetruth,sohelpme—”“Isn’tthatplagiarism?”

Ilookedup.“Huh?”“Aren’tyouplagiarizingthe

oathpeopletakeonthestand?”Amyasked.“Idon’tknowifthat’s

plagiarism.”“Itmightbe.”“WhatifIchangethelast

bit?From‘sohelpmeGod’to‘sohelpme’…Gert?”“I’mnotsureifithasquite

thesamepower?Gertcan’tsmiteyou.”“No,butshecanstop

runningwhileI’minthemiddleofabusyhighwayandgetmekilled.”“Fairpoint.”IscratchedoutGodand

replaceditwithGerttoavoidanypossibleplagiarismallegations.

“Okay.Lasttry.I,SonyaElizabethArdmore,hereafter—”“Shoulditbe‘hereafter’or

‘hereby’?”Idroppedthepaperback

ontothedesk.“Igiveup.I’mneverreadinganythingoutloudtoyouagain.”Amygiggled.“Sorry.It’s

justhardtotakethis

seriously!I’mgladyou’redeterminedtostoplying,butisthisreallynecessary?”“Yes.Thismakesitofficial.

AnditgivesyoulicensetopunishmeifIbreaktheoath.”“Well,inthatcase…”She

stoodupfromthebedandwalkedovertowhereIwassitting.“IknowI’mteasing

you,butIreallyamgladyou’redoingthis,Sonny.Nottheoath—thatdoesn’tmattertome—butjusttryingtotellthetruth.”“It’sterrifying,”Iadmitted.

“Itshouldn’tbe.Iknowitshouldn’tbe.ButI’vebeenabletohidebehindmade-upstoriesforsolong,beinghonestfeelslikebeing

vulnerable.”Ipickedupthepen.“Butclearlythelyingdidn’tdomeanyfavors,so…”Ileanedforwardandscribbledmysignaturebeneaththetyped-outoath.“So,there.It’sofficial.Nomoreliesforme.Noteventinywhiteones.”“Hey,Sonny,whatdidyou

thinkofthechickenDad

madelastnight?”“Icanstillpleadthefifth.”Amychuckled.Ipickedupthesignedoath.

“CanIframethis?Dowehaveaframe?”“I’msurewecanfindone.”

Shesmiledatthepieceofpaper.“Ithinktellingthetruthwillearnyousomeseriouskarmapoints,too.

HaveyoutalkedtoRyder?”“Karmadoesn’tlikemethat

much.AndneitherdoesRyder.Hestillwon’tspeaktome.”TherewasasqueezingfeelinginmychestandthethreatoftearswheneverImentionedhim.Itookadeepbreathandtriedtoshakeitoffbeforestandingupandstretchingmyarmsovermy

head.“IthinkIhavealongwaytogobeforetheuniversestartsdoingmeanyfavors.”Justthen,mycellphone

begantoring.IglanceddownatthescreenandwassurprisedtoseeanumberIrecognized.ItbelongedtoDaphne’s,oneoftheclothingstoresintheOakHillMall,whereI’dappliedbackin

December.Amymusthavenoticedthe

startledsmileonmyface,becauseshelaughedandsaid,“Ormaybenot,”beforeprancingoutoftheroom.

***

Ihadmadeavowtobehonestabouteverythingandwitheveryone,nomatterhowdifficultitwas.

AndthatmeantIhadtotalktomydad.Inperson.Itwasatwo-hourdriveto

thecorrectionalfacility,butMr.Rushassuredmethathedidn’tmindtakingme.Whenwearrived,aguard

pattedusbothdown,checkingthatweweren’tbringinginanythingillegal,thenwewerefreetoenterthe

roomwheretheinmateswaited.Theroomwaslinedwithlong,rectangulartables.Thewearersoftheorangejumpsuitswereononeside,andtherestofuswereontheother.Imaynothaveseenmydad

inyears,butIknewhimtheminuteIsawhim.Mostlybecausehelookedsomuch

likeme.Hishairwasblondandcurly,hisnosehadaslightupturn,andhisearsstuckoutjustalittlemorethanwasfashionable.Yep.Iwashisspittingimage,astheoldfolkssay.“Sonny.”Hisfacesplitinto

awide,boyishgrinwhenhesawme.“Wow.You’reagrown-up.Inmyhead,you’re

stillthistall.”Heheldhishandjustabithigherthantheedgeofthetable.“Well,you’renottoofar

off,”Isaid.Ismiled,butthenerveswereeatingmealive.Thismanmightlookandsoundlikeme—Idefinitelygotmycharmfromhim,notMom—butIstilldidn’tknowhim.

Hecouldhavebeenaliarlikeme,too.Hehadbeeninthepast.Dadlookedupandspotted

Mr.Rushstandingbehindme.“Hello,”hesaid.“Dad,thisisMr.Rush,”I

said.“He’smyfriendAmy’sdad.”“Oh,yeah.Irememberlittle

Amy.Andthat’swhereI

calledyouonChristmas,right?AttheRushes’house?”Inodded.“Hi.I’mCollin,”Mr.Rush

said.“It’snicetomeetyou.”“You,too.”Dadhesitated.

“ThanksforbringingSonnyBunnyheretoseeme.Itakeithermotherrefused?She’salwaysbeenalittleonthedifficultside,ifyouknow

whatImean.”Isatdowninthefolding

chairacrossfromDadandtookadeepbreath.Behindme,Mr.Rushclearedhisthroat.“I’mgoingtostepoutside

foraminute,”hesaid.“Giveyoutwoachancetotalk.”Whenhewasgone,Dad

turnedtome,confused.

“What’sgoingon,SonnyBunny?”“Dad,I…Ineedtotalkto

youaboutMom.”Iletitallspilloutthen.

FromhershortdisappearanceswhenIwasyoungertohercompleteabandonmentnow.ItoldhimaboutstayingatAmy’sandhowkindtheRusheshad

beentome.Itoldhimeverylittledetail,evenwhenithurtlikehelltosayaloud.BythetimeIwasdone,hisconfident,smiling,all-charmdemeanorhadfallenaway.Hisheadwasinhishands,

hisshouldersslumpedforward.Andhelookedlikeadifferentperson.Older.Haggard.Likesomeone

who’dbeeninprisonforyears.“Fuck,”hesaid.“Goddamn

it.”“Dad?”“I’mso,sosorry,Sonny.”

AndIthoughthemighthavebeenonthevergeoftears.“Ihadnoidea.Yourmotherwasalwaysunreliable,butIdidn’tthinkshe’dever…”Hetook

adeepbreathandlookedup,oureyesmeeting.“I’msorry.”“It’snotyourfault,”Isaid.“Yes,itis.I’myourfather.I

should’vebeenthere.Insteadofhere.”Therewasanoteofangerinhisvoicenow.ThisgrufftonethatIhadn’texpected.ItwassostartlingthatIscootedbackinmyseat

alittle.“Ishould’vestayedintouchwithyou.”“Yousaidyoutriedtowrite

andcall.”“Ididn’ttryhardenough,”

headmitted.“ItoldmyselfI’ddoneeverythingIcould.I’magoodliarthatway.”“Yeah.Me,too.”“Ifiguredyou’dbefine

withyourmother.Shedidn’t

wantmeinvolvedanyway,so…Butdamnit,ifIhadknownshe’ddothis,Iwould’ve…God,Icouldkillherforleavingyou.”“Maybedon’tsaythatwith

somanyguardsaround?”Isuggested.“Look,theimportantpartisthatyou’reherenow.”“Yeah.”Hereachedacross

thetableandtookmyhandinhis,theangerinhisvoicefading.“I’mherenow.AndI’mnotgoinganywhere.”“Literally,”Ijoked.“Prison

andall.”Ipaused.“Sorry.Wasthatrude?I’vebeentoldIhaveabadhabitofundercuttingseriousmomentswithjokes.”ButDadwassmiling.“You

getthatfromme.”“Ido?”“Oh,yeah,”hesaid.“It’s

gottenmeintotroubleafewtimes.Asforbeingstuckhere,though…Well,notformuchlonger.Ishouldbegettingoutinacoupleofmonths.”“Really?”Henodded.“And…Iknow

youdon’treallyknowme,andIdon’tevenknowwhereI’llbelivingyet,andyou’llbegraduatingsoon,but…”Heclearedhisthroat.“ButIhopewecanspendmoretimetogetherthen.”“I’dlikethat,”Isaid.ButIwasn’tgettingmy

hopesupjustyet.Dadhadbeenoutofjailbefore.The

questionwas,howlongwouldhestayout?Iwasn’treadytotrusthim

completely,butIwasreadytotry.Togivehimachanceandtolethimsurpriseme.NowthatheknewthetruthaboutMom,abouteverything,weatleasthadaplacetostart.Wetalkedforawhilelonger

abouttheboringstuff:school,hobbies,etcetera.HeaskedaboutAmy,whomhevaguelyrememberedfrommychildhood,andheeveninquiredaboutmyromanticstatus.“Iactuallyjustwentthrough

abreakup,”IadmittedasthefamiliaracheofmissingRyderthrobbedinmychest

again.“Oh,I’msorry,”hesaid,

squeezingmyhand.“Boysaretheworstandyoucan’ttrustanyofthem.Ishouldknow.”“Well,notinthiscase.In

thiscase,I’mtheonewhoshouldn’thavebeentrusted.”IwasgladthatMr.Rush

walkedinbeforemydad

couldaskanymoreaboutthatsubject.Because—vowofhonestyandall—Iwouldhavehadtotellhimthetruth.“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,

puttingahandonmyshoulder.“It’sabouttimetogo.”Dadstoodup.“Thankyou,”

hesaidtoMr.Rush.“Fortakingcareofmydaughter.”

“There’snoneedtothankme,”Mr.Rushsaid.“WeloveSonny.We’regladtohaveher.”Theguardsignaledthatit

wastimeforustogo.IstoodupandhuggedDadoverthetable.Hisscentoverwhelmedme.Thesmellofgenericsoapand…him.Irememberedbeingthreeorfouryearsold,

cryingafterI’dslammedmyfingerinthedoorasheheldmetohischest,rockingme,tellingmeitwouldbeokay.Fast-forwardfourteenyears,

andIwascryinginhisarmsagain.“Iloveyou,Sonny,”he

murmuredintomyhair.Heletmegoslowly,andI

wipedmyeyes,notsurewhat

hadbroughtonthesuddentearsthistime.“Bye,Dad.”HewavedasMr.Rushled

meoutpasttheguards.Itwashardtowalkawayfromhim.Butwe’dgivethiswholefather-daughterthingarealtry.Andevenifitdidn’tworkout,ashardasthatwouldbe,IknewIwouldn’tbealonethistime.

“Thankyou,”IsaidtoMr.Rushoncewewereinthecar.“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“I

don’tminddrivingyoutovisityourdad.”Ishookmyhead.Becausethatwasn’twhat

I’dbeenthankinghimfor.

Meet me in the art roomat lunch.

IfrowneddownatthemessagefromAmy.Itwasn’tlikehertotextduringschoolhours.Why,thatwasbreakingtherules.SomethingAmyneverdid…unlessI

madeher.Nonetheless,Imademy

waytowardtheartroominsteadofthecafeteria.IfiguredAmywantedtoshowmesomethingshe’dbeenworkingon—Iknewherartclasshadbeeninthemiddleofsomebigproject.AndIwaseagertotellhermygoodnews.I’dgottenane-mail

fromDaphne’sthatmorning,lettingmeknowthatthey’dliketohireme.Apparently,Ihadwowedtheminmyinterview,andtheywantedmetostartimmediately.HopefullyIcouldholdonto

thisjobforawhile.Iwastiredofbeingpoor.ButwhenIwalkedintothe

artroom,Amywasn’tthe

onlyonewaitingforme.“Ryder,”Isaid,startled.My

stomachwasalreadytwistingitselfintoknots.“Whatareyoudoinginhere?”“Hegotthesametextyou

did,”Amyexplained.“Ifiguredthatwasagoodwaytocommunicatewithyoutwo.Consideringtherecentpast.”

Minorouchthere.“Butwhy?”Iasked.“I’mgoing,”Rydersaid,

movingtothedoor.Myheartsank.ButAmy—tomysurprise—blockedhim.“You’renot,”shesaid.

“You’restayinginhereuntilyoutwotalk.”Iblinkedather.“You’re…

trappingusinaclassroom?”

“ItwastheonlywayIcouldthinkoftogetyoutwointhesameroom,”shesaid.Herboldnesswascompletelyunexpected.ShewasreallytakingthiswholeFierceAmythingseriously.“Noonewillbeinthisroomuntilafterlunch,soyouhavehalfanhour.Andyouhavealotoftalkingtodo.SoI’llbe

outside.”Sheturnedandsteppedintothehallway,herhandontheknob.“Anddon’teventrytocomeout,”sheadded.“Iwon’tletyou.”Iwasstillstaring,myjaw

ontheground,assheclosedtheclassroomdoor.“Seemslikeyou’renotthe

onlymanipulativeoneinthisfriendship,”Rydermuttered

asheslidintoaseat.Okay.Majorouch.“She’stryingtohelp,”I

said.Heshrugged,hisgaze

deliberatelypointedawayfromme.“Weshouldtalk,”Isaid.

“She’srightaboutthat.Evenifhermethodsarealittle…extreme.”

“Ihavenothingtosay,Sonny.”Ifelthelplessbutpressed

on.“That’sfine,becauseIhaveplentytosay.”Iwalkedacrosstheroomandsatdownatthedeskacrossfromhis.Hedidn’thavetolookatme,hejustneededtolisten.“Iknowyouhateme,Ryder.Andyouhaveeveryreason

to.ButImadeapromisetoAmy—andtomyself—thatI’dbehonestfromnowon.Andthatmeanstellingyouthetruth,too.”Itookadeepbreathand

claspedmyhandsinmylap,clutchingmyfingerssohardthatithurt.“SoIguessI’llstartatthe

beginning.Um…Itwasn’t

…Inevermeantforanyofthistohappen.Thatfirstnight,whenyouIMedme—well,IMedAmy—Ididn’trealizeIwasonheraccount.We’dsentyouthatmeane-mail,andwebothfeltbadaboutit.SowhenIgotthatmessage,Ithoughtitwasforme.That’swhyIresponded.Andthenwetalkedallnight,

andIdidn’tknowthatyouthoughtIwasAmyuntilyouloggedoff.Iwasgoingtotellyouimmediately,butyouwouldn’tletme.Itried,andyoujustcutmeoff—”“Soyou’reblamingthison

me?”Ryderasked,finallylookingatme.“No,”Isaidquickly.“No,

I’mnot.Becausewhat

happenedafterthatisstillmyfault.”Iwentthroughthewhole

story,everylastdetail.Fromtheinstantmessageconversationstothestupid,convolutedplanI’ddraggedAmyinto,tothetextsandthekissing.Ispilledmygutsandlaidthemoutonthetablelikeanartproject.Andallthe

while,Ryderstayedpainfullysilent.“Sothat’sit.That’showall

ofthishappened,”Isaid.“AndIknowit’sscrewedupandIknowIdidalotofbadthings,but…youshouldknowthetruth.”“Fine,”hesaid.“NowI

know.”Therewasalongpause.

“Isthatallyou’regoingtosay?”Iasked.“Whatelsedoyouwantme

tosay,Sonny?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.

“Something.Anything.Imean,thiscan’tjustbeit.Acoupleofweeksago,youthoughtwehadafuturetogether.YousaidIwasincredible.”

“Youweren’twhoIthoughtyouwere,”hesaid.“ButIwas!”Iwasonmyfeet,butI

didn’trememberstandingup.SomehowI’dbegunpacingbackandforthbetweenthedesks,myhandstwistinginmyhair.Ispuntofacehim,feelingdesperate,determinedtomakehimunderstand.

“IwasexactlythegirlyouthoughtIwas,Ryder.IwasmorehonestwithyouthanIeverhavebeenwithanyone.EveninthetextsandtheIMs,Iwastellingyoumoreaboutmyselfthananyoneknew.Youjustdidn’tknowitwasme.ButeverythingItoldyou,aboutmymom…Ryder,you’rethereasonIcalledmy

dad.Thereasonwemighthavearelationshipnow.I’veneverevenopeneduptoAmyaboutthat.Maybenoneofthatmeansanythingtoyou,butitmatterstome.”“Soyouwantmetoforgive

you?”hedemanded.Andthenhewasonhisfeet,too.“Youwantmetojustforgetallofthishappened?”

“Ineversaidthat.”“Amymightbeabletoget

overeverythingyoudid,butI’mnotthatforgiving.”“Oh,believeme,Iknow.”“What’sthatsupposedto

mean?”Ithrewmyhandsintheair.

“Youknowwhat?I’mbeinghonesthere,soImightaswellbehonestaboutthis,too.

I’mnottheonlyonewithproblems.”“Ihaveproblems?”“Haveyoucalledyourdad

yet,Ryder?”“Howdoesthathave

anythingtodowith—?”“Ithaseverythingtodowith

it,”Isaid.“WhenIfirstmetyou,youworshippedthegroundhewalkedon.You

hatedyourmomfordraggingyouawayfromhim.Buttheminuteyoufoundouthewasn’tperfect,youflipped.Youthoughtyourmomwasasaintandyourdadwastheworsthumanwhoeverlived.”“Myparentshavenothingto

dowiththis,”hesaid.“Youputpeopleon

pedestals,Ryder.Youtell

yourselfthatthey’reperfect.Youignorealloftheirflaws,untilonedaytheydisappointyoujustalittletoomuch,andthenyou’redone.Youcutthemoutandthinkthey’reworthless.”RyderandIweresoclose,

staringeachotherdown.Myheartwasbeatingsofast,andmybreathwasalittleragged.

“Yourdadscrewedup,”Isaid,myvoicelowered.“Whathedidwasawful.Buthe’syourdadandhewantstobeapartofyourlife.You’relucky.Andyourmom—”“Stop,Sonny.”“She’snotperfecteither,”I

insisted.“Maybeshe’snotasselfishasyouthoughtshewaswhenyoufirstmoved

here,butshemadesomemistakes,too.She’scoldandjudgmental.Andit’sokaytoseethat.Youcanlovepeopleandstillrealizethey’rescrewedup.”Ryderwassilentagain,and

stiffasaboard.Iswallowed,knowingI’d

crossedafewlines.Ihadn’tmeanttosayanyofthis.I’d

beenholdingitback,knowingitwasn’tmyplacetogetinvolvedwithhisfamily.Butitwasn’tjusthisfamilyanymore.Now,Iwastheonewho’dfallenoffthatpedestal.“YoudiditwithAmy,too,

youknow.Youactedlikeshewassomesortofgoddess,evenwhenshewasrudeto

you.Youignoredit.Youwereintotaldenial.Untilonedayyourealizedyoulikedmemoreand…andthenyouactedlikeshewastheworstpersonimaginable.”Ishookmyhead.“Andnowme.Thesamething.”Ilookeddownatmyfeet.

Staringupathimwastoomuch.Thosegreeneyeswere

killingme,especiallywhenIcouldn’treadthematall.Avoiceinmyheadwasscreamingatmetostop.Toshutthehellup.ButIcouldn’tputthebrakesonnow.I’dcometoofar.“Youactlikepeopleare

eitherperfectorterrible,”Isaid.“Likethere’snothinginbetween.Butthereis.You

mightthinkI’mterriblerightnow—maybeIam.Buttherewerethingsaboutmeyouliked.Thingsaboutmethat…”Iforcedmyselftolookbackup.“Thingsaboutmethatyouthoughtwereincredible.Thosethingsdon’tgoawayjustbecauseImessedup.”Westoodthere,staringat

eachother,ourbodieslessthanafootapart,foralong,longtime.Myhandswereshaking,andIballedthemintofistsatmysides.Thiswasthelongest,mostpainfulsilenceofmylife.Finally,quietly,heasked,

“Areyoudone?”“No,”Imurmured.“Ihave

onemorehonestthingtotell

you.”Itookadeepbreath.Theclassroomdooropened

andAmystuckherheadinside.“Sorrytointerrupt,”shesaid.“Butlunchisalmostover,so…”Thebellrang,rightoncue.WefollowedAmyoutinto

thehallway,justasahugecrowdofstudentsstampededtowardus.IturnedtoRyder,

hopingtofinishwhatI’dbeenabouttosay,buthewasswallowedupbythecrowd.Ihadthesuddenurgetocry,

andIforceditaway.Forabrief,foolishsecond,I’dthoughtImightbeabletowinhimback.Butinstead,I’dlosthimagain.Amygrabbedmywristand

pulledmeintoalittlealcove,

outofthepathofourrecentlyfedpeers.“How’ditgo?”sheasked.“Could’vegonebetter,”I

said.“Whatdidhesay?”“Notmuchofanything.”I

sighedandshookmyhead.“Ididn’tevenfinisheverythingIwantedtosay.”“Well,thenwe’vegotto

makehimlistentoyou.Letyoufinish.”“How?”Iasked.“It’snot

likeyoucanlockusinaroomagain.Idon’tthinkhe’llfallforthattwice.”“You’reprobablyright,but

there’sgottobesomeway.”“Idon’tknowwhatitwould

be…unless…”Ipaused,anideadawningonme.

“Uh-oh,”Amysaid.“That’syourschemingface.NowI’mscared.”“Don’tworry,”Isaid.“You

don’thavetobepartofitthistime.Itdoesn’teveninvolveanylies.AllIneedis…RememberthatboomboxWesleyhadwhenwewerelittle?Hewouldn’tstillhappentohavethat,would

he?”

Imaynothavebeenanoverlyromanticperson,butIdidhaveasoftspotforromanticcomedies.WhichmeantIalsohadasoftspotfortheclichéoftheGrandGesture.AndIwashopingRyderCrossdid,too.

Theproblemwithgrandgestures,however,isthattheycanbereallyembarrassingforthegesturer.Butthen,maybethat’stherealgesture:showingthatyou’rewillingtomakeafoolofyourselfforanotherperson.ThesewerethethingsI

foundmyselfmusingoveras

IstoodonRyder’sfrontlawnonaFridayafternoon,myhandstremblingasIhelda(surprisinglyheavy)boomboxovermyhead.Itwasblasting“OfLionsandRobots,”theGoatsVoteforMelonslovesongthatI’dbeguntoassociatewithRyder.Ifhismotherwasworried

aboutwhattheneighborswouldthinkofmycar,thiswasgivingheraheartattack.Icouldseeherfaceinthelivingroomwindow,staringoutatmewithintensedisapproval.Itriedtoignorethatand

focusonlyonRyder’sbedroomwindow,which—sincehelivedinaone-story

house—wasonlyafewfeetawayfrommyface.Iknewhewasinside.I’d

seenthecurtainsshift,sonowIstoodthere,holdingmybreath,anxiousandalittleterrifiedasIwaitedforhimtoopenthewindow.Buthedidmeonebetter.Hecameoutside.“Sonny?Whatareyou

doing?”Iturnedandsawhim

headingdownthefrontsteps.“Gesturing,”Isaid,myheartracing.Ismiledandloweredtheboomboxalittle.Myarmswerekillingme.Slowly,hebegantowalk

towardme.“Youknow,Ilikeninetiesteenmovies,”hesaid.“JohnCusackholdinga

boomboxoverhisheadisfromSayAnything,whichisaneightiesmovie.”“Yeah,well,youtryfinding

aniconic,grandromanticgesturethatisn’tlameinaninetiesteenmovie.AtleastIgotthesoundtrackright.”“GoatsVoteforMelons

grewonyou?”“Youwish.Ijusthappento

likethisonesong.Andluckily,indorkyhipsterfashion,theyreleasedthisalbumoncassette.Weirdos.”Hestartedtosmile,butthen

hecaughthimself.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heaskedagain.“Atschooltheotherday,in

theartroom,Ididn’tsayeverythingIneededto.”

“Yousure?”heasked.“Yousaidquiteabit.”Icringed.“Imayhavegone

overboard.”“Well,youweren’tentirely

wrong.”Buthedidn’telaboratebeyondthat.“IsthattheflannelIgaveAmy?”Ilookeddownatthered

shirt.“Oh,yeah.Itis.She’snotreallyintogrunge—that

wasallme—soshegavetome.”“Itlooksniceonyou,”he

said.“Thankyou.”Thesongon

theboomboxfadedaway,soIsetthearchaicmachinedowninthegrass.“Listen,Ryder,there’sonemorethingIneededto—”Thegaragedoorslidopen

andMs.Tanner’scarbackedout,stoppinginthemiddleofthedriveway.Shehonkedthehornonce,thenstaredatusfromthedriver’s-sidewindow.“Areyougoing

somewhere?”IaskedRyder,surprised.“Theairport,”hesaid.“Oh.Whereareyou

headed?”“DC.”MyfacesplitintoasmileI

couldn’tholdback.“You’revisitingyourdad?”“Yeah.Mom’snottoo

thrilledaboutit,but…Soyouhadsomethingyouwantedtosay,Sonny?”“Right.Yeah.”Itookadeep

breath.“IknowIsaidalotof

thingstheotherday,aboutyourflaws.AndImeantit.You’repretentiousandstubbornandyoudrivemeinsanesometimes,but…Iloveyou.AndIjustneededyoutoknowthat.”There,I’dsaidit.Inow

wantedtothrowup.ButI’dsaidit.Ihadn’texpectedhimtosay

itback.Ireallyhadn’t.Butforjustasecond,aswestoodthereinhisfrontyard,Ithoughthemight.Ithoughtmygrandgesture,myhonesty,mighthavewonhimover.Heopenedhismouth,but

beforeanywordscouldcomeout—“Ryder!”

Webothturnedandsawhismotherleaningouttheopendriver’s-sidewindow.“We’vegottogo,”shesaid.“Yeah,”hesaid,looking

backatme.“I’vegottogo.”Hestartedtowalkaway,but

Ipanickedandgrabbedhisarmandnearlytrippedovertheboombox.“Wait,”Isaid.“Justwait.Can…canyou

catchalaterflight?”“No,”hesaid.“Thatonly

worksinthemovies.”Iletgoofhisarm,feeling

defeatedalloveragain.“Sonny,I…”Hestopped

himself,thenshookhishead.“I’vegottogo,”herepeated.“Okay,”Isaid.IstayedwhereIwas,

watchingashewalkedaway.

Heclimbedintothepassenger’sside,andhismomrolledupherwindow.SheactedasifIwasn’ttherenow,aheartbrokenteenagegirlwithanoldboomboxinthemiddleofherfrontlawn.Ifeltmybottomlipbeginto

tremble,andIchokedbackthelumpinmythroat.Ididn’twantanyone,but

especiallyher,toseemecry.Istoodthere,tellingmyselfthatthiswasexactlywhatI’dexpected.ThatI’dhadnopreconceivednotionsofchanginghismindorconvincinghimtoforgiveme.ThatI’donlycomeheretotellhimhowIfelt,tofinishoffmyconfession.Butthatvowofhonesty

meantIhadtobehonestwithmyself,too,andthetruthwas,partofmehadheldontohope.Somesmallpartofmehadthoughtthatthisbigromanticgestureanddeclaringmyloveforhimeighties-movie-stylewouldbeenough.Thatmaybeitwouldmakehimseethat,nomatterhowI’dscrewedup,I

wasstillthegirlhe’dfallenfor.Twice.Buthismomwaspulling

outofthedrivewaynow,delicatelymaneuveringpastGert,andturningontothestreet.Chauffeuringhimofftoaplanethatwouldtakehimevenfartherfromme.It’sover,Ithought.Butthen—

Maybeitwasjustmyimaginationorwishfulthinking,butIthoughtIsawRyderlookbackatmeastheydroveaway.

Ididn’thearfromhim.Ididn’texpectto,butAmy

did.“Ithoughthewouldcall,”

shesaid.“Iwassurehewould.”“See,thisiswhyyouneed

someonelikemeinyour

life,”Isaid.“Youaretoooptimisticforyourowngood,AmyRush.”Shesatdownnexttomeon

thebed.“Maybeafterspringbreak…Maybehe’sjustbusywithhisdadinDC.”Thatwaspossible.The

newscoveragedidmakeitseemliketheywereprettybusy.RyderandSenator

Crosshadposedforphotoswithsomeforeigndiplomats,andGregJohnsonhaddoneawholestoryaboutit.SenatorCrossmightnot

haverepresentedourregion,butthathadn’tstoppedRyderfrombecomingabitofalocalcelebrity.Asmuchasseeinghimon

thescreenhadmademeache,

ithadalsomademehappy.Inthephotos,Ryderlookedgenuinelypleasedtobetherewithhisdad.Ihopedthatmeanttheywereworkingthingsout.Amywrappedherarms

aroundmyshouldersandrestedherheadontopofmine.“Ifhecanforgivehisdad,maybehe’ll—”

“Don’t,”Isaid.“Don’tgivemeareasontohope.Iscrewedup,Amy.Hehasnoreasontoforgiveme….ItoldhimIlovedhim,Amy.Andhedidn’tsayitback.”“He’sanidiot,”shesaid.“He’snot,butthankyou.”Asmuchasithadsuckedto

loseRyder,IknewIwasluckytohaveAmyback.

KnowinghowmuchI’dhurtheroverthepastfewmonthsstillmademesick.Shewas,withoutquestion,themostimportantpersoninmylife.AndthemostselflessfriendIcouldhaveaskedfor.Iknewshedidn’tfullytrust

meyet,butwe’dfindourwaybackeventually.Andnomatterwhat,Iwouldnever,

everletanything—aboy,alie,ormyowninsecurities—getbetweenusagain.“Thankyou,bytheway,”I

saidassheuntangledherselffromme.“Forlockingusinaroomtogetherandhelpingmefindtheboombox.I’mnotsureIeverwouldhavegottenhimtolistentomeifyouhadn’tdonethat.”

“You’rewelcome,”shesaid.“Iwishithadmademoreofadifference.Ijustreallythoughtifheheardyouout…”“Itdidhelp,though,”I

assuredher.“Itwasn’tjustaboutgettinghimtoforgiveme.It’saboutbeinghonest.It’ssomethingI’mstillworkingon.”

“IlikeHonestSonny.”“Good,becauseshe’shere

tostay.”Ifrowned.“Andhonestly?HonestSonnyisnotafanofthatpurplelipstickonyou.”“HonestSonnycangetover

it.”Igrinned.“Oh.FierceAmy

isfun,too.”Sheblushed,butshesmiled.

IwasproudofAmy.Shewasstillshy,stillsweet,butshe’dstoppedlettingpeoplepushheraround.Evenme.Especiallyme.Amylookeddownatmy

phoneagain.“He’llcall,”shesaid.“Whatmakesyousosure?”

Iasked.“Idon’tknow.Ijustam.

Youtwohadsomethingspecial,youknow?”“Yeah,Iknow,”Isaid.I

shookmyhead.“You’rebeingtooniceevenforyou.BringFierceAmyback.Hurry.”Shetossedherbrowncurls

overhershoulderandgrinned.“ThisisFierceAmy.AndIamfierceinmy

assertionthathe’llcall.”Ilaughedandgottomyfeet

andextendedahandtoher.“Comeon,FierceAmy,”Isaid,pullingherup,too.“HonestSonnyishonestlystarving.”“Pizza?”Amyasked,

headingforthebedroomdoor.“Hellyes.”

***

“Whoareyouwritingto?”Wesleyasked,lookingatthepiecesofpalebluestationeryIhadspreadacrossasectionofthediningroomtable.He’darrivedattheRushhouseonthefirstnightofspringbreakwithasuitcasefullofdirtylaundryandabiggrinonhisface.Asany

collegestudentwould.Buttheweekwasnearlyover,andhe’dbeflyingbacktoNewYorkthenextday.AndI’dalreadyhandedhim

thelastofmypaymentstocoverGert’srepairs,thankstomynewjobatDaphne’s.Iwasnolongerindebttohim.Atleastnotfinancially.Thetruthwas,Iowedalot

toWesleyandhisfamily.I’dneverbeabletopaythembackforeverythingthey’ddoneformeoverthesepastfewmonths.AndIknewthey’dneverletmeevenifIcould.“Mydad,”Isaid,shaking

outmyachingwrist.“We’vestartedwritingletterstoeachother.”

Wesleysatdownacrossfrommewithhisbowlofcereal.Hisgrayeyesflickedoverthetable,countingthepagesI’dalreadyfilled.Iblushed.I’donlymeanttowritetwoorthree,butthisletterwasbeginningtoresembleanovel.“Whynottypeit?”he

asked.“Itwouldprobablybe

faster.”“IthinkI’vehadmyfillof

technologyforawhile,”Iadmitted.Iputdownmypen,decidingtogivemywristabreak.ThiswasthemostI’dhandwritteninyears.“Besides.Thisfeelsmorepersonal.AndIthinkthat’swhatmydadandIneedrightnow.”

Wesleysmiled.“Iamratherfondofhandwrittenletters.”“Youwriteletters?”“Iwroteacoupleinthe

past.You’reright.Theyaremorepersonal.”Hestaredoffforaminute,somethingwistfulinhissmile.Thenheshookhisheadandfocusedonmeagain.“Soeverything’sgoingallright

withyouandyourdad?”“Yeah.It’snicetohavehim

backinmylife.Evenifithastobelikethis.Andhopefullyhe’llbeoutinafewmonthsand…wecangofromthere.”“Whataboutyourmom?

Haveyouheardfromher?”Ishookmyhead,and

Wesleyknewbetterthanto

push.TalkingaboutMomwasstilltoohard.HalfthetimeIwasangryatherforleavingme,bitterandalmostgladIdidn’thavetolivewithheranymore.Theotherhalf,Iwasheartbroken,rejected.Shewasmymom,andIhadnocluewhereshewasorwhyshecouldn’tjuststayhome,staywithme.SometimesI

blamedmyself.SometimesIwokeup,panickedfromanightmare,sureshewashurtordead.Maybeshewas.Ihadnowayofknowing.ButIwasn’talone.Ihadthe

Rushes,peoplewhoknewme,whohadseeneveryuglypartofme,andwholovedmeanyway.Maybeitwasn’tblood,butitwasfamily

nonetheless.Andeventhoughitscared

metohopetoomuch,itwasstartingtolooklikeImighthavemydad,too.“So,”Wesleysaidafter

swallowinganotherbiteofcereal.“You’vegottocatchmeup.What’sbeengoingonwithyouandAmysinceJanuary?”

Iraisedaneyebrow.“Wetalktoyouonthephoneeveryweek.”“Yes,butneitherofyoutell

meanythinginteresting,”hesaid,pointinganaccusatoryspoonatme.“AndwhileI’msureyourgradesandyournewjobarefascinating,Iwouldn’tmindsomethingjuicier.”

Ilaughed.“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”“Idon’tknow.”He

shruggedandchewedanotherbite.“Whathappenedwiththatguyyouweretellingmeabout?”Ididn’tneedamirrorto

knowthecolorhadjustdrainedfrommyface.LeaveittoWesleytoleaveone

uncomfortablesubjectonlytolandonanother.“Nothing,”Imumbled,

pickingupmypenagainandhopinghe’dtakethehint.Hedidn’t.“That’sobviouslyalie,”he

said.“Ithoughtyouweretakingavowofhonesty?”Igroaned.“It’s…not

exactlyalie.Nothingis

happeningwithusnow.”“Whynot?”Iputthepenbackdown

withgreatreluctance.“Fine,butyou’reonlygettingtheshortversion.”Itookadeepbreath,alltooawareoftheheavyacheinmychest.ItmadeitselfknowneverytimeIsomuchasthoughtofRyder.“Itturnsouthedid

likeme,butIruinedit.Imessedthingsuptoomuch,andthere’snowayRyderisgoingtoforgivemenow.”Wesleywatchedmefora

minute,lookinglikehewastryingtocomeupwithsomethingtosay.Beforehecould,though,therewasabuzzingnoiseandmyphone,sittingonhissideofthetable,

begantoplay“Konstantine”bySomethingCorporate.WhatcanIsay?I’dbeenfeelingratheremolately.Wesleyglanceddownatthe

screenandgrinned.“Youneverknow,”hesaid,slidingthephoneacrossthetabletome.“Hemightsurpriseyou.”Ilookeddownatthe

display,andIalmostdidn’t

believethewords.RyderCrosswascallingme.“You’dbettergetthat,”

Wesleysaid,stillgrinning.Hestoodupandleftmealoneinthediningroomas,withshakinghands,Iclickedthebuttontoanswer.“H-Hello?”Ichokedout.“Hey,Sonny.”Itwashis

voice.Itwassoftand

nervous,butitwashisvoice.Theweightinmychest

easedalittle.Ididn’tknowwhathewasgoingtosay.Hemightstillbemad,butifhewascallingme,itwasbecausehewantedtotalk.AndIhadbeensoscaredI’dnevertalktohimagain.ItfeltlikeI’dfinallygaspedforairafterholdingmybreathfor

toolong.“Sonny?”hesaidagain

whenIdidn’tanswer.“This…thisisSonny,right?”“Yeah,”Isaid.Myvoice

crackedandIclearedmythroat.“Yeah.It’sreallymethistime.”

ItwouldbealietosayIdidthisonmyown.Thetruthis,therehavebeenseveralamazingpeoplehelpingtoshepherdthisbookintoexistence,andIwanttotakeamomenttothankthem.Thankyoutomyeditor,

JodyCorbett,whoputso

muchtimeandenergyintomakingthisstorythebestitcouldbe.Thankyoutomyagent,JoannaVolpe,whohadfaithinthisstoryevenwhenitwasjustahalf-formedideamentionedovercoffee.AndtothewholeNewLeafLiteraryandScholasticteams—therearenowordsforhowhappyandhonoredIamto

workwithallofyou.SpecialthankstoPhoebe

North,wholovedthisstoryevenwhenIdidn’t.ToAmyLukavics,whoconstantlymakesmefeellikearockstar.AndtoLisaDesrochers,whomademelaughevenwhenIwasfeelingprettydown.I’msoproudtoknowallthreeofyoutalented,

smart,amazingwomen.Thankstoeveryoneinmy

familyforbelievinginmewhilealsokeepingmegrounded.AndspecialthankstoMom,whoisalwaystherewhenIneedher,andDad,whoneverletsmedoubthowproudheis.I’mluckytohaveyouall.Andsincethisisabook

largelyaboutfriendship,Iwouldberemissnottothankmyownbestfriends.ShanaHancock,it’shardtobelieveit’sbeenalmostnineyearssincethatdaywemetinhistoryclass.Wemaybeseveralstatesapart,butIadoreyoujustasmuchnowasIdidthen.GaelynGalbreath,you’retheAnnto

myLeslie,mysoupsnake,andIcan’timaginemylifewithoutyouinit.Thankyoubothforalwaysbeingthereforme.Iloveyousomuch.

KodyKeplingerwasbornandraisedinasmallKentuckytown.Duringhersenioryearofhighschool,shewroteherdebutnovel,TheDUFF,whichwasaYALSATopTenQuickPickforReluctantReadersandaRomanticTimesTopPick.Ithassince

beenadaptedintoamajormotionpicture.KodyisalsotheauthorofShutOutandAMidsummer’sNightmare,aswellasthemiddle-gradenovelTheSwiftBoys&Me.Currently,KodylivesinNewYorkCity,wheresheteacheswritingworkshopsandcontinuestowritebooksforkidsandteens.Youcanfind

moreaboutherandherbooksatwww.kodykeplinger.com.

Copyright©2015byKodyKeplingerAllrightsreserved.PublishedbyScholasticPress,animprintofScholasticInc.,Publisherssince1920.SCHOLASTIC,SCHOLASTICPRESS,andassociatedlogosaretrademarksand/orregisteredtrademarksofScholasticInc.

Thepublisherdoesnothaveanycontroloveranddoesnotassumeanyresponsibilityforauthororthird-partywebsitesortheircontent.Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andany

resemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataKeplinger,Kody,author.Lyingoutloud/KodyKeplinger.—Firstedition.

pagescmSummary:HighschoolseniorSonnyArdmoreisanaccomplishedliar,whousesliestotryandcontrolherout-of-controllife,whichhasbeenfurthercomplicatedbythefactthatsheissecretlystayingeverynightinherbestfriendAmy’shousebecauseshehasbeenkickedoutby

herownmother—butwhenshegetsintoanonlineconversationwiththestuck-upnewboyRyder,whohasacrushonAmy,shefindsherselfcaughtupinonelietoomany.ISBN978-0-545-83109-31.Truthfulnessandfalsehood—Juvenilefiction.2.Bestfriends—Juvenile

fiction.3.Interpersonalrelations—Juvenilefiction.4.Dating(Socialcustoms)—Juvenilefiction.[1.Honesty—Fiction.2.Bestfriends—Fiction.3.Friendship—Fiction.4.Interpersonalrelations—Fiction.5.Dating(Socialcustoms)—Fiction.]I.Title.PZ7.K439Ly2015

813.6—dc23[Fic]

2015000487Firstedition,May2015CoverdesignbyYaffaJaskollCoverphotograph©2015byMichaelFrostCoverphotos©Corbis:lockers(MikeKemp/Rubberball),floor

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