 
Curse of Genius

Taylor White
Copyright © by Taylor White
TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 – Birthday Wish

2 – Monday Morning Blues

3 – The Plan

4 – Power Struggle

5 – Awkward Signup

6 – Trouble Sleeping

7 – Near Exposure

8 – Cheerleading Horror

9 – Confrontation

10 – Uniform Fiasco

11 – Clarification

12 – Bus Ride

13 – Game Time

14 – Strike of the Curse

15 – First Date

16 – Change of Heart

17 – Homebound

18 – Awkward Unveiling

19 – Date Night

20 – First Meeting

21 – School

22 – The Invitation

23 – Game Time

24 – Problems

25 – Shocking Request

26 – The Party

27 – Chaos

28 – Unraveling

29 – Blowout

30 – Free Fall

31 – Unforgettable Night

32 – Aftermath

33 – Decision

34 – Execution

35 – Realization

36 – Verdict

Epilogue

# 1

Birthday Wish

"Well, are you going to blow out your candles or not?" my mom asks as she stares at me, with a much more important question looming behind her wide, hopeful eyes.

Sitting here at the kitchen table looking at my cake, all sixteen candles brightly lit, I can't stop my mind from racing back through my previous fifteen years at this very moment...well, as many as I can remember. Every year, the same birthday wish; every year, a little more nerve-wracking than the one before. But none of them compares to this year, this moment. Along with the nervousness, there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A feeling which has been absent the previous years, a feeling I wish would vanish without a trace. It's that sick feeling you get when you realize it's finally time to face a demon in your life--a demon that has hovered over you for as long as you can remember, that you would rather run away from kicking and screaming than look at in the face even for a second.

As my dad peers around my mom's long, wavy, blonde hair, I notice the expression on his face, as well. It's actually the very same hopeful expression that has taken over my mom's face. As if they coordinated this look with each other before they walked in the kitchen ten minutes ago, the way they coordinate their jogging outfits every weekend for their Saturday and Sunday morning run.

Whether they know it or not, I'm very aware of the meaning behind the expressions. Their hope is that my birthday wish will be a different one this year, that I've turned over a new leaf.

My seventeen-year-old brother Carson sits at the table with an altogether different look on his face. He's simply staring at the cake, trying not to drool. Sitting across from him is my seven-year-old sister Hailey. It's one of the few occasions the entire Woodsen family gathers around the kitchen table.

Hailey begins to glare at Carson, eyes squinted, with a look of disdain. This is not unusual at all. My brother Carson, not being the sharpest knife in the drawer--actually, if you were to gather up every single knife in the world and put them into a pile, he would probably be the dullest--gets under Hailey's skin on a catastrophic level. The same way rising taxes, or bold-faced lies, or waiting two hours in line to ride a 20-second ride at a theme park would get under most people's skin, Carson's unintelligence gets under hers to that extent, times a thousand.

Probably the reason for that is because Hailey herself is extremely smart for a seven-year-old. She's head and shoulders above her age group, which adds a splash of sass to her personality that is well-disguised by her beautiful, innocent, blond-haired, blue-eyed look.

Then there's my best friend Rebecca Camery, aka Becca, sitting right beside me with an intense look of concern on her face. She feels my pain, like she always has. Becca has always felt my pain, my joy, my laughter, my tears, and vice versa. She grew up two houses down from me, and we've pretty much been inseparable since we were two years old.

The sweet, nurturing look of concern displayed on her face as I sit here, preparing to blow out my candles, is the soft side of Becca only I'm lucky enough to experience one hundred percent of the time. Kind of comparable to a cub never being the focus of the tiger's anger, but the tiger is unpredictably violent to anyone or anything else. Would I describe Becca as violent? No, I wouldn't. Although, there was that one time...okay, three times...umm...I'll just stop there.

But luckily for me, her bad side is a vault to which I've never had the combination, and I'm one hundred percent certain I never will. She is a kind person overall, but there is a bold side to her that will not put up with any rudeness or bullying or anything of the sort, from anyone, which is actually a perfect offset to my very shy, non-confrontational personality. I couldn't hurt a fly, even if the fly deserved it. It could buzz around me all day, and I would politely ask him to leave. Then if that didn't work I would get up and leave his space. The only meanness that exists in me is in my thoughts from time to time--which I think is normal--but I'm not capable of showing it.

"Go for it, Dori," Becca says supportively while looking at the candles.

My name is Doreen, by the way, although I honestly can't remember the last time anyone called me that. When Becca and I turned five--her birthday was a couple months ago--she started calling me Dori, sometimes even just Dor, and it completely stuck. I don't even think most people know my real name.

I finally take a deep breath and blow out my candles. Immediately after, Becca and I look at each other then perform the same ritual we have performed for the past ten years or so. We both close our eyes tightly and scrunch our faces with our fingers crossed. We then open our eyes and look at each other with a hopeful look.

"What is 123 times 2,211?" Becca asks, fingers still crossed.

I guess I'm insane, because every year I hope for a different result. I mean, it's not like I don't know this could never happen in a million years. I do understand it's completely impossible; I even understood that as a child. But that's the level of my desperation. This fairy tale part of me has no choice but to believe it's a possibility, and every year, whether she thinks I'm crazy or not, Becca believes along with me.

Dejectedly, I reply, "271,953," as I slouch with disappointment.

Believe me, I know how silly it sounds, but my disappointment lies with the fact that, of course, I'm a genius. It makes me want to slap myself across the face, having moaned and groaned my entire life over something seemingly so great. I'm sure most people would love to be in my shoes and would surely slap me as well if they heard me complain.

"Honey, you're going to have to accept it at some point and move on with your life," my mom says, as the previous hopeful expression on her face quickly turns to one of aggravation.

"Christie, let's not make a fuss about it on her birthday. We'll discuss it more tomorrow," my dad replies.

I silently appreciate him defending me. I even wish he would take it a step further and tell her that one more word, and she's going in time-out.

"Mom, I know I've disappointed you, but I've kept my genius a secret for a reason," I reply, with half-conviction, half-fear in my voice.

She takes a deep breath and crosses her arms. "I understand, but I think revealing it is what's best for you."

I look down immediately because looking into her eyes when she's upset is like looking into the sun. The level of her intolerance at the moment is my fault, though, because I've always told her--really just to get her off my back--I would probably reveal it when I turn "sixteen or so."

But she forgets how hard it is for me. How deathly afraid I am to jump ahead in life and have that kind of attention on me. I've always been this way, which is why I made the decision as a child to hide my genius from the world. And technically, I didn't _promise_ I would reveal it at sixteen.

We all sit in an awkward silence for the next thirty seconds or so, the tension so thick a knife wouldn't stand a chance--you would need a chainsaw.

"Well," my brother Carson begins, "all I have to say is that cake looks awesome! I wish I could just swim in a sea of white icing cake and eat it up as I go." He closes his eyes with a huge, goofy smile on his face.

I can see Hailey's cheeks turning red. She won't let him get away with that one.

"You can't even swim!" Hailey shouts, her tone all loud and sassy. "So give it a try," she adds with a look of disgust. Carson glares back at her, wanting to reply, but clearly too afraid. Despite Carson's sometimes cocky, rude attitude, it's no match for Hailey's aggressive sass, and he rarely stands against her.

"Okay, that's enough," says my dad Ken, attempting to intervene as he and my mom hand me my present. I already know what it is as I grab the small box and tear it open to find a gift card to the local bookstore.

I'm a book fanatic. I need books like vampires need blood--well, if they were real--but you get the point. Reading is my passion, and my room is absolutely full of books, along with the hundreds of books on my Kindle, because every year for my birthday, my only request is for my entire family to pitch in and get me a big gift card to the bookstore.

Becca, however, never fully abides by this request. She does contribute to the book fund, but she always does something creative and special for me, as well. Like one year, knowing how much I love pizza, she decided to make me one from scratch, despite the fact that she's a disaster on two legs in a kitchen. It actually took her three birthdays to get that one right, but it was definitely the thought that counted.

"Thanks!" I say with a huge smile, as I'm already thinking about the books I want to get.

"Okay, okay, time for the real present," Becca says with a half-grin as she grabs the gift card from my hand and slaps it on the table.

"Here you go, Dor." She hands her present to me, very neatly and carefully wrapped as always.

I take it and put it on the table in front of me, noticing how heavy it is, and also taking in Becca's huge smile as I begin to open it. When I finally finish clawing off the wrapping paper, I see a massive scrapbook, probably the biggest scrapbook I've ever seen, and spelled out with cut-out letters, it says "Best Book of All. Love, Becca."

I begin to smile as I open it and flip through, seeing pictures of us and our families from the time we were little, leading up to the present. Pictures of vacations we all went on, first day of school pictures, birthday pictures--she had them all. And under every picture was a paragraph or so describing the event.

"This is so awesome!" I say enthusiastically as I lean over to hug her.

"You're welcome," she says, pleased with my reaction. "And the second half of the book is blank, so you can fill it up as time goes on," she explains.

My mom walks around the table to hug her, as well. "That's a really nice gift, Becca."

"I guess. I mean, it's kind of dumb," Carson mumbles under his breath, his eyes never really leaving the cake.

Becca shoots an evil stare at him, noticeably trying to keep herself under control. If my parents weren't here, his head would be in the wall right now, and he knows that.

"You want a fist in the mouth?" she asks him sweetly. Carson looks at her, eyes narrowed, trying to tell how serious she is.

"Whatever," he finally replies.

Much like my sister Hailey, Becca has an interesting relationship with Carson. They're always kind of at each other's throats, in a playful way... _most_ of the time.

"Alright, let's eat some cake," my dad says with a slight laugh at Becca and Carson's exchange. He grabs the knife and begins to cut as my mom picks up the scrapbook and starts flipping through it.

"You know, revealing your genius will surely help fill your scrapbook with pictures of all the great things you'll go on to achieve," my mom says while looking down at the book, trying every angle she can to sway me.

"Yeah, but how many of those pictures would involve me, and would Dori be happy in them?" Becca asks.

Becca would support me either way, but she knows where I stand for now, and she'll stick up for me until I change my mind.

"Exactly," I reply. "My life would change so drastically, and I'm not sure for the better."

"Dori, your life is going to change regardless as you grow up," my mom says.

"Your mom's right, sweetie," Dad nods, cutting even squares across the cake. "Your intelligence is something you should be proud of."

"Yeah, I mean, I would love to be a genius!" Carson exclaims.

Hailey begins to reply but is interrupted by Dad yelling "Hailey!" in an attempt to derail her sarcastic comment to Carson. She whips her ponytail around and stomps off to the living room, clearly not happy about being shut down, even to the point of missing cake.

"Well, y'all may not have to wait long for the secret to be out anyway," Becca says, "because this snob in our class, Summer Stevens, told Dori she knows her secret, whatever that means."

"Oh, really?" Mom asks.

"Yeah. I don't know how she would know, but I'm so worried she does," I reply, thinking back to the moment Summer told me that in the hall at school, making my worried feeling more intense.

"She won't say a word. I'll tune her up," Becca grins with her usual protective attitude toward me. My parents quickly look at her, shocked by her words, not having a full understanding of Becca's true personality. Over the years, they've watched and laughed as she and Carson would go at each other, but as far as they're aware, it's playful and it stops with Carson. She's done a great job of making my parents think that otherwise, she's a perfect angel. Except for occasional slip-ups like this one.

She tries to cover her tracks, giggling and smiling innocently as she explains that by "tune her up," she simply means she will reason with Summer and politely ask her to leave me alone. And once again, my parents fall for it, hook, line, and sinker. What a terrific performer Becca is.

"Well," my dad shrugs, glancing at me, "you know we think the secret coming out would be for the best."

"I know," I reply as I stare at my cake, feeling too sick to eat it.

* * *

Later that evening after dinner, Becca and I retreat upstairs to my room to do some reading. She loves reading, as well, and although she may not read at my level or pace, it's a passion we share. We can literally sit and read for hours. Our absolute ideal slumber party is an entire night of popcorn, reading, and--this hurts to say--The Kardashians. That's right, it's our guilty pleasure. It has been for some time now, and if anyone ever found out we watched it, we've already discussed we would pack our bags, hitchhike with a total stranger, and leave the state forever. I mean, we don't just watch it--we're obsessed, to the point of owning the DVD box sets for every season. I guess it's the clothes and the glam; I don't really know. Neither one of us has been able to figure it out. Regardless, we're hooked, and next to reading it's our favorite thing to do.

After reading for about an hour, my mom knocks on the door and sticks her head in. "How many problems did you plan to miss on your geometry test tomorrow?" she asks.

"It's a 35-question quiz, so I guess I'll miss three," I reply, knowing she'll counter like always. And sure enough, she stands there in thought for a minute.

"What score would that give you?"

"91 percent," I reply.

"Maybe miss two instead. Wouldn't that be good?"

"Yeah, that's cool; that'll give me a 94," I say, trying to make her smile. I love my mom to death. We've always been really close, and I know she just wants me to do what she truly believes is best for me. I feel bad putting her through this, which is why I always try to make it as easy as possible on her.

"I only plan to miss ten, Mrs. Christie!" Becca jokes, trying to break the tension, even though I know there's probably some truth in her statement.

But my mom just laughs. "I don't believe that for a second, Becca," she says as she walks out and closes the door.

I look at Becca, frustrated, as she turns her head and looks down.

"You told me you were gonna study," I fuss, throwing my hands up.

"I know. I started to, but then I got aggravated because I couldn't understand it."

I sigh and grab my textbook. "Come here, I'll give you a crash course."

I took about thirty minutes to explain everything to her that she didn't understand, and she picked it up quickly. Becca has always been very strong in English and literature, rather than math and science. Although she maintains an A-B, _sometimes_ C average, she could definitely pull straight A's if she studied more.

"Thanks, Dor. I think I'm good to go now."

"Okay, good," I reply, putting my book away. I jump back on my bed and cover up with a blanket as Becca kicks back on the plush, dark green recliner which sits in the corner of my room. It has supposedly been in our family for like a thousand years, so my mom refuses to get rid of it. Aside from the fact that it doesn't match anything in the house, it's probably the most comfortable piece of furniture I've ever sat on, and I would strap myself to it protest-style to keep anyone from taking it away.

"So, do you think Summer really knows?" I ask as I stare at the ceiling, afraid to hear Becca's answer.

"No, she's bluffing. We've been really careful, so I don't know how she could know."

"Yeah, I don't think she knows, either. I'm still worried, though. Maybe I should just go ahead and reveal it anyway," I say, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought.

Becca quickly looks at me with a worried expression. "But then you'll either go off to college or get a job and we'll grow apart."

Becca would support me either way, but she knows as well as I do that on some level it would come between us. She understands the extent of my genius because she's been there from the start. While other four-year-olds were playing outside, I was tucked away in my room reading. While other seven-year-olds were watching Disney and learning how to write, I was studying organic chemistry and trying to figure out easier ways to solve physics and calculus equations. And right before my twelfth birthday, I had just finished writing my eleventh book.

But Becca did a great job year after year helping me put my genius aside in public and blend in with my peers. I know I wouldn't have been able to do it without her.

I sigh. "Yeah, I know. I just have to figure out a way to keep my mom content."

"Tell her you'll dedicate one of your books to her later on," Becca shrugs and grins.

"That might actually work," I giggle. Then I hop up and walk over to my closet to clear a space for my new scrapbook.

The fact that I've written seventeen books to date, and that I've discovered simpler ways to solve a ton of math and science problems and equations and theorems on all levels, is the main reason for my mom's insistence that I reveal my genius. My dad wants me to reveal it too, but Mom is definitely the driving force.

I carefully begin rearranging books on the middle shelf in my closet to create a special place just for the scrapbook, as Becca reaches over and grabs one of the fiction novels I wrote.

"It is a shame all these books can't be published, though," she says, flipping through the pages and shaking her head.

"Yeah. They will be one day, though," I shrug. Then I place the scrapbook down in its newly cleaned out space. "Geez, I need a bigger closet," I mutter.

"Just bust in your mom and dad's room and take over their closet."

I nod. "It might actually come to that."

Becca's laugh quickly turns to a loud, obnoxious groan as she struggles to get up from the comfy green recliner, just as I always do. Yeah, it's that comfortable.

"I'm gonna go home before it starts getting dark. See you in the morning!" she shouts from the hall.

"Bye, sleep tight!" I holler back.

As I get ready for bed, I'm desperately trying to think of a way to keep my genius a secret and keep my mom happy at the same time. Either way, it's going to be a struggle. Whatever sacrifice I make to appease her could very well be worse than revealing my secret. I guess time will tell. Maybe by some miracle I'll wake up tomorrow morning and this curse will be gone.

# 2

Monday Morning Blues

As usual, the annoying sound of my alarm buzzing at me the next morning makes me want to punch a hole in my headboard. I roughly wipe the cobwebs from my eyes and slap the snooze button with speed and accuracy. It's literally a showdown every single morning--I try to hit the button before a second buzz comes out. One morning years ago, I repeatedly slapped the snooze button, only to continue hearing the buzz. My solution to this was to swipe the clock off the table and onto the floor. Nine minutes later, it was back on the table screaming at me, and it was almost as if it was smiling at me when I looked at it. To this day, I swear I don't remember putting it back on the table, even though I must have. Regardless, it became personal after that morning. I have a love-hate relationship with that clock--I love that it tells me the time, but I hate that it yells at me every morning.

Once I finally surrender to my alarm and accept the fact that I have to get up, which is never easy, I sit up in my bed and briefly re-think the plan I came up with just before I fell asleep last night. The plan to keep my genius hidden and my mom happy all at once. Don't get me wrong, it's not a good plan by any means; in fact, it's a horrible plan. The thought of it makes me feel ill, much like the thought of revealing my genius does. But after an hour of racking my brain, I've come to realize there's no easy way. I'll just have to pick my poison and drink it down, and I think I'll wear a helmet when I approach Becca with the idea, just in case she inadvertently tries to hurt me.

As I try to put that thought out of my mind for now, another one quickly comes into focus: getting to the bathroom first. There's one upstairs bathroom I share with my brother and sister, and it's literally a battle for control every morning. I would say ninety percent of the time I emerge victorious. However, this morning I have a feeling I hit the snooze button one too many times.

I slip on my Hello Kitty slippers--yet another guilty pleasure **,** which Becca introduced me to, for the record--and quickly shuffle to my bedroom door. As I look down the hall, I see the bathroom door half-open and the lights off, so I dart toward it as if I'm a three-time Olympic sprinter trying to finally win a medal.

This is crucial because for whatever reason, Carson takes twice as long in there as Hailey and I, and Hailey will camp in front of the door to ensure her second-place spot. Although Hailey looks up to me and we've always been extremely close, I couldn't pay her to let me skip.

But this morning I win, and as usual it takes me no time at all to put on the bare minimum amount of makeup, so little it could probably qualify as none at all, and run a brush a few times through my dark brown hair. It falls to about the middle of my back, and I usually just throw it into a ponytail, like I do this morning.

This is my typical look. Although I'm all about shopping and cute clothes, I've never been all that great at fixing myself up. I just don't have the interest or patience for it, I guess. Hopefully one day I will, though.

After brushing my teeth, I open the door to find Hailey standing there, her eyes half-closed, trying not to fall over. "Morning, girlie," I say as I turn around to look back at her while walking down the hall.

She begins waddling into the bathroom like a zombie with crazy blond hair.

"Morning," she replies with a faint whisper. Without a doubt, the only person I know who hates mornings more than I do is Hailey. She once took a swing at me when I tried to wake her up. And even though she insists she doesn't remember it at all, the thought of attempting to wake her up again still frightens me to this day.

As I begin to rifle through my closet to pick my outfit for the day, I hear my phone buzzing when a text comes through from Becca.

" _Is it just me, or does this morning suck more than last Monday morning??_ "

I completely understand where she's coming from. Typically, the start of the second week of school is always better than the first...but not this year. My turning sixteen this year has put a dark cloud over this Monday morning, knowing I now have to make a decision which could completely change my life.

" _Not just you, I know what you're saying_ ," I reply with a sad face. " _And I came up with a plan BTW._ "

" _Sweet_ ," she replies.

After a few minutes of getting lost in thought about the whole situation, I get back to choosing my outfit. I ultimately decide on a pair of black skinny jeans and ballet flats, along with my favorite purple top I got at Forever 21 on a recent back-to-school shopping trip with my mom and Hailey. I do a few quick turns in the mirror just before grabbing my backpack and phone, and then head downstairs for breakfast.

My mom walks over to me from the stove as I toss my bag on a chair and take a seat.

"Breakfast?" she asks, extending a pan out to me. She's made one of her delicious sausage, bacon, egg, and cheese omelets.

My mouth begins watering. "Yes, please!"

All these years of eating those omelets and I've yet to get tired of them. She could put ten of them on my plate and I would eat every one before she finished pouring my glass of milk. That's right--she pours my milk for me. Odd as it may sound, my mom does _everything_ for us. With her being a stay-at-home mom, we always have fantastic breakfasts, lunches, and dinners; our clothes are washed and put away every day; and the house stays spotless...and this is not a small house. Basically, she's created an environment where none of us have to lift a finger, spoiling us on an extreme--possibly even unhealthy--level, and that's truly the way she wants it. She loves to nurture, and the fact that she doesn't work allows her to be very organized and efficient with these tasks on a daily basis.

I begin scraping my plate with my fork just before I load up the last bite and shove it into my mouth, like a wild animal that hasn't eaten in a week.

"I kind of want another one," I mumble with egg and sausage nearly falling out of my mouth.

"Okay," she grins, flipping another one in the pan.

"Make that two for me, as well!" my dad proclaims as he walks into the kitchen while tying his tie.

Dad is a medical malpractice attorney, and he works for a private firm in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, about forty minutes outside the small town of Central where we live. He basically represents people who have issues arising from the improper use of medicine, or people who have suffered because of mistakes or errors during their medical treatment. He's one of the best lawyers in his firm and is looking at a possible partnership in a few years.

I'm constantly keeping him fresh and sharp on medical terms and procedures because he has to be very knowledgeable on the medical end as well as all points of law. His slight weakness, if he has one, is getting rusty on the medical side from time to time. I've formatted a few of his most difficult cases over the years when he would get overwhelmed. It's much easier and quicker for me, with no stress involved. So I would step in and get it done whether he wanted me to or not, and he was always appreciative in the end.

I quickly kill my second omelet while my mom and dad are talking. I want to get out of here before any discussion about revealing my genius can come up. I drink down my last bit of milk as I get up and grab my bag. "I gotta go. I don't want to be late getting to Becca's."

"Okay, sweetie, be careful. We'll talk later," Mom says, looking disappointed that she missed her chance. My dad tells me bye, as well, as I walk out, just as Hailey and Carson are running downstairs.

When I reach the sidewalk and begin my delightfully short walk to Becca's house, I notice her mom loading something that looks like it might be food in the car. Once I get to the driveway, I stop and smile while her mom closes the car door. "Hey, Mrs. Anna. What's in the car?" I ask.

"Hey there, sweetie." She jokingly backs up to the car and leans on it with her arms spread out, as if to barricade the back door. "Nothing's in the car," she says, a wide-eyed, silly expression on her face.

Despite my five-foot, two-inch, 105-pound frame, I eat like a horse. And Mrs. Anna knows this.

"Yeah, I'll see about that when I get in there in a few minutes," I reply with a grin as I turn around and start walking to the house. Mrs. Anna releases the car door and follows me.

"Becca should be downstairs eating by now," she says with a bit of aggravation in her voice.

Mrs. Anna is the manager at a bank just past our school, so she drops Becca and me off every morning.

Stargate Academy is the fairly small kindergarten through twelfth grade private school we attend. We used to go to Central Private, but Becca's parents transferred her to Stargate about four months before the last school year ended because they felt it was better academically, and my parents let me transfer there, also. Hailey and Carson wanted to stay at Central Private, so my mom takes them in the morning and then picks us all up at the end of the day. That is, until Carson gets his license at some point this year. I think it'll be safer riding with Becca and her mom when--or if--that happens, though.

I walk around the corner and into the kitchen to see Becca just pulling a spoon from her mouth, her cheeks puffed out and milk dripping from her bottom lip. I begin to giggle.

"What?" she asks.

I walk over to the table and put my bag down. "You look like I did five minutes ago, except I had sausage and cheese spilling from my mouth."

"Son of a bitch, I need to eat breakfast at your house," she says as she tilts her head back, extremely careful not to lose a single Fruity Pebble.

Other than being an inch or so taller and having dirty-blond hair, Becca is virtually the same size I am and loves to eat just as I do. The only place we don't stuff our faces is school, because guys are around.

"So, what's the plan you came up with?" Becca asks as she gets up and puts her bowl in the sink.

"Umm..." I hesitate, contemplating scrapping the whole idea. "I'll tell you at school. I don't want you to kill me with no witnesses."

"Geez, it can't be that bad, can it?" she giggles.

I just shrug.

"Come on, girls!" Mrs. Anna suddenly shouts from the foyer. We roll our eyes, grab our bags, and head for the door.

* * *

"I knew there was food in here!" I proclaim proudly as I get in the car, noticing the plate of brownies carefully relocated out of the danger zone to a safe spot in the front seat.

"Yep," Mrs. Anna laughs. "They're for an employee's birthday at work. And if either of you even thinks about touching them, I will pull this car over and throw you both out!"

The three of us laugh. She's clearly willing to go to battle to defend those brownies, and since I just devoured two omelets in record time, I'm not willing to draw my sword for them right now. Lucky for her.

"Well, thanks for the brownies you sent over for me yesterday, Mrs. Anna," I smile.

"You're welcome, honey." She glances at me in the rearview mirror. "I'm just sorry Mr. Brett and I couldn't make it."

"It's okay."

Mr. Brett is Becca's dad. He works long hours as a chemical engineer, and since Becca is an only child, she often has a big house all to herself.

"So, are you ready to see Bryson again?" Becca whispers, leaning toward me.

I frown and grin, confused. "I guess...why?"

"Because he likes you, I'm telling you!" she says with wide eyes. "He was checking you out all last week. And I _know_ you like him."

"Becca..." I pause, shaking my head. "I'm an overly shy junior and he's a senior who's probably going to be captain of every sports team at our school. We have nothing in common. Besides, why would he want me when he has a group of cheerleaders to choose from?"

"Um, maybe because you're hotter than every cheerleader in the group," Becca replies, looking like she wants to smack some sense into me.

Don't get me wrong, I wish Bryson did like me. And I would love to have a boyfriend, but my genius complicates things, as usual. I couldn't keep a huge secret like that from someone I'm dating. I don't know if a guy would even date me knowing I'm that much smarter than he is. Still, Becca insists he likes me and I should go for it. The problem is, genius or no genius, I don't know _how_ to go for it. I've never had a boyfriend, and the thought of approaching someone like Bryson Turner makes me want to run and hide in a hole somewhere.

I've never really even had an interest in dating until this past year or so. And still, it's not like I'm _dying_ to date, but the experience would be nice.

Becca's mom pulls in front of the gym and stops as Becca and I get out. "Y'all have a good day!" she yells.

"HOME OF THE GRIZZLIES" is the massive sign above the gym door that stares you down as you walk in, with a picture of a cute grizzly bear next to it. I know it's intended to strike fear into our opponents, but it doesn't to me. It just makes me want to play with the cute bear.

The high school side of Stargate contains approximately five hundred high-schoolers, and the other side has about eight hundred elementary and junior high students. The gym is where the high-schoolers gather in the morning to wait for the first bell.

As we walk in and head for our usual spot on the fold-out bleachers, I notice Summer standing on the other side of the gym with her friends. She spots me at the same time and looks at me with the same grin as last week. A grin which implies she knows something...that she might somehow know my secret. I nervously look away as Becca and I take our seats.

Becca shakes her head. "Don't worry, Dor; she doesn't know a thing. She's just being an idiot." I nod, peeking over at Summer as Becca continues, "And if I find out she does know something, I'll drag her around the back of the school by her hair and persuade her to keep her mouth shut."

I chuckle nervously. "Thanks, but I don't want it to come to that."

"Well, maybe this will take your mind off things." Becca grabs my face with both hands and turns my head toward the gym door, just as Bryson walks in.

"Maybe a little," I smile.

He doesn't even make it four feet into the gym before Summer and her friends begin casually making their way toward him, trying to get his attention.

Despite being a junior, Summer typically hangs out with the senior cheerleaders, and ever since Bryson showed up about a month or so before Becca and I did last year, they've constantly been trying to get him to notice them.

Even though I don't like the way Summer and some of the other cheerleaders look down on everyone, I find it difficult to hate them. I find it difficult to hate anyone, really. Becca, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to hang them all by their feet and torture them till there's nothing left--her words, not mine. Sounds cruel, I know, but Becca's pretty hardcore sometimes.

Surprisingly, Bryson just flashes them a quick smile and keeps walking as he scans the crowd of students on the bleachers. He finally looks in our direction and smiles while looking right at me, then turns away and takes a seat with his friends. My stomach immediately fills with butterflies.

"There is no way he likes me," I mutter, mostly to myself. A guy like Bryson Turner could have any girl he wants. Besides being tall, built, and gorgeous, he doesn't align himself with any cliques. He's friendly with everyone, even though I've never really spoken a word to him.

Becca laughs, her head falling back. "What more proof do you need?"

"I don't know," I moan, grinning and covering my face with my hands. When I look back up, I catch another glimpse of Summer, and the thought of her discovering my genius comes rushing back, replacing the butterflies in my stomach with a familiar feeling of nausea.

Noticing I'm upset and knowing exactly why, Becca puts her arm around my shoulders. "She doesn't know anything; trust me. If she did, she would have told the whole school by now."

Becca does have a point, because Summer's not the type to be merciful. And if she realized the only thing stopping the pit bull sitting next to me from giving her a tune-up--which is Becca's expression for beating someone up--is me, she would probably immediately apologize and be my best friend.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I nod.

Just then, Becca points at Bryson as he gets up and begins walking toward the water fountain. "Now's your chance to go talk to him, now that he's away from his friends," she says excitedly.

"Oh my _God_ ," I sigh, a wave of nerves flushing throughout my body.

"Come on, hurry!" she pressures me, shooting an urgent glance at Bryson as he reaches the fountain.

I spring to my feet. "Okay, okay, I'm going," I say. But I honestly have no idea why I got up, because there's no way on Earth I'm actually going to say anything to him. I guess I'm just trying to make Becca happy.

Noticing the girls' bathroom is like five steps from the water fountain, I figure I'll just walk that way and see if _he_ says anything to _me_.

As I get closer, I notice my strides getting smaller, as if my body is trying to stop me. But I stay strong and keep trudging ahead, almost feeling sick at this point because I'm so nervous.

And just as I get within talking distance to him, the bell rings.

I quickly turn around and start walking back. As I look at Becca, she makes a sad face and shrugs. I have to confess, I was much more relieved than disappointed.

# 3

The Plan

I'm still trying to calm myself down from what just almost happened. As I make my way to my locker, I realize I might know a lot of things, but I know absolutely nothing about guys--how to approach them or talk to them or anything. I would trade my genius in a heartbeat to be able to interact with guys the way other girls do. I mean, why is it so hard? It seems like it would be easy to talk to another human being, like riding a bike, or writing a novel, or reviewing one of my dad's cases. Why is something seemingly so simple, so difficult for me? I don't understand it, and I hate not understanding things, but it is what it is, I guess.

"Don't worry; it's not easy for anyone," Becca says, as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

I chuckle as we open our lockers. "Good, glad I'm not the only one."

Since we only have two classes together this year, being able to get our lockers next to each other was a big deal. It provides a rallying point for us to talk between classes.

As the halls begin to clear out, we start fast-walking to our first-period geometry class.

"Wait, tell me the plan, crazy!" Becca says just as we reach the classroom door.

"We're gonna be late," I reply. "I'll text it to you in class."

I figure this way, she can't hurt me in a classroom full of people. It's the safest route. And also the fact that we were late the first morning of school and had to take the only two available seats across the room from each other, providing a solid wall of students between us, might come in handy for me when I send her this text.

After we walk in and take our seats, I begin to gaze around the room as I do every morning. I can't help but wish I could somehow love this place. This should be my ideal setting: a place where you read, write, and learn...but the truth is it's basically a prison for me. It's a place where I cannot help my fellow students see things as clearly as I do. A place where I can't enlighten my teachers and open their eyes to new and easier ways of doing and teaching things. A place where my intelligence has been a powerful weapon with no ammunition for ten years now. It's these moments of deep thought that sometimes makes my decision difficult to cope with.

"So, can anyone come up and solve the bonus problem before we take our quiz this morning?" Mrs. Anderson asks as she stands up and points to the board.

Mrs. Anderson is a fantastic teacher who genuinely cares about her students. Once in a while, she'll put a problem on the board from an upcoming chapter we haven't covered yet and award bonus points to anyone who can solve it. It's an activity I watch from the sidelines.

"I can, Mrs. Anderson," Summer says, looking back at the class from her front row seat with a conniving grin, as if to say, "I know the answer because I'm smarter than all of you."

Summer likes to be the best at everything she does. She strives to be the prettiest--and it kills me to admit she's pretty--the best cheerleader, and the smartest student.

As she gets up and walks to the board, I glance over at Becca and notice her fists balling up as her face turns to a light shade of red.

Despite being good at most things--other than being nice to people--Summer's weakness is being a student. She's average at best, but since these bonus problems are left on the board for a couple days, she takes them home to her brainy college sister who shows her how to solve them, which is probably why Becca is particularly irritated at the moment.

After completing the problem, Summer turns around to walk back to her desk with that stupid goody-goody smile of hers. There go my mean thoughts again.

Just before she makes it to her desk, Becca begins clapping. "Good job, Summer!" she yells, her tone and expression full of sarcasm. Summer glances at her reluctantly, as if she's looking into the eyes of an unpredictable monster. Her thoughts become an open book with the fearful expression on her face. She's thinking Becca is crazy, and not to be messed with.

"Okay, that's enough," Mrs. Anderson says as she stands and looks at the board. "Well," she continues, "good job, Summer. You solved it correctly! Your bonus points will be added to your quiz."

As she begins to put some practice problems on the board to review for the quiz, I grab my phone from my bag to text Becca.

" _Ok, The Plan...so, what has my mom ALWAYS wanted me to be?_ " I text.

Becca looks up at me after checking her phone and shrugs while shaking her head, clearly having no idea what I'm saying. For implication, I quickly look at Summer and then back at Becca. After sitting in thought for a few seconds, her eyes suddenly widen as she looks at me, as if a light bulb just went off in her head--a light bulb she probably wants to pull from her head and hurl at me from across the classroom. She looks down at her phone to text me back. " _Please tell me you're kidding,_ " she sends.

I look at her and shrug, worried and confused. She sends another text, " _I've hated cheerleaders all my life, you can't be one!_ " I grin uncomfortably as I read it.

" _We'll talk more about it at lunch,_ " I reply.

Things just became really awkward. Even though I know Becca will ultimately stand by me through anything, I'm still not looking forward to discussing the situation with her.

As Mrs. Anderson finishes the review and starts handing out the quiz, I find myself trying to avoid eye contact with Becca. Kind of like when you're a kid and you think hiding under the covers will save you from the monster in your closet. Well, not me personally; I knew there was no such thing as monsters when I was a kid, but Becca went through a pretty intense "monster in my closet" phase. I guess I figured avoiding eye contact would temporarily save me from the situation, even though I knew this monster would never hurt me.

I purposely miss my two random problems on the quiz and quickly finish, but I pretend to keep working on it until a few other students finish theirs, as well. I've become an expert at staring at a test paper and pretending like I'm trying to figure something out.

Then everyone finally finishes their tests, and the bell rings shortly after.

As we file out of the classroom and begin the trip to our lockers, I'm in a state of shock when Becca doesn't say a word about the plan like I thought she would. Maybe she thought about it in class and realized she needed to be more understanding. Or maybe she thinks if she ignores it long enough, I'll forget about it and the whole thing will just go away. I don't know what her reason is for not bringing it up, but I'm surely not going to bring it up either. I need a break, and I'm more than happy to save the conversation for lunchtime.

Just as we get about halfway to our lockers, Bryson comes fast-walking out of one of the classrooms and almost plows right into me. I'm so startled I almost drop my bag, just before becoming a ball of nerves when I realize who it is.

"Whoa!" He quickly side-steps, reactively throwing his hand up on my arm. "I'm sorry," he smiles.

I'm now such a choked up mess; I can't even gather my thoughts at all. But surprisingly, I recover quickly.

"It's okay," I say, wishing we _had_ slammed into one another. And as he continues to walk, he looks back a couple times with an ear to ear grin.

"Oh, my God, he's scared to talk to you, too!" Becca laughs with excitement.

I shake my head. "Doubt it."

I seriously do doubt it, both that he's nervous to talk to me and that he likes me and all that nonsense. But what if by some chance Becca's right? Do I have to keep almost getting clobbered for us to ever speak to each other again? Maybe I'll time it just right and walk in front of this room every morning. Maybe he'll get the same idea and dart out every morning, and we'll get to know each other that way.

Becca continues to laugh. "He so likes you, I don't care what you say," she insists. Then she grabs my arm and begins dragging me toward our lockers, in the opposite direction of Bryson. Unfortunately, his locker is on the other end of the hall where most of the senior lockers are. Maybe that's actually a good thing, though.

"Y'all would make such a cute couple, Dor," Becca says as we finally get to our lockers.

"Yeah, but how could I date him and keep this secret from him? It wouldn't be right."

Becca's smile disappears. "I don't know," - she briefly stares at her locker in thought - "I mean, maybe if y'all date for a while and you start to feel like you can trust him, then tell him."

"Yeah, then he would probably dump me for keeping it from him," I shrug. A short silence follows. "Ughh, I don't know. We'll just see what happens, I guess."

"Well, you know, someone else is going to have to find out at some point," Becca reminds me.

I nod reluctantly. "I know."

That's definitely true. Someone else will have to be let in on the secret if I ever want to date anyone before the day I decide to reveal it, whenever that may be.

"Just think about it!" Becca hollers as we begin going our separate ways.

"I will!" I yell back, bolting to my next class.

* * *

Since I have the luxury of not paying attention, I spend the next few classes before lunch thinking about everything going on. Now believe me when I say, I sat through three classes straight and tried my absolute hardest to use my time wisely and think about the real issues going on in my life right now. The issues which desperately require my immediate attention and creative solutions at this very moment. First and foremost being the situation that involves keeping my mom happy while not revealing my genius. Coming in at a very close second is somehow finding out what Summer knows. But these two all-important issues were repeatedly and rudely derailed from my train of thought by a single other matter: Bryson Turner.

Don't get me wrong, I have complete control over my thoughts, and on any other day I could totally shut him out of my head. But we just shared an intense, romantic moment of him almost running me clean over, which actually led to us speaking our first words to each other. That coupled with the fact he was in two of the next three classes, sitting in the front row and allowing me to stare at him and fantasize about our little hallway hit-and-run over and over, did not allow my mind to stray to any other topic. So, I'll just view it as being completely out of my control and totally forgive myself.

"Haha, that's so funny," Becca laughs as I finish explaining my concentration problems to her while we're walking to the caf.

As we make our way over to the table where we usually sit, I can't help but notice Summer has once again set her sights on me, with the same sneaky grin on her snobby face. She honestly scares the daylights out of me. If it wasn't for Becca being at my side, waiting to rip her throat out on command, I'd probably hide behind a teacher all day.

"My tolerance for this girl is fading fast, Dor," Becca warns, glancing at Summer. "I'm about to go knock that grin off her face."

This is the level of Becca's loyalty to me. She personally has absolutely no quarrel with Summer, but she's one hundred percent willing to take Summer down in front of everyone--teachers included--on my behalf, risking suspension and possible expulsion...which I refuse to allow.

I shake my head. "Okay, well, I'm going to get a salad. You want one?" I ask, trying to change the subject and redirect her attention.

"Yeah, I'll take one," she barely says, her eyes still fixed on Summer.

"'K, I'll be right back."

I get extremely nervous as I start walking and I notice Summer has gotten up from her seat and seems to be headed right in my direction. I figure at this point it's too late to turn around and run back to my table, so I reluctantly and fearfully keep moving, desperately hoping she will change course and not acknowledge me at all. But before I know it, she cuts me off by coming to a dead stop directly in front of me.

I start to panic.

"So," she begins as she puts her hands on her hips, resting them on the denim skirt that barely covers her lower half, paired with heels that are literally allowing her to look down at me. "Why should I not tell everyone your little secret?" she asks, looking at me as if she would love to destroy me for whatever reason.

I spin around and accidentally sneeze on a guy walking by who puts his hands up, gives a disgusted look, and walks away. "Sorry!" I call after him.

I tend to sneeze repeatedly when I get really nervous or scared as a result of any form of confrontation--one of my many weird quirks.

As I yell out my apology, I see Becca angrily stomping our way. And before I can even turn back around, she's about six inches from Summer's face.

"You're not gonna tell anyone anything, Little Miss Cheat Sheet," Becca says with a low, threatening tone and a demeanor that expresses her intense hatred for Summer.

As I'm listening to this go on, my back once again turned to the two of them, I let out another five or six soft, almost-silent sneezes in a row as I reach for a napkin on the nearest table. Then I slowly turn halfway back around just in time to notice Summer carefully backing up, trying to add a few inches of space between her and Becca.

"What are you talking about?" Summer asks worriedly, continuing to ease back.

"Oh, I saw the cheat sheet under your desk in first period," Becca informs her. "So you better keep to yourself whatever it is you know about Dori, or I'll go straight to Mrs. Anderson's room and have a talk with her. Or I can pound your face in right here in front of everybody. Your choice," Becca snarls, allowing Summer to choose her own fate.

Luckily we're not rock stars on center stage here. We're in sort of a remote corner of the caf where, aside from the junior and senior cheerleaders at Summer's table across the room who are now craning their necks from a seated position to see what's going on, very few people even notice the commotion.

Summer, now visibly shaken over the turn of events, clearly wants to tuck her tail, run off, and hide. "Okay, I won't tell anyone she likes Bryson," she replies quietly and submissively.

Surprised, I turn around to face them while holding a tissue over my nose. Becca looks surprised, as well, but her expression quickly disappears as she begins to narrow her eyes at Summer. "Is that the only secret you know?" Becca asks, her threatening tone still present.

"Yes, that's it!" Summer replies, eager to end the conversation and scram. I accidentally lose control of my napkin as I sneeze again and watch it fly directly onto Summer.

"Gross!" she shouts.

"Sorry!" I call to her as she turns and stomps away.

At this point, I stand here completely embarrassed as I realize we've gotten the attention of quite a few more people. Even the lunch lady is now looking back and forth between Summer, Becca and me, clearly wondering what just happened.

"Come on," Becca says, walking with me to the lunch line to get our salads. I guess she's trying to protect me in case Summer decides to come anywhere near me again.

Honestly, though, I don't think Summer would even consider it after that episode. In fact, as frightened as she was, I think Kim Kardashian could walk through those doors and offer her a million dollar shopping spree to approach me again, and Summer would tell her to take her money and shove it. She probably views it as a suicide mission at this point, which hopefully puts an end to the "Summer problem" altogether. Luckily with no fatalities.

* * *

"How in the world would she know you like Bryson?" Becca asks, glancing across the caf at Summer's table as we sit back down with our salads.

I begin thinking back over all of last week, trying to pinpoint any moment she could have been eavesdropping on one of our conversations. "I'm not sure...she must have overheard us talking at some point, I guess."

"Oh, well, I'm sure the problem is solved now anyway," Becca says, ringing out a packet of ranch dressing over her salad.

"Yeah, probably so. And thanks, by the way."

"No problem, girlie."

As we sit there in silence for the next ten minutes or so, scarfing down our salads--because we rarely talk while we eat--I'm still reeling over everything that just happened. I even almost feel bad for Summer, as crazy as that may sound. But she did deserve every bit of it, and maybe now she'll realize she's not invincible like she may have thought. As a result, she might even start treating people a little better. That would be ideal, especially if I'm going to join the cheerleading squad, in which case I'll be in her presence quite often, without Becca.

# 4

Power Struggle

Later that evening as I'm making the short walk back to my house from Becca's, after a solid three hours of heavy snacking--ignoring Mrs. Anna's strong suggestion that we would ruin our appetites for dinner...yeah right--discussing "The Plan" at great length, and squeezing in half an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians to relax ourselves, I get increasingly nervous the closer I get to my front door.

Not only am I about to have to face my mom and discuss this whole mess with her--which makes me want to keep walking, knock on a random door, and offer my services of cooking, cleaning, and walking their dog in exchange for letting me live there--but I'm also close to making the final, heart-wrenching decision to become a cheerleader.

Luckily, I was able to get Becca on board with the idea, and it didn't take much. She quickly realized it might be the best way to keep my mom from practically forcing me to reveal my genius, which we both feel certain will separate us to some degree or possibly even come between us.

Part of me doesn't really know why we feel that way, though. I honestly think our friendship is strong enough to survive anything, but neither one of us seems to want to take the chance.

One thing's for sure, though: once I tell my mom I'm joining the squad, there's no turning back. It would be like dangling a raw piece of meat in front of a pit bull, then cupping it in my arms like a football and taking off with it. She would chase me down and shred me to pieces.

The thing is, my mom and cheerleading go together like peanut butter and jelly. She started cheering as a child and was even captain of her high school squad for two years in a row. Ever since I was a child, she's dreamed of me becoming a cheerleader, too. So every weekend when I was little, she would cue up a new video her mom had taken of her cheering at a football or basketball game, pop popcorn, gather some candy and Cokes, and get me to sit and watch it with her, obviously trying to spark my interest in becoming a cheerleader. I knew what she was doing, but I simply showed up every weekend for the snacks.

The main problem with me becoming a cheerleader, aside from the fact that it's just not my thing, is that I'm fairly clumsy, despite my "little athletic build that's perfect for cheering," as my mom puts it. And I think I would probably cause more chaos than good on a squad.

So year after year, much like the situation with my genius, I've disappointed her by not becoming a cheerleader. This is why I'm fairly certain that if I tell her I'm joining the squad, she'll probably forget about my intelligence altogether. But at the end of the day, I'm simply choosing the lesser of the two evils, and I'll still be miserable.

After digging through my bag to find my keys, I walk in the front door to find Hailey sitting on the couch with a suspicious looking grin on her face. When she suddenly notices my approach, she whips her head around, the grin disappearing faster than I can blink.

I stand there looking at her for a minute, as if she's a common criminal who just committed a felony.

"What did you do?" I ask, fully aware of her history of brutally blackmailing Carson for no better reason than because "I'm smarter than him and I can," as she once put it.

She stares at me, the sneaky, proud grin plastered on her face now replaced with a worried look of denial. "Nothing, I'm just watching TV," she insists, knowing I know better.

I slowly nod. "Where's Carson?"

"I think he went upstairs," she replies, half-heartedly pointing that way.

Having no hard evidence, coupled with the fact I have a bag full of my own problems at the moment, I decide to let it go for now.

"Okay..." I give her a sideways look, letting her know I'm fully aware something just went down, but I don't have the energy or the will to continue the investigation at this moment. I walk over to her and lean across the back of the couch to kiss the top of her head. "How was your day?"

"It was okay. I have a spelling test tomorrow," she says, flipping through the channels on the 72" flat screen she can never get enough of.

"Oh, okay," I nod. "Do you need any help?"

"Nope, it's easy," she says confidently.

Hailey rarely ever needs my help. She's too smart for her own good, but I always want to make sure she knows I'm here for her.

"Okay, well, good luck." I pat her head as I walk off.

"Thanks!" she shouts.

A huge knot forms in my stomach as I make my way to the kitchen door, knowing the conversation that waits on the other side. And as I make those few steps, I once again question my decision: is this really the right thing to do? Can I realistically handle becoming a cheerleader and going along with everything it entails? Summer Stevens, short skirts, school spirit, and, umm...CHEERING?

I must be crazy. It's surely not easy for me to wrap my head around, but it looks like I'm just going to have to do it. On the bright side, as Becca pointed out earlier, it might push me a step closer to Bryson, which is definitely a positive.

As I open the kitchen door, the overwhelming scent of my absolute favorite meal hits me like a brick wall.

"Lasagna pasta? Yummy!" I shriek, my eyes all wide and hungry. It's my moms specialty.

"Yep," Mom laughs as she stands over the stove, carefully distributing shredded cheese over the top just before putting the dish in the oven. "Carson and Hailey already ate, but your dad will be here in a minute."

"Cool," I reply. I take my seat at the table, having no intention of being the conversation-starter in any way, shape, or form. In a perfect world, my mom would forget all about the situation, and I would sit here and eat my very large plateful of lasagna pasta in complete silence. Then I could race upstairs to text Becca the good news that I don't have to reveal my genius, or become a cheerleader. But sadly, there's a better chance of Hell freezing over.

"So, how was your day?" Mom asks, leaning back against the counter.

I'm actually dying to tell her about my run-in with Summer, but I can't because first of all, the full, true story can't be told without revealing Becca's dark side. And second, it would surely spark conversation about my genius, which once again, I'm not willing to do.

"It was okay," I shrug. She nods silently, waiting for more information.

Then, out of nowhere, my dad walks in, almost as if he was listening on the other side of the door. Seriously, his timing couldn't have been more perfect.

"Whoa, smells like your favorite in here!" Dad exclaims as he sneaks a peek at the oven, then at me. "Hey, sweetie." He walks over and kisses my forehead.

"You better hurry up and get some, because I'm gonna eat it all," I joke.

He chuckles and points at me. "I don't doubt that for a second."

As I watch him walk over and kiss my mom, I seriously consider running out the kitchen and up to my room, then coming back down to eat later after everyone is asleep. But I know the problem will only follow me upstairs, so I decide to stay put and just get it over with. As I make my way to the fridge to get my already-poured glass of milk--that sounds horrible, I know--my mom fixes our plates and sets them on the table.

"So," my mom begins. I load a massive pile of lasagna pasta on my fork before violently shoving it into my mouth, desperately trying to drown my problems in this delicious meal. I look at her as she takes her seat, nervously waiting for her to continue her statement.

"You only ended up missing two problems on your math test today, right?" she asks, glancing up at me with a casual smile.

Why does she torture me like this? I fully prepared myself just now for her to kick off the conversation regarding my genius, and now I'm worried I won't be able to do it again. I look up at her as I load my fork a second time. "Yep, I got a 94. And Becca told me she thinks she did well, too." I shove in another mountain of pasta.

"Well, that's good," my dad says, with Mom nodding in agreement. "So did you help her out, or did she pretty much understand everything?" he asks, reaching for his glass of milk.

This slow build-up to the elephant in the room is exhausting me at this point. I'm even starting to feel nauseous, which is making my delicious-looking plate of food now work against me. I'm so close to throwing my fork down and blurting out the issue myself, but I can't bring myself to do it. So I just sit here, trying to look relaxed while my nerves wreak havoc on me, as I respond calmly to my dad. "I helped her a little bit last night--"

"Well, speaking of that," my mom interrupts. "Your dad and I discussed it this morning after you left..."

My heart drops into my stomach as she pauses to carefully put her fork down and wipe her mouth with her napkin. I thought I was ready for this, but not even close.

My mom continues. "We want you to go ahead and reveal your genius tomorrow at school," she says firmly, as if the decision has already been set in stone. "Or if you want, I'll go up there and talk with your teachers and principal about it. Whatever you're more comfortable with. But we feel this is what's best for you, and it needs to happen," she says pointedly, as if I don't have a choice in the matter anymore.

I sit here completely stunned as I lower my eyes, trying to process what my mom just said. I know I've really disappointed her the past few years, but I honestly never thought she would force me into this so abruptly. I guess she just feels it's gone on for too long, and she's probably well aware at this point that I won't reveal it unless I'm given no other choice. But still, I didn't think it would go like this. And when she says " _we_ decided," I question my dad's level of involvement. Probably the only decision he made was to agree with her.

I can feel Mom's eyes on me as I stare at my plate, trying to gather my thoughts. Suddenly the lump in my throat, along with the nauseous feeling in my stomach, strangely begins to fade away. Those feelings are replaced with a slight feeling of anger, which is completely unfamiliar territory for me. I feel as though I'm fighting for my life in a way, and now that I'm being forced to reveal my genius, joining the cheerleading squad is looking like a sunny beach vacation. It makes my decision very clear.

My mom won't know what hit her. She just popped me with a light jab, but I'm about to nail her with a roundhouse right and throw her all off balance.

"Well," I shrug, calmly scraping my lasagna pasta into a giant pile, "I was actually going to sign up Friday to join the cheerleading squad."

Now, I know this only happens in movies, but my mom actually loses complete control of her fork as she's raising it to her mouth, scattering elbow macaroni all over the table as it crashes down. Her eyes widen to the size of golf balls. "What? Are you serious?" she asks, in complete shock as she hops up to get some paper towels.

I look over at my dad who is now glaring at me, his head tilted as if to say "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

I stare him down, as if to say in response, "I'll come over there and hurt you if you open your mouth."

Dad is the one variable at the moment who could potentially throw my plan off course. But due to the fact he's not as adamant as my mom about me revealing my genius, along with the bitch-slap I just delivered to his face with my eyes, I'm thinking he'll probably just kick back and go with the flow.

"Yeah, I mean, I was going to, you know," I begin as they both finish wiping up the last bit of runaway pasta. "But you're probably right, though; I should reveal my genius and move on from high school."

She might as well have been wiping up the pieces of her shattered world instead of that pasta. As she takes her seat, now staring at the table in thought just as I was a minute ago, confusion looms on her face and chaos in her thoughts. An extremely important, massive decision has now infected her brain: should I do what I feel is best for my daughter and make her reveal her genius? Or let her stay in high school and fulfill my dream of her becoming a cheerleader?

There's no doubt in my mind which one she will choose. Now it's my best move to just stay quiet while I finish eating and let her self-destruct. I can see the smoke rising from her ears as I frequently peek up at her, and part of me almost feels guilty for putting her through this. But she left me no choice.

As I get up and make my way to the sink, I'm actually a little surprised she's gone this long without saying a word. But as I rinse my plate, I see her repeatedly glance my way from the corner of my eye. She's dying to speak, but it may take her some time to figure this one out.

Suddenly, she turns sideways in her chair to face me as I turn off the water and dry my hands.

"Well, you could reveal your genius _and_ stay in high school, couldn't you?" she asks.

It's pretty hilarious the things people say when they're backed into a corner and become desperate. She's now trying to have her cake and eat it, too, I guess hoping my brain fell into the sink and got chewed up into little pieces by the garbage disposal.

As much as I would love to lay into her right now while enjoying every minute of this role reversal, I keep it sweet and innocent.

"Umm," I begin while looking up and staring at the wall above her head, as if I'm pondering her question. "No. I just wouldn't feel right about doing that." My eyes drop back to hers. "You've made me realize high school is holding me back. In fact, I'm gonna go up to my room and think about how I'm going to tell everyone tomorrow," I say, then I head for the kitchen door.

I give my dad another pair of evil eyes as I pass him up, just to keep him in check. But he's clearly decided to stay out of this one as he sits there and continues to clean his plate.

"Wait a minute," my mom says as I reach the door.

I turn around once again to see her staring at the table, deep in the abyss of confusion and discomfort. I know she's fully aware of the game I'm playing, and that I don't really want to reveal my genius or leave high school. But she's so insanely excited about the prospect of me becoming a cheerleader that she doesn't care.

"You don't have to reveal it tomorrow if you don't want to. Why don't we just talk about all of this later?"

"Okay. If that's what you want." I grin as if I don't care either way, then turn and walk out the kitchen.

As I'm heading up to my room, I give myself a little pat on the back. The plan was successful. Now all I have to do is be a cheerleader, and I must say, I'm feeling a little better about it at the moment.

# 5

Awkward Signup

As the next few days go by leading up to Friday, the roller coaster of emotions going through me begins to take its toll. I couldn't have been happier when my mom sat me down the very next night after the Battle of Lasagna Pasta Town and agreed to let me keep my secret if I joined the cheerleading squad. But I've since continued to question the whole situation, and the Friday approach has definitely been tough on me.

On a positive note, though, Summer has left me alone all week. I think her near-death experience with Becca was all the convincing she needed to back off, and hopefully she won't be a problem for a while.

On the other hand, things with Bryson and me have pretty much been the same. We've had quite a few of our normal shy, awkward glances at each other. However, there have been no more hallway collisions, and as a result, no words spoken. I'm actually starting to believe Becca's theory that he's nervous to talk to me, just like I am to him. But that would mean he likes me. And as much as I would love for that to be true, I'm still having a hard time convincing myself it could even be a possibility. But why else would he always glance and smile at me, but not talk to me?

"You gonna eat, or should I take that salad from you?" Becca asks, waving a hand in my face.

My focus resurfaces. "Um, yeah, I am," I nod, grabbing a packet of _light_ ranch dressing, which we eat in order to keep up our ladylike appearances here in the caf.

Becca reaches for her water bottle as a look of concern washes over her face. "What's wrong? You nervous about signing up today?"

"Yes, very," I say promptly, even though that's not what I was just daydreaming about.

Becca's expression turns sad, her eyes falling to the table. "Yeah, I know. I wish there was some way you didn't have to do this." Then after a brief silence, she looks back at me. "But, hey, I'll be at every game if you want me to be, and I'll be home waiting to hang out after your practice every day. I'll even have a tray waiting for you with all our favorite snacks," she giggles, trying anything and everything to make me feel a little better about this rotten situation. I'm definitely lucky to have her as a friend.

"It'll be okay, Dor," she adds, reaching over and patting my hand when I don't say anything. Her words actually do comfort me a great deal, though. They mean the world to me.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," I smile. "But you know, I did have a dream last night..." I open wide, stuffing in my first gigantic forkful of fresh, green lettuce as I watch Becca closely. She becomes motionless, staring me down through blank eyes, waiting in horror for me to continue my statement.

"I dreamed Summer was captain of the squad," I tell her, my stomach turning.

She rolls her eyes and falls back in her chair. "Tell me you're joking."

I shake my head, taking a sip from my water bottle. "Nope. Not joking."

Becca and I have great reason to worry about this. The only thing worse than me becoming a cheerleader is becoming a cheerleader on the same squad as Summer. And the only thing worse than that would be Summer being captain of that squad. It would give her a platform to taunt me.

Now, here's the scary part. For whatever weird, spooky reason, reality has often seemed to fall directly in line with my vivid dreams over the years. It's creepy to say the least. Like one year, I dreamed Carson got an A on a math test--which has never happened. Even though his teacher mistakenly mixed up his test paper with another student's and gave him his failing grade the next day, he still brought home an A paper that night. And last year, I dreamed there was a huge dent in Mrs. Anna's front bumper, and the next day someone backed into her front end in the grocery store parking lot while she was inside shopping. These are just a couple examples of many. I'm a very logical person, but it's happened too many times to be coincidence. So, the Summer dream has us both justifiably shaken-up.

"I would think Alison would get captain. Summer, _maybe_ co-captain," Becca says, peeking at Summer's table where Alison and several other varsity cheerleaders sit.

Alison has been on the squad every year and was co-captain last year. She's definitely in line to be captain this time around, so I'm hoping my dream will be off target for a change.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking...I guess we'll see," I shrug, taking a quick peek at their table, as well.

* * *

After school, as Becca and I walk to the gym so I can sign up for the squad, I feel kind of like an inmate on death row being escorted to the chair. The only thing missing is my last meal. That sounds dramatic, I know, but my knees are now beginning to shake the closer I get, and the all-too-familiar feeling of wanting to run away from the situation quickly resurfaces.

I can only imagine the weird and confused looks I'm going to get from whoever sits behind the sign-up table, since I've never shown any interest whatsoever in being a cheerleader.

Just as we're walking up to the double doors at the front of the gym, I look over at the parking lot and see my mom sitting there in her usual spot, looking at us, anxiously waiting for me to go in and sign up. The only reason she's not actually forcing her way into the gym with me is because I made her promise the other night not to overreact in public with all this cheerleader business. She agreed, so now she sits there calmly, smiling and giving a small wave as we walk in.

Once we step inside, the overwhelming sound of basketballs hitting the floor along with shoes screeching on the smooth, light brown hardwood court immediately reminds me that Bryson is in here somewhere, warming up with the team before they begin their daily practice. It's probably a good thing this small detail slipped my mind as we were walking to the gym, because I surely would've turned and run the other way.

But now that we've busted in through the ridiculously loud, thick metal doors, obnoxiously announcing our grand entrance to everyone on the other side, there's no turning back.

I'm now slightly embarrassed--definitely too embarrassed to even look for Bryson. And I'm seriously hoping he doesn't notice me, either. It's obvious why I'm here, and I have no idea what his reaction will be to me joining the squad. Sure, he'll find out soon anyway, but I don't care to deal with it today.

Just when it seems the situation can't get any more horrific, I look over and see Summer sitting at the sign-up table.

"Oh, this is perfect," Becca remarks. "I'm gonna hold her down and make her eat that table."

Fantastic. Just what I need, yet _another_ reason to sprint back out those double doors. Becca is now threatening to violently feed Summer a table which, if I had to guess, will probably draw even more attention to us.

My eyes shoot to Becca's. "Please, control yourself," I demand, my words firm and precise.

Disappointed, she looks down and reluctantly replies, "I will," acting as if she's seven and I just took her ice cream cone from her.

As we approach the table, I feel the stares going through me like lasers, mainly coming from Summer. Alison and two other senior cheerleaders sit next to her, and Holly, a junior, is standing in front of the table. I can tell Summer is holding back tremendously due to Becca's presence, as she sits there all prim and proper with her legs crossed and her back arched, nervously fiddling with the cap on her large bottle of Fiji water.

She's clearly surprised, and even though I'm pretty sure she was completely willing to leave me alone for good after her run-in with Becca, I'm on her turf now, and possibly even getting closer to Bryson as a result. I'm hoping this doesn't cause her to rise against me again.

"Hey, there, you want to sign up?" Holly asks with a huge, _genuine_ smile, unlike the four judgmental grins on the other side of the table.

Becca and I had a couple of classes with Holly last year, and in no way, shape, or form does she fit in personality-wise with the other junior and senior cheerleaders. She's super nice, and for whatever reason she's highly respected by the squad and extremely popular with everyone else. _Her_ being captain would be ideal.

"Yeah, I do," I nod, smiling timidly, trying my best to return Holly's enthusiasm.

"Okay, cool. Just sign the top of the form and then fill out the bottom part," Holly explains. She points to the form as Alison pushes it out to me with an unwelcoming grin.

I write as quickly as I can, desperately hoping none of these girls notices my hand shaking uncontrollably. I'm sure my unwillingness to look up at any of them isn't going unnoticed, either.

"I'm not sure what size uniform I need," I shrug, my eyes remaining glued to the form.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Holly says. "We'll have a box here next week with all different sizes you can choose from."

I anxiously slide the form back to Alison, who grins again as she puts the form underneath a stack of others.

"Okay, well, thanks for signing up, Dori. Y'all have a good weekend!" Holly smiles.

I look over at Becca for the first time during this sign-up session and notice her staring Summer down. I was just thinking to myself how strange it was that Summer had kept quiet this entire time. No rude comments under her breath, no mumbling, no whispering, no giggling, _nothing_. But I quickly realize she was in the same boat I was, eyes fixed on the table in fear. This whole thing may have been just as awkward for her as it was for me.

I lock arms with Becca and pull her away.

"Sorry, Dor. I did the best I could," she whispers as I drag her. But before I can fuss, a basketball flies into the wall right in front of us, and Bryson runs up to retrieve it.

"Sorry, guys," he grins, grabbing the ball and stopping in front of us. My stomach immediately drops.

"Hang on, I think my mom is trying to call me." Becca digs through her bag and pulls out her phone. "I'll be over here, Dor." She slings the phone to her ear and darts toward the double doors as if she's answering an emergency call. I definitely give her the Best Actress award for that one; I almost believed it myself.

"Everything okay?" Bryson asks, turning back to me after watching Becca walk off.

"Yeah, her mom's probably just worried because we're running late," I reply, feeling guilty about lying. Becca did that for my benefit, and I appreciate the thought, but I'm feeling mixed emotions about standing here alone with him. If I say something stupid, there's no one to bail me out. Then I'll have to stand here like an awkward idiot and just hope to at least get out of the situation without him thinking I'm weird.

"Oh, okay," he nods.

I try to contain myself as he stands there in his tank top, sweat dripping down the top of his ripped chest until it disappears behind his shirt. The muscles in his arms bulge each time he tosses the ball from one hand to the other, and he's giving me that super-sexy grin he's been sending my way a lot lately. I can honestly say I've never thought about a guy in the ways I've been thinking about Bryson. I've read and written a lot about love and physical attraction, but this is surely my first personal experience...unless, of course, you count my five-year love affair with Brad Pitt.

"Well, we really need to stop running into each other like this," he continues, that heart-melting grin never leaving his face.

"I know," I giggle. "One of us is going to end up in the hospital."

Wait, _what?_ I have a hard enough time speaking to him at all, much less making a clever joke. I'm definitely proud of myself for that one.

"I'm telling you," he laughs, appreciating the humor. Then he points to the cheerleaders' table behind me. "So, you're gonna be cheering us on this year, huh?"

"Come on, Bryson!" a teammate suddenly hollers.

"Yeah, I am," I quickly respond.

"Cool. I could use your support." He bumps my elbow with the basketball, smiles, then turns and runs off. Too flustered to say anything at all, I simply smile and wave. It was definitely a short but sweet interaction.

* * *

As we're walking to my mom's SUV, Becca can hardly contain herself. I think she's more excited than I am about my exchange with Bryson. I quickly fill her in on everything that was said.

"He so loves you," she insists, grinning. "And you should have seen Summer's face the whole time y'all were talking. She was so pissed!" Her grin turns to all out laughter.

"Great, another reason for her to kill me," I say sarcastically. Then I approach the passenger door and stick my hand in the window to tickle Hailey. "Hey, pretty girl, whatcha doin?"

"Nothing, just playing," she replies, completely engulfed in a game on Carson's phone, which is strange. She's never allowed to play on Carson's phone. Come to think of it, he never lets her sit in the front seat, either. As I reach for the back door handle, I can't help but think she has something on him.

"Hey there, cheerleader," Carson jokes as I open the door. I toss my bag in the back.

"Don't remind me," I reply with an eye roll.

# 6

Trouble Sleeping

It was no big surprise when I woke up at 8:00 sharp the next morning, which is ridiculously early for me on a Saturday. I didn't have an easy time falling asleep the night before, either. When the reality of my cheerleader situation actually sank in yesterday evening, a slight panic set in, and luckily Becca was able to calm me down over the phone.

She simply pointed out to me what I already knew, and I forced myself to play out the alternative situation in my mind. The situation where I would have to go to school Monday morning and reveal my genius, draw an insane amount of attention to myself from students and teachers alike, and just sit back and watch in horror as my life recklessly steers its way into a completely different direction, all the while hoping I don't lose Becca along the way. Yeah, that's surely a more terrifying reality. And after running that detailed scenario through my mind, becoming a cheerleader--while not ideal--feels much better.

But I still had trouble falling asleep. I laid awake in bed for almost three hours thinking about everything, and even after falling asleep I seemed to wake up every hour tossing and turning. So I'm exhausted this morning to say the least, but the last thing I want to do is lay back down in this bed and continue my unsuccessful attempts to get some sleep. So, I decide to get up.

* * *

"What in the world are you doing awake?" I ask Hailey as I walk into the kitchen. But the answer hits me like a Mack truck before I even finish asking the question. She's sitting at the counter, dividing her time fairly evenly between unhinging her jaw to stuff an entire cinnamon roll into her mouth with one hand and playing on Carson's phone with the other.

Typically, the only person in this house who sleeps later than me on Saturdays and Sundays is Hailey. She'll sleep till approximately one or one-thirty--which beats my usual high-noon rise--and then waddle downstairs and bully the remote away from Carson if he's in the living room so she can watch her DVR'ed cartoons. But her early-bird activity this morning tells the tale: the tale of an innocent looking little girl who blackmailed her half-witted older brother into handing over his phone, which she's now addicted to.

She just shrugs, not even looking at me as I walk past her.

"Mom and Dad out jogging?" I ask, making my way to the stove to round up my own plate of cinnamon rolls.

It takes her a few seconds to respond, as I hear the dings and jingles coming from whatever game she's playing. Then she finally mumbles, "Umm...yeah."

I walk around to the other side of the counter with my plate of three...okay, six cinnamon rolls, and my full glass of low-fat milk, and set them down directly across from her. I reach over and tap the pause button, then slowly pull the phone from under her little finger as I bend over and place my elbows on the counter, becoming eye-level with her.

"What's the story behind this?" I ask her accusingly, holding up the phone.

She looks at me with a blank stare, her exhausted eyes full of cobwebs as if she's a med student looking up from her laptop for the first time in days. I can tell she's trying to come up with something clever, but her sleep-deprived brain simply won't allow it. She's also never been able to easily lie to my face--not to say she hasn't pulled it off a time or two, though.

I put the phone down next to my plate. "You know Mom's warned you about blackmailing Carson," I remind her, followed by a short silence. "I don't want to see you get into trouble. Plus, you know it's not right to do that."

She lowers her head. "I know."

"Does this have anything to do with the other night in the living room when I came in and asked you where Carson was?"

She peeks back up at me and nods. "Yeah. I tricked him into admitting a bad grade he got then threatened to tell Mom."

The shameful expression on her face is only because I've discovered what she's done, not because she feels bad for Carson. It's the same look she gets _every_ time I discover her blackmailing Carson. Hailey looks up to me a great deal, and she's always seeking my approval, but she can never help herself. And when she gets sloppy--which isn't often--like she has with this whole phone business, she takes it really hard when I catch her.

I wipe my mouth and swallow down a mouthful of cinnamon roll. "Okay, well, I'm gonna give this back to Carson," I tell her, turning off the phone. "I know it's tough, but try to go easy on him."

"I'll see what I can do." She assures me, just as Mom and Dad burst through the kitchen door in their matching grey sweatpants and blue hoodies, jogging in place as if they've yet to realize they're inside now.

"Whew, jogging makes you feel great!" my dad exclaims, wiping his forehead with a towel. "I sure hope there's some cinnamon rolls left." He glances at our plates, then to the empty pan on the stove.

"Oh, umm...sorry. While y'all were out feeling great, we killed that pan of cinnamon rolls," I jokingly shrug, as if to say "your fault!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I should just rip open some bellies!" he shouts as he begins to tickle Hailey, causing her to laugh hysterically, which always causes us to do the same.

"I'll make some more," my mom says, walking toward me. "Hey there, Miss Cheerleader!" She wraps her arms around me, almost too tightly for me to breathe. She's taking full advantage of the agreement she made with me not to overreact... _in public_. So, as soon as she releases her death grip on me, I change the subject.

"Becca's gonna spend the night tonight. Her parents are going out of town to visit some friends," I say, shoveling in my last cinnamon roll.

"That's fine," Mom says.

"I'm spending the night at Maw Maw and Paw Paw's tonight. We're gonna rent movies." Hailey tells me, her focus remaining on Dad as she puts her plate in the sink.

"Cool, that sounds like fun," I mumble with a mouthful.

Then, giggling, Hailey pops Dad on the shoulder and sprints out the kitchen. He quickly turns in his chair and takes an unsuccessful swat at her with his newspaper just before she disappears.

"I'm going to take Hailey over there later, and I think Carson is having a friend over tonight, too," my mom says, arranging a new batch of cinnamon rolls.

"Yeah, and you and Carson don't forget my get-together is tonight," my dad reminds me. "There's going to be quite a few people here from my office."

"That's right, so y'all might want to hang out upstairs, maybe order some pizza or something," Mom suggests over her shoulder.

I glare at Dad. "Is Phil gonna be here?"

He looks up from his paper and chuckles. "Yeah, why?"

"Because he's always rude to Mom."

"I'm not gonna disagree with her," Mom quickly says.

My dad folds his paper, sets it down on the table and sighs. "Look, I know he can be a little overwhelming, but he's a good friend of mine, so just try to bear with me, please? Maybe just try to avoid him," he adds, looking at Mom and me. We don't say anything.

Phil's a prick, and it sucks he's going to be here tonight. I guess I'll just try to look forward to the pizza.

# 7

Near Exposure

"I mean, seriously, how cute is he?" Becca asks _again_ , slapping her book down on her lap.

I peek over at her with a grin--for like the fourth time--laying my book on my chest. "He is kind of cute."

I can't help but notice how odd Becca's behavior is as I look at her laying on the comfy green recliner, all hot and bothered, completely unable to focus on her book.

"Why in hell is he friends with Carson?" she mumbles, more to herself than to me, then slings her book back to her face.

"I don't know. Why don't you go talk to him? They're probably in there just playing video games. Nothing to be scared of." I should really take my own damn advice.

But it's a lot tougher for me to talk to guys. It always has been. Becca, on the other hand, has such a rough exterior, and I've surely never seen her struggle to talk to anyone. _Especially_ not guys. Last year, when she was dating her first boyfriend, she definitely wasn't the affectionate one in the relationship--unless you count the time she sweetly kissed him on the cheek after pushing him clean off a barstool for trying to grab a chicken tender off her plate. She wasn't a raving bitch or anything, but without a doubt, he was the affectionate one while she called the shots. And there was surely no reckless disregard for her reading material, staring blankly at ceilings, or repeatedly blabbing about how cute he was throughout the course of their relationship. So it's pretty cool to see this side of her.

She simply shrugs at my suggestion to go talk to him.

"Okay, clearly you like him," I say, sitting up on my bed.

"I don't like him," she replies. "I just think he's cute."

"Great, you don't like him. So go talk to him," I challenge. But instead of being the Becca I've always known, who would have jumped up from that recliner and marched down the hall with no fear, she just giggles and covers her face with her book, turning on her side to face away from me.

"It's too weird with Carson in there," she says, her voice muffled by the book. "What's his name again?"

I grab my book and lay back down, smiling. "Brian Crepple. Not that you care, though, right?"

"Nope."

"Pizza's here!" my mom suddenly hollers from the top of the stairs. We both jump up and run to the door as if someone just tossed a live grenade through my window. My mom told us earlier she was going to order "three or four" pizzas for us. So Becca and I decided it was imperative to get there first so we could seize control of two of the pizzas in case there were only three. The only problem is, although we made several attempts, we never discussed a detailed plan on how to accomplish that since Carson's room is right across from the stairs, and we have to run the length of the hall to get there. This lack of discipline and preparation could very well cost us a pizza, which I'm not okay with.

As we head down the hall, we notice four pizzas sitting on the end table by the stairs as Carson darts out his room, beating us to them.

"Thank you!" Becca snaps, ripping two pizzas from Carson's grip.

He throws his hands up. "Hey!"

"Make sure those are pepperoni," I tell Becca, pointing to the two in her hands. She quickly inspects them as Carson checks the ones on the table.

"These are supreme," Carson smiles.

"Pepperoni," Becca says. Then she glances at Brian, who is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and grinning.

"You want pepperoni?" she asks him shyly.

"No, I'll eat supreme. Thanks, though," he smiles.

After a few silent, awkward seconds pass, I can tell Becca wants to keep talking to him, but for the first time ever she's not sure how to do that. So I grab the pizza from her hands and walk into Carson's room.

"What game are y'all playing?" I ask, setting the food down and turning to the TV.

"Halo 4," he responds.

Carson and I take a seat on the floor while Becca and Brian settle next to each other on the edge of the bed, and for the next ten minutes or so, the pizza we all made a mad dash for sits on the desk untouched. As Carson explains the game to me, I can hear Becca giggling as she and Brian talk. Their conversation bounces back and forth between Halo 4 and other random questions and statements such as "I'm not good at video games at all, but I love the graphics" from Becca, and "Really? Yeah, the graphics are cool, and it's fun to play once you get the hang of it" from Brian, and "where do you go to school, and what grade are you in, and what kind of music do you listen to..." All the normal stuff.

I was happy the two of them were getting a chance to talk, but the pizza was starting to make my stomach growl. And knowing I'd have to be the one to bust up this four-party gathering, I abruptly stand and rub my stomach.

"I'm starving! This game is awesome, Carson. You'll have to let me play sometime." I pat him on the shoulder.

"Sure," he says, never averting his eyes from the screen.

As I'm walking to the desk to grab our two pizzas, I realize we have no plates or drinks. And as much as I hate the idea of going down to the kitchen in the middle of my dad's annual office get-together, I want to give Becca and Brian as much time to talk as possible. So I volunteer.

"I'll be right back, I'm gonna go get plates," I say, then quickly walk out before Becca can offer to go in my place.

Now, my only concern about going down there is possibly running into Phil talking to my mom. Phil is a petroleum engineer who works at the Exxon refinery plant in downtown Baton Rouge. He and my dad became close friends during their college days while sharing an on-campus apartment at LSU, so Dad invites him every year.

The problem I have with Phil is he likes to lord his intelligence over people. And my mom is his prime target every time he sets foot in this house. Without a doubt, he was one of those nerdy guys in high school who probably got picked on every day and is now successful, and likes to make people feel dumb every chance he gets. I've seen him in the past practically chase my mom around this house to engage her in conversation, and somehow I've always kept myself away from the situation. But it infuriates me more and more with each passing year, and the fact that I'm starving and cranky at the moment surely doesn't help anything.

When I get halfway down the stairs, I peek around the wall to see what's going on. And of course, like a scene right out of a Lifetime movie, there stands my mom and Phil talking in front of the couch, about five feet from the path I have to take to get to the kitchen.

I get increasingly angry as I stand here and watch. Phil is babbling to my mom in his light grey suit and tie with his drink of choice in hand, his shiny bald head reflecting the bright light above him while his eyes cast a condescending look from behind a massive pair of round, thick glasses. Probably the same pair he wore in high school.

After staying put for a couple minutes in the hopes they would split up and walk away, I begin making my way down the stairs when I realize it may not happen anytime soon. As I hop off the bottom step and swing around the banister, I quickly realize _everyone_ is dressed in suits and ties and nice dresses, including my mom and dad, as they all mingle around holding their drinks, making this little office get-together look more like a high-class, fancy-pants cocktail party. I swear I don't remember them ever being this formal in the past. I'm definitely feeling out of place in my black and white Nike Tempo shorts--which my dad always tells me are too short--and an old green Mardi Gras t-shirt I caught at the Bacchus parade in New Orleans several years ago. All this while sporting a sloppy side ponytail, fresh off my pillow after an hour of reading.

But despite my bold dress code violation, Phil is still my main concern by far. As I speed-walk to the kitchen door, hoping I'm somehow invisible to everyone, I hear Phil say to my mom: "I had to keep my son home from school for a week so he wouldn't spread poison ivy to the other kids." He's still glaring at her as he always does, waiting for her opinion on the matter so he can shred it to pieces.

As I burst through the kitchen door, I'm happy to see it harbors no cocktail party-goers. I feel extremely proud that I kept my cool after hearing Phil's voice. And after rounding up some paper plates and a six-pack of Cokes, I'm fairly confident I'll be able to sprint back upstairs without making any tongue-lashing pit stops.

But when I walk back into the living room, I notice my mom and Phil now standing much further away, over by the double doors as if my mom has unsuccessfully tried to escape to the front yard. Or perhaps after noticing me walk into the kitchen, she tried to lure him away, knowing I would come back through. Either way, he's still attached to her side, taking little jabs at her, relentlessly trying to engage her in his choice of conversation.

Phil is definitely the one exception to my non-confrontational personality. It makes my blood boil to see my mom under constant fire by him, and as I'm once again speed-walking to the stairs, I quickly discover that despite my mom's attempt at relocation, I'm still within earshot of them as I hear Phil's voice once again in mid-sentence. "...and so Exxon has to suffer from these frivolous lawsuits, you know what I mean?" he says, wide-eyed and using elaborate hand motions as if he's talking to a child.

"So, tell me what you think about that," he continues, staring Mom down while sipping his drink.

Apparently, I'm not as in control of myself as I previously thought, because before I know it I'm walking toward them as if it's out of my hands completely. As if someone grabbed my shoulders and violently shoved me toward them with absolutely no regard for my wishes to dart up to my room unnoticed, unspoken to, and unprovoked.

They don't even seem to notice my casual approach, and I waste no time once I'm within speaking distance of them.

"First of all, poison ivy is only contagious within an hour of contact...so congratulations, you've fallen victim to a ridiculous myth," I begin, my eyes narrowed, my demeanor strict, and my words sharp and to the point, in order to clearly convey to him my anger at his behavior toward my mom.

"And tell me what _you_ think of Exxon raising their product price to cover the cost of their rising insurance premiums as a result of these frivolous lawsuits you speak of. And tell me again who suffers? Should I assume you understand this cycle, or is this another myth that has you confused?"

Moms eyes grow round, and I immediately regret everything I just said. I'm now hoping I haven't opened a can of worms that can't be cleaned up, as I stand here with no idea what to say or do next.

Then suddenly, I hear Becca's voice behind me.

"We're starving up there!" she exclaims as she snatches the Cokes from my hand, then grabs my arm and pulls me toward the stairs.

I can always count on Becca to be there when I need her, and her timing couldn't have been more perfect just now.

* * *

As we wake up and wipe the sleep from our eyes the next morning, Becca and I giggle while looking around my room. We can't help but notice the empty pizza boxes, napkins, paper plates, and Coke cans scattered all over the floor. There's even a plate at the foot of my bed, which actually received its very own thirty seconds or so of laughing, pointing and conversing about. The place looks a bit like a college dorm room after a night of heavy partying, loud music, dancing, drinking, and possibly even doing something we now regret.

"Last night was fun," Becca says, her laugh fading.

"Yeah, it was," I reply. Then we briefly reflect in silence. "I'm glad my mom didn't get mad at me about the whole Phil issue."

"Please, she was thrilled about it when she came up here and talked to us last night. How did she say your dad explained it to Phil again?"

"He told Phil he and I were coincidentally discussing frivolous lawsuits the other day," I remind her. We both laugh again.

"That's hilarious," Becca says.

Another silence follows.

"So..." I finally say, sitting up and giving Becca a suggestive look. "What's the deal with Brian?"

I'm dying to know all the juicy details. Last night we stayed in Carson's room until about midnight, then headed back to my room, gobbled up the last bit of pizza, then fell fast asleep. She talked to Brian nonstop, so I know she has a ton to tell me. But instead of being crazy-excited like I thought she would be, her eyes drop and her expression turns serious.

"He has a girlfriend," she says quietly.

That sucks, big time. I feel for her.

"Oh," I simply reply.

"But he did say it's not going well, and he doesn't think it's gonna last." She looks up, her face brightening.

I look up as well and crack a smile. "He definitely seemed to be into you," I assure her. And I'm not just saying that, he really did seem to like her.

"You think so?"

"Definitely. It was obvious. I'll get Carson to keep me posted on what's going on with him."

A look of relief washes over her face as she smiles and nods. "Cool, thanks."

# 8

Cheerleading Horror

The next few weeks were a nightmare, to say the least, regarding my little cheerleading endeavor.

Aside from the fact that Summer was announced co-captain under Alison the Monday after I signed up, my extreme lack of coordination immediately began wreaking havoc on the squad. And even though this came as no surprise to me whatsoever, the level of my embarrassment was not diminished in the slightest. I'm just lucky that due to the small size of the student population, there were no try-outs...or perhaps I'm _unlucky_ in that sense. I've yet to make a clear decision on that.

But I still waited in fear for them to tell me to leave--and possibly even hand me a restraining order--with each passing incident.

As if it wasn't enough when I lost my grip on one of my pom-poms during a cheer, nearly taking off the girl's head in front of me--I also straight up punched the girl next to me right smack in the neck when I inadvertently inched too close to her during our "Fight Grizzlies Fight" cheer.

But without a doubt, the almighty king of all horrific moments came when I accidentally tripped Alison, our senior captain, as we were running to the middle of the floor to set up in formation, causing her to fall and badly sprain her ankle.

However, what happened as a result of that accident really put the "most horrific" stamp of approval on that moment. Alison showed up to school the next morning, wobbling around in one of those strap-on walking casts which stops about four inches below the knee, and announced she wouldn't be able to cheer for a while. Possibly even for the rest of the season.

I was mortified. And even a little terrified, quite honestly. Not only had I roughed up one cheerleader and almost decapitated another with my pom-pom missile, but I've now successfully taken out our leader. And believe me, when Alison walked into the gym with that cast on her foot, I wanted to either hide under the bleachers, quit school immediately and run away from home, or make a mad dash to the bathroom to dye my hair then change my name. But since none of these solutions were really practical or even possible--only because I had no hair dye in my bag--I just turned away immediately and inched as close as I could to Becca, just in case an angry mob came charging at me.

Despite all this, believe it or not, the situation managed to get even worse. Not knowing when or how this information would come out, I was so busy trying to hide my face and avoid everyone, especially Bryson and the squad, it never even dawned on me until I was walking to practice that evening that when a leader goes down, their second-in-command takes over. And sure enough, once again making my dream a reality, Summer became captain of the squad that day. But to my surprise, despite my fears of her bullying me and making my life completely miserable as captain, she actually kind of left me alone the following two weeks.

She's made some general comments to the squad as a whole, such as, "Some of us need to get our act together so this squad isn't embarrassed on game night," and "If you can't get the hang of the moves, you should leave. Cheerleading is not for everyone."

I actually couldn't agree with her more. I would love to leave, but obviously I'm here for a reason.

Summer's unwillingness to direct those statements to me--even though everyone knows who she's talking about--or to even look me in the eyes at any point is surely due to the fact that Becca makes random pit stops to the caf, which is where we practice after school since the boys have the gym. She looks in on us, sometimes even pacing back and forth with her arms crossed as she watches, as if she's a professional choreographer and we're one of her many squads she pops in on during the day.

Another reason might be because of my budding friendship with Holly, who is now co-captain of the squad. I don't think I would have made it past that first week if it wasn't for her. She's been coming to my house every other night or so during the week to help me practice the cheers and get the hang of all the moves. And strangely enough, I'm getting much better. Which is a good thing since our first game is only four days away.

* * *

As I'm walking to Becca's house bright and early, all I can think about is the fact that it's Friday and how super-excited I am to have a break from cheerleading practice...and all the fake smiles, embarrassment, and hanging out with Summer that goes along with it. You definitely burn out twice as fast when you're doing something you don't enjoy.

After letting myself in through the front door--which is left unlocked for me every morning--I come around the corner and into the kitchen to find Becca about to pour milk into a bowl full of Fruity Pebbles.

"Wait! Don't pour that! Put it away," I demand, pointing to the refrigerator.

She freezes and carefully looks over her shoulder at me, as if I just saved her from pouring gasoline on a smoldering fire.

"Why?" she asks cautiously.

I slowly pull out two of my mom's delicious omelets from my bag, then slam them on the bar.

"Boom!" I yell.

"Nice!" She drops the carton on the counter, causing milk to splash through the opened top.

I laugh hysterically as I watch her race over to the omelets, hop on the barstool, and begin clawing off the aluminum foil as if it were a birthday present she's asked for her entire life.

"So, you're not hungry, right?" I joke. But she's too far gone in her little omelet world at this point to even acknowledge my existence. So I just continue to laugh as I put my bag down and make my way to the counter to clean up her abandoned Fruity Pebble mess. Then I walk back to the bar and take a seat across from her.

"Well, I asked Carson this morning, and he said things are pretty much the same with Brian. He's still dating that girl," I tell her, hoping to see less disappointment on her face this time.

She shrugs while chewing, never looking up from the omelet that's about two inches from her bottom lip, and I realize this may not be the best time to get a read on her emotions. That omelet is more important to her at the moment than Brian could ever be.

But just as I'm thinking that, she glances up at me with sad eyes and says, "Thanks for letting me know," followed by a half-hearted smile.

I feel awful. I know she really likes him, and there's nothing I can do about the situation. I was kind of hoping that despite her unnatural, unhealthy, and perhaps even a little disturbing fixation on those omelets, maybe she actually _was_ starting to not care so much. I think that would be for the best.

I watch her, not knowing how to respond, as she looks down and takes another bite.

"I still think he'll come around," I end up saying, reaching over and patting her forearm.

# 9

Confrontation

I'm nervously fast-walking to my locker after fourth period. All week long, the conditions have fallen perfectly into place for Bryson and I to cross paths and chat privately for an amazing few minutes--hopefully amazing for _both_ of us. The basketball team has had a meeting before lunch all week in the science lab at the end of the hall, and Becca usually gets stuck for a few minutes past the bell in her fourth period class because of her long-winded economics teacher.

Even though I get here every day long before Bryson walks by, I'm worried as usual as I approach my locker. Worried that perhaps, for some reason, he passed by early this time, and I've missed my chance to get a step closer to him, and now he thinks I don't like him because I wasn't here, and now he'll never ask me out, and I'll never get my first kiss from him, and he'll never ask me to be his girlfriend, and we'll never get married and have kids together and grow old together and my life has absolutely no meaning whatsoever now...

...dramatic, I know. But as hard as I try, I can't stop that ridiculous string of scenarios from zipping through my mind every day as I stand here. It's kind of funny how guys can make you nuts sometimes.

Just as I'm calming myself down and pretending to shuffle books around in my locker to kill time, I look over and notice him coming down the hall. I quickly look straight ahead back into my locker and continue on with the whole book-shuffling charade, only now I'm pretending for _him_ and no one else in the crowded hallway.

I monitor his approach from the corner of my eye, and when he gets relatively close I turn to him and smile.

"You ready for the big game next week?" he asks with a grin as he walks up, holding the strap of his backpack.

I playfully roll my eyes. "Ugh...yeah, I hope so."

To my amazement, I'm getting much better at this whole flirting thing. Despite my genius, three weeks ago I wouldn't have even been able to tell you what the word meant, let alone accomplish it. But I must say it's coming along nicely the more practice I get.

The only reason I playfully expressed concern about being ready for next week's game just now is because I mentioned to him the other day how nervous I was since I'd never cheered before. I could be wrong, but to the best of my knowledge, he knows nothing about my week-long reign of terror over the squad during our practices, or even that I'm the one responsible for that big, bulky, black boot on Alison's foot. And even though I don't see how he couldn't know--since gossip travels around this school faster than the plague--he hasn't said a word or asked me any questions about it. This means one of two things: either he doesn't know, or he knows but doesn't care. After thinking about it for a minute, neither scenario is all that bad.

As we continue to stand here in front of my locker, chatting and giggling, I notice Becca a little ways down the hall making a pit stop at the water fountain when she sees Bryson and me talking. She proceeds to waste time, drinking an unhealthy amount of water from the fountain and pretending to be totally engrossed in her phone, frequently looking up at us and grinning.

"'K, well, I better get to this little meeting," Bryson says, nodding in the direction of the science lab. "Don't want to miss any of the fun."

I giggle. "K, bye."

"See ya," he says, lightly pinching my arm, giving me chills.

I close my locker door and head for the water fountain to meet up with Becca.

" _Sooo_ , how did y'all's daily chat go?" she asks as we begin making our way to the caf.

"Great as usual," I smile. But it was more than great, I'm on air right now. And just as I'm about to fill her in on everything that was said, I notice Summer glaring at me angrily while standing at her locker, surrounded by her posse of junior and senior cheerleaders, Alison included--strap-on cast and all--as they all follow Summer's lead and glare at me, as well.

My guess is Summer has once again seen Bryson and me talking and her anger has gotten the best of her, regardless of Becca's presence.

Clearly now the leader of the pack, she stands there bravely staring me down with her troops in line, and I'm seriously hoping by some chance Becca is not noticing any of this. In an attempt to increase that chance, I quickly begin telling her all about my conversation with Bryson, which will hopefully avert her attention even if she has noticed. It appears to be working and all seems well as we approach, until Summer takes a step back, half-facing her locker and half-facing me, now blocking my path.

I continue rambling on, desperately trying to maintain control of Becca's attention. As we get within a few feet, I nervously step to my left toward Becca to avoid contact with Summer. But before I even know what's happening, Becca grabs my arm and pulls me toward her, quickly side-steps behind me, then forcefully plows into Summer like a freight train into a semi. She flies back into Alison and Alex, causing the three of them to stumble backwards as they try to stay on their feet.

Summer throws her hands up, trying to regain her balance. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You're my problem, bitch," Becca quickly responds, her tone and expression even scaring me a little. She takes a step closer in their direction, clearly willing to take on the entire crew if necessary to get to Summer.

"I oughta knock your ass out," Becca says. Rather than being confident in their numbers, they all step back in fear even though Becca's eyes never leave Summer's face.

I'm horrified and extremely embarrassed as I cover my mouth with my hand to hide a string of silent sneezes. Unlike Becca's run-in with Summer a few weeks ago in the caf, we're actually drawing a decent-sized crowd of spectators. And the more the crowd grows, the more I want to run and hide.

As far as Becca is concerned, on the other hand, this building crowd of curious and excited students is non-existent. She's yet to take her eyes off Summer, who is now standing motionless in fear.

Just as I'm about to grab Becca's hand and pull her away from the situation for lack of a better idea, everyone suddenly starts to disperse. When I look over my shoulder I see why. Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Anderson, is cautiously making her way toward us, craning her neck to try and get a glimpse into the center of the crowd to see what's going on. But she's a hair too late.

As the crowd continues to scatter, Summer and her cheerleader clones are now frantically taking care of their locker business, loading and unloading books so they can quickly leave the situation, also.

"Next time I'm gonna take you out," Becca threatens as Summer scurries off. Then finally, after a minute of staring, Mrs. Anderson turns around and heads back to her room, and we begin making our way to the caf once again. Except now I'm shaking uncontrollably.

As terrifying as that whole episode was for me, I know Becca was only trying to protect me because I'm such a delicate wuss. Well, beating the hell out of a cheerleader is probably also an item on her bucket list.

But seriously, how many people can say they have a friend who would risk everything for them at the drop of a hat? Probably not many. I wouldn't change it for the world.

* * *

Becca smiles big as she reaches across the lunch table, putting the screen of her phone right up to my nose.

Now just to recap, Becca almost killed Summer, with four other cheerleaders nearly becoming collateral damage as a result, like seven minutes ago. I'm personally still reeling from the whole incident, and my hands have yet to stop shaking completely. But not Becca; she's like a machine. She does her killing and then moves on, free of fear and emotion. She's like a five-foot, three-inch, 105-pound dirty blonde terminator... _very_ impressive.

I pull my head back, uncrossing my eyes, and read the text on her phone from my brother Carson. " _Hey, dork face, Brian is breaking up with Emma today._ "

My eyebrows shoot up. "That's awesome!" I shout. "When did he send you that?"

"As I was walking out of fourth period," Becca says, pulling her phone back.

"Oh, so you really were texting by the water fountain."

"Yep," she smiles.

"Nice."

Then her smile slowly disappears and is replaced with a look of concern.

"Do you think he's doing that for me, though?" she asks, peeking up at me.

I nod while taking a sip from my water bottle. "You definitely played a part in it."

I understand Becca's worry, but I honestly wouldn't reassure her if I felt otherwise. He truly did seem to be all about her that night at my house, and I would be surprised if she wasn't the main reason for the break up.

Just as I'm about to tell her that, Holly walks up and takes a seat. She's been sitting with us at lunch once in a while over the past week or so, which is not an unusual thing for her. Holly is that extremely popular girl who has no strict loyalty to just one table in the caf, simply because she's friends with everyone. And as much as Summer hates the fact that she table-hops--especially to our table--she wouldn't dare say anything, because to go against Holly would be to go against the school.

I see the worry on Holly's face as she looks at me.

"Summer's still bothering you?" she asks, head tilted.

I mash my lips together and nod.

"She's a total bitch," Becca says. "She can't handle seeing Dori and Bryson talking."

"Yeah, I know. I saw all the commotion in the hall a minute ago." Holly glances from Becca to me. "I don't know why she acts like that. She's definitely starting to get on people's nerves on the squad, and it's only gotten worse since she's become captain."

"Yeah, about that," I frown, "Why aren't _you_ captain?"

Holly's not one to complain about anything, ever. But when I ask that question, she shrugs in frustration. I can tell it's a sore subject she keeps to herself.

"Because _my_ mom's not best friends with Mrs. Janice," Holly says.

Mrs. Janice is our coach. The situation is a real shame because Holly is probably the best cheerleader on the squad and was pretty much robbed of the co-captain position from the start. I don't know how she's been able to hide her frustration so well.

I just shake my head.

"She needs a beating is what she needs," Becca mumbles, stirring her salad.

Holly chuckles as she stands up. "No argument here. See y'all this evening?"

"Yep," we reply as she walks away.

One more training session with Holly to tie everything together before next week's big game. Hopefully all goes well.

* * *

"Go...Grizzlies...Go, Fight, Win!" Hailey yells, cheering along with Holly and mimicking her every move.

I clap with approval from my fold-out chair I dragged into the backyard. "Good job, Hailey," I smile.

" _Very_ good job," Holly agrees, patting Hailey's head. "You're gonna be one heck of a cheerleader."

Believe me, that's not just lip-service from Holly trying to make a seven-year-old feel good about herself. Hailey is fantastic, and she'll probably be as good as Holly in a few short years.

Despite the fact that I've joined the squad this year--against my will, of course--Hailey is going to be my mom's true pride and joy when it comes to cheerleading. Ever since she was three years old, she would watch Mom's cheerleading videos from high school--yep, the same ones I was borderline forced to watch--cheering along and shouting the words for hours. But the interesting part was when it came time to pull her away. You'd better be wearing shoulder pads and a helmet, because there was a ridiculous amount of intense flailing, kicking, screaming, closed-fist punching, and even occasional biting. And it didn't stop until she either fell asleep or was offered a Double-Stuf Oreo cookie. So, unlike most three-year-olds, she got a yummy double-stuffed snack every day before dinner.

But despite Hailey's imminent rise to cheerleading greatness, I guess my mom couldn't wait that long, which is why she's always wanted me to give it a try, despite my lack of interest and ability. And even though I've pretty much gotten the hang of it now--thanks to Holly--Hailey is without a doubt the real cheerleader in the family, and I can't wait to watch her in the coming years.

"Good job, girlie!" Becca yells, setting her grilled cheese sandwich down to clap along with me.

"Thanks," Hailey responds with a shrug, then skips toward the house to head inside.

Just as she reaches the door, she's met by Carson who is walking out--Then Brian walks out right behind him.

I look over at Becca, who now has a honey BBQ chip dangling from her mouth. She shoves the chip in and quickly chews it up and swallows it down, probably embarrassed to be sitting there with a plateful of food in her lap. I quickly hop up and reach over to snatch the plate from her, and as I'm sitting back down I notice the expression on her face rapidly change from super-excited to total disappointment. And I see why when I look back to the door and see a girl walk out behind Brian.

If it wasn't for the text Carson sent to Becca earlier, I would fully assume the mystery girl to be Emma. But I can only partly assume that now.

And just when it seems like things can't get any more confusing, Holly begins to jump up and down with excitement when she sees Brian.

"Brian! What are you doing here?" she yells, running over and hopping in his arms as if he's her husband returning home from war. Becca and I glance at each other, completely puzzled as if we've just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

The other girl, who we'll go ahead and call Emma until further notice, briefly looks up from her phone when Holly jumps on Brian. She has a look on her face as if she's not all that thrilled, yet she fully expected Holly's reaction.

"How have you been?" Holly asks, stepping back from the hug, her hands remaining on his shoulders.

"I've been good, how about you?" Brian asks.

"Great!" she replies, then looks at Emma. "Hey, Emma, how are you?"

"I'm good."

As Holly proceeds to talk to the now-confirmed "Emma" for a minute, Brian glances at Becca with a sort of sad grin, as if he's expressing disappointment and perhaps even apologizing for the whole scene.

Becca smiles back at him bravely, but I know her emotions are a mess right now.

Then she suddenly stands and says, "Well, I'm gonna go see what your mom is cooking so I'll know whether I need to go home or not." She laughs, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear her reason for leaving. As she walks by Brian, Holly, Emma, and Carson to get to the door, she politely smiles and says hi to all of them. I'm proud of her and hurt for her at the same time, and I'm extremely anxious to find out what's going on.

# 10

Uniform Fiasco

The next night, I finally decide it's time to go ahead and try on my cheerleading uniform for the very first time. Now with game time officially being only seventy-two hours away, if it doesn't fit for some reason, I'm pretty much screwed. But that would be no one's fault but mine. I should have done this a long time ago, and I did try several times. But every time, I got so nervous about the whole situation and ended up just throwing it back into my closet like it was infested with ants or something. I don't think I had fully come to terms with the idea of actually becoming a cheerleader at those times. It's kind of like I was just going through the motions and doing what I had to do at the moment so I could keep my genius hidden, with no real intention of _actually_ becoming a cheerleader. Putting on that uniform just made it all too real.

But now, it's as real as it gets. I'm all trained up by Holly, and in three days I'll be out on that gym floor. Or at home faking a stomach cramp, I've yet to decide which.

Becca sits on the comfy recliner with her feet up, looking kind of bummed as I toss my uniform on the bed.

"Please, let me text Carson and find out what's going on with Brian," I plead for the third time.

But once again, she shakes her head. "No. Carson is at his house right now. Anything you text Carson, Brian's gonna see it. It's too embarrassing."

Even though I understand where she's coming from, I still want to text Carson to find out what the deal is. But before I can say another word, she changes the subject.

"So, you ready to throw on that uniform and go downstairs and show everyone?" she giggles, obviously amused by the fact that my mom--who is surely armed with her camera by now--dad, and Hailey are waiting patiently in the living room for my grand entrance.

I give her a dirty look in the mirror as I slip on the skirt. She knew that would get a rise out of me.

"Give me the top," I demand, turning and pointing to the bed.

She hops up, biting her lip to hide a smile. "Yes ma'am," she mutters.

As I'm putting on the top, I can't help but think to myself how strange it is that Becca is so into the whole thing. Considering the fact that she hates cheerleaders and all. I knew she would be supportive over all, but I kind of pictured her just sitting back and staring, trying with all her might to refrain from making snide comments under her breath, and possibly from even tackling me and slapping me around a little to bring me to my senses. But nope, she just smiled and helped me out the entire time like a proud mom. Pretty cool.

Once everything is squeezed in, lined up, and straightened out, Becca steps back and plops down on the edge of the recliner with a huge smile on her face.

"Holy crap, you look so smokin' hot!" she exclaims, making me laugh. "Bryson is gonna go nuts. None of those cheerleaders are nearly as hot as you are."

"I don't know about that, but thanks," I say. Then I take one last look in the mirror before heading for the door. No reason to delay this first-floor circus any longer than necessary.

As we get halfway down the stairs and emerge from behind the wall, my mom quickly jumps to her feet like the couch is on fire. She immediately begins snapping pictures of me as if I'm her favorite rock star walking on stage. I must have seen a hundred flashes before I made it to the bottom step. Meanwhile, Hailey puts together a string of quick little claps while smiling broadly and bouncing up and down on the couch. And my dad--whose reaction is my favorite--just throws his hands up and his head back and says, "Aw, man, boys will be able to see right up that skirt."

Typically, my dad is way off when it comes to this. It doesn't matter what I wear; it's always too short and somehow boys manage to "see right up it." Knee-length pencil skirts, board shorts, jeans, sweat pants...you name it, it's too short. But he might actually be on to something this time. This skirt is ridiculously short, even though he still may be exaggerating just a hair. Before he can open his mouth again, though, my mom totally shuts him down.

"No, that skirt is not too short. Now just sit there and keep your mouth shut," she snaps. She never talks to Dad that way, but he's on dangerous grounds at the moment. Criticizing anything having to do with my cheerleading gig-- _probably_ not the best idea.

I can tell he wants to say something else, but he chooses to obey as he sits back with his arms crossed, shaking his head and looking at me.

"These are going to be some good pictures for your scrapbook!" Mom exclaims, excited and giddy.

I briefly glance back at my dad. As much as I too wanted him to keep his mouth shut several weeks ago in the kitchen, I find myself now wanting him to speak up and bail me out of this mess. I want him to jump off that couch, throw his hands up and wave them around like he's calling timeout on the field. I want him to demand I march upstairs, change out of that scandalous uniform and never even think about putting trash like that on again, therefore ending my new-found cheerleading career. That way, it's not my fault at all because Daddy made me quit, and hopefully I'd still be able to keep my genius a secret.

But unfortunately, that's wishful thinking. In reality, he's not going to do anything but sit here and roll with the punches. And I can't say I blame him; I wouldn't go against my mom on this matter either, if I were him.

Hailey hops up and walks over to me, still smiling, and starts rubbing the skirt, like it's a lamp with a genie in it. "I like it, Dor. You look so good in it," she says, fascinated.

I look down and stroke her ponytail. "Thanks, girlie."

"You really do look amazing, sweetie," Mom agrees, peeking over the top of her camera at me.

I really do wish I could somehow enjoy this moment with my mom, but I can't seem to make it happen. I'm starting to feel sick, in fact. Suddenly, an overwhelming need to leave the room hits me like a ton of bricks.

"Well, I'm gonna go take this off. I figure I'll be wearing it enough over the next few months," I say, then turn and speed-walk to the stairs.

"I need a Kardashian break," I whisper to Becca as I zip by. She quickly turns around and follows close behind me up the stairs.

That's right, we don't only watch the Kardashians for pleasure; it's also a stress reliever for us, weird as that may be. And it's exactly what I need at the moment.

# 11

Clarification

Becca's been in a weird mood all morning, and it definitely goes beyond her typical Monday blues. We haven't really talked about it much, other than me jokingly asking her what's wrong a few times, and her shrugging, saying "Nothing," then changing the subject. But if I had to guess, I'm thinking she's probably feeling awkward about running into Holly after what happened at my house the other day, which is probably also causing her to think about the situation with Brian.

When Bryson and I were having our little daily chat session before lunch by my locker-- _he_ was waiting for _me_ this time, by the way--I abruptly cut our conversation short as soon as I noticed Becca leaving her fourth period classroom. I hated to do it, and I'm hoping Bryson didn't take it the wrong way, but Becca is more important and she's clearly upset this morning.

As we approach each other, she cocks her head and frowns at me, puzzled. "Y'all finished already?"

And even though Bryson and I are _never_ finished talking by the time Becca walks out of class and she _always_ has to kill time, for some reason I didn't expect that question.

"Yep, I'm starving," I say dismissively. "I hope there's still some brownies left."

Luckily, she doesn't explore the topic any further. We just start heading to the caf.

"Me, too," she agrees.

When we get there, we both notice Holly sitting at our table as we make our way to the lunch line. This is strange only because Holly is never there before we are. Once we get our salads, large water bottles, and a delicious peanut butter brownie--which typically only comes with the hot lunch tray, but the lunch lady has been sneaking us one with our salads ever since we expressed interest in them last week--we head over to our table.

"Hey!" Holly greets us with her normal enthusiasm as she watches us take our seats.

I glance over at Becca as she sits, curious to see her reaction, but she simply smiles and says hey as I do. Then, after a few seconds of awkward silence, Holly leans forward and narrows her eyes at Becca from across the table.

"Do you like Brian?" she suddenly asks.

Becca looks up at Holly, off-gaurd and mouth full of salad, like she's wondering if the question was for her. She glances at me and then back at Holly, at a loss for words. It's definitely a tricky question, not knowing Holly's reason for asking. Is she interested in Brian herself? Does she think it's inappropriate because he's with Emma? Is she simply curious?

I just don't know. And with there being no real way for me to help, I just sit here and watch Becca struggle to come up with a response.

Then out of nowhere, Becca becomes totally relaxed, reaches for her water bottle, shrugs and says, "Yeah, a little."

I glance at Holly, but before she can respond, Bryson's hand suddenly comes down between us, putting two peanut butter brownies on my plate next to my salad. I turn and look up at him as he stands there holding his hot lunch tray.

"I'm not gonna eat 'em," he smiles, then continues on to his table.

I sling my head around to watch him walk off. "Thanks!" I call after him, my insides a jumbled mess.

"Ooh, Dori and Bryson...sounds cute!" Holly teases.

I feel myself start to blush, and I see Becca grinning across from me. I have to say, it's great to see her finally smile today. But then Holly turns her focus back to Becca, once again all business, as if someone flipped a switch.

"No, I was just wondering. I mean, I wasn't too sure, but I could tell the other day that, you know, you might kind of like him."

Becca puts her fork down and scrunches her face in thought. "Yeah, kinda," she says, then pauses. "I mean, have you two ever..."

"No!" Holly shrieks, as if it would be like dating her brother. "No, no, no, Brian and I have been best friends since like first grade at Blackwater Private."

"Oh, okay," Becca nods in relief.

"Yeah, then I left and came here last year, and he started at Central Private this year. We just haven't seen each other in a long time, that's all."

Becca nods again. "And Emma?"

"Ugh. Emma's not good for him." Holly rolls her eyes. "Even though Brian has that sort of bad boy look, he's a sweetheart, and she pushes him around a lot. But I think he's actually trying to break up with her right now...it just might take him a while. He's too nice."

Becca leans forward and places her forearms on the table. "Well, thanks for telling me all of this. I was definitely confused."

"I can imagine!" Holly laughs. "But, yeah, I just wanted to clear everything up in case you liked him."

"So, that's cool. Now you just have to wait," I grin, looking at Becca.

"Yeah, because it definitely looks like he's interested in you," Holly confirms.

Becca looks down at her salad and cracks another smile.

# 12

Bus Ride

"You ready?" Becca asks as she walks up to me.

I tilt my head and shrug with uncertainty. "Guess I have to be."

I turn and gaze back out the caf window at the fancy, massive Hotard bus sitting in the parking lot.

It's finally Tuesday, or as better known around Stargate, Game Day. And I'm about to board that luxurious machine and head for Slidell, which is about an hour and a half away.

The good news is that my mom won't be riding on the bus with us. But the bad news is Becca won't be, either; they'll be following behind in my mom's car. Other than the players and cheerleaders, you have to have a ticket to ride the bus, and they're difficult to come by because they pretty much go to the parents who help out with the sports programs every year. Like Alison's mom, who helps out financially with the cheerleading squad.

So I'm nervous about the bus ride, to say the least. With no Becca, who will I sit with? And will Summer bother me? It wouldn't be quite as bad if we were just going down the road, but once again we're talking about an hour and a half ride. Maybe I'll luck out at the last minute and the bus will break down or something, forcing everyone to take their own vehicles. Unlikely, I know, but a girl can dream.

As if the bus ride and the game itself wasn't enough to rattle my nerves, I also had to wear my cheerleading uniform to school today. It's customary on game days. I have to admit, at first I was extremely embarrassed at the idea of even wearing that thing to the _game_ , much less prancing up and down the halls at school all day long with it on. I don't even wear shorts to school, for crying out loud; that's the extent of my modesty. Yet, here I am in this booty-showing attire, trying to sit just right in every class so nothing falls out. I'm constantly pulling down this teeny-tiny skirt which seems to ride up a few inches every time I sit down, stand up, stand still, walk, talk, eat, breathe, and think...I kid you not. So I can imagine cheering and kicking my legs around and all that later on at the game is going to be _really_ interesting.

Now, here's my somewhat naughty confession: as the day went on, the uniform bothered me less and less. Particularly when I caught Bryson practically staring at my legs three different times--once in the hall when I was taking a drink from the water fountain, and twice in the classroom during one of the classes we share.

The first time I noticed him looking, a strong mixture of emotions ran through me. The main one, without a doubt, was embarrassment. I was kind of wishing I had a blanket in my backpack to throw over my legs and cover myself. But then a slight feeling of excitement slowly began to rise up, and by the time I caught him for the third time in the hall, it was _all_ excitement. I almost wanted to show him even _more_ , but that would have pretty much required taking the uniform off completely. So, obviously, I went against that idea.

Becca reaches over and pats me on the shoulder, obviously noticing my worried expression.

"You're gonna do great, Dor. You're ready for this," she assures me. "And just try to sit with Holly on the bus if you can."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I say as we walk out and begin making our way to the parking lot.

"And don't worry about Summer, she's not gonna bother you. She knows I'm coming."

I nervously tug my skirt down. "Yeah, I think you've pretty much scared her off for now."

"Hey, don't pull that thing down!" Becca fusses. "How is Bryson gonna see your goodies?"

Becca would say something like that. I laugh, then become embarrassed.

"Any more staring I need to know about?" she asks, leaning toward me and raising an eyebrow.

"Not yet," I say with a wide smile.

As we walk around the bus, I notice my mom getting out of her car sans Hailey, who desperately wanted to attend this game. Honestly, I thought Hailey would win that battle.

"So," I begin sarcastically as we walk up, looking all around the car. "Where's Hailey?"

My mom's expression goes from happy to annoyed in a split second, her head falling forward as she glares at me. As I expected, it's a sore subject.

"At home, not happy. I couldn't let her stay out till ten or whenever we get back."

Becca and I both laugh.

"You better sleep with one eye open, Mrs. Christie," Becca jokes.

"Believe me, I've already thought about that," Mom replies, her eyes widening.

After tossing our backpacks in the backseat, Becca pulls me around the back of the SUV and points across the parking lot. When I look, the picture is so incredible that it gives me chills all over.

I see Bryson standing there, one foot crossed over the other, all dressed up for game day like the rest of the team. He's wearing a fitted black, button-down Express shirt--the sleeves rolled up to his elbows--with a gray tie, and amazing gray dress pants. He's talking to a couple of his friends as he leans against his restored, dark green '69 Camaro Z28.

Up until about fifth period, I was so worried about my cheerleading uniform and what Bryson was thinking of me that I didn't really notice how ridiculously hot _he_ was looking. But as I stand here watching him lean against his sexy muscle car, it's almost too much for me to handle.

"That's pretty nice, huh?" Becca says quietly over my shoulder.

I can only nod at first. I'm in a daze so intense my sobriety and drug-free lifestyle could definitely be called into question by a total stranger.

"Yeah," I finally mutter. Then, complete silence again.

"Well," Becca begins, "y'all's kids are gonna look great, that's for sure."

"Shut up," I laugh, breaking out of my trance, playfully shoving her on the arm.

When we get back around the vehicle, Becca and Summer happen to lock eyes as Summer boards the bus with her friends. Summer quickly looks away, terrified. I don't think she's interested in a third confrontation with Becca considering she might get her ass torn up next time.

"You're gonna give that girl nightmares," I say, looking at Becca. But she continues to stare at Summer as she climbs the steps, probably wishing her hands were around Summer's neck.

"Hopefully," she says.

After I somewhat calm Becca down and get her strapped in the front seat of the SUV, I say my goodbyes to her and my mom and nervously begin making my way to the bus, armed with my small blue and white "Stargate Grizzlies" duffle bag, mainly because it contains my cell phone, but also because all the other cheerleaders are taking theirs. The last thing I need is another reason to be the odd one out.

I look over at Bryson's car as I'm walking, but he's not there anymore. In fact, I discover he's nowhere to be found as I scan the entire parking lot, which is weird because I know I didn't see him get on the bus.

As I'm climbing the steps, the first person I see is Holly in the front seat to my right, talking and laughing with one of the other lower-classman cheerleaders. If these benches were big enough for three, I would happily plop down right there beside her, but I'm not that lucky today.

So I reluctantly start walking down the aisle, and the next person I happen to notice is Summer, sitting a few seats back on the right side as well. She's sitting by herself, obviously saving the seat next to her for someone. The two reasons I know this is because she's sitting on the aisle side of the bench, rather than the window side, so no one else can sit; and she surely would have been sitting with another cheerleader, not by herself.

But regardless, I'm quite sure she's not saving that seat for me, so I continue walking. As I pass by, she doesn't glance up at me or acknowledge my existence in any way, which I'm totally fine with.

I finally notice an empty seat a little further down on the opposite side, so I head straight for it. Once I get seated and situated, I wonder again where Bryson is. And when I catch a random glimpse of the back of Summer's head, I also begin wondering _who_ she might be saving that seat for...and if there's any connection.

After turning and peeking around my seat toward the back of the bus--which is where the basketball players are sitting--and still seeing no Bryson, I start digging through my bag for my phone so I can text Becca and ask her if she sees him anywhere in the parking lot. My curiosity is definitely getting the best of me at this point.

" _Hey, have you seen Bryson out there?_ "

As soon as I hit send, I look up and see him walking down the aisle with his black Nike bag slung over his shoulder. My heart immediately drops into my stomach when I see him, and I quickly throw my phone back into my bag.

Right away, I notice him casually glance at Summer, so I look that way, as well. I'm just in time to see her smile at him and slide across the two-seater bench toward the window, inviting him to sit next to her. But instead of accepting her offer, he politely smiles and continues walking right past her, looking as if he feels bad for doing it.

I, on the other hand, feel enormous relief. Even though I've seen them talk many times--mostly because Summer runs up to him and starts talking--and it's no big deal, it would have been really tough to watch them sit together the entire trip, having no idea what they're talking about or how well they're getting along or if they're exchanging numbers or what. And even though I really didn't think he would actually sit with her instead of his buddies at the back of the bus, it still felt great to see him pass her up. It was almost even greater to see her sad, shocked reaction.

As he continues walking, he suddenly looks right at me with those breathtaking, light brown eyes--which match his bangs that fall just short of his eyebrows--and gives me a huge smile. I smile right back at him, happy that he chose not to sit with Summer, and also super-excited to turn and watch him walk to the back of the bus in those incredibly hot, fitted dress pants.

But then I notice him slowing down the closer he gets, the whole time his eyes never leaving mine. Out of nowhere, it hits me like a wrecking ball that I was so caught up in what Summer was trying to accomplish that I totally forgot _I_ was sitting alone also. Even though Bryson and I have talked a million times, it never crossed my mind for a second we would sit together on this trip. Or that he would rather sit with me than with his friends, or that he would do that in front of his friends even if he wanted to.

But regardless of all my sporadic, analytical thoughts, here he is, slowing down and gazing at me with a smile. As it turns out, I only thought I was nervous before. I'm now a complete wreck as he takes his last step and stops right next to my seat.

After hesitating for a second, he looks down at the edge of the bench, gestures toward it, then looks back up at me and asks, "Is this an open spot?"

Believe it or not, despite my nerves I was once again able to somehow pull it together and keep up our playful humor. I stick out my bottom lip a little and shrug. "I mean, I guess so," I joke as I slide to the window.

"'K, cool. I just needed somewhere to put my bag," he says as he tosses his bag on the seat next to me, then turns to the back of the bus as if he's going to continue walking. But before he takes a step, he quickly turns back around and laughs. "Just kidding! I totally don't trust you with my bag. I'm gonna have to stay here with it." He sits down next to me and puts the bag on his lap.

The butterflies in my stomach are completely out of control at this point, and I feel like I'm floating a few inches off the seat. I can't help but briefly turn my head and look down as I grin shyly, which I'm hoping he doesn't notice. So I quickly look back at him and say, "Yeah, that's probably smart. Because I definitely would have propped my feet up on it or something."

"Ah, you see. I knew it," he says, pointing at me and laughing. "Actually..." he continues as he stands back up, "I'm gonna put my bag up here so you can't get to it." He smiles, putting his bag in the fancy little storage cubby above my head.

"Oh, I can climb up there no problem," I assure him.

He laughs again and then looks back down, reaching his hand out to me. "Want me to put yours up there, too?"

"Sure." I smile and hand him my bag.

After storing mine, he plops back down on the seat and sighs. "So," he begins, looking over at me. "You excited about tonight, or more nervous?"

"Umm..." I hesitate, looking straight ahead. "50/50?" I respond uncertainly, looking back at him. I honestly have no idea how I feel.

He definitely picks up on the insecure vibes I'm giving off. Not to mention the fact that he already knows just how nervous I am because it was a pretty frequent topic in a lot of our hallway conversations. I guess maybe he was just hoping things had changed. But after seeing my expression, he sits there silently, looking at me and smiling as if he knows better. I look back at him and hold his gaze for a minute, returning the sweet smile.

"Okay, 80/20," I confess.

He chuckles and nods. "That's what I was thinking," he says. "I don't think you have any reason to worry, though. I think you're gonna do really well."

And just like that, a wave of confidence runs through me.

"You think so?"

"Yep. If it's anything like basketball, once you get out there and get started, you kind of forget about everybody in the stands, you know."

"Well, that's good. I hope that's the case for me," I smile. "But I am gonna try not to be so nervous."

"Definitely. 'Cuz that's only gonna mess you all up. Just try to pretend you're at home practicing."

I don't think there's anything in the world that could wipe the smile off my face at this moment. Not only is Bryson sitting next to me, he's trying to help me and make me feel as comfortable as possible. And yes, I've heard the "guys only want one thing" speech before, and I know how things work, but he truly does seem genuine. He could have any girl he wants; I surely don't think he would waste time on me.

"I'll definitely try that," I say, after grinning and silently staring at him for a few seconds like a freak.

Just as he smiles back at me, his phone rings overhead and he quickly jumps up to retrieve it from his bag. He then goes on to have a conversation with his mom...something about her maybe needing to borrow his car for the weekend. I couldn't gather much from the one-sided conversation. When he hangs up, I ask him if his mom is coming to the game.

"Yep," he nods. "She's following behind in her car. Is yours?"

I nod as well. "Yeah, her and Becca."

"That's cool. Yeah, my mom was just saying she might need my car for a while Saturday because hers is going in the shop for maintenance."

"Oh, okay. I _love_ '69 Camaros, by the way. That's an awesome car," I tell him.

He whips his head around in surprise. "How do you know what year it is?"

Without even thinking, I put my hands up and shrug. "Umm, the longer and lower body, the round headlights, the cowl-induction hood, the sculpted lines on the wheel wells..." I look at him as if to say, "Duh, obviously."

He leans away from me, shocked. And when he does that, it hits me that I totally should not know _any_ of that stuff.

In case I didn't mention it before, my genius extends to many topics, not just academics. Growing up, I had a desire for knowledge about _all_ things, and there probably isn't a book or magazine in the world I haven't read, so I'm an expert on many things that typically only guys would know about. I could rebuild that 302 V8 engine in his car for him by myself, knowledge-wise anyway. I'm quite sure I would need help with the heavy lifting due to the fact I have the physical strength of a six-month old.

As I sit here, now on the spot and nervous, I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Umm, my uncle had one years ago," I explain. Which is true, but not where my knowledge comes from. Even though I didn't technically lie, it was close enough and I felt bad about it.

"Oh, okay. I was about to say," he laughs.

Once that little "almost-disaster" was settled, we continue talking about his car for a while. Which pretty much consists of me asking him multiple questions about it as I just stare at him, gushing over every word coming from his mouth as he tells me all about how he, his uncle, and a friend of theirs completely restored the car from bumper to bumper. He includes all the interesting details such as problems they ran across while building the motor--while I struggle not to correct him on a few things he was wrong about--and taking out the back seat to lighten the car for speed, and painting the car, and so on.

That conversation eventually leads to me asking him about his uncle, and then about the rest of his family. This is a topic I know absolutely nothing about since all our hallway discussions typically went no further than basketball, cheerleading, and things we hate or don't hate about certain classes, teachers, and subjects. So I was definitely going to take this opportunity to really get to know him. I sadly come to learn he's an only child, and his dad left him and his mom when he was only five years old. He talks about it like it's no big deal at all, as if he's completely at ease with the situation at this point, but I'm definitely upset to hear it, and I struggle not to show my emotions. When he asks me about my family, I briefly hesitate because I feel bad about the fact that unlike him, I have a house full. So to lighten the conversation a little, even if only for myself, I joke a couple of times about how I wish I was an only child sometimes, because of how much Hailey and Carson get on my nerves.

To my delight, he finds that to be really funny as he throws his head back and laughs. I'm surprised overall by how excited he is to hear about everyone and how we all get along and how we don't get along and all that boring stuff.

Then once the whole "family" conversation finally started to fizzle, we began talking about movies and music for quite a while because, come to find out, we strangely have a lot in common in this area. We both love horror movies and have actually seen pretty much all the same ones. And, like me, his first choice of music is rock/alternative, with a few of our all-time favorite bands being Metallica, Nirvana, Green Day, Sabbath, and Zeppelin. We even listened to a few songs on Bryson's phone, which was awesome.

But the most interesting part is definitely toward the end of the trip, when our conversation somehow veers toward ex-boyfriends and girlfriends. I don't even remember how, to be honest, and obviously, I don't have much of anything to tell in that department. So I embarrass myself by being completely honest with him about the fact that I've never had a boyfriend, or dated, or even held hands with a guy, or talked on the phone with a guy or anything of the sort--and believe me, I desperately wanted to tell him _why_ I was so pre-occupied growing up, so maybe I wouldn't look like such a loser--Surprisingly he just grins and nods with a caring look on his face, as if he finds the whole thing endearing. I couldn't explain that one if I tried. Once again, I may know a lot of things, but I know absolutely nothing about what goes on in a guy's mind.

After I ask him about his situation, he starts telling me about a serious relationship he was in his sophomore year with a girl he went to Central High with.

"So, you said y'all dated for about a year?"

"Yep, right at a year, actually," he nods.

"What happened?" I ask, suddenly hoping he didn't mind my question.

"She actually moved to another state. Her dad was an engineer, and he got transferred."

"Sorry," I say.

But he just shrugs. "It was for the best," he says, then pauses for a second.

I briefly hesitate as well.

"Why?" I finally ask carefully.

"We kind of just...grew apart," he says. "This might sound weird coming from a guy, but I couldn't ever really have a good conversation with her. I mean, aside from looks, intelligence is the most attractive thing to me."

I cringe at his words. I've officially never wanted to blurt out my secret to anyone as much as I do right now. But even though he said that, it doesn't mean _my_ intelligence would qualify as attractive to him.

So I just peer at him and squint my eyes. "Well, what if by chance she was _way_ more intelligent than you are? Theoretically," I add. I watch him like a hawk, trying to gauge his immediate expression. I feel a little guilty about putting him on the spot with this random question--well, probably random to him, anyway--while at the same time hoping I didn't give anything away about myself. But I kind of need to know where he stands on the matter before this goes any further.

As much as I thought he would probably pause for a minute to try to come up with an answer he thought I wanted to hear, instead he casually shrugs almost before I complete the question and says, "That would be awesome. I would love for her to be smarter than me, she could help me with school." He grins at me, almost as if he knows, even though I know that's not possible.

Trying not to show my elation, I look away from him momentarily. Even though I know he said that without a true understanding of the situation, it was still great to hear. It was a step in the right direction.

Not wanting to give him any considerable amount of time to question my reasons for asking him that, or create any suspicion whatsoever, I quickly look back at him and reply, "Well, that might be kind of hard for you to find. Don't you get straight A's?" That was a little piece of information I heard through the grapevine.

He smiles modestly. "I try. Calculus is giving me a little trouble so far this year, though."

After looking straight ahead for like a second, he looks back at me as if an idea popped into his head. He leans toward me and raises an eyebrow. "You don't know anything about calculus, do you?"

Once again I cringe, because one, I can't help him, and two, I have no choice but to lie. I cover up my guilt with a half-grin and shake my head. "Sorry."

Ugh. I feel sick. This is already turning out to be a lot harder than I expected.

Out of nowhere, the bus comes to a stop. When we look out the window for the first time since we left, we're both surprised to see that we're there. I swear that hour and a half felt like twenty minutes, and I'm definitely not ready for it to end.

A really strange feeling washes over me when I see everyone stand from their seats, because it's as if they rose from underground, just appearing out of nowhere like in an old black and white zombie movie. For this entire trip, I don't recall hearing any voices, anyone laughing, giggling, joking around, or even noticing anyone at all, for that matter--just Bryson. Very weird.

After he stands, grabs our bags from overhead, and backs into the aisle for me to get out, I sadly realize it's time to come back down to Earth and make my way to the gym. I slide across the seat and stand up, as well, once again tugging my skirt down for more coverage. As we're walking to the front of the bus, I see Summer getting off. And I realize I completely forgot to take frequent peeks at her throughout the trip like I had originally planned, just to see how she hopefully _wasn't_ holding up.

As Bryson and I reach the door, I can now only think about how excited I am to tell Becca all about this amazing trip.

# 13

Game Time

As I hop off the bottom step of the bus, I see my mom and Becca getting out of the car on the other side of the parking lot.

"'K, well, I gotta go to the locker room with the team," Bryson says, nudging my arm with his elbow.

I turn to face him. "Okay," I smile.

Then we both pause for a second, looking at each other, not quite sure how to part ways after that amazing bus ride--amazing for me, anyway. Suddenly he leans in toward me for a hug...our first. As I wrap my arms around him, smelling the incredible scent of his cologne, body wash, or deodorant--I'm not sure which one, not like it matters--I start to feel weak all over, just like I've always heard, read about, and seen in all those mushy, romantic comedies but never fully believed or understood.

Yet here I am, experiencing it first-hand. When he pulls away and jogs off to join his teammates, I suddenly find myself right back up on that cloud I was forced to come down from when I got off the bus a second ago.

I turn back around just in time to see Becca scurrying up to me with a ridiculous smile on her face, as my mom stops to talk to one of the other moms.

" _Please_ tell me y'all sat together," she begs, wasting no time as she gets within a few feet of me.

And because I'm too flustered to speak at all at the moment, I simply press my lips together and nod quickly.

"I knew it!" she exclaims, exploding with excitement as if she's just won a million dollar sweepstakes. I laugh at her reaction.

"I knew it when I saw y'all hug just now," she continues. "Plus, I figured that's why you didn't answer my text earlier."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I say, then dig my phone out of my bag and peek at her text, which reads, "Yeah, he just got on the bus" with a smiley face.

"No big deal! I figured y'all might be sitting together. But don't worry, I didn't mention anything to your mom."

I roll my eyes. "Good. Thanks."

As far as I know, my mom and dad know absolutely nothing about Bryson, and I definitely want to avoid that conversation for as long as I can.

"Okay, tell me _everything_ y'all talked about," Becca demands, just as Holly comes skipping up to us from the gym.

She immediately corrects Becca as she comes to a screeching halt. "Umm, no, tell _us_ everything y'all talked about. Are you, like, floating right now?" Holly's eyes are wide and curious like Becca's.

I feel myself starting to blush as the two of them stare me down, waiting for my response.

"Yeah, definitely head in the clouds right now," I say, then look up at Holly. "I didn't even know you saw us sitting together."

"Oh, yeah, I was watching to see if he was gonna sit with Summer, because it was obvious what she was doing..."

"Wait," Becca interrupts, her eyes zipping between me and Holly. "Summer tried to get Bryson to sit with her?"

"Yep," Holly grins. "And he passed her right up and went straight to Dori."

Becca's head rolls back as she claps and laughs with pleasure. "I would have paid money to see that!"

"It was pretty great," Holly says.

Then strangely, out of nowhere, I start to feel slightly guilty about all the laughing and joking around at Summer's expense. That's insane, right? The girl wants to squash me like a bug for no better reason than the fact that Bryson likes me, as far as I'm aware. It can't be because I like him for the simple reason that _every_ girl likes him, including her three cheerleader besties who seem to be permanently attached to her hip these days. And I've surely never crossed her, or been mean or rude to her in any way. Yet she wants my head on a stick, and I'm standing here feeling bad about a little harmless, well-deserved ribbing behind her back.

I slowly bring my laughter down to a grin, and knowing my statement won't be popular, particularly with Becca, I shake my head and carefully say, "I feel kind of bad for her."

Their laughter stops immediately, followed by Becca glaring at me and then looking at Holly.

"Don't feel bad for her, Dor," Becca says, walking over and putting her arm around my shoulders. "Save that for when I bash her face in."

We giggle at Becca's brutal statement and then begin making our way to the gym. And because I know they're still dying to know what Bryson and I talked about, I begin filling them in on as much of our conversation as I can during the short walk.

* * *

I nervously stand on the baseline of the court in formation with the other cheerleaders, waiting for the teams to run out of their locker rooms. I've got a strong yet slightly sweaty grip on my pom-poms, ready to cheer.

As I stare at our team's locker room door, which is now partially open, I can see people pacing back and forth...standing still, then moving, getting ready to line up and run out. Even though I'd prefer not to be here at all, I tear my gaze away from the locker room and look over at the crowd of spectators in the bleachers, and just kind of take in the moment--this new, interesting world I've never been a part of.

I see the faces of so many loyal fans as I scan the crowd, fans who would probably die before agreeing to miss a single one of these games. Fans who are smiling and chatting and stuffing their mouths with various snacks from the concession stand like popcorn, candy, hot dogs, burgers, and nachos--all of which are making my mouth water. Fans who are staring anxiously at the court in anticipation for tip-off. I have to admit I'm also anxiously awaiting the start of this game, but for two very different reasons than this gym-full of die-hard, parental super fans.

First of all, the sooner the game starts, the sooner it's over. And second, I'm absolutely dying to see Bryson out there, sweating in his jersey and playing ball. Especially since I've heard that he was supposedly this basketball and baseball god at Central High. That is, until the administration discovered his Baton Rouge address was just outside the Central corp limit, and forced him to leave along with almost a hundred other students. Our coach immediately contacted him after hearing the news and talked him into coming to Stargate. _Note to self: send Coach Sullivan a fruit basket and a thank you card._

I look back to the locker room just in time to see our team running out on the court, led by Bryson who is team captain. Summer immediately starts jumping around and cheering, which ignites the squad to do the same. So I conform as well--feeling silly but well-trained at this point--and begin hopping up and down and clapping my pom-poms together while occasionally shooting them above my head and shaking them around, yelling things like "Come on, Grizzlies!" and "Let's go, Grizzlies!" and so on.

After warming up for a few minutes before heading to their benches for a last-minute huddle, the starting five players for both teams head out to center court to position themselves for tip-off.

Now, from what I've heard, we've never beaten this team. In fact, we've never even come within twenty points...yeah, pretty bad. And that's probably mainly because of the two six-foot, five-inch centers on their team, who are now seniors.

But things are looking more promising for us this year with the addition of our very own six-foot, four-inch senior center, and of course, Bryson.

Bryson is the point guard of the team despite the fact that he stands five-feet, eleven-inches tall--which is typically a little tall for a high school point guard--and again, from what I hear, he's incredible. If he was the star player at Central High, which has around 1,700 students, compared to our 500 students on the high school side, chances are he's going to be too much for this league to handle altogether.

The two centers finally square up for the jump while the other players surround them, crouched as if they're ready to pounce, as their other center drops back to our goal for defense.

When the ball is tossed, their center quickly tips it to their point guard. But before he can put the ball on the ground for a single dribble, Bryson slaps it from his hands, then explodes to the goal like a bolt of lightning, leaving everyone behind except for their other center who is waiting under the basket. Bryson charges straight toward him and without even a second of hesitation, he jumps almost clean over this oak tree with arms and effortlessly lays the ball in the basket, the back of his fingertips gently grazing the rim.

Obviously the rumors were true, and I'm overwhelmed with excitement after seeing that. I might even start sweating myself just watching him out there.

They quickly grab the ball and throw it back in as Bryson and the team lay on a full-court press. It's not typical to press at the beginning of a game, but if I had to guess **,** Coach Sullivan probably wants to send a message to the other team. Their point guard tries tirelessly to dribble around Bryson, to no avail. Bryson even slaps the ball from his hands a few times but doesn't steal it, as if he's toying with him. Then he finally traps him on the sideline and knocks the ball out of bounds.

Coach Sullivan signals to Bryson and the team to back off, so they do and begin heading down to the other side of the court.

The other team dribbles down and eventually takes a shot, which misses and is rebounded by one of our guys who passes it straight to Bryson. Right away, Bryson forcefully slings the ball the length of the court with a two-handed overhead pass, straight to our center who has already sprinted to the other end, and he lays the ball in for two more points.

The game continues on at this pace for another two or three minutes as Bryson racks up another quick eight points. With the score already 12-2, Coach pulls Bryson from the game, which confuses me at first. But as the game goes on, it becomes clear that Bryson has been appointed the role of "safety net." Coach will not risk injury to him by leaving him on that court any longer than necessary. He sends him in to clean up when the other team gains a little ground, then pulls him right back out. I'm so excited and flustered right now from watching him I really have no idea how I'm going to concentrate on my halftime cheers.

* * *

The score is 48-34 at halftime, our lead. The teams have retreated to their locker rooms, and now it's time for me to run out to center court with the squad and perform a couple of cheers. Luckily for me, Bryson won't be watching tonight.

The usual lineup for game night is the junior varsity boys' team playing first, then the girls' team, then the varsity boys. And we cheer for all three. Since Bryson is a senior, he's not eligible to play on the JV team, so he'll typically be in the bleachers watching my halftime performance during that game and the girls' game. However, this school only has a varsity team and I have to admit, I'm extremely happy right now to look out into that crowd and see no Bryson...just for tonight, since it's my first time.

As I run out with the squad, I do one of my well-practiced yet not perfected cartwheels, while a few other girls--Summer surprisingly not included--do cartwheels, as well, followed by back-flips, round-offs, handsprings and all kinds of crazy stuff I would never dream of trying.

After getting into position, we all stand motionless for several seconds to make sure everyone is ready. During those few seconds of silence, throughout which you could probably hear a strand of hair hit the ground, I feel as if every pair of eyes in that gym is on me. Even though I try to take Bryson's advice and pretend we're all back in the caf, just practicing with no spectators, I'm still so nervous I can't even look up at Becca or my mom. So I just stand there, staring at Holly's heels directly in front of me, and wait for Summer to begin.

Surprisingly, once we start cheering, things go really well. I've got all the motions down and I'm moving perfectly in sync with everyone else. I'm also paying close attention to keeping my distance from the girls around me. The last thing I need is to deliver an impressive TKO in front of the massive crowd of fans and totally ruin the second half of the game, due to center court being taken over by a team of paramedics hovering over a laid-out cheerleader. But luckily, nothing like that transpires, and instead everything goes extremely well.

As we're running back to the baseline after finishing the cheers, I realize Bryson was right: once you get going out there and start focusing on what you're doing, the crowd seems to kind of disappear. And all things considered, I'm definitely happy with the way things turned out. Because let's face it, with me out there, disaster is always a possibility. But I'm hoping now that the first game is out of the way, I won't be nearly as nervous for the upcoming ones, and everything should be okay.

* * *

Final score is 98-82. Go Grizzlies! The second half went virtually the same as the first. Bryson was sent in periodically to extend our lead when it got close, and he finished the game with the high score of 34 points, as the safety net! He basically single-handedly won this game, and it's looking like we might actually have a pretty awesome season.

After getting a big hug and kiss on the cheek from my proud mom, and then briefly chatting with Becca about how awesome Bryson was, Becca hands me my bag and I waste no time getting to the bus. The two reasons for my mad dash are pretty simple. First and foremost, I want to get there before Summer does so I don't have to walk past her without Becca. She's been surprisingly calm and collected since what happened earlier, when Bryson totally rejected her and then sat with me. It's unexpected behavior from Summer, and I can't get a true read on her which makes me nervous. I don't want to be walking past her by myself when she decides to let out her suppressed rage and beat the hell out of me.

Second, I want to board the bus before Bryson comes out of the locker room, so there's no chance of him approaching me with my mom around, putting me in the awkward position of having to introduce them. I know it's going to happen eventually, maybe even soon, but I'd rather not deal with it tonight.

I've accomplished my mission as I head for my seat and sit down, hoping Bryson won't decide to sit somewhere else for some reason. As people start to pile on and Bryson finally shows up, he heads straight to me with a smile and sits down.

The main difference from the first trip is that it's now completely dark on the bus, which definitely makes the situation more exciting. And as everyone pretty much dozes off for the entire ride, Bryson and I continue on right where we left off: talking low, mainly about the game now, and listening to more music, once again in our own little world. We even exchange phone numbers before the trip is over. I never thought joining the cheerleading squad could turn out so great.

# 14

Strike of the Curse

"So, Mom says you were pretty great last night." Dad smiles, setting his coffee on the table and taking a seat across from me.

I yawn and shrug. "I don't know about _great_ ," I mutter. I totally play it off like it's no big deal, even though I am extremely proud of how well I did. I won't give them the satisfaction of knowing that, though.

"How about horrific? Is that more accurate?" Carson teases.

I laugh. "Well, not for last night. But give me time; it's going to be a long season," I joke as Mom puts our plates down in front of us. And instead of tearing into this stack of four thick, delicious-looking, homemade pancakes, I throw my head back and yawn once again. Except this one was way more intense than the first one. I can't imagine it was all that pretty.

The reason I'm so exhausted this morning is partly because we didn't get home until after ten o'clock last night. But the main reason is because I stayed up until two a.m. texting Bryson, and then texting Becca about what Bryson and I were texting about. So it's probably safe to say they're both just as exhausted as I am this morning.

My mom's eyes bounce back and forth between Carson and me. "No, no, no," she says as she takes a seat with her own plate. "You did great last night, and you're going to continue to do great."

Before I'm able to laugh at her nonsensical statement, the kitchen door starts to open slowly, and I notice my mom's demeanor quickly change. She stiffens and sits upright at attention in fear, as if she's an inductee in a special forces training program and her drill sergeant Hailey is about to walk through that door. And more than likely, she's well-rested and pissed off. But the good news for the rest of us is that she should only be pissed at Mom, because she's the one who didn't allow Hailey to go to last night's game, the one she had been looking forward to for over a month now ever since I joined the squad.

As she walks in, expression stoic with her lips pressed together and anger flashing in her eyes, I glance around the table and notice that we've _all_ stiffened up a bit, myself included.

She walks right past the table and heads for the pantry, not saying a word or even glancing at any of us as she grabs a box of Trix and closes the pantry door. She goes on to fix her bowl of cereal in complete silence while slamming things around--the refrigerator door, the cabinet doors, and even slamming the cereal box all over the place whenever the opportunity presented itself--as we all sit and watch.

She then drags a stool around to the end of the bar, climbs up, and pointedly situates herself facing _away_ from us before starting to eat her cereal.

A dead silence fills the room as we all look at each other. Literally, the only sound is the Trix pebbles crunching between Hailey's teeth. Then Mom nervously looks over at her--the back of her head to be exact--and says, "Honey, I made you some pancakes. They're on the counter." She knows Hailey has never been able to resist a stack of homemade pancakes under any circumstance. But to all of our surprise, she remains silent and continues eating her cereal.

"Oh, my God, get over it. It's a dumb basketball game," Carson says, antagonizing her.

Hailey throws her spoon into her bowl, splashing milk on the counter as she whips her head around. "Shut up, stupid!" she shouts, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

"Okay, that's enough from both of you," my dad says firmly, filling in for my mom.

Hailey turns back around and forcefully slams herself against the backrest of the barstool, crossing her arms and frowning.

I quickly get up and make my way to the counter to get some paper towels.

"Hailey, listen..." I begin wiping up her milk splashes. "There's a home game Friday night and I better see you there, okay? I need your support."

After a few more seconds of sitting there staring straight ahead angrily, she finally looks up at me and grins.

"Okay, I'll be there," she says, as if she had totally forgotten there were more games to come. She leans forward, resting her tiny forearms back on the bar, and continues eating her cereal. Even though she's now content, I seriously doubt my mom is out of the woods yet. I'm definitely glad to be riding to school with Becca.

* * *

Bryson and I grow closer than ever over the next few days. Through constantly talking, texting, and hanging out at school--which earns him some light teasing from his basketball buddies every time they see us together, and me an occasional evil glare from Summer--it seems like we've gotten to know everything there is to know about each other.

He's told me all about his plans to attend LSU next year after he graduates and eventually achieve a Master's Degree in architecture. He also opened up to me quite a bit about the difficult years he and his mom endured after his dad left, and about how things got easier as time went on. And I feel like I've known his two 135-pound Rottweiler's, Humphrey and Bogart, for years now, after hearing so many funny stories about them from the time they were puppies. He also told me about how he sometimes regrets letting his mom name them after the famous Humphrey Bogart from her favorite movie, Casablanca. He's shared his fears and concerns with me about the future regarding him and his mom and how, even after everything, a part of him would still like to know his dad someday.

I also now know so many little interesting facts about him, like how he secretly gets extremely nervous before every basketball game, despite the number of games he's played over the years; and how he wears a Band-Aid around his big toe on his left foot for luck on game nights; and also that he absolutely can't work out unless Metallica, AC/DC, or Motorhead is blaring through his headphones. These are the little things I feel privileged to know. These little pieces of shared, secret information which strongly suggest where this friendship might be headed.

And of course, even though my life story is not nearly as compelling as his, I've told him all about myself, too. Which really just consisted of me going into greater detail about my family and how we all get along and relate to one another.

I've also stressed to him over several conversations just how close Becca and I are. I was determined to make it crystal clear to him from the start that she's the most important person in my life, and that won't change. So far, he's shown no uneasiness whatsoever as a result of that information which is a good thing, because him fully accepting Becca is the only way he and I can have any kind of relationship. I've also filled him in on all of my secret little quirks as well, like how easily I get nervous, how shy I am, how clumsy I am, and how much I _really_ like to eat.

So like I said before, it truly does seem like we've gotten to know almost everything about each other in a fairly short amount of time.

Oh, yeah, except of course for one teeny-tiny, minor detail about myself...

Except for the fact that I could teach him more about architecture than any professor or amount of years at LSU could. Except for the fact that I know more about his awesome '69 Camaro, and any other classic hot-rod and all their moving parts, than he could ever dream of knowing. Except for the fact that I've written seventeen books since I was six years old, and I can speak twelve different languages fluently. Except for the fact that I could turn education as we know it upside down by introducing to the world a vast number of new, simple solutions to many of our mathematical equations and theories.

Yeah, all _minor_ details. I mean, how could I possibly keep this information from him? First and foremost, it would be completely wrong of me to continue to hide this if we were in a relationship. Secondly, I would probably end up slipping up at some point anyway, like I've already done on the bus.

I've had many conversations with Becca about this, and she agrees it wouldn't be right to keep him in the dark.

So once again, this curse has disrupted my life in a major way. I'll either have to fill Bryson in if the relationship progresses, and put the secret at greater risk--especially in the event of a bad breakup--or just end things with him altogether. The decision has been weighing heavily on my mind, and at the moment, I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do.

So yeah, the past few days have been great, but also scary. As Bryson takes a seat next to me with his hot lunch tray, once again dressed all fancy for game day, I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to just blurt out my secret and be done with it.

But luckily, before I'm able to act on that impulse decision, he puts his brownie down next to my salad, then looks right at me and says, "There's an annual car show tomorrow night at the Mall of Louisiana. Umm..." he hesitates as he looks away nervously and situates his food on his tray, then quickly looks back and continues. "My uncle and I went last year, but he's out of town for the weekend, so I was wondering if you wanted to come check it out with me."

My stomach shoots up to my throat, as if I've just taken the first big plunge on the world's tallest roller coaster. _He's asking me out_.

I surely didn't expect that. I'm an idiot for not expecting that. It's the next logical step, but unfortunately I'm the dumbest person alive when it comes to this stuff.

Even though I thought I did a great job controlling my emotions and keeping calm, he still saw through me right away. And after only a couple of seconds--which was hardly enough time for me to respond anyway--he turns to look at Becca and Holly across the table.

"In fact, we should all go. Do y'all wanna go?" he asks.

They both quickly nod and grin. "Yeah, that would be cool," they agree, glancing at each other and then at me.

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Bryson says, looking back at me. "And there's also a big Ferris wheel there, and even some games and food and all that. It's kind of like a mini-fair, too."

Even though I would have agreed to go alone with him, I am more comfortable with Becca and Holly coming along. After all, this is my first date and he knows that, which is probably why he's trying to make the situation as comfortable as possible for me.

"That would be awesome. I'd love to go," I say, eyes wide and excited, trying to make up for my hesitation.

He smiles big, clearly happy with my response. I know he would prefer it to be just the two of us, but the fact that he immediately did what he thought _I_ would prefer says a lot. I think it's going to be a great first date with a great guy.

# 15

First Date

The next day, I'm sitting at the bar and gazing out the kitchen window. I'm so deep in thought the bright sunshine and the trees blowing in the wind next to my neighbor's house completely fade from my view. In fact, the only thing I continue to notice at all is the sound of my dad weed-eating outside.

I've been so nervous all day long about tonight. Like, sick-to-my-stomach nervous. So nervous my delicious looking cheese and cracker snack sitting in front of me has gone completely untouched for the entire ten minutes I've been sitting here.

The sound of the weed-eater gradually starts to get louder, and then suddenly I notice my dad from the neck up, slowly grazing past the window, bringing my focus back to Earth.

I take a sip from my tall glass of lemon-lime Gatorade and then look over at the microwave. The time on it reads 3:48 p.m. And once again, now even more nervous than before, my thoughts begin to drift to tonight. But I don't get very far before my mom walks through the door from the living room.

"Hey, how you feeling?" she asks, passing me up en route to the refrigerator. She knows how nervous I've been all day.

"Still nervous," I confess, fiddling with the corner of my napkin.

She sighs as she closes the refrigerator door and turns around. "You said he's a really nice guy, right?" She walks over and stops directly in front of me. I look up at her and nod.

"And," she continues, "Becca and Holly are going to be there. It's gonna be fun."

"I know, it's just..." I pause and stare straight ahead, trying to figure out exactly why I am so nervous. But my mom quickly fills in the blanks.

"It's your first date," she says with a shrug. "It's natural. You don't know what to expect. But he did a really nice thing inviting Becca and Holly. It's going to make things a lot easier for you."

Just as I begin to nod in agreement with my mom's statement, the kitchen door slings open and my dad stands there, shaking his head.

"I'm a mess," he mumbles to himself. He wrestles his shoes off with his feet and kicks them just outside the door. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, closing the door behind him then heading to the fridge.

"Boys," my mom says. Then she looks at me and grins. "Well, a certain boy."

My dad looks over his shoulder at us while grabbing a water bottle. "Bryson?"

We both nod, only my mom's grin is much larger than mine.

Dad shakes his head. "Man, that boy is one heck of a basketball player, I'll give him that. How many points did he score last night? Thirty-eight?" he asks, walking up to us.

"Yep," I nod.

"Wow! And he didn't even play but a little over half the game or so."

I watch my dad as he stares at the wall behind me in amazement. Thankfully, my dad is not the typical 'greet him at the door with my shotgun' type of dad. But it's still a relief to see him already so accepting of Bryson after simply watching him play a basketball game, and then shaking his hand and saying a few words to him afterwards.

I smile. "Yeah, he's really good. He was Central High's star player."

"I can tell," my dad says, grabbing one of my crackers.

Just then, Hailey runs in from the living room, and she doesn't stop until she reaches my stool and hops on the bottom rung. I cup the back of her head with my hand and kiss her cheek. "Hey, girlie."

"Hey," she replies. With her focus already on my crackers, she points her finger at them and looks up at me.

"Go ahead, I'm not gonna eat them."

She scans the bunch for the biggest slab of pepper jack cheese she can find, and then swipes it right off the cracker.

"So, did you enjoy the game last night?" I ask her.

"Yep," she replies with a mouthful. "You did really good."

Then, without moving her head at all, she peeks at me with a Mom-like grin and says, "Bryson was pretty awesome, too," as if she's already fully accepted him, as well.

I laugh and shake my head as she hops off the stool and skips to the fridge.

"So, what time is he coming to pick you up?" Dad mumbles, still working on my crackers.

I look at the microwave to check the time. "He's coming at 6:30. I actually need to go start getting ready."

I snatch a cracker from my dad as I hop off the stool. He jokingly raises the back of his hand to me as I scurry to the door. "Hey, woman."

"When is Becca getting here?" Mom asks.

"She'll be here soon. She had that family reunion today," I say, cracker crumbs now spilling from my mouth. "Hailey, you wanna come help me decide on an outfit?"

"Sure!" she exclaims, running toward me.

* * *

My phone starts buzzing on the bathroom sink as I'm nervously brushing my hair. When I look down at it, I see a text from Becca.

" _Be there in like 5._ "

The time on my phone is now showing 5:52 p.m.

" _K, I'll be upstairs,_ " I respond.

I look back at myself in the mirror. I'm almost too nervous to function at this point, but I know I need to quickly pull myself together. I lean in and do a final check on the very small amount of makeup I've applied to my eyes and cheeks. Satisfied with my work, I lean back and do the same final check on my hair, which I'm actually wearing down for a change.

I walk to my room and toss my phone on the bed, then open the closet door and stand in front of the full-length mirror. This is about my fourth final check on my outfit.

Last night, after about two hours of intense deliberation--so intense, in fact, that Becca and I ended up having to relax ourselves with an episode of the Kardashians and a small buffet of various unhealthy snacks and drinks--we finally concluded for many reasons that any kind of dress, skirt, or shorts was not the way to go. It's funny I say many reasons, because the only one I can recall at the moment is the fact that there's going to be a Ferris wheel and possibly other rides there. But whatever, it's not like the other reasons matter now.

So we eventually narrowed it down to three casual outfits. After taking a quick shower a few minutes ago, then getting Hailey to help me decide between the three--luckily she picked the one I liked--I texted Becca a picture of it for final approval. I end up going with my favorite pair of dark Abercrombie boot-cut jeans, a fitted dark blue top, and a pair of brown leather flip-flops. Casual, cute, and simple.

I hear my phone buzzing once again on my bed. When I walk over and look, I see it's from Holly.

" _Almost there!_ "

" _Sweet! Becca and I will be up in my room._ "

After hitting send, I look up and see Becca walking through the door, looking at her phone.

"You got Holly's text?" she asks, looking up at me.

"Yeah, I told her to come up here."

My phone buzzes again. " _Okay_ ," Holly responds.

I toss my phone on the bed and walk back to the mirror.

"You look so cute," Becca says as she walks over and stands behind me, looking at me in the mirror.

"Thanks. You look really cute, too." I turn to Becca and then back up slowly until I reach the bed and plop down. "I love that pink top. That's the one from Forever 21, right?"

"Yep. I tried on like five other pairs of jeans with it before I decided on these," she laughs, taking a seat on the comfy green recliner.

I chuckle as well. "You made the right choice; the black skinnies go really well with it."

She looks down to re-inspect her outfit. "Thanks, I thought so, too," she smiles, then looks back up at me. "So, has Bryson texted or anything?"

I shake my head. "We were texting a couple of hours ago, just talking about the car show."

"You nervous?"

" _Very_ ," I giggle. "That's why I'm staying up here, because I don't feel like talking to everyone downstairs."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. They're all sitting down there in the living room. Except Carson."

"Yeah, I think he's in his room, talking to some girl from school."

"Poor girl," Becca says sarcastically.

Suddenly, we hear light knocking on the door frame, and we look over to see Holly in the doorway.

"Hey, there," she smiles.

Now, Holly is the true fashionista between the three of us. As she walks in, Becca and I--kind of like we always do at school--are gushing over her royal blue skinny jeans, black loose-fitting tee, flat black sandals with rhinestones on the straps, and cream-colored hipster purse draped over her shoulder. Very trendy. I definitely need to take a shopping trip with this girl.

I smile and shake my head. "Geez, I suck at dressing compared to you."

" _Whatever_ ," Holly scoffs. "You're like ten times prettier than me, so you're better off."

"I am not," I say.

After the three of us sit and chat for a few minutes, I hear a commotion downstairs. My stomach turns when I look at the time on my phone--6:24 p.m.--because I realize it's probably Bryson.

I immediately jump up and run to the window at the end of the hall. When I look out, I see Bryson, Dad, and Hailey walking to the end of the driveway to Bryson's car.

"Is that him?" Becca whispers from my room.

"Yep."

She turns off the light in my room, and she and Holly head my way.

Just as we get downstairs, my mom walks in from the kitchen. "Hee's heeere!" she grins.

"I know." I point my thumb toward the door. "What are they--"

"Your dad wanted to see his car. And of course, Hailey had to go along," my mom explains.

"They stole your date!" Becca jokes. We all laugh.

"So, are y'all all riding together?" Mom asks.

"No, Becca and I are taking my car," Holly says.

My mom looks at me, confused.

"There's no backseat in Bryson's car. He and his uncle took it out, I think for better gas mileage."

I really didn't want to tell my mom he took it out for speed purposes; she worries enough. Plus, I'm pretty sure Bryson is being hit with the same question by my dad right now, and I have no idea what he'll answer. So I wanted to play it safe.

Becca leans in toward my mom and bumps her on the elbow. "No backseat--that's a good thing, right Mrs. Christie?"

"Oh, Lord, Becca." Mom rolls her eyes and walks over to the couch. I playfully pop Becca on the arm as I make my way to the door.

When I open it, I see Bryson walking toward me, and I immediately fall into a trance. As cheesy as it might sound, he's suddenly moving in slow motion. His brown eyes sparkle as he looks at me, smiling. The sleeves on his tight-fitting, maroon Polo shirt are hugging his biceps, trying to contain them as his arms sway. And as he continues to walk, I continue to inspect. My eyes slowly travel all the way down to the light brown Sperry Topsiders on his feet, which are partially covered by his dark, loose-fitting jeans.

When I drag my creepy stare back up to his face, I notice him examining me, also. And when our eyes meet again, we both smile.

Suddenly, Hailey runs up to me, breaking my trance as she throws her arms around my waist, like she's about to climb me or something. I put my arm around her neck as she looks up at me with a huge smile.

"Bryson has a cool car!" she says, overjoyed.

"A really cool car," Dad agrees as he and Bryson walk up.

"Yeah, um, Hailey already called shotgun. So we decided you'll just have to take the trunk," Bryson says, looking and pointing to me.

I look from Bryson to Hailey, partly wondering if he's serious about Hailey coming, and partly trying to come up with a clever response.

"Nope, I'm driving. So _you_ two will have to fight over the front." I shoot a glance at both of them.

"Yikes," my dad says. "If she's driving, you might want to stay here, Bryson."

Everyone laughs.

"Whatever." I elbow my dad as he walks by me. And after a few more minutes and _quite_ a few more awkward jokes with my family, we finally break away.

"Sorry about that," I mutter as we walk down the driveway.

"Why?" he smiles. "They're hilarious! Especially Hailey."

As he walks ahead to open the passenger door for me, I peek over at Becca and Holly and see them grinning at me as they climb into Holly's car. I return the grin and quickly look back to see Bryson standing there with the door open. As I walk up, I see three red roses lying on the seat, tied together mid-stem, on top of a small plate of saran-wrapped peanut butter brownies with a sticky note on top.

I smile as I pick up the roses and the plate and sit down. Then I read the note: " _I'm not gonna eat 'em,_ " which is what he said to me in the caf the first time he put his peanut butter brownies down next to my salad. My smile grows considerably, and I suddenly start to see this whole situation from a different perspective.

Up to this point, most of my nerves stemmed from the simple fact that we're now hanging out outside of school, or the big fancy Hotard bus with the comfy plush seats, or basketball games, or any other setting where we're forced to be in each other's presence. This get-together is _our_ decision. And I guess I kind of thought that might change things altogether. But after reading the note and briefly flashing back to that day in the caf, I realize everything is the same, and now I'm not nearly as nervous as before. I don't know if that was his plan, but if it was, it definitely worked.

I look up at him, still smiling.

He shrugs. "In case there's nothing good over there, you know," he says. Then he closes the door and walks around.

My excitement level goes through the roof when he starts the car. The loud sound of the straight pipes underneath me, along with the rumble of the super-charged 302 engine under the hood, causes my seat to vibrate. When he carefully takes off, the grin on my face becomes a full-blown, teeth-baring, ear-to-ear smile as the engine roars even louder, causing the front end of the car to rise about six inches. As far as I'm concerned, this is the one good thing turning sixteen has delivered so far--the age at which my parents allowed me to date.

I look at Bryson. "I _love_ this car," I remind him.

"Glad you love it," he grins. "This might make you love it even more."

He leans forward and turns on the radio, then presses Play on the CD player. Suddenly, Metallica's "Sad but True" starts blaring through the speakers. Once again, that's the first song we listened to on his phone on the bus ride last week. And once again, whether it was his intention or not, I'm feeling even more relaxed now.

We smile at each other and after a few minutes of slightly bobbing our heads to the beat of the heavy metal song, he leans forward again and lowers the volume.

"Better, right?" he asks, his expression hopeful.

"Metallica makes _everything_ better."

"Cool," he nods. "And you look really pretty, by the way."

I look at him and smile, but before I can say a word... "I mean, not as pretty as me, but you ain't bad," he says with a goofy, overly-serious expression as he stares at the road. I find myself laughing hysterically, causing him to also break into laughter.

"I agree with that!" I say.

"Oh, whatever, you're nuts."

His laughter fades as we come to a stop at a red light. Then he turns to me with a serious look, _for real_ serious this time, and says, "You really do look great."

My laughter dwindles as I look at him. Out of nowhere, we kind of start to have a moment, like a possible about-to-kiss moment. But then, of course, the damn light turns green. I'm pissed off and relieved at the same time, if that makes sense. I've yet to decide if I'm really ready for my first kiss. But I will say that before Bryson showed up at my house a little while ago, I wasn't ready at all. I'm not exactly sure what happened between then and now, but I'm about ninety five percent ready at this point. I definitely wouldn't stop him if he tried.

* * *

About ten minutes and five brownies later, we pull up to the north end of the mall parking lot. The number of hot rods on display is staggering.

There's new and old Camaro's, Corvettes, Mustangs, Trans-Am's, and even a couple newer-model Dodge Vipers, which I love. Off to the side, just as Bryson mentioned, there are a few carnival-style games, and possibly the biggest Ferris wheel I've ever seen in my life.

As soon as I step out of the car, Becca comes running up to me.

"Check it out," she says, holding her phone up to my face as Holly walks up smiling.

I see a text which reads, " _Why is breaking up with someone so hard? This is Brian BTW._ "

I smile with excitement as I look up at her. "That's awesome! He must have gotten your number from Carson."

"I guess so," she shrugs, pulling her phone back.

"Wow, there are _so_ many cars here," Holly says as she looks around.

Bryson looks over his shoulder and scans the parking lot. "Yeah, there's actually a lot more than last year."

As the four of us walk around, we stop and gawk at pretty much every car we come across. Even though I know Becca and Holly came for me, I'm happy to see they genuinely do seem to be fascinated by the cars. After only a few minutes, they end up breaking away from Bryson and me and walking off on their own. This was for my benefit, obviously.

So Bryson and I walk around together, checking out more cars for the next thirty minutes or so before heading over to the games.

"You want the big stuffed panda?" Bryson asks, looking back at me after racking up an unprecedented eighty-two points on the "Nothing but Net" basketball game.

As fluffy and comfy as the panda looks, I definitely don't want it. I want the basketball on the bottom shelf. But I press my lips together as if I'm trying to make a decision.

"Um, no, I want that basketball," I say, pointing to it.

"We'll take the ball," Bryson says.

I knew the basketball would bring us a lot closer together than that giant stuffed panda would.

Bryson turns around and hands me the ball with a smile. "There you go."

"Sweet," I say, looking down at it. "You gotta teach me how to use this thing."

I look back up and toss the ball to him. "I want to learn how to dribble between my legs like you do in the games."

"Oh, whatever," he jokes with a cocky attitude, tossing the ball up and spinning it on his finger. "I figured you'd want to learn the hard stuff."

Then he shows off even more by bouncing the ball off his head and catching it back on his finger.

"Nope, we'll get to that. Now, dribble!" I demand, pointing to the ground as I try to keep a straight face. But as he breaks into laughter, a grin slowly pushes through my serious expression. I quickly pull it back, still pointing to the ground.

"Okay, okay," he finally says, standing up straight.

"You want to take a bigger step than normal so the ball can go through." He looks at me as I nod. "Okay. Then just dribble at an angle, and make sure the ball hits directly underneath you. And then catch it on the other side." He starts walking and dribbling between his legs with every step, as if he's walking normally with no basketball at all. I watch with excitement.

Then he stops and looks at me as I stand there, my body language all sassy with my arms crossed, my hip out, and my toes pointed.

"Piece of cake," I say as I take the ball from him. But this is clearly going to be a catastrophe. I mean, seriously, I need to learn how to _dribble_ before I can dribble between my legs.

As I proceed to try over and over, kicking my legs up to the sky with each attempt just to get the ball through to the other side, Bryson keels over in laughter.

"What? That doesn't count?" I ask, looking back at him and laughing.

He straightens up and walks over to me. "Um, no, it doesn't," he replies, trying to catch his breath from laughing. "But we'll work hard on that later," he promises.

I smile and nod.

Then after a short pause, he glances over his shoulder and then back at me. "Ferris wheel?"

"Sure," I smile. He takes the ball from me and slides his fingertips across my palm, just before interlocking our hands together with a soft grip. Chills instantly run up my spine, and even though I'm not nearly as nervous as I should be, I am a _little_ nervous as we walk to the Ferris wheel. It'll be a temporary escape from the crowd--just the two of us, which presents a couple of nerve-wracking opportunities.

First of all, the opportunity to tell him I'm a genius which, believe it or not, I've yet to make a final decision on. But I'm afraid that given the right moment, I'll end up blurting it out and then regretting it. Second, the opportunity for him to give me my first kiss, which I'm actually one hundred percent ready for now, but still nervous about.

After Bryson puts the basketball down, we climb into our little two-seater cart. And as the wheel turns, we move up a notch and then briefly stop for the cart behind us to unload. He reaches over and pulls me toward him, leaving his arm around me and his hand in mine in my lap. As we move up a few more notches, out of everyone's sight, he wastes no time; it's as if he's been dying to get at me. He can tell I'm waiting as he looks into my eyes, so he slowly leans in and presses his lips to mine. My thoughts and emotions spin out of control.

The next thing I know, this "first kiss" turns into a full-blown make-out session. Our mouths open and his tongue instantly meets mine. I feel his hand gripping the back of my neck, and I reach up and run my hand through the hair on the back of his head, placing my other hand on his cheek. His other arm wraps around me, forcefully holding me against him. The intensity is amazing.

We stay lip-locked and clinched together like this for a solid two or three minutes while the unloading continues. As we come back around and approach the ground again, we quickly break apart.

I'm flustered beyond belief. I can't think or see straight; in fact, all my senses have pretty much gone numb. I can't imagine a first kiss being any better, and all I can think about is him being all over me again.

Finally the unloading and re-loading is complete, and the wheel starts to spin. Bryson pulls my legs on top of his, and we proceed to make out and break apart with every full turn. I quickly fall into a euphoric state from being so close to him, floating up to the sky in the cool night breeze, the full moon shining down on us, and feeling his soft lips against mine every time we reach the top. It's definitely the best Ferris wheel ride I've ever been on.

When it sadly comes to an end, I'm hoping that my now-weak legs don't give out on me as Bryson helps me from the cart.

We hold hands and walk off in silence, repeatedly glancing at each other and smiling. I'm not sure if this makes us boyfriend and girlfriend or not, but I'd like to think it does. Right now, I'm just enjoying this incredible moment, and it looks as though he's doing the same.

As we approach the cars, I see Becca and Holly walking toward us, and I immediately begin straightening out my hair with my free hand, not to give anything away. But Becca's already smiling suspiciously, looking dead in my eyes as they walk up. If I had to guess, my cheeks are probably cherry red, revealing to her exactly what took place on that Ferris wheel.

As they walk up, in an attempt to avoid that possible topic altogether, I smile at her right away and ask, "Have you texted Brian back?"

She nods happily. "Yep. I'll show them to you later."

"Yeah, they've been texting for almost an hour," Holly grins.

"Sweet." I look at Becca as she looks at me, then a short silence falls over the four of us.

"Well, me and Dori were talking about going to get some ice cream earlier. Y'all wanna come?" Bryson asks, glancing at Becca and Holly.

Becca looks back at me. And because she and I have always seemed to be able to know what the other is thinking, she immediately scrunches her face and says, "No, I think we'll just go home." Then she glances at Holly.

"Yeah, I'm kind of tired," Holly agrees.

So after hugging them and saying bye, Bryson opens the door for me to hop in the car, and then we head off for ice cream.

A couple minutes later, we come to a stoplight, and we notice a Corvette and a Mustang from the car show lined up, revving their engines as if they're about to race. We pull up right behind the Corvette and stop.

I look at Bryson excitedly. "You think they're gonna race?"

"I hope so!" he exclaims. "They might not because there's usually a lot of cops in this area, but who knows."

I look in the rearview mirror and see Becca and Holly right behind us, so I pull my phone out to text them about the possible race. But as I'm texting, the light turns green and the two hot rods slowly take off.

"Aw, that sucks," I say, disappointed.

Bryson laughs. "I guess they didn't want to take the chance."

I look down, pouting with my bottom lip out, and erase the text from my phone.

Then out of nowhere, Bryson frantically looks my way and yells in horror. "Shit!"

As soon as I turn my head, I see two bright lights barreling toward me, and my hand instinctively raises to protect my face. And then...impact.

# 16

Change of Heart

I vaguely remember flashing lights. I remember unfamiliar people standing over me, talking and moving around frantically. I remember Becca standing over me, crying, and then being pulled away. I could hear her piercing screams fade as she fought to stay by my side. I remember catching one last glimpse of her as I strangely began to move. She was curled up in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth hysterically, still crying uncontrollably, as someone I couldn't recognize knelt next to her.

* * *

The very next thing I remember is slowly opening my eyes in a well-lit room. My vision is slightly blurred at first, and I'm confused.

Then I suddenly see my mom's face, hovering over me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and I can hear the struggle in her voice, trying not to cry as she speaks.

"Hey, honey, how are you feeling?" she asks, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"My head hurts a little, but I'm okay."

I quickly notice I'm in a hospital room when I look down and see my dad rushing to the side of the bed next to my mom, followed by Hailey and Carson running around to the other side.

And standing at the end of the bed is Becca. She looks at me, her eyes swollen and red, still crying as if she never stopped. I can tell she's too upset to speak, so we just lock eyes and connect for a minute.

The next thought that pops into my head is Bryson.

"Where's Bryson? Is he okay?" I ask, nervously looking from Becca to my parents.

"Yeah, he's fine," my dad says. "They're still checking him out right now, but he's okay. You took the brunt of the impact."

"He did manage to hang on to your roses," Becca smiles, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "He asked me to bring them to you." She points to the table against the wall. I look over at them and grin slightly, but only for a split second; I have more questions.

I look back at Becca. "Where's Holly?"

"She's in the waiting room with her parents and mine."

I nod. "So, what exactly happened?"

"A drunk driver ran the red light," my mom says.

"Yeah," Dad nods. "He was ejected through the windshield and killed."

Then my dad begins to choke up, which I don't think I've ever seen before.

"We were really lucky, Dor." He grips my hand. "That car pretty much hit you head-on."

Hailey grabs my other hand. "You're gonna be okay, aren't you, Dor?" she asks, her voice breaking up.

I squeeze her hand and look at her. "Of course I am, girlie. Look at me, I'm fine."

"You better be fine. I've got an Algebra Two test Monday and I need your help," Carson grins, choked up, as well.

"I don't know, though, baby," my mom says, her chin quivering. "The doctor who came in here earlier said you could have some brain swelling."

I grin. "He said what?"

"Yeah," my dad begins, shaking his head. "It was a different doctor who came in here a little while ago, a really young looking guy. The doctor who saw you when you first came in went into surgery. But this young guy, I don't know, he just looked so unsure of everything he was saying, almost like his dad got him the job here or something."

"And he was extremely rude, too," Mom adds.

I stare at them, stunned.

"Wow...well, y'all will be happy to know that he does in fact have no idea what he's talking about," I say.

Tears plummet down my mom's cheeks again.

"Mom, believe me, I'm fine. If I had any kind of swelling of the brain, I would not be laying here talking to y'all like normal right now, okay? I'm perfectly fine, Mom, promise." I rub her arm to comfort her.

She nods and wipes her eyes, looking relieved.

"Yeah, and he also said something about your... _R.F_....or something, possibly being damaged. That it's some kind of track that keeps your brain healthy?" my dad says, looking to me for confirmation.

I close my eyes and shake off the cobwebs. The cobwebs of an incompetent doctor.

"The _R.A.S._ is what he was referring to. The R.F is something else entirely."

"What is the R.A.S?" Mom asks.

"It's a structure in the brain stem. It has an ascending track which works to arouse the brain. It's a system of acetylcholine-producing neurons. And once again, if that was damaged, I'd either be in a coma right now, or awake with no memory or perception."

I grow increasingly irritated as I talk. Irritated that this "doctor" came in here and scared my family with complete nonsense.

"And if he comes back in while I'm sleeping or something..." I begin speaking slowly and sarcastically, mocking the rude, inept doctor. "Tell him the _R.A.S._ and the _cerebral cortex_ will be the two critical components we'll need updates on."

"R.A.S. and cerebral cortex, got it," my dad says as he points at me. "We'll just tell him to give that message to the real doctor," he jokes.

Everyone laughs.

"But, I mean, you're feeling okay, right?" Becca asks.

I nod. "I have a little headache, but yeah, I'm fine."

Then, out of the blue as I'm sitting here, I start to think about my genius. It literally just pops into my head like an uninvited guest. I start thinking that if I wasn't so lucky and this accident was much worse, I could have lost it all. It would have simply gone to waste, and no one would've ever even known it existed. And just like that, believe it or not, I have a complete and total change of heart. Crazy.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Mom asks, noticing my blank stare.

I hesitate, watching Becca closely.

"I want to reveal my genius," I say softly.

I know my parents will be thrilled with this decision, and it has no effect on Carson or Hailey either way. Becca is the only person who could be affected by this.

"Really?" my mom asks.

I nod, still looking Becca in the eyes.

"I now realize how quickly things can happen. I don't want to miss the opportunity to contribute to the world."

Becca tilts her head and grins at me. She knows just by looking into my eyes that I'm asking for her permission without actually asking. Then she walks around the side of the bed and takes my hand.

"Go for it, Dor," she smiles. "Nothing can come between us."

As she leans over to hug me, I realize everything will be okay. No matter where this decision may take me, Becca will be there, helping me through.

"I'm kind of sleepy. I think I'm gonna take a nap," I say after Becca stands back up.

"Is that a good idea?" Dad asks.

I smile. "Yeah, it'll be fine."

As I close my eyes and start to drift off to sleep, several things run through my mind. Bryson, the Ferris wheel, the accident...but last, and most importantly, revealing my genius, and having Becca's full support. I'm finally ready to get this sixteen-year secret off my chest.

# 17

Homebound

I slowly open my eyes once again in this hospital bed. Only now, the sun is creeping through the slightly-opened window shade, and my head hurts a little more than before.

I immediately notice Becca on the ridiculously small, uncomfortable-looking couch against the wall just under the window. She's curled in a ball on her side, sound asleep. She's also wearing the same clothes as last night, suggesting that however long I've been here--I say 'however long' because I have absolutely no idea what time it is--she hasn't strayed more than a few feet from my bed. Not that I ever thought for a second she would, but it's still a comforting sight. As I look at her, a small lump forms in my throat and I try to keep from tearing up when I think about all the pain and worry this whole thing has caused her.

As I turn my aching head and slowly scan the rest of the room, I'm anxiously wondering three things: First, the time. I'm one hundred percent certain it's the next day because I wouldn't nap for days, but I have no clue of the time. Second, I'm wondering why in the world there doesn't seem to be a clock in this room. I stretch my head back on my pillow to inspect the wall behind my bed after inspecting the other three. No clock. Kind of weird. And finally, I'm wondering where everyone else is. But as curious as I am to find out the answers to these things, there's no way I'm going to wake Becca to ask her; I want her to sleep.

I cup my hand around my chin and slowly turn my head each way, pushing it slightly past its stopping point on each side. Then I tilt it from side to side, once again tugging it down further with each hand. I look up and down and all around and every which way possible. And I realize that other than the migraine, everything seems to be just fine.

I lay my head back on my pillow and stare at the ceiling, trying my best to ignore this headache, and I start to reflect on everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours or so. The very first thing to consume my thoughts, of course, is the accident. Not that I _want_ to think about the accident, but I can't really help it, and my stomach immediately turns when I think about the details.

I think back to what I was doing just before the accident, when I was texting Becca and Holly about the possible race in front of us. I think about the two cars revving their engines and how excited I was. I think about how confused I became when Bryson suddenly yelled at me, and how scared I quickly felt when I turned and saw the headlights. I thought about the flashing lights, the strange people, Becca crying, waking up in the hospital--pretty much the whole ugly mess. And I find myself tearing up once again.

I briefly glance back at Becca as I wipe my eyes, and then I force myself to think about something else. Something much sweeter...something exciting: my amazing first kiss from Bryson. The fact that it even happened is crazy to think about. After sixteen years, my first kiss is no longer something I'm waiting for. I'm now only waiting for my _next_ kiss, and I'm definitely curious to see how it will top the first one. I think back to the amazing ride on the Ferris wheel, and how he held me so close and so tight. I start to wonder if he's thinking about me and wanting me as much as I'm wanting him right now, wherever he may be.

Then I think about revealing my genius to him. I play out the scenario in my mind of me telling him, and then him responding both poorly, and well. Not knowing what his reaction will be does scare me, but I feel like it's something I have to do now. With any luck at all, _everyone_ will respond well to the news and my life won't change all that much...

"Hey, there, sleepy head," I suddenly hear in a raspy tone.

My train of thought disappears as I quickly turn my head to see Becca sitting up on the couch, looking at me with sleepy eyes and a half-grin.

"Hey," I respond, off-guard and excited. "Did you sleep okay? I know that couch can't be all that comfortable." I ramble on, checking on her as if she's the one in the hospital bed instead of me. But again, I know this whole thing has been really tough on her, as well. And for all I know, she _just_ fell asleep all curled-up and cold on that light grey, rock-solid structure under the window that the hospital passes off as a couch.

But she just looks at me and giggles. "Shouldn't I be the one asking how you are?" she jokes as she stands up and walks toward me. Even though I'm still curious to know how she's doing, I understand her point.

"Yeah, I guess so." We both chuckle as she leans over to hug me. Then she stands back up and looks at me with a hopeful expression.

"So, you're still feeling okay, right?" Her eyes immediately widen with a mixture of curiosity and fear, completely masking the exhaustion that stood out only a few seconds ago. Just like my parents last night, she needs me to confirm to her that I'm going to be perfectly fine, and that I won't be confined to this hospital room for the rest of my life and wither away in this bed. As much as it pains me to see her worry, it is comforting to know I have the power to put her mind at ease to some extent. So knowing I truly am okay overall, I proceed to gush over how great I'm feeling.

"Yeah, I mean, I feel fantastic. Almost even better than before the accident," I smile. And I didn't plan on mentioning the headache, but it's just hurting too badly; I need some medicine. "Except, of course, for this little annoying headache. You know, which is completely normal," I say, totally downplaying this skull-crushing migraine. My head feels like it's about to fall off my shoulders any second now.

"Oh, well, no problem, my dear. I have just the thing for you," she says in a silly voice, gracefully gliding and twirling around my bed with her arms outstretched as if she's a ballerina. I can only assume she's thrilled to hear I'm okay.

I giggle as she glides her way over to the tall tray on the other side of my bed, where two blue pills are sitting on a napkin next to a cup of water. She stops next to the table and immediately transforms from a ballerina on stage to one of those daytime game show models who shows off the prizes. One hand flies up on her hip as she waves the other one in front of the medicine. And with a smile on her face and her voice all fancy again, she goes, "Naproxen?" As if perhaps it's some kind of new groundbreaking medicine for little annoying headaches.

I look at her, now giggling even louder. "You mean Aleve," I simplify.

"Yeah, pretty much," she shrugs, her demeanor and tone of voice back to normal. "But the doctor made it sound all fancy, so I figured I would, too."

I laugh as I swallow down the new, breakthrough drug "Naproxen," and then hand the cup back to her.

"Okay, so what time is it and where is everyone?" I ask.

"Well, your mom and my mom probably went down to the cafeteria for breakfast," she begins, setting the cup back on the tray and grabbing her phone, and what appears to be my phone, too. Not that I've really thought about it until now, but I figured my phone would presently be a twisted up pile of junk from the wreck.

Becca notices my confused expression as I look at my phone in her hand as she approaches. "Yep, somehow it survived," she smiles, handing it over to me. I flip it around a few times to inspect it, and seeing no damage at all, I nod, impressed.

"Sweet," I grin. Right away, I turn it on and see it's 7:24 a.m., and I also see a text from Bryson from 1:53 a.m., early this morning.

" _Couldn't stand to see you in a hospital bed, I'm really sorry about all of this. Feel better princess, see you soon. XOXO_ "

My stomach immediately fills with butterflies just reading his text, and right away I hold the phone up to Becca so she can see. When she drags her gaze away from the screen of her phone to read it, she smiles, just like I did.

"That's really sweet," she says, looking at me as I pull the phone back and stare at the text some more.

"Yeah, he was so upset about everything. He wanted to come see you, but he couldn't," Becca says as she walks back around the bed and opens the window shades all the way, filling the room with sunlight.

I stare at the ground, struggling not to get upset as she walks back up to me.

"So, the 'real doctor' came back in last night," Becca begins, throwing her hands up in quotations and reminding me of the young, clueless doctor who came in last night and successfully convinced my family my brain was going to swell out of control like a California wildfire until it oozed out of my ears, nose, and mouth. This causes us both to giggle as she continues, "He showed us the test results and the MRI scans and said you were fine, so Bryson and his mom went home."

I nod again. "What about everyone else?"

"Same thing. After the doctor said you were okay, your dad took Hailey and Carson home, and my dad, Holly and her parents left. Holly got you this little bear from the gift shop." She retrieves a little pink bear from the couch and hands it to me. It's about the size of both my hands put together, and it's wearing a little white t-shirt that says "Get Well Soon" on it.

"That's cute," I smile.

"Yeah, and Bryson got a vase for your roses." She points to the table and grins.

I turn my head to look. "Yeah, I noticed that. I was wondering where the vase came from." Then all of a sudden my smile fades away as I'm looking at the roses. They instantly remind me of Bryson. But not the good things about him, like the Ferris wheel ride, and how amazing it felt when he effortlessly pulled me to him, and then wrapped his muscular arms around me, squeezing my body against his and gently pressing his lips to mine. Or how I literally tremble all over every time he touches me, or holds my hand, or even smiles at me. Under normal circumstances, these thoughts would be impossible to ignore. But the only thing these roses are allowing me to think about right now is the accident, and how Bryson has been affected by it.

I look back at Becca, who has noticed my sudden change in expression.

"You okay?" she asks.

I nod as I stare at the wall. "Yeah. I just hope Bryson doesn't feel like this is his fault in any way."

Becca shakes her head. "No, he doesn't. I mean, he feels horrible about the whole situation, but I definitely don't think he blames himself."

I grin faintly. Even though I know Becca would say that no matter what, I force myself to agree. After a few seconds of silence, I feel compelled to change the subject.

"So, what's the deal with you and Brian?" I ask, looking up at her and grinning suggestively.

And just like in the past, my usually rough-and-tough BFF just smiles bashfully, shrugs, pushes a strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and says, "We're talking."

My smile grows considerably when she says that. As much as I just wanted to change the subject, I'm definitely dying to know what's going on with them, also. Especially since they texted the whole time we were all at the car show last night.

With the same bashful grin on her face, she fiddles with her phone for a second then hands it to me.

"Texts from last night?" I ask, peeking up at her.

"Yep."

As I scroll down, reading all the texts--there's probably about forty or fifty between the two of them--I read Brian telling Becca all about how tough his seven-month relationship with Emma was, and how hard it was for him to break up with her because he didn't want to hurt her, even though he didn't want to be with her. And I read Becca consoling him and carefully asking him questions about the relationship, and trying to make him feel better, and all that good stuff I'm pretty sure guys really appreciate. Then he asks her what she's doing and she tells him she's at the car show, and then they go on to talk about their interests in general and what they like to do for fun and blah blah blah, you get the point.

Then the texts quickly take a dark turn. There's only a few, but they're intense. Short texts from Becca, panicking, telling him of the accident. And him trying to console her, repeatedly asking if I'm okay.

I try to keep my smile intact as I quickly read them then hand the phone back to her. But like always, she sees through me.

"He was really worried about you," she says. Not really knowing what to say, and definitely not wanting to start talking or thinking about all of this again, I just look at her and gently smile and nod to show my appreciation. Then there's another few seconds of silence. But this time, Becca changes the subject.

"Geez, I wonder where the hell our moms are." She glances at the door.

I look that way, as well. "Probably chatting each other's ears off. Especially if my mom told her about my genius."

Becca stiffens up. "You think she did?"

"Possibly," I shrug. "I guess we'll know when they come back in."

"So, I mean, it's still something you wanna do?" Becca asks nervously.

I stare straight ahead for a second in thought, but not because I'm trying to decide whether or not to reveal my genius. I'm already one hundred percent certain I want to do that. I'm just hoping Becca still feels the same way about the whole situation. Last night when she said she was fine with it, the accident was still fresh on her mind, and she was an emotional wreck. She hadn't even stopped crying completely. I'm pretty sure she would have agreed to mug an old lady and rob a bank with me if I'd asked her to at that point. She was just glad to see I was okay. But now that she's had some time for the idea to sink in, I'm hoping she hasn't changed her mind.

"Yeah, I do want to. Only if you're still okay with it, though," I say, looking back up at her.

And just like last night, she simply smiles and says, "I'm okay with it. I'm a little worried, but I'm behind you all the way, girlie. I think we'll be fine." I can see an unsure confidence in her eyes, if that makes sense.

I understand her concern, because I feel the same way; revealing my genius is a huge step. Ever since Becca and I were little, we vowed to protect this secret with our lives, fearing that if it was discovered, I would be forced by my parents or whoever to skip ahead in life, leaving her behind. Whether or not this was a legitimate fear, it completely consumed us and as the years rolled by, it never subsided.

"As long as you didn't have any dreams about it," Becca adds, narrowing her eyes at me, trying to examine my immediate reaction.

But I just laugh. "No, no nightmares about revealing my genius, I swear."

"Okay, good," she rolls her eyes in relief. "Then let's do this."

Suddenly, we hear the door handle turn, and we both look over to see our moms practically tiptoeing in the room, slowly peeking around the wall like a couple of overgrown cats, scanning the room for humans so they can judge us, then decide if we're good enough to be in their presence.

"Hey, there," my mom says softly, followed by Mrs. Anna.

"Hey, Dori." Then they both straighten up and walk toward us.

"Hey," I reply to both of them with a smile.

As they approach, I try not to be obvious as I keep a close eye on Mrs. Anna, which isn't turning out to be all that easy since her eyes are glued to me. I repeatedly glance at her, nervously looking for any signs or clues at all that she may have been let in on my secret. I've known this woman since the day I was born, and she could possibly be looking at me in a whole new light right now. It's definitely a lot more awkward than I thought it would be. But unless she's hiding it well, she doesn't appear to know.

My mom walks around the bed to stand next to Becca while Mrs. Anna stops on the other side.

"How are you feeling?" my mom asks, rubbing my forehead then leaning over to kiss it.

"I feel good. I took some Aleve for my headache, but other than that I feel really good."

Then Mrs. Anna leans over to hug me. "Hey, sweetie. I'm so sorry this happened to you," she says, squeezing me tight. "Mr. Brett sends his love. He had some work to do from home today," she adds, standing back up.

I smile in appreciation. "Well, I'm really glad y'all came."

"Of course, sweetie. Mr. Brett left after the test results came in last night and he knew you were okay."

"Yeah," Mom chimes in with a chuckle. "After the _real_ doctor came back in with your MRI scans."

Mrs. Anna laughs when my mom says that and right away, I'm back to assuming she knows my secret. You see, my mom is a master storyteller. She'll cover every inch of a story twice. To give you an example: over the years, Carson and I have heard my mom and dad's honeymoon story six times. Four of those times, my dad had to abruptly stop her when she got to the part about their extracurricular activities on the beach after the sun went down. The other two times, when Dad wasn't around, we stuck our fingers in our ears when she got to that part--like Dad told us to--and she just kept right on talking.

So due to her disturbing and inappropriate, yet thorough, storytelling, I seriously doubt she was able to tell Mrs. Anna about the 'real doctor' episode without elaborating on the fact that I corrected the young doctor and put my family's mind at ease.

I look over at Becca. She knows my mom as well as I do--she was even around for one of the honeymoon stories--and I can tell she's thinking the exact same thing when she looks at me and nervously widens her eyes.

But once again, Mrs. Anna doesn't say a word about it, and I'm definitely content with that. Even though it doesn't really matter if she knows, because everyone will know soon, it's still extremely nerve-wracking.

"That's unbelievable that they would employ someone like that," Mrs. Anna says.

I stare at her as I laugh along, waiting anxiously, certain she's about to look at me and blurt it out. But she never does.

"He was an idiot," Becca mutters, throwing her phone up to her face as she backs up and plops down on the couch.

Then my mom's laugh dies down considerably. "Yeah, he definitely gave us all a scare" - she pauses to look down at me as she reflects- "but luckily he was wrong."

She continues to look at me, as if she's trying not to get upset, but she snaps out of it right away.

"So, I bet you're ready to go home, huh?" she asks brightly, wide-eyed and smiling again.

My eyes grow wide with excitement along with hers. "Definitely!" I exclaim, welcoming the subject change. "Going home sounds fantastic."

* * *

After waiting another four or five hours to be cleared by the doctor--during which I aggressively inhaled a big, fat, sloppy cheeseburger Becca brought me from the cafeteria... actually, we both inhaled one--we're finally headed home.

"So, you're sure you didn't have any bad dreams about revealing your genius?" Becca whispers, leaning toward me.

I see my mom glance at us in the rearview mirror.

"Shh," I say, staying as still as possible until she looks away.

The last thing I need is for my mom to find out about my amazing super-hero ability to see the future in my dreams. And by super-hero ability--which just sounds awesome--of course I mean purely coincidental weirdness. It has to be. But it's still pretty strange. And if my mom ever found out about it, she'd surely have my face on the six o'clock news in no time.

"I swear, I didn't. You know I would tell you if I did," I whisper back to her.

"Okay." She leans back upright and grins. "Just making sure."

I tilt my head down to smell the roses just underneath my chin, and I smile as I start to think about Bryson. Then I secure the bottom of the vase between my legs so I can text him, simply telling him that I'm smelling the roses he gave me, followed by a smiley face.

I responded to him earlier in the hospital to let him know I was doing great, and he had absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Then we went on to text about everything that had happened, but not just about the accident. In fact, we talked mostly about the date, and how amazing it was. He told me how he was dying to kiss me and touch me again, sending a wave of tingles throughout my body when I read it. I couldn't help but wonder how much more kissing and touching would have gone on last night, had the accident not taken place. I'm definitely dying to see him again, too.

I hand my phone to Becca so she can see the text I just sent as we pull in the driveway. As we come to a stop, I notice Mrs. Anna pulling in behind us.

"Your mom's coming over?" I ask Becca.

She turns to look behind us then shrugs. "Looks like it."

I look at my mom. "Did you tell Mrs. Anna about my genius?"

I never got the chance to ask at the hospital while Mrs. Anna was around, and I'm curious to know for sure before we see her again.

"No, I didn't, sweetie," she responds, looking back at me. "That's for you to tell, whenever you want to."

Then she smiles at me with a caring look on her face, as if it doesn't really matter to her anymore whether I reveal it or not. Honestly, I think the accident has her so shaken up that she's just glad I'm okay, and not much else matters.

We hop out of the SUV.

"Hey," I smile at Mrs. Anna, holding on to my flowers and the cute little pink bear from Holly.

She just says "Hey" in response as she approaches, and nothing else. I kind of expected her to say why she pulled in our driveway. Not that I care or anything; I'd love for Mrs. Anna to come over. The whole thing is just out of place as she walks up in silence with a giant grin on her face.

And after walking up the driveway to the house, my mom opens the front door...

"Welcome home!" everyone yells together. I see my dad, Carson, Hailey, and Mr. Brett standing in front of the couch smiling at me excitedly, as if I'm returning home from a five-year tour of duty. I look at Becca to see if she knew, and of course I see the same sneaky grin on her face as her mom had a few minutes ago.

"Dori!" Hailey yells as she runs up and slams into me, bear-hugging me around my waist.

I lean over to hug her back. "Hey, girlie, good to see you," I say, squeezing her tightly and kissing her on the cheek.

"You feeling better?" she asks.

"I feel awesome."

She finally releases her grip on me as Carson approaches.

"Good, because I've got that test tomorrow, and I definitely need some help." He says as he hugs me.

Becca giggles faintly. "You need help with a lot more than that."

"Yeah," Hailey agrees.

Carson steps aside after hugging me and walks close in front of Becca, glaring at her. "Shut your face," he says.

In response, she suddenly rears back as if she's going to hit him, catching him--and me--off-guard as he flinches backwards while walking away.

Then after I hug my dad and Mr. Brett, Hailey aggressively grabs my hand and yells, "Come on, come on! We have a surprise for you in the kitchen!" As she pulls me in that direction, I see a white poster board taped to the kitchen door that says _Welcome Home, Dori! We love you!_ in purple bubble letters, with hearts all around it.

"I made that," Hailey informs me, casually pointing to the poster with her free hand as she looks back at me.

I smile at her as she continues to pull me, forcefully plowing through the kitchen door as everyone follows close behind. Once we're in there, I see purple and blue balloons tied to the backs of all the chairs around the table, and they all say _Get well soon_ on them. Then I see a huge cookie cake right smack in the middle of the table.

"Yummy!" I shout, clapping excitedly. "Thanks you!" I lean over and kiss Hailey on her head. Cookie cake is my absolute favorite, along with vanilla white-icing cake.

Hailey immediately starts hopping up and down with delight when she sees my reaction.

"This was all Hailey's idea," my dad tells me. "We went to the store this morning and got everything."

Hailey smiles wide. "Yep. Carson said it was stupid, though." Her happy face turns into an evil glare as she looks over at him.

"No, I said you were stupid. There's a difference," Carson replies, taking a seat.

Hailey looks at me and slowly shakes her head. "Now, does that make any sense? _Him_ calling someone stupid?" she points her thumb in his direction.

And just as it looks like Becca's about to join in and verbally body-slam Carson, Mr. Brett looks at her with a smirk and says, "Becca, don't even think about it."

"Fine," she snaps, rolling her eyes and stomping around the table to take a seat.

Carson laughs, taunting her.

"That's enough from all of you," my mom demands wearily, as if she deals with this all the time--and trust me, she does. "Or none of you are getting cookie cake."

When that threat is presented, they all straighten up instantly. I try not to laugh as I take my seat.

As we all relax around the table and proceed to stuff our faces with delicious, giant slabs of icing-topped chocolate chip cookies, we begin to discuss everything that has happened. Mr. Brett and Mrs. Anna express their interest in Bryson and the date last night, and I tell them as much as I'm willing to share, which isn't much.

"He's a really nice guy, and we have a lot in common," I say, wanting to talk about anything but this. But when the conversation veers toward the accident, I start to think the Bryson conversation wasn't all that bad. And when they all begin talking about the young idiot doctor from last night, I decide to tell Mr. Brett and Mrs. Anna about my genius.

I look at Becca, and she starts chewing in slow motion as she looks back at me. Her sudden blank stare says it all: she knows exactly what I'm about to do. And after a few seconds of mentally preparing herself, she presses her lips together and nods supportively.

I put what's left of my cookie cake down on my plate, and when I look up at Mr. Brett and Mrs. Anna, I take a deep breath as my heart takes one last nosedive into my stomach.

# 18

Awkward Unveiling

I somehow manage to stay calm. As soon as the opportunity arises where neither of them is talking, I force myself to speak.

"Well, I have something I want to tell y'all," I begin nervously, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

I can feel my hands shaking involuntarily, which is super weird. I can actually almost _hear_ them shaking, as well, because the room has gone silent. There are suddenly no sounds of talking, laughing, giggling, eating, drinking, moving around--nothing at all. Just complete silence. I don't have to look at my parents to know they're staring at me, waiting anxiously just like Becca is. I'm sure even Carson and Hailey are mildly curious to see me tell my secret.

"What is it, sweetie?" Mrs. Anna asks as she and Mr. Brett focus on me intently. They almost look concerned.

"Umm, I'm not really sure how to say it because I've never had to tell anyone before, but...umm..."

As hard as I try, I can't seem to force the words out. Not because I'm changing my mind about telling them, though. It's just incredibly awkward and weird to look two people in the face who have literally known me my entire life and say, "I'm a genius." So I decide to show them instead.

I look at Becca. "You wanna get the calculator?"

"Yep." She jumps up to retrieve it from the drawer next to the sink, and then slides it across the table to her parents as she sits back down.

"Ask me a long division or multiplication problem, or whatever," I tell them.

They grin at me suspiciously, then shoot a glance at Becca and my parents, wondering what's going on.

"Okay," Mr. Brett says cautiously, grabbing the calculator. "What is--" he pauses briefly while setting up a problem, "3,889 times 535?"

"2,080,615," I reply.

He slowly looks up at me in disbelief, and then shows Mrs. Anna the calculator. They both glance at my parents again and then back at me.

"How did you do that?" Mrs. Anna asks. Their eyes are wide with curiosity as they stare at me.

Before I can respond... "Lucky guess," Mr. Brett jokes. "Let's try another one." We all giggle while he sets up another problem.

"What is 215,423.25 divided by 22,553.36?"

"9.6 rounded off. What you're seeing on the calculator is 9.5517."

Mr. Brett laughs and tosses the calculator on the table as he looks at Mrs. Anna. But her eyes never leave my face.

"So, you're a genius with numbers," she says, looking to me for confirmation.

"No, she's a genius with every damn thing," Becca says.

Mrs. Anna whips her head around. "Becca, watch your mouth."

"Sorry."

As my parents and I go on to explain the whole story to Mr. Brett and Mrs. Anna about my genius--the extent of it, why I chose to keep it a secret all these years, why I want to reveal it now, and so on--they just sit there, stunned.

"Okay, Dori," Mr. Brett says, fascinated by the whole calculator thing as he snatches it back off the table.

"2,025 is going to be our base number," he begins.

"Okay," I respond.

"I'm going to keep adding 826 to it, and you just tell me the totals, rapid-fire."

"Okay," I agree.

"Okay, ready, go."

"2,851- 3,677- 4,503- 5,329- 6,155- 6,981- 7,807- 8,633..." As I continue to spout out the totals, he's quickly glancing between me and the calculator with a grin. "9,459- 10,285- 11,111- 11,937- 12,763- 13,589- 14,415- "

"Wow!" he interrupts, suddenly stopping and tossing the calculator back on the table as we all laugh again.

It's definitely going to take them a while to get used to this. But as shocked as they are to learn I'm a genius, I think they're more shocked by the fact that we've actually been able to keep this secret from them for sixteen years. Luckily, they understand why I did it, and there doesn't appear to be any hard feelings.

* * *

It's only Wednesday, and I'm already missing Bryson like crazy. I was definitely missing him yesterday and the day before that, but it's much worse today. And I have a feeling it'll continue to get harder as the days go by.

The doctor suggested I stay home from school for a week, and my mom insisted on following his advice, even though I repeatedly told her how great I feel. But that didn't faze her one bit. So I've been doing a ton of relaxing, just chilling in my bed reading, watching the Kardashians, snacking--since my mom has basically been waiting on me hand and foot, continuously replenishing my supply of Oreo cookies, Cheez-its, pita chips, and anything else I want--and texting and talking with Becca, Bryson, and Holly.

Bryson is also at home, because his mom wanted him to take a few days off school to relax. When he told me that late Sunday night, I quickly changed my tune about staying home myself. The only reason I tried to convince my mom to let me go to school was to see him. Other than that, I have no desire to be there.

So things aren't all that bad. I miss him like crazy, but at least I get to hear his voice over the phone.

The only other thing left to deal with is the slight boredom which creeps up on me every once in a while. Like now, for instance. I look over at the clock on my dresser and it says 10:49 a.m., telling me I've been watching this cat-fight for exactly six minutes now. As I sit here on my bed, leaning back against my pillow which is propped up on the headboard, I repeatedly slam my toes together, making these two large cat heads on my Hello Kitty slippers go at it. And just as it starts to get super intense and the left one is about to pin the right one, my mom suddenly sticks her head in the doorway.

"Hey, there," she says softly.

I jump and immediately stop the cat-fight as I look her way, hoping she didn't see any of that. But as soon as I look at her, she just smiles and says, "Someone's here to see you."

Right away I start thinking of anyone and everyone I know who would possibly visit me on a whim. The most obvious choices would be Becca or Holly, but they're both at school right now. Not only that, my mom wouldn't make such a spectacle of either of them visiting.

And before I can think any further, Bryson steps in the doorway.

Butterflies instantly swarm my stomach; Bryson was the last person I expected to see. I immediately grab my covers and throw them over me as I look at him, grinning. Then he smiles at me, absolutely melting my heart, and says, "I already know all about the slippers. You sent me a picture, remember?"

"Yeah, but do you know about the pants?" I ask, ripping the covers back off.

He takes one look at my pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and begins to laugh. "No, I did not," he finally responds, my mom laughing next to him.

"I didn't know about the shirt, either." He points to my white tank top.

I look down and see Hello Kitty written across my chest, reminding me of the shirt. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed, as Bryson and my mom laugh even louder.

"Okay, I'm going downstairs. Door stays open," my mom says firmly, and then walks away.

I'm absolutely stunned by this. Carson has had a few girls over to the house before--shocking, I know--but they were _never_ allowed upstairs to his room. I guess maybe she's making an exception because of the accident, but I'm still extremely surprised.

Then my focus quickly shifts to Bryson as he starts walking toward me and just like before, I start to feel weak all over. He's wearing a faded gray Grizzlies t-shirt, which his arms and chest are bulging out of, as usual; a light colored pair of loose-fitting jeans with a slight rip just above the right knee, and another one on the left thigh; and a pair of gray and black Nike tennis shoes.

I smile as I pull my eyes back up to his face.

"Hey," he says, returning my smile with his eyes locked on mine as he approaches.

"Hey," I reply. He sits down on the edge of the bed and leans over to hug me.

His scent drives me crazy as I wrap my arms around his neck, and the feel of his shoulders under my arms again gives me chills. I squeeze tightly to let him know how much I've missed him, and he does the same.

"You feeling okay?" he asks while we're clinging together.

"Yeah, I'm feeling great."

Then we slowly break apart, but he keeps his face close to mine as he leans across my thighs onto his elbow.

"How about you?" I ask him, flustered.

"Never better," he smiles.

I smile back nervously. His face is only a few inches from mine, and he's focusing on me as if he wants to kiss me. I'm desperately hoping he does.

"So, I would ask you if this is something your mom's usually okay with, but I know you've never had a boyfriend until now." He chuckles, looking surprised that he's been allowed up here.

I laugh, shaking my head. And just as I'm about to respond, telling him I have absolutely no idea what's going through that crazy-ass woman's mind, it suddenly hits me what he just said. "You've never had a boyfriend- _until now_."

I freeze and look at him silently.

"What?" he asks, one side of his mouth raising up into a sexy half-grin. I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what he's doing.

"So...I have a boyfriend now?"

He shrugs, still grinning. "If you want me, I'm yours, princess."

A huge smile slowly spreads across my face. _Bryson Turner_ wants to be my boyfriend. I'm so overwhelmed with shock and excitement right now, that I really have no idea how I'm going to pull myself together and actually speak. But somehow, I manage to do just that.

"You know I want you," I say.

His smile widens as he begins leaning in to kiss me. But then he suddenly stops. "Hang on," he says in a low voice. He jumps up and jogs to the door, taking careful, quiet steps as if he's walking on an old, creaky wooden floor covered with broken glass rather than plush, comfy carpet. He sticks his head out and looks both ways, then carefully prances back to the bed with a goofy expression on his face.

I laugh as he sits back down.

"Okay, we're good now," he smiles, and then he leans in to kiss me.

Just like before, I can feel my heart racing and my head spinning when our lips touch. I feel his thumb on my jawline while his fingers grip the back of my neck, holding my face securely to his. I reach around and slowly run my hand up the back of his head, feeling his soft, brown hair between my fingers just before I tightly clench a handful. I can feel myself growing weaker with every passing second.

When we finally release each other, I slowly open my eyes and look at him, breathless. As perfect as that kiss was, it frightened me a little. Being emotionally dependent on someone is risky. But when I notice his expression reflecting mine, I suddenly become more at ease with everything. He has the same look of surrender, as if nothing else in the world matters at this moment.

He quickly glances at the door and then looks back at me with a grin, leaning back a little to add some space between us.

"The last thing we need is for your mom to catch us doing that," he says, his eyes widening.

I shoot a quick glance at the door. "Agreed," I say. He grabs my ponytail and begins running his fingers through it as I gaze into his gorgeous brown eyes. I feel like now is as good a time as any to tell him about my genius.

My heart starts racing all over again, but not in a good way this time. In fact, I'm even starting to feel a little sick to my stomach. I'm quite possibly about to set the record for the shortest relationship in the history of humanity. But I simply have no choice.

He starts to notice something is off, and I swallow hard as I look into his now-puzzled eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you about myself," I say in a serious tone. And after staring at me uneasily for a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side, squints his eyes and says, "You're not wanted by the police or anything, are you?"

I immediately laugh, appreciating the comic relief.

"Only in Europe and Australia," I tease. Then I stiffen as quickly as I began laughing, causing him to do the same.

"What is it?" he frowns.

I figure the quickest and easiest way to do this is to just blurt it out, no beating around the bush. So with my pulse now pounding, that's exactly what I do.

"I'm a genius," I say, trying not to panic as I stare at him.

He smiles at me suspiciously. "What?"

"I'm a genius," I repeat. "I've kept it a secret my entire life. Only my family and Becca have ever known."

He pauses for a moment as a look of shock washes over his face. "Are you serious?"

I nod nervously, hoping this information hasn't presented a problem.

"Wow," he says, turning his head and looking down to the floor. His eyes are suddenly a hundred miles away, lost in thought. I just wish I knew what those thoughts were. And as much as I hate to break his concentration, I feel like I need to say something.

"I know I should have told you sooner..."

"No, it's okay." He shakes his head and looks back up at me. "But, why have you kept it a secret from everyone?"

Now I'm the one staring at the floor in thought, shrugging and contemplating. Perhaps it _was_ the wrong move to keep it a secret all these years. Maybe Becca and I _were_ silly to think it would come between us on some level. And if I had let it be known from the start, I surely wouldn't be dealing with this awkward unveiling to everyone after sixteen years of keeping it under wraps. I think I've succeeded at attracting the most amount of immediate attention to myself as I possibly could. But whether hiding it was the right decision or not, I felt like that's what needed to be done at the time.

I look back up at him, now with little confidence in the choices I've made, and shrug once again. "I just felt like it was the best way to live a normal life, you know? And I felt like it would separate me from Becca, which wasn't an option." I pause as he nods. "It was probably a stupid thing to do, but--"

"No, not at all," he interrupts. "If I had a friend I was that close to, I would have done the exact same thing."

I smile. I'm glad he at least understands why I did it. He smiles back at me briefly, then his expression turns serious again.

"So, are you a math whiz, or science, or--" he pauses, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

So, feeling like a conceited idiot, I look at him and say, "I kind of know...everything."

Seriously, how do you say something like that without sounding conceited? But I want to be one hundred percent truthful with him.

"I know that sounds horrible," I mutter.

He just laughs. "Why do you say that?" He grabs my hand and starts rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"I'm just amazed by this whole thing. I want you to tell me everything about it," he grins, looking at me as if he's never been more interested in something, or someone, in his entire life. That's when I realize he has absolutely no problem with this. So I begin telling him all about it.

I go into detail about how Becca single-handedly kept me on the social level of my peers since we were younger, in order to keep the secret. How she practically molded me into a regular kid and teenager, mainly just by being there all the time and being an example of how they act, talk, and think; and also by relentlessly correcting me over the years when I would say or do something people my age wouldn't say or do. "Okay, you're an eleven-year-old girl, not Albert Einstein," she would fuss. "Don't say that in front of anyone."

I tell him how growing up, I spent most of my time right here in my room, reading and writing books and coming up with new ways to solve math and science formulas and equations. And how I was constantly studying anything and everything I possibly could, because of my overwhelming thirst for knowledge of all things.

I grab his hand as I get up, pulling him to my ridiculously large walk-in closet. When I open the door and turn on the light, he stands there, stunned, when he sees there are just as many magazines and books crammed in there as there are clothes and shoes.

"You should see how much I've had to get rid of over the years," I say, pointing to the books. I show him all the books I've written, which I've printed out and put into binders. I show him my "New Solutions" binder, which contains page after page of simple solutions for math and science equations and theories. I sectioned them off into chapters, starting with the basics: Chapter 1- Algebra, Chapter 2- Geometry, Chapter 3- Chemistry, Chapter 4- Physics...all the way up to solving and slightly simplifying Fermat's Last Theorem, which is widely considered to be the most difficult math equation ever solved, since it took mathematicians over three hundred years to do so.

Bryson now sits on the comfy, green recliner with a pile of binders in his lap, shaking his head in amazement as he looks through them.

"This is...wow...unbelievable," he stammers, flipping through the New Solutions binder. "It's good to know you can help me with calculus now."

I giggle as I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull my legs up, crossing them in front of me.

"And this recliner is insanely comfortable, just like you said, by the way," he chuckles, his eyes never leaving the binder.

"Right?"

He continues shaking his head, eyes still glued to the binder. "This stuff is, like, a foreign language to me."

I immediately perk up with excitement. "Want me to teach you one?"

He laughs. "Okay, so how many different languages can you speak?"

" _I am currently able to speak twelve different languages, my sexy love_ ," I tell him, using a different language for each word.

He continues to laugh as I tell him what I said, and which language I used for each of the twelve words.

"This is blowing my mind," he says, glancing back down to the binders.

"Yeah, I know it's overwhelming." My smile fades. "That's another reason I never wanted to tell anyone. I'm really shy and I don't want to be looked at differently. I don't want the attention."

He nods as if he understands. "I don't blame you, I wouldn't want it either," he says, briefly looking back to the binders. "So, am I the only one you're telling?"

"No, I'm gonna tell everyone and just do my best to deal with the attention. The accident made me realize I could have lost it all, and I don't want it to go to waste."

He nods again in agreement. "That makes sense, too. Kind of damned if you do, damned if you don't, huh?"

"Pretty much," I shrug.

"And Becca's okay with it?" he asks.

"Yeah. I mean, she's a little worried like I am, but she'll always be on my side."

"That's good," he says. "And I am, too. No matter how the whole thing goes, I'll be here for you."

"Thank you," I smile. "My mom's going to Stargate tomorrow to tell the teachers and the principal for me, because I definitely don't want to do it." I look away from him and stare at the wall in thought. "Just thinking about it is stressing me out," I say quietly.

"Then let's stop thinking about it." He slaps the binder shut and hops up. "You wanna go see the Jeep my uncle's letting me borrow?"

"Definitely!"

He heads to the closet to bring the binders back. "I definitely want to read some of your books."

"Okay." I hop off the bed and skip to the closet, and then find my best three-part zombie series. "Here you go... _zombies_ ," I say eerily, handing him the binders.

"No way, you've written zombie books? That's awesome!"

Then I remind him that my absolute favorite kinds of movies are horrors and thrillers.

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," he chuckles. "I can't wait to read them."

He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips again, as I grab both of his arms to secure myself.

When we finally separate, he heads downstairs so I can change out of my cat suit.

Normally when I scan my closet for something to wear, I'm looking for something cute, and with plenty of coverage. I'm extremely modest and shy, so I like to show the least amount of skin as possible. But not today. I know the exact pair of shorts I want to wear, if I can find them.

Last December, when my Uncle Luke and Aunt Shirley visited for Christmas with their new, adorable Labrador Retriever puppy, "Freeway," he proceeded to jump on me the entire night, which normally I love. But this time, I was wearing my absolute favorite pair of jeans from Express. One of his claws eventually found the only microscopic hole just below my right knee, and ripped it wide open down to my shin.

I sat up in my room that night, trying not to cry as I stared at the jeans. "Don't worry about it, Dor. I'll take care of this." Hailey said, grinning at me as she held a pair of scissors next to her face.

I couldn't tell you to this day why I let her do it. First of all, she was only six years old. And second, as soon as she started to cut, she became engaged in an intense screaming match with Carson--well, she was screaming at him, anyway--which thwarted her concentration as she hacked away. But I just sat there and watched, appreciative, because I knew she meant well. So I wasn't upset with her at all when she completely goofed and cut them _way_ too short. Like, _crazy_ short. If you're eye-level with my waist, you can definitely see things hanging out. So needless to say, I never wore them.

But right now, I want to give her a big kiss on the cheek and a super tight hug, because those shorts are exactly what I need at the moment.

After finally spotting them in my closet, I snatch them up along with a blue tank top and then quickly change. I do several turns in the mirror to inspect my butt, and I end up tugging the shorts down just a hair. Then I re-do my ponytail, slip on my favorite pair of black Nike flip-flops, and head downstairs.

I know none of my neighbors will be around to see me in these ridiculous booty shorts, because it's a weekday. But getting past my mom is another story.

I peek around the wall when I get halfway down the stairs, and luckily there's no sign of her in the living room, so I scurry out the door.

As soon as I step outside, Bryson starts walking toward me from the Jeep. I take a few steps in his direction, and then quickly turn around and head back to the door, ' _to make sure it's closed all the way._ ' And as I'm 'making sure,' I whip my head around to look at him and he's totally staring at my butt and legs. His expression is frozen as he continues walking my way. Mission accomplished.

"Hey, pretty girl." He smiles as I turn back around to face him. Then he rushes up to me, grabs me under my arms and shoots me up to the sky, spinning me around as I giggle uncontrollably.

I stare him down with flirty eyes as he slowly lowers me until we're eye-level. Then he wraps his arms around me, tightly securing me to his body as my feet dangle. Then he kisses me again.

I have no recollection of wrapping my arms so tightly around his neck. I was in another world the entire time our lips were joined. But when the kiss is over, I quickly loosen my grip, hoping I wasn't actually choking him.

He continues to kiss me on my cheek, then along my jawline until he reaches my chin.

"Let's go look at the Jeep," he says between kisses.

"Okay," I barely reply, still trying to catch my breath as I tilt my head back with my eyes closed, allowing access to wherever his lips want to go.

My entire body is shaking as he finally lowers me to the ground gently. Luckily, my legs hold up as we make our way to the Jeep.

"Hop in," he says, opening the driver's side door.

I climb behind the wheel of his gray 2009 Jeep Wrangler X as he leans against the doorframe, hovering over me.

"So, what do you think?" he asks.

"This is _awesome_ ," I say, scanning the entire inside.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

He smiles wide with satisfaction. "I might end up buying it from my uncle."

I look at him, shocked. "What about your Camaro?"

"We haven't decided yet whether it's worth fixing or not," he shrugs, looking at me with a disappointed grin.

My heart breaks for him, because I know how much he loves that car. Heck, I've already grown to love that car. It was everything to him. He put his heart and soul into fixing it up in the beginning, spending countless hours rebuilding the whole thing from bumper to bumper, including the engine. He's told me several times he doesn't know what he would do if something happened to that car, so to hear that he and his uncle may not fix it back up absolutely crushes me.

I try not to show emotion. Despite my best efforts, however, I feel my eyes starting to water.

"I'm really sorry about everything. I know how important that car was to you."

He puts his arm around my shoulder and leans closer. "Hey, don't get upset. It's not a big deal at all, really," he says sweetly. "I did care about that car, but...I found something I care about more." He squeezes my hand, looking deep into my eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay."

I gaze back at him and smile. I'm starting to realize just how much I truly mean to him. And I have to admit, it's a fantastic feeling.

* * *

"So, he was actually on your bed?" Becca asks with crazy-wide eyes, desperately wanting me to confirm the text I sent her a few hours ago after Bryson left.

I nod as I glance at Holly, who's sitting next to Becca at the foot of my bed. Her eyes are just as wide and hopeful.

"Yep, he was sitting right there." I point just in front of them.

"Oh, my God!" Holly exclaims. "And your mom didn't care?"

I shake my head, grinning from ear to ear. "She was downstairs the whole time."

Becca shakes her head. "That's insane. I couldn't believe it when you texted me that earlier," she says. "This accident is making your mom do all kind of awesome things."

"Yeah, no kidding. Maybe if I have another one she'll let him spend the night," I joke. We all laugh.

"So, how was all the kissing?" Becca asks. Holly leans in next to her, her curious face as still as a picture.

I don't know why I get so embarrassed talking about these things. I mean, it could be worse. I could be revealing my genius to Holly right now. But luckily, Becca already told her Monday at school, and I've talked about it with Holly several times since then. So at least that awkward nightmare is out of the way.

But even though this topic is easy-breezy in comparison, I still find myself smiling bashfully as I glance down at my scrapbook in front of me and start fiddling with the new pictures of me in my cheerleading uniform my mom printed out.

I finally look back up at them slowly. "It was amazing," I say, trying to control my excitement. "I know he's my first, but I can't imagine it could be any better."

And after going into detail about the three kisses Bryson and I shared, Becca walks over and plops down on the green recliner with her face in her phone, while Holly scoots next to me and begins flipping through the scrapbook.

"So what headline should I put for these cheerleading pictures?" I ask them.

"How about ' _The Most Horrific Day of My Life_ ,'" Becca suggests, her eyes never straying from her phone.

"You read my mind."

Holly chuckles as she helps me apply pressure to the pictures so they can dry.

I look over at Becca and grin. "Is that Brian?"

"Yep." She peeks around her phone at me. "He asked me out earlier, for Friday night."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" I reach out to grab her phone as she extends it to me.

"I was about to. I've just been distracted with the whole 'Bryson on your bed' thing and him being your boyfriend now, and all of that."

As I scroll through their texts from earlier today, I see they haven't yet decided where they want to go, and then Becca asking him if Bryson and I could join them. " _Of course_ _they can_ ," Brian replied.

I look back at Becca just as she pulls her fingernail out from between her teeth--because she bites her nails when she's nervous--glances up at me and asks, "Y'all wanna come?"

"Yeah, for sure, if that's what you want."

Her expression turns to relief. "Okay, cool. I want Holly to come, too, but--"

"No, no, I'm not gonna ruin y'all's double date," Holly interrupts, focusing hard as she repeatedly presses on every inch of the pictures to secure them to the scrapbook. "When I decide I want a boyfriend again, then I'll come along." She looks up at us and smiles. "Plus, my grandma's staying the weekend with us."

We nod as my mom pops her head in the doorway.

"Dinner's almost ready. Y'all are welcome to stay, girls, there's plenty."

Becca looks up at her. "What is it?"

"Grilled fish and roasted potatoes."

"Whoa, I'm in," Becca confirms, raising her index finger.

My mom laughs and then looks at Holly. "Holly, what about you, sweetie?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'll stay."

As the three of us get ready to head downstairs, I grab my phone to text Bryson about the double date Friday night. And out of nowhere, my mind races back to our first date. More specifically, the accident. I'm fully aware it was a one-time, freak incident that wasn't even our fault but still, it doesn't stop a brief shudder of fear from running through me.

# 19

Date Night

I've been overwhelmed with two very intense emotions all day long. It's Friday, and I'm super excited about seeing Bryson tonight for our double date. But I'm also extremely nervous because Monday is right around the corner now, which means back to school. But it's not _just_ back to school. It's back to school as a completely different person.

My mom went to Stargate yesterday and had a meeting with all my teachers and the school principal to inform them of my genius. She showed them my 'New Solutions' binder, and she said they were all stunned beyond belief. With her consent, they made copies of the entire thing and started making plans to present it to the school board.

They asked all the obvious questions. "Why did she want to keep it a secret?"... " _How_ did she keep it a secret?"... "Is she a genius in all fields of study, or just math and science?"... "Why would she not want to move on to college or have a career?"

So my mom told them the story from the beginning and according to Becca, Bryson, and Holly, the word has already gotten around school somehow.

Bryson went back yesterday so he wouldn't get too far behind on his schoolwork, and he told me earlier today that people have been bombarding him with questions. Asking if he and I are okay, regarding the accident; asking him if the rumors are true about me being a genius; and even asking if he and I are dating now. And Becca has said people are asking her the exact same questions.

So yeah, I'm terrified to return to school, to say the least. All eyes and attention will be on me. But I guess that's what you get when you hide something this huge for this long. This is no one's fault but mine; I'm fully aware of that. But that awareness isn't helping to quell the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. And sitting here in Carson's room, helping him with his chemistry homework isn't helping me forget about school, either.

As he works on a problem I've set up for him, I stare at his TV screen, far away in thought. I begin to create scenario after scenario in my mind of how Monday morning might play out when I get to school. And I've gotta admit, none of them are making me feel any better. In fact, they're all scaring me to death.

Just as I'm about to think myself into a possible hurling situation, I see Hailey walking by Carson's room. She's stumbling around slowly, her face glued to what appears to be Carson's phone. She obviously has no idea I'm in here.

"Got it!" Carson suddenly exclaims.

I whip my head back around. "Got it?" I ask, just as surprised as him. I grab the notebook and check his answer.

"You got it!" I confirm.

He smiles and nods proudly as I hand the notebook back to him.

"Okay, try this one," I say, pointing to another problem. Then I squint at him. "Hey, where's your phone?"

He shoots an angry glare at me, as if to say, " _Where the hell do you think it is_?"

"I'll be right back." I hop up and walk over to Hailey's room. The door is closed, which is surely an indication that she's up to no good, so I knock politely.

"Hailey, it's Dori. I have to ask you something."

I can hear her immediately start to scramble around, as if perhaps she's trying to hide the phone. When she finally opens up, she plants herself firmly in the doorway with her hand on the doorknob, definitely not inviting me in for tea and Milk Duds like she normally does.

I stare her down with a smirk, hoping she'll surrender and hand over the phone without me having to say anything at all.

But instead, she just smiles innocently, shrugs her shoulders, and says, "What's up?"

"Well, I'm gonna get dressed in a little while for my date tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to help me choose an outfit."

She sticks her bottom lip out and nods, mildly interested at best. "Yeah, sounds great. Let me know."

I already know for a fact she has the phone, but _she_ doesn't know I know that. And she's not playing this whole thing very smartly.

Hailey would trample a litter of wounded puppies to get to my room and help me choose an outfit. Next to shopping at Justice at the mall, it's her absolute favorite thing to do. But she's acting like I'm a total stranger who has no knowledge of this.

She takes a slow, careful step back as she starts to ease the door closed, wanting to get back to her top-secret activity as quickly as possible.

"Oh, and Carson can't find his phone. Have you seen it?" I ask her point blank, knowing she's rarely able to lie to my face.

Her shoulders immediately droop and the blood drains from her face, leaving it pale white. As many times as we've been through this, I'm still not sure whether she's upset because I've caught her and I'm disappointed in her, or simply because she can't finish whatever game she's playing.

With her head now hanging and her shoulders still slumped, she turns around and shuffles toward the bed, dramatically and lifelessly. She retrieves a neatly folded pillowcase from underneath her mattress, and then unfolds it and pulls out the phone. Apparently, she thought I had a team of FBI field agents with me to search her room.

Neither of us says a word as she walks up and hands it to me. I really don't care to know how she blackmailed him or what she has on him, I just want the phone. I give her a disappointed look then head back to Carson's room to continue helping him with his homework.

I help him until five o'clock and then I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, blow-dry and straighten my hair, put on little to no makeup, as usual, and then head to my room to get dressed.

Luckily for me, tonight is more about Becca since it's her first date with Brian. Bryson and I are just kind of tagging along, like Becca and Holly did last weekend for me. So I'm definitely feeling calm and relaxed this time around. Especially now that Bryson and I are officially a couple, we've gotten that first awkward kiss out of the way and have kissed multiple times since then, and we're just more comfortable around each other in general at this point.

So my nerves are calm and I'm feeling pretty fantastic right now. Which is a nice change of pace since it seems like I've been a nervous wreck about everything for the past month or so.

I went to Becca's house yesterday after she got home from school, and we tried on dresses. For the most part, our closets have never been filled with overly-cute, glamorous, trendy clothes like dresses and fancy shoes and things like that. Don't get me wrong, we like shopping and getting cute clothes and all, but we've always been more on the casual side of things. And me even more so than Becca, I think because of my shyness. I typically don't care to attract any more attention to myself than necessary.

But on a recent back-to-school shopping trip, Becca and I decided to branch out a little and each buy a few dresses in an attempt to not look so plain at school this year. Even though we haven't worn them yet, we figured tonight was perfect since we're just going out for pizza and a movie. And thanks to good ol' Louisiana's psychotic and unpredictable temperatures throughout the year, it's still like a thousand degrees outside despite the fact that we're creeping up on mid-October **.** So weather-wise, dresses make perfect sense.

As I pull the dress from my closet that I decided on yesterday at Becca's, I'm surprisingly more excited than I am reluctant. I've become strangely comfortable around Bryson in an extremely short amount of time, and I can't wait for him to see me in this cute dress. And since the rest of the world seems to disappear every time I'm with him, everyone else is kind of a non-issue.

I walk out of my closet just as Hailey belly-flops on my bed, resting her chin in her hands.

"You like it?" I smile, raising the dress up next to me.

Between the three dresses I bought that day at the mall, I'm going with the fitted, short-sleeved, navy blue floral one from Urban Outfitters. It falls four or five inches above the knee and is covered with small, white and tan flowers; and has a cute, brown, skinny-braided belt. It's still fairly casual as far as dresses go, but at least it's a dress.

Hailey smiles big as she scans the dress from top to bottom. "I love it! Is Becca wearing one, too?" She hops up on her knees.

"Yep, I'll show you a picture." I grab my phone and pull up a picture of the more edgy, red, tiered tank dress from Express Becca is going to wear. Hailey practically falls into a trance as she gazes at it, speechless.

"Wow...awesome," she murmurs. I grin, watching her in the mirror as I slip on my dress.

Then my phone buzzes in her hands. "It's Bryson," she says, handing it to me.

" _Be there in about ten minutes, princess. We're meeting at Becca's, right?_ "

Butterflies creep up in my stomach. I _love_ it when he calls me 'princess.' After texting him back to confirm about meeting at Becca's house, I look up to see Hailey staring at me.

"Is he on his way?" Her ridiculous smile looks sort of like Mom's when we talk about Bryson.

"Yes he is," I tell her. "But we're all gonna meet at Becca's house because her parents want to meet Brian."

Her smile dies down considerably. "I really like Bryson," she says.

"I'm glad you like him." I glance at her and smile. "I like him, too."

Then her previous Mom-like smile slowly resurfaces. "You should marry him."

I laugh as I turn back to the mirror and begin straightening out my dress. "Well, we'll see how that goes."

As funny as her statement was, I have no interest in exploring this topic any further. First of all, I'm only sixteen, and any discussion about marriage is absolutely ridiculous--not to say I haven't thought about it, though. And second, the last thing I need is for Hailey to twist my words or take me seriously, and run and tell Mom and Dad I'm marrying Bryson and running away with him or something. So I quickly change the subject.

"Okay, so now I need shoes and a purse," I say, turning back to her.

She hops off the bed and sprints to the closet as I swirl back to the mirror and adjust my belt.

When I look over at her, she's crouched down, carefully examining all my flip-flops while shooting the occasional glance back at my dress to help her decide.

Then out of the blue, my phone rings. When I look at it, I see it's Becca, which is strange because we always text rather than call.

"Hey," I answer, a touch of surprise in my voice. Then she immediately starts panicking.

"My hair won't freaking...straighten right or something. I can't get it to do anything, and it won't straighten right, and Brian's on his way, and it's just...freakin'--"

"Wait, wait a minute," I cut her off as Hailey holds up my brown, braided-leather flip-flops from Abercrombie. I nod and give her a thumbs up.

"What do you mean it won't straighten right?" I frown as I sit on my bed.

"I don't know, it's just being stupid," she insists. And this time I heard a small break in her voice.

"Are you crying?" My frown deepens in disbelief.

But she just sighs heavily and says, "No, I'm trying to break this damn straightener because I'm pissed off!"

I try not to laugh as she continues to rant and rave. Finally, since there's no other way to get a word in, I cut her off.

"Okay, okay, listen, give me a few minutes. I'm about to head over there and we'll figure this out, okay?"

I move quickly, trying to save a minute or two because I know my parents will stop me before I walk out.

I slip on my flip-flops, grab my cream colored crossbody hobo bag that Hailey picked out and quickly fill it with anything I may need. Then I give Hailey a big kiss on the cheek and head downstairs.

As soon as I hop off the bottom step, my mom and dad both look over at me from the couch.

"You leaving, sweetie?" my mom asks.

Before I can respond, my dad totally rolls his eyes and throws his head back dramatically.

"Aw, geez, that dress is awfully short, isn't it?" he asks, examining my legs.

Confused, I look down where he's looking, wondering if perhaps a pack of wolves attacked me on my way down here and ate off the bottom half of my dress without me realizing. But nope, the entire dress is still there, dangling just above my knees.

I look back up and glare at him, squinting. "You're kidding, right?"

But of course he's not kidding; I know this without even asking. The question was rhetorical. My dad is absolutely nuts when it comes to this. I could have waddled down here in a ski suit and it would have been "awfully short," just like this dress.

My mom slaps him on the shoulder and sighs. "That dress is perfectly fine. You look amazing, honey."

"Thanks," I say, easing toward the door.

"So, y'all are going to Jake's Pizzeria and then to a movie, right?" my mom asks.

My hand is now on the doorknob as I press my lips together and nod. "Yep."

"And you said Bryson is driving?"

"Yeah, we're all going in his Jeep because Brian has a single-cab Chevy," I say, now slightly opening the door.

Mom nods. "Okay. Be back by eleven."

"We will. The movie starts at 8:15."

As I step outside and start closing the door behind me, Dad yells, "Hey, wasn't there a basketball game tonight? How come Bryson's not playing?"

I quickly stick my head back in. "Coach wanted him to sit out this week because of the accident," I tell him. "Okay, I gotta go. Becca's having a hair crisis. Love y'all!"

"Love you, too! Be careful!" they shout as I close the door. I feel bad about hurrying out like that. I would have talked to them for a few more minutes if it wasn't for the war raging in Becca's bathroom between her and her straightener.

I hit the sidewalk and break out into a slight jog, taking quick little steps as I check my phone. To my relief, I see a text from Becca that says, " _Ok, I think I've got it under control now._ "

I quickly text her back. " _K, headed your way now._ "

As soon as I look up from my phone, I see Bryson pulling into Becca's driveway.

"Need a ride, pretty girl?" he asks as I walk up.

"Maybe," I shrug, a teasing smile on my face.

This is one of the reasons I was trying to hurry to Becca's house. My original plan was to head straight inside, but resisting Bryson once I've seen him would be like asking me not to watch the Kardashians for a week. Ain't gonna happen. And since Becca is no longer in panic-mode--which is about the only way I would resist him--I head for the Jeep rather than the front door.

He steps out with a smile and closes the door, and right away I'm flustered when I see him in a tight-fitting, dark blue Ralph Lauren Polo shirt; light-colored, boot-cut jeans, probably from Hollister or American Eagle because those are his favorites; and his light brown Sperry Topsiders.

"Okay, you can sit in the back, and it's gonna cost you ten bucks a mile," he jokes.

I laugh as I approach him and throw my arms around his neck.

"You look amazing," he says, picking me up and kissing my cheek. Then he kisses my neck just below my ear, giving me chills. I'm now clinging onto him as if it's a life-or-death situation, and if Becca wasn't waiting on me, I don't think I'd be loosening my grip anytime soon.

I pull my head back and smile at him. "Yeah, I decided to throw caution to the wind and wear a dress."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm glad you did, you crazy, reckless woman."

Then we kiss, but only briefly.

I pull away from his lips with my eyes closed, my body weak, and my breath short.

"I have to...go in and...help Becca get ready," I say softly as I slowly open my eyes, struggling to get the words out, as usual. "She's waiting on me."

"Oh, okay. You better hurry then." He kisses me on the cheek one last time and then sets me down gently. "I'll wait out here for Brian."

"Okay." I turn and scurry toward the door.

"See you in a few minutes, sexy," he calls after me.

I whip my head around and smile at him excitedly. "You're bad."

"Never," he jokes, keeping a straight face.

I tear through the door without knocking, like I own the place, and head for the stairs.

"Well, hey, there, Ms. Genius," Mrs. Anna says as I zoom by the kitchen.

"Hey!"

And when I reach the stairs, Mr. Brett glances at me from the couch. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, there!"

Then I dart upstairs like I'm being chased by Leatherface--only I'm fully dressed and not screaming bloody murder--hoping Becca hasn't slipped back into crisis-mode and she's now wondering where the hell I'm at.

But I'm extremely relieved when I get to her room and see her calmly inspecting her makeup in the mirror.

She immediately looks at me. "Hey," she smiles, then turns back to the mirror to continue inspecting.

"Everything okay now?" I ask, slightly out of breath now from my gold-medal worthy sprint up the stairs.

"Yep, it's all under control. I think I need a new straightener now, though."

I look at her worriedly, but she waves me off before I can speak. "Don't ask." She rolls her eyes and then heads for her closet.

"Okay..." I reply. Then I step up to the mirror to inspect my makeup and hair one last time, as well.

"Are they here yet?" she yells from the closet.

"Bryson is," I say.

Then I watch in the mirror as she emerges from her closet, holding up her tan BCBG crossbody bag. "You still think I should take this one?"

I can see the uncertainty on her face. She's now unsure of the decision we made yesterday.

I turn to face her. "Yeah, definitely."

Then she begins to freak out a little bit about the purse, her dress, her tan t-strap sandals, her hair...basically _everything_. So I quickly remind her we sent pictures of our entire outfits to Holly yesterday, and she approved with enthusiasm.

"You look _crazy_ hot in this dress, Becca. Seriously, Brian's gonna flip out," I assure her. And I'm definitely not just saying that to make her feel better. She totally does look hot, and I think she knows it.

Luckily she calms down just as we hear a commotion downstairs, followed by Mr. Brett's voice, although we can't make out any words. We do a quick final check in the mirror, grab our purses, and then head downstairs.

"So, you're a senior at Central Private, Brian?" we hear Mr. Brett ask as we round the corner into the foyer.

"Yes, sir," he responds. Then he and Bryson both shoot a glance at us as we're walking up.

Brian is dressed similarly to Bryson. He's wearing a white, fitted Lacoste polo shirt; dark colored, loose-fitting jeans; and grey Nike tennis shoes. He looks to be an inch or two shorter than Bryson and definitely has less muscle tone, although he's still really fit. His face is slender like Bryson's, but his hair is slightly darker brown and it's spiked up a little in the front.

"And you're a senior at Stargate?" Mr. Brett asks, shaking Bryson's hand next.

"Yes, sir," he replies.

"The basketball star," Mr. Brett grins.

"I don't know about that."

Mr. Brett is feeling out Bryson as well as Brian. He's always pretty much treated me like his own daughter, the same way my dad has done with Becca.

He focuses his attention back on Brian as we walk up. Bryson slowly inches over and stands behind me, interlocking his fingers with mine with each hand, as we both grin while watching Mr. Brett talk to Brian. Not that Mr. Brett is over the top or anything, but he's definitely a little more intense when it comes to boys than my dad is. I remember that from last year when Becca had her first boyfriend.

I glance at Becca and see her inspecting Brian from head to toe with a small grin on her face. But her expression quickly shifts to one of annoyance as she glares up at her dad, who is now asking Brian what kind of grades he gets, what colleges he's thinking about, what his hobbies are, and a plethora of other mortifying things like that.

Then Mrs. Anna walks in from the kitchen, interrupting their conversation. "Here are the movie tickets," she says, handing them to us.

We're going to see 'Zone of the Dead,' which is the absolute best slasher film out right now. Since the tickets are usually sold out by the weekend, Mrs. Anna stopped by the movie theater in Baton Rouge yesterday evening to get them for us.

As Bryson and Brian retrieve money from their wallets to pay her, Mr. Brett turns back to Brian to pick up where he left off. But Becca immediately shuts him down.

"Okay, it's time for us to go. We're gonna miss the movie," she says gently, but firmly. She's staying calm due to Brian's presence. Typically, she would have yelled at Mr. Brett and then stormed out, physically knocking him out of her path if necessary. No lie, I've seen it.

"Okay, okay," Mr. Brett says, probably a bit fearful now. "Y'all have a good time, and be careful."

"Be back by eleven," Mrs. Anna reminds Becca, raising her eyebrows.

"We will."

"Well, it was really nice meeting y'all," Brian says politely.

Bryson nods in agreement. "Yeah, it was good to meet y'all," he says. Then we finally head out.

Bryson and I walk a few steps ahead as Becca closes the door, and I can hear Brian telling her how great she looks.

"Thanks," she giggles.

Then we slow down and turn around for them to catch up.

"So, y'all ready for pizza?" Bryson asks.

We all respond simultaneously. "Definitely!"

"I'm starving," Brian says.

Becca looks at him and nods. "Jake's is _for sure_ the best."

"Yep," I add. "Becca and I have gone there since we were kids."

"Me, too," Bryson and Brian both reply.

Jake's Pizzeria is an awesome little family-owned restaurant which has been open for years here in Central. It has a massive buffet of any kind of pizza you can think of. There's also pasta, spaghetti, lasagna **,** salad, and desserts; but we usually just march in there and tear up the pizza. It's the best around, without question.

When we get to the Jeep, Bryson and Brian open the passenger doors for us.

"So, you said you might buy this from your uncle?" Brian asks, looking at Bryson.

"Yep, I'm thinking about it."

"I think you should, this thing is awesome."

"Thanks, man. Yeah, I'm definitely leaning towards getting it."

As they walk around to the other side, I look back at Becca and we both smile because they seem to be getting along.

* * *

Once we're on the road, Bryson peeks over at me and grins, then grabs my hand from my lap and holds it tight. As I look back at him and smile, I notice out the corner of my eye how close Becca and Brian are sitting. They're also holding hands, talking quietly to each other.

Bryson releases my hand. "Radio?" he asks, reaching to turn it on.

"Yeah." I look back at Becca and Brian. "Rock?"

Becca and I listen to absolutely every kind of music there is. New and old-school rock, pop, rap, hip-hop, country, alternative, punk, heavy metal...you name it, we love it. But rock is pretty much our favorite, and I figure the guys would probably prefer that, too.

"Rock sounds good to me," Brian smiles, dragging his gaze away from Becca.

"Sweet."

Then, as I'm scanning through the stations, something magical happens. Something so beautiful, so glorious, I can hardly even put it into words... _Taylor Swift_.

Just to fill you in, Becca and I are _obsessed_ with Taylor Swift. Next to eating, dancing around and singing along with a Taylor Swift song is our absolute favorite thing to do. We literally can't help ourselves and trust me, we don't care where we're at. If we were Navy Seals behind enemy lines, covertly trying to rescue one of our own, we'd surely be killed if we caught wind of a Taylor Swift song. We would be kicked out of church, we would lose the quiet game or a staring contest, we would be told to sit down and shut the hell up in a movie theater, or at a wedding, or a graduation, or a fancy restaurant, or whatever. You get the picture.

So needless to say, when I come across her hit single "Twenty-two," I immediately raise the volume and Becca and I go nuts. We throw our heads back, dancing and singing along in unison. We wave our hands around obnoxiously, with absolutely no respect or loyalty to anyone but Taylor Swift. Luckily, though, Bryson and Brian find it hilarious, and they laugh hysterically as we continue, _all_ the way to the end.

We finish strong, belting out the last verse of the song with our chins raised and our eyes closed. Then Bryson and Brian start clapping and cheering, as if they're at one of her concerts. They wail away with silly expressions on their faces, begging for autographs.

So laughing, Becca and I each take a bow and then proceed to sign fake autographs for our two biggest fans, Bryson and Brian. Then we finally pull up to Jake's. And when we walk in and smell the pizza, we quickly forget all about Taylor Swift.

I lean close to Becca in the buffet line. "Does Brian know how much we eat?" I whisper, hoping we don't have to eat just one piece of pizza and then pretend we're full.

"Yep, I told him," she says.

"Cool." We both grin with satisfaction then begin loading our plates with pepperoni and black olive slices.

The four of us discuss different topics as we sit in our booth, putting away slice after slice like we haven't eaten in a week.

We talk about how much we love the pizza and how every other kind of pizza sucks compared to Jake's. We reflect on the Taylor Swift concert that took place in the Jeep a few minutes ago and laugh hysterically all over again. Then we go on to discuss other topics like school, my genius, sports, cheerleading, Holly, Bryson's Camaro, and the accident.

And when Bryson randomly expresses how excited he is to see 'Zone of the Dead,' we suddenly realize how late it is, so we rush out and head to the theater.

Now, believe me, no one wanted to see this movie more than me. It's supposed to be fantastic from beginning to end. But I'm having a bit of trouble focusing on the screen.

No more than twenty or thirty minutes in, I find myself curled up next to Bryson with my head on his shoulder, pretending to be way more terrified than I really am. So obviously, the movie is secondary at the moment. When I glance at Becca as I'm grabbing my Coke, I see her pulling the same act with Brian. We'll probably both have trouble describing the movie when it's over.

Just as I'm thinking that, however, the intensity and suspense picks up drastically, grabbing my attention until the very end. On the way home, it's absolutely all the four of us can talk about.

As we pull in front of Becca's house, Bryson stops on the road at Becca and Brian's request so they can jump out and get into Brian's truck. Then Bryson pulls up a little and parks on the side of the road. As soon as he turns the Jeep off, we lean toward one another and start making out.

I go crazy inside when I feel his tongue against mine. As we continue to kiss, he pulls away slightly a couple times, just long enough for us to catch our breaths, and then quickly moves back in. I'm shaking all over at this point, now gripping a fistful of his hair with both hands, squeezing and clinging myself to him as tightly as I can.

Just when I think this is without a doubt the most heated, passionate kiss we've shared so far, he effortlessly picks me up and then aggressively pulls me to him and sets me on his lap, turning me on immensely.

I'm now cradled in his arms as we lock lips again, which is a good thing since my entire body has gone numb. I'm feeling all the usual sensations: the chills, the tingles, the trembles, the goose bumps--but there's an unfamiliar feeling present, also. A distinct, intense feeling of excitement is running throughout my body which I don't recall having in the past. I'm completely overwhelmed with passion, and I start to wish we were alone. Like _really_ alone. But it's probably a good thing we're not.

He finally pulls away, leaving me unable to move, speak, or even think. I just lay there in his arms with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths, trying to regain my normal state of mind.

When I finally do somewhat, he looks down at me with a grin and says, "My mom wants to meet you. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Even though I've yet to regain full consciousness, I choose to speak anyway. "You, hopefully," I mumble, looking at him through hazy eyes. And right away, I realize what I said.

"Whoa!" Bryson's eyes widen as he throws his head back. "I've got to clear my calendar for tomorrow." He pretends to look for his phone as I giggle with embarrassment.

"Umm...hopefully I'm _seeing_ you tomorrow," I clarify.

"Oh. Well, that'll work, too. I guess." He jokingly rolls his eyes.

I slowly stop laughing. "I'd love to meet your mom tomorrow. And Humphrey and Bogart."

"Yeah," he nods. "I mean, they weigh more than you so they might knock you over, but that means they like you."

As we chuckle, we suddenly hear a door shut. I peek over Bryson's shoulder and see Becca standing outside Brian's truck, talking to him through the window.

"It's probably almost eleven," I say, as Bryson sets me back in the passenger seat. I lean over to give him one last kiss. "See you tomorrow?"

"Definitely," he grins.

I hop out and throw my purse strap over my shoulder.

"Hey," Bryson says as I turn back to face him. "I had a blast tonight, princess."

"Me too," I smile. "And thanks for everything." I blow him a kiss as he starts the Jeep. "Be careful."

As he and Brian drive off, they yell to each other, being goofy and loud-- _very_ loud.

"Catch you later, Brian! Good meeting you, my friend!" Bryson hollers, sticking his head out the window.

"You too, buddy! The pleasure was all mine!" Brian replies.

Becca and I laugh as we head to the door. Because our cheeks are all rosy from the lip action, we rush up to Becca's room once we're in the house to avoid Mrs. Anna and Mr. Brett. Once we're up there, I text my mom and dad to let them know I'm back before Becca and I start exchanging stories. She goes on and on about how great a kisser Brian is compared to her first boyfriend, and how much she really likes him. I couldn't be happier for her.

Tonight was a lot of fun, and it was just what I needed to temporarily forget about my dreaded return to school on Monday.

# 20

First Meeting

"How about some Zeppelin?" Bryson grins, holding up one of their albums.

As I watch him lean forward and insert it into the CD player, I wonder how I can possibly be upset right now. I mean, let's take a minute to review my current situation.

First of all, I finally have my first amazing boyfriend. It doesn't bother him one bit that I'm a genius, and he's done nothing but cater to me and treat me like a queen up to this point--not to mention he's absolutely gorgeous. Second, Becca has found someone who she seems to really like, and I'm super-excited for her. We all went on an incredible date last night, at the end of which Bryson and I locked lips for about seven of the best minutes of my life so far. And now, I'm cruising in his Jeep with the top down on this beautiful sunny day, watching the wind blow his bangs around above his sunglasses as we rock out to Led Zeppelin. I seriously should be the happiest person in the world right now.

But the truth is I'm miserable and exhausted. As I crawled into bed last night, the thought of returning to school on Monday infected my brain, and I couldn't shake it loose. I laid there most of the night thinking about it, worrying myself to death. I ended up scaring myself so much I actually considered going through with a few disturbing solutions I dreamed up out of desperation.

1. Rather than return to Stargate, I could go to college. This way, I'd be surrounded by a whole new batch of people who wouldn't know my secret, and I could start this whole thing over again. But I shut down that idea right away, because I quickly realized it would be a whole new life--without Becca. Not an option.

2. Next, I thought, _Maybe I can just stay home_. It's not like I need high school. I could try to convince my mom to let me stay in my room for the next two years and just avoid everyone who knows my secret. But I eventually concluded that that might not be a very healthy way to live.

3. So, then I thought, _Perhaps I can run away_...I would convince Becca to join me, and we would pack our bags, stuff all our big, fluffy pillows under our arms, and then hit the pavement. We'd simply leave this rotten town behind. But then I realized my mom would have the CIA and the Secret Service join forces to track us down before we got to the Taco Bell around the corner. So that's out.

4. And lastly, I figured, _Why not become a nun?_ Yes, indeed, I could join a convent. My family would know I was safe and sound, and hopefully they would respect my pure decision. This one sounded like a winner. As hard as I tried, I couldn't think of any real way to shoot it down, aside from the fact that I'm not overly religious. I could work on that, though. The idea put my mind at ease, and allowed me to finally fall asleep.

But as I was eating my Cinnamon Toast Crunch this morning, I realized I would never be able to watch the Kardashians again if I joined the convent. I was beyond pissed. I put my bowl in the sink and then stomped upstairs, mumbling to myself, knowing I was all out of ideas. I would have to go to school on Monday, which I knew all along, but it's funny how your mind can run away with you sometimes. So, as ridiculous as it sounds, I was angry this morning at all my failed, fake contingency plans. Silly, I know.

As we turn onto Blackwater Road, I'm now extremely nervous about meeting Bryson's mom. I drape my ponytail over my shoulder as I look down at my outfit, hoping his mom will approve of my navy-colored khaki shorts and fitted white top. I asked Bryson earlier if it was okay for me to wear shorts and he was like, "Yeah, absolutely. Why wouldn't it be okay?"

But I've never done this before. The last thing I want to do is make a bad first impression with his mom. And even though Bryson has repeatedly insisted that everything will be great, I'm just in a worrying mood right now, and I can't help but imagine the worst.

As I'm staring at my shorts, daydreaming about how my life is falling apart--that's dramatic, I know--I hear the music suddenly fade away. Then I look up at Bryson just as he's releasing the volume knob.

"Everything okay?" he asks, looking back and forth between me and the road.

I adjust my sunglasses and nod. "Yeah," I respond. I must not have been all that convincing, though.

"Look, don't be nervous about meeting my mom, seriously. Like I said, she already loves you just from what I've told her about you." He glances at me and smiles, then turns his attention back to the curvy road. "And aside from that, she's the easiest person in the world to get along with."

Slightly relieved, I look back down at my shorts and continue nervously fiddling with the hem.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" he asks, probably because of my continued silence.

I look at him and shrug. "Just...the whole going back to school thing."

He nods, then reaches over and grabs my hand. "I know you're scared," he says. "But you shouldn't be, because you're not gonna be alone. Becca and I will be there with you."

A warm feeling runs through me as he raises my hand to his lips to kiss it. I guess in the midst of all the emotion, I kind of did forget I wasn't alone in this.

"Thanks, that really helps a lot," I tell him.

"Good." He looks back to the road, pauses for a few seconds, then changes the subject. "I'm on chapter eleven of your book, by the way."

I instantly perk up with excitement. "You enjoying it?"

"That book is _awesome_ ," he says, giving an emphatic nod.

"Yay!" I shriek. "I knew you would like this series."

"Hell yeah, it's bad ass. And scary as Hell, too!" His eyes bulge with horror as he glances at me.

"You haven't gotten to the scary parts yet, my dear," I inform him, eerily tapping my fingers together in front of my face.

He cringes. "Crap. I was hiding under my covers last night, so I guess by next week I'll be sleeping with the lights on," he jokes, with that hilarious mock serious expression on his face.

I laugh. "Definitely let me know when that happens so I can make fun of you."

"Forget about it. That's gonna be my sad little secret."

I break into laughter once again as we come around a sharp curve and begin to slow down. As the wall of trees on the left side of the road finally comes to an end, I see Bryson's house as we approach the long gravel driveway.

"Wow, this is awesome..." I lean forward, curiously analyzing everything as we turn in.

Bryson did tell me all about his house when we first started talking, but back then I was so busy trying to comprehend why he was talking to me in the first place--not to mention I was a nervous wreck--sometimes I couldn't fully process what he was telling me. But I don't think I would have pictured this anyway.

The house is a slightly older one-story, but it's a pretty decent size. And it's sitting right smack in the middle of a five-acre lot, which I _love_. I seriously wish I lived here.

There are three massive pine trees, one in the front yard and two in the back. On the left side facing the house, there's a long, chain-link fence running the length of the property with woods on the other side, but not heavy woods. In fact, it gets more and more cleared the further back it goes, and I can barely see a driveway which must lead to a house that's invisible from here.

On the right side of the house, there's another chain-link fence which runs perfectly parallel and right next to the gravel driveway, which is lined with small crepe myrtle trees on both sides. And at the very back of the property, the two fences intersect with what looks to be a barbed-wire fence.

Bryson gets a kick out of my amazement. "So do you like the place or something?" he chuckles.

"Yeah...this is so cool."

Then I notice the basketball goal the closer we get. "Basketball goal!" I say excitedly. And when we pull up on the slab next to the house, I spot a trampoline around the back. "Trampoline!" I say even louder, with even more excitement.

Bryson continues to laugh as he shifts into park and cuts off the engine.

"Didn't I tell you about the trampoline?" he asks.

_Probably_ , I think to myself.

"I don't think so," I reply, unbuckling my seatbelt.

We both take off our sunglasses and put them in the center console, and then I hop out and check my hair in the side-view mirror to make sure it's not a mess.

"Come on, you big nerd. You look amazing," Bryson teases.

"Whatever," I smile. "I'm your favorite nerd in the whole world."

I get increasingly nervous the closer we get to the back door. Until out of nowhere, two of the absolute largest dogs I've ever seen in my life emerge from around the other side of the house, completely redirecting my attention. I can only assume they're the renowned Humphrey and Bogart.

Even though Bryson has repeatedly told me how sweet they are, I find myself suddenly intimidated. They both look like they outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds, and their chests are about as wide as Bryson's. And they're sprinting straight toward us.

I side-step behind Bryson as they come galloping up, plowing into him like a couple of linebackers rushing a quarterback. But luckily, Bryson is strong enough to stand his ground as he absorbs the impact, then bends over to hug and pet them.

"Hey there, fellas; how y'all doin'?" he says, rubbing their cheeks.

They finally direct their attention to me. Even though I'm not special enough to get tackled yet, they still walk right up to me and start licking me and giving me all kind of attention as if I'm not a perfect stranger. It's definitely a start.

I don't have to lean over as much since their heads practically come up to my chest, but I lean down pretty far so I can hug them more effectively.

" _Hey, guys, how are y'all?_ " The baby talk makes their ears perk up and lick me even more as I raise my chin and giggle, causing Bryson to laugh, too.

"The blue collar is Humphrey and the black one is Bogart," Bryson informs me, pointing to each of them.

I smile, continuing to squeeze them tightly around their necks. "I _love_ them," I say. Then the back door opens and Bryson's mom walks out.

"Dori, hey there, sweetie!" She walks toward me with a massive smile and her arms outstretched.

I look at her as I straighten up, and she's not at all what I had envisioned her to be. She's only a couple inches taller than me--which is pretty short since I'm only five-foot-two; she's not quite as slender as my mom--particularly in the face; she has dark brown, almost black, shoulder-length hair; and she looks to be a few years older than my parents.

"Hey," I smile, reaching out to hug her as she approaches.

She squeezes me tightly while patting the back of my head. "I've heard so much about you, Dori. And I'm so sorry about the accident. Are you doing okay?" I can see the worry in her eyes as she pulls back and looks at me, leaving her hands on my arms.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm doing great," I say, trying to put her mind at ease.

"Well, that's good. I was so worried about you that night." She cups my chin with her hand and right away, I realize Bryson was right. She does love me already, and I couldn't be more relieved.

She briefly turns to Bryson and gives him a hug and kiss on the cheek, and then looks back at me.

"Well, Dori, I hope you're hungry. I made spaghetti and meatballs for lunch," she tells me with a smile. "Bryson said that was one of your favorite meals."

"Yes! It is definitely one of my favorites, thank you."

"Well, good." She puts her arm around me and leads me to the door. "You are just the most precious thing I've ever seen," she insists, examining me from head to toe.

I smile bashfully. "Thank you."

When we walk into the house, the overwhelming scent of spaghetti and meatballs instantly makes my mouth water. Then right away, I notice the unique layout of the house. Straight ahead is the kitchen, and immediately to the right there's a long hallway which leads to the living room. The two rooms appear to be separated by a huge office/game room, because I can see a desk and one end of a pool table through the slightly-opened door.

As we make our way to the kitchen, Humphrey and Bogart nearly run Ms. Brenda clean over as they zoom past us, making their way to the stove where the spaghetti sauce sits. Ms. Brenda regains her balance and shoves them out of the way with her knee. "No, no, this food isn't for y'all," she tells them.

As Bryson and I walk over to the bar, still laughing at Humphrey and Bogart's attempts to swipe our lunch, I notice my book lying open on the kitchen table. Bryson sees me looking at it and points to his mom.

"Are you enjoying the book, Ms. Brenda?" I ask, surprised she's reading it.

"Yes, I am. Oh, my goodness..." She looks over her shoulder at me with a horrified expression. Then she puts the lid back on the pot and walks over to us.

"I am just...so impressed," she says, then pauses. I can tell she's not just talking about my book, but about my genius in general. I can see the curiosity in her eyes, so I casually kick off the conversation like it's no big deal. I want her to know I don't mind discussing it. And the conversation continues on even after we've served up and are sitting around the table eating.

"So, you're pretty nervous about going back to school then, huh?" Ms. Brenda asks, sipping her tea and looking at me.

Before I can respond, Bryson quickly looks at her. "Mom..." he says, shaking his head, letting her know it's a sore subject.

Ms. Brenda looks back at me and extends her hand in my direction. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, no, it's no big deal, seriously," I say, twirling my pasta on my fork. "I'm a little nervous, but I'm feeling a lot better about it than I was. I really don't think it's gonna be that bad," I lie. I am feeling a little better about everything, that part was true. But it's still going to be horrific. However, I don't want to make Ms. Brenda feel any worse than she already does.

"Yeah, it's all gonna be fine," she grins.

"The first day is gonna be the toughest, but after that it shouldn't be too bad," Bryson adds.

We continue talking about my genius for a while. In fact, I'm well into my third plate of spaghetti now, and I'm showing Ms. Brenda a few of my 'calculator tricks,' at Bryson's request. Her eyes are wide with disbelief as she glances at me then back to the calculator.

"Wow," she says, stunned. She seriously looks like she's just seen a UFO. I see her eyes roam over every inch of that calculator, inspecting it as if perhaps it's rigged. Bryson and I grin as we watch her.

"Well, now you have someone to help you with calculus!" She looks at Bryson, eyebrows raised.

He immediately rolls his eyes. "Please, I know more about calculus than she does," he says, then stuffs an oversized forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

Ms. Brenda and I both laugh.

" _Whatever_ ," I retort. Then I raise my hands, trying to look all scary and intimidating. I even get a bit loud. "Bring it on, tough guy!"

His eyes become wide, never leaving his plate, as he responds with great attitude. "Y'all are lucky I'm not in a calculus kind of mood, that's all I have to say."

After he says that, the three of us laugh so loud that Bogart--who hasn't left my side since I met him--jumps up from his nap and puts his face in mine, I guess to make sure I'm okay. And as I'm hugging him and pressing my face to his, Humphrey comes moseying around the bar to see what all the commotion is about, as well.

"It's okay, buddy," I say to Bogart, and then to Humphrey as he comes walking up.

"Looks like you've been replaced, Bryson. They have a new best friend," Ms. Brenda says, her laughter fading.

"We'll see about that." Bryson pushes his chair back from the table and begins to repeatedly call their names, trying to get them to come to him. But the more he calls, waving his hands at them and talking in that high-pitched, goofy voice dogs seem to love, the closer they scoot to _me_.

This goes on for a good thirty or forty seconds as Ms. Brenda and I struggle to keep a straight face. Then in a last-ditch effort, Bryson pulls his plate to the edge of the table to entice them, and Humphrey ends up wandering over reluctantly. But Bogart doesn't budge. Too funny.

After we put our dishes away, Bryson tells the "traitors"--Humphrey and Bogart--to go lay down and think about what they've done, and then he takes me on a tour of the rest of the house. He even shows me his room, and I was surprised to see it's just as big as mine. And just before we walk back out into the hallway, he peeks out the door then turns around, swoops me up, and starts kissing me.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he grins after setting me back down.

Now I have to walk back out there past his mom on wobbly legs and just hope she doesn't notice.

"Thanks a lot." I thump him playfully on the back as I follow him out.

Then we head outside, followed by Humphrey and Bogart, of course.

"Wanna play some basketball?" Bryson asks, retrieving the ball from the other side of the garage.

"I was just about to ask you that," I smile.

"Sweet. You can practice dribbling."

He tosses the ball to me and then jogs over to the Jeep to move it away from the basketball goal. While he does that, I take the opportunity to stretch. I put the ball down beside me, spread my feet apart, and touch my palms to the concrete, because I don't want to pull a hamstring, obviously. _Not_ because I want Bryson to see how flexible I am.

"You all stretched out?" he asks as he walks back up, smiling broadly.

I glance at him upside down, then stand back upright, shrug, and push out my bottom lip. "Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good." I grin suggestively.

He rushes up and bear hugs me, kissing me on my neck as I giggle.

"Okay, let's see what you got, superstar," he says, backing away from me and clapping.

I lean over to pick up the ball. "Okay, okay, prepare to be amazed. And give me some space, I need room to shine," I announce smugly, even though I know I'm about to suck on an epic level. Sure enough, just like last weekend at the car show, I fail repeatedly as I try to dribble between my legs and walk at the same time. I'm kicking my feet up well past my chest every time just to get the ball to the other side, and seventy percent of the time I'm not even catching it. I'm retrieving the ball out of the bushes alongside the house, I'm chasing it down the driveway and into the garage; I even managed to kick it behind me once. And since the ball is supposed to be dribbled _under_ my leg, I really have no idea how I pulled that off. I guess I'm a more talented screw-up than I'd originally thought when it comes to athletics.

But the good news is that Bryson is definitely enjoying the show. He's now doubled over with his hands on his knees, laughing hysterically.

I finally decide to stop as I emerge from the bushes yet again with the ball in my hands. Then I look at him, trying my best to keep a straight face. When he finally stops laughing long enough to straighten up and look at me, I narrow my eyes at him and go, "Something has to be wrong with the ball." Then I toss it to him and cross my arms under my chest with mock attitude. And when he starts dribbling between his legs to prove me wrong, I struggle even more to keep a straight face.

"Okay, well, this part of the concrete must not be level or something," I insist, needing something else to blame now.

"You think so? I don't know...maybe," he says as he circles around and heads straight for me.

"Let's see...nope, the concrete seems to be just fine," he concludes, passing right by me, effortlessly dribbling between his legs as he walks.

Then he stops and turns to look at me. "Yeah, everything seems to be fine." He tosses the ball back to me with a sarcastic grin.

"Whatever." I catch the ball and squint at him. "I'm gonna get Becca to beat you up."

"Bring it on, I'll take you both out," he threatens. "Where is Becca, by the way?"

"She's at home. Holly came over and they're just watching movies since Brian's at work."

As Bryson nods, I slap the ball with fury. "How about some one-on-one?" I smirk, knowing full well this will be just as disastrous as the whole dribbling thing. But believe it or not, I was just as cocky. I even let him take the ball out first.

"Alright, alright. Let's see what you got, big shot." I taunt him, hopping around with my feet spread apart, waving my hand in his face, and pretty much doing everything other than calling him names and talking about his mama.

But it doesn't appear to be working at all. He just holds the ball over his head with one hand as he glares down at me, as if I'm a mild annoyance at best. Like I'm a fly buzzing around him which he's about to crush.

"This'll be like taking candy from a baby," he says, his expression fierce.

The trash-talking goes on for at least another minute or so. We literally start to yell back and forth like a couple of angry second-graders on the playground.

Then all of a sudden, he dribbles around me quickly, and having no reasonable clue how to stop him, I decide to cheat. I grab his shoulders and hop on his back, but much like my intimidation attempts, it has absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. He just continues dribbling to the goal, and then lays the ball in the basket like I'm not even there.

"And Bryson wins the game, folks!" he hollers, as if he's commentating the play. "Bryson Turner scores the last two points, what a blowout!" He raises his hands in triumph as I laugh, still attached to him like a leech.

He brings his hands back down and looks around.

"Dori? Where are you?" He pretends to look around worriedly. So I choke him.

"Oh, there you are!" He grabs me and pulls me around, cradles me in his arms, and then sprints to the trampoline and tosses me on it. I'm now laughing uncontrollably as he hops on, too.

We jump for a while--well, he did most of the jumping while I mostly got bounced around--then he takes me across the yard to the shed--which is completely re-done and extremely nice--to show me his weights. I'm really impressed when I see them. He has a lot of good machines and free weights he said he got really cheap from a gym that closed down a couple of years ago. After playing around on them a little bit, and then making out for a few minutes, we decide to head back to the house.

I hop on his back and kiss him on the cheek as he walks.

Today was a nice break from reality, and I don't want it to end. I want to stay. Leaving means being away from Bryson, and it also means back to worrying about school on Monday. But here, I don't have to face either of those issues. Even though it's only my first visit, it already feels like a second home.

# 21

School

Okay, so remember how I was all scared and nervous about going back to school on Monday? Well, surprisingly, I'm feeling pretty good about it at the moment. I'm even sort of looking forward to it, as ridiculous as that might sound.

Becca, Brian, and Bryson came over this morning, and along with Carson, we had a horror movie marathon in the living room all day. As if that wasn't awesome enough, my mom made all my favorite foods, which were pretty much everyone else's favorite foods, too. We had homemade pizza, lasagna pasta, chips and dip, and even a homemade, vanilla white-icing cake. She was clearly trying to make me feel better about going to school tomorrow, and it was probably also a little 'thank you' for revealing my genius.

But even though I'm feeling great about everything as I sit here at the kitchen table, choking down my second plate of lasagna pasta with Becca--who just started on her third plate--I'm extremely suspicious of this feeling. I'm forcing myself to enjoy it, because I don't expect it to last.

And sure enough, the next morning I'm right back to being a nervous wreck. I'm feeling so sick to my stomach, in fact, that I can barely function. I don't even eat breakfast; I just run downstairs, yell out, "Bye, love y'all!" to my parents, and then head out the door as quickly as possible to avoid conversation. The last thing I want to do right now is talk about my feelings.

Luckily, Becca is able to somewhat calm me down on the way to school. But as we start to slow down and the school comes into view around the tree line, my heart starts pounding and my stomach starts turning. Some pretty interesting things have happened to me since I've last set foot on this campus and seen these people. Three interesting things, to be exact:

1. I was in a pretty serious car accident.

2. I'm dating Bryson now.

3. I've become a genius overnight.

If I had to guess, that last one will probably be front and center on people's minds. Except maybe for Summer, Alison, and Alex, and some of the other cheerleaders who might be more interested in the fact that I'm now dating Bryson. And when I say 'interested,' I mean completely enraged. As far as I'm aware, the whole reason Summer hates me in the first place is because of the flirty relationship I've had with Bryson since the beginning of the year. I can't imagine our new boyfriend/girlfriend status is going to improve the situation. So, on top of everything, I'm extremely fearful of Summer coming after me again, probably even harder than before. Needless to say, I'll be glued to Becca's side all day long.

As we pull in, I immediately notice Bryson's Jeep in the parking lot. He's standing next to it talking to Brad and Trent, two of his buddies on the basketball team. Then I notice Summer and Alison--who, yes, is still sporting that big, black walking cast on her foot I so lovingly bestowed upon her last month--standing just outside the gym door, which is where Mrs. Anna usually drops us off. Apparently, Becca notices the same thing.

"Pull in right here," she tells Mrs. Anna, pointing to the entrance of the student lot as we approach it. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as we pull in and approach Bryson's Jeep. Even though Becca's with me, Summer is definitely not the first person I want to see this morning. Well, she's not the first person I want to see me, actually.

As soon as we hop out the backseat, Bryson peers around Trent's head and smiles at me, causing Trent and Brad to turn and look. I don't really know Trent and Brad. I've never actually talked to them other than half-heartedly smiling and waving at them a couple times since Bryson and I have been talking. But right now, they're looking at me as if _they_ know _me_ awfully well, and I see an instant mixture of emotions in their eyes. I see concern (because of the accident), curiosity (because of my genius), and respect (because I'm now dating Bryson). Not that they were ever blatantly disrespectful or anything, but they used to always check out Becca and me and smile at us while bumping elbows with each other and talking about us...just totally typical guy stuff. But now they're looking at me with a completely different perspective. As if I'm absolutely off-limits, even to all the harmless head-to-toe inspections from afar. And they glance at Becca with the same expression.

Bryson walks up to me with a nervous smile. I can tell he's worried about me.

"Hey, there," he says, giving me a quick hug and peck on the cheek, due to Stargate's strict rules prohibiting PDA. But even a quick peck on the cheek from him manages to send chills down my spine.

"Hey," I reply, hugging him back. He flashes a smile in Becca's direction.

"Hey, Becca."

"Hey," she smiles.

Then I notice Brad and Trent step toward me. As soon as I look at them, they both grin.

"Hey, Dori, you feeling alright?" Brad asks. Concern is evident on both their faces as they look at me. So, like I've done with pretty much everyone else who's asked me this question so far, I raise my eyebrows high and nod reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm doing great; thanks for asking."

Brad grins again.

"And now it's time to hit the books, huh?" Trent says.

I nod, but before I can respond, Brad says, "Or time to _pretend_ to hit the books."

He's obviously referring to my genius, and we all laugh at the remark. Brad is definitely the funnier of the two, kind of like Bryson, while Trent is more polite and reserved.

"Story of my life," I reply.

Then as we're laughing, we suddenly hear a car door shut. We all turn to look and see Holly a few parking spaces down, extending her key fob to lock her car.

"We're gonna head inside," Brad says, nodding toward the gym. He and Trent bump fists with Bryson.

"Take care of yourself, Dori." Brad smiles at me. "We need you at the games."

I return the smile. "I will."

As I watch them walk off, no longer obstructing my view as they approach the gym doors, I suddenly find myself staring directly into Summer's eyes...and, of course, she's staring right back into mine.

My stomach drops as I look down at the ground, horrified.

I quickly look up at Holly and smile at her nonchalantly as she walks up to meet us. But Holly's not on my mind at all. I know Summer's watching me like a hawk right now, and I'm desperately trying to make it look as though I'm not aware of that fact. Or aware of her presence at all, for that matter.

"Hey there, Dori," Holly says, giddy as usual, stretching her arms out to hug me.

I try my best to return the enthusiasm, but I'm struggling. As I hug her, all I can think about is _what is Summer thinking about me hugging Holly?_ As curious as I am, I'm far too afraid to peek back at those double doors as Holly hugs Becca and Bryson.

I try not to be obvious as I slowly inch over to my left until I'm standing in front of Bryson, blocking Summer's view of me if she's still looking. It makes me feel a lot more comfortable.

But when Bryson asks me if I'm ready to go in, I have a slight moment of panic, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

Becca wraps her arm around my shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, Dor...seriously."

I feel like such a baby. People in the world have much bigger problems than this, but that doesn't change the reality of my situation. If I could change the fact that I'm overly shy, making me absolutely terrified to walk in that school and face all the inevitable attention I'm going to receive, I would. If I could change the fact that I'm scared to death of Summer, I would. But I can't, no matter how hard I try. I just have to find a way to deal with it. And when we hear the faint ringing of the first bell coming from inside the school, that's exactly what I do. I pull myself together and deal with it. And to my relief, when I look up toward the gym doors, Summer and Alison are no longer there.

We head toward the cafeteria anyway, since it's a quicker path to the main hall. Becca is at my left, Bryson is at my right, and Holly is on the other side of him. I feel a little silly the closer we get to the caf; it's as if I've assembled a small army for protection.

But when we walk in and I see the crowded hallway in the distance, I'm certainly glad they're marching beside me. If I were alone, I'd currently be laying in the ditch in front of school, curled in the fetal position and waving a white flag.

I adjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and swallow hard as we approach the crowd. Surprisingly, though, the closer we get, very few heads turn in our direction. And the ones that do seem to be looking at all four of us rather than just me. I start to feel hopeful, that perhaps this won't be nearly as bad as I thought. But by the time we reach the hallway, the situation reverses lightning fast. _Everyone_ is now looking directly at _me_.

There are no words to describe how nervous and uncomfortable I feel right now. Yet somehow, I manage to keep it together. My immediate reaction is to throw my eyes down to the floor and keep them there. But as I trudge forward with my team, I feel like I have to glance up at people since they're all watching me. So I start to nervously look up and smile, and before I know it people are actually stopping me, wanting to talk.

They're mostly asking if I'm okay, regarding the accident. But even after I tell them I'm doing fine and then thank them for asking and all that good stuff, they continue to stare at me in awe, as if I just dropped in through the ceiling with my own personal jet pack or something.

They're extremely curious about my genius, but they have absolutely no idea how to bring it up. Which I totally get, because I'm not quite sure how to do that myself; it's not exactly a common topic. But a few people finally do end up asking me about it.

The crowd slowly grows around us, as more and more people stop to listen in. As I'm answering their questions and discussing it with them, I notice Summer a little ways down, standing at her locker with Alison and Alex. The three of them are craning their necks as they look this way. I also notice Becca's and my homeroom geometry teacher, Mrs. Anderson, standing just outside her classroom door and looking over here, as well, along with several other teachers down the hall. Except unlike Summer, they're all smiling.

I surely didn't expect this kind of attention. I expected a lot of stares...but not this. Someone looking at this assembled crowd from a distance would probably think there's a celebrity present. It's kind of cool, actually. And even though I'm still really uncomfortable, it's definitely not as crippling as it was before.

As I continue talking with people about my genius, answering questions like, _are you going to finish high school_ and _do you ever have to study or do homework,_ I notice other people--girls, specifically--shooting glances between Bryson and me, silently judging our new relationship. They're probably wishing they were in my shoes, which makes me feel pretty good.

The crowd finally begins to break up at about the same pace it came together. People start walking away in two's and then three's and then four's, smiling and waving at me, telling me they're glad I'm okay as they head off to their classes. As soon as the last person is gone, I insist that Bryson and Holly not follow us to the other end of the hall to our lockers, since their lockers and homeroom classes are on this end. They both look at me apprehensively.

"Seriously, I don't want y'all to be late," I tell them. Mrs. Anderson is lenient when it comes to tardiness, but most of the other teachers aren't.

"Yeah, the bell's about to ring; y'all better go," Becca says, and they finally agree.

"You did a great job, Dori," Holly smiles, rubbing my arm.

I take a dramatic deep breath. "Thanks."

As Holly walks away, Bryson steps closer and runs his fingers through my ponytail. "She's right. You were awesome, princess...the hard part's over." He smiles at me as Becca nods in agreement.

"See you in a little bit?" he asks hopefully.

I gaze into his eyes, absolutely dying to jump all over him. "Yeah," I simply say. I can tell by his expression he's not all that thrilled about our lack of physical contact either. We give each other a quick, unsatisfying hug, then he takes off.

As Becca and I rush to our lockers, we're literally now the only two people left in the hallway. Once we make it back to the other side, the bell rings just as we're scurrying up to our homeroom door. Then suddenly, Mrs. Anderson walks out to meet us before we make it inside.

"Hey! I was just coming to check on y'all," she says with a smile, glancing at both of us. Judging by her enthusiasm, I think it's safe to say we're not in any trouble.

"Hey," we both say. Then Mrs. Anderson directs her attention to me, putting her hands on my shoulders.

"First of all, I am so glad you're okay," she says, concerned.

I smile and nod as she continues.

"And...Principal Roberts and I would love to talk to you about your New Solutions binder." She becomes motionless as she stares at me. She looks really worried. Like maybe the well-being of humanity depends on my immediate cooperation for some reason. And even though I know that's not true, I agree to put her mind at ease.

"Sure, we can do that," I tell her. I guess she was afraid I wouldn't want to discuss it at all since I've kept it a secret.

"Great!" she exclaims, as if the human race is no longer in danger. "You can head down to the office now if you want to. I'm going to go get Mr. Dunn because he wanted to join us."

Mr. Dunn is the advanced math and calculus teacher here.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Becca asks, glancing at me, ignoring the fact that she wasn't even invited.

I shake my head. "You don't have to." Then I smile to convey my appreciation.

As Mrs. Anderson walks off, Becca grabs my backpack off my shoulders to take it into the classroom for me.

"I'll be in here trying not to kick Summer's ass," she grins, looking over her shoulder at me as she opens the door.

I point at her. "Don't do that," I order sternly, but with love. Although I don't want her to kick Summer's ass, I definitely am glad Summer's cooped up in that classroom under Becca's watchful eye and away from me. I couldn't feel safer at the moment. And as I pass up the spot where Becca, Bryson, Holly, and I were surrounded by a crowd of curious students just a few minutes ago, I start to feel extremely relieved that the whole mess is over with. My grand entrance is behind me now. The ice is broken, and I'm breathing much easier.

Then I start wondering what the meeting in Mr. Robert's office could be about. And once again, my mind runs away with me, just a little.

Are the college police here, perhaps? Maybe they're waiting in Mr. Robert's office to ambush me, throw me in the back of their car, and haul me off to the state university where I belong.

But believe it or not, I actually determine that that's just not horrific enough. So, of course, there _must_ be NSA agents here. As soon as I open Mr. Robert's door, they'll have no choice but to blindfold me, tape my mouth shut, hog-tie me, and throw me in the trunk of their car. Then they'll take me to an undisclosed location where they'll feed me just enough to keep me alive and use me for code-breaking for the rest of my life.

Then the rational part of my brain kicks in briefly and thinks they probably just want to ask me questions about my New Solutions binder and get me to explain things to them. But somehow I manage to expect the first two options instead.

I was feeling good about things, but of course I've succeeded in terrifying myself once again.

When I reach the cafeteria entrance, I take a right and begin walking down the long hallway which connects the high school side of Stargate to the junior high and elementary side, where the office is located. The dead silence in the long, deserted hallway is kind of spooky, and I can hear my footsteps loud and clear as I walk. Then suddenly, I hear the bathroom door opening a little further down. Right away, all I can think about is how I'm not exactly in the mood to discuss my genius at the moment, and I'm hoping I can somehow avoid whoever it is.

But when I look up, all the blood completely drains from my face...and I'm suddenly terrified on a whole new level.

# 22

The Invitation

I literally start trembling. This was the last thing I expected. My hearing eerily fades away almost completely, except for a faint ringing in both ears. Everything now seems to be moving in slow motion as I watch Summer emerge from the bathroom.

I immediately look back down to the floor in front of me, paralyzed with fear. My steps have gotten smaller, and my feet are moving slower. I can barely think, but I force myself to quickly contemplate my options out of desperation and realistically, I only have a couple to choose from.

My first instinct is to simply turn around and start fast-walking back to class; that would be the safest bet. Summer has bullied me multiple times in front of everyone, and even once with Becca standing right beside me. I don't even want to think about crossing paths with her in this long, creepy, abandoned hallway, completely unprotected. Especially now that I'm dating Bryson, rather than just flirting with him like before.

But I know that if I turn and head back to class, that'll only give her another reason to harass me. So I reluctantly choose to continue on and just hope for the best.

I've honestly never been this scared in my entire life. After taking only a few more short steps, I find myself revisiting the whole 'turn and run' idea, but I don't do it. Somehow I keep going.

A super-intense wave of terror rushes through me as we approach one another. My eyes stay glued to the floor, and I have no idea whether or not she's looking at me, or what she's thinking or planning, but I'm surely expecting the worst. I'm fully prepared to be threatened, shoved, or even hit.

When I notice her slowing down in front of me, I brace myself and slowly glance up at her. And what she does next is so totally unexpected and insane, I have absolutely no idea how to respond...she smiles at me.

_What the hell?_ I immediately think to myself. I'm confused, but definitely not complaining. The feeling of terror is instantly replaced with an intense feeling of relief. And after taking a second to process the situation, I finally smile back at her cautiously.

Then she looks down at the hall pass in her hands as she fiddles with it, and when she looks back up, there's a clear mixture of sadness and guilt in her eyes.

She drops her shoulders, tilts her head slightly, and says, "I'm really sorry about what happened to you, Dori."

After taking another second to process, I say, "Thanks, I appreciate that," still smiling cautiously.

She smiles back immediately, as if she didn't expect my response, but she's really happy with it. Then her smile fades as she glances back down at the hall pass.

"And also..." she begins, reluctantly looking back up at me. And this time, there's only guilt in her eyes. "I'm sorry about the way I've treated you this year."

I simply nod because I have no idea what to say. Then she goes on to admit that she was kind of jealous of Bryson and me--which I already knew--but that was no excuse for her behavior, and then she apologizes again.

As strange as this whole thing is, she does seem to be genuine. She's not just speaking the words; her body language is different, her tone is different, her facial expressions are different--she's like a completely different Summer. This doesn't appear to be a forced apology. And although I guess time will tell for sure, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt for now.

"It's okay," I smile. "It's in the past."

She smiles back kindly. Then she starts telling me about a party she's having this coming Saturday night at her house. I listen and nod as she talks about her parents going out of town and her sister coming in from college.

"So, anyway, I'd like for you to come, and bring whoever you want," she tells me, looking at me and grinning, waiting for me to respond. Even though she looks one hundred percent sincere, I can't help but think in the back of my mind that this could possibly be a setup. Like maybe when I walk into her house, I'll get a bucket of pig's blood dumped all over me or something. But once again, I give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay. Sounds like fun," I say.

Her grin stretches into a wide smile. "Good!" she says excitedly. And just as she's about to say something else, she glances over my shoulder and her expression changes drastically. Her face instantly pales in terror, much like mine did when I saw her walk out of the bathroom a few minutes ago. When I turn to look, I see Becca walking toward us.

She's staring at Summer, and the anger flashing in her eyes is intense. It's even scaring me a little, even though I know _I'm_ safe and sound. But Summer...not so much.

"I'll see you later, Dori," Summer says, shooting me a quick glance and smile before taking off down the hall, toward Becca.

I start to get really nervous. This might not be all that pretty; in fact, it might be downright ugly.

The closer they get to one another, the farther Summer veers away from Becca until she's against the wall, clearly fearing what Becca might do. It's like a replay of the scene that just took place, except now Summer is in my shoes. And strangely, I'm worried for her since she was just nice to me.

But luckily, for some reason Becca lets her off the hook. She simply stares Summer down as they cross paths, like a lion stalking a baby buffalo. And believe me, Summer's eyes never leave the ground as she speed-walks by.

Becca looks back at Summer a couple times as she walks up, a trace amount of anger still lingering in her eyes. I guess it takes a few minutes to turn off that kind of intensity.

"Everything okay?" she asks as soon as she's within earshot.

I nod as she turns to take one last look at Summer before she disappears around the corner.

"Surprisingly, yeah. She was actually nice to me," I say, shocked at my own words.

Becca whips her head around and stares at me. "You're kidding."

"I'm serious. Weird, huh?" I giggle as Becca searches my face, like she's waiting for me to tell her she's on a hidden camera show. And when I tell her about being invited to the party, her suspicious glare turns into a grin of total disbelief.

Just as she's about to comment on the situation, she looks over her shoulder and then right back at me. "Let's talk about this nonsense later. I saw Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Dunn coming down the main hall a second ago."

I turn and take off toward the office as Becca heads into the bathroom.

"Thanks for coming to check on me!" I look back and whisper.

"No problem, girlie!" Her words echo out of the bathroom as the door closes. As I hurry down the hall, I realize that's why she didn't pound Summer's face in.

I take a seat on the bench outside Mr. Robert's office and wait for Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Dunn to show up. When they finally arrive, I let them go in first to throw off the NSA agents who may or may not be in there. It'll give me a chance to assess the situation and escape if necessary.

To my relief, however, I don't see any men in suits or uniforms of any kind when I walk in. There's just Principal Roberts and Mrs. Hebert, the guidance counselor, which obviously means they're planning to guide me in some way. Even though that's not nearly as intense as being captured by the NSA, it's exactly what I've always feared, what Becca and I have both feared: pressure from people, trying to force me to move on and leave my current life behind. Even though I'm no good at confrontation, I will push back on _this_ matter. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not losing Becca.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Hebert's not saying much of anything at all. We're all just flipping through the copy of my New Solutions binder they made, and I'm explaining to them exactly how I've gone about simplifying all of these formulas, while trying to convince them that all the new formulas are correct and foolproof and will work every time with every problem. It's kind of exhausting, honestly. I definitely have a newfound respect for teachers.

Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Dunn actually stay with me much longer than I expected, but I start to lose them the further we get into the binder. By the time we reach Fermat's Last Theorem, they're both lost in another world as they stare at the paper, completely puzzled.

Then as we're wrapping things up, Mrs. Hebert finally directs her attention to me and asks if I would be interested in going straight to college. I can see the desperation in her eyes. She knows I'm going to decline. Luckily when I do, she just smiles and nods and doesn't say another word about it. This meeting has definitely gone a lot better and quicker than I imagined it would go.

* * *

As we're walking back to her room, Mrs. Anderson asks me if I would be alright with the students asking me questions for a few minutes at the end of class every day. She even gave the idea a cute little name.

"We'll call it the 'Ask Dori' segment," she says, her eyes all wide with excitement as she looks at me.

And since she's so excited about it, and it seems harmless, I shrug and go, "Yeah, I like that idea."

But it doesn't take me long to regret that decision. When we get back, she uses the remaining ten minutes of the period to introduce the 'Ask Dori' segment. And I find myself slouching down in my seat, completely embarrassed.

"So...y'all can ask her whatever you want," she says, gazing around at everyone encouragingly. "It doesn't have to be math-related. She's a genius on all topics."

It's definitely awkward hearing her say that to the class. I peek up at everyone and see some people looking at me, some people looking at Mrs. Anderson, and some glancing back and forth between us.

Then I catch a glimpse of Becca on the other side of the room, and I see her frowning at me, wondering what the hell this is all about. I widen my eyes and shrug, and even though she probably interprets that as me being confused as well, what I'm really trying to convey is that I have absolutely no idea why I agreed to this.

A few seats up and one row over from Becca, Summer is turned sideways in her seat with an altogether different look on her face. Her expression is frozen solid as she stares at me with this weird, open-mouthed smile. She's totally intrigued by me at this point.

"I know we're just getting it started today..." Mrs. Anderson begins, now trying to talk over the class. "...But if anyone has a question they want to ask Dori now, feel free to ask her."

Right away, Joey Kestle, who is recognized campus-wide as a major class clown, raises his hand and asks, "Will you break up with Bryson and go on a date with me?" He maintains a wide-eyed, serious expression as the class laughs.

"Oh...and...if your answer's no, maybe don't tell Bryson I asked you that?" he adds, still bug-eyed and serious.

I look down and laugh; it was pretty funny. Then I look back up at him and say, "Maybe some other time. And I won't tell Bryson."

"Yes!" he yells, doing a massive fist-pump as if he just scored big. Everyone continues to laugh.

"Okay, okay, does anyone have a _serious_ question?" Mrs. Anderson asks, recovering from her own laughter.

"So, you're a genius on all subjects?" Summer suddenly asks.

Just as I'm about to answer, Becca goes, "Duh, Mrs. Anderson just said that," causing quite a few people to chuckle. Surprisingly, Summer just looks down, defeated and embarrassed, and once again, strangely, I feel badly for her.

"I have a question," someone says quietly. Everyone looks to the back of the room as Daniel Berston slowly raises his hand.

Daniel is a straight-A student, extremely intelligent--probably one of the smartest students in the school, even--and really shy just like me. So along with everyone else, I'm surprised to hear him speak up.

I grin at him as he glances at Mrs. Anderson, then focuses on me.

"It's not really school-related..." He pauses.

"Okay," I smile.

"Does a falling tree make a sound if no one is around to hear it?"

"Wow, now that's a good one," Mrs. Anderson says, looking from Daniel to me. Before I can say anything, the entire class begins discussing it, giving their opinions, but with very little depth to their yes and no answers.

The yes's are simply saying, _of course, it has to make a sound. Why wouldn't it make a sound just because no one's around?_ And the no's are posing the question _, how would anyone even know it fell?_

The debate continues on for a couple more minutes. When it finally starts to die down, I look over at Daniel, who has been listening to everyone without saying a word, and I ask him what _he_ thinks. Right or wrong, he looks at me and gives an answer with substance.

"I think it does," he shrugs. "The disturbance of the impact will cause sound vibrations in the air whether anyone's around or not."

I nod at him, impressed. Then I give him and the rest of the class the answer to the age-old question.

"Well, you're close," I say, squinting. "But the definition of sound is the sensation produced by stimulation of the organs of hearing by vibrations transmitted through the air or other medium. In other words, sound and vibration are two different things. Vibrations travel through our inner ears and into our brains, and then our brains turn those vibrations into sound...so, because sound is actually produced in our brains, the answer to the question is 'no.' If no human or animal is around, the falling tree will only make vibrations--no sounds."

With the exception of Becca--who I've already explained this to years ago--the entire class is now nodding, deep in thought...including Mrs. Anderson. And as soon as people begin discussing it again, the bell rings. But that doesn't stop them from asking me more about it as I'm loading my books into my backpack.

As the morning goes by, I think I manage to talk to everyone in the school at least once. Luckily, though, by lunchtime things have kind of died down. Everything is pretty close to normal, even--everything except for Summer. Even though I'm still mildly wary of her sudden kindness, I'd still welcome it with open arms. Anything is better than being bullied.

But I have a feeling Becca's not going to be all that welcoming. In fact, she's sitting across from me at the lunch table, staring at Summer on the other side of the caf. And trust me, if looks could kill, right now Summer would be nothing more than a sliced-up pile of raw meat covered with blond hair.

And when Brad and Trent join us at the table and start talking about Summer's party this weekend, things get awkward fast.

"Y'all gonna go?" Brad asks as he and Trent glance between Bryson and me, oblivious to Becca's and Summer's deep hatred for one another.

"Umm..." Bryson pauses and looks at me. Then I look at Becca and Holly across the table. Becca has a dull, angry look on her face, like she wants to flip the table on its side and storm out of the caf. Holly, however, is sporting the same uncomfortable expression as Bryson and me.

So I quickly nod, shrug and say, "We might go," just to cut the tension before Brad and Trent notice, if they haven't already.

As everyone starts talking again, Becca glares at me and shakes her head. That's when I realize that even though my current problems appear to be fading fast, since I'm not really in the spotlight anymore--which I was starting to get used to anyway--and Summer's no longer trying to destroy me, I see another potential problem on the horizon. Possibly even a more serious problem.

Becca and Summer are sworn enemies. Becca and _I_ are best friends. And Summer pretty much asked me for forgiveness in the hall this morning. So either Becca is going to have to give Summer a chance, or I'll have to ignore Summer and be mean to her for Becca's sake. Honestly, I don't see either one of these things happening.

# 23

Game Time

"Am I really texting Brian about Summer's party?" Becca groans, lounging on the comfy green recliner and peering at me over the top of her phone. She's annoyed to say the least, and she has been all day long. Becca knows Bryson and Holly won't go to the party without her, but she also knows they wouldn't mind going. And since it's apparently supposed to be like the biggest and bestest, most spectacular blowout party in the history of all the universe, she has grudgingly decided to go. But I can tell she's holding out hope that _I'll_ end up not wanting to go.

I turn around and look at her as I'm putting my hair in a ponytail. "Yeah, I mean, if you want him to go," I reply, knowing what she's really asking is "Are we seriously going to this dumbass freaking party?"

She rolls her eyes as I turn back to the mirror and adjust my cheerleading skirt, lining it up with my top.

"He might already have plans Saturday night," she mumbles as she starts texting.

"Becca, it's Tuesday night. I'm sure you're giving him plenty of notice."

"Whatever," she says quietly. Then she slaps her phone down on her lap. "What makes you think Summer's even okay with me going?"

I walk around and take a seat on the edge of my bed. After staring at the closet door for a second, I shrug and say, "She didn't say you couldn't go."

Becca's expression turns sarcastic, and when she replies, her tone of voice is sarcastic, also. "Right... _that_ means she wants me there."

I shrug again. "She still didn't say you couldn't go. She said I could bring whoever I want."

Becca sighs and checks her phone. "But...I mean...you honestly don't believe she likes you all of a sudden, do you?"

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are," I say. Then a long silence follows as we both stare off in thought. "...But why is she being nice to me if she doesn't like me?"

"Well, if you think about it, she has to be nice to you because the whole school likes you right now. She can't go against that."

I nod as I look down at the ground, once again deep in thought. Becca has a point. The very same thing crossed my mind yesterday, but I didn't want to believe it. I would hate to think Summer's just waiting for this whole thing to blow over so she can bully me again. And even though that's entirely possible, I'm choosing to believe that maybe she really has changed, and we could possibly even be friends. But hoping to get Becca on board with that concept would be like hoping to win the Powerball twice--it's laughable. The best I can hope for is simply to get Becca to the point where she doesn't want to put Summer in the hospital every time she sees her. Even that's a pipe dream, though.

"You could be right." I look up at her. "But what do you want me to do? You know I'm not gonna be able to be mean to her. I couldn't even be mean to her when she was being mean to me."

Becca checks her phone again, slightly shaking her head.

"Could you please just try to tolerate her? Please?"

She gives me a sideways glare. "You know I'm gonna end up killing this girl, right?"

"Just give her a chance," I grin. "And as far as the party goes, if she makes you leave, I'm leaving, too."

Becca's phone goes off. "Brian said he wants to go," she says with another eye roll.

"Speaking of Brian..." I get up and walk back to the mirror. "Do you think he's gonna ask you to be his girlfriend?"

"I think so." A huge smile spreads across her face as she fiddles with her phone, then extends it out to me. When I walk over to look, I see a text from Brian that says, " _Somethin I wanna ask you...next time I see you._ " With a smiley face on the end.

"He sent me that last night," Becca says as I look up at her and smile. "I didn't mention it because I didn't want to get my hopes up, in case that's not what he wants to ask."

"He's coming to the game tonight, right?" I ask excitedly.

"Yep."

"Nice! Looks like you might have a boyfriend soon."

Becca's cheeks are all rosy now as she takes her phone back. I can tell she's holding in her excitement, just in case we're wrong.

"I guess we'll see," she says, flustered.

Then I hear a text come through on my phone over on the dresser, so I grab it and plop down at the foot of my bed.

" _About to pull in your driveway, sexy. XOXO._ "

Goose bumps instantly pop up on every inch of my body. Out of everything Bryson calls me, 'Sexy' definitely excites me the most, even though 'Princess' is probably my overall favorite. There's a slightly different emotional reaction to each name he calls me, and they're all equally amazing.

As I continue to read his text over and over, I start to think about how incredibly hot he looked earlier at school, all dressed up for game day. I think about how his chest, shoulders, and back were nearly bursting out of his white button-down shirt; how his muscular forearms were exposed when he eventually rolled his sleeves up to his elbows; and how amazing his butt looked in those J. Crew khakis with his shirt tucked in all nice and neat. I think about his smile, his eyes, his hair...basically _everything_ about him.

And just when I start to think I might be getting a little too excited, Becca looks over at me and says, "Bryson?"

I smile and nod, never looking up from my phone as I text him back.

" _Can't wait, XOXO_ " I text, followed by a line of smiley faces.

"He's about to pull up." I toss my phone to Becca so she can read the texts. Then I hop up and head for the door.

"I'm going to the bathroom." I walk out then poke my head right back in. "Hey, you're not gonna ride with Bryson and me to the game?"

She looks up with a smile after reading our texts. "No, Brian's gonna pick me up after he gets off work at the mall."

"Okay."

As I approach the bathroom, I notice the door open and the light on, and I can hear the sound of a garbage bag rustling around. When I walk in, I see Carson putting a fresh bag in the garbage can, even though it's Hailey's week to change them out.

My shoulders drop. "Where's Hailey?"

"Fuck if I know," he snaps with a shrug. Then he goes on to tell me about how Hailey planted an audio recorder in his room yesterday evening, recording a rather explicit phone conversation he had with Audrey--a girl from Central Private he's talking to--and now she's blackmailing him with it, threatening to give it to mom and dad.

"She has my damn phone, too," he says, angrily tying a knot at the top of the full bag.

I immediately head over to her room and knock on the door. When she opens up, it's basically a re-run of the episode that took place a few nights ago. I stare her down without saying a word, she acts completely innocent at first, and then she finally cracks and hands over the phone _and_ the audio recorder so I can delete Carson's conversation.

I look at her and let out a sigh of frustration. It doesn't seem to matter how much I get onto her, or how much disappointment I express. When it comes down to it, she can't help herself. In all fairness, Carson probably deserves it every time, but I want her to understand that it's not right to blackmail people under any circumstance.

When she suddenly catches a glimpse of Carson walking by in the hall, she storms right past me and all Hell breaks loose.

Luckily, Mom and Dad are immune to Carson and Hailey's bare-knuckle bouts these days, and they rarely ever respond anymore. But Becca immediately steps out of my room with a grin on her face, periodically glancing up from her phone and giggling as Hailey tears into Carson with a perfect blend of high-pitched screaming, evil eyes, and finger pointing. The verbal assault continues even after Carson retreats to his room.

"I told you to change those bags out after we left for the game! You're gonna pay for this!" she threatens, standing in the doorway, pointing at him with one hand while clenching the other into a tight fist at her side.

"Shut up and get out of my room!" Carson yells back. And before she decides to charge him and start gnawing his face off like Hannibal Lector in 'The Silence of the Lambs,' I run over to pull her away and try to calm her down. As luck would have it, I have just the thing to turn her frown upside down at the moment.

"Hailey, look--" I grab her arms to get her attention. "Bryson's coming! In fact, he's probably already here."

Just as I thought, she perks right up, raising her eyebrows high and smiling wide. "Really?"

Before I can say a word, she's already halfway down the stairs, happy as can be. That's officially the quickest I've ever seen her cheer up. After tossing Carson's phone back to him, then heading back to my room to look in the mirror one last time, Becca and I head downstairs, as well.

"Okay, ready? One...two...three!" we hear Bryson say, followed by Hailey laughing hysterically.

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, we see him tossing her in the air and catching her as my parents sit on the couch, watching and laughing.

"One...two...three!" He tosses her up and catches her one last time as we approach, then he looks over his shoulder at us and grins.

"Hey," he says. And after he puts Hailey down--who doesn't appear to be okay with that at all--he turns around and gives me a totally platonic, best-buddy hug with minimal squeezing, pressing, touching, and overall passion. As unsatisfying as it is, I have no choice but to do the same since my parents are like four feet away and watching us.

Then after he hugs Becca, we all take a seat. Since Hailey aggressively claims her spot next to Bryson on the couch--which I think is adorable--I end up on Becca's lap on the recliner.

"So, Dori says y'all are in for a heck of a battle tonight, huh, Bryson?" my dad says.

"Yes, sir," he replies, rolling his sleeves back up. As he goes on to tell my parents about how Briggston High has been undefeated since last year, and how they're the number one team and all that, I'm sitting here just staring at him, desperately trying to control my urge to jump on him and put my lips all over his. I literally want to drag him up to my room by his shirt, close the door behind us, and make out with him until morning.

But since that's not exactly an option, I gaze at him and fantasize about it instead. I'm slowly dragging my eyes all over his body, while periodically glancing at Hailey and my parents to make sure they're not watching me.

And just as I start daydreaming about him out on the court in his basketball jersey, single-handedly laying a smack-down on Briggston, Carson comes running down the stairs and breaks my concentration.

"I'm leaving, Audrey's about to pick me up." He reaches for the doorknob as he looks this way. "What's up, Bryson."

"Hey, Carson, y'all coming to the game?"

"No, we'll have to catch the next one. I'm going to help Audrey study."

Becca narrows her eyes. " _You're_ helping _her_? There's no way she's dumber than you are."

Hailey laughs.

"Hey, why don't you skip on over to your house and never come back." He glares at her while backing out the door.

"'Cause I can't tell you how stupid you are from over there," she says. After he shuts the door, Becca looks at me, confused.

"I helped him with his chemistry homework the other night, so he kind of understands it now," I explain.

Not knowing how else to respond, Bryson chuckles along with my parents at Becca and Carson's exchange.

Then my mom directs her attention back to Bryson, and so do I.

"So, do you think we can beat them tonight?" my mom asks, as she and my dad look at him hopefully.

"I think so. I think we'll be able to take 'em." Bryson grins, then glances over at me and winks confidently.

* * *

It's halftime, and the score is 54-52, our lead! Although Bryson is usually the safety net, only coming in the game to extend our lead when necessary, he hasn't sat on the bench at all so far tonight, and he's already scored thirty-one points. We would definitely be murdering any other team right now, but Briggston is too good. They have two six-foot-six centers who look like they should be playing in the NBA rather than here at Stargate tonight, and two speedy guards who can't seem to miss a shot if their lives depended on it. And even though we have Bryson, he can't guard them all at the same time. On the offensive end, however, Bryson's giving them absolute Hell, and there's not much any of them can do about it. It's definitely been an invigorating first half.

But as captivating as the game is, I've actually been dividing my attention fairly evenly between three things:

1. Bryson and the game, obviously. My overwhelming urge to straight up ravage him from head to toe has only gotten more intense, after seeing him all sweaty out there and kicking some major ass against this number one team.

2. Becca and Brian. According to Brian's text, he had a "question" he wanted to ask Becca tonight. Ever since the start of the second quarter, the two of them have been all lovey-dovey and touchy-feely. They've been holding hands, whispering in each other's ears, giggling back and forth, elbowing each other, playfully pinching one another--basically all brand-new-relationship type stuff. So I'm thinking they're boyfriend and girlfriend now, but I'm dying to know for sure.

3. Becca and Summer. This is really starting to concern me. Somehow, in the midst of all the heavy flirting with Brian, Becca manages to notice every single time Summer talks to me or even looks at me. And as you would probably guess, it downright pisses her off. She'll look over here and stare Summer down with rage, putting me in a super awkward position. I don't want to betray Becca, but I can't ignore Summer and be rude to her when she talks to me; I don't have that in me. It's an extremely uncomfortable situation, and all I can really do is respond to Summer and hope Becca understands.

As Holly turns around and smiles at me, I'm now focusing on the task at hand: our halftime cheers.

"You ready?" Holly asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Yep," I lie, even more nervous than I was at the first two games. I'm a genius now, which has pretty much thrust me into the limelight at this school. If people weren't watching me before, they're surely watching me now.

Holly must have seen through my quick answer. "You know the cheers; you did them both perfectly at practice yesterday," she tells me.

Then Summer walks up, and I quickly glance at Becca, hoping maybe she's not paying attention this time so I can acknowledge Summer without feeling awful. But no such luck; she's watching carefully.

"You ready to go?" Summer asks me, all excited like Holly.

I take a deep breath. "Yeah, I think so."

"You're ready; you're gonna be fine," Holly smiles.

"Yeah, you did great in practice yesterday," Summer says, just as Alex walks up. And since Alex is probably number three on Becca's hit list behind Summer and Allison, I'm now far too nervous to look in Becca's direction at all.

Summer flashes a glance at Alex, then looks back at me and continues, "And as far as the pyramid we came up with last week while you were out, just stand behind me and Alex as a spotter. The three of us are gonna spot Jill."

"Spot Jill, got it." I nod nervously, hoping like crazy no one's going to come crashing down on me.

Once again, Holly reads my mind as she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, "But don't worry, she's not gonna fall."

I nod again, more relieved as Alex giggles and adds, "Yeah, we've done this a bunch of times."

"Okay, good," I sigh with relief. Apparently, that was funny because the three of them start to laugh, but I just giggle under my breath. All I can think about is Becca on the bleachers and how I must be looking like the biggest traitor in the world to her right now, talking and laughing and getting along with Summer and Alex.

Once we're all lined up and about to run out on the floor, I finally build up the courage to peek over at her. When I see her staring blankly across the gym, looking confused and maybe even a little sad, I instantly feel sick to my stomach. Somehow, I manage to shake it off and follow the squad to center court.

Luckily, the cheers go well. I didn't put anyone else in a walking cast, and I wasn't forced to make the crucial decision to either stand there and let Jill fall on me or get the heck out the way and just apologize afterwards while insisting that I "tried" to catch her. That would've sucked, big time. But she was really solid up there on that pyramid, so I'm feeling nice and relaxed right now.

When the game starts back up, I'm even more relaxed when I notice that Becca seems to be back to normal. She occasionally glances at me and smiles while focusing on the game, just like Brian, Hailey, my parents, her parents, and Bryson's mom.

By the time we're in the fourth quarter with only five minutes to go, everyone in the building is on their feet. The energy and intensity from both sides is mind-blowing right now. Briggston is desperately trying to hang on to their number-one spot and their undefeated streak...but we're dead set on taking them down. As the war rages on and the decibel level goes through the roof, I find myself capable of looking at only two things: the court and the scoreboard. It's literally lead change after lead change. We're up by three, then they're up by two, then us by two, then them by three, and on and on.

Then our fans start booing loudly, wanting a foul called when one of the six-foot-six centers from Briggston knocks Trent to the ground and steals the ball. Since the squad and I are on the baseline under the basket, we all immediately back up to the wall as the Briggston center charges straight toward us, all alone.

Then, out of nowhere, Bryson sprints up beside him, slaps the ball from his hands, quickly stealing it back, then darts back down to the other end and drains a three-pointer, putting us back up by two points. The crowd erupts, throwing their hands up, stomping their feet on the bleachers, clapping, screaming, jumping around, and basically just acting like a bunch of crazy people. The atmosphere is absolutely electric, and it almost feels like the gym is shaking due to all the noise. People are standing all down the sideline, they're crowding the admission table by the gym entrance, they're all over in front of the bathroom doors and the concession stand, and anywhere else they can squeeze in since the bleachers are full. It's almost as if a bunch of strangers have wandered in from the street to see what all the commotion is about, and now they're drawn in.

While everyone continues to go nuts over Bryson's lightning fast three-pointer, Briggston wastes no time hurling the ball back down the court to one of their centers who aggressively dunks the ball over Brad, tying the score back up and quieting our fans down instantly.

The game goes on at this pace for another four minutes or so. As both teams walk back out on the floor from a time out, the score is now 89-88, Briggston's lead, with only 18 seconds left in the game. Luckily, though, it's our ball.

But since three guards are all over Bryson like ants on a dead bug--they clearly don't want the ball in Bryson's hands--Trent is forced to throw the ball in to Brad. And even though Brad quickly gets trapped on the sideline, he's somehow able to get the ball right back to Trent, who then throws it to Bryson. After blowing past everyone who attempted to stand in his way, Bryson barrels toward the goal, which is being guarded by both of Briggston's six-foot-six centers. When all three of them jump up at the same time, Bryson somehow manages to do a 180 in mid-air, completely faking them out, and then gently laying the ball in the basket behind his head.

The crowd explodes. I'm literally covering my ears as I jump up and down with nervous excitement, looking up at the scoreboard...90-89, Stargate.

Now with no timeouts left and only six seconds to go, Briggston throws the ball in and urgently pushes down the court. Right away, of course, the point guard bombs the ball straight to one of their centers. Just as he turns around and hops up to dunk the ball for the win, Bryson leaps up behind him and forcefully slaps the ball from his hands, sending it flying into the wall right above Briggston's bench and causing them all to duck out of the way. And then the buzzer goes off...and we win!

The place blows up like never before. People are running out onto the court and jumping around and screaming, going absolutely nuts.

I look at Bryson just as he looks at me. He does a little fist-pump, then points at me with both hands and grins.

I smile back and give him two thumbs up, wishing I could go jump on him and show everyone he's _my_ boyfriend.

After he runs back in the locker room with the team, I turn and glance at Summer. She's still hopping around and screaming with excitement like the rest of the cheerleaders.

Then I look at Becca, and she's pretty much doing the same thing. She's smiling and clapping excitedly, just like Brian and Hailey and our parents. And all I can think about is how this was a nice little escape from life's dramas.

# 24

Problems

I wake up the next morning feeling fantastic. I sit up in bed, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and then pinch myself a few times to make sure I'm actually awake. I mean, let's face it--I usually wake up scared or nervous about _something_. But this morning is different. Instead of wanting to crawl under my bed and avoid all human contact for the next twelve hours, I hop up and skip over to my window to open the curtains. When the sun shines through, I smile broadly like I'm in one of those corny movies about a girl who moves to the big city to find herself.

But strange as it may be, the reasons for my unusual joy on this gorgeous morning are pretty simple. First of all, last night I witnessed what was probably the greatest basketball game ever played at Stargate. We took out the number-one team by one point and remained undefeated. It was a nail-biter, to say the least, and Bryson led the way with an insane forty-four points. Definitely the most exciting sporting event I've ever attended.

Second, Becca and Brian announced their new relationship to Bryson and me while we were at McDonald's after the game. I was so excited for her, I could barely eat when she told me, even though I eventually came to my senses and inhaled my food like I was in a Big Mac eating contest. I even finished off Becca's fries since she was too excited to eat them.

And last but not least--in fact, this is without a doubt the main reason for my giddiness--Bryson and I made a little pit stop on the way home. He pulled into the grocery store parking lot so we could have a much needed, totally amazing, head-spinning make-out session. He squeezed me tightly in his lap, occasionally putting his hand on my thigh. We kissed passionately for what seemed like forever, then he broke away from my lips and began kissing me all over my neck, along my jawline, under my chin, and just below my ears. And when he started gently _blowing_ in my ears and rubbing my inner thigh just above my knee, he had me shivering as if a lot more was taking place than that.

So obviously, I went to bed all tingly and with a smile on my face--and that's exactly how I woke up this morning.

I'm quite sure my parents were wondering what in the world was going on with me as I sat at the kitchen table, eating my pancakes and smiling like a big doofus. It's not like I was trying to get them to ask or anything--in fact, I was extremely relieved they didn't ask--but I just couldn't help myself. It's as if the smile was painted on and I had no control over it. It was kind of creepy, actually.

By the time I got to school, however, the smile was long gone. It was back to reality. A reality where problems existed. A reality that wasn't all roses and sunshine, and earth-shattering make-out sessions and exciting basketball games and things like that.

Becca had no intention of warming up to Summer; that was becoming painfully clear. She scolded Summer once again during the "Ask Dori" segment in first period and almost got herself sent to the office. I tried to get through to her after class by demanding that she leave Summer alone and at least try to give her a chance, and it appeared to have an effect at first.

But later when we were walking to the caf to go to lunch, Becca inched away from me until she was directly in Summer's path, who was minding her own business while changing out books at her locker. When Summer suddenly noticed Becca's approach, she quickly flattened herself against her locker, avoided eye contact, and patiently waited for us to pass.

Clearly, no progress had been made. And to be honest, it was starting to look like a lost cause. I almost wished Summer would just go back to being mean to me, which was much scarier, but far less complicated. But it didn't look like that was going to happen either. I had no idea how to handle the situation, and it completely consumed my thoughts for the rest of the day.

"Are you okay with that?" Summer asks, looking at me while re-doing her ponytail.

I turn to look at her. "Sorry, what?"

"I was asking if you wanted to continue to be a spotter for the pyramid. Because if you wanted to try another position--"

"No, I'm okay with being a spotter," I say with a nervous chuckle.

"Okay, that's what I figured," she laughs. "I just wanted to make sure."

When she walks away, I turn back to the caf entrance and continue staring down the hall, hoping Becca stays in the library until the end of practice.

"We can take a quick break before we start on the next cheer," Summer tells everyone.

Then Holly walks over to me. "What's wrong? The whole Becca/Summer thing?" Holly knows the situation well.

I nod at her then glance back down the hall. "I don't know what to do about it."

"There's not much you can do," Holly says. "You just have to wait for Becca to come around."

"Yeah...I don't see that happening, though. Becca's convinced she's putting on an act."

Holly glances over her shoulder at Summer. "Last week when you were out, she was definitely concerned about the accident, but she really seemed to change when she found out about your genius. And I guess maybe she had to, you know, because the whole school was fascinated."

"Right," I nod. "It may have been a forced change at first, but it seems genuine now. I mean, she's invited everyone to her party, not just her group of people."

Holly nods in agreement, then we both look at Summer. She's talking and laughing with two freshman cheerleaders...something she would've _never_ done in the past.

Holly and I look back at each other and shrug.

"Just give Becca some time," she says, patting my shoulder as we walk back to the squad.

* * *

To my relief, Becca doesn't show up until after practice and after Summer's already gone. Perhaps she figured that was the best thing, too.

"I'll catch up to y'all in a minute," Holly says, scurrying back down the hall toward her locker.

"Okay!" we call to her. I grab my backpack and then Becca and I walk out and head to the gym to see Bryson. Before the cafeteria doors even close behind us, Becca's already on the attack.

"So...how was Little Miss Fake Bitch during practice?"

I can see her looking at me, waiting for my answer, but I don't look back at her. I just shake my head, not saying a word.

She giggles. "What?"

"You need to stop, that's what." I finally look at her, aggravated. "You're taking it too far. You don't have to be friends with her, just lay off."

Her smile vanishes as she turns and stares at the gym. She's aggravated as well now.

"It's not that easy for me to just lay off, Dori. Do you even remember how she treated you?"

"I do remember how she treated me, but she's not treating me like that anymore. And if I can forget about it, you should be able to," I point at her firmly. Our words are becoming sharp and angry, which is definitely unfamiliar territory for us.

"I can't forget about it because she's not being sincere, Dor. People don't change overnight like that. She's just covering her ass right now because she has to."

"Maybe so, and if it turns out you're right, then you can go back to kicking her teeth in every day. But until then, you need to understand that I can't be mean to her."

"I do understand that, but you have to understand I can't be _nice_ to her," she points back at me.

"You don't have to be nice to her, just stop messing with her. That shouldn't be too much to ask, Becca."

But even though I said that, I know damn good and well that it _is_ too much to ask. Becca can't help herself when it comes to Summer. I do believe she puts forth an effort, but when she sees Summer she's like a vampire going for blood; there's no stopping her.

We stand there looking at each other, neither one of us knowing what else to say or even what to think about the animosity we just showed one another.

Then suddenly, Bryson comes bursting out the gym doors. And I realize I was so engrossed in the conversation, I wasn't even aware we were standing in front of the gym. As he walks toward us, I'm wondering if he saw us arguing.

"Hey," he smiles, giving me a quick hug and peck on my forehead.

I wrap an arm around his waist. "Hey."

As he hugs Becca, Holly comes walking up.

"Are y'all taking a water break?" I ask him.

"Nope, we finished up early. Hey, Holly." He shoots a glance at her.

"Hey," she smiles.

Then Brad and Trent come walking out.

"Party Saturday night, woo-hoo!" Brad yells as they walk by, bumping fists with Bryson.

Trent does a fist-pump, then smiles at us. "Hey, guys."

We smile and wave as they continue to walk.

Becca groans, covering her face with both hands, then slowly dragging them off.

Bryson, Holly, and I all glance at one another. Then I focus on Becca.

"Like I told you before, Becca, if **S** ummer makes you leave, I'm leaving, too...promise," I assure her.

"Yeah, definitely," Bryson agrees. "We'll all leave."

"Totally," Holly says. "We don't even have to go if you don't want to."

"No, we can go. I'll be fine," Becca grins. But her grin is full of sarcasm.

A part of me hopes that Summer does make us leave Saturday night. That might be the safest scenario.

* * *

Later that evening at dinner, I'm trying like crazy to clean my plate so I don't raise any suspicions that something's bothering me, but I think it's too late. I can tell my parents are waiting for Hailey to leave so they can question me. And sure enough, as soon as she walks out...

"You wanna talk about it?" my mom asks, looking up from her plate with concern.

I know I've always worn my heart on my sleeve, but this is getting ridiculous. I can't seem to hide my feelings lately to save my life. It's like there's a flashing sign above my head that says ' _Troubled mind, please ask me all about it_ ' with an arrow pointing downward. It's annoying.

"Yeah, you're usually on your third plate by now," Dad says, taking a sip of his milk and looking at me.

I shrug as I look down at my fork, piled high with mashed potatoes. And I realize I actually wouldn't mind talking about this.

I briefly expressed my concern to my parents the other night about the whole Becca/Summer situation, but that was before it really became a problem.

"Is everything okay at school?" Mom asks, just as I look back up.

"Yeah, everyone's been really nice to me since I've revealed my genius. It's just..." I lower my eyes again, shaking my head.

"Is it about Becca and Summer?" my dad asks.

I nod, my eyes still on my plate. "Yeah. I just wish Becca would give Summer a chance." I say, looking up. "It really does seem like Summer's changed."

"Have you told Becca that?" My mom asks.

"Several times. But it hasn't done any good. She's certain Summer's being fake, and I feel like I'm stabbing her in the back every time I talk to Summer."

They both look down at the table in thought.

"That's a tough situation," my dad says. "So I guess Becca can't forgive the fact that Summer used to pick on you."

I shake my head. "And I appreciate her looking out for me, but--"

"Well, that's a nice gesture from Becca," Mom interrupts. "But you're doing the right thing by giving Summer a chance."

"Absolutely," Dad agrees. "People do change sometimes, and they deserve a chance."

A short silence follows.

"Becca's your best friend. She'll come around," Dad says.

I look at him and smile, even though I know he's dead wrong. He doesn't know Becca like I do, and neither does my mom. They don't understand her hatred for Summer and frankly, I have no desire to explain it. So I just nod along with them, pretending everything's going to be fine.

# 25

Shocking Request

Surprisingly, Becca has chosen to behave so far this morning. But I'm not getting excited just yet.

The 'Ask Dori' segment is underway, and I'm desperately hoping Summer doesn't have a question for me. Becca will surely pounce on her like she did yesterday morning, and the last thing I want is to watch Summer drop her head again in embarrassment while the class laughs. So I'm definitely nervous.

After Joey Kestle asks me out again--like he's done every morning--and after a few other class clown trainees ask me a few silly questions that I obviously can't answer, such as " _Is there a God?_ " and " _What happens after we die?_ " and " _Is there life on other planets?_ " (all to which I just smiled, shrugged, and said, "Obviously I can't answer that"), Meagan Reeves, a shy honor-roll student, cautiously raises her hand and asks, "What came first, the chicken or the egg?"

The class chuckles and then begins debating as usual. I look over at Mrs. Anderson as she sits at her desk, resting her chin on her hands and smiling while her eyes bounce from student to student as they talk. She plays the role of silent observer during the 'Ask Dori' segments. She enjoys watching the class discuss these thought-provoking questions, and she stays out of the action whether she knows the answers or not.

As the discussion dies down--which I was enjoying, as well--the class starts looking to me for the answer.

"Well, the ones who said the egg came first were right," I inform them, causing a chorus of "I told you!" to echo around the room. And after laughing at everyone's reactions, I direct my attention to Meagan, and keep my explanation condensed and simple as always.

"It was a process of evolution," I tell her as the class quiets down completely. "At some point in history, a bird that was kind of like a chicken laid an egg. And then some DNA changes took place and developed a new offspring which we now know as the chicken. So the first chicken essentially hatched from its own egg," I explain.

"Interesting," Mrs. Anderson says with a nod. I guess she didn't know the answer to that one, either.

Then after the usual post-answer rumblings throughout the class, Daniel Berston raises his hand.

"Shh, quiet down," Mrs. Anderson says softly, gazing around the room. "Go ahead, Daniel."

"Okay...umm...why is it light down here on Earth, but when you get into space, it's dark? I mean, how can it be lit up here and not--"

He takes a rather long pause, so I finish his sentence.

"In space," I say, nodding, conveying I understand his question.

"Yeah," he shrugs.

Strangely, the class remains silent, as if they're completely stumped on this one. No discussions, no opinions, no arguing... _nothing_. They're all just staring at me curiously, so I get right to it.

"The reason for that is light can only reflect off matter, and the planets are matter. Space, on the other hand, is empty; it has no matter. So basically, there's nothing for the sun's light to shine on. It would be like shining a flashlight into the night sky. You wouldn't see anything unless some form of matter came into contact with the beam of light, like a bug or dust or something like that."

Daniel and I nod at one another.

"So the sunlight reflects off the Earth, to answer your question."

"Got it," he says, now nodding in a way like he feels he should have known that.

"Good question, Daniel," Mrs. Anderson praises. "Does anyone else have a question?"

"Yeah," Summer says, raising her hand. Right away my heart drops and I get extremely nervous. She just opened the door for Becca to ridicule her and honestly, I have no idea why she would even open her mouth at this point.

I quickly glance at Becca. Just as I suspected, she's leaning back in her chair, squinting at Summer, waiting to ambush her like a scene right out of a grotesque horror film. Only Becca doesn't have a machete, butcher knife, or a glove with razor-sharp claws anywhere on her...as far as I know.

I shoot a glance up at the clock, desperately hoping the bell will ring in like two seconds and defuse this situation. But no such luck.

So with no other option, I lock eyes with Summer and smile as she asks her question.

"Is it true you'll gain weight if you eat late at night? Because my sister swears that's how she gained weight."

I planned on answering quickly in order to cut Becca off, but she beat me to it.

"Aww...a much simpler question from a much simpler, idiotic person."

"Becca!" Mrs. Anderson snaps.

About half the class is now laughing as Summer slowly turns forward in her seat and plants her eyes down on her textbook, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

"One more word and you're going to the office. This is the last time I'm gonna tell you," Mrs. Anderson warns, pointing and widening her eyes at Becca with a fury I've definitely never seen from her. But she has every right to be angry. She's given Becca multiple chances and Becca keeps ignoring her. But it looks like it struck a chord this time. She looks at Mrs. Anderson and nods submissively, not saying a word.

And now, just like Summer, Becca's staring down at her desk, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Especially me. I had every intention of narrowing my eyes at her, glaring at her, frowning at her, shaking my head at her, or whatever I could do to most effectively express my anger, as well. But she never looks at me. She knows I'm upset.

As awkward as it is now, I proceed to answer Summer's question for lack of a better idea.

"The answer to your question is no, Summer."

She slowly turns and looks at me.

"It's all about calorie count, and your body doesn't process food differently at different times of the day. But the reason people tend to gain weight when they eat at night is because they typically eat more at night, and usually higher-calorie foods, you know, like snacks and things like that."

She presses her lips into a smile and nods.

Then Joey Kestle raises his hand again and asks, "Does body hair grow back thicker when you shave it?" His mouth is half-open and his expression dead serious. The class bursts into laughter at his random, off-the-wall question.

"No," I barely reply, laughing myself. "No, that's a myth."

"Dang it!" he exclaims, looking distraught, as if he was planning an experiment on himself that won't work now.

The class laughs even louder, including Becca, Summer, and Mrs. Anderson. When the laughter finally dies down again, a guy sitting a few seats behind Joey--whose name I don't know--asks, "Will wearing a hat make you go bald?"

Although there's still some lingering giggles from Joey's performance, I can tell this is a serious question.

"No, it won't," I say. "It might cause breakage or split ends depending on where the hat is on your head and how tight it is, but that's all." And as soon as the words leave my mouth, the bell rings.

"See y'all tomorrow!" Mrs. Anderson says.

My smile quickly fades as I'm loading my backpack. I glance up at Becca just in time to see her peeking at me...and believe me, neither one of our expressions are pleasant. As we walk to our lockers, not a word is spoken from either of us.

"Okay, so do you want me to apologize or what?" Becca finally says as we open our lockers. Her tone was sarcastic, though.

"Becca--" I pause, turning to face her. "Do **y** ou have any intention of leaving her alone at some point? Because if not, I'm not going to her party."

Right away, she turns back to her locker and starts changing out her books.

"You shouldn't want to go to her party anyway, Dor. I feel like you're taking her side, and it sucks." She's now slamming her books around. Then she stops and looks at me. "How can you not see that she's putting on a show? I mean, why do you think she keeps asking you questions in the 'Ask Dori' segments? Because she knows I'll attack her and she'll gain sympathy from you."

I have to admit, she's making sense. Even though I'm the genius, Becca's always been a much better judge of character, and of people, in general. I'm easy to fool; I accept that. But why is Summer being nice to _everyone_ rather than just me? What is she trying to prove? If she's really just trying to avoid being an outcast in the wake of my sudden popularity, wouldn't it seem more reasonable that she would simply stop bothering me, and maybe even smile and say hey to me once in a while instead of going out of her way to befriend me along with the entire school?

I really have no idea what the deal is. But the sad fact is none of it matters anyway. It doesn't change things. I can't be mean to Summer, regardless, and I'm pretty sure that's what Becca wants.

"Why would Summer go to all this trouble just to fit in? She could've just stopped bullying me and that would've probably had the same effect. Why this elaborate, fake personality change? Explain that to me." I cross my arms and wait for an answer.

"I don't know, Dori. I don't know what she has up her sleeve. All I know is that she's being fake. I can tell."

"So, basically, you want me to be mean to her...is that seriously what you're asking of me?"

"Yes!" she snaps, whipping her head around and widening her eyes at me. "That would be great." She gives me a look of disdain as she says that, like what she's really saying is, "That would be great, _if you could stop betraying me_."

I stand there and look at her as she turns back to her locker and continues loading her books. Feeling hurt, and not knowing what else to say, I just close my locker, turn, and walk away since our next classes are on opposite ends of the hall.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Bryson asks.

I drag my gaze from the cloudy sky and turn to look at him. "Yeah, why?"

He shrugs and leans up on his elbow, causing the trampoline to slightly bounce and making Bogart--who, yes, is on the trampoline with us, laying by my side since he's absolutely obsessed with me--quickly raise his head in alarm, probably trying to determine whether or not he needs to protect me from Bryson or any other surrounding dangers.

" _It's okay, buddy...you're okay, you can lie back down_ ," I tell Bogart, my baby voice very pronounced as I rub his cheeks.

"Yeah, go back to sleep, punk," Bryson says, pushing his head down. "Dori's my girlfriend, not yours."

"Hey, hey..." I hug Bogart and frown at Bryson. "Don't be mean to him just because he loves me more than you."

Bryson laughs. "Yeah, I think he would be happy if I just left forever and he could have you all to himself."

"Well, Bryson needs to _learn to share, huh?_ " My baby voice resurfaces mid-sentence when I look back at Bogart, causing him to throw his ginormous, freak-of-nature, bear-claw-looking paw up on me, completely dwarfing my shoulder.

After laughing and petting him for another minute or so, Bryson and I look back at each other and our expressions become serious again.

"No, I was just asking," he says. "I know you and Becca are kind of at odds, and it just looked like it was bothering you."

After he says that, I look up to the sky and start thinking about the argument Becca and I had a little while ago at school, and I become overwhelmed with emotion. As hard as I try to hold it in, my eyes start to water, and Bryson quickly comforts me.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He wipes the tears from my eyes with his thumb and kisses my cheek. "We don't have to talk about it, okay? Just know I'm here if you want to." He kisses the tip of my nose.

I nod, sniffling and forcing a half-hearted smile. And just as I'm about to mention the whole situation--partly because he asked me about it, and partly because deep down inside I wouldn't mind talking to him about it--he smiles, kisses my lips softly, lies back down and says, "So, I'm on chapter fifteen of your book, and I'm pretty much sleeping with one eye open now."

I giggle in response, rolling my head on his bicep to look at him. Even though I was about to tell him all about Becca's and my argument earlier today, I'm perfectly fine with the subject change. And I think he knew I would be.

"Are you having _nightmares?_ " I tease, wiggling my fingers creepily, inching them right up to his face.

He looks at me and laughs. "Thankfully, no nightmares yet, but I'm waiting for them. That book is seriously terrifying."

"Well, buckle up, buddy, it's only gonna get scarier," I warn.

He grimaces. " _Yikes._ Mom's a chapter behind me and she already doesn't know if she can finish it."

"Aww, tell her to stop reading it," I say. But Bryson just laughs again.

"Stop it, that's not funny," I fuss, playfully slapping his chest. "I have plenty of other books she can read."

As I proceed to give Bryson a list of some of my books which might be more suitable entertainment for his mom, rather than one of my scariest three-part zombie series, we suddenly notice a white Chevy pull in and start making its way down the gravel driveway.

"That's my Uncle Mike," Bryson tells me.

I've heard a lot about his Uncle Mike, and I'm definitely anxious to meet him. He's forty-one years old, six years younger than Ms. Brenda. Divorced since last year, no kids, and he's always been extremely involved in Bryson's life, particularly after Bryson's dad left when he was five. He opened his own mechanic shop twelve years ago, 'Mike's Automotive,' right here in Central, and Bryson's been working for him since he was twelve. That's also where he's storing his Camaro.

He notices us right away when he gets out of his truck, and we sit up on the trampoline--Bogart, too--when he starts walking this way. I rock back and forth, tugging my red Soffee cheerleading shorts down a little as I cross my legs in front of me.

As he approaches, I can't help but notice how much younger he looks than Ms. Brenda, even though there's only a six year age gap. He looks to be about Bryson's height, and he's wearing a navy blue, button down work shirt, tucked into navy blue work pants, with his belly slightly hanging over his belt. There's a white name tag sewn onto his shirt with the word 'Owner' in small letters under his name, and he's wearing a blue and white hat that says 'Mike's Automotive' over a faded picture of his shop in the background.

And as much as I try to focus and keep my mind out of the freaking gutter, I immediately imagine Bryson in that uniform. Then I simply lose control of my thoughts.

I imagine him sweating with oil and grease stains all over his hands and forearms and even his face, as he lifts an entire motor by himself and places it under the hood of some amazing hot rod before bolting it all up. Then he rips his shirt off like an animal--causing the buttons to fly everywhere--walks over to the sink, and washes up in slow motion, his muscles rippling and popping all over as he looks at me with a sexy smile and winks. And _then_...actually, I'm just gonna go ahead and stop there before this thing takes a graphic turn.

As you can tell, I have a pretty active and detailed imagination. And since Bryson's been in my life, it's definitely turned to filth. Complete and utterly disgusting, dirty, sexy, exciting, breathtaking filth. And now I'm sitting here smiling like a moron for no reason, but somehow I manage to pull myself together as he approaches.

"Jeep's all yours, buddy," Mike says, tossing keys to Bryson and then glancing at me and smiling.

"Awesome, thanks," Bryson says.

"I just took care of the paperwork, and there's an extra set of keys for you. And we'll just do the paycheck thing like we talked about."

"That'll work," Bryson says as they do a little handshake, like they're best friends rather than uncle and nephew.

"Uncle Mike, this is Dori." Bryson looks at me and grins.

Mike looks at me with the same grin. "So, this is Dori."

"Hey," I smile.

"Hey, there. You have no idea how much I've heard about you." As he extends his hand toward me, I assume he's talking mostly about my genius.

"I've definitely heard a lot about you, too," I tell him.

Then out of nowhere, we hear this strange sound coming from Bogart. When we look at him, his eyes are darting between mine and Mike's now-joined hands, and Mike's face. He doesn't look thrilled about our handshake, which is surprising since Bryson has always told me how much Humphrey and Bogart love their "Uncle Mike."

But at the moment, Bogart's staring at him with a very faint growl rumbling deep down in his throat and an intensity in his eyes which is a little unsettling.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" Mike frowns. And although he spoke with authority, I can see a hint of caution in his eyes. He throws his hand out to Bogart, playfully trying to call him over, then jokingly asking him if he wants to get slapped around.

But Bogart is not amused. He just sits there, still as a statue, focusing on Mike as the low growl steadily continues in his throat.

Bryson chuckles. "Yeah, umm...he only likes Dori now, just so you know."

"I can see that," Mike laughs, looking from Bogart to me.

I find it odd that I'm the only one who appears to be nervous here. Bogart is massive, for pete's sake, and he's seriously looking like he wants to end some lives right now. And even though I know _I'm_ safe, I turn to Bogart--who's still staring at Mike and growling--grab his face with both hands, and yell, "Bogart! That's enough!"

He immediately snaps out of his trance and looks at me, throws his ears back, puts his paw on my leg, and then starts licking me as if he's completely heartbroken I fussed him. Then he lies down and rests his head in my lap.

"Crazy dog." Mike shakes his head. Then he goes on to ask Bryson and me about school, me about my genius, and also about beating Briggston on Tuesday night.

Then he and Bryson start talking about the Camaro, and I learn they've decided to fix it up.

"That's awesome!" I exclaim, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Bryson nods. "Yep, we decided last night."

"Yeah, we can't let that car go to waste," Mike says. And just as I'm about to erupt with excitement, Ms. Brenda sticks her head out the back door and yells, "Red beans will be ready in about thirty minutes!"

"Red beans? Looks like I'm staying for dinner!" Mike slaps the outer edge of the trampoline with enthusiasm, then turns to head inside. Humphrey hops up and follows him, but Bogart doesn't budge until Ms. Brenda steps back outside and starts banging a fork against his dinner bowl. Even then, it takes him a minute or so to decide whether or not he wants to leave me, but he ultimately chooses dinner.

"You wanna come work out with me before we eat?" Bryson asks, jumping up and reaching for my hands.

_Gee, let me think._ "Sure," I instantly smile.

He hops off the trampoline and I jump onto his back, and then we head toward the shed.

"I really like your uncle," I tell him, resting my cheek against his. "And I'm _so_ glad y'all decided to fix up your Camaro."

"Yeah, I couldn't let that car go. Plus, I know how much you like it." He turns and gives me a quick peck on the side of my mouth.

I kiss him back and then ask, "What did y'all mean earlier about the 'paycheck thing,' talking about the Jeep?"

"Well, I paid him what I could for the Jeep, and for the rest of it he's just gonna take a little money out of my paycheck every week."

"Oh, okay. You're going back Saturday, right?"

"Yep."

When we get into the shed, I slide off his back, then he glances at the weight bench and then at me.

"Okay, you wanna go first?" he asks, swinging his arms back and forth in front of him to stretch.

"Umm..." A grin slowly spreads across my face as I ease back toward the work bench behind me. "Actually, I think I'll just watch you."

"Cool," he smiles.

I hop on the work bench and cross my legs in front of me, still smiling as I watch him effortlessly stack two forty-five pound plates on each side of the forty-five pound bar, totaling 225 pounds.

I suddenly feel my body temperature rising when I realize how insanely excited I am to watch this. Seriously, why have I never thought about this before? I'm tingling right now at the _thought_ of what he's about to do. Why have I not demanded we come work out every day so we can stay healthy? How in the world could I have overlooked this?

As I contemplate my carelessness, he straddles the bench and takes a seat. All I can focus on now is him. My eyes are hungrily looking over his body, and my mind is cloudy with desire.

"Just do whatever you normally do, muscle man. Pretend like I'm not even here," I encourage him.

Right away, he smiles and says, "Oh, okay, what I normally do?" Then he jumps up, goes over to the stereo, turns on some AC/DC, then walks back to the bench and sits down...and then he takes off his shirt.

I immediately gasp, trying to catch my breath, as if someone just punched me right in the chest. I now feel desire burning throughout my body. Bryson is chiseled from stone, with zero body fat, just ridiculously defined muscle rippling all over his stomach, chest, and shoulders.

As I sit here, trying to catch my breath and control myself, he lays back, picks the bar up off the rack, and starts pressing it over and over as if it's only 50 pounds rather than 225. I can feel the blood pounding in my head and my heart beating out of my chest the entire time.

Then he sets the bar back on the rack and sits up, his chest and shoulders now even more swollen than before.

We gaze at each other briefly and the next thing I know, I'm straddling him on the bench and our lips are locked together. I barely even remember how it happened.

I'm squeezing him with everything I've got, pressing myself to his bare chest as he wraps his arms around my lower back and squeezes me so tightly against him that I moan faintly, our lips never parting.

We continue to kiss as I release my grip on him, then gently **s** lide my hands over every inch of his back. I can feel his muscles tighten, hard as rocks underneath his smooth, naturally tan skin.

And now, burning with more passion than ever, I run my hands up to the back of his head and forcefully clinch a handful of his hair with both hands. Strangely, that's when I suddenly think to myself for the first time, _what if someone walks in here?_ But ultimately, I'm too excited to worry about it, and I dismiss the thought pretty quickly.

We go on for at least another few minutes, kissing and caressing and squeezing one another. Then suddenly we hear Ms. Brenda hollering at the dogs for some reason, and her voice sounded a lot closer than the house. So we finally separate, then Bryson swiftly lifts me up and sets me on my feet next to the bench.

I'm completely disoriented and out of breath at this point, but somehow I'm able to keep my balance. As I carefully start walking forward, stumbling around like a zombie with a drinking problem, Bryson slaps me right smack on my butt. I swirl around as I throw my hands behind my head to tighten my ponytail.

"You- are- bad," I stammer, pushing the words out between breaths, staring him down as if I'm threatening to attack him again if he's not careful.

He raises one side of his mouth into a sexy half grin. "You love it," he says.

I nod, still staring him down, and say, "Hell yeah."

It's funny, if you would have told me a couple months ago I'd be straddling a shirtless guy, passionately making out with him until I completely lose my freaking mind, I would have laughed hysterically. I'm absolutely amazed at how much I've opened up to Bryson, in such a short amount of time. He's a fantastic guy, and I definitely can't seem to get enough of him.

# 26

The Party

Well, Summer's party is in a couple hours, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

Becca actually did control herself yesterday at school for the most part. Other than some heavy glaring, eye rolling, and mumbling under her breath, she pretty much left Summer alone. She didn't make fun of her during the 'Ask Dori' segment (even though Summer did ask me another question); she didn't try running her over in the hallway; and she never once threatened to break Summer's phony face in half and then stand over her and laugh as she squirms around on the ground, kicking, screaming, and crying. That's progress in my book.

But I suppose an object in an unnatural state must return to its natural state, because today, unfortunately, she's back to the snarky remarks and threats of disturbing violence. I've repeatedly threatened to not go to the party, but that's done nothing more than buy me a few minutes of silence each time.

So I think you can see why I'm nervous. The old Becca appears to be back with a vengeance, and I'm pretty much just hoping for the best at this point.

As Becca sits back on the green recliner, periodically peeking up from her book and grinning at the Kardashians on the muted TV, I'm watching Holly carefully as she stands there, studying the three outfits we've pulled from my closet and laid on my bed. Becca and I had originally planned on wearing dresses, but when we found out Holly wasn't wearing one, we not only scrapped the idea but we decided to let her choose our outfits altogether.

Holly really shines when it comes to this. She's so ridiculously trendy it makes me jealous--jealous my closet doesn't look like hers. And jealous that, despite the fact that I know everything else, I don't know half of what she knows about fashion. And as I stand here with a knee propped on my bed, waiting for her verdict, I find my envious eyes traveling over her outfit for like the tenth time now. But for good reason.

I start at the black booties on her feet, work my way up her black skinny jeans, and then finally set my stare on her loose, pale pink tank covered with silver beading. Then I shoot quick glances at her pink bow-shaped rhinestone earrings and the silver bangles on her wrists. This girl has a mesmerizing sense of fashion.

After swapping things around a few times, Holly stands up straight, tosses her wavy brown hair over her shoulder, pulls her lips together tightly to one side of her mouth in thought, then nods and says confidently, "That's your outfit."

I smile as I gaze at the dark colored skinny jeans she's paired with one of my favorite soft, loose-fitting deep purple tees from Forever 21.

"I agree," Hailey smiles, lying on her stomach on the bed, all up in the business as usual.

"Me, too. That's awesome," I say, unable to drag my gaze from the outfit.

Holly flashes a smile at both of us. "Good," she says proudly. "And you can wear your brown flip-flops with the gold studs."

Then she leans back over and pulls a pair of gold stud earrings out of her black hipster purse, along with some gold-studded bangles and a long gold, layered chain necklace. Then she starts neatly laying them on my outfit.

"That episode is hilarious," Becca suddenly says, giggling as she slaps her book shut, then hops up and walks over to the foot of the bed. She crosses her arms under her chest and looks down at my outfit with a faint grin. Like, so faint, it's almost not even there. Becca is just as excited as I am about the outfits and the accessories and the dressing up and all of that; she's just not thrilled about _why_ we're dressing up. Which sucks because she can't fully enjoy it like I am. But still, she can't deny an amazing outfit when she sees one. It doesn't take long for her grin to widen as she stares at what Holly has put together.

"So cute, Dor," she says.

Holly straightens back up and claps her hands in front of her. "All done!" Then she grabs her purse and walks to the other side of the bed to accessorize Becca's outfit, which we picked out a little while ago at Becca's house.

I plop down and lean across the bed on my side next to Hailey, who's now up on her knees. We both watch as Holly sets a pair of large, silver hoop earrings and a bunch of thick, silver bracelets down on Becca's loose, gray racer-back tank from Express, which she's wearing with a pair of black skinny jeans and black sandals.

"Y'all have such cuter clothes than me," I sulk, pushing my bottom lip out.

Becca looks at me and chuckles. "No, we don't, Dor. And even if we did, you're like, unfairly gorgeous, so it doesn't really matter what you wear."

"I know, right?" Holly giggles.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

Then after the outfits and accessories are finally complete, Becca and I each take a quick shower, do our hair and makeup, and then get dressed.

"Well, almost time to go bust Summer up," Becca mutters, standing next to me in front of the mirror and stroking her hair, then walking away.

I shoot a glance in the mirror at Holly over on the recliner. She peeks up at me and then looks back down at her phone.

"So, I guess you're just determined to turn this night into a disaster." I turn and look at Becca as I put an earring in.

She grabs her phone off the dresser and then sits down at the foot of the bed. "If she wasn't a fake bitch, I wouldn't be determined to do anything," she shrugs.

This is clearly a hopeless situation. A complete lost cause. And there's absolutely no need for me to say another word. I just walk over and swipe my phone off the dresser in a huff, and then go take a seat at the opposite end of the bed. And believe it or not, the three of us sit here in complete silence for the next fifteen minutes with our faces buried in our phones. It was awkward, to say the least.

Then finally, the loud silence is broken by the sound of a car door slamming shut.

"I guess they're here," Holly says.

I hop up and walk to the window at the end of the hall just in time to see Bryson and Brian do a handshake at the end of the driveway, then prop their arms up on the bed of Brian's truck and start talking.

I smile with excitement seeing Bryson in a flannel blue and white button down shirt with his sleeves rolled up tightly to the top of his forearms--of course--and a dark colored pair of boot-cut jeans with his brown Doc Martens.

When Becca walks up to the window, followed by Holly, I take notice of Brian, as well. He's wearing a dark green polo shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of Sperry Topsiders.

"Looking good," Holly grins, looking over our shoulders.

I look back at her and smile, but I don't look at Becca. I'm still pissed at her.

We head back to my room and do a final check in the mirror, grab our purses, and head downstairs. When I open the door, Bryson's fist is in the air as if he was about to knock.

"Whoa, pretty ladies!" he exclaims, glancing at all of us.

"Man, I'm telling you," Brian agrees. We smile and return the compliment just as my mom, dad, and Hailey walk in from the kitchen. After surviving an intense ambush from my mom's camera, and watching and laughing as Hailey begs Bryson to let her come with us to the party--as if it were his decision, and my mom and dad don't get a vote--my mom looks at me, her expression suddenly serious, and asks me once again if there's going to be alcohol there.

Just like every other time, I nod and tell her I'm sure there will be. Which isn't completely honest because I know for a fact there will be. Summer's been collecting money from people at school all week so her older sister and a few of her college friends can buy alcohol for the party. But I'm afraid if I mention that detail, there's a good chance my mom might forbid me to go. So I've decided to leave it out. And even though I'm not really lying about anything, I do feel guilty.

I watch as my parents' expressions turn to worry. I do understand their concern, but they know Becca and I don't drink; we never have. They also know Bryson doesn't drink.

Sadly, the only clear memories Bryson has of his dad before he left were of him being drunk all the time. Bryson's told me that because of that, he's never drank and he never will. My parents know this because I've told them several times.

Holly and Brian have tried it in the past--another minor detail my parents don't need to know--but it's not something they really do or have much interest in.

So all in all, they truly don't have anything to worry about. But parents will be parents.

After forcing my mom to finally relax the camera (which is like asking a cat to stop harassing a mouse), and then dragging Hailey away from Bryson (I swear she's going to steal him from me in ten years), we say our goodbyes and then head out.

We take separate vehicles so Holly can go straight home after the party, and so Bryson and I and Becca and Brian can stop somewhere separately if we have time afterwards to...well...you know, just in case we have time. Better safe than sorry.

"So, Summer lives in Oakwood?" Bryson asks as we turn out of the neighborhood.

"Yeah, Holly knows which house it is."

Summer lives in Oakwood Estates, a rich neighborhood in Baton Rouge, about ten minutes outside Central. Her dad is an orthopedic surgeon and her mom is an anesthesiologist, and the houses in this neighborhood make my house look tiny.

"You look beautiful, by the way." Bryson reaches over and squeezes my thigh.

I push a strand of hair from my face as I look up at him, trying to control my urges as usual.

"Well, you have Holly to thank for that," I tell him.

He chuckles. "No, I have your parents to thank for that, princess."

I laugh. Then we come to a red light and he turns and focuses on me, his expression dead serious.

"Seriously, I hope you know how gorgeous you are," he says, then pauses for a second. "You're without a doubt the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on. Inside and out." He kisses my hand then looks back to the road as the light turns green.

I stare at him, my eyes round with desire.

_Don't jump on him. Don't jump on him. Don't jump on him!_ I tell myself. _This isn't the time or_ _place._

So instead, I just kiss his hand and tell him he's amazing. What a breathtaking moment. I lean forward and turn on the A/C since I'm a little over-heated now.

"Made you a CD," he smiles. He releases my hand and turns on the radio, raising the volume way up. Before I know it, Taylor Swift is blaring through the speakers. It's cued up to the chorus of her song "Trouble," and I immediately close my eyes and begin singing along. I want to show my appreciation and thank him right away, but instead the world just kind of disappears for the next couple minutes until the song is over.

"A Taylor Swift CD!" I shout when the song ends, clapping excitedly.

He smiles with pleasure. "All her latest and greatest!"

"Thank you so much. That's awesome." I interlock my fingers tightly with his and then kiss his hand again. Needless to say, we jam to Taylor Swift until we get to Summer's neighborhood.

When we finally pull up to Oakwood and turn in, I turn the radio down and we both begin staring at the houses in amazement.

"Damn," Bryson remarks.

Our mouths are hanging open and our heads are oscillating from side to side like one of those fans. These houses are ridiculously large. And as we follow Holly through the neighborhood, the street lights start coming on and lighting up the huge yards and sidewalks.

"Well, that must be her house," Bryson says, pointing down the street after we take a left turn. When I look, I see a ton of cars parked on the side of the road and in the yard in front of a house a little ways down. I feel increasingly nervous the closer we get, despite the fact that I was just all hopped up on Taylor Swift. I'm nervous about Becca not behaving, obviously, but I'm also nervous about Summer's reaction when she sees Becca. She told me I could bring whoever I wanted, but did that really include Becca? Have I tricked myself into thinking it was okay to bring her anywhere near this house? And if Summer gets an attitude and tells her to leave, will Becca be able to control herself?

Lot of concerns right now. All these questions will be answered in a few minutes, and I'm starting to feel sick.

The sound of Bryson shifting into park pulls me out of my trance.

"You nervous about Becca?" he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt.

I sigh softly, staring at the mansion before us. "Yeah."

"I really think everything's gonna be okay," Bryson says. "But no matter what happens, I'll be beside you. We're in this together."

I look at him and smile, then lean over and give him a quick kiss on the lips. At this point, I honestly don't know how I would get through this without him.

As we get out of the Jeep, cars start pulling up all around us. I glance at Becca briefly as she and Brian walk up holding hands, but she never looks at me.

"Nice house, huh?" Holly asks as she walks up.

"Definitely," we all nod, except for Becca. She's just glaring at the house, looking pissed off. Wonderful.

As we head toward the long walkway which leads to the front door, lined on both sides with perfectly trimmed, waist-high hedges with little lights at the base of each one to illuminate them--pretty cool looking--I notice a lot of unfamiliar faces getting out of cars and walking up, as well. There are definitely people from other schools here.

Then out of nowhere, a silver Dodge zooms up, the straight pipes rumbling loudly underneath it, and quickly parks on the other side of the road, borderline recklessly. We know it's Brad's truck just by the sound. And when we turn around, we see Brad's head and elbow hanging out the passenger side window, and he's got a beer in his hand.

"Heeey, wait up!" he hollers at us, causing everyone in the yard to turn and stare.

I giggle as he hops out of the truck, along with Trent and some girl I've never seen before. Brad is silly enough _without_ a beer in his hand, so it should be interesting to see how the night progresses for him. At least Trent was driving his truck.

The three of them scurry across the yard to catch up to us, Trent and the mystery girl following closely behind Brad, who has his beer outstretched in front of him, trying to hold it as steady as possible as he runs.

"Boy, you getting started early, huh?" Bryson teases, slapping his hand on Brad's shoulder and looking at the beer.

Brad's eyes dart down to the beer can, also, and then right back up to us.

"Oh, yeah, well...you know...I figured I'd get a head start," he explains, slurring a bit. Then he takes a long swig, throwing his head way back and finishing off the can as we all laugh. And when Trent and the girl walk closer, Brad introduces her.

"Sam," he begins, looking at her and then back at us. Then he points to each one of us as he goes down the line, slurring his words even more now. "This is my boy Bryson, that's his girlfriend Dori, that's Holly, that's Becca, and that's--" He pauses when he gets to Brian.

"This is my boyfriend Brian," Becca smiles.

"Brian, that's Becca's boyfriend Brian. Everyone, this is Samantha." Brad puts his arm around her, pressing her blond, shoulder-length hair to the back of her neck.

"Hi," she smiles and waves.

And not knowing anything else about her at all, other than the fact that she appears to be with Brad in some way--due to the fact that his arm is around her neck and hers is now around his waist--and that she's wearing super cute shorts overalls with a white tank underneath, we all just smile and say hey in return. Then we walk up and knock on the door.

When it opens, the rap music we could barely hear outside becomes much louder, as if someone suddenly raised the volume all the way up on a stereo. Standing before us is a tall, skinny, college-age-looking guy wearing glasses.

"What's up, guys. Keg's in the kitchen, and there's a bathroom just past the kitchen and one at the top of the stairs," he says very matter-of-factly, then presses his lips together in a line and walks away.

"Alright, keg time!" Brad yells as he, Sam, and Trent head for the kitchen.

I, on the other hand, start nervously scanning the place for Summer as soon as I step in. When I don't see her right away, I start to marvel over the three massive, floor-to-ceiling stone columns--which look like they belong in the National Building Museum rather than this house--which somewhat separate this ridiculously wide foyer area from the even larger living room...or football field, whichever you prefer to call it. The living room is currently packed with people: some dancing, some _dirty_ dancing, and some just standing around talking and drinking.

I begin searching through the crowd again, this time more carefully. But still no sign of Summer.

"No wonder she's a damn snob," I hear Becca say over the loud music.

I quickly spin my head around. "Shut up," I hiss, leaning toward her. Bryson and Brian glance at each other, trying to remain neutral on the subject as usual.

"This is her house, Becca, so keep your mouth shut. I'm serious," I demand, each word slow and drawn out.

"Hey, as long as she doesn't come near me, everything will be alright," Becca replies.

"Well, I'm pretty sure she's not gonna come near you, so just go ahead and stop talking now." I turn away from her abruptly, completely over the conversation. Then we all walk through the huge dining room and into the kitchen, where the activities are slightly different than those in the living room. The music is now muffled as it blares through the dividing wall, and the first thing I notice is the tall, skinny door guy leaning over with his elbows on the bar, adjusting his glasses and staring at a laptop, along with three other guys--two of them Asian--and two girls, one of them looking like Summer's older sister based on Summer's description. They all kind of look like brainy medical students who are trying to cure cancer at this very moment, while chaperoning a high school party at the same time, of course.

A few feet behind them, there's a small line at the keg in front of the sink. And on the other side of the bar about twenty feet down or so--the kitchen is like a football field, too--there's an intense game of beer pong going on at the kitchen table, which has drawn a decent-sized crowd.

The crowd suddenly yells all at the same time. "Ohh!" they wail, throwing their hands up while some clap, apparently applauding the efforts of one of the players.

Then Holly yells, "Lindsey!" She extends both arms and trots ahead of us to get to Lindsey, who I assume she knows from another school.

As we approach the table, currently known as the beer-pong area, I do a lightning-quick check to see if Summer's anywhere in the crowd. I'd rather her not spring up on us unexpectedly, for obvious reasons. Ideally, Summer and I will see each other from across the house. And believe me, I'm ready for her to see us so this whole thing can be done. Whether she flips out and makes us leave or not, at least it'll be over with. But this waiting around stuff is making me nervous. To my disappointment _and_ relief, I don't see her anywhere around the table.

"Bryson, my man, what's up?" this guy yells over the music, switching his red plastic cup to his other hand, then locking hands and bumping shoulders with Bryson. He's crazy tall, and also lean and broad-chested like Bryson, though not as muscular.

After Bryson introduces him to us, I find out they played basketball together at Central High, and we all start talking for a few minutes.

Then a few random people from our school walk past and smile at me. "Hey, Dori!"

"Hey," I reply, smiling and waving as I watch them walk into the living room. And that's when I spot Summer.

# 27

Chaos

My stomach immediately drops to my knees. I watch nervously as she, Alison, Alex, and two other girls I've never seen before start walking into the living room through a giant sliding glass door. They had been outside in the patio/pool area, which I'm just noticing is also full of people.

Summer and the other four girls are dressed similarly, wearing extremely tight, extremely short fitted dresses with heels. The only real differences are the colors. Summer's dress is bright red, and I have to admit, she looks really good. They all do, actually.

My eyes stay glued to them as they file in one at a time and then close the sliding glass door behind them. After watching them briefly laugh and talk amongst themselves, Summer carefully pushes her long, bleach-blond hair behind her ear, raises her plastic cup to take a drink, and starts gazing around the room, slightly moving to the music the whole time. I know it's probably a matter of seconds now before she looks my way. Sure enough, she finally does.

I quickly turn away and then look right back at her, so she'll think I just noticed her too, instead of just standing there and staring at her like some creepy weird person.

Her eyebrows instantly fly up as she smiles and waves at me, craning her neck to look over the people between us. As I'm waving back, she takes a step toward me, then suddenly stops dead in her tracks as if she ran smack into a brick wall. She's obviously spotted Becca a few feet away from me, which thwarted her plan to walk over and say hi. So instead, she just smiles at me again, then turns back to her friends and continues talking. Even though I'm now feeling residual guilt, due to the fact that Summer can't walk around freely in her own house, I also breathe a huge sigh of relief. My fear of Summer storming up to us in a fit of rage and demanding that Becca leave--which would've gotten her ass thoroughly kicked--has been laid to rest. With that worry now gone, all I have to do is keep Becca under control.

I turn back around and go about my business, talking with people and trying to look in on beer pong. And not even a minute goes by when I hear someone yell, "Hey, Dori!" I turn back to the living room, along with Becca, and see Summer leaning forward against the dividing wall, stretching her neck toward me as far as she can.

"Coke's in the fridge!" she hollers over the music. Then she heads upstairs, away from danger, and I'm left cringing inside as I glance at Becca.

The other day in fourth period, Summer asked Bryson and me what we wanted to drink at the party, and we told her Coke. Bryson even gave her money. But I didn't mention that to Becca, because the last thing she needed was another reason to rearrange Summer's face.

* * *

I've been sitting on this really low, soft, fancy-looking circular sofa by the sliding glass door for a while now. I'm all snuggled up next to Bryson, sipping my Coke and bobbing my head to the music.

I glance over at Becca on the other side of the sofa, and she's snuggled up next to Brian. Things have actually gone okay so far regarding her and Summer, I guess. And I say 'I guess' because things have been both good _and_ bad.

The good part is easy: Becca hasn't throttled Summer. The bad part is I haven't been able to talk to Summer at all tonight, and I'm getting increasingly frustrated about that. But the truth is there's not a whole lot I can do. Becca simply can't be reasoned with when it comes to Summer, and the way things are now, I seriously have no idea how she would react if I went over and talked to Summer. And honestly, I have no interest in finding out. So I've pretty much decided to leave well enough alone and just be happy Summer's still in one piece.

Okay, so all that drama aside, I've actually been having a really great time! The party has swelled considerably in the last two hours--probably up to a few hundred people or so--and I think I've seen pretty much everyone from Stargate here, including Daniel Berston, Meagan Reeves, and everyone else from homeroom.

Bryson and I played four rounds of beer pong a little while ago, which drew an enormous crowd. I recruited Brad to drink for me, and Trent drank for Bryson. Even though I gave him a run for his money, especially in the last game--which I think he tried to let me win since everyone was cheering for me--Bryson beat me every time.

Then we all watched and laughed as Joey Kestle twerked on the coffee table, completely drunk out of his mind. We all cut loose and danced, then played more beer pong, then danced some more...then we watched Joey and Brad slow dance together, which basically consisted of them swaying back and forth while holding each other up since they were so ridiculously wasted. It was epic; I couldn't stop laughing.

So all in all, the night's been pretty cool. After sitting here and reflecting for a few more minutes, Bryson squeezes me and kisses my forehead.

"You need another Coke?" he asks, leaning to my ear.

I shake my head and smile. "I'm good!"

He hops up and walks over to the kitchen. When he passes by the bar, still occupied by the brainy college chaperones, he grins and leans in to see what they're doing, which is just typical Bryson. He's friendly and outgoing with everyone.

But they glance up at him and then look at each other, smirking. Although Bryson doesn't seem to notice, they're being condescending.

I get up and begin making my way to the kitchen, as Bryson stares down at a piece of paper next to the laptop, frowning in confusion. As I approach, the Asian guy directly in front of the laptop looks at his friend and chuckles.

" _High-schoolers don't know their ass from a hole in the ground_ ," he says in Mandarin Chinese. The tall, skinny door guy must have understood because he laughs along with the other Chinese guy.

" _That's not very nice_ ," I say in Mandarin as I walk up, trying not to be rude. Few things infuriate me more than when someone lords their intellect over someone else, or makes them feel dumb or anything of that sort. Especially when it's someone I care about. Even though Bryson gets straight A's and is well above-average amongst his peers, they know good and well he won't understand something even they're struggling to understand.

They look at me, shocked.

" _You speak Mandarin?_ " he asks nervously.

" _It looks that way, doesn't it?_ " I respond, glaring at him.

He looks back at the laptop, still smirking, and apologizes half-heartedly, in English this time.

I glance down at the paper and see it's filled with scribbles and scratch-outs, appearing to be repeated attempts to solve a particular math theorem.

"Have _y'all_ solved this yet?" I ask.

"Not yet." His eyes remain on the screen as he scrolls around for examples, which I'm sure he's not supposed to do.

The door guy leans back on his elbows and says, "Whoever solves it first gets a prize from the professor."

"Okay..." I reach over and grab the pen and paper, then quickly solve the theorem while they watch. "Take this to your professor and get your prize."

I slide the paper back to them, knowing they won't receive any award. I proved the theorem in two easy steps, which their professor won't understand any more than them. There will be mass confusion; no prize.

But these guys needed to be taken down a notch. Perhaps now they won't be so cocky.

The Chinese guy grabs the paper and starts inspecting my work in amazement. That's when I notice Summer standing a few feet away on the other side of the bar. There's a huge grin planted on her face, and her eyes are bouncing back and forth between me and the now-huddled-up college group. She obviously saw what happened.

Bryson grabs his Coke, grinning as well **,** and he and I start heading back to the sofa.

"What was that guy saying when you walked up?" Bryson asks me.

Before I can answer, we hear a loud commotion behind us in the kitchen, followed by Summer screaming, "What the hell is your deal?!"

When I turn around, I see Becca standing in front of Summer; two red plastic cups knocked over and empty on the table beside them; and Summer standing there holding her arms out from her sides, looking down at her dress which is now soaked and dripping with beer.

I storm toward Becca, furious, embarrassed, and also surprised since I never even saw her walk into the kitchen. With everyone now watching, I grab her arm and forcefully pull her back.

"What are you doing?"

"She walked by me and looked at me with a little smart-ass grin on her face," Becca insists angrily.

"I was grinning because of what just happened!" Summer points her thumb behind her to the bar, her eyes watering heavily.

Becca takes a step toward her. "Bullshit."

"Whatever! You need to get out of this house," Summer says, inching back as her sister walks around the bar and stands next to her.

"Yeah, you need to leave, now," her sister orders.

"Gladly," Becca responds. Then she turns and looks at me. "Come on."

I'm too embarrassed and upset to look at Summer as I pass her up. I'm too embarrassed to look at anyone, for that matter, because everyone's staring at us. I just keep my eyes glued to the ground in front of me, following closely behind Becca and Brian. But I'm not following Becca for the reason she might think.

As soon as we get into the open yard, I come to a screeching halt.

"So, was that fun for you? Tell me why you did that," I demand, crossing my arms under my chest. My blood is boiling right now. And when she and Brian turn around, I glare furiously into her eyes, and she reciprocates.

"I already told you why I did it, Dor. If you don't believe me, I really don't give a damn."

"Right, she _grinned_ at you. That's reason enough to throw beer all over her," I reply. "I'm thinking you've just been waiting all night for your opportunity."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever the hell you wanna think...let's go." She turns to Brian's truck.

"I'm not leaving, Becca." I stand firm, arms still crossed.

She turns back around and narrows her eyes at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes! What you did in there was uncalled for. There was no reason for it."

She stands there looking at me for a few seconds, and I watch as her expression changes from anger to surprise. But then just as quickly, she lowers the corners of her mouth and shrugs, as if she couldn't care less.

"Fine." Then she turns around and she and Brian head to his truck.

I know in her mind I'm betraying her, but in my mind she's betraying me. She continues to put me in this position even though I've repeatedly asked her to give Summer a chance, for my sake. Not only has she refused to do that, she wants me to treat Summer the way Summer used to treat me, which I simply can't do, whether Summer's being genuine or not.

As I watch them drive off, an intense feeling of hopelessness and sadness flushes throughout my core. I feel as though I've lost all control of the situation. A situation which, in actuality, I may never have had control of to begin with. Up until now, I've always thought in the back of my mind I would ultimately be able to rein Becca in, and everything would be okay. But as I watch Brian's truck turn the corner and then disappear behind the houses, I realize that's not the case.

I glance behind me and see Bryson and Holly standing motionless in front of the hedges at the end of the walkway, staring at me with blank expressions.

Then I turn my eyes back to the spot where Brian's truck disappeared, trying to control my emotions. As angry as I am with Becca, my heart completely shattered as she drove away. And now I'm truly scared of the decision I may eventually be forced to make.

I feel the tears building in my eyes as I continue gazing down the street. For the first time, I start to wish I had never revealed my genius.

# 28

Unraveling

After watching Becca and Brian drive away Saturday night, I roughly wiped my watery eyes, then turned around and headed back to the house. The closer I got, the more my feelings of anger and embarrassment resurfaced, reminding me why I stood my ground. I apologized to Summer when she finally came back downstairs--in a different dress--and we hugged and talked for a while.

Later, when Bryson dropped me off at home, I flew upstairs to avoid conversation with my parents, quickly brushed my teeth, put on pajama pants and a tank top, and crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head. I eventually cried myself to sleep, but only for a couple hours.

I spent all day Sunday in my room, except for the two hours my parents and Hailey dragged me out to watch a movie with them. Through my parents' insistence, I told them what happened, but I didn't stick around for long. I ended up fleeing back to my room mid-conversation, where I laid in bed the rest of the day, thinking about the situation. When I wasn't talking to Bryson or Holly, I was anxiously biting my thumbnail and staring at my phone, trying to decide whether or not to text Becca.

Sunday night went pretty much the same way. Sleep evaded me almost completely. I just laid there throughout the night with my eyes wide open, staring at the dark ceiling above me, deep in thought. I went back and forth in my head so many times I lost count. One minute it was definitely all Becca's fault, then the next minute it was definitely mine, then Becca's again, then mine again...it was a vicious cycle of indecision. And the absolute worst part is I've yet to come up with a promising solution to all of this. I'm beginning to feel trapped.

Monday morning I'm so exhausted, I head straight for the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. Then I push a strand of wet hair off my cheek and stare at the tired eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

_What have I done?_ I think to myself, my stare turning into a distant gaze. Becca and I have feared this all our lives and although this is far from how we thought it would happen, it's happening nonetheless. The revelation of my genius is coming between us. Now I'm wishing I could wave a magic wand and take it all back. Better yet, I would rid myself of this genius altogether.

But even with all that said, a small part of me wonders if my genius is _really_ the culprit here. I mean, is it not possible that Summer was going to change--or pretend to change, according to Becca--anyway? Or perhaps she changed because of the car accident I was in.

While both of these scenarios are possible, I view them as unlikely. My genius appears to be what intrigued her and caused her transformation. And until evidence proving otherwise presents itself, that's what I'm going with.

Truth be told, though, none of this matters at all. My secret is out, and there's no going back. What I need now is a solution. And since it doesn't look like Becca's going to budge, I may very well end up facing a horrifying decision. A decision with only two devastating options:

1. Stand alongside Becca and bully Summer for no reason.

2. Let my friendship with Becca fall by the wayside.

I'm hoping Becca will eventually come to her senses and bail me out of this nightmare.

* * *

The car ride to school was so awkward it stung. Becca and I never even looked at each other; we just sat there in complete silence the whole way. I noticed Mrs. Anna occasionally peeking at us in the rearview mirror, but she remained silent, also. She must know what's going on.

To say the awkwardness continued after she dropped us off would be an understatement. Bryson interlocked his fingers with mine, holding my hand tightly as he, Becca, Holly and I quietly headed to our classes. None of us knew what to say or how to act.

The tension was slightly broken when Brad and Trent ran up to us and started talking about the party, but other than smiling and saying hey to them, I stayed out of the conversation for Becca's sake. Then when we got into the main hall, people were constantly saying hey to me in passing. They were commenting on the party and also complimenting my beer pong skills, assuring me I'd get Bryson next time.

All these same people were giving Becca the cold shoulder. Everyone in the hall was eyeing her with disgust, actually; everyone except for Summer. When she saw us approaching, she abruptly broke away from Alison and Alex and fast-walked into homeroom. Even though I hated the fact that she had to do that, I was glad we didn't have to walk by her. It was a smart move on Summer's part. But as it turned out, all she did was delay Becca's wrath.

As the 'Ask Dori' segment was wrapping up, Becca stared her down and said, "What about you? No more kiss-ass questions, you phony bitch?"

The blood instantly drained from my face as I slouched down in my chair. I couldn't believe she'd said that. She was digging herself a hole, and I had no idea how to help her out at that point.

No one laughed this time, and Mrs. Anderson immediately stood up and demanded she go to the office. Later in fourth period, Holly told me she had gotten detention.

"Is her detention today or tomorrow?" I ask Holly, feeling sad I have to ask someone a question about my best friend.

She shrugs and presses her lips together. "I'm not sure."

I turn and look down the main hall as it begins to thin out. Cheerleading practice is about to start and I'm kind of hoping her detention is right now, to keep her away from the caf. When the hall finally clears out completely and there's no sign of Becca, I assume she's locked away in homeroom for the next hour.

After practicing a brand new cheer for a while, Summer walks up to me for the first time today. I've been wanting to talk to her, but ever since the 'Ask Dori' segment this morning, I couldn't tell whether or not she wanted to be left alone.

She smiles awkwardly as she approaches, and I return the same smile.

"You catching on to the new cheer?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, I really like it," I tell her, knowing she and Alison came up with it.

We nod and smile at each other for a few seconds, then I finally say, "Look...I'm really sorry about what happened this morning with Becca."

Just then Holly and Alex walk up.

"What are you sorry for?" Summer frowns. "It's not your fault."

"I know. I'm still sorry, though."

"What is her deal anyway?" Alex asks, squinting at me.

I gaze past her and shake my head in thought. But the only thing I'm thinking about is that even though I don't condone Becca's behavior, she's still my best friend, and I won't stand here and bash her behind her back.

"I'm not sure," I say dismissively. Summer must have picked up on the vibes because she quickly changes the subject.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time at my party the other night. Oh my God, how funny was Joey?" she smiles, glancing from Alex to Holly then back to me.

We all burst out laughing as Alison hobbles over in her walking cast, smiling. Then the five of us proceed to talk about the party, laughing and cutting up for what seemed like an hour. We talk about the music, the dancing, the beer pong...pretty much everything.

"So funny!" Summer says, keeling over in laughter. "I have pictures of that." She straightens up and walks over to the table by the doors to get her phone.

"Yeah, Joey and Brad dancing was _classic_ ," Holly declares.

Laughing and clapping, Alison yells, "They were so drunk! They were pretty much just holding each other up."

"Yeah, it looked like Brad was holding Joey up a little more," I add, laughing along.

Then Summer walks back up and shows us pictures of Brad and Joey dancing, and also of Joey on the coffee table twerking.

"You have to send me those pictures," I tell Summer.

"Yeah, same here," Holly says.

"Definitely. What's your number, Dori?"

I tell Summer my phone number and then Holly and I walk over to the table to grab our phones, as well.

"Did y'all get them?" Summer asks.

"Yeah," we nod, smiling and staring at our phones.

"This one is definitely my favorite," Alex says, leaning to Summer and pointing on her phone. Holly and I step up to take a look, and once again we start laughing hysterically when we see a picture of Joey standing on the coffee table, bending all the way over with his butt in the air and his palms planted on his feet. And the next few pictures are of him lying on the ground next to the table, since he fell off shortly after bending over.

"I'm...I'm gonna send them all to y'all," Summer assures us, struggling to speak as she laughs.

Holly and I step back and look at our phones, trying to catch our breaths.

"Are they coming through?"

"Yeah, they are. I'm saving your number to my phone," I tell Summer, still giggling.

"Me, too," she replies.

Then all of a sudden, I notice Holly stiffen up and stop laughing completely, as if someone flipped a switch. I glance at her, and not only is her smile gone, she looks nervous...and she's staring at the caf entrance.

When I turn and look, I see Becca standing outside the caf, staring at me through the glass of one of the doors. I have no idea how long she's been there, but her expression is lifeless and blank. She's looking at me as though I've just plunged a knife deep into her stomach.

I watch as her eyes slowly turn red and glassy, which I don't think I've ever seen before, and then she simply walks away.

My stomach turns as I lower my eyes to the floor, feeling like the most horrible person in the world.

"I'm sorry, Dori...I don't know what to say," Summer mutters.

I don't respond. I just stare at the floor for a few more seconds, trying to maintain my composure. Then I head for the door. But by the time I stick my head out and look down the long connecting hallway, Becca's nowhere to be found. She's gone out to either the courtyard or the parking lot, and I'm pretty sure she wants to be left alone. So I head back to the squad in a daze and continue practice.

* * *

"I'm gonna go watch TV!" Hailey shouts, running from the kitchen as my mom grabs her plate and takes it to the sink. I check my phone and then set it back down on the table, disappointed. Becca ended up calling Brian to come pick her up from school earlier, and she hasn't responded to any of my texts since then. I've texted her several times asking if we could talk, and even once apologizing but so far, nothing. To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Of course, I feel terrible about what happened earlier at practice; that won't change. But the way she's ignoring me is pretty upsetting. I understand her needing time to calm down, but it's been four hours. There's no excuse for this.

So as usual, my emotions are mixed. The only feeling that absolutely never goes away is an overall nervousness deep down in the pit of my stomach. A nervousness which has been gnawing away at me for a week now. A nervousness which comes from not knowing how this whole thing is going to play out. Should I ruin my friendship with Becca, or start being mean to Summer? This question is getting more real by the day. But since I don't think I'm capable of doing either one, I'll just stick to my current plan for as long as I possibly can: wait for Becca to come around.

"Are you sure you don't want any more?" my mom asks, looking down at me with concern.

I was so deep in thought I didn't even notice her walk up. I glance at my plate of rice and gravy, which has barely been touched, and shake my head. "I'm just not hungry."

She smiles despondently. "I wish you would eat a little more." Then she picks up the plate and heads for the counter. "I'll give it to your dad when he gets home."

"How late is he working?" I ask, checking my phone again.

"Probably another hour or so."

I nod as I get up and grab my phone, then walk over and take a seat at the bar.

"Still no text from Becca?" my mom asks, looking back at me.

I shake my head while situating myself on the stool, then I prop my elbows on the bar and rest my face in my hands. I hear the fridge close and my mom walk over and lean back against the counter directly across from me, probably with her arms crossed and a worried expression on her face.

I haven't exactly been spilling details to my parents about the situation, but they know enough. They know there are problems, anyway. When my mom picked me up from school a little while ago, I simply told her Becca and I had gotten into a little argument, and Brian took her home, which I only know because I saw them pulling out the parking lot during practice.

But my mom knows there's more to it than that. If you recall, I can't hide my emotions to save my life or the lives of any of my loved ones. So even though my mom's being really cool about it by not prying or anything like that, she knows I'm not telling her everything. And most of the time, I don't want to tell her _anything_ , much less _everything_ , but on rare occasions like this, when I get overwhelmed and feel the need to talk, it's nice to know she's there waiting.

I ball my hands into fists under my chin and look at her, and just as I had guessed, her arms are folded across her chest and she's looking at me worriedly.

I take a deep breath and cross my forearms on the bar. "I'm scared," I tell her, gazing down at my phone in front of me.

"What happened today?" she asks softly.

I check my phone again, knowing like every other time I haven't received a text because I haven't heard it go off. That never stops me from checking, though.

"Summer and I are kind of becoming friends," I say, cringing. I surely never thought I would hear those words come out of my mouth. And I feel extremely guilty as soon as they're out.

I slowly drag my eyes back up to my mom, wondering what her opinion is on that.

To my relief, she just grins and says, "And I guess Becca's not okay with that."

"Not at all," I say. "Earlier at cheerleading practice, she saw me and Summer and a few other cheerleaders talking and joking around, and she got really upset. That's why she called Brian to come pick her up."

"Oh, okay," Mom nods.

Then all of a sudden my phone buzzes, causing my heart to plummet into my stomach. I jump, reactively scooping it up, but when I look I see a text from Bryson.

" _Smile, princess...I'm thinking about you._ "

My insides slowly start to settle back down as a smile stretches across my face.

"Becca?" My mom asks.

I shake my head. "Bryson."

I take a selfie and send it to him. " _Your girl is smiling...you're amazing._ " I tell him.

He is amazing. This whole thing with Becca has definitely been distracting me from my relationship with him, but he's been nothing but understanding and supportive. He doesn't just call me princess, he treats me like one, and I don't think I can do any wrong in his eyes. He certainly can't do any wrong in mine.

I set my phone down and look back up at my mom.

"What does Bryson think about everything?" she asks.

"We honestly haven't talked all that much about it."

She looks down to the floor in thought. I can tell her brain is working overtime, trying to conjure up a solution.

"I mean, am I doing wrong by talking to Summer and getting along with her?"

"No, you're definitely not doing wrong," Mom quickly says. "It's never wrong to be nice to someone, no matter what the situation is."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Becca thinks I'm doing wrong, and part of me agrees with her."

Noticing my sudden emotional state, my mom walks around the bar to me, drapes my ponytail over my shoulder, and gently places her hands on my cheeks.

"Sweetie...you are the most kind-hearted person I've ever known. And I hope that never changes. I feel bad about what's going on with Becca, but don't ever let anyone convince you that it's wrong to be nice to someone, for any reason...okay?" She lowers her chin and gazes steadily into my eyes, making sure her message has been received. I nod as she kisses my forehead.

"I wish I had a solid answer, honey. But if I were you, I would do exactly what you're doing. Just give Becca some time. Give her space, let her come to you."

I briefly stare down at the bar. "And what if she doesn't come around?" I ask. But what I'm really asking is, "What is plan B?"

I appreciate my mom's advice, and just talking to her is comforting me, but there's absolutely no way Becca's going to suddenly be okay with Summer at some point. It would be like waiting for a rabid dog to get along with a kitten--ain't gonna happen.

"Well, we'll figure that out if it happens. But for now, just give her some time," she says, putting her hand on mine.

Then Carson tears through the kitchen door.

"Hailey's watching CSI in there." He nods back toward the living room as he heads to the fridge.

Mom storms toward the door. "Are you kidding me? I thought we deleted that."

"She must have recorded a rerun!" Carson yells over his shoulder. Then he slaps the lemon-lime Gatorade jug on the bar in front of me and pours himself a glass.

"Want some?" He peeks up at me.

"Sure." I giggle as he retrieves another glass. "CSI...that's a new one."

"Yep. She ain't watching it no more, though," he says proudly as he pours.

I smile and take a sip as he puts the jug back in the fridge.

"So, why is Becca acting all crazy?"

I look at him as he walks back over, wondering first of all how he knows that, and also surprised he's not making fun of her in some way.

"I really don't know. You talked to Mom and Dad about it?"

He shakes his head while swallowing down a mouthful of Gatorade. "Brian."

"Oh," I reply, curious. And I know it's none of my business, but I can't help myself. "What does he think about everything?"

I watch as he takes another giant swig, then sets the glass down and shrugs. "He doesn't know what to think about it. He's embarrassed like hell, though."

I look away and stare at the wall, wondering if she and Brian are getting along. I'm hoping they are, for Becca's sake.

"Well, let me know if you need to talk, okay?"

"Thanks," I say as he heads toward the living room. Just before he reaches the door, it suddenly flies open and Hailey comes walking through.

They glare at one another as they approach. Carson looks cautious more than anything, while Hailey is straight up pissed. He carefully squints at her as they pass each other.

"What are you looking at?" he snaps.

"Keep moving, numbnuts," Hailey orders, pointing her thumb over her shoulder.

Once he's gone, her face brightens and she skips over and hops on the stool next to me.

"I heard that on TV," she informs me, situating herself on her knees and leaning over on the bar.

I stare at her, bug-eyed. "Mom would kill you if she heard you say that."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I need your discretion," she explains.

As hard as I try to stop it, I begin to laugh. Luckily, Hailey's smart enough to know she can't say those things anywhere else, but that's still no reason to encourage her.

She leans practically her entire body on the bar as she stretches to grab a peppermint from the mint bowl. Then she unwraps it, pops it in her mouth, and asks me why Becca hasn't been around lately.

I can see the concern in her wide blue eyes as she stares at me, her lips all pursed from sucking on the peppermint. I feel horrible.

Becca is like a big sister to her, and aside from me, I think losing Becca would devastate her more than anyone. I'm not sure how much she knows, if anything, so I try to keep it as light and positive as possible.

"We've just had a few arguments, that's all," I tell her, scrunching my nose like it's no big deal. "Everything's gonna be fine."

I smile and push her hair out of her face, hoping I'm not lying to her.

But later as I'm walking upstairs to my room, a strong emptiness fills my stomach, and I feel almost certain I _was_ lying to Hailey. I still haven't heard from Becca, and I'm assuming she wants nothing to do with me.

I sit on the edge of my bed when I get to my room, trying not to cry as I look at my phone. Then I text Bryson.

" _I might need a ride to school tomorrow morning._ "

# 29

Blowout

I still haven't heard from Becca. Worse than that, she completely abandoned me this morning. I was even ready ten minutes earlier than usual, but when I stepped outside, Mrs. Anna's car was gone. I'm trying hard to control the anger festering inside me as I stand here waiting for Bryson. I know Becca feels hurt and betrayed by me, but this is ridiculous.

Thunder suddenly starts to roar above me. It's one of those long, deep, steady growls which seem to go on forever. It eventually breaks my trance, and as I look up to the sky, noticing the thick, dark gray clouds angrily rolling in, I think of how freakishly symbolic it is to my situation. A storm is brewing, and I'd much rather run back up to my room and not deal with it at all. In Becca's mind, I'm betraying her. In my mind, she's betraying me. And in the middle of it all is Summer, who appears to be one of the good guys now. I find myself pining for the days not so long ago when no one knew about my genius, and Summer was mean to me on a daily basis. Although you couldn't have convinced me at the time, that situation was a piece of cake compared to this one, and I would gladly go back.

As I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and glance down the street, I see Bryson's Jeep heading this way. When he comes to a stop at the end of the driveway, we just gaze at each other as I walk up. He has a sad smile on his face, and his eyes are overflowing with sympathy. When I open the door, he reaches over and takes my backpack so I can hop in. "Hey, there."

"Hey." I smile blandly as he sets my backpack down next to my feet. Then he cups the back of my head, carefully pulls me to him, and softly kisses my lips. As upset and distracted as I am from everything right now, he still manages to easily incite goose bumps all over my body.

Then he pulls back and kisses my cheek just past my lips. As he moves away from me, all I can do is mumble as I slowly open my eyes. "Thanks for coming to get me," I manage to say.

"Anything you need, beautiful." Then he lowers his eyes, scanning my body. "The away game was canceled because of the storm coming in, if you wanted to change out of your uniform before we leave."

"Oh...why did you dress up?"

"Coach just texted me a few minutes ago."

I nod, then grin suggestively. "I'll stay in this."

I know Bryson won't have a problem with that decision at all. And sure enough...

"Yes!" he shouts to himself, facing forward and shifting into gear.

I raise my shoulder to my cheek, looking at him flirtatiously. "Oh, so you like this outfit, do you?"

"It's hideous," he says, with his usual mock serious expression. "I'm just pumped about school today, you know, education!"

I toss my head back and laugh. He laughs along with me as I grab his hand firmly, pulling each one of his fingers tightly into place between mine.

Then, after the laughter dies down, an eerie silence fills the Jeep for the next couple minutes. We both just sit there, holding hands and gazing straight ahead. I start to think about the situation with Becca, but mainly I'm wondering if he's thinking about the situation with Becca. Bryson always knows how to make me laugh and take my mind off things, but he has no idea how to approach this subject. Frankly, I wouldn't know how to either if I was him. He knows how important Becca is to me and how fragile this whole thing has made me.

But sitting here with my hand in his, our fingers intertwined securely, I feel comforted. Whether he knows it or not, he's the glue holding me together. The way he's so patient, caring, and understanding; the way he makes me laugh on the spot; and the way he somehow, without speaking a single word, makes me feel like no matter what happens, he's there and ready to give me anything and everything I need. I surely couldn't do without that right now. And even though I thank him constantly, I wish there was some way I could actually repay him.

I peek over at him, keeping my head still so he doesn't notice. His expression is completely stoic and still. He's just staring down the road through blank eyes, lost in another world. Assuming he's trying to decide whether or not to ask me about Becca, I look down, nervously fiddling with my skirt, and ask, "Do you think I shouldn't be friends with Summer?"

He glances at me, presses his lips together, then looks back to the road in thought.

"No, I think you should be friends with her. You definitely shouldn't be mean to her, you know." He looks at me as I nod. "But the situation with Becca..." He trails off, looking back to the road, once again pressing his lips together and shaking his head in thought. Bryson knows the situation well. Along with the things I've told him, he witnessed Summer's behavior toward me in the past and also Becca's retaliation. He knows how much they hate one another, so he understands the unique and complicated nature of this whole thing.

He sucks in a sharp breath, then basically gives the same solution my mom and I have already come up with. The only reasonable solution that exists, really.

"I guess all you can do is wait for her to cool off. Then maybe you'll be able to sit her down and really talk to her."

I face forward, trying not to get emotional as Bryson squeezes my hand. "Let's just wait and see what happens," he says. And when he looks at me, I see the desperation in his eyes. "If I could make it all better, I would, princess."

"You are making it better. Promise." I lean over and kiss his cheek. Then we come around the curve approaching Stargate, and I become a complete ball of nerves.

We sit in Bryson's Jeep until the bell rings. And by the time we get to the main hall, I'm so nervous I'm shaking like a leaf. My eyes are scanning the crowded hallway, frantically searching for Becca. But not because I want to talk to her; I want to avoid her. The last thing I want to do is stir up trouble and make things worse.

Luckily, she's nowhere to be found as I make my way to my locker, which can only mean she's already in class. When I finally approach homeroom, I'm feeling so awkward and uncomfortable I can barely stand it.

I walk in and see her sitting in her chair, slightly slouched down with one leg draped over the other and her arms crossed over her chest. I can tell she noticed me because as soon as I looked at her, she threw her eyes down to her desk.

I throw my backpack over the back of my chair, take a seat, then look over at her again. I start to wonder what I've really done to deserve this and as class goes on, I get increasingly angry.

I start to think about how she ignored me yesterday, just like she's doing now. I think about the apology text I sent to her and all the other ones pleading with her to talk to me.

I know the plan was to leave her alone, but by the time class is over, I have a new plan in mind. A plan formed out of anger and clouded judgment.

I load up my books as I watch her speed-walk to the door, her angry eyes staying glued to the floor in front of her. Once she's out of the room, I see her turn in the direction of our lockers, and when I step into the hall, I pick up the pace to make sure she doesn't get away. I can see her quickly swapping out books at her locker as I swiftly weave around and between people, completely unaware of who I'm even passing up along the way. Come to think of it, I haven't noticed anyone so far this morning other than Becca and Bryson. Not even Summer or Holly.

My heart begins pounding out of my chest and my stomach throbs with anxiety as I close in on her. And just as I'm walking up, she slams her locker shut and zips right by me.

"Hey! Are you gonna talk to me?" I yell, frowning as I turn around and raise my hands.

She stops in her tracks, freezing for a few seconds, then she spins around and looks me in the eyes.

Her expression is uncaring, as if she'd rather be in Hell than doing this right now. Even her demeanor is ice cold. She's cradling a book tightly to her chest with her hip out and her toe pointed.

Despite all that, it's still refreshing to see her acknowledge me at all. Even though it's only been a couple days, it feels like a lifetime.

She squeezes her lips together and shrugs, her eyes remaining steady on mine. "You wanted to talk," she reminds me, her tone flat and business-like, as if I'm a stranger.

"Yeah, why didn't you respond to any of my texts last night?"

She just shrugs again. "Why do you care? You have a new group of friends."

Her voice remains impersonal, and her eyes are now angry. Even though we haven't talked for a couple days, I'm shocked at how detached she seems to be. She's standing there as still as a statue, waiting for this to be over so she can move on.

I squint at her. "So you just think I don't want to be friends with you anymore?"

"I don't know, you tell me," she replies. "You know it's either me or Summer...and it looks like you've made your choice."

"Why does there have to be a choice, Becca? Why do I have to hate her in order to be friends with you? It's so shitty of you to put me in this position."

"Shitty of _me_?" She raises her eyebrows accusingly. "I protected you from that snobby bitch and her robot friends, and now you've turned your back on me for them," she fumes, tossing her thumb in the direction of Summer's locker. Her eyebrows are now pulled down with rage, making it clear just how unfixable this situation is.

"I'm not turning my back on you."

"No?" she quickly responds. "What about her party the other night? You promised you would leave with me if she threw me out."

"I did promise I would leave if she threw you out, but she didn't throw you out, Becca. She threw you out _after_ you threw beer all over her." I point at her angrily. "I've asked you repeatedly to give Summer a chance."

"I'm not giving Summer a chance," she growls, each word slow and precise. "She didn't just go to bed one night a bully, and then wake up the next morning a great humanitarian. Things don't work that way, Dori...as smart as you are, I figured you'd know that."

I nod, then cross my arms and shrug. "So, tell me how things work then, Becca. Should people give their best friend an ultimatum? Demand they be mean to someone or else?"

"Absolutely, if their _best friend_ betrays the shit out of them," she says, strongly emphasizing 'best friend.'

Although we're keeping our voices relatively low, our words are stinging like never before. Both our stances are defensive as we stand here, staring at each other in silence. But there's now a hint of sadness in the air along with the anger. I'm even detecting a bit of shock and desperation from her, and I know those emotions are spilling from my eyes, as well. It doesn't look like we're going to find a common ground, and despite my anger toward her, that terrifies me.

I slowly shake my head, still frowning. "I give up, Becca. You win. Screw Summer. I'll just follow your lead every day and bully her and harass her and push her around. I'll even try my best to get as much pleasure out of it as you do," I say, my tone full of acid.

"No, you know what, don't even bother," she insists, narrowing her eyes and raising her hands at me. And as soon as she does that, I feel my chin start to quiver.

"You just go ahead and stick with Summer. You and her seem to be a lot alike these days." Her eyes turn red and swell with tears before she finishes her sentence. Then she slowly starts backing away.

"So, now you're gonna push us both around?" I ask, my voice breaking up.

She shakes her head as a tear escapes down her cheek. "Y'all aren't worth it."

Then she turns and takes off.

I swirl around and bury my head in my locker. Then I burst into tears. As hard as I tried, there was no stopping it; it literally just exploded out of me. Now, as the tears come pouring out uncontrollably, I'm grimacing and squeezing my eyes together tightly as my upper body convulses violently.

I feel a hand gently slide across the back of my neck and then rest on my shoulder, and I know it's Bryson.

"I'm sorry," I hear him say. But I just continue sobbing. I pull my hands up to wipe my face just as he starts rubbing my shoulder. Then I feel him scooting up behind me as close as he can, trying to shield me from everyone.

After a couple more minutes of some light, shoulder-shaking aftershocks, I finally calm down to a few residual sniffles. Then the bell rings.

Needless to say, the rest of the day was a blur. And as soon as I get home, I head upstairs, lock myself in my room, and don't come out until morning.

# 30

Free Fall

There's only one other time in my life I remember being depressed. It was when Buddy, my German Shepherd, died.

Buddy and I had a special relationship. One day, when I was eight years old, my mom--who was pregnant with Hailey at the time--Dad, Carson and I were driving through the grocery store parking lot looking for a place to park when I noticed a man sitting in front of the store, right next to a small pen filled with German Shepherd puppies. My eyes widened with excitement when I saw the "Free Puppies" sign. I rolled my window down and stuck my head out as we approached, and I kid you not, Buddy pulled his big brown eyes up to mine, threw his fluffy paw up on the wire mesh, and watched me closely as we slowly passed.

I grabbed my dad's shirt and my mom's hand as we were walking up to the store, aggressively pulling them in the direction of the puppies. And through an ambush of begging, pleading, and even a small flood of dramatic tears, they eventually agreed to let me take Buddy home. It was the start of a spectacular three-way friendship.

Becca, Buddy, and I did everything together. We played together, we ate together, we napped together, we laughed and cried together...the three of us were inseparable.

Then, just before my twelfth birthday, a tumor which we didn't even know Buddy had suddenly ruptured in his stomach, and we had to put him to sleep.

Becca and I were crushed. We cried for days--it was pretty much the only time I've seen Becca cry, until now--but we had each other to lean on. The experience was extremely traumatic, and I'm not sure how I would have gotten through it without Becca.

So how in the world am I supposed to get through this? Becca was never supposed to leave my side the way Buddy did; she was supposed to be there forever. She was supposed to be a shoulder for me to cry on, life-long security to help me through the hard times, and vice versa.

Even though I have my family, Bryson, Holly, Summer, Alison, Alex, and basically the entire school, I've never felt so alone...because of the absence of one person. My heart is torn apart, and the pain in my stomach is paralyzing. I can't do the simplest things which used to make me happy, like listening to the Taylor Swift CD Bryson made for me--or any music for that matter--watching the Kardashians, reading, eating...it all reminds me of Becca. I can hardly even look at the comfy green recliner.

I assume this is a lot like a break-up, only a thousand times worse. I would even venture to say that very few people in this world--if any--are as close as Becca and I are--or were. We've been attached at the hip our entire lives, and even though she's still only a couple doors down, it feels as though we're worlds apart.

I do have a lot of people I can turn to for comfort. But I would trade them all for Becca in a heartbeat. She's the only person who completes me, who balances me out, who understands me on every level. Everyone else could disappear from my life except for her, and I wouldn't feel even a fraction of the loneliness I feel right now.

And every time I think about what she must be going through, I collapse into tears. Unlike me, she has nobody. According to Holly and Carson, her relationship with Brian is on thin ice, and she's also borderline ostracized at school now. The only reason people don't downright pick on her is because they know I'll get upset.

So as broken as I am, her situation is definitely more intense than mine. I can tell how overwhelmed she's been because she doesn't talk to or even look at anyone; she just zooms from class to class with her head down, and sneaks into the library during lunch period to be alone.

Wednesday, the day after our argument, we didn't talk or cross paths at all. We stayed far away from one another. But Thursday, even though we kept our distance at school, I texted her quite a few times after I got home, telling her how miserable I was and asking if she was okay. I even begged her twice to let me come over so we could talk, but she never responded.

Then today when she pulled a no-show at school, I had Bryson run me home before the game, and I went straight to her house and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Anna's car was in the driveway, so she obviously left work early to come check on Becca.

I rang the doorbell three times...but believe it or not, no one came to the door. I was stunned. I turned around, wiping my eyes--which are constantly red and puffy these days--and headed back to Bryson's Jeep. Becca must have insisted Mrs. Anna not answer the door.

"Are they not home?" Bryson asked, turning and looking behind us while backing out of the driveway.

I sniffled as I began to text. "Yeah, they are."

" _Please, just tell me Becca's okay,_ " I sent to Mrs. Anna. She immediately responded.

" _She's okay, sweetie._ "

I leaned my head back on the seat and breathed a sigh of relief. That made things better for a while.

But as I'm standing here on the baseline in formation, staring at the empty spot on the bleachers where Becca normally sits, I wonder if Mrs. Anna was just saying that. I wonder if maybe she's in fact so scared and worried about Becca, that she figured there was no sense in putting me through that, too. I start to wonder what condition Becca's truly in, and I automatically assume the worst.

Just as I start trying to figure out my next move--while fighting back tears--the crowd erupts, obliterating my concentration as I whip my eyes back to the court. I see Bryson doing a fist-pump as both teams walk to their benches.

Holly spins around and looks at me, all excited and hopping around, and goes, "Bryson just scored another three!"

I force a smile as I look over at Bryson, clapping my pom poms together. There's only three-and-a-half minutes left, and if it wasn't for Holly's constant updates regarding Bryson, and also for the massive scoreboard telling me we're ahead by fourteen points, I wouldn't be able to tell you squat about this game. Even though I know Bryson doesn't care one bit, I feel absolutely horrible about that, so I force myself to pay attention the rest of the game, and we end up winning by twelve points.

I look at Bryson, smiling and clapping excitedly. He smiles back, but there's a lot more sadness and worry in his expression than there is happiness. He knows I'm forcing this excitement, and underneath is nothing but a shattered soul. Still, I force a wider smile as I flash a glance at the scoreboard and then right back at him, giving two enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles smugly in response, brushing his shoulder off as if it was a piece of cake. And I find myself giggling out loud--a _genuine_ giggle, not a forced one--as I watch him head to the locker room with the team.

"That was a good game," Holly smiles.

I roll my eyes, frustrated with myself. "Thanks for keeping me posted."

"No problem." As Holly pats me on the shoulder, I suddenly notice Summer walking toward us. As soon as I look at her, she smiles at me sympathetically, and her steps become slow and cautious.

Summer's been really fantastic about this whole thing. She knows she's at the center of my problems, and she's done nothing but give me space and keep her distance since my blowout argument with Becca on Tuesday. She's fully aware that the situation will only get worse if Becca sees us talking, so she's been respectful by staying away. And I have to say, that doesn't help Becca's theory that Summer's up to no good. Summer could do some major damage here if she wanted to, while still coming off as sweet and innocent. But she's not. Even though I'm appreciative, Summer's just making it more and more difficult for me to entertain the thought of giving her the cold shoulder and shutting her out. But I'm afraid that's the path I'm on.

As she walks up, her expression overflowing with concern, I try to imagine myself ignoring her. I imagine myself simply turning and walking away when she gets to me, just leaving her hanging, and then never speaking to her or acknowledging her ever again. But I think I'd rather poke my eyes out than do that to someone. Especially someone who's being so nice and just wants to be my friend.

So instead, I just stand here and smile as she walks up, gives me a hug, and then asks me how I'm doing. She even asks about Becca.

"I haven't really talked to her," I say, trying to hold it together.

"Was she at home all day?" Holly asks.

I nod, now biting my bottom lip to keep it from shaking.

I look back at Summer, who's now gazing at the ground and shaking her head. "Dori, I'm really sorry about all of this," she says, looking up at me. Her eyes are filled with guilt, even though there's no reason for her to feel guilty.

Then, before I can respond, she says, "If you think we shouldn't be friends, I completely understand that."

_Wait, what?_ Are you kidding me? I definitely didn't see that one coming. Summer basically just let me off the hook. But believe it or not, instead of taking her up on her offer with a jumbo smile, I shake my head, frowning deeply and say, "No, no, Becca will come around eventually."

I feel like the biggest tool in the world. Summer handed me the key to my freedom on a silver platter, and I slapped it back in her face. I'm about as soft as it gets.

Then I realize it doesn't matter anyway. An agreement between me and Summer to not talk anymore for Becca's sake won't do the trick. My feelings toward Summer have to be genuinely unwelcoming; hostile, even.

And even though I feel slightly relieved that I didn't just blow a golden opportunity, I also feel my chest start to tighten. This whole situation is starting to seem more impossible by the hour, and I'm feeling truly trapped now.

Just as I'm about to start bawling uncontrollably right here in front of everyone, Summer begins telling me about another party she's having next Saturday night for Halloween weekend. Luckily, I'm able to hold back the tears.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about it," she says, nervously picking at her fingertips. "I totally understand if you don't want to come. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

I sniffle from the flood of tears that nearly escaped a second ago. "Thanks...we'll see," I shrug. Then after Summer hugs me again, Holly and I grab our bags and head for the door.

I wipe my eyes as we walk out the gym and approach my mom, dad, and Hailey.

"Holly!" Hailey yells, running up and hugging her around the waist.

My jaw drops in disbelief, and I raise my hands in shock. "What about me?"

Mom, Dad, and Holly laugh.

Hailey giggles as she unwraps herself from Holly and then latches onto me. "I'm sorry. It was dark and I thought you were Holly," she explains, totally forgetting she yelled Holly's name. Which is surprising because Hailey usually covers her tracks well.

Just as I'm about to pick her up and 'fuss' her and tickle her and force her to say that I'm her most favorite person in the entire world, she peeks around me and spots her _true_ favorite person.

"Bryson!" she roars, releasing me like a piece of trash and then darting toward him.

We all laugh again.

"Y'all can't compete with Bryson!" my dad exclaims. We can't help but agree.

I turn and see Bryson walking toward us in his khakis and white t-shirt with his Stargate duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Then Hailey leaps up on him like a giant cat, forcing him to catch her with his free arm. Once he has her situated and secure on his side, her arms now all wrapped around his neck, they start chit-chatting away--I assume about the game--as if they're best friends who haven't seen each other in ten years.

As soon as they walk up, Bryson looks at all of us, his face suddenly serious, and says, "Did anyone lose a little blond girl?"

We laugh--including Hailey--while Bryson's expression remains serious.

"I was just wondering." His wide eyes travel from me to Holly and then to my parents. "She just fell in my lap. I have no idea what to do with her."

My mom points to the massive green container just past the gym. "Just go throw her over there in the dumpster."

"Yeah, and close the lid," I add, narrowing my eyes at Hailey.

"Aww...they are so mean, huh, Hailey?" Holly says.

Of course, Hailey plays the victim, sticking her bottom lip way out and nodding.

"Whatever," I giggle. Then Dad changes the subject.

"Well, Bryson, that was a heck of a game."

"It really was," Mom agrees. "How many points did you score?"

"Thirty-six," Dad responds briskly.

Bryson nods. "Yep, and they were the number three team in the league, too, so we're knocking down the top teams."

I vaguely hear my parents and Holly respond, but as they continue talking about the game, I gaze off into the parking lot and quickly reach a point where I can't hear a word they're saying. My mind becomes so distracted, it's as if I've shoved earplugs deep into my ears. Strangely, even when I look back at them, the world stays silent. I can only see their mouths moving.

As I watch them all laughing and talking and joking around, the only thing I can think about is Becca, and how she's not standing next to me right now, laughing along with everyone. And when I think about what she's doing right now, or _how_ she's doing, I find myself fighting back tears yet again.

My hearing suddenly returns when Brad and Trent walk up. After Bryson introduces them to my parents and they all talk for a minute, and after dragging Hailey off Bryson--which was a bitch, but only for my mom--we all scatter and head to our vehicles.

Bryson grabs my bag from me, then pulls his blue, long-sleeve shirt from his bag and wraps it around me. There's a cool breeze in the air tonight for the first time this season, and he must have noticed I was chilly. I quickly slide my arms into the sleeves.

"I noticed you shivering a minute ago by the gym," he says, putting his arm around me and squeezing me tightly to his side.

"Thanks," I smile. As I wrap my arms around his waist, I'm thinking he must have also noticed how upset I was if he noticed me shivering. It makes me feel good that he notices every little thing about me, even when I think he doesn't. I'm the same way with him, which means his feelings must be as strong as mine. I truly hope they are.

When we get to the Jeep, he sets our bags down on the hood, then gently pulls me in front of him and looks me in the eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I stare back into his eyes--which I can barely see in the half-lit parking lot--with every intention of forcing another smile and telling him I'm fine. But it doesn't exactly work out that way.

I nod twice, then the next thing I know I'm grimacing, and my forehead hits his chest...then the floodgates open. Another torrent of uncontrollable, unstoppable, and embarrassing tears comes gushing out. Awesome.

I sling my hands up to my face to try to silence myself as much as possible, but it doesn't do a whole lot of good. I just feel like the biggest whiny baby on the planet. I am an emotional person, but I've definitely never cried this much before. And while it is true that I've also never been through anything this traumatic, my complete lack of control over these sudden, vicious outpourings of emotion is certainly disturbing.

Bryson hugs me tightly with both arms as I continue to soak his chest and the sleeves of his dress shirt, which fall well past my fingertips.

"It's okay," Bryson says repeatedly, kissing the top of my head. I feel awful about putting him through this. I also feel scared. What if he gets to the point where he doesn't want to deal with this anymore?

I slowly look up at him, wiping my nose and eyes with his sleeves.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, barely getting the words out as I take a huge, deep breath.

"Hey, don't apologize to me, okay? I'm the one who's sorry...I'm sorry you're going through this." He leans down and gently kisses my wet cheek. Then he grabs my arms and places them snugly around his neck, wrapping his arms around me and picking me up to his level.

"And don't think you're getting rid of me, princess." He kisses my cheek again. "You're stuck with me."

I smile widely. "Good," I murmur, burying my face in his neck. He obviously sensed my insecurity, and he couldn't have chosen better words to make me feel safe.

"I think we need to hang out tomorrow night," he says. "Just you and me, like we planned yesterday."

I nod, my face still buried. Then I pull my head back until we're nose to nose.

"Definitely." I gaze into his eyes, sniffling. He grins as I cup the back of his head and press my lips to his. Then he cradles me in his arms, brings me around the Jeep, and sets me gently in the passenger seat. As I watch him walk back around, all I can think about is tomorrow night. It should definitely be fun...and interesting.

# 31

Unforgettable Night

Okay, so here's the deal about tonight, in case you were wondering.

Thursday at lunch, just two days after Becca and I had it out in front of our lockers, Bryson took his seat next to me in the caf, placed two brownies on my tray--which I couldn't force myself to eat--and then took a deep breath.

"I'm gonna take you out Saturday night, to try to get your mind off everything," he said, concerned.

I looked up at him, my eyes puffy and cherry red, and explained to him there's not a restaurant, movie theater, bowling alley, or any place at all in this town for that matter, that doesn't remind me of Becca. Not only do these places remind me of her, I could tell a detailed story of something funny, sad, or weird that happened at each of these places while Becca and I were there. There's just no getting around it; everything and everywhere reminds me of Becca. Especially my own house.

Bryson then pressed his lips together and his eyes dropped to the table.

"Well, my house shouldn't remind you of her, huh?" he asked after thinking for a minute.

My eyes widened and I shook my head emphatically. I mean, duh...obviously.

"No, not at all," I replied. "I don't know why I didn't think about that."

But then he nodded and looked down at his tray, as if he suddenly realized there was a dilemma. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he looked right back up at me and said, "The only problem with that, though, is my mom's not gonna be home. She and Uncle Mike are going to Mississippi for the weekend to visit a cousin they grew up with."

And if you think you know what my response was...brace yourself for this one.

I actually shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and went, "So?"

His eyebrows flew up in surprise, as if he totally wasn't expecting that. Hell, I shouldn't have been expecting that. But the fact of the matter is I'm so desperate to get out of my house and away from all things Becca that I just didn't care. Under normal circumstances--even though I would probably consider it--I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do it for a couple of reasons.

First of all, I wouldn't want to lie to my parents. Secondly, I wouldn't want to risk losing control with Bryson. The two of us alone in a house together for hours...that could be disastrous.

But I do think I could ultimately control myself, especially considering my emotional state right now. So that just leaves my mom and dad.

"You're okay with that? What would you tell your parents?" Bryson asked, searching my face nervously.

"I'll think of something," I replied.

He nodded slowly, and I could see the uncertainty on his face. "Okay. We can talk more about it tomorrow, too. We'll see how you feel about it then." Then we just stared at each other and nodded.

And now here I am, sitting on my bed--facing away from the comfy green recliner--with the blinds closed, impatiently picking at the strap of my purse as I wait for Bryson to come pick me up. He said he was cooking for me tonight, and even though I haven't really eaten all week, I promised him I would try, which was enough to make him smile. But food or no food, I'm so ready for him to come pick me up. Aside from the fact I just want to see him--like always--I seriously don't know how much longer I can sit in this house. I can't even put into words how miserable this day has been. If I didn't have tonight to look forward to, it probably would have been my worst day yet.

Mom and Dad took Hailey and one of her friends to the zoo, and then they were taking them to Golf n' Bowl, a cute little bowling alley in Baton Rouge with arcade games and a putt-putt course. I don't know where Carson has been, but I assume probably with Audrey. And Bryson's been at work. So I've been alone in this house the entire day and trust me, it hasn't been easy. I pretty much stayed parked on the sofa in front of the TV, trying to keep my mind off things. But knowing Becca was only a few steps away, locked in her room in who knows what kind of condition, has kept me in tears. Against my better judgment, I broke down and texted her a few times.

First, I simply asked if she was okay. Then several minutes later, I texted, " _How long is this gonna go on?_ " Then several minutes after that, I pleaded with her, " _PLEASE please let me come over so we can figure this out._ "

But all three texts went unanswered. Then I called Holly to ask if she was going to come see Becca today, since I asked her to last night at the game, but she said Becca texted her saying she wasn't up for company. I figured that would happen.

I cried on and off for the next few hours, nervously biting my thumbnail while trying to decide whether or not to just go barge into her bedroom, uninvited. I ultimately decided against that. And as the day went on, my thoughts gradually shifted to Bryson and the night ahead and I started to feel a little better. I was determined to enjoy this evening; not only for myself, but for Bryson.

I finally feel my phone buzzing in my hands. " _Bout to pull up foxy woman._ "

A wide, excited smile stretches across my face as I hop up and stick my phone in my purse. Then I slip on my Nike flip-flops and make a quick stop in front of the mirror for a final inspection. I twirl around, pulling my blue, fitted Express tee down just over the top of my dark, boot-cut jeans. Bryson told me to dress comfy and casual when I asked him a little while ago. " _Tonight's all about a good meal and relaxation_ ," he texted with a winky face.

I rush downstairs to meet him outside, since my mom was adamant about Bryson not coming anywhere near the front door due to the fact that I'm home alone. She stared into my eyes, pointed her finger at me, and told me she was going to trust me. I can't tell you how sick I felt as I stared back at her. She had no idea that Bryson coming to the door should be the least of her concerns.

This morning when she asked me what we were doing tonight, I told her we were going to go eat and then maybe do something afterwards, but we didn't know what. Then, word for word, she simply asked, "What are y'all gonna eat?" So I shrugged and said Bryson wouldn't tell me.

So the cookie crumbled in my favor, and I didn't have to lie to her directly. But honestly, that didn't make it any better. This night would be absolutely perfect if Ms. Brenda could be home, because it's not like Bryson and I concocted this whole thing so we could have sex or anything like that. We could've already done that if we wanted to. I just want to be somewhere where nothing but great memories exists. Great memories which don't involve Becca. And Bryson's house is the only place that fits the bill.

When I open the door, I see Bryson walking around the front of the Jeep.

"Hey," I smile, turning around and locking the deadbolt. As I begin heading toward him, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear and glance over at Becca's house. I don't know what I expected to see other than Mrs. Anna's car and Mr. Brett's truck; I guess I just couldn't help looking.

"Hey," Bryson says as I approach. Then he leans down and kisses me. "Have you talked to her today?" he asks, his voice low as he opens the door for me.

I shake my head and climb in.

His eyes fill with disappointment as he closes the door and then walks around. As we pull out the driveway, I'm definitely content to not talk about Becca anymore.

"So, what are we eating tonight?" I ask, grinning slyly at him as we pull out the neighborhood.

"You wish, princess," he says with a mock scowl. "You just mind your business."

I rock forward in laughter. "I'm sorry, I had to try. I'm a hungry girl." I playfully pout and straighten my hair in front of my shoulders. I even try a few more times to trick him into telling me before we get to his house, but he doesn't budge.

"Okay, Miss Nosy, we're here." He kisses the back of my hand. "Stay right there, gorgeous." He smiles at me, then shifts into park and hops out. When he walks around the Jeep, his head passes directly in front of the sun, which is now beginning to set behind the trees far off in the pasture.

He opens the door and takes my hand as I step out. "Watch your step there, madam," he says in a silly voice.

Then he shuts the door and swoops me up, spinning me around while holding my hand outstretched as if we're dancing.

A quiet "Woo" escapes from my lips as I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Then, as he stops spinning, he gently kisses my lips. I tighten my grip around his neck, and the gentle kiss quickly becomes a more intense, open-mouth kiss.

When it finally ends--holy Hell...amazing--he sets me down on wobbly legs (of course), grabs my hand, and leads me to the back door.

I pop him on the shoulder. "Why must you do this to me?"

"Because you're so damn ridiculously pretty I just can't help myself," he responds as we approach the back door and then stop. Then he gestures to a small banner across the top of the door. "Welcome to Bryson's Café," he says, looking at me and grinning.

I glance at him and then back up to the banner as I begin to smile. It says in big, blue letters "Bryson's Café." And underneath, in smaller black letters, it says, 'Reserved tonight for Dori Woodsen.'

I'm now smiling a super-wide, open-mouth smile as I look up at him. "That's awesome!"

"Ahh, wait til you taste the food," he says, wagging his finger by his face. He leans over and kisses my cheek, then digs his keys out of his pocket and opens the door. As soon as I walk in, Humphrey and Bogart rush me--naturally--causing Bryson and me to laugh.

"These are my chief security officers," Bryson informs me, closing the door and then walking to the kitchen to turn on the light.

I lean down to pet Humphrey and Bogart. " _Hey! Hey there, guys, how are y'all doin'?_ "

Bryson stands there, grinning and watching with his hands on his hips. "Yeah, they're a little pushy, but I keep them on the payroll. They keep people from running out without paying."

I look up at him and laugh. "So, how many people have they slaughtered so far?"

"Shh." He presses his finger to his lips.

Then after taking me back from Humphrey and Bogart, Bryson leads me down the long, narrow hallway to the living room.

"So, this is the waiting area," he says, turning on the two lamps on the end tables as I set my purse down on the recliner. Then he takes my hand and gently pulls me toward the sofa and sits me down. Once my bare feet are propped up on the coffee table, and my arms are resting comfortably on two soft, fluffy pillows now snug by my sides--which was _all_ done by Bryson; he won't let me do anything on my own--Bryson pulls his iPhone out of his pocket, cues it up to a Metallica greatest hits playlist, and then hands it to me along with the headphones on the coffee table.

"For your listening pleasure while you wait, my dear." He leans in and kisses my lips, which are totally frozen into a smile at this point.

Then he grabs the TV and DVD remotes and cues the TV to the main menu of the original Exorcist movie, which I freaking _love_.

"For your _viewing_ pleasure, my dear." He leans down and kisses me again. And this time, I throw my hand behind his neck before he can back away, to prolong the kiss.

"Don't get all rough with me," he says quietly, his nose touching mine. "I'll have to get my security officers involved."

I smile and shrug. "Go ahead. They love me more than they love you."

"True." He rolls his eyes.

Then I kiss him again as Bogart watches, unamused.

"I'm gonna go start making dinner. I'll be back in to check on you, princess." He kisses my nose and then takes off down the hall. But before I can even put the headphones on, he comes back in.

"By the way, you can take this chunk of terror out of my house now," he says, slapping my book down on the end table.

"Did you finish reading it?" I ask excitedly.

But he just glares at me over his shoulder--his expression goofy/serious as usual--until he disappears into the hallway. "That's all I'm gonna say about that!" he yells.

I fling my head back on the sofa and laugh. I'll take that as a regretful yes, and leave it at that.

I put the headphones on and plug them in, and as I gaze at Bryson's phone, then glance up at the TV screen, I realize how perfectly he planned all this out. Metallica is the first band he and I listened to together, so it reminds me of him right now way more than it reminds me of Becca. As far as The Exorcist goes, I told him a while back it was the one movie Becca always refused to watch with me because it scared her too much. He's definitely doing an amazing job of keeping my mind off her. And even though she crept in a second ago, it doesn't last long. Before I know it, I'm frowning and aggressively bobbing my head to the music while watching homegirl's head spin around. And trust me, I couldn't be happier.

All of a sudden, I see Bryson lean down and put a single slice of cheese on a plate on the coffee table, along with a half-filled glass of water.

I pause the music and the TV and pull the headphones down around my neck. When I look up at him, I burst into laughter. He's wearing a ridiculous pink apron--which I assume belongs to his mom--I hope it does, anyway--with ruffled edges, and it says 'Kiss the Chef' right smack on the front of it. He's practically busting out of it as I can see the majority of his grey Abercrombie t-shirt, and it only comes down an inch or so past his belt.

I swear, I don't know which is funnier: this obnoxious-yet-incredible apron, or the water and cheese appetizer.

He stands there staring at me with his hands in the air and his eyes all wide and serious.

"What? That's your appetizer."

I sit up and reach toward his chest, still laughing my butt off, then grab his shirt and pull him down to kiss him.

"There you go, chef."

"Nice," he smiles, backing away.

"Okay, now what in the world am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, my tone sassy as I look at the cheese and water.

He stares at me again in silence, the mock seriousness of his expression cracking me up almost as much as the apron and this lame-ass appetizer.

"Well, ain't that a son of a...you know what, that's just fine," he mutters to himself, grabbing the cheese and water. As he storms out, he unwraps the cheese and shoves the whole thing into his mouth just before disappearing into the hall.

I continue cracking up, only now my eyes are closed and I'm curled up on my side, clenching my stomach and trying to keep Bogart from licking my face. I honestly think I've laughed more in the two-and-a-half weeks I've been dating Bryson than I have in my entire life. And it's obviously much needed right now.

I finally pull myself back into a seated position, my stomach now aching and my eyes watering. After sitting here and wiping my eyes for a few seconds, my laugh finally fades down to a smile. Then I kick my feet back up, re-adjust my pillows, and put the headphones back on.

Before I can grab the TV remote, however, I see Bryson lean down in front of me again, this time placing a huge, fancy party cheese tray on the table along with a tall glass of Coke with crushed ice.

My mouth drops open in amazement as I glance up at him and pull the headphones from my ears. Then I pull my feet down, sit up, and lean toward it. There's four sections with four different types of cubed cheese: American, cheddar, Swiss, and pepper jack. And in the middle of the tray is a tube of toothpicks and a small cup filled with what looks to be Italian dressing.

"This...looks...so...yummy."

"Right?" he nods, pleased with himself. "And..." he continues, pointing to his apron with both hands and grinning. When I look, I see a sheet of loose-leaf paper dangling from his chest, covering the apron logo, with the words 'Make Love to the Chef' written on it with an ink pen. Before I know it, once again I'm laughing hysterically with my head dropped back on the sofa and my arms crossed over my stomach. Then I jump up and grab his shirt, pulling him toward the back hallway that leads to his bedroom. But he quickly comes to a stop.

"Hey, hey! Now, wait a minute...you have to at least buy me a drink first," he frowns, scooping me up and carrying me back to the couch. "What kind of girl do you think I am?" He looks at me, appalled. And now I'm laughing so hard, I can't even breathe. It's one of those crippling, silent, open-mouthed laughs that usually only happens to kids. But the thing is, I _am_ a kid when I'm with Bryson. Because that's basically what _he_ is: a seventeen-year-old kid. His playfulness is one of the main things I love about him, and I definitely hope it stays that way.

He sets me back down on the couch between the pillows, then kisses me on the cheek and takes off to the kitchen again, followed closely by Humphrey. When I finally stop laughing, I sit up, wiping my eyes and blowing out a deep breath. Then I start tearing into this scrumptious-looking cheese platter.

Bogart's eyes stay fixed on the cheese cubes as I repeatedly stab them with the toothpick, dip them in the dressing, and then bring them to my mouth. He's eye-level with me, and his face is about six inches from mine. Luckily, he and Humphrey are trained not to eat table food, because I'm not sure I would be able to stop him if he went for it.

"I'm sorry, buddy," I say, petting his head and kissing his cheek. "I'd give you some if I could."

After another four or five cubes...okay, twelve or fifteen cubes, whatever...and a few more monstrous swigs of Coke, I decide to call it quits so I don't get too full. But that doesn't stop Bogart from staring at the tray.

I lean back and toss my feet back up, crossing them on the table as I crank up the music and movie again. I'm totally relaxed now that there's actually some food in my belly. So I just kick back, rock out, and pet Bogart on the head while I wait for the main course.

After another twenty minutes or so of watching poor Regan flop around on her bed like a drunk fish out of water, scaring the daylights out of her mom, the doctors, the priests, and pretty much anyone else who comes within a hundred feet of her, Bryson walks back in. I pause the music and the movie and look up at him.

"I'll be right back," he says, grinning as he picks up the cheese tray and my Coke and heads back down the hall. I'm assuming dinner's ready since he wasn't wearing the adorable pink apron anymore.

I slip on my flip-flops and scurry to the bathroom in the back hall to wash my hands, Bogart following right behind. When I walk back in the living room, Bryson's standing by the coffee table smiling.

"You ready to eat?" he asks.

"Heck yeah." I skip toward him and take his hand as he extends it to me, and when we get about halfway down the hall, I start to smell the food. I peek outside when we get to the foyer and I see the grill smoking. When we walk into the kitchen, the only light is the dimmed bulb above the bar. It's just barely lighting the table on the other side, resembling the lighting of a fancy restaurant...pretty cool.

I notice two lit candles in the middle of the table as we approach. When we walk around the bar, I see two plates with grilled steaks and huge, loaded baked potatoes on them. And I immediately think back to Summer's party last weekend.

Bryson and I had somehow gotten on the subject of food while we were sitting on the circular sofa--weird, I know--and I was telling him how much I would've loved a big, juicy filet at the moment with a loaded baked potato--tons of butter, bacon, green onions, and cheese--because it had been a while since I'd had that.

That's exactly what I see here: bacon, green onions and all.

He grins when he sees my face light up.

"Filet?!" I flip out.

"Yes indeed," he smiles. "And a loaded baked potato, and some steak sauce, and a big ol' tall glass of Coke." He points to each item as he names it. "We have dessert, too," he adds, wagging his eyebrows up and down.

"Are you kidding me?" I say to myself as I look at the table.

"Not kidding, princess. And believe it or not, this is only gonna set you back ninety dollars," he nods, crossing his arms and staring at the table. "But the good news is I only accept cash...in advance...with a thirty-percent gratuity."

I laugh, then quickly compose myself, bat my eyes at him, and say, "How about kisses instead?"

"Whoa...tough negotiator." He frowns in thought. "I'll take it."

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him long and hard. "Plenty more where that came from," I grin.

"Good to know." He places his hands on my shoulders and guides me to the chair at the end of the table, sits me down, and then takes a seat next to me.

Then, other than me expressing how yummy my first bite was, we don't say much as we begin eating because the food is amazing. And I'm not just saying that. He cooked the steak exactly how I like it--medium-well--and the baked potato is absolutely packed with cheese, butter, bacon, and green onions... _ohh, yeah_.

We do eventually begin talking, though. But since there aren't a lot of topics that don't involve Becca in some way, we actually end up in deep conversation about The Exorcist.

We talk about how awesome the movie is, and how fun it must have been making it and how many hours a day Linda Blair must have spent in a makeup chair before shooting some of those classic scenes. Then we briefly discuss our thoughts on whether or not it happened in real life.

Then I ask him about the Camaro. I smile widely--with a mouth full of potato--and get excited when he tells me he ordered some parts for it today which should be in in a couple weeks.

The next thing we know, our plates are empty. I lean back in my chair and put my hand over my stomach.

"Want another one? There's three more," Bryson tells me, taking a drink of his Coke.

"Yeah, I would love one, but I have to save room for dessert," I say, shaking my head.

Normally I'd be finishing my fourth steak by now while wondering what else is in the fridge. But since I've barely eaten all week, I can't handle much right now. Bryson knows this, but that doesn't stop him from picking on me.

"Lightweight," he mumbles.

I narrow my eyes at him, still holding my stomach. "Zip it, boy."

He starts laughing just as he takes a drink, and his cheeks puff out as he tries not to choke. I instantly go on the attack.

"Spit it out- spit it out- spit it out," I chant, banging my fists on the table. "Spit it out- spit it out- spit it out- spit it out-"

The more I chant, the more he struggles. And just as I start bouncing up and down in my seat in anticipation, he swallows it down and raises his fists in triumph.

"Dang it!" I lean back in my chair and cross my arms.

"Yeah, you can 'dang it' all you want, Little Miss Troublemaker. Play with fire, you get burned," he gloats, wiping his mouth with his napkin as I stick my tongue out at him.

Then he tosses his napkin on the table and hops up. "No, I'm glad you saved room."

I watch him with a smile as he rushes over to the counter by the fridge. Now I'm craning my neck, trying to look over the bar to see what he's doing, but I can't see much because his back is to me. All I can hear is the crinkling of aluminum foil. Then he turns around, walks back to the table, and sets a plate down in front of me with a big piece of white-icing cake and an even bigger slice of cookie cake on it. Then he sits back down next to me with his own plate. I lean forward, my mouth wide open in shock.

"Best boyfriend ever!" I exclaim, looking at him. He nods smugly, as if he already knew that.

I laugh. "When did you get all this?"

"I left work early today," he says, then shoves a piece of cake in his mouth.

As it turned out, I had a lot more room in my stomach than I thought. I quickly gobble up both pieces on my plate, and then even had another small slice of cookie cake.

"Awesome job, pretty girl." Bryson gives me two thumbs up, then leans over and kisses my cheek. "You ate good."

I smile, happy he's happy. I know how important it was to him that I eat tonight. He's been worried about me all week, relentlessly trying to get me to eat something, but I just couldn't.

But tonight was completely different. As I watch him bring the dishes to the sink--he wouldn't allow me to help--his plan became crystal clear to me. He always acts goofy and makes me laugh, but tonight he went above and beyond. He literally kept me laughing so hard that my mind remained free and clear from the situation with Becca. That's why I was able to eat. The apron, the fake cheese and water appetizer, the constant joking around--it was brilliant. I'm super-impressed.

He wipes his hands dry with a dish towel, then we head back to the living room. It's literally only a matter of seconds before the lamps are out--leaving only the glow of the TV--our shoes are off, and we're laying on the sofa, kissing.

We start out hot and heavy, squeezing each other tightly and locking our legs together. Then our lips part slightly, and I touch my hand to his face, breathing heavily, and say, "Thanks for everything tonight. All the surprises were amazing." I kiss his nose and smile. "I've got a surprise for you now."

He smiles as I release my grip on him and hop up. "What?" he chuckles.

"No peeking," I demand, pointing at him. "I'll be right back."

He chuckles again as I grab my purse from the recliner and take off to the bathroom. After flipping the light on, shutting the door, and setting my purse down on the counter, I lean toward the mirror and give myself a little pep talk. I stare at my reflection, mentally willing myself to stay in control of this situation.

Then I smile, reach over to my purse, and pull out my cut-off blue jean, hoochie mama shorts--yes, the ones Hailey hacked up--and quickly change into them.

Bryson has told me several times how insane these shorts drove him that day in my driveway, and this is really the first opportunity I've had to wear them for him again. But I don't think he's expecting it at all.

I stand on my tiptoes and spin around to check out my butt. This time, instead of pulling the shorts down a little, I'm slightly tugging _up_ on them. And If I said my butt cheeks weren't totally hanging out, I'd be totally lying.

After running my fingers through my hair a few times, I walk over and flip the light off as I slowly open the door. Then I poke my head out and ask, "Ready for your surprise?"

"Absolutely," I hear him say.

I step out the bathroom and see him sitting up and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, waiting for me to emerge from the dark hallway. I walk into the living room--not nearly as embarrassed as I thought I'd be--with one hand on my hip and the other one swaying back and forth, as if I'm a runway model.

" _Oh, my God_." He collapses back on the sofa with his hand on his chest.

I walk back and forth a couple times, giggling to myself, and when I walk back up to him, he wastes no time grabbing me and pulling me down on the sofa. And just like that, we're right back where we started with our lips pressed together, holding each other tightly. Only now, I'm practically in a blue jean thong.

Then before I know it, his shirt is off. To be perfectly honest, my mind is so cloudy I have no idea if I did that or if he did it or if it was a team effort or what. All I know for sure right now is that it's off, and I'm rubbing my hands all over his bare, muscular back.

Then I feel him pull my leg all the way up on his, and then run his hand up the back of my thigh until it's just below my butt. And when he suddenly applies pressure between my legs with his thigh, I reactively throw my head back and moan.

Just then, if you can believe this crap, we hear my phone buzz on the coffee table.

"Should we worry about it?" I ask him, panting.

"Umm..." He pauses for a second. "Yeah, I guess we should. It's probably your mom, huh?"

"Yeah, probably."

I sit up, adjust my top, run my hands through my hair, and try to regain control of my thoughts.

"I'm sorry about this," I say, looking over at him.

"Why? It's not your fault."

"I know, but it still sucks."

I look at my phone and see that first of all it's 10:16 p.m.--way later than I thought it was--and then I see the text from my mom.

" _Did y'all go somewhere after dinner?_ "

Bryson leans over and kisses my cheek, then looks at my phone. "She's not upset, is she?"

"No, she's just wondering where we're at." I look at him nervously.

His eyes hit the floor in thought. "Tell her we stopped by Brad's house because he had some people over. And I'll give Brad a heads-up just in case he happens to talk to your mom again."

I nod and look back to my phone.

"This will definitely be the last time we do this," Bryson adds.

"For sure."

After replying and hitting send, I watch Bryson as he turns the lamps back on and then stands in front of the sofa with the remote, still shirtless.

I stare at his tanned, smooth, solid chest and broad shoulders...and I start getting excited all over again. After taking quick notice of the muscles rippling in his forearm as he presses buttons on the remote, my eyes are drawn to his bulging six-pack abs. I can slightly see the black band of his boxer briefs--I'm guessing--just over the top of his pants, and suddenly I'm unable to control myself.

I walk over to him and begin dragging my fingertips down his chest and stomach, my mouth hanging open as I gaze at his body. Then I grab his pockets and pull him to me as I start backing up toward his room. My eyes are filled with desire as I stare him down, while my seductive grin is telling him exactly what I want.

"Show me what you got," I tell him, my voice low and sultry.

So he picks me up aggressively, takes me to his room, and tosses me on his bed. As soon as he climbs on top of me, I push him off and then climb on top of _him_. I begin kissing his chest and stomach all the way down to his pants. Then I wildly rip his belt loose, unbutton his pants, and pull _everything_ down. Then I begin to...

...okay, let's just go ahead and take this back to the living room. I apologize for that--like I said before, I have an extremely active imagination. It's appalling, actually. Now my spine is tingling and my mouth is watering as I sit here and watch him shut down the DVD player, then put his shirt back on.

I'll definitely be revisiting this fantasy later.

* * *

All I can do is reflect on the night as we head back to my house. I lean my head back on the seat and gaze out the window. I can't stop smiling.

Not only did Bryson make me laugh, cook for me, pamper me, and treat me like a queen in every way possible...he respected me. Now I know for sure that getting me into bed is not what he's trying to do here, or he definitely would have tried tonight. Not that I ever really thought it _was_ what he was trying to do, but it's nice to see it confirmed. Even though I have no other experiences to compare to, I'm pretty sure that as far as boyfriends go, Bryson's about as good as it gets. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I stick my arm out the window and open my palm to the cool night air, which is blowing my hair all around my face. Then I feel Bryson squeeze my hand on the center console. I look over at him, my smile growing even wider as he looks at me, and I start to wish this night would just go on forever. I seriously don't think there's anything in the world that can bring me down at the moment.

As soon as we turn onto my street, however, I discover I was dead wrong. Within a split second, my smile is gone.

"Is that Brian's truck?" Bryson leans forward and squints.

My stomach immediately turns. "Looks like it," I mutter, my gaze fixed on the truck.

My pulse is now racing as we pull up to the end of my driveway and stop, only fifty feet or so behind Brian's truck. I can't see through his back glass because of the dark tint, but as soon as Bryson shifts into park, I see the passenger door fling open...then Becca hops out.

My heart drops. I unbuckle my seatbelt and jump out the Jeep with a sense of urgency, keeping my eyes glued to her as she walks around the front of Brian's truck.

"Dori!" I hear Bryson yell as I slam the door shut, but I pay no attention. The only thing on my mind is getting to Becca before she gets to her house.

I notice Brian step from his truck as Becca picks up the pace, her eyes unwavering from the ground in front of her. I pick up the pace, as well, and now, with butterflies absolutely assaulting my stomach, I'm practically jogging in order to close the gap between us.

"Becca!" I shout angrily. Although I'm filled to the brim with every emotion imaginable right now, rage is definitely front and center.

But she never flinches or breaks stride at all. So I break out into a run to catch up to her.

"Becca!" I yell again, grabbing her arm and spinning her around.

"What?!" she screams, finally looking at me. As soon as I see how swollen her eyes are and the tears streaming down her sunken cheeks, I start to cry. It's scary how much weight she's lost in the two days I haven't seen her.

"I wanna ta--"

She turns around abruptly, cutting me off, but I grab her arm again before she can go anywhere.

"Hey! Why won't you talk to me?" I ask, tears pouring from my eyes. She forcefully pulls her arm out of my hand, and that's when I hear a deep voice over my shoulder.

"Because you completely ditched her for Summer and her damn friends, that's why," Brian says with disdain, firmly nudging my arm away from Becca. I look up at him, wiping my cheeks and sniffling, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little startled. He's glaring at me, his eyebrows pulled down as if he now hates me as much as Becca does.

I look back at Becca, but before I can examine her reaction, I hear _Bryson's_ now-angry voice behind me.

"You touch my girlfriend again it might be the last _fucking thing you do._ " His voice stresses the end of his sentence as he pushes Brian with insane force, causing him to stumble back and then fall to the ground. Before Becca and I can utter a single word, Brian is back on his feet, and they start swinging.

"Stop! Stop! Y'all stop it!" we yell frantically, inching toward them with our hands outstretched.

Brian quickly hits the ground again, and Bryson rears his leg back to kick him.

"Stop, Bryson! Stop!"

As we're yelling, the front door suddenly opens and Mr. Brett comes running out. "That's enough, guys! That's enough! Cut it out!" he demands, stepping in front of Bryson, trying to wrestle him back.

As soon as Bryson backs away, Becca takes the opportunity to dart toward the house.

"Becca, come talk to me! What is wrong with you?" I scream at the top of my lungs. But she just blows by Mrs. Anna in the doorway, never looking back.

I drop my head where I stand and begin sobbing hysterically. Mainly because of Becca, but also because of the fight that just took place. The whole situation has me completely overwhelmed.

I look over at Bryson, my vision blurred and watery as Mr. Brett tries to calm him down. Knowing he's okay, I turn and head for the Jeep where I can be alone. I shut the door, pull my feet up on the seat, drop my forehead on my knees, and continue crying. When Bryson finally climbs in, I lean over and latch onto him, repeatedly thanking him and apologizing to him.

This perfect night has been destroyed. If I could do it all over again, I would never have confronted Becca. Nothing good ever seems to come of it.

# 32

Aftermath

I wake up the next morning, terrified and in tears. And I immediately call Bryson.

I had vivid dreams about the entire incident last night. Bryson and Brian fighting; the tears running down Becca's gaunt face; Becca running into the house; Mrs. Anna standing in the doorway in complete shock; Mr. Brett struggling with Bryson...pretty much the whole ugly episode. It definitely wasn't fun reliving the experience. But that's not the main reason I'm terrified.

I also dreamed Bryson broke up with me, which is not a good thing.

Luckily, though, when I talk to him, he's the same ol' Bryson, apologizing to me and trying his best to comfort me. I don't end up mentioning that part of the dream to him, simply because he won't understand my concern. I've never told him about this before. All I can do is desperately hope that _this_ particular dream doesn't materialize, because I'm not sure I could handle that right now. But unfortunately, I can't help being afraid. Just what I need, another reason to cry.

Since Bryson and I would have virtually no privacy over here--especially after what went down last night--and since he's still at home by himself, we decide to each stay home today. And my plans are pretty simple: stay in bed and cry.

Around noon, my parents stick their heads in my room and ask me if I want to come downstairs and eat lunch. When I tell them no, they walk over to my bed and attempt to talk to me about everything. Although I do talk to them briefly, because I know they're curious and concerned, they can tell I'm not up for conversation, and they don't stay long.

Then Hailey comes in about an hour later, trying to get me out of bed, also. But it's not until Carson comes in and tells me Brian broke up with Becca last night that I finally get up.

I sit on the edge of my bed, tears now spilling from my eyes, and text Mrs. Anna. " _I'm coming over._ "

I toss my phone on the bed and start getting dressed, crying out loud the entire time. I can't help imagining I'm in Becca's position. I pretend everyone at school hates me while they all love Becca, and now Bryson just broke up with me. And other than my parents, I now have absolutely no one to turn to, not even siblings. I cringe at the thought, and I cringe even harder when I realize that's the reality of Becca's situation.

I'm pretty sure she's not going to talk to me, but I'm going to her house anyway, if nothing else to apologize to Mr. Brett and Mrs. Anna for what happened last night.

I grab my phone, go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and put my hair in a ponytail, and then I head outside. I immediately start wiping my eyes and trying to compose myself as I walk down the sidewalk in the bright, warm sun. Just as I approach the door, it opens before I can knock.

"Hey, honey," Mrs. Anna says, her expression bland.

I wipe my eyes. "Hey."

After we hug, she ushers me inside with her hand on my back. I have to say, I'm a little surprised there's no resistance on Becca's behalf like before.

When I walk in, Mrs. Anna gently closes the door, then looks at me and quietly says, "Becca's asleep. I just checked on her."

I nod as I turn my head and see Mr. Brett walking up to me from the living room. "Hey, Dori," he says, his voice also low as he hugs me.

I wrap my arms around him. "Hey." Then the three of us head to the kitchen table.

"I'm really sorry about last night." My bloodshot eyes shoot between the two of them. I keep my voice low, but for a very different reason. They're keeping quiet because they don't want to wake Becca; I'm keeping quiet because Becca's awake. When she doesn't want to talk to her parents for some reason, she pretends to be asleep. She's done this all her life, and this is no exception. It's almost two in the afternoon. I simply don't want her to hear the conversation.

"Well, honey, it's not your fault," Mrs. Anna tells me.

"Yeah. It's no one's fault, it's just a bad situation." Mr. Brett looks from Mrs. Anna to me, then he frowns. "But what in the world was the deal with Bryson and Brian?"

My chin quivers as I look down at my lap and start fiddling with the hem of my khaki shorts. Then I look back up, wiping my eyes with my open palms.

"I should have left Becca alone." I sniff deeply and then look down again. "Brian got upset with me for grabbing Becca, and then Bryson got upset with Brian. And it just escalated from there."

They both nod, not really knowing what to say. So I ask about Becca.

"How is Becca really doing? She won't talk to me," I say, carefully searching their faces. As soon as the words are out, Mrs. Anna drops her head and covers her face with her hand. I grimace in response and look away, my eyes filling with tears again.

Mr. Brett gently rubs her back to comfort her, then he looks back at me.

"We just don't know what to do." He shakes his head. "We can't get her to come out of her room. She won't eat or anything."

I glance at Mrs. Anna as she calms herself down and pulls her head back up. I start to wonder how much they actually know. I can't imagine Becca spilling all kinds of details to them about the situation with Summer, and how people are treating her at school and all that.

Just as I'm thinking that, however, Mrs. Anna drags her fingertips under her eyes, wiping the moisture away, and says, "She's so hung up on this girl, Summer" - she pauses to wipe her eyes again- "but I told her she cannot come down on you for being nice to her."

"Absolutely," Mr. Brett agrees.

So clearly, they know enough, and it doesn't look like they're holding anything against me. In fact, they seem to agree with my parents on the matter. The thing is, _I'm_ starting to agree with Becca. I'm not sure if it's so much that I truly agree with her, or if I just don't care anymore and want my best friend back. Either way, my opinion is changing, and I need to figure out my next step.

"We just don't understand why she's fallen so fast like this," Mr. Brett says, looking up at me.

"People aren't being very nice to her at school, either," I mutter. "And now the whole thing with Brian..." I drop my face in my hands, trying even harder not to cry.

They both reach out and rub my arms to comfort me.

I ball my fists at the top of my forehead as a tear drops from my cheek onto the table. "I just don't know what to do," I say in between deep breaths.

But that's a lie. I know exactly what to do. I just don't know how to do it.

# 33

Decision

The week that followed was absolute torture. Here's the three basic reasons why.

First of all, Becca only showed up to school two days out of the five, Monday and Tuesday, and she left before lunch on Tuesday. Both days, people were glaring at her, talking about her under their breaths, and some people were even laughing at her. Although it was heartbreaking to watch, I kept my distance and I haven't talked to her or even texted her all week. I've come to realize that at this point, not talking to her at all is better than fighting with her, especially now that I've decided what I'm going to do.

Second, the dream I had about Bryson breaking up with me. Honestly, I wouldn't blame him one bit if he did break up with me. He's been putting up with a lot lately, including being involved in a fist fight last Saturday night. Not to mention, he can have any girl he wants. So I've been watching closely for signs that this might happen. I constantly examined his expression every time we were together, trying to notice if anything was off or if he was trying to distance himself from me in any way, but everything seemed to remain perfectly normal. That doesn't mean I'm not still afraid it's going to happen, though. And if it wasn't for the situation with Becca, I would be panicking way more about it.

And finally, Summer Stevens. It's kind of funny, my problem with Summer used to be that she was mean to me. Now my problem with Summer is that she's _nice_ to me. I suppose it's a no-win situation for her. But soon, none of that will matter anyway. I've decided I'm going to make it clear to Summer that she and I are no longer friends because I feel like she's up to something--which isn't true--and to stay away from me. Believe me, I hate to do that, but I have no choice now. I need my best friend back. And if I have to rudely turn my back on Summer and everyone in this entire school to make that happen, then so be it. The problem is, Summer's not making this easy for me at all. She's been more caring and kindhearted than ever toward me lately.

Wednesday during the 'Ask Dori' segment in first period, I fell into a complete daze as I stared at Becca's empty desk.

"Dori," I'd suddenly heard Mrs. Anderson say.

I looked over at her. "Ma'am?" Then I turned my head back to see the entire class staring at me, some eyes concerned, some curious.

"I was just asking about the Bermuda Triangle," Daniel said carefully. "Do planes and ships really just disappear? Because my uncle thinks aliens are under the water in that area."

The class chuckled collectively, including Daniel.

"Umm..." I looked down and swallowed hard, trying to hold it together and gather my thoughts. Somehow I managed to, but only briefly.

"A lot of people do believe that," I replied, looking back up. "But the truth is that area of the Atlantic is vulnerable to unpredictable storms. And it's up to 30,000 feet deep with a really turbulent Gulf Stream, so any evidence of a disaster or crash can quickly be washed away."

The next thing I knew, the class was rambling on and talking amongst themselves, and my eyes were once again glued to Becca's desk. Then suddenly, as if it was freakishly out of my control, I was on my feet walking toward the door, trying not to cry.

I took off down the hall straight for the restroom, completely indifferent to the possible consequences of bolting out of the classroom without permission or a hall pass. I forcefully burst through the bathroom door, my shoulders now shaking and tears running down my cheeks, and grabbed a handful of the rough brown paper towels to wipe my face.

I was leaning on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror and trying to figure out how I'd made such a colossal mess of my life. I was also wishing I could rip my genius out of my brain through my ear and just start this whole existence thing all over again from scratch, when I saw the door open and Summer walk in with the hall pass in her hand.

I stood up straight and wiped my eyes, watching her through the mirror as she walked up and put her hand on my back. "Are you okay?" she asked. I could see the concern on her face.

I nodded as I turned and faced her, still wiping my eyes. Then she reached behind her for the paper towels and handed me a few more.

"Thanks," I say, unfolding one and pressing it to my nose.

She stood there leaning her hip against the sink with one foot draped over the other, her arms crossed under her chest and her eyes filled with worry as she watched me.

"Becca's not doing good, is she?" she finally said.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. Summer's concern for Becca amazes me to no end, even if it is only for my benefit. Becca's done everything short of straight-up kicking her ass for crying out loud. Regardless of that, though, there Summer stood, distraught and feeling my pain, asking if there was anything she could do to help, and letting me know she's there if I need to talk...insane. And not only did she give me a super-tight, heartfelt hug before it was all over with, she looked to be on the verge of tears like me.

So you see what I mean when I say Summer's not making this easy for me. Even though I've completely gone numb and haven't cried since that whole bathroom scene--I guess I'm all out of tears at this point--she's still remained just as tender and kind, constantly checking on me and asking me if I'm okay.

Friday at lunch, a strange feeling of calm and relief washes over me. I sit here, hunched over my salad, popping croutons in my mouth one at a time and grinning as I listen to Summer, Alison, and Alex talk about the party Saturday night. They, along with Brad and Trent, have been sitting with me, Bryson, and Holly since Tuesday.

But my sudden warm feeling wasn't brought on by Summer's kindness, or by the fact that Bryson hasn't broken up with me yet. It was brought on by one thing: my abrupt realization that this will all be over soon.

I'm waiting until after Summer's party tomorrow night to separate myself from her, because once again, I know Bryson and Holly would like to go. And the idea that in just a few days I'll likely have Becca back makes me feel great. Things will finally be back to normal. Back the way they should be...me and Becca against the world. There's no other way I want to live my life. Ever.

I take a sip from my water bottle as Alex tells us about how she, Summer, and Alison are going to be 'crayons' at the party. I don't know what that means, but I'm sure there's some kind of sexy twist involved.

Before I can ask questions, Brad yells, "I'm going as Edward from Twilight!" He announces it quickly, as if he's calling dibs.

In response, Bryson swiftly shakes his head, his eyes wide and mockingly serious as he chews his brownie, pointing to himself as if _he's_ already going as Edward. We all laugh.

Brad just shrugs and shakes his head. "Sorry, bro, you should have called it. Now, what I'm thinking is..." He trails off as he takes a sip of his Coke and then plops his elbows on the table. Then he goes on to explain to us the t-shirt and dark pants he's going to wear--resembling Edward's in the first movie--and his plans for spiking up his hair all crazy and wearing gold contact lenses. I definitely can't wait to see this.

"Dude, you're gonna look like an asswipe," Trent says, stirring his food.

Bryson rubs his hands together over his tray, knocking the brownie crumbs off his fingers as he glances up at Brad's hair. "I don't know, Trent. I think he could be pretty like Edward," he says, reaching over and grabbing a fistful of Brad's bangs and pulling them straight up.

"Yeah, maybe so," Trent agrees, now pulling on Brad's hair, too.

"Yeah...We can just throw a bucket of baby powder on your face, and empty a bottle of hairspray up here..."

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" Brad shouts, swatting their hands away.

The girls and I laugh hysterically as we watch the three of them bicker. For the first time all week I'm feeling relaxed, and it feels great. But unfortunately, it doesn't last long.

In fact, by the end of the day I'm back in panic mode. I'm trying to figure out exactly how I'm going to deal with Summer, and I'm also starting to worry that getting Becca back may not go as quickly and as smoothly as I'm hoping. Still in all, getting rid of Summer is the first step, and the time is nearing.

As I'm leaning against Holly's car in the parking lot after school, waiting for Bryson and the team to come out of the gym, I start feeling nauseated. I'm really wishing there wasn't a basketball game tonight.

I drag my gaze away from the Hotard bus and glance at Summer in front of the cafeteria doors. I watch as she laughs and jokes around with a handful of lower-classmen cheerleaders. Then my mind drifts again.

I think back to how she used to treat me, just a few short weeks ago. I think about the spine-chilling looks she would give me from across the gym, classroom, or cafeteria which made me shudder with fear. I think about the time she blocked off my path in the caf, and then threatened to tell everyone my 'secret,' which simply turned out to be that I liked Bryson. I think about the time she tried to block my path in the hallway as I walked by her locker; the threatening and judgmental glares when I signed up for the squad; the indirect tongue lashings at practices, and so on. And without fail, Becca was right there protecting me through it all.

I gasp under my breath when my focus returns to the moment, and I realize how drastically things have changed. It's been a while since I've thought about the details of the past and let me tell you, when suddenly compared to the present, it's one hell of a body blow.

Even worse than that, nothing was accomplished. The whole point of my little trip down memory lane was to build up anger toward Summer, but all it did was make me feel horribly guilty. On top of that, as I stand here watching Summer chatting and laughing with these freshman cheerleaders, I realize that even if I would've achieved the anger I was seeking, it would have been short-lived. That's not who Summer is anymore, and I can't hold the past against her.

So basically, there's no easy way out of this mess. It's going to suck no matter what. The only slight comfort that exists is knowing I have no choice.

Holly finally pulls her head out of her car and stands up straight, looking at her phone. Then she glances at me.

"So, you really haven't told me about you and Bryson's date last weekend...I mean, other than the fight." Her tone ranges from enthusiastic to gloomy as she tosses her phone back in the car and closes the door.

I turn to her and smile. "It was _amazing_."

"Really? What did he cook?"

"Steak and baked potatoes."

"You're kidding." Her eyes widen. "Was it good?"

" _So_ good. He also had white-icing cake and cookie cake for dessert."

Holly's eyebrows shoot up as I continue on, telling her all about the fake cheese appetizer, the _real_ cheese appetizer, the adorable pink apron, the banner, the movie, the music...pretty much everything. Now we're both laughing our butts off.

"He is so funny," Holly says. Then she leans toward me. "Any sexy time?"

I smile, embarrassed, but I can see how desperate she is for information. So I spill it.

"Yeah, definitely," I say. "You remember my cut-off shorts I told you about a while back? The ones Hailey chopped up?"

Her eyes drift to the sky for a second in thought. "Yeah, I do...wait, did you wear those?" Her eyes are now bulging.

I nod. "I brought them with me and changed into them after we ate."

"Nice! Oh, my God, was he, like, all over you?"

"Pretty much," I giggle. "We started making out on the couch, and then his shirt was off," my giggle turns into a laugh, "and I honestly have no memory of how that happened."

"Yeaahhh, I bet," Holly teases.

I tell her about how Bryson's hand ended up at the base of my butt cheek, and then how my mom texted and totally ruined everything.

"Aww, geez," Holly rolls her eyes.

"Yeah...so..."

"How far do you think y'all would've gone?"

I grin, angling my eyes to the ground. "Let's just say it's probably a good thing my mom texted."

" _Gotcha_."

Just as I'm about to start telling her all about how amazing Bryson looks without a shirt, we suddenly hear Alison yell something to Summer as she's getting on the bus. When I glance over at them, my smile evaporates. Then an awkward silence takes over for the next few seconds.

"I've tried texting Becca this week, but she hasn't responded," Holly finally says.

"Have you talked to Brian?" I ask.

"I talked to him Tuesday. He told me he broke up with her, and he told me about the fight."

I stare at the ground. This is normally when I would cry, but I haven't been crying lately for some reason, and I'm totally fine with that.

"I'm gonna fix everything," I say, glancing back at the bus. Bryson is the only person I've revealed my plan to so far, but I'm sure Holly knows what I'm planning.

And just as I'm thinking that, she says, "You're gonna push Summer away?"

I look back at her and nod exhaustedly. Not that it would sway my decision either way, but it's nice to see her expression of understanding and approval.

"Have you told your mom?" she asks, looking over my shoulder.

I turn around and watch as my mom pulls in the parking lot. "Not yet," I reply, now wondering what my parents will think, and if it's even worth telling them at all.

# 34

Execution

"Are you sure you wanna do that?" my mom asks, leaning back on the counter and squinting at me.

I sigh heavily, looking down at my cheese and cracker snack. Today has been rough, and I'm no longer in the mood for my parents.

I went to bed in tears last night as soon as I got home from the game--unfortunately, I'm crying again--and that's exactly how I woke up this morning. I had this sick, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it's done nothing but intensify with every passing hour. And believe me, the last thing I want to do is go to this party tonight. I've considered several times throughout the day calling Bryson and Holly and telling them I'm out, and just letting them do whatever they want. Then I would head over to Becca's house and force my way into her room, then get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness if necessary, apologizing and assuring her Summer is history. I feel a strange sense of urgency now that I didn't feel yesterday, or all last week for that matter, and for some reason, I don't want to wait another day at this point. But despite these feelings, I've ultimately decided to go to the party as originally planned.

Then there's my parents, who have officially decided to crawl under my skin as of about ten minutes ago. I think I might start breaking crap if they don't crawl back out. I actually didn't plan on telling them what I've decided to do, but when I walked in the kitchen a few minutes ago, my mom flat-out asked. Now I'm wishing I had lied. I've had about all I can take of the disapproving and judgmental facial expressions, head shakes, and mumbling back and forth between the two of them. On any other day, I would be a little more tolerant, but not today.

My dad walks over to the bar and pours himself a glass of milk. "I don't like the idea, Dori," he chides, his eyes remaining on the glass as he pours.

"Then tell me what to do," I snap. "If y'all are gonna shoot down my solution, then you have to replace it with another one...because guess what, Becca's not getting any better over there." My eyes furiously zip between the two of them. I watch as they glance at each other and then lower their heads.

"Any ideas?" I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't think so."

I hop off the stool and head for the living room, leaving my crackers and Gatorade untouched on the bar.

I tap Hailey on the shoulder as I pass behind the couch. "I'm about to shower. Meet me in my room in a few minutes to pick an outfit."

"Sure!" she shouts.

I take off upstairs and as soon as I pass by Carson's room, I hear him yell. "Hey!"

I walk back and stick my head in the door. "Yeah?"

He tosses his TV remote on the bed and then gets up and walks toward me.

"Look, I just wanted to let you know that I texted Brian last Sunday after everything happened, and I told him I'd kick his ass next if he ever hollered at you again. And then he texted last night and said to tell you he's really sorry...so...I just wanted to tell you."

I mash my lips together hard, trying to keep my chin from quivering as I think back to the fight. I actually feel really bad for Brian. I know he's a good guy; he just got caught up in a bad situation. Tensions ran high that night, and he was simply protecting Becca.

I almost tell Carson to text him back and tell him I'm sorry, too, but instead I just walk over and throw my arms around him, grateful to have a big brother who stands up for me.

"Thanks," I say, squeezing tightly around his neck. And after talking to him for a few minutes about the party I don't want to attend tonight, I go to my room, grab my blue Soffee shorts and a white tee, and then go shower.

By the time I get back in my room, Hailey's already burrowed deep in my closet, pulling some items.

"Need some help?" I chuckle, walking toward her.

"Nope, I think I've got everything we need." She tosses one of my dresses over her forearm, which is now completely covered with clothes. I grab some from her and we take them to my bed and lay them all out.

"Why aren't you dressing up for Halloween?" she asks.

I shrug as I walk around the bed to my jewelry box. "I'm just not up for it tonight, girlie."

I really wish I was up for it, but I don't even want to go to the party, much less dress up. I simply can't force myself to get that into it, not under the circumstances. Even though Bryson has insisted all week that we not even go tonight--because he knows I really don't want to, even though I've done nothing but act excited about it--I've insisted even harder that we _do_ go, for a specific reason.

Do I truly want to go to the party tonight? No. Do I want to go to the party because I know that despite putting my feelings first, Bryson would really like to go? Absolutely. The last thing I need to do is give Bryson another reason to want to dump me. And even though I feel like it's going to happen anyway because of the dream, there's no reason for me to speed it up.

So I definitely feel as though I need to go to the party. But dressing up? That's where I draw the line. Can't do it. I've encouraged Bryson to still dress up, but he refuses to. I don't think Holly's dressing up, either. I hate that, but there's nothing I can do.

I see the disappointment on Hailey's face as she looks back down and starts scanning the outfits on my bed. She's still unaware of exactly what's going on with Becca, and I'd rather keep it that way, especially now that I'm going to try to fix it.

I take a pair of hoop earrings out of my jewelry box and set them on top, then walk over to my bed and prop up my knee.

"You ready for trick-or-treating tomorrow night?" I ask, trying to cheer her up.

"Yep!" Her head flies up and her mouth stretches into a broad, bright smile. "Can't wait. You're coming, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it," I smile. Then I walk around and plop down on the bed next to the clothes. "So, what should we go with?"

She immediately pulls her eyebrows down and sighs, carefully studying each outfit. After a few seconds, she cautiously points to the blue tank dress on the end and peeks over at me.

Not that I don't like the dress--it's my favorite one, actually--but I'm not in the mood for it tonight for some reason. So I scrunch up my nose and say, "I'm thinking a little more casual for tonight."

She pulls her little finger back and nods maturely, not saying a word, as if she's on the same page. Then after another few seconds of inspecting, this time tapping her index finger against her lips, she points to the loose, flowy black shirt and the dark green skinny jeans, and then peeks back over at me. Since that's the outfit I was thinking, I smile and say, "I think that'll work."

"'K." She grins and looks back at her selection, totally proud of herself.

After putting everything back in my closet, I start changing. When I hear my phone suddenly buzz, I button my pants and grab it off the dresser.

"Well, I know you're gonna just _hate_ to hear this, " I tease, looking at Hailey. "But Bryson will be here soon."

Before I can blink, she's out the door. "I'll go wait for him!" she yells.

"Thanks for helping me pick an outfit!" I yell back, but she's long gone.

As hard as I try to share her enthusiasm for heading down to the living room, I can't seem to make it happen. I don't care to be around my parents right now, or anyone for that matter other than Bryson or Becca. So after I finish getting ready, I walk over to the window at the end of the hall and wait for Bryson to show up. When he finally does, I wait for him to walk up and ring the doorbell before I start down the stairs.

"Hey," I smile, standing on my tiptoes and pecking him on the lips as he walks in.

"Hey, there."

Then of course, Hailey does her thing.

"Bryson!" She runs over from the couch and bear-hugs him around the waist.

"What's up, girlfriend," he jokes, grabbing under her arms and tossing her in the air. Then my parents walk in carrying giant popcorn bowls, and as soon as they see Bryson they smile and say hey.

"Hey." He smiles back as he sets Hailey down. Then Hailey grabs his hand and pulls him toward the couch, and I reluctantly follow. This isn't the direction I want to be moving in, but at least I get to inspect Bryson from behind. I have to say, he's looking crazy sexy in his fitted blue polo shirt and dark jeans.

"Heard y'all kicked butt again last night," my dad says, shaking Bryson's hand and taking a seat on the couch.

"Twenty-two point win," Mom says.

"Yep, we're 9-0 now."

I stand here silently, watching as they continue talking about the game. I can't help but notice how off this conversation seems to be. This is the first time my parents and Bryson have really talked since the fight last weekend, and there's definitely an awkward lack of enthusiasm on both ends. But not on Hailey's end.

She hops on the couch, pulling on Bryson's hand. "Come on, we're about to watch a movie!"

"No, we have to go," I quickly tell her. Even though I'm in no hurry to get to the party, I'm sure as hell in no hurry to sit here with my parents. So it's party time. "We're gonna be late."

Then my mom suddenly gets up and walks over and hugs me. I hesitate, then hug her back.

"Y'all have fun," she says quietly in my ear. Then she kisses my cheek and eases back to the couch.

"Be careful," Dad smiles.

I nod, confused but indifferent. "We will."

"See y'all later," Bryson says. Then he focuses on Hailey, points two fingers at his own eyes and then points them to her, letting her know he's 'watching' her; she returns the gesture with a giggle. Then we head out.

"What was that all about?" Bryson asks as I close the door behind us.

I pull my purse strap up my shoulder and glance over at Becca's house. "We were arguing about Becca today," I say dryly. I continue staring at her house as I walk, once again fighting the urge to ditch this party and head over there.

* * *

Well, I came tonight for one reason: to not push Bryson away. But as it's turning out, I think I'm doing just that by _being_ here. Now I'm kind of wishing we had just hung out at his house tonight instead, like he'd suggested.

Despite my extreme efforts to not be a total downer all night, that's exactly what I've been the entire two hours we've been here so far. I cracked a smile when we first showed up, when Brad/Edward came running up to me and gave me a hug. Other than his face being a little rounder--and the fact that he's sloppy drunk--he really does look like Edward. It definitely deserved a grin.

And remember how Summer, Alison, and Alex were going to be crayons? Well, these are the sexiest crayons I've ever seen. The three of them have on these teeny-tiny tube dresses, each a different color with matching four-inch heels--Summer is dark green, Alex is red, and Alison is blue--with the word CRAYOLA written down the front, and with all the exact detailed markings of an actual crayon. And when I say these dresses are tight- they could pass for body paint. And much like my blue jean hoochie mama shorts, the three of them are straight-up hanging out the bottoms.

So that's the story with the crayons. That's what I would be wearing tonight, had Holly and I agreed to dress up with them when Summer asked us earlier last week. But I declined, and as a result, so did Holly, who didn't dress up tonight either. Luckily, though, despite all the vampires and werewolves and slutty French maids and Playboy bunnies and sexy kittens and all that good stuff, there are quite a few people who didn't dress up at all. So that was a relief.

After saying hey to Holly, Summer, Alison, Alex, and some other people from Stargate, I parked myself on the circular sofa by the sliding glass doors and basically haven't moved since. I have strongly encouraged Bryson to get up and go talk to people and play beer pong and have a good time...and strangely, he has.

Don't get me wrong, I do want him to enjoy himself, but it's a double-edged sword. On one hand, I surely don't want him sitting here and being depressed with me. On the other hand, however, I kind of thought he would. In fact, I was pretty sure he would. Things are slowly changing, and I'm starting to get really worried.

But once again, Becca is my main concern by far. She's all that really matters when it comes down to it. And she's all I've been able to think about tonight...and for the past couple weeks. I've been sitting here with my phone in my hand, trembling uncontrollably as this strong, uneasy feeling in my stomach has kept me paralyzed. This all just feels so wrong, and I feel like I shouldn't even be here. I haven't seen Becca since Tuesday--which is officially the longest I've ever gone without seeing her--and she looked extremely thin and weak. So I hate to think about her current condition. And knowing I'm the reason she's been locked away in her room for over a week now, completely isolated, alone, and unhealthy, makes me feel completely ill. Before I know it, my eyes are filled with tears.

I look down at my phone--causing tears to stream down my face--with an overwhelming urge to text Becca. As I'm typing in my passcode, the beer pong crowd in the kitchen explodes abruptly.

I quickly look up, wiping my face and trying to see what's going on. Although the crowd is thick and it takes a minute, I'm eventually able to see it's Bryson and Summer at the table playing against one another.

I set my phone on my lap and wipe my face again with both hands. Then I notice Holly walking up to me from the living room. All I can do is hope the lighting is too dim for her to notice my now-saturated eyes, because I'm in no mood to discuss my problems.

"Is that Bryson and Summer?" she shouts over the music as she sits next to me.

I lean toward her, gazing at the crowd. "Yeah, looks like it."

We both just nod and look that way as the crowd wails again. Then Holly leans to my ear.

"Has Summer been acting weird tonight?" She pulls back and looks at me.

I cock my head and frown in confusion, then turn my eyes back to the kitchen. When I start thinking about it, I realize her behavior has been somewhat different. I guess I've just had too much on my mind to really notice until now. But when I think about it, Summer has walked right by me multiple times throughout the night without saying a word. In fact, I can only remember her even looking at me once. Which is surely strange considering how nice she's been to me lately, and considering the fact that Becca's not here...but then again, in Summer's defense, I haven't exactly displayed my enthusiasm for conversation tonight. Just my enthusiasm for everyone to leave me the hell alone. So I'm thinking that's probably what the deal is. I guess.

I look back at Holly and shake my head, still frowning. "I don't think so," I say, unsure.

She nods and looks back to the kitchen. And just as I'm about to ask her why she asked that, the crowd erupts again, and this time they start to disperse.

"Looks like Bryson won!" Holly shouts, craning her neck for a better view.

"Looks like it."

"I'm gonna go get a drink, you want something?" Holly asks.

"I'm okay for now!" I yell over the music as she stands up.

I look down and check my phone, and when I look back up I see Bryson and Summer joking around about the game along with Brad, Trent, Alison, and Alex, and a couple of other people I don't recognize. Then I watch as they all walk around the bar toward the keg as Holly walks up.

I wipe my eyes again, take a few deep breaths, then hop up--for the first time tonight--and start making my way to the kitchen. I check my phone a few times as I'm walking, even though I know there's no chance of Becca texting or calling--just can't help it. As I approach, they're all still in deep conversation about the game.

"Hey," Bryson says, suddenly noticing me.

I smile as I set my phone on the bar. "Hey."

"I just kicked Summer's butt all over the place in beer pong," he informs me, looking back at Summer as everyone laughs.

Summer looks at me for a split second, then her eyes shoot right back to Bryson.

"Yeah, but I almost beat you a few times," she retorts. Then everyone starts chiming in, giving their own personal views and opinions on exactly what went down and why and how and all that, while I just stand here and watch, completely removed from the conversation. No one even looks at me, including Bryson, Summer, and Holly. I guess that's due to my inattentiveness all night.

But truthfully, I couldn't care less. Other than always wanting Bryson to talk to me, I have no desire to be part of the conversation. I don't give a damn who won beer pong or how close it was or whatever; it's completely unimportant to me at the moment.

When we all hear a sudden commotion over at the table and turn to see a few people laughing and picking up some knocked-over beer cups, I immediately think of Becca spilling beer all over Summer last time we were here. And my eyes start pooling with tears all over again.

I instantly turn and head for the stairs. No clue why I thought that would be okay, but I needed to get away. Not just away from them, but away from everyone. And I'm a little surprised no one calls after me as I disappear behind the wall and head upstairs.

I take a left down the hall once I'm up here and burst into the first room I come across. Then I turn on a lamp, collapse on the edge of the king-sized bed, and lean my elbows on my knees and my forehead in my hands. Surprisingly though, I don't start crying. I just start thinking about Becca...and Summer.

I try hard to convince myself that Becca's right: Summer's up to something. But when that doesn't work, I think back again to how Summer used to treat me. I remember the horrible person she once was, and I think about it for a while, desperately trying to pump myself up for this rude, aggressive break-away from her that's now just around the corner.

But like before, when I finish reflecting, I can't help but realize that that's who she _once was_ , not who she is now. Only this time, _unlike_ before, I don't care. I'm feeling so done with this entire situation.

Then, out of nowhere, it hits me... _I need to do this in front of a crowd_. At this point, I feel like getting Becca back is a long-shot altogether, so I need to go big. I need witnesses, and I need people talking and gossiping around school about how I told Summer off. That way Becca will know it really happened, which can only increase my chances of fixing things with her. No matter the ultimate outcome, I have to know I did everything I could.

So now might actually be the right time. I feel my hands start to shake, and soon after, my entire body. I'm flushed with anxiety. I surely didn't plan on doing this tonight, but I'll definitely attract more immediate attention here than at school. Not to mention, I've simply had enough. I'm more than ready to end this then get Bryson to take me home so I can go see Becca.

I sit up straight, suck in a deep breath and blow it out, wipe my eyes, then put on my game face. No one will be expecting this, not even Bryson or Holly, and especially not Summer. But I have to believe it's all for the best.

After another few seconds of psyching myself up, I spring to my feet and head for the door, completely unaware of what I'm even going to say to Summer. I guess I'll just wing it, and more importantly, I'll be angry.

My stomach tightens into crippling knots as I start trotting down the stairs. About halfway down, I seriously consider backing out, but then I think about Becca, and that enables me to push forward. And now, with my heart violently pounding the inside of my chest, I hop off the bottom step and storm around the wall into the kitchen, ready to attack...but instead I come to a dead-stop.

I see Bryson and Summer talking in the same spot by the keg, only now they're alone. And I'm not quite sure what it is, but something seems really wrong. This dark, gloomy feeling quickly replaces the anxiety in my stomach as I stand here, frozen. Then Summer finally peeks over Bryson's shoulder at me, and grins.

But this is a _very_ different grin. And the familiarity of it sparks a shudder of fear through my body. This is not the kind, compassionate, caring grin I've come to know so well from the new Summer. No. This is a grin from the _old_ Summer. The Summer who used to harass me and torture me on a daily basis. The Summer who wanted nothing more than to crush me like a bug and watch me squirm on the ground. The Summer who used to look down her nose at everyone who wasn't in her little tightknit circle of friends. The Summer I could've sworn was long gone.

But as I stand here looking at her, carefully examining her new expression, I'm realizing for the first time that maybe _that_ Summer never left; she was only hiding. As she stares me down, her eyes now vengeful and maniacal like in the past, I spin my head around to see if perhaps she's glaring at someone else. But when I turn back, it quickly becomes apparent I'm her target. She gently puts her hand over Bryson's shoulder, then leans over and puts her lips right up to his ear as she talks, her evil, piercing stare never leaving my face. Then she slowly folds in all but her middle finger, flipping me off over his shoulder as her devilish, manipulative grin widens.

Every ounce of blood drains from my face, and my heart drops to the floor. This cannot be happening. I glance over to the short hallway which leads to the dining room and I notice Alison and Alex standing there, arms crossed and toes pointed, grinning at me, as well, while sipping from their plastic cups. That's when I realize Becca was right: this was all a show.

I quickly back up and spin back around the wall to the living room side as a number of different feelings and emotions rip through me, leaving my insides absolutely shredded. I'm in shock, I'm nauseated, I'm scared; and most of all, I'm torn apart by guilt. Becca knew all along. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew Summer was up to something, and I didn't believe her one bit.

As I stand here at the base of the stairs, leaning my head against the wall and trying to catch my breath, it all becomes crystal clear. Summer was after Bryson, and I feel like a complete idiot for not knowing that. She's wanted Bryson since the first day he arrived at Stargate last year, but he went for me, someone with a much different personality than her own. So when I revealed my genius, it not only gave her the idea, but it gave her a platform, an excuse to 'change.' An excuse to turn her personality around in the midst of my popularity. An excuse she wouldn't have had otherwise. And I have to say, she played the part perfectly.

And now here we are. The unveiling of my genius has essentially allowed Summer to take my best friend away from me--and probably Bryson, as well--and pretty much destroy my life. Not knowing what else to do, I run back upstairs, feeling alone and terrified. I close the bedroom door behind me then drop on the bed and slam my face in my hands again. Only this time, I'm crying my eyes out, trying to figure out how I've made such a mess of my life. Honestly, I'm not sure how irreparable things are at this point. Bryson is as good as gone...and Becca may very well be, too.

I start crying even harder when I think about Becca. I feel my shoulders begin to jerk around, and my palms are now soaking wet. The thought that I turned my back on her when she was only trying to protect me leaves me writhing in pain. I wrap my arms tightly around my stomach as I lunge forward, sobbing. I think of her harassing Summer at school, calling her names, shooting deadly stares at her, throwing beer on her--all because she knew Summer was playing games with me. And when I finally start to settle down a little, I lean back up and rest my chin on my fists, tears still burning as they roll down my cheeks. Then I gaze at the wall, and my mind drifts to the past...

It was the summer of 2002. I was five years old, and unlike our typical Sunday morning, my family didn't go to church with Becca's family because Carson had the flu. We were going to try to make the night service.

I went up to my room, grabbed the totally-awesome sidewalk chalk Becca and I had gotten the day before, and headed out to the end of the driveway to get a head start while I waited on her. I took a seat on the pavement and crossed my legs, fighting the urge to scribble down the physics formula I was obsessed with at the time--to keep my secret. Ultimately, I decided to write my name, careful to make it all sloppy like a normal five-year-old would. Then I went on to write my parents' names, perfectly misspelled and totally deformed, when Becca pulled into her driveway.

"Hey!" she yelled to me as she hopped out the car.

"Hey!" I yelled back. Then she ran inside with her mom and dad. When I turned my focus back to the driveway to start on Carson's name, I noticed this gigantic Rottweiler wandering down the sidewalk across the street. He seriously looked like a champion bodybuilder of dogs. About a second after, he noticed me, as well.

The next thing I knew, he was trotting in my direction, alert and staring me down. I knew better than to run, because that would only make things worse. So I just sat there, completely still--which wasn't all that hard since I was frozen in fear--as he ran up and stopped about two feet from me. He had no collar and I'd never seen him before, and the look in his eyes surely wasn't friendly. Neither was the low growl in his throat that followed. It was officially the most terrifying moment in my life up to that point. My heart was racing and I wanted to scream, but I knew I couldn't. Nor was I even capable.

But Becca was capable.

" _Aaauuuggghhh!!!_ "

The dog and I both flinched and then looked down the sidewalk. Here comes Becca, barreling toward us in her frilly pink dress and shiny church shoes, her fists in the air, her menacing eyes narrowed, and her mouth wide open.

" _AAAUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!_ " she continued on, her piercing scream getting louder as she approached.

And believe it or not, this massive, Incredible Hulk-shaped dog threw his ears back and flat-out took off in the other direction. I whipped my eyes back and forth between the dog's backside and Becca as she came to a stop right next to me, her eyes still squinted and her teeth clenched as she watched the dog run.

"Thanks!" I gasped.

She sat next to me and grinned, completely calm as if it were no big deal at all. "No problem, Dor." Then, noticing I was still upset, she scooted closer and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You know I'll never let anything happen to you. I'll always be here to protect you." Then we leaned our heads together. That was the moment I realized Becca would truly do anything for me, and never steer me wrong...

Now I sit here, wondering once again how I've screwed everything up so royally. I completely tossed Becca aside, then befriended this psycho bitch downstairs. I don't know how I could have been so blind. Even though I'm glad Becca's not here with me at the moment, because there would be three broken crayons in the kitchen, my heart is aching for her more than ever. I need to go to her house and salvage whatever I can of our friendship. Then I'll try to pick up the pieces and move on, hopefully with Becca next to me.

Sniffling and wiping my eyes with my forearm, I reach to my back pocket to grab my phone.

"Shit!" I whisper-shout, realizing I left it on the bar in the kitchen. Then I realize I'll have to go down anyway to get Bryson or Holly to take me home. So I start wiping my eyes thoroughly with both hands, trying to mentally prepare myself to go down. Just as I close my eyes and begin taking deep breaths to relax, Bryson suddenly tears through the door, scaring the life out of me.

"Something's wrong with Becca!" he shouts, his expression horrified as he frantically rushes toward me.

My eyes immediately flood again, and my heart starts pounding. "What?" I ask, my chin quivering.

"Your mom's been trying to call. We have to go!"

I quickly grab my phone from him with unsteady hands. And when I look at it, I see five missed calls from my mom--and a text.

" _Come home now! Becca's being rushed to the hospital! Come home!!!_ "

Suddenly, I can't breathe. And the world goes quiet. My mouth drops open, and my vision becomes blurred with tears. My hands start shaking with such fury I can no longer hold on to my phone, and I feel it buzz again just as it falls from my grip. I begin to feel sharp pains on my ears, and I realize my fingernails are dug into the backs of them. Then I hear a high-pitched noise...some kind of faint, continuous _beeeeep_ ringing steady in both ears. With my mouth still wide open, and my lungs still closed, I somehow jump to my feet and run smack into Bryson's chest. That's when my hearing gradually returns, and I realize the high-pitch beeping was my constant screaming.

"...NOOOOO!!!" I finally relent and gasp for air, taking frantic, deep breaths as if I've been held under water. "NOOO!" I belt out once more, still panting. Then I collapse into Bryson's arms, exhausted. But only briefly.

A sudden bolt of anger quickly zaps right through me. Anger at the world, anger at the choices I've made, anger at the raw, unforgiving consequences--just pure _anger_. And I find myself screaming again and fighting to get away from Bryson. Then, in a complete fit of rage, I grab something off the dresser that feels like a heavy glass vase and, still screaming at the top of my lungs, I violently hurl it straight through the bedroom window. As everything shatters wildly, the streetlight somehow manages to reflect off each individual shard of glass, beaming the light straight into my blurred, watery eyes, completely blinding me...

# 35

Realization

The bright light quickly engulfs me, until I literally can't see anything else. Once again, the world is quiet. But this time, I feel disturbingly removed. Removed from the universe and from life and just from being in general. As if I'm traveling through time, or being thrust into another life after passing away, or something of that extreme nature. And in the midst of the experience, my mind remains perfectly clear--one hundred percent free of all thought. And my vision remains a clean, pure white blur.

But it doesn't take long for things to clear up. My eyes start to focus, and my hearing begins to return. The brightness all around me slowly dissipates until I'm staring at a single light directly above me. My scrambled thoughts are the last to arrive.

I let out a small gasp as I lift my head. Then I see my mom rushing toward me.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asks, rubbing my forehead as my dad hurries up beside her. I silently nod as Carson and Hailey scurry up to me on the other side......then Becca walks to the foot of the bed.

My eyes instantly double in size, and I freeze. I finally realize I'm in the hospital. Then I wonder, _how in the world is Becca on her feet? Why am I in this hospital bed instead of her? And why does she look completely filled out, full of color, and totally healthy like normal? Was my mom lying about her being rushed to the hospital for some reason?_

My thoughts swirl as my brain tries to make sense of the situation. I glance at Carson and Hailey, then back to my parents.

My mom smiles at me, still rubbing my forehead. "You're gonna be fine, sweetie, just like you said. The _real doctor_ came back in about an hour ago and said you were perfectly okay."

I stare at her, completely confused. Then I roughly press my palms to my eyes, and the world starts to spin. I seriously feel as though I've been tossed into the center of a tornado.

_What is going on here?_ I ask myself this question repeatedly in my head.

But before I know it, the smoke starts to clear, and the puzzle pieces begin to fit.

I drop my hands and look over at the table against the wall; I see my roses from Bryson sitting there, in a vase. I glance quickly to the couch under the window, and there's the little pink gift shop bear from Holly. My eyes zip back to Becca; she's standing there, eyes red and swollen, in the same outfit she wore to the car show.

Then the realization fully hits.

I've been asleep.

This was all a dream.

# 36

Verdict

Unbelievable.

The room swirls again as I fully return to reality from the powerful grip of the most horrifying, intense, vivid nightmare I've ever had. I feel the tears building in a hurry, but somehow I fight them back as Becca sniffles, smiles and says, "Bryson got the vase for you. He asked me to bring it up here."

Her voice sounds amazing. My tears briefly become happy tears.

Then she smiles again, and turns around and heads for the sofa under the window. "Holly got you something, too."

"A little pink bear?" I ask, my voice breaking up. She turns back around with the bear and stops cold, her expression suddenly serious and knowing as she gazes at me. She just became aware.

"Wow, how'd you know?" Hailey asks, leaning on the bed next to me.

"Yeah, really," Carson adds.

But I don't answer or even pull my eyes away from Becca's. I just burst into tears, yanking my hospital gown over my face. As everyone begins consoling me, I know they're all thinking this outburst is simply due to the accident, that I'm still shaken up and worried about Bryson and his car and all that. And while those things are surely true--I'm extremely concerned about Bryson in every way right now--they're far from the cause of this meltdown. It's all about Becca, and this terrifying path I came so close to steering us down. This dream has gutted me. And even though Becca doesn't know the details yet, she's the only one here who knows why I'm really crying.

"Shh...it's okay, sweetie," my mom assures me, leaning down and kissing my head. "You're gonna be fine...everything's gonna be just fine."

"Yeah, and Bryson's perfectly fine, too," Dad says, rubbing my leg as I finally lower my gown from my face.

Then Hailey grabs my hand, squeezes it tightly, and presses it to her face as Carson pats my knee and says, "It's okay, Dori; it's all over now."

I look at him and nod appreciatively, then flash a glance at Becca. Her hand is resting motionless on my foot as she stares at me with puffy eyes, not saying a word. I can tell the wheels in her head are turning as she tries to figure out what my dream could have been about. As good as she is at figuring out these things, I don't think there's a way in the world she'll guess this one.

Then I look at Hailey right next to me, the back of my hand all pressed to her little cheek. She remains silent like Becca as her eyes gaze worriedly into mine. So I wipe my eyes with my free hand and force a smile.

"Did you get to see Bryson?" I ask, hoping to cheer her up.

But she just shakes her head. "No, I didn't," she replies impassively, as if I'm her main concern at the moment.

"The doctor released Bryson a couple hours ago while you were sleeping, and his mom took him home," Becca tells me.

"Yeah, luckily he didn't have the little incompetent doctor we had at first," my dad chuckles.

I whip my head around in a panic. "Y'all didn't tell the real doctor about me, did y'all? About my genius?" My eyes frantically jump between the two of them, causing them both to look at me, concerned and confused.

"No, we didn't, honey," Mom says, placing her hand on my head. "He came in with the MRI scans and had everything together before we could say a word."

I nod in relief and then ease my head back on the pillow. Then I peek over at Becca. Her eyes are still fixed solid on mine.

"But you said you wanted to reveal your genius before you fell asleep earlier," my mom reminds me. "Is that still something you want to do?"

I look back at her and my dad as they stare at me, waiting for my answer.

Do I _want_ to reveal my genius...it's a question which has never produced a good answer in any way; only a bad one and a really bad one. What I _want_ is to not be a genius at all. It's been the absolute bane of my existence for sixteen years now. A secret life I never wanted, but could never disclose.

But since I can't exactly snap my fingers and make it go away--I've been working on a formula for that since I was eight, by the way--sure, I'd love to reveal it. If I don't, it could all go to waste in a heartbeat. This accident has made me realize just how fragile and short life can be, and it would be an extreme waste for my intelligence to go down the drain. I honestly feel like it needs to be contributed to the world.

Also, if I don't reveal it, I'll have to continue to tiptoe through life, careful not to slip up and expose myself, which, believe me, is much more exhausting than you realize. It would be amazing to be able to relax after all these years.

And finally--and most importantly at the moment--I can't be with Bryson if I don't reveal it. There's just no way it could work. I refuse to be with someone and keep that kind of secret from them. It would be horribly wrong of me to do that. And even if I did decide to go that route, surely I'd blunder at some point and he would find out anyway. So there's just no way around it. If I want to be with Bryson, revealing my genius is an absolute must.

But unfortunately--and _fortunately_ \--as far as I'm concerned, I've seen how it all plays out. And sadly, I'm not certain I could be mean to Summer, even knowing the truth.

I look at my parents as they wait anxiously, their frozen expressions now revealing a touch of worry.

"Well, honey?"

I look back to Becca, struggling to control my emotions, and slowly shake my head. "Not a chance," I say confidently.

#  Epilogue

Sunday; one week later...

"Okay, I'm gonna go watch some movies with Mrs. Anna," my mom says, wiping her hands on her pants as I pour popcorn into a bowl. "Carson and Hailey are at friends' houses, and your dad's upstairs in his office. Y'all gonna be alright?"

I peer up at her and grin as I tap the bag to make sure it's empty. "We're gonna be fine, Mom."

"Okay. Y'all have fun then." She grabs a popcorn bag off the counter and heads for the back door. I tell her bye then walk back to the living room.

"You're not done yet?" I ask, sitting on the couch. "You know, I could--"

"Shhh." Bryson presses his index finger firmly to my lips, his eyes never leaving my book.

My cheeks balloon out as I chuckle. So I just sit here and watch, my lips mashed together by his finger, as he finishes reading the last page.

I gave him one of my books to read Friday night, and that's all he's been doing since. He swore up and down I couldn't make him cry, so I gave it my best shot with one of my saddest books. Even though he looks all choked-up and moved right now, I don't see any tears, which completely sucks.

"Wow!" he exclaims, slamming the binder shut and setting it on the table. "That was sad." He leans back and slouches as if he's emotionally drained.

"You totally need to cry right now, right?" I encourage. "I promise I won't call you a sissy or anything."

He rolls away from me and curls up into the fetal position, pretending to weep. And just as I start to laugh, he quickly straightens back up.

"Whatever. That book wasn't sad," he insists, his rough-and-tough expression making me laugh even harder.

Then he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth and looks at me with a grin. "No, that book really was sad...but I'm a sexy sissy, though, right?"

I smile and nod, gazing into his eyes as he moves in and gently presses his lips to mine. As soon as the tingles start to rush down my spine, I feel his hand rest softly on my cheek, turning those tingles into a full-body tremble. These kisses seriously keep getting better, and I wish I could literally keep my lips on his all day long. But since my dad is right upstairs, we keep it short and sweet.

He backs away, leaving me a complete wreck, like a war plane swooping in, dropping a bomb on me, then taking off. It takes me a minute to compose myself.

"So," he begins, reaching for the popcorn. "How did Becca convince you to tell me about your genius?"

"She said she would rip my face off if I didn't," I tell him, reaching for the popcorn, as well.

That's right, Becca absolutely refused to let me lose Bryson after I told her about my dream. So against my better judgment, I let him in on the secret, and he was perfectly fine with it--extremely intrigued, even. And I have to admit, I was happy I didn't have to let him go.

He flings his head back on the couch and laughs. "Well, I guess that'll do it. Is she still coming to watch the movie with us?"

Right after he says that, the front door flies open and Becca barges in.

"Got it, Dad, _I will_ ," she says, exasperated and rolling her eyes with her phone pressed to her ear. Then she slams the door behind her and stomps over to the couch.

"Yeah, okay, I got it, gotta go now...okay...bye." She slings her purse on the couch next to me and flops down on the recliner.

I look at her, giggling. "What was that about?"

"Ughh," she groans, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes at the TV, looking as if she's about to spill it. But then she suddenly sits up straight and says, "I can't even talk about it right now. I don't want to get all riled up."

I nod and look back to the TV. She's already bummed that Brian had to work today, and now she's dealing with whatever crap from Mr. Brett.

"Well, Bryson's upset, too. He's been crying because of my book," I tease.

Bryson jokingly sniffles and wipes his eyes.

"Was it the one about the uncle and his niece?" Becca asks with wide eyes.

"That's the one," Bryson confirms.

"Aw, man, I cried for like a week when I read that."

We laugh at Becca's statement. Then she pushes her purse aside and sits next to me. "We're watching The Shining, right?" she asks, reaching for the popcorn.

"Yep!" Bryson and I exclaim.

I grab the DVD remote to cue up the movie, and a feeling of satisfaction flows through me, followed by a feeling of anxiety. It's been like this all week. Happy- nervous, happy- nervous, happy- nervous.

I'm ecstatic that Bryson and I are still together, but there's no denying it--the secret is now at risk. And considering the dream I had last week in the hospital, that kind of terrifies me. I'm hoping I didn't make the wrong decision by filling Bryson in.

I guess time will tell for sure.

But for the moment, he and Becca are both securely by my side. And in this mess of a situation, I guess I can't ask for much more than that.
