

For my son, Latif, who is one of the best friends a guy could have.

Other Books by E. Van Lowe

### Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

### Earth Angel

### Heaven Sent

### Falling

### The Secrets of Love and Death

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9836329-0-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011930613

Copyright 2o11 by E. Van Lowe

To request permission to reprint any portion of the book, e-mail chrismeeks@gmail.com and in the subject heading, write the name of the book.

Editor, Christopher Meeks

Book Design, Daniel Will-Harris, www.will-harris.com

Published by White Whisker Books, Los Angeles, 2011

#### boyfriend

#### from

### e. van lowe

White Whisker Books

Los Angeles

# Chapter One

She was laughing.

That's what I remember most about that night. It was Saturday. The sun had recently gone down. It was still warm in our old house, but once the sun had finished setting, I knew we'd be slipping into our snuggies. That's how Januaries are in the desert—hot in the day, freezing at night.

We were seated at the chipped oak dining room table with the mismatched chairs she was so embarrassed for company to see. We were polishing the silver, and my mother was laughing.

We love polishing the silver. It's a mother-daughter bonding thing we've been doing as far back as I can remember. When I was younger we did it in the summer, but since I'd been in high school, we'd been doing it over winter break.

Ours is an antique set dating back to the early nineteen hundreds that my mother got for a steal at an estate sale when I was seven. We go to lots of estate sales, and yard sales, and garage sales. Glendale calls itself the antique capital of Arizona. This distinction allows anyone with anything festering in their attic or garage to drag it out onto their lawn on Saturday mornings and try to palm it off as an antique.

Since my mother loves antiques, you can find us on any given Saturday inside some cowboy's grungy garage, rummaging through his crap, looking for the real deal. She has an eye for the real stuff, so no one can cheat her out of a bargain. She works for an art dealer. She is also one of my best friends. Well... she was before our lives went to hell in a hand basket. Guess I shouldn't use that word too freely around here. Hell, I mean.

As we sat polishing away, she casually said, "What would you think of me going on a date?"

"Umm, you mean with a guy?"

"Of course with a guy. A man," she said, the beginnings of a laugh bubbling out of her. "I don't have any prospects yet, but I've been seeing all these dating sites on TV and thought, why not?" She looked at me trying to read my face.

It was the first time she had mentioned another man since my father had left ten years ago.

"Yeah, why not?" I said through a thin smile, although what I was feeling was... _why?_

"Why not?" she repeated, soft laughter spilling out of her, like there was some new, long awaited happiness to be discovered, and she was brimming with the possibility of what that happiness might be.

Why not?

#

"I can't believe your mother's going on a date," said Erin.

It was Sunday afternoon. The next day. We were seated at the food court in the Glendale mall, digesting my problem along with a double order of curly fries.

"She hasn't found one yet," I countered. "She's just talking about it."

I swirled a curly fry into the glob of ketchup on my Styrofoam plate. "Hasn't she read any of those books or articles about single parent dating? Rule number one clearly states: _sneak out behind your kid's back_. Keep us in the dark as long as possible. It's a good rule." I popped the curly fry into my mouth.

"In Suze's defense, she's just trying to keep the lines of communication open. If she meets someone, it's going to affect your life, too."

All my friends call my mom Suze, never Ms. Barnett. That's how she likes it. I call her Suze, too, but not to her face, never to her face. I tried that once when I was ten, and if looks could kill, I'd currently be pushing daisies. I think it's cool having a mom everyone can call by her first name—just not me.

"I know you're only trying to cheer me up, Erin. But telling me my mother might meet somebody is not going to do it." I swirled another curly fry.

"Hey, your mom's kind of hot. I'm sure she'll find lots of dudes who want to go out with her." This revelation came from my other best friend, Matt. I've known Matt since kindergarten, four years longer than I've known Erin. He was tall and slender, with a ready smile and shock of fuzzy red hair. He was also an idiot.

"Matt," Erin said patiently. "Megan doesn't want her mother going on a date. That's why we're having this little meeting. Duh?"

"Oh," said Matt. He looked from Erin to me, letting her words wash over him.

Matt was not the kind of boy you'd normally expect us to be hanging out with. Aside from the fact that he was IQ-challenged, Matt was a card-carrying member of our school's in-crowd, dubbed The Poplarati. He was on the varsity football team and the track team. Erin and I were on the debate team and the math team. We were card carrying members of our school's leper colony. Yet ever since Suze and I arrived in Glendale and moved next door to the Dawsons, Matt has always been a part of my life. I can't recall a memory that doesn't have him in it.

"Why don't you want Suze to go on a date?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? First off, if anyone in my family should be dating, it should be me. I'm fifteen, primo dating age. How's it going to look if my mother has a boyfriend and I don't?"

No one answered. The three of us sat in silence, considering my problem.

The mall had recently been remodeled. Several upscale restaurants had been added to the food court, which they now called _the dining terrace_ , as if by changing the name people would forget they were at the Glendale mall. But you could still get a good burger and curly fries, so the change was just fine with me.

"Then why not get your own boyfriend?" Matt said all of a sudden.

That was a no-brainer. "Gee, Matt, let me see. Maybe it's because it's social suicide for anyone at school to date a mathlete. And guess what? I'm a mathlete!"

"But you're cute," said Matt. Then realizing he'd committed the cardinal sin of complimenting a girl, he looked away awkwardly. "I mean you've got the blue eyes, and... the one dimple in your left check, and..." His awkward eyes found Erin. "And you're cute, too. You've got... the thing with your hair." His voice trailed off as he attempted to be the equal opportunity looks-evaluator.

"Yeah, well, at G.U., geek trumps looks," I said, disgusted with my situation.

"And that thing with my hair is called bangs, thank you very much!" Erin was equally disgusted, but hers was aimed at Matt.

"Then maybe you should go out with someone on the math team."

Erin and I stared at him. Matt knew good and well I wasn't ever going out with anyone on the math team. And it's not that I'm an elitist or anything like that. I'd just like to go out with a cool, popular guy for once. And if he happens to look like Taylor Lautner, so be it.

The Poplarati have no idea what the rest of us go through. I mean, just because we're lepers doesn't mean we'd ever _date_ a leper. Those of us who occupy the lower links on the social food chain have standards too—even higher than The Poplarati—because our boyfriends not only have to be cute, but they also need to have an IQ higher than that of a titmouse. Unfortunately at Glendale Union, hitting the Dating Daily Double (looks and intelligence), is a near impossibility.

"I don't see what's the big deal about Suze dating." Matt was now giving me the stink eye.

"Oh? Would you like to listen to your mother talking about French kissing?" He screwed up his face as the image invaded his thoughts.

"Exactly."

His expression softened. "But you and Suze are so close. I don't have that kind of relationship with my mom. I wish I did."

"Me, too." Erin was looking at me with the same expression I used on her when I was trying to make her feel guilty about something.

"Come on, guys, she's my _mother_ ," I said with an exasperated sigh. "Can I really tell her that while we're snuggled up on the sofa watching _Spider Man Three_ , I'm secretly undressing James Franco with my eyes? Of course not. These things I keep from her for her own good. And likewise, there are things she should keep from me. I don't care if she wants to go on a date. I just don't want to know about it."

That wasn't exactly true. I did care about her going on a date. But if I told them how I really felt, I'd appear selfish.

Erin reached for the ketchup. "It's just that you're lucky to have a mother who's your friend. The only time my mother ever talks to me is when she's telling me to clean my room, do my homework, or stay away from boys—not necessarily in that order." She squirted a big red blob onto her plate.

It was then the answer I was looking for came to me, triggered by something Erin had said. "Hey, remember when your mom didn't want you riding in cars with boys? She told you horror stories about what could happen."

"Yeah. That was so lame."

"Why don't I do the same thing? I'll tell her a graphic horror story about some parent at our school who went on a date and was never heard from again. That'll scare her off dating forever."

"I don't like it," said Erin.

"Me, either," said Matt. "I think Suze getting a boyfriend is a good idea."

I ignored both their responses. "Then it's settled. I'm doing it."

"Megan," Erin's tone turned serious. "If you're uncomfortable with your mother dating, maybe you should just tell her?"

I shook my head. "You guys have a lot to learn about open relationships."

# Chapter Two

Pythagoras, the famous Greek philosopher, is known for being the first person to demonstrate the theorem that with any right triangle, the sum of the squares of both sides is equal to the square of the hypotenuse: A²+B²=C². What most people don't know is Pythagoras also stated: "It is evil to eat beans."

The sad fact that this useless bit of information resides in my brain is one of the many contributing factors as to why I do not have a boyfriend. I'm a trivia junkie. I can't help myself. Put a useless piece of information in front of me and I will gobble it up like a double cheeseburger with a side of curly fries.

Cute boys like girls who are into fashion magazines and lip gloss, not mathematical equations and trivia. So imagine my surprise when our first day back at school after winter break, a really cute boy walked into the Math Lab.

Don't get me wrong, cute boys walk into the Math Lab all the time. However, as soon as they discover they're in a room crawling with geeks, they realize their mistake and make a hasty exit.

I was at the chalkboard with Erin, working through a problem using a logarithm [and trust me, I am well aware that my use of logarithms has solidified my place in the annals of geekdom forever, but humor me here].

"Hottie at three o'clock," whispered Erin, digging her elbow into my side.

I turned, and there he was, a cute boy standing just inside the doorway. This cute boy was different from all the others who'd come before him. This cute boy was acting like he intended to stay.

"I'm looking for the Math Lab," he said as he surveyed the room. There were seven of us in all, not including Mrs. Brewster in the back. Five boys who followed the geek dress code to the letter, all the way down to the black socks they wore with their uncool sneaks, Erin, and me.

"Who wants to know?" asked Erin. I swear that girl could go from zero to flirt in six-point-five seconds.

He smiled. It was a confident smile. He had a lot to be confident about. He was basketball-player tall, with jet black hair, and the kind of dark, dreamy eyes you could look into forever. It was obvious from the way he carried himself that he'd been flirted with before. Erin's question, "Who wants to know?", would have sent most male mathletes scurrying for cover, but not this boy.

"The future captain of The Glendale Mathletes," he said in response. His smile widened.

Geoffrey, Tran, and the other math geeks stared up at him from behind their glasses, their faces twisted into tight little knots. G.U's male mathletes were very protective of Erin and me—not that they'd ever try flirting with us themselves. They had enough trouble just standing next to us without sweating out their undershirts.

"Tran is captain of the mathletes," I said, adding my two cents, and then I smiled. It was supposed to be a mysterious, seductive smile, but my mouth froze into a toothy grin. I have practiced that seductive smile in the mirror like a zillion times to perfection, and the first time I try using it on a real boy, I wind up looking like the Joker.

The new boy looked at me. "Interesting smile."

Is that laughter in his eyes? Is he laughing at me?

"You must be Guy," Mrs. Brewster called from the back of the room. "Welcome to the Glendale Union Mathletes. Come on, I'll introduce you around."

"Righteeo."

At the time, I was happy that a cute boy was joining the mathletes, especially since I was in the market for a cool, cute boyfriend. I didn't find it strange that a boy so handsome and sure of himself would be hanging around geeks. My mistake.

# Chapter Three

With my mother working every day, and me off with the mathletes and the debate team after school, weekday dinners at our house were usually catch-as-catch-can. Take out was the norm. Or sometimes I'd make burgers, or enchilada pie, which was my specialty. But on some evenings, Suze would bring in the fixings for something a bit more elaborate, a meal we could prepare together.

That's what she did Monday evening. We converged on the kitchen around six-thirty to prepare chicken paprikash, which really isn't _that_ elaborate. It's just sautéed chicken in a paprika sauce over noodles.

I knew the reason for this together time was so she could ease into the dating thing again. While I pretended to happily work away, all I could think is that mother-daughter activities like these would come to an end if she found a boyfriend.

"Are you sure you're okay with me dating, hon?" She said it casually as she sliced the chicken breasts. But there was nothing casual about it.

"Sure? Sure? Sure I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be sure?" The only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to put an end to the dating conversation.

Our kitchen was small, cozy she called it. But it was bright, with a big bay window over the sink that looked out onto our eco-friendly backyard, and lots of counter space so we never got in each other's way.

She started placing the chicken slices into the pan of sizzling canola oil on the stove. "Just checking. I have to tell you, I'm excited. It's been so long, I don't even know my type." She stared off, a wistful look in her eyes. "I suppose tall, distinguished, and everyone likes a man with a nice butt."

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. Mentally I hummed as loud as I could, trying to blot out the conversation. I was in the midst of chopping veggies for the sauce. When I looked down at the chopping board, I was surprised to discover that if I chopped them any finer I'd have a nice puree. _Breathe,_ I told myself as I eased up on the blade.

While it was always fun when Erin and I talked about boys and their butts, butt talk was not something I wanted to hear from my mother.

Then she giggled.

She giggled like a little girl. Thirty-nine-year-old Suze Barnett, who had tiny wisps of gray she was always adding highlights to, was giggling over the prospect of dating a man with a nice butt.

I had to put an end to this—now!

I cleared my throat. "I just want you to be careful out there, Mom."

"Thank you. I will," she replied, as she happily turned the chicken slices to brown on the other side.

The kitchen was filling up with a yummy fragrance that reminded me of my childhood, when she cooked every night when she got home from work.

"I mean, I definitely don't want what happened to Mrs. Tobolewski to happen to you."

"Mrs. Tobo..."

"Tobolewski. One of the girls at school's mom." I pretended to concentrate on the chopped veggies, scooping them into a bowl to be sautéed once the chicken was done. Yet through the corner of my eye, I was watching, as like a hungry fish she slowly rose to the bait.

"So..." She sniffed at it: "What happened to Mrs. Tobolewski?" And then _Bam!_ She swallowed it whole.

"Oh, didn't I tell you about her? She went on a date." I let the word _date_ hang in the air between us, heavy with harmful meaning.

"Really?"

This was too easy. Should I reel her in now, or play her for a while? I should probably practice in case this dating thing gets serious. I'll play her. "Huh?" I said, shooting her my best blank stare.

"Mrs. Tobolewski's date. What happened?" The sautéing was forgotten for the moment, as she urged me on with her eyes.

"It's not important. I don't want to worry you."

"Megan Barnett!" she implored.

"Oh, all right." I made a big deal out of stopping my chopping. I sighed. "Well, let's see, the girl's mother was about your age, attractive like you, and from what I can remember, it was her first date since the divorce."

"Ooh. Bad date, huh?"

"Well, not for the guy who lopped her head off. I'm sure he had loads of fun."

"Oh, my!" She nearly dropped a chicken slice on the floor.

"And it was their _first_ date," I repeated.

I could tell from her sickly pallor she was totally rethinking the dating thing. A pang of remorse shot through me. I really did feel bad fooling her this way. We were friends. But that's exactly why I was doing it. She had convinced herself that dating was a good idea. It was up to me as a _friend_ to point out the pitfalls.

"How did they meet?" She began placing the sautéed chicken slices on a paper towel to drain.

"Huh? Oh... they umm... met at church." The answer was totally unplanned, and yet totally genius. I mean if you can't trust a guy you meet in church...

"Where did they go?"

"Go?" What was with all of these questions? Was I not making myself clear? The woman was dead because she went on a date.

"On the date," she repeated. "Where did they go?"

"Mom, does it really matter where they went? The man killed her!"

I was beginning to lose it. Not good. I needed to play it cool. I took a deep breath.

"Skiing," I said. "They went skiing at a very posh ski resort. And did I mention it was their first date ever? The first date she'd been on since _all_ those years ago when she went out with her husband." Even an idiot could make the connection.

"Did they catch him?"

But not my mother. I lost it. "What difference does that make, Mom? She's dead! Do I have to draw you a map? The woman is dead because she went on a date."

"No. She's dead because she didn't screen properly."

"Wha—?"

"Megan, this is sounding an awful lot like one of those urban myths. I mean, who goes on a ski trip on their first date? Really! First dates should be coffee in a public place."

Okay, so she _has_ read some of the literature on single-parent dating. Who knew?

I handed her the bowl of veggies and she began ladling them into the pan.

"You and I aren't going to make that mistake, are we, hon?" She said this, and then she smiled at me. She smiled as if everything I'd said, rather than discouraging her, proved her point.

"Umm. No." I was at a loss for words.

What just happened here? As I mentally retraced my footsteps trying to see where I zigged when I should have zagged, Suze wiped her hands on a towel and moved to the counter where she picked up a pamphlet.

"I appreciate your concern, Megan. But don't worry. My first date will be an e-date," she announced proudly. "Those bad guys can't harm me in cyberspace, now can they?"

Should I tell her she could catch a deadly computer virus? Nah, she'd never go for that.

"This is the dating questionnaire they sent me. After dinner you can help me fill it out. No one knows me better than you."

"That's for sure."

Suze moved to the cabinet where she kept the cooking sherry. "Don't say it like that. It'll be fun."

_Fun?_ That questionnaire was going to ask my mother questions about herself I did not want to know the answers to. What happened to the good old days when mothers wore knee length skirts and spent all their time in the kitchen baking bread? Those mothers didn't care about dating, or questionnaires, or butts. All they cared about was how good their kitchens smelled. I suddenly had a taste for fresh baked bread.

She looked at me and smiled. She had the biggest, bluest eyes. A lot like mine. "What do you say?"

"Sure," I replied weakly. "It'll be... fun. But let's order some cheesy bread."

It was as close as I was going to get to the good old days.

#

Dinner was a disaster.

The meal was good, perfect, although I must admit cheesy bread is an odd complement to Chicken Paprikash. The disaster was that my thoughts kept drifting to the result of us filling out that questionnaire—and what I saw was not pretty.

A short time after we had eaten, cleaned the kitchen, and put the leftovers away, we seated ourselves on the high wooden stools at the kitchen counter with the questionnaire lying between us. That's exactly how I felt. That stupid questionnaire was coming between us.

Our special bond began way back when I was five years old. That's when, after six years of marriage, my father decided to move to Australia to find himself. I guess he figured if he took us with him, he'd be harder to find—so he split, leaving us high and dry. I haven't seen or heard from him since. No biggy. Don't get me wrong, I would love to meet him. I even tried looking him up on Friend Finder a couple of times.

The good news is, I was so young when he left I don't remember him leaving. Since his departure, though, my mother and I have become, well... friends.

I mean for ten whole years it had been just the two of us, me and mom—the Two Musketeers. We had a great time doing everything together: movies, concerts, amusement parks, museums, and let's not forget the tons and tons of garage and estate sales. She took me to my dance recitals, and I accompanied her to art shows where she shared her love of sculpture. She sat up with me when I had the chicken pox, and after Erin's eleventh birthday party where I ate two dozen chocolate chip cookies on a dare, and spent the entire night throwing my guts up into a bucket... [By the way, if you're an eleven-year-old, you need to know that a dozen chocolate chip cookies should probably be your limit.]

Anyway, after all the good times we shared, she suddenly wanted to change things.

She picked up her pen and began to write. "Let's see," she said, thinking out loud. "Attractive single parent..."

I made a face.

"What?"

"It's that word, _attractive_."

"You think I'm ugly?"

"No, no, of course not. You're beautiful, Mom. But if you lead with _attractive_ you sound vain. Think about it. The first thing you mention is your looks. You sound like one of those botox bimbos. _Ooh, look at me, I'm so cute_."

Suze stared at me a moment and then nodded. "Hadn't thought of that. Good catch." She started over: "Intelligent..."

I made a face.

"What now?"

"You sound like a snob."

"Because I say I'm intelligent?"

"Mom, you know how boys are. They like to think they're the smart ones. I'd hate for you to miss out on a good date because Mr. Perfect was feeling a little insecure the day he read your questionnaire."

She started over again, and for the next hour and a half, I challenged every word she wrote: Sincere... _means insincere_ ; clever... _gay_ ; Sensitive... _crazy_ ; loves life... _loves_ _sex_ , industrious... _means you have no time for him_ , caring... _means you have too much time for him_. After a while she became so frustrated, she threw up her hands and asked me to take over filling out the questionnaire.

Perfect, I thought. For the next ten minutes I carefully crafted a sentence that, while seemingly alluring, sent a subtle yet firm message to men to stay away from my mother. Finished, I handed over the questionnaire and smiled proudly.

She read aloud: "Unattractive mother of five seeks man with money."

She stared silently down at the questionnaire. A slight crease appeared in her brow. After a while, she took a few deep breaths then looked up at me with a confused expression.

"You know, Mom, I'm getting a sense you're not fully appreciating the important message that statement is making."

"You're right, hon. I'm not. Care to explain?"

"Certainly. By saying you're unattractive, you're not going to get any of those shallow types who are only interested in a woman for her looks. And if five kids doesn't scare him off, then you know he's into children. What a pleasant surprise when he discovers it's just me. And okay, maybe I went a bit too far with the money thing. I just don't want a guy dating you for your money."

"I don't have any money."

"Like I said, I probably went a bit far with that one."

All of a sudden she began laugh. "Megan, Megan, Megan. For a minute there, you had me. But now I see. It's a joke. I mean, if I wrote something like that, _nobody_ would go out with me."

"Really?" Okay, I guess I wasn't subtle enough.

"Very funny, hon, but I think I'd better fill this out on my own. Are you sure this is all right with you?" she asked for like the thirteenth time.

I suppose that was the perfect opportunity to bring up how I was feeling about our open relationship being a bit too open for me, about how I didn't want to hear that she admired men's butts, or that she was going to go out on dates, and how if she ever went on a date, I did not want to hear the gory details. And then there were my darker thoughts, about how I liked that it was just the two of us and didn't see why things needed to change.

Had I known what was coming, I would have told her my true feelings right then and there. But I didn't know. So I said: "It was a joke, Mom. I'm cool."

"Very funny," she repeated, then she sat down and began filling out the questionnaire.

It was the beginning of the end.

# Chapter Four

"You didn't look like an idiot."

Tuesday morning, Erin and I were standing by our lockers changing out our books for first period. She was trying her best to console me about my embarrassment the day before with the new boy. But I played the incident over in my mind a dozen times and idiot was all I could see.

"Okay, then what did I look like?"

"Hmm. You looked like someone who'd forgotten how to smile."

"Perfect," I rasped glumly.

"Who's perfect... besides me?" Matt walked up stinky from track practice and not caring whom he offended.

"Not me, that's for sure." I explained how I had embarrassed myself in front of the new boy. "But that's okay. Erin saw him first, anyway."

"Erin?" Matt's expression soured.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Matt was not amused. "Megan needs a boyfriend right now. Tell her it's okay."

We were both stunned by what he'd said. I mean, I always knew Matt looked out for me, but something else was going on here.

"Excuse me," said Erin. "Like _I_ don't?"

"Megan needs something to take her mind off Suze becoming man crazy."

Okay, _man crazy_ was stretching it a bit, but I liked the sentiment.

"Besides," he said. "You can have a boyfriend any time you want."

"I _can?_ I'm glad you know it because I don't see any boys beating down my door. And for the last time, I am not dating a mathlete," Erin fired back.

"You make me sick!" Matt practically spat the words at her, then he stormed off.

We watched him in silence for a long, awkward moment.

"What was that all about?" Erin finally said.

"Maybe he had a bad track practice."

"That's no reason to take it out on me."

"Yeah," I said. "I don't know what's gotten into him." But that wasn't true. I was pretty sure I knew what was up with Matt.

#

The first person who responded to my mother's e-profile was Miller David. _Miller?_ What was his mother thinking naming him that? If she had just reversed the two he could have had a real name. She should've cut to the chase and just named him Punching Bag. Same end result, trust me. Yet for some strange reason, my mother was attracted to _Punching Bag's_ online profile.

"Look at this, hon. He wants to meet someone he can talk quietly with over a glass of Chardonnay, someone who'd like to hold hands and take long walks...

... _off a short pier_ , I thought, rolling my eyes.

"How charming," she drooled.

_How cheap!_ All that hand holding and walking sounded to me like the perfect excuse not to spend any money.

We were in her home office, which at one time was our tiny, sunny breakfast nook. It was just off the kitchen and looked out into our backyard. Little by little, over the years, her computer and files migrated there until now we don't even think of it as a breakfast nook anymore.

"Come, see his picture," she called with the excitement of a school girl. I glanced at the monitor. "Cute, huh?"

Suffice to say Miller David was not cute. Miller David was a loser with a capital L. He was the slightly balding office manager of an internet company who was studying for his law degree at night.

My goodness! Forty years old and he hasn't finished school yet. Does he plan to graduate when he turns sixty-five and pick up his diploma and retirement check at the same time? Pathetic.

Yet Suze saw things differently. In her eyes he was a man who'd done well for himself in business and who'd gone back to school to follow his dream.

Suddenly, she began tap tapping away at the keyboard, giggling as she typed.

"What are you doing?" I asked, hoping the alarm I was feeling hadn't crept into my voice.

"I'm sending him a message, letting him know I'm interested. Here, let me read it to you."

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. I again tried humming mentally. Mercifully, this time it worked.

"What do you think?"

"Really good," I replied with a smile, grateful I had no idea what she'd written. But I couldn't help notice, my mother was giggling as she passed e-notes to a loser.

#

On Wednesday morning I got up early.

My French teacher, Mrs. Ketchum,had decreed that anyone who missed the midterm she'd given just before Christmas and wanted a chance at passing her class needed to be in their seats at seven AM. Zero period. A full hour before we normally had to be in school.

I was sick with a bad cold the day of the original, so here I was, catching the cross-town bus to school. Normally I rode to school with Matt, who had just turned sixteen and had his own car, an old Corolla whose passenger door was jammed shut, so anyone riding with him had to slide over the console. But best friend or not, there was no way I was going to convince Matt to get up an hour early on a school day (or any day for that matter), just so I could take a test.

There was a nip in the air as I waited for the bus. The desert sun was peeking over Camelback mountain and hadn't risen high enough to warm things up yet. I was a popsicle by the time the bus arrived five minutes late. Losing those five minutes meant I really had to hustle once I got to school. I loathe being late, especially for a big test.

I made a quick stop at my locker because I didn't feel like lugging my jacket and extra books around until third period. Four minutes to the first bell. There wasn't a soul in the locker area, which was odd for G.U., even at seven-fifteen in the morning. It was like I was in an alternate universe where everyone had mysteriously vanished. The sound of the band practicing "I've Got a Feeling" drifted down the hall, the only indication I wasn't in an alternate universe and that the building was indeed occupied.

A loud crash to my left obliterated the silence. I yelped, my head whipping in the direction of the sound. Standing by a locker several feet down was the new boy, Guy. I hadn't seen or heard him come into the area, but there he was, banging on a locker. He was fresh-scrubbed and gorgeous.

"Stupid!" He pounded on the steel locker with the heel of his hand. _Bang, bang, bang!_

Yesterday's embarrassment flashed through my mind. I started to slink off to class unnoticed. But something made me stay.

"Having a problem?" I heard myself ask.

His head turned in my direction. He looked at me as if he'd been waiting for me to say something. And then he smiled. It was the kind of smile you read about in stories. The kind of smile that makes a girl go all gooey inside. The kind of smile that made me forget about my earlier embarrassment.

"I'm sure I remember the combination, but this dumb locker still won't open." He turned his attention back to hammering.

Bang, bang, bang!

"Maybe that's because it's Manny Santos' locker."

"What?" He stepped back and surveyed the area, eyeing the row of lockers. "Oh," he said.

"It's perfectly understandable. You're in a new school. I'm sure the lockers all look alike."

Points for me for helping the new boy adjust to his new school. _Now, we're even,_ I thought.

He stepped back up to the locker and began fiddling with the combination. I could feel my cheeks starting to flush. The cute but arrogant boy was ignoring me.

"Umm, excuse me. Did you hear what I just said? You can fiddle with that locker all you want..."

The locker popped open.

"Yeah, I heard you," he called, rummaging in the locker without looking in my direction. "What you said reminded me that I changed my combination when I changed schools."

"Oh." My voice was small as I realized I was enduring a second embarrassment at the hands of the new boy. There would not be a third. "Well... have a nice day."

I started moving away from the locker area as fast as I could. Two minutes to the first bell.

"By the way, Manny Santos graduated end of last semester," he called after me.

"Thank you." My voice was even smaller. As I hurried off to take my exam I thought, _Erin saw him first. Thank God._

#

They were scheduled to meet at a down town coffee shop.

_Just relax,_ I told myself. My mother was having coffee with an obvious loser. No need to panic.

As soon as Miller opened his mouth, and started with the loser-talk, she'd be headed for the door. Heck, she may not even wait that long. She may walk in, see him sitting there looking all loserly, and duck out before he even notices her. I chuckled out loud at the thought.

Suddenly I froze. Oh, my goodness. When she gets back she'll be crushed that her first date didn't go as well as she'd hoped.

As much as I didn't want to hear about my mother's date, I knew when she returned home, I needed to be prepared to listen. It was important to be sympathetic, no matter how I felt.

I went to my room, where I decided to bone up for the mathlete challenge against Westview next week. Studying would take my mind off of the date, and by the time I was finished, she'd be home.

I looked at the first sample problem:

The sum of thirty-nine and twenty-one is forty-six more than a number. What is the number?

That's too easy, it's.... Lip gloss. Oh my goodness, did she remember to take her lip gloss? She'll need to freshen up before she goes into the coffee shop. And then once she starts drinking, the coffee will wash it right off. She'll need to freshen up at least once more.

My mother may have been going out with a loser, but that was no reason she shouldn't have moist lips.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom. How's it going?"

"Fine. I just pulled out of the driveway. Is everything all right?"

"Well... I was wondering, did you remember to bring your lip gloss? You're going to need it."

Silence.

"Sweetie, I'm not planning on kissing him."

"I know." _Thank God!_ "But I just want you looking your best."

"That is so sweet. And yes, I do have my lip gloss. Thanks."

"Okay. See ya. And have a great date."

With the lip gloss disaster averted, I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the math problem:

The sum of thirty-nine and twenty-one is forty-six more than a number. What is the number?

Okay, the sum of thirty-nine and twenty-one is sixty, which means... There are two Coffee Havens downtown. If she's sitting around waiting in the wrong place, she'll be devastated when he doesn't show up.

"Hello?"

"Oh hey, Mom, me again."

"You'll be happy to know I've made it to the corner."

"Terrific. Say, did you know there were two Coffee Havens down town?"

"Yes, hon, I did. I'm meeting him at the one on Main Street."

"Good choice. That one's quieter. Well, just making sure. Have a great date."

This is ridiculous, I thought as I hung up. She's a grown woman; she knows what she's doing. I'll just concentrate on these math problems and before you know it... Oh, no!

"Hey, hon, I'm still at the corner. Long light."

"Good thing. I noticed Miller's picture lying beside your computer. You forgot to take it with you. I'd hate for you to get there and not know who you were dating. You could wind up with some imposter."

"Thanks again, but I'm pretty sure I remember how he looks. And he has my picture as well. We'll find each other. Now stop worrying. I'll be fine."

"Me? Worrying? _Please!_ "

# Chapter Five

It was seven-fifteen when I arrived in Erin's bedroom the next morning. I loved Erin's room. It was larger than mine, with a canopy bed to die for.

She was in front of the floor-length mirror trying to get ready for school, but every time she attempted to put on an article of clothing, I grabbed her arm, clutching it desperately.

"Megan, from what you're telling me, Suze just gave the guy a little peck on the lips."

She removed my clutching hand from her arm. There were four red marks where my fingers had pressed into her flesh.

" _Peck?_ She never met the man before in her life. Do you know what kind of message she's sending? She may as well have ripped off her bra and danced topless on the table." I again clutched her arm.

"You're overreacting."

"I am _not_ overreacting! That so-called innocent little peck is telling the world my mother is... _easy._ "

The word nearly caught in my throat. The dreaded label of _easy_ had destroyed the reputation of many a G.U. girl. Now it had its clutches on my mother.

Erin patiently removed my hand from her arm, looked me in the eye. "Megan, are you jealous?"

"Jealous?"

It was as if she'd stabbed me in the heart with a rusty sword. How could she think I was jealous? It's true, I didn't want to listen to my mother talk about her dates—what fifteen- year-old would? And it was also true that I didn't want her dating a loser—which Miller clearly was. And it was even truer that I didn't know why she was so anxious for things around here to change.

But jealous? _Moi?_

I stood staring at her, my mouth agape like a wounded fish. "That's a ridiculous thing to say." I could feel my temperature begin to rise.

"Is it?" Her eyes were searching mine. "Aren't you the one who said _how's it going to look if my mother has a boyfriend and I don't?"_

I released her arm is if it were something vile and disgusting.

"Maybe we need to concentrate on getting you a boyfriend," she said with a smile.

"I am not jealous!" I hissed. "This just proves you don't know anything about me. For your information, _if_ my mother found the right guy, I'd be happy for her, no matter what."

I could no longer contain my emotions. They boiled over like a pot left on the stove too long.

"How _dare_ you accuse me of being jealous of my own _mother_?" My words trembled with anger. "Later." I was heading for the door. I could stay in the room no longer.

"Megan, wait," she called.

I didn't stop walking until I was at school.

#

I avoided Erin all morning, which was hard considering we both had mostly AP classes. Not only did we have the same classes, but we usually sat together.

In English that day I sat next to dowdy Maudrina Salley, who no one wanted to sit near because her clothes smelled like she borrowed them from her dog. But today I didn't care. I plopped myself down right next to her. When Erin entered, I avoided her gaze, burying my head in _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens, the book we had just started reading in class.

At lunch I normally sat with Erin in the cafeteria. Some days Matt would invite us to join him at the jocks' table, which was normally reserved for athletes and their girlfriends. Even Alonzo Briggs and Jeremy Bowen never complained, and they were the biggest jock snobs on campus. Matt's athletic prowess pulled that kind of weight.

Having the ability to walk in Matt's world elevated us. We were still geeks, but being friends with Matt put us a few rungs up from the bottom of the social food chain.

On the day of the argument, I sat alone on the quad. I didn't stop by the cafeteria to pick up something to eat. I was alone and hungry, but my anger would not allow me to join my classmates inside.

The quad was a ghost town, with the occasional student tumble weed racing across, late for class or lunch.

"There you are." Matt's voice from behind. I turned, thankful he was alone. "What are you doing out here?" he said, his words a soft probe.

"I'm not hungry. So I thought I'd get a jump on my homework."

"I see," he said, eyeing the doodle I was drawing on my notebook cover. I turned the book over.

"Besides, there's someone in there I don't want to see. But I'm sure you already know that."

"Yeah," he breathed softly. He took a seat next to me on the stone bench. "She's sorry." He lifted my chin with his thumb and forefinger. Our eyes met. "Megan, she didn't—"

"Do you think I'm jealous of my own mother?" I blurted.

"Course not. Although I _do_ think you're a bit over-protective of her."

"Over-protective!"

"Hear me out, please, before you go jumping down my throat."

"Okay," I said through tight lips. "Talk." I did not promise to listen.

"Megan, I've known you since kindergarten. And it's always been just you and Suze. I think maybe you're concerned she's making a bad decision."

"She _is_ making a bad decision. Matt, the guy's a bonafide loser. I just want her to date the kind of guy she deserves. You know, somebody hip, and handsome, and worldly, and fashionable. The kind of man she can walk beside with her head held high. I don't want to sound like a snob or anything, but she shouldn't be dating beneath her. And Miller is definitely beneath her."

"Your Mom's smart. She's probably just testing the waters."

"Yeah, well, I think she should..." I was in the midst of a knee-jerk response when Matt's words got through to me... And they made sense. "What was that again?"

"Huh?"

"What you just said."

He thought for a moment. "Um, your mom is one of the smartest people I know—"

"No, no, something about testing the waters."

"Oh, that. I think your mom is probably testing the waters with this guy. I'm sure Mr. Right hasn't even shown up yet."

I smiled. That had to be it. She was testing the waters. Miller was a warm-up boyfriend. My mother is no fool. She can spot a loser a mile away. She was using Miller for practice.

My spirits immediately brightened. "You are so right," I said, throwing my arms around Matt's shoulders. "I'm probably overreacting."

"I think you're overreacting with someone else, too." He stood up.

"Erin?" My voice hinted shame.

"She's been feeling horrible all day."

"She should. She said I was jealous."

"Did she say you were jealous, or did she _ask_ if you were jealous?"

"Um, uhh..."

He held out his hand. "Come on. She wants to buy you an ice cream to make up."

I gripped his hand and stood. "Um, maybe she could buy me a turkey sandwich. I'm starving."

Matt's laughter filled the quad.

# Chapter Six

The word _boyfriend_ is relatively new in the English language. It first appeared in print in 1909. I know that's a long time ago, but when you consider how long the English language has been around, 1909 is pretty recent. Originally when people used the word, it meant something negative, like a married woman might have a secret relationship with a _boyfriend._

_Boyfriend_ is one of the first words I became curious about when I developed my love of trivia. I wanted to know everything about the word. I figured the more I knew about _boyfriend_ , the closer I would be to having one. Unfortunately, this flaw in logic has left me with a head full of trivia, and not one boyfriend.

However, a few days after Erin and I made up, she hit me with an interesting _boyfriend_ proposition. We were once again in her bedroom, studying for a calc exam.

"So, how are things with Suze?" she asked, sipping a diet soft drink, which was something I'd never seen her do. Erin loved her sugar.

"Good." I didn't dare bring up Miller David and open _that_ can of worms again.

"You know, Megan, once you have your own boyfriend, I'm sure Suze's dating won't seem so bad."

"You're right," I said. Then I sighed. "Too bad I don't even have a boyfriend prospect."

"Well... how about Guy Matson?"

My breath caught in my chest as I recalled my double humiliation. "B... but you saw him first."

"That's okay," she reassured. "I've got my sights set on somebody else. Guy is all yours."

But I didn't want him. I couldn't imagine putting myself through a third embarrassing situation with him.

It was then I realized Erin's eyes were avoiding mine. There was something more to her giving up the handsome boy she had first dibs on so easily.

"Okay, spill," I said, trying to get her to look at me.

"There's nothing to spill," she replied coyly.

"Nothing? There's something going down between you and Matt, isn't there?"

Her face brightened. "Yes!" she said with delight. "It all started that day when Matt was acting really funny about me having a boyfriend. I wasn't sure at first, but he was talking about me and him." That explained the diet drink.

"I knew it!"

"And then when you and I had the _misunderstanding,_ we seemed to grow closer." She looked at me seriously. "I mean... it's okay with you, isn't it? That's the reason we haven't acted on our feelings yet. We wanted to make sure it was all right with you first."

"All right? It's excellent." A smile blossomed on my lips. "I have to admit, though, I am a bit surprised. I mean, I love Matt, but he isn't exactly the brightest bulb in the pack."

Erin laughed. "I know. But that's what's so cool about it. I never feel like I have to compete with him. And he doesn't mind that I'm a mathlete." Her face was suddenly serious again. "Are you _sure_ you're okay with this?" She took another sip of her diet drink and made a face.

"Please! Matt's like a brother to me. You two are my best friends. Of course it's okay. I'm happy for both of you."

"And now you're free to go after Guy. I know you like him, but you haven't made a move because I saw him first."

I could feel a knot forming in my chest. "He's all right."

"All right? I see the way you act when he walks into the math lab."

Yeah. Like I want to crawl under a rock.

I hadn't mentioned my second embarrassing encounter to Erin. It was too embarrassing. "Guy's okay. But for now let's just concentrate on you and Matt. I should have you guys over after school. We can toast soft drinks to your new relationship."

"Ooh, that sounds fun."

"But not diet," I said.

She laughed.

#

"I think I've been dumped."

Suze and I were in the kitchen preparing a light supper. I was tossing a salad, while she was pulling together her southwestern corn chowder with poblano peppers.

"Please, Mom, dumped is such a strong word."

"What would you call it?"

"He's... just been really busy lately."

"Isn't that what guys say when they're dumping a girl?"

"You've got a point." She frowned. "I'm kidding. You haven't been dumped. I'm sure Miller really likes you."

"He hasn't called." Her voice was flat, as she put the lid on the pot to let the soup simmer.

"After dinner we should check your e-mail box to see who else has responded. Miller was okay, but you could do better."

There was a brief, awkward silence. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he was nice enough, but I really didn't see him as your type." I was careful not to mention how pleased I was that the loser was gone.

She was quiet for a long, thought-filled moment. "I liked him," she finally said. "I thought he liked me."

I was surprised at the gloom that colored her words. _She just met the man_. I thought she'd be willing to move on... at least that's what I'd hoped.

Dinner was cloaked in painful silence. The light conversation we managed was surrounded by long, awkward gaps where neither of us said anything.

Afterwards, we drove into old town to browse the many antique shops that lined the narrow streets. Old town was a historic neighborhood of turn-of-the-century buildings. Going there and browsing the shops was one of our favorite pastimes.

I loved old town because it gave me the feeling I was stepping into the past, a simpler time when life was easy. It reminded me of Main Street, Disneyland, but real.

As we shop hopped, I could tell her mind was elsewhere. I tried cheering her up by pointing to an outrageous outfit in a boutique window and saying: _You'd look great in that._ Normally this would have elicited waves of laughter. But this time she said, "Ya think?" as if I were seriously considering the ridiculous clothing.

The longer we browsed, the lousier I felt. _She really likes the guy._

I'd done nothing but deride Miller. Oh, not to her face. But in my mind, I saw him as a loser. I thought she could do better. Now I realized no matter what I thought, she liked him. I wished I'd been more mentally supportive.

I tried pointing to good-looking guys: "Look at the butt on him, Mom." Yes! I was even willing to engage in butt talk, anything to get my mother out of her funk. But nothing worked.

Back at home, we sat on our high stools at the kitchen counter sipping green tea.

"Why don't you try calling him?" I said.

"I did." Again her voice was small and flat. "It either rings and rings or goes right to voice mail."

"Maybe I should call him."

"What? You'll do no such thing. I am not so desperate that my fifteen-year-old daughter has to call men for me."

"No, Mom, you're not desperate at all. But who knows, maybe a call from a friend could let him know what he's missing."

She looked at me long and hard. A warm smile appeared on her lips.

"Thank you, honey. You're the best friend a girl could have. You've been nothing but supportive."

I opened my mouth to protest, to tell her that I wasn't such a good friend. In fact, I'd been a horrible friend. I hadn't been supportive at all. I couldn't wait for Miller to be out of our lives. I wanted to tell her all this and beg for her forgiveness... But instead I said, "Maybe we should try again."

She let out a long, slow breath. "No," she replied softly.

We continued sipping tea in silence. I had no idea how noisy tea sipping could be, but with the lack of conversation in the room, the clanking of cups against saucers along with our slurps seemed to reverberate loudly off the walls. Finally she spoke again.

"I always thought I'd have more children." Her voice was coming from a distant time. "Back when I met your father, I had my mind set on a large family. I thought you'd have three or four younger brothers and sisters." She looked at me and smiled, as if she was seeing me for the first time. "You'd have made a wonderful big sister."

Just when I thought I couldn't feel any worse, my mother was revealing a side of herself I hadn't known. I couldn't believe how fragile and vulnerable she sounded. I had no idea she'd wanted more children. And the only reason she was telling me her most secret desires was because she was hurting so badly over being dumped.

I realized there was more to it than being dumped by a man she hardly knew. She was feeling she was no longer desirable. That maybe she was getting old.

Later that night I lay in bed, the entire evening haunting my thoughts. Fat tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I promised myself if I could do anything to make this right, I would. In the future, I would always support my mother no matter what. She needed to know she wasn't getting old, and that she was desirable. I said a soft prayer for the right boyfriend to come along, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.

#

A few days later, when I got home from school, I found my mother's Explorer in the driveway. This wasn't such a big deal. She often got home from work early. But there was a Porsche next to her car. _A Porsche!_

_That_ was a big deal. A Porsche in the driveway meant just one thing. There was a man in the house.

I walked into the foyer and saw them, my mother and the man. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, with thick waves of jet black hair. He was wearing an obviously expensive maroon cashmere sweater, dark slacks, and stylish loafers. He was holding in his hands an eighteen-inch statue of a reclining woman. They were laughing.

"Megan, you're home," my mother called when I walked in. There was joy in her voice, something I hadn't heard in several days. "This is Armando."

Armando looked at me. His eyes were deep pools of intensity that immediately gripped me.

"Hello, Megan," he said. His voice was rich and creamy, like a decadent hot chocolate, with a sexy, Spanish lilt.

"Oh... Hi," I replied, completely taken aback.

"Hon, Armando was nice enough to deliver the sculpture I bought from his art gallery this afternoon."

"Sculpture?"

"Yes. I was strolling by his gallery at lunch, and I just couldn't take my eyes off this beautiful Lynne Scott figurine." She ran her fingers along the sleek curves of the small statue.

"Lynne Scott? We can't afford her work."

She looked at Armando self-consciously. "I know," she said her voice lowering. "But it's been so gloomy around here the past few days. I thought this might be just the thing to cheer us up. And well... I didn't have my check book, but Armando said _no problem_ , he'd deliver it and pick up the check at the same time." She smiled at him gratefully.

My eyes again moved to Armando. I was riveted by how gorgeous he was.

"I'll leave you two alone to enjoy the sculpture," he crooned in a voice filled with music.

"You'll do no such thing," my mother said. "Stay for tea. It's the least I can offer since you went so far out of your way for me." She looked at Armando and batted her eyes.

Oh my goodness! She's flirting with him... And badly, I might add.

Quickly, I scanned his left hand for a ring. There was a large, ornate ring on his right, but his left ring finger was bare. _Good_ , I thought.

"Do you mind?" he inquired, turning his gaze to me, his eyes searching mine. It was as if he was looking into my soul. "I do not want to intrude."

"No. Umm, that'd be great."

"Then I'd be delighted to stay," he said, turning his charms back on my mom.

"Super," she said and giggled.

_Super?_ _Since when does she use the word_ _super?_

"By the way, I love your peace-sign ring," she added.

Please don't call it super.

He fingered the ring. "Yes. I bought this at a small antique shop in upstate New York several years ago. The carving is supposedly from a fence post from the original Woodstock farm."

"You don't say?"

"I can't prove it. But it makes for a good story." He laughed. She laughed.

"I love browsing antique shops," she said. "And estate sales, and garage sales, and lawn sales." They both laughed some more.

I regarded Armando laughing with my mother and realized he was everything I could have asked for in a boyfriend for her. He was tall, handsome, elegant, and he obviously spoke a foreign language; he was extremely sexy, well dressed—had a nice butt—drove a hot car, and when he looked at my mother, it was as if she were the most important person on earth. He was perfect for her. I know I should have been happy that she was finally getting over Miller, but there was something about this man I didn't like, something creepy I couldn't quite put my finger on. I hated him instantly.

# Chapter Seven

Matt stopped by later that same afternoon to make sure I was okay with him and Erin seeing each other. "So, we're cool, right?" he asked.

"Of course we're cool."

Matt smiled.

Just then my mother breezed into the room singing. She stopped just as she was about to sing out _Copa, Copa Cabana!_ "Hi, there, Matt," she called instead. There was too much cheer in her voice.

"Hi, Suze. You're in a good mood."

"I'm _always_ in a good mood," she said. "You two kids have fun. And don't forget to tell your folks I said hi." She bustled away.

"Will do," he replied, but I don't think she heard him.

"Dum-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum-dum." She started humming as she danced from the room.

"Singing," Matt said, turning to me with a big grin.

"Singing Barry Manilow," I corrected.

"A lot's changed in a few days."

"True."

When things were at their worst, I'd made a late night call to Matt, telling him everything, how Suze had met Miller on the internet, coffee, dating. And then how badly I'd wanted to put an end to their relationship. He listened. He didn't chastise me for being such an idiot, or tell me how to fix things; he listened. What a friend.

Hearing the singing coming from down the hall, he couldn't help but laugh. "She doesn't sound so broken up now."

"That's because of Armando," I said. I allowed the name, _Armando_ , to linger on my tongue, like I was in an old Saturday Night Live sketch. I filled him in on the cool, suave art dealer I discovered in our kitchen earlier.

"Megan, please don't do anything to screw this up for her." His voice turned serious.

"No chance of that," I replied. "Guys like Armando have a million girlfriends. Did I mention he drives a Porsche? I'm sure he's not seriously interested in her."

"Sounds like she's seriously interested in him," Matt said.

"No, he's not her type. But I'm glad he showed up when he did. Armando is just what my mother needs to get her mind off her failure and rebuild her self-confidence."

"Just do me one favor, Megan. If it turns out there _is_ something between them, don't get in the way."

"I promise," I said. "But there's no chance of that." Then I said, "Now I want you to do _me_ a favor."

"What?"

"You really like Erin?'

"Uh-huh."

"Then don't forget to invite me to the wedding."

Matt grinned, his face turning bright red.

#

I had my first dream that night.

I was startled awake because I thought I heard voices. A man and a woman. They were talking to each other in a language I didn't understand. I lay there staring at the ceiling, the image of two shadowy people hovering over me on the edge of my consciousness.

My heartbeat quickened as the dream came back to me. Only thing is, it didn't seem like a dream. I was getting the creepy feeling that someone had actually been in my room.

I sat up. My bedroom door was wide open. A chill knifed through me, as I thought whoever was in my room had just left. I always close my door and was certain I had closed it before I went to bed.

_Calm down, girl_ , I told myself. It was just a dream. A creepy dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Sometimes Suze looks in on me while I sleep, just like she did when I was a little kid. That had to be it. She had looked in on me and neglected to close my door.

I got up, moved to the door, and peeked out into the corridor. I could feel my heart racing again. Nothing. My mother's door was cracked the way she always left it, so she could hear me if I called for her in the night.

I calmed myself as I returned to bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I played what I remembered of the dream over in my mind. Two people hovering over me, talking. That was all. I couldn't get a clear image of how they looked or what they were wearing.

Then I smelled something. Incense. A very faint fragrance of incense hung in the air. My mother never burned incense. Did I really smell it, or was this part of the dream?

Not sure what to think, I lay back down, pulled the covers up close, and shut my eyes until they were narrow slits fixed on the bedroom door, waiting to see if it would open again.

#

Guy Matson was the most arrogant nerd I'd ever met. Not that Guy Matson could accurately be called a nerd. He was so sure of himself, with his shiny black hair and dreamy eyes. And not just about math where he was easily the best on the team, but about everything. It was his self-assuredness that excited and yet confounded me. I'd never met a boy like him. He was comfortable around girls. He was even comfortable around the geeky male members of the mathletes.

With things heating up between Erin and Matt, I pretended as though Guy had no choice but to be mine—hands down. Erin and I sat up many nights talking of double dating with Matt and Guy. I pretended that Guy and I were a forgone conclusion. I never told her about my humiliation.

The truth was I felt I had little chance of attracting someone so cool and handsome—especially after making a fool of myself. Then one afternoon, things changed.

"Tran, Megan, and Guy, you are our best mathletes, therefore the three of you will represent Glendale in the countywide championships," Mrs. Brewster announced as we were finishing up for the day.

"Yes!" exclaimed Tran, exuberantly pumping his fist in the air. He stepped toward Guy for a chest bump, but Guy turned quickly away, pretending not to notice. "Megan, Guy," Tran continued unperturbed. "We need to get together and study if we really wanna kick some butt."

"That's a great idea," said Erin, trying to give my chances with Guy a boost.

My eyes were on him. He looked at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and I could see a conspiratorial smile looming just beneath the surface.

_Oh my goodness,_ I thought. _We're connecting. He views this study session as a reason for us to be alone together—almost._

A chill of excitement rushed through me. _I do have a chance with Guy Matson._ Then he spoke.

"Nah, I don't need to study. I got this stuff down cold. You guys go ahead and study without me."

But what about our connection?

"Umm, as captain, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," I heard myself saying.

Did I just put my foot in my mouth? Again!

The stunned eyes of the entire team moved to me. Even Mrs. Brewster stopped gathering her things to observe.

I was still looking at Guy. I don't know why I said what I said. All I knew was I had to.

"You're not team captain _,"_ he said.

"Umm, that's right, I'm not. I was... umm... speaking for Tran."

"I don't need you talking for me," snarled Tran. He faced Guy. "As team captain, I have to insist you study with us." His voice had taken on an officious tone, but from the way his eyes began darting back and forth, it was clear he was afraid Guy might turn him down, or worse, laugh and embarrass him in front of the entire team.

A bemused Guy looked from Tran to me.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'm a team player. Count me in." And then he winked at me.

Guy Matson winked at me!

"My house," Tran said, regaining his confidence. "I have all the problems from the last three countywide meets downloaded onto my hard drive. When I'm through, we'll know them all backwards and forwards."

"Sounds great," I replied. My heart was in my mouth.

"Righteeo," said Guy.

Tran turned to me. " _I'm_ team captain," he said, his eyes burning into me.

"I know. It's just that I know how important the three of us studying together is. Sorry."

"Okay. But just remember, _I'm_ captain."

I nodded.

Satisfied with my apology, Tran began gathering his things. I looked over at Erin who was smiling at me. I was going to be alone with Guy Matson—almost. This was big.

#

Later that same evening, as Suze and I were seated in the living room watching a reality show on TV, she broke some startling news. She was going to see Armando again. Seems while I was trying to snare a boyfriend, she was doing the same thing.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not a date. It's just a gathering at his art gallery."

Armando was showcasing an up-and-coming artist at the gallery and had invited Suze to the opening. I couldn't hide the concern on my face when she told me about the event. All I could envision was Armando riding roughshod over my mother's heart.

"I'm not looking at you any special way," I replied.

"Yes, you are. You're looking at me like you're worried about me."

"No, I was just thinking about my homework," I lied.

"Why don't you come along?" she suddenly asked.

"Me? I don't think so."

"Please." Her voice was a soft and pleading sing-song. "You'd be doing me a big favor."

"By being your chaperone?"

"It's not a _date!_ You know I'm not into the sports-car types. I just need to get out. I'm sure Armando will be so busy with his muckity-muck guests, he won't have a moment for me."

"And that's okay with you?"

"Of course it is. I'm not looking for a boyfriend, sweetheart."

I was glad to hear it. Perhaps the boyfriend thing was really behind us after all.

"I won't know a soul there. I'll feel so out of place." She looked pleadingly into my eyes. _"Please?"_ It was a soft, playful whine.

As much as I didn't want to go, I knew she needed to get out and put the Miller failure far into the past. "Okay," I finally said. "I'll go."

A small smile appeared on her lips. "So... you'll be my date?" she asked playfully.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be your date." And then I added. "But when the evening is over, don't you dare try to kiss me."

# Chapter Eight

The Artemus Gallery was on a quiet street in what had once been the industrial part of town. Over the past several years the empty storefronts had been transformed into a trendy haven for Glendale's budding artist community. Once the artists arrived, the area had gone from a low-rent slum to becoming the most sought after real estate in all of Glendale.

Armando's gallery was on Seaborn Street, the most affluent street in the art district. The gallery my mother worked for was a few streets over, so we knew the kind of rent he must have been paying.

The gallery itself had stark white walls, shiny hardwood floors, soft, oval-shaped lighting, and chocolaty suede benches that gave it a sense of elegance. Armando was a man of taste.

When we arrived, the gallery was already humming with fashionably dressed men and women, sipping champagne and chatting in the kind of hushed tones that made them all seem important.

"Oh, my. I feel a bit underdressed," Suze whispered as we squeezed in.

"Are you kidding? You look great." She was wearing a simple black spaghetti-strap dress and open-toed sandals with a tiny spiked heel. Her hair was down around her shoulders setting off her blue eyes. She really did look amazing. I, on the other hand, was wearing the patchwork blazer I'd gotten for my birthday, my favorite jeans, and brown boots, perfect for an art opening—if it were at my school. But here, among the fashionistas, I was the one who was underdressed.

"Suze, Megan. There you are." Armando's velvet voice rang out from somewhere in the crowd. Suddenly he was by our side, wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt, his black hair gleaming, eyes sparkling. He was gorgeous as usual.

"I was hoping you'd come," he said sweetly to my mother.

"Stop it." She was blushing.

"I'm serious. I've been thinking of nothing but you."

_What a load of bunk_ , I thought. _He's got this big art opening, surrounded by all these rich, beautiful people, and he's thinking about my mother. Yeah, right!_ I wondered if she was laughing as hard on the inside as I was.

I looked at her. She was still blushing.

"Oh, Mando!" she cried, giving him a playful shove.

Mando? Since when had it become Mando?

"I have to introduce you around," he said, taking her hand. "You must meet everyone." He turned to me. "You _will_ be all right without her for a few minutes, won't you?" He was making it clear I wasn't invited to meet _everyone_.

"Yeah, umm sure," I replied. I was caught off guard, but truth be told, the last thing I wanted was to be dragged around meeting boring, stuffy, over-thirty, artsy-fartsy types. "Enjoy," I added.

"Seriously, hon. You gonna be okay?" Suze asked, her eyes betraying the fact she obviously wanted to go.

"Yes, of course. I—" And before I could utter another word, Armando had whisked her away. They were instantly swallowed up by the crowd.

I grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Hey, no one said I couldn't drink. Besides, I'm not the designated driver. That's probably because I'm fifteen and don't have my license yet, but that's beside the point. I didn't take the champagne to drink it. I took the champagne because I needed something help me look cool and suave. Obviously, my patchwork jacket wasn't doing the trick.

I began strolling about, observing the art, but I couldn't take my mind off the way my mother had said _Mando_. It sounded as if they had somehow become friends. But how? When?

She hadn't gone on a date with him. I was certain of that. She hadn't snuck out in the middle of the night for a late night rendezvous. Still, I had the sneaking suspicion my mother was seeing Armando behind my back.

I wandered around aimlessly, my eyes roaming over the paintings and sculptures. I saw none of them. I was too busy constructing imaginary scenarios of my mother sneaking off to be with Armando. And I know I said that parents should sneak out behind their kid's backs. But not with gorgeous playboys who might steal their hearts, leaving them high and dry for their poor daughters to peel off the floor.

"Oh, Mando, you are so bad." My mother's voice jolted me back to the present.

I looked up and saw them across the room in a cluster of beautiful art lovers. Her hand rested comfortably on Armando's shoulder, and one of his brushed against her hip.

She was smiling. I don't ever remember seeing my mother smile like that before. It was a warm, content smile that frightened me. I think I was frightened because she seemed so... happy. Now don't get me wrong, I want my mother to be happy. I do. You know, the kind of happiness like when I was in the third grade and made a Mother's Day card out of construction paper and Fruit Loops. The smile on her face back then was precious. That was the kind of happiness I could handle.

But this... this was a happiness I couldn't be a part of. What was going on here? The whole thing was not making sense. Armando was acting as if he was interested in her.

_Does he think she's a rich widow sitting on her dead husband's fortune? Bingo!_ That had to be it. Armando was a gigolo who had targeted my mother as some rich, lonely widow.

It was a crazy thought, I know. I was in the process of telling myself just that when the faint fragrance of incense drifted in.

A chill washed over me. It was the same incense from my bedroom that night. I had the creepy feeling I was being watched.

That's silly. Who would be watching me?

Casually, I began looking around, pretending to admire art, while secretly scanning the crowd. I was about to give up when I saw her, an elderly woman. Her pale skin was road mapped with deep creases, her once-jet-black hair streaked with gray. She wore an oversized black gown that reminded me of someone in a horror flick. She looked as out of place as I did. And her gaze was so intense.

My skin began to crawl as I realized the elderly woman was not staring at me. Her eyes were transfixed on my mother.

I found myself rushing across the floor, arriving at my mother's side.

"Hey, Mom, umm—"

"This must be the daughter you've been bragging about all evening," a man in the group said. "She looks just like you."

"Yes," my mother said proudly. "Megan, meet Sir Bradford Romanoff."

"Oh, hi," I said, quickly shaking the man's hand. Then I turned to meet the gaze of the old woman who had been staring so hard. I was going to let her know I was on to her.

But she was gone.

Quickly, I scanned the crowd in search of her.

"Megan, dear, is everything all right?" Armando asked, his voice leaking concern.

"Yeah," I said. "Just fine."

I continued scouring the party goers, searching for the old woman, but she was nowhere to be found.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I knew I hadn't imagined it. There was a strange old lady staring at my mother. I didn't know why, but I felt it had something to do with the dream.

# Chapter Nine

Tran Phung lived in a large, beautiful home with a yard featuring a southwestern landscape. Many colorful cacti were professionally placed amid the sand and scrub brush. I recognized the Mexican lime cactus with its blood red needles, and the large saguaro, which was the centerpiece of the garden.

The Phung family room was equally impressive with a large plasma screen TV on the wall.

I arrived early and helped Tran setup the card table where we'd be working. He printed out a hundred problems, which we placed in a stack on the table. We also set out legal pads and pencils for each of us.

I looked at my watch. 12:10. We were scheduled to start at noon.

"Have you heard from Guy?" I asked

"He'll be here," Tran said confidently. "He knows how important this is."

"I'm sure he does," I replied, summoning up the image of Guy winking at me. I stifled a smile.

A few minutes later Guy strolled in wearing a black t-shirt with a photo of Albert Einstein blown up on the front.

"Cool, man," Tran said, pointing to the shirt.

"Thanks," Guy replied. He looked at me, his eyes twinkling.

"Albert Einstein was a high school drop out," I suddenly said. The words just popped out of me.

_Shut up!_ I told myself. Cute boys hate when girls sound too smart.

"Get out," said Guy in disbelief.

I nodded. "He eventually went back and finished, but only because he failed the entrance exam at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology. True story. Look it up."

Why was I spewing all this trivia? Megan Barnett, if you ever want to have a boyfriend, you will stop talking now!

Guy was eyeing me with interest. "Really? I didn't know that," he said, smiling. In that moment, I knew this boy was different. This boy appreciated my intelligence. I returned the smile.

"Megan, stop with the trivia," Tran called. He turned to Guy. "She can do that all day. Her head is full of stuff nobody needs to know."

"I think it's interesting." Guy was still smiling at me.

"It won't be so interesting if we don't place high in the county-wide meet. Now let's study."

"Righteeo," said Guy.

We took our seats at the table, and Tran grabbed the first problem from atop the stack.

Visions of a long, boring afternoon flashed through my mind. _I did not come over here to study_ , I thought. I came here to further my connection with Guy. And I'm sure that's the only reason he's here, too. I cleared my throat.

"I'm a little parched," I said. "I need a drink."

"Later," barked Tran.

I coughed. "I'm sorry, but I need something now," I whispered, shooting him an apologetic smile. "I can hardly talk."

"Oh, all right." He slammed the problem down, got up and started from the room.

I looked at Guy. He looked at me. In a few moments we would be alone—together.

"Hey, Mom! Could you bring some soft drinks?" yelled Tran.

"Okay. Coming right up," came his mother's distant voice.

Tran returned to the table. "They'll be here in a minute," he said, plopping back down.

Okay, that didn't work.

"Are these problems from last year's competition?" I asked.

"Yes," Tran said in an annoyed tone.

"They'll never use last year's problems this year. We're studying the wrong problems."

Tran looked at me, even more annoyed. "No, we're not!" he growled. "It's the theories that are important, not the problems. Now can we please get to work?"

"Didn't you say you had the questions from the last _three_ years?" I asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"We should throw out last year's and study a different year," I said.

Tran was glaring at me. "That's ridiculous. I'll do no such thing."

"I think she's onto something." From out of nowhere Guy joined the fray.

We both looked at him.

"I mean, it makes sense they wouldn't use last year's problems this year. Right?"

"But it's the theories, the equations that matter," Tran said in a small, pleading voice.

"Still, if I have to study, I'd rather study stuff they might use."

Tran looked at Guy, his shoulders slumping in defeat. I'm sure if it had been any of the other math geeks, he would have continued to argue. But Guy Matson was clearly not a geek. Tran nodded somberly. "Okay," he said with an exasperated sigh then, he shot me the stink eye and scurried from the room.

We were alone. I was alone with Guy Matson.

I looked at him and shrugged.

"You're right," he said. "I mean, who wants to study stuff they know isn't going to be on a test?"

"Exactly," I said.

Again he smiled at me, his eyes crinkling.

All right, I thought. Let the connecting begin.

It was as if he'd read my mind, because he shot me a knowing look, opened his mouth about to say something when...

"Here we go." Tran's mother, Mrs. Phung, swept into the room, carrying a tray laden with soft drinks, glasses, a bowl of tortilla chips, and salsa dip. "I hear somebody's thirsty," she said through the hint of an accent.

"That would be me," I replied. "Thank you."

"Help yourselves." She set the tray down in the middle of the table and stood there.

"Thanks. We can take it from here," I said, hoping she'd get the hint to leave. I popped the top on a soft drink.

"So, you're Tran's friends?" she said with a satisfied smile. "You must be special. He never has anyone over."

So much for getting the hint. Couldn't she see there was a gorgeous boy sitting across from me, and I was desperate to be alone with him?

"Ice cubes," I suddenly said. "May I have some ice cubes for my drink?"

"They're already plenty cold."

"I know, but I always like ice," I added, smiling apologetically.

She looked at me for a moment, and I almost thought she was going to say: _"No ice! They're cold enough."_ But instead, she returned the smile. "Okay. Anything for Tran's friends. Be right back." She scurried from the room.

We were alone again. "Wow," I said with a chuckle. "Guess we're his best buddies."

"Whose best buddies?" Tran was reentering the room with a fresh stack of math problems.

"Umm, nobody's," I said. I shot Guy an exasperated expression. He shrugged.

"Okay," called Tran as he returned to his seat. "You guys ready to get to work?"

Sullenly, we both nodded.

#

Normally, I like surprises. Surprise birthday parties; surprise tickets to see my favorite pop star in concert. These were the kind of surprises I enjoyed. Unfortunately, that's not the kind of surprise my mother dropped on me several days later.

"I think I'm going to start seeing Armando."

It was a weekday morning. We were buzzing around. I was getting ready for school and she, for work. We were both in the bathroom jockeying for mirror space, doing our makeup, when she dropped the bomb.

I didn't respond. I was applying eye-liner, which was new for me, so I pretended I needed to concentrate.

"You don't approve? I thought you liked him."

"Yeah, he's nice." I was finally able to choke a few words out. "I just thought you weren't into the sports car types."

She giggled, as if she was holding onto an enormous secret she couldn't wait to unload. "I don't like judging books by their covers, but I must admit I was pleased to discover the Porsche wasn't his. It belongs to a friend. Mando drives an old Volvo," she said happily.

"Sensible," I said.

"Yes." There was a brief silence. "So?"

"Are you asking for my permission?"

"Sort of."

I guess I should have seen it coming. But I honestly couldn't fathom why a man like Armando would want to go out with my mother. I'm not saying she's a loser. My mother is far from a loser, but she's also far from the Armando type.

"Just be careful," is all I said, and I meant it. I couldn't get the way she smiled at him that night at the gallery out of my mind. She really liked him. I didn't want to stand in the way of that, but I didn't want to see her hurt, either. Thoughts of Armando being a gigolo reentered my mind.

"You're worried about me getting hurt, aren't you?"

"No!" I lied. "Don't be ridiculous."

She stopped what she was doing and wrapped her arms around me. "You are so special, worrying about me. If it makes you feel any better, I'm worried about me, too."

It didn't.

"We'll take our time. Okay?"

What could I say? My mother was about to start dating a handsome, cool guy who had great taste and lots of money. "Okay," I said and forced a smile. I found myself wishing Miller was still in the picture.

#

Later, at school, I shared the dating news with Erin. We were at our lockers between classes when I told her.

"Con artist?" she said, and laughed. "You can't seriously think the man is a con artist?"

I sighed resignedly. "No, I don't. But it doesn't make any sense. Nothing against my mother, but she just doesn't seem to be Armando's type."

"It's sort of like me and Matt, isn't it? I mean, who'd a thunk it? But here we are."

Lately, Erin had developed the annoying habit of turning every subject we talked about into a conversation about Matt and her. Chemistry, calculus, food, makeup, even the weather; no matter where we started, all roads led to Erin and Matt.

"Erin, I'm talking about _my_ problem here," I said, in an attempt to get her back on the subject.

"I know. I am, too. I mean, Matt and I seem to be worlds apart—him being popular and me being smart—and yet here we are."

Do I point out that neither I, nor my mother, nor my problem were anywhere in that sentence?

"By the way, I'm going to be late to math lab this afternoon." She lowered her voice. "I want to drop by track practice. I love ogling Matt's legs in shorty shorts." A secretive smile creased her lips.

"Yeah, umm, cool. And thanks for listening to me go on about my problem with my mom."

"No prob. What are friends for?"

Riight.

That afternoon when I got home from school, Armando stopped by. My mother wasn't due home for a few hours, but he wanted to surprise her by dropping off her favorite flowers—peonies—and have them sitting on the table in the foyer when she got home. How thoughtful.

"So, my mom tells me you guys are an item." My voice rang with fake cheer.

"Yes, yes," he said. His turned serious. "But do not worry. I am not trying to compete with you. It is clear you are your mother's heart, and that is how it should always be."

I know he was trying to make nice and let me know he wouldn't try coming between us, but his easy way and sexy accent did nothing to ease my mind. I heard myself say: "I'm not worried. I'm happy. I mean it's good for me, too. I've always wanted to have someone to go to the father-daughter dance with." This was true. When I was much younger, I had dreams of my father returning and going to the dance with me on his arm.

I didn't plan on going to any father-daughter affair with Armando. I knew that a handsome playboy like him could not possibly be interested in children. So, of course, I reminded him when he decided to date my mother, that's just what he was getting. I know. It was horrible of me. But it wasn't planned. The words just tumbled out of me like a row of dominos. And once the first one fell, the others couldn't help but follow.

"Father-daughter dance?"

"Yeah, I've always wanted to go, but I never had a... you know." I left the unspoken word, _father,_ floating between us.

"What an honor," Armando suddenly said. "You would take _me_ to this dance?"

"Umm... Sure."

"I would love to go. No. I would be _honored_ to go. When is it?"

He seemed way too sincere. There was laughter in his eyes. _Is he teasing me?_

"Umm... In the fall. I guess we missed this year's." My confidence in the plot was fading fast.

"I guess we did. Too bad. Maybe next year, huh?" There seemed to be a hidden taunt just beneath the surface.

He is teasing me.

"Yeah. I'll let you know when," I said, my voice withering.

His laughing eyes dove into my soul. "You do that. In the meantime, do you mind finding a nice vase for these flowers?"

My cheeks blushed red hot. I was so embarrassed by what I'd done, I wanted to run from the room and hide. "No problem. Why don't you help me pick one out."

"My pleasure."

The first thing my mother saw when she walked through the door was the flowers.

"They're beautiful!" she cried. "How did he know how much I love peonies? Did you tell him?"

"Nope, wasn't me." I was still reeling from my earlier embarrassment. "You probably told him yourself and forgot."

"No. We've discussed a million things, but never flowers. I have to call and thank him. He is so special." She snatched up the phone, and began punching in his number.

At the time, I didn't think anything of how Armando came to know so much about my mother. Looking back, I wish I had.

# Chapter Ten

That night I had another dream. I again thought I heard someone in my room.

I sat up, suddenly wide awake. Through the darkness the digital clock winked silently back at me. 3:30 a.m. The room was empty, a collage of familiar shadows, everything in its place.

It's just the house settling, I told myself. Old houses make creaky noises all the time.

I lay back down, had just shut my eyes, when I heard it again. This time the sound came to me more clearly. It wasn't creaking. It was the sound of laughter—soft masculine laughter. _Is Armando here?_

I jerked upright, a chill knifing through me. I recalled the laughter in Armando's eyes that afternoon.

The sound of the laughter grew.

I shut my eyes tight, just as I'd done as a little girl when boogey men lived under my bed.

"La, la, la, la." I attempted to drown it out, but the laughter increased, louder and more raucous. There was no shutting it out as it bounced around inside my head. I began rocking back and forth— _please stop, please stop, please, God, make it stop._

I woke up with a start, bolted upright, my sweat-drenched nightgown clinging to my clammy flesh. Blessed morning sunlight streamed through the shutters. The digital clock winked a hearty 6:30.

_What a spooky dream_ , I thought, as I got up to get ready for school. It was then I noticed the faint odor of incense.

#

The county-wide mathlete championships were being held at Salesian High in Phoenix, a forty-minute ride from Glendale. Even though Tran, Guy, and I were the only ones competing, Mrs. Brewster thought it was a good idea for the rest of the team to come along for support. So Saturday morning the entire team converged on the school parking lot where we crammed into a mini yellow school bus and began the trek to Salesian.

Erin and I sat together. Guy was on the aisle across from us. _Perfect,_ I thought. It was as if we were sitting together—almost.

"Listen up, people," Tran barked as the bus pulled out. He was patrolling the aisle like a football coach before the big game. He moved to the front of the bus: "This is an important meet. We win this, we're onto the regional championships. Let's put our game faces on, people."

Guy drooped the corners of his mouth into an exaggerated, cartoonish frown. Only I saw it. A loud guffaw escaped my lips.

Tran's eyes moved to me. He folded his arms across his chest like an angry parent. "Barnett, you got a problem?"

The rest of the team sat silent.

"No. Umm... I was just agreeing with you. Game faces. Game faces all the way to Salesian. What a wonderful idea." I tried looking serious, putting on my game face, but as soon as Guy saw that Tran wasn't looking he made another face. A soft ' _ha!'_ slipped out before I could catch myself. Tran's eyes screwed into me.

"Ha, ha—hi, there!" I said with a weak wave of my hand.

"Barnett, you gotta be serious about this!"

"I _am_ serious. It's just that Ga..." I caught myself. I couldn't implicate Guy. He wasn't my boyfriend yet, and if I snitched on him he might never be.

"Ga-what?" asked Tran, his face twisted into a scowl.

"Um... Ga-night?" The entire bus erupted with laughter. Everyone that is, except for Tran, who was now staring darts at me.

"Mrs. Brewster," he called. "I think we should use one of the alternates. Megan's not game ready."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm game ready."

"Come sit down, Tran," Mrs. Brewster replied calmly from the back of the bus. "Here, sit with me. You're not supposed to be standing while the bus is moving anyway. I'm sure Megan will be fine."

As Tran headed for the back, he stopped and leaned into me. "If you can't take this seriously, we don't need you."

"I am taking it seriously."

"You think I don't see through you?" He shot a quick glance in Guy's direction. "You're like glass." And with that he took off for the rear.

My cheeks were burning—not from embarrassment. I was angry.

"Didn't mean to get you in trouble," Guy said, all apologetic.

"Yes, you did," I grumbled.

A devilish smile appeared. "You're probably right." He laughed. His laughter was like a healing elixir, draining the tension from my shoulders as the anger seeped out of me. I couldn't help but join him.

"You're bad," I chided.

"You're probably right about that, too."

We didn't say much more to each other for the rest of the trip, but there was a tension—yes, sexual—between us that I couldn't help but notice.

While Guy and I chatted very little, Erin and I talked all the way to Salesian... Well, Erin talked. About school: "Matt and I are thinking of taking some classes together next semester. I know I'm in honors, but with me helping him, I think he could do the work..." About me and Guy: "You two make the cutest couple... Well, _almost_ the cutest couple..." Even about world events: "Ugh! There's so much war in the world today. I sure am glad Matt's too young to go into the army. He's such a hero, you know he would."

It was pleasing that my two best friends were dating—pleasing but annoying.

#

The Championships were held in Salesian High School's auditorium. Salesian was one of the largest high schools in Phoenix. Schools from the entire West Valley were competing, ten schools in all. The winner would go to the regional championships.

The large hall was already beginning to fill with geeky spectators and their parents when we arrived.

"Look," called Erin. "There's Matt." Matt was seated alone near the back. When he saw us he waved.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"He gave up his Saturday morning and drove all the way here to cheer us on. Isn't that sweet?" Erin waved back.

"Uh-huh."

I have never been able to get Matt to go to anything I have ever participated in: bake sales, school plays, talent shows, and forget about asking him to come to something academic. For an event that even hinted at education he wouldn't even bother to lie and say _'maybe.'_ And yet here he was. It was clear Matt wasn't here to cheer us on; he was here to see his _girlfriend_. A butterfly of jealousy fluttered through my belly.

The format chosen for the challenge is what's known as a countdown round. Ten three-contestant teams stand at ten podiums. A problem is flashed up on a projector screen. A member from each team is chosen to answer the problem. You had three minutes to answer correctly.

Mrs. Brewster offered a few words of encouragement before leaving the three of us on stage and joining the others in the audience.

"Okay, I will decide who gets what question," Tran said as soon as she was gone.

"Shouldn't we talk about it? You don't want to give anyone a question they can't answer."

"We studied this stuff. If you were paying attention, you could answer any question. Don't blow this for us, Barnett."

I was about to tell him it wasn't me who was going to blow it, when the first question flashed up on the screen.

"I got it," said Guy the moment the problem appeared. He hit the bell. _Ding!_

"But—"

"I got it!" He repeated. He shot Tran a defiant stare.

"Cool," said Tran, although I could tell he wasn't pleased. "Knock it out."

Guy and four others got the problem right. We were on our way.

We each answered our questions correctly, and one by one, teams began falling by the wayside.

I was surprised at how many people showed up for the event. It wasn't a full house, but there was a nice crowd cheering each time one of their sons, daughters, or classmates got something right. As schools began dropping out the cheering actually increased, as fans started choosing their favorites among those who remained.

The overwhelming favorite was Guy.

While most of the contestants worked frantically as they raced to figure out the problems, Guy breezed through his at a relaxed pace. And he was always the first one finished. It was as if he already knew what was coming.

The audience noticed his cool demeanor and bad boy charm and gravitated toward it. The biggest nerds in the county were in that audience, and this cool, handsome genius was one of them. I'm sure they all conjured up visions of themselves as suave and debonair, with easy-going smiles, yet smart as a whip. When they looked at Guy, they no longer saw themselves as goofy, geeky math nerds. They became polished, confident, and hip. They cheered him on with gusto.

Finally, it was down to two schools, Glendale and Maricopa. For two rounds in a row, both schools answered all three questions correctly, and the room filled with tension. The Proctor called for a sudden-death round. Each school would put up its best competitor to tackle one killer problem. The first to answer correctly would be the champion.

Maricopa huddled over who to send up against us.

"I should go," Tran said suddenly. We looked at him, stunned.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm captain. We're all good. But I studied harder."

Maricopa chose Ben Webster, who was clearly their best. The wait was on as we continued to huddle.

"I think Guy should go," I said.

"That's 'cause you're in love with him!" snapped Tran.

"What?"

"I see through you, Megan Barnett."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a slow chant bubbled up in the crowd. _"Guy, Guy, Guy, Guy."_ We three looked at one another, not sure what to make of it. It was as if Guy had hypnotized them all.

"It's a trick," stammered Tran. "They want us to lose."

We all knew that wasn't true. As the moments passed the chanting began to build, until it seemed everyone: friends, strangers, even teachers were enthusiastically chanting the name: _"Guy, Guy, GUY."_

"I got this," Guy said softly.

"But—"

He stepped forward. Rousing, boisterous applause filled the auditorium. It was as if he'd already won.

The problem chosen was a form of math called combinatorics. It was a mind-boggling problem whose answer would be a complicated mathematical equation. Guy completed it in two minutes flat. The crowd didn't wait for the proctor to check his work and tell him if he was right. The moment he hit the bell, they broke into thunderous applause, amid more chants of _Guy, Guy, Guy, Guy, Guy..._

#

We won.

We were carried out of the auditorium on waves of applause. I'd been to my share of math challenges, but never before had I witnessed the good-natured well wishes we received from all the competitors for winning. Because of Guy, we had achieved a geek version of rock star status.

I sat in the back between Tran and Guy on the bus ride home. As the bus pulled out of the lot we sang, "Who Let The Dogs Out" and then, "We Are The Champions."

Erin came back and congratulated us. "You rocked! Matt and I were the ones leading the Guy cheers."

Gradually the bus quieted. It was a stressful day, and many of the others began nodding off on the ride home. But not us. We were still feeding off the adrenaline that had fired us through the event.

"I'm captain." Tran's words came from a dark place.

"Not this again," I squawked. "We won! Get over yourself."

"I could have done that problem. Next time I decide," is all he said before getting up and squeezing in next to Geoffrey.

Guy and I were finally alone. At first I didn't notice; I was still concerned over Tran's sudden departure.

"Let him go," Guy said. "He'll get over it." He smiled and touched my arm. A jolt of electricity shot through me.

"Yeah. He will." My belly fluttered.

"Actually, I'm glad he's gone." Guy's knee brushed mine. He grinned at me, waiting for a response.

"Umm... I guess he just wanted to be the hero."

"There can only be one hero," he crooned softly, and he touched my hand.

Another jolt. No, bigger. Because of Guy's touch, an electrical storm was raging inside me.

"Yeah." The word fell from my lips, a soft tremor. _Get a grip, Megan! This is what you've been waiting for._

"And to the victor goes the spoils. Right?"

Huh? What does that mean? He leaned in.

"Right?" he repeated, his breath on my face.

"Yes... Right."

He kissed me. At first his lips softly caressed mine, but then it slowly deepened. _He's kissing me,_ I thought. _Guy Matson is kissing_.... _me!_ And what a kiss. It was as if we were on a cloud somewhere and...

"Guy Matson and Megan Barnett..."

The voice of Mrs. Brewster brought me down from my cloud, and back to the little yellow school bus. I realized then my eyes had been closed. I opened them. Mrs. Brewster was standing in front of us, arms folded across her chest, looking not too happy.

"Separate! Now!"

# Chapter Eleven

Technically, I had my first kiss five years ago. Everyone thinks I did. We were at Erin's tenth birthday party. The adults left us alone in the room, and someone suggested we play Seven Minutes In Heaven. Seven Minutes In Heaven is a kissing game. A boy and girl are selected to go into the closet and spend seven minutes kissing—in heaven, get it?

Someone suggested I go in the closet with Erin's next door neighbor, Percy. Okay, it wasn't someone, it was Erin. Percy was this really cute eleven-year-old who smelled of cookies and dirt. I'd been crushing on him all summer.

Percy and I entered the closet and shut the door behind ourselves. I couldn't believe my luck. I was about to spend seven... make that six and a half minutes in heaven with a really cute boy. Inside the closet was dark. I could no longer see Percy. But I could hear him breathing.

"Um... Megan? Do you like me?" he whispered.

"Uh-huh." The grunt was all I could muster with my heart thundering in my chest. But it seemed we both liked each other. It was time to get the tonsil hockey started. I didn't care that my seven minutes had been reduced to five and a half. I was about to experience my first kiss.

"Percy?"

"Huh?"

"This is my first kiss, too," I said to ease the tension.

"It is? Wow."

_Did he just chuckle?_ I was irritated. "What do you mean _wow?_ This is your first kiss, isn't it?"

"Heck no! I kiss girls all the time."

I was certain he was lying. This was his first kiss, too—unless you counted his Labrador retriever. "Well, Mr. Professional Kisser," I said with a bit more sarcasm than intended. "Let's get this show on the road."

More silence. Percy was clearly an idiot. But I'd gone into that closet to experience my first kiss; there was no way I was coming out empty handed.

Just then, from the other side of the door: "Ten, nine, eight..."

"What's that?" I asked, nervousness creeping into my voice.

"The countdown."

"Kiss me!" I said in frantic a loud whisper.

I felt Percy getting closer, closer. I closed my eyes, puckered up.

Percy planted a wet one in the center of my forehead. _My forehead!_

"...three, two, one." The closet door yanked open. Percy and I exited amid loud cheers. Percy swooned and fanned himself while displaying a devilish grin. This prompted more, raucous cheers. Erin smiled at me and squealed "I knew it! I knew it!"

I winked at her. What else could I do? They were treating me as if I was the world's greatest kisser. If I revealed that Percy was a fraud who was too scared to give me a real kiss, I'd lose my star status.

"You go, Hot Lips," someone called. It was a nickname that lasted all summer.

#

_HowToKiss.info_ is a really cool website where girls, boys, even adults go to share their first kiss experiences. I enjoy dropping by the site. First kisses are important.

Even though Guy Matson was not my first kiss, when our lips touched, I knew in that moment that I had never been kissed before. When the kiss ended, there was a stinging in my lower lip. I realized that, as he was drawing away, his front teeth sank gently into the soft flesh and bit down.

Now, as I ran my tongue along the spot, I could still taste the salty sweetness of my own blood. It excited me all over again.

Sunday morning I was still reeling from the kiss—among other things—when Matt stopped by.

"You got kicked off the mathletes?"

That was the other things.

When Mrs. Brewster discovered us kissing, in addition to separating us, she kicked us both off the team.

"Hey, no biggy," I said, puffed up with fake bravado. "Who wants to hang out with a bunch of math geeks anyway?"

"What happened to your lip?"

"Bit it," I said hurriedly, hoping my cheeks weren't blushing red. "So, I see you spoke to _Erin_." I said changing the subject. I knew it had to be her who blabbed. She was the only other person who knew.

He nodded. "What did Suze say? She must have hit the roof."

"No, she did not hit the roof." I was starting to get annoyed. "First off, she was happy that we won; secondly, she was pleased to hear that Guy is a math genius; and three—"

"You didn't tell her." His eyes widened.

"Three..." I continued, "she felt the team was interfering with my—"

"You didn't _tell_ her!" A cat that ate the canary smile appeared on his lips. "Wow, Megan!"

"You wanna hear number three or don't you?"

"You didn't tell your mother you got caught kissing a boy and were kicked off the mathletes."

"Yet! I haven't told her _yet_. See, that's the difference between you and me. I wouldn't ruin my mother's day off with some bad news that can obviously wait."

"Wow," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You guys are so close. You used to tell her everything." He moved to the pantry just off my mom's office, where he grabbed the Tupperware cereal dispenser of Cheerios, and began popping Os into his mouth as if they were candy. Matt had been helping himself to snacks in our house since he was little. Cheerios were his favorite.

"I'm going to tell her. Just... not yet. By the way, do you really like Erin?" I said, changing the subject again. "I mean, the nerve of her, asking you to give up your Saturday to come to a math meet." I chuckled. "Like you're interested in math."

"Going was my idea."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to see you guys in action."

"Look Matt, Erin's my friend. I don't want to see her get hurt. I know dating one of the Brainy Bunch has been cool for a few weeks, but I'm sure you need to get back to your own kind. And the longer this goes on, the more it's going to hurt when you dump her."

"I'm not going to dump Erin. I like her," he said softly. "A lot."

An awkward silence arose between us. We stood looking at each other, suddenly strangers. I'd known Matt since kindergarten. He and Erin were my best friends, yet somehow the idea of them dating was starting to rub me the wrong way.

"Okay... good. Glad to hear it."

"So, what are you gonna do about getting kicked off the mathletes?" He seemed concerned.

"Nothing. It was getting old for me anyway."

He nodded. "Okay. So when are you going to tell Suze?"

"What do you care? Tomorrow," I replied with a hint of annoyance. I knew it was a lie the moment the word left my lips.

#

Monday morning when I arrived at school, talk of my school bus escapade was circulating campus like a brush fire sprung up in dry weeds. I couldn't get away from the sidelong stares, sneaky smiles, "way to go's," or the word "tramp" trailing me like a shadow.

For my part, I enjoyed the notoriety. In my eleven years of being a student, I had never gotten in trouble, never had a note sent home, never been sent to the principal's office. I found the bad girl image that followed me liberating. The goody two shoes were off, and I liked the fit of the bad-girl boots.

I passed Guy in the hall between Calc and English and he winked at me. I winked back, co-conspirators on the school bus of ill repute. I was a few steps from my room when I realized he had followed me.

"How's it going?" he said.

"Good. How's it going with you?" I caught myself staring at his lips.

Stop it!

"I'm cool. Sorry I got you in trouble."

"Nothing to be sorry for." I was still staring at his lips.

Stop it, I said!

"So, what did your mom have to say?"

What is this obsession with my mother?

"I didn't tell her." I allowed a sly smile to play my lips.

All bad girl, all the time.

"They send a letter home, you know."

They do?

"I know they send a letter home. They always do." I chuckled, as if this was old news.

"Yeah. Our mail comes around two o'clock. I'll intercept mine before my folks ever get their hands on it."

"My plan exactly." We shared a conspiratorial smile, as I made a mental note to go through the mail as soon as I got home.

"Man, I just started this school, and I got a letter home already." He sighed.

"Ah, the price we pay," I said knowingly.

Look at me, the bad girl philosopher.

"Well, since neither of us has math lab this afternoon, maybe we could... hang out?"

Did he just ask me on a date?

"Cool," I said, nodding my head. "Sounds like a plan."

When Erin arrived in English class, she had a smile on her face. "Was that Guy I saw walking away from here?"

"Yes." I still couldn't believe I was going on a date with Guy Matson, well not actually a _date_ date, but hanging out was definitely in the dating domain.

"So, is he a good kisser? We didn't get a chance to talk Saturday with all the excitement and all. Of course, Matt—"

"Yes," I answered quickly, before she could turn this into an Erin and Matt moment. "Guy is an excellent kisser."

"I knew it!" Her smile widened.

"Even better than Matt," I added.

She began blinking rapidly; her mouth opened and shut several times before she finally said: "You've... kissed Matt?"

"Well... I mean we have known each other since kindergarten. But forget about that. Guy is an excellent kisser. Lucky me, huh?" I donned a sly grin, mostly because I'd shut her up about her and Matt.

"Oh. Well, yes. I'm... happy for you." She took her seat looking as if she'd just been KO'd by a heavyweight.

Of course I'd never kissed Matt. He was like a brother to me. But I have to admit, for some reason, I was happy to rain on her parade.

"Thanks," I said, with all the fake cheer I could muster. "We are soo lucky."

I raced home after school and found the letter in the mailbox, sandwiched between two bills and a circular for discount dry cleaning. It was made out to Ms. Suzanne Barnett, with the name and address of my school stamped ominously in the upper left hand corner. I plucked it from the box, a delicate surgical procedure, and stuffed it deep into my backpack.

I'll just give this to her—never.

I was surprised I had no remorse for stealing the letter, deceiving my mother the way I did. Instead, I felt powerful. I felt invincible.

I recalled promising Matt I would tell Suze about getting kicked off the mathletes.

What good would come from telling her? No good. No good at all. All that can happen is she'll get upset. And for what? The mathletes? Some geeky, after school activity. Hey, it's not as if I ditched school, or failed a big final exam, or decided to quit school all together and get a job in a strip club. I could see worrying her about important stuff like that. But not a kiss. I kissed a boy. Big deal.

The rationalizations were coming fast and furious, like termites at the start of swarming season.

My phone rang.

"Hey, where are you?" It was Guy.

"Had to make a stop."

"Yeah. Me, too."

Silence. And in that silence I sensed a oneness with Guy, the kind of psychic connection that twins must feel. Even though neither of us was saying anything, I knew this shared letter-stealing activity was growing us closer together. And when we're married, our kids will ask, When did you know you were perfect for each other?" And we'll look in each other's eyes and smile, both thinking of this very moment... Okay, I'm a romantic. So sue me.

"Meet me at the food court in the mall," he said, dragging my thoughts back to the present.

I hung up without responding. I didn't need to. We had the psychic connection. He knew I'd be there.

#

The mall was about a half mile away. A good walk, and since I was still too young to drive , walking is what it would be. It was a warm winter afternoon, and my thoughts were once again on the kiss. Throughout the day I'd caught myself running my tongue over the tiny bruise on my lip, conjuring up the feeling of Guy's lips on mine, and then the sweet sting of the bite. As I walked, the conjuring started all over again. It was perfect for passing the time.

I was crossing Bell Road, about two blocks from the mall, when a woman on the opposite side of the street caught my attention. A worn cloth shopping bag swung from her arm. She was returning home from market. Her graying hair was buried beneath a large kerchief, and yet I recognized her instantly—the old woman from the art gallery who had been staring at my mother.

Without thinking I scampered across the street. Dodging honking cars amid cries of _"crazy kid,"_ I arrived at the curb, a few feet from her. She didn't look up. Lost in thought, she continued down the block, away from the mall, away from me.

Guy and the kiss were totally forgotten as visions of the old woman's eyes transfixed on my mother entered my thoughts. There was a mysterious connection between this woman and the reason Armando was dating my mother. I know—crazy. This was the kind of lunatic thinking that could get a person committed. And yet something, call it intuition, told me I was right.

She was halfway down the block, shrinking into oblivion when I did something even crazier. I followed her.

# Chapter Twelve

I couldn't believe what I was doing. It was like something out of a James Bond flick. Yet there I was, trailing the old woman down the block. I couldn't stop myself. Every time I said: _Megan, this is ridiculous. It probably isn't her, and even if it is her, so what?_ Something else inside me said _keep going_.

I followed at a safe distance, staying at least a half block behind. She never once looked back, so I began following closer.

My heart was racing, hopped up on adrenaline, about to explode in my chest, and yet something kept pushing me forward.

After several blocks, we moved into a residential neighborhood of modest single family homes. Mothers sat on lawn chairs in front of open garage doors watching children play, while chatting about soap opera characters as if they were real.

The old woman stopped at an odd two-story home with a small stoop, the largest house on the street. She set her groceries down at the base of the stoop and took a breather, leaning heavily against the cement post. Quickly I stooped, and began tying my shoe, which was near impossible since I was wearing my pink Puma slides, but she didn't glance in my direction. Rested, she picked up her bag, climbed the steps, and let herself in.

Okay, Megan, now what?

I didn't have to wait long for an answer. Again without thinking, I moved to the house, up the steps, and rang the doorbell; it was as if I was on autopilot. I waited a few seconds. Nothing.

Megan, enough of this craziness. You can go now.

But instead I rang again, and this time I could hear her slowly making her way to the door.

"I'm coming," she called in a heavy Spanish accent.

Spanish like Armando. His mother? That would explain why she was staring so hard at _my_ mother. Mothers are so protective of their sons. She disapproved of the way Armando and my mom were chumming it up.

Hey, I'm with you, lady.

The door opened. The kerchief was off, revealing her shiny black and gray hair. She gazed at me with dark eyes.

Uh-oh. She recognizes me.

"Yes? What you want?" Annoyance, but not a hint of recognition was in her voice, raspy from too many years of smoking.

"Are you the lady of the house?" I responded cheerily. I smiled.

"We don't want any." Suddenly, the door was swinging shut.

"Wait!" I stuck my foot out, stopping it.

I can't believe I just did that.

She yanked it back open. "What's the matter with you? You got no manners? I said we don't want any."

"But you don't even know what it is."

She looked me up and down with distaste. "You couldn't possibly have anything I want. Now move your foot." The door again began swinging shut.

"Wait!" And again I stuck my foot out.

This time she didn't stop. She thrust the door against my foot, shoving it up against the frame.

"Move it or lose it," she rasped, pressing harder. I had a feeling if I didn't do something quickly, my foot and only my foot was going to be on the other side of that door.

"But Armando told me to come," I called.

The pushing stopped. The door crept open, and now she was staring at me with mild interest. "How you know Armando?"

"Yes, well... Ya see..." I was fumfering around, waiting for some brilliant response to come to me. "The Girl Scouts," I blurted. Okay, so much for brilliance. But at least the door was still open.

"Armando is not in the Girl Scouts." Suspicion crept into her voice.

"I know that, silly," I laughed, trying to buy more time. "But he visited my Girl Scout troop. He gave us a talk about art." I stared at her, hoping this would keep the heavy door from slamming on my foot.

"Okay. So, why you here?"

"Yes," I said and smiled. Well, it was supposed to be a smile, but it was that silly Joker thing again. I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was totally blocked. Just when I thought I was becoming a bad girl, I was struggling to come up with a decent lie.

The old woman gaped back, and I'm sure she thought I was one card shy of a full deck. "You _do_ know Armando?" she asked warily.

"Yes," I said again, and again with the stupid smile.

"Come in," she wheezed with an annoyed sigh.

The door opened wide and we entered the foyer. As soon as we were inside, a large dog began barking somewhere in the back. I froze. The barking was frenzied, urgent.

"It's okay. More bark than bite. Quiet, Robin!" she called. The large dog immediately went to whimpering.

That's when I smelled something. Incense. The same incense from the art gallery. The same incense from my dreams. My breath caught as I recognized the fragrance. The scent was stronger here, heavy and cloying.

I thought the old woman would stop in the foyer, but she continued toward the rear of the house. "Armando always does this to me. And I do not have time for this today," she grumbled.

"I'm sure he has his reasons," I said, regaining my composure. "After all, he is your son."

As I followed, I looked for the source of the incense. The house was filled with the fragrance, yet I couldn't determine where it was coming from.

"Ha!" she snipped. "Like I could be his mother? Like I'd _want_ to be his mother?"

Okay, so she's not his mother. Housekeeper—a very protective housekeeper.

The home was well kept, much more distinguished on the inside than out. Dark, antiquey furniture dominated the foyer, giving the place a sense of aged gloom. Outsized paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. No people in any of them. Plains, deserts, fields, but not a single person. _Places,_ I thought, _but no one to go there._

Just then, the dog started barking again. "Robin!" she called. The barking stopped, but I could still hear the sound of anxious doggy feet scraping against the hard wood floor.

A key in the door drew our attention. The old woman stopped, her entire demeanor changing as she turned.

"Ah, he is excited because The Master is home." Her eyes moved past me to the door.

"Umm... Master?"

"Yes. Señor Armando." There was a reverence in her voice.

The door began swinging open.

# Chapter Thirteen

"Oh, good," I said. My heart was in my mouth. No, my heart had leapt out of my mouth and was racing around looking for someplace to hide. Unlike me, who was standing there like an idiot!

How am I ever going to explain this?

The door opened wide. Armando—our Armando—was standing in the doorway.

I'm toast!

"Um, uhh..."

"Please, can I get a hand here?" His back was to us. He was balancing a large painting that teetered between him and the top step.

"You're a Girl Scout. You help. I must see to dinner." And before I could respond, the old woman quickly ambled off to the kitchen.

"But..."

"Hello?" Armando's voice rang out. He was standing, his back still to me, balancing the painting on the top step.

What to do? What to do?

I weighed my options:

A) I could run out the door right past him.

B) I could hide somewhere in the house until later.

C) I could cry (which I was probably going to do anyway).

Or D) I could help him with the picture.

I tackled the problem like a fine mathematician. If I ran right past him, since I'm not yet invisible, there's a good chance he'd see me. If I hid in the house, eventually I'd have to leave, and since I'm not yet invisible, there's a good chance he'd see me. If I cried, he'd look up to see what was going on, and since I'm not yet invisible, he'd _definitely_ see me.

So, I decided to help. I know, there's an even better chance he'd see me since I'd be standing right next to him. Yet despite the obvious reasons against it, I chose 'D'. What can I say? In math I'm a whiz, but at espionage, I'm an idiot.

"Señora Marisol! Do you hear me?" Armando's voice commanded.

"Yes," I said. Why I said it in a bad imitation of a computer voice, I have no idea.

I stepped through the doorway and around him, moving to the far side of the super-sized picture, where I stooped. From here he couldn't see my face. _But for how long?_

"Who are you? Where is Señora Marisol?"

"Granddaughter," I said, continuing with the computer voice.

"Oh? Okay. Easy, granddaughter. This painting is most precious."

"No problem."

With outstretched arms, I grasped the frame. The large picture was between us as we began maneuvering it through the doorway.

"You are from out of town?" He tried gazing over the painting to get a glimpse of me. I lowered my head.

" _Si."_ Okay, so now I'm doing the computer voice in Spanish. I know five words of Spanish and I'd just used one up.

"Where are you from?"

Good question. But since I couldn't come up with a reasonable answer, I replied: "Heavy."

"Oh, yes, of course. We can chat after we put this down."

I could imagine the conversation.

"Megan, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just happened to see this lady on the street and thought I'd follow her home. Who knew she worked for you?"

But if she was working for Armando that meant he lived here. And while the place was nice enough, it wasn't Armando, not the Armando we knew. A new thought occurred to me out of the blue. _Armando is leading a double life._

We maneuvered the painting through the doorway. The dog was suddenly in a barking frenzy.

"Quiet, Robin." The dog immediately quieted.

"Good dog," I said.

"Very." We moved down the hall and into a tiny study. "I can take it from here. Thank you."

I eased myself from behind the large picture, my head lowered as he placed it against the wall. And while his back was still to me, I did the first sensible thing I'd done all afternoon. I ran.

The dog was barking again.

#

"Where have you been, young lady?"

My mother had gotten home from work early and was scowling at me when I walked in.

The jig was up. Armando had known it was me all along and called to tell her. How was I ever going to explain it?

"But, Mom, this old woman was staring at you at the art gallery, and I just had to find out why, and I was on my way to the mall when I saw her again, and so..." I stammered out an incomprehensible explanation.

Her eyes narrowed. "And that's why you got kicked off the mathletes?"

"Oh.... that!"

#

I was grounded.

When I asked for how long, she kept blinking at me, so I guess it's for the rest of my life.

Someone told on me. Even though I'd intercepted the letter, taking every precaution for her not to find out, someone had told her everything.

Who had it in for me so bad they would call my mother?

Matt or Erin. It had to be one of them.

Matt asked when was I going to snitch on myself. But that was just yesterday. I'm sure he would have given me more time. Erin. She was jealous of my friendship with Matt. Oh, she pretended not to be, but lately I could sense it. One more reason why the two of them did not belong together.

I called Matt, and he said he didn't know who told. He was sorry I was being punished. I believed him.

"But I wonder who could have ratted me out like that?" I was fishing around for him to say the obvious name.

"Does it matter? You were going to tell her yourself anyway. You still would have gotten punished."

"That's not the point, Matt!" I complained, as if he were a pea-brained idiot. "Someone told her, and I need to find out who."

There was a brief silence in which I could feel him calming himself. "They usually send a letter home, Megan. Maybe that's how she found out."

"It isn't."

"How do you know for sure?"

"Because the letter's in the bottom of my backpack!"

Another silence before he spoke again. "What's gotten into you?" His words were filled with disappointment.

"What do you mean?

Still more silence, but this time it was like a weight against my conscience.

"I wasn't ready to tell her yet, okay? Is that what you want to know?"

"You guys used to be so close. Best friends."

"First off, you and Erin are my best friends. She's my mother. Besides, it's hard to be close to somebody who wants to punish you all the time."

"She hardly ever punishes you."

"Whose side are you on!?"

The conversation ended with Matt telling me he didn't like the recent change he'd seen in me.

So what if I'd changed? I wasn't a little kid anymore. I had been kissed like never before and was on the verge of having a boyfriend, a boyfriend who was smart and cute—the Dating Daily Double.

Eventually my thoughts turned to my afternoon adventure and Armando. There was something not right about that house. It wasn't him. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there wasn't a sign of Armando—or anyone for that matter—in any of the rooms I'd seen. They were big, and dark, and totally devoid of personality. The house seemed a lot like the pictures on its walls—filled with emptiness.

But there was something else, something I hadn't noticed while I was there. The place seemed really, really creepy. _And what was with Señora Marisol?_ When she said Armando's name, it was as if she were speaking of royalty. And yet she seemed frightened by his presence.

_Like I could be his mother? Like I'd_ _want_ _to be his mother._

Strange words from someone so protective. When she let me in she began taking me toward the rear. But where was she taking me?

A slow dread began to build within me. Armando was up to something in that house—gun running, or maybe he was a drug kingpin. That would explain why Señora Marisol was so afraid of him.

Of course if I tell Suze, she'll think I'm just making it all up to keep from being grounded. So, I wait. I hold my tongue and keep an even closer eye on Armando. He'll slip up, and when he does, I'll be there to nail him.

#

Dinner was unusually quiet.

"Who is this boy?" my mother asked after a long spell of silence, each word its own sentence.

"Nobody."

"Good. Because you are forbidden to have any contact outside of school with _nobody_ ever again."

"That's not fair! I'm not forbidding you from seeing _your_ boyfriend."

She winced.

"I don't have a boyfriend. And I didn't know you had one, either." Definite pain in her voice. She was finding out too many things about me too fast.

"He's not my boyfriend... yet," I practically whispered.

She nodded and went back to pushing food around on her plate. She didn't speak to me again for the rest of the night.

Later, as I sat alone in my room, my cell phone rang. The name Guy Matson popped up in the window.

He probably thinks I stood him up.

I stared at the phone, waiting for the ringing to stop. I was clearly torn, but I couldn't answer it. I was already in enough trouble. Voice mail finally picked up.

Then my phone hummed. A Text:

Where R U?

Grounded

Sneak out. There's a party tonight

Sneak out?

I found myself again imagining the kiss. The way our lips met; the electricity that flowed through my body. This was my chance to have a boyfriend—a cool, cute boyfriend who was an excellent kisser and wasn't intimidated because I spouted trivia or was a mathlete.

I'd never snuck out before. I'd never done anything bad in the past. And yes, it was me who took that bite out of one of my mother's fresh-baked cupcakes when I was five. Who else could it have been? I'm sure she didn't buy my jealous Keebler elf theory. But that was more little-girl mischief than bad.

I realized at that moment, my enjoyment of the bad girl image had been false. You can't be a bad girl unless you actually do something bad.

I picked up the phone and pressed two letters.

OK

There. It was done. I was sneaking out into the night to be with a boy who cared for me, even though I stood him up at the mall.

I waited for the bad girl thrill to once again surge through me. Nothing. Actually, I did feel something, a tiny hatch of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Fear. I knew if I snuck out now I'd be starting down a path of no return.

I wasn't a bad girl—not yet anyway. I wanted to be with Guy, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. The _OK_ in the screen of my phone stared up at me, waiting for me to hit send.

I erased the letters, and turned off the phone.

# Chapter Fourteen

I was standing by my locker the next morning, wondering if Guy would ever speak to me again, when Erin and Matt walked up. His varsity jacket was draped over her shoulders. They were holding hands. Matt isn't the hand-holding type. She was turning him into something he wasn't. When Matt saw me, he dropped Erin's hand and hung back as she approached.

"I heard you got grounded," she said with what I'm sure was fake remorse. "For how long?"

"Who knows? She's hardly speaking to me. It's so strange."

"Well, Matt and I—"

_La, la, la, la._ The mental humming again. I didn't need to hear another word about Matt and Erin.

"I wonder who told on me?" It was supposed to be a question, a casual musing off the top of my head, but it came out a dagger of accusation that jabbed into her. She stopped mid-sentence.

"You don't think it was... me?"

"Of course not," I lied. "You're my best friend. I was just wondering out loud."

She didn't buy it.

"Megan, she probably got a call from school. I mean—"

"Yeah. That's it, I'm sure. Hey, great seeing you guys. Gotta go." I slammed my locker and headed off to English—alone.

I slid in next to my new pal, Maudrina Salley. She was cloaked in the fragrance of canine domesticus.

"Hey, Maudrina, I was wondering what kind of dog you have?" I know it was wrong of me to ask, but the question just slipped out.

"How do you know I have a dog?"

"Umm, just a guess."

A small smile appeared on her lips. She leaned in. "You've never spoken to me before."

"Oh, sure I have."

"Well, once in the girl's bathroom, when you told me to make sure I used soap and water. But that was the only time."

"Soap and water? That couldn't have been me." I drew back slightly as I recalled the incident.

Erin and I had had a good laugh after she'd gone. _Oh my goodness._ I was beginning to feel horrible for teasing her that way. Maudrina was a cute brown-skinned girl who didn't dress very well. It suddenly dawned on me that I was the type of snob I detested—girls who looked down their noses at the geeks, or the poor , or those who talked with an accent.

"No. It was you." She stared at me waiting for a response, her expression warm and hopeful, not a hint of accusation.

"Sorry about that," I said softly. "I'm not saying it _was_ me, but whoever it was must have been having a bad day." I was so ashamed.

Her smile widened. "It's all right. It's cool. I have two dogs. A toy poodle named Piddles, and a smelly old boxer named Sam."

Just then Erin entered the room. My eyes moved to her and Maudrina's followed. Erin gave a pained expression before heading to her seat.

"You guys have another fight?" Maudrina suddenly asked.

"No," I replied defensively.

"Last time you sat next to me I assumed it was because you had a fight. You two are always together. Best friends, right?"

"Yes... umm, no... umm..." She was getting me all flustered. "So, two dogs, huh? I like dogs." I couldn't believe how easily she saw right through me.

_Am I_ _that_ _obvious?_

"Would you like to come over some time and play with them? They love company, and we don't get much."

A vision of me rolling around with smelly old Sam and coming to school stinking of boxer invaded my thoughts. That would definitely be the end of me having a boyfriend. "Sure, I'd love to," I said. "That sounds like big fun."

"Cool. When?"

"Umm... Soon," I replied. "As soon as my grounding's over." I never thought I'd be thankful for being grounded, but here I was, using it to keep from hanging out with Maudrina Salley.

I was feeling worse and worse. All I had wanted was a little light conversation before class, some friendly chatter to pass the time. Instead, I was reminded that I'd been horrible to Maudrina in the past, and to make matters worse, I was now pretending I wanted to be her friend. _Sheesh!_

"Cool," she said again. Her smile widened. "Just let me know."

Thankfully, class began.

As soon as the bell rang ending the period, I snatched up my things and rushed out before Maudrina or Erin could corner me. The last thing I wanted was conversation with either of them. I was jetting down the hall, away from the room when...

"Somebody's sure in a hurry today." Guy's voice rang out behind me.

I turned to find him beaming at me.

"Guy!"

I thought he'd never speak to me again, and yet here he was smiling at me, talking to me. He was wearing a fitted V-neck sweater over an untucked shirt, jeans, and grungy white Addidas. He looked so cute, so cool, so unlike a math geek.

"How long are you grounded for?" There was a casualness to his question, as if he'd said _'how long did you sleep?'_ Groundings were clearly no big deal to him.

"I have no idea, but from the look on my mom's face—forever!"

He laughed, and I found myself once again entranced by his lips. All of a sudden he grabbed my hand and began pulling me down the hall.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?" He didn't respond. He continued pulling me toward the north end of the building.

The first bell rang.

"We're going to be late to class," I called, as the crowd in the halls quickly thinned. Still no response. He pulled me into the stairwell at the far end and stopped.

"This one never gets much use," he said, catching his breath.

"The late bell's going to ring in three minutes." There was panic in my voice. I had never been late for class if I could help it.

"Chill. Now that you're grounded, I don't know when I'm going to see you again. I'm just trying to grab a few moments, if that's okay?" He put his arm around me, drew his body close to mine. He sniffed. "Do you have a dog?"

"Oh. Sorry about that. I sat next to Maudrina Salley in—"

He kissed me, his lips smothering my words. My breath caught as an excitement I'd never felt before coursed through my body.

_Brrrring!_ The second bell.

We were officially late. A part of me wanted to end the kiss right then and race off to class before I was marked tardy and had to serve detention. But that was a very small part, and eventually even that part of me wanted to stay.

#

Every school has a stairwell that gets traveled least. These gems are easy to locate late in the day when the student population has dwindled for various reasons. But the discovery of a stairwell that has light traffic between second and third periods, when the school is bursting with activity, is like finding a specific grain of sand in the ocean.

This was one of the first tasks Guy took upon himself whenever he arrived at a new school. He scouted out secure locations for ditching class. Empty stairwells were among his favorite.

The stairwell in the far north corner of G.U. was, for Guy's purposes, a twelve-carat diamond of obscurity. For me, it was a little taste of heaven. Guy and I rendezvoused there every day between second and third periods for the rest of the week. I couldn't wait for him to get his hands on me, for his lips to touch mine. I loved the way he nibbled at my lower lip, conjuring spires of pain and delight.

My tardy slips were piling up, as was my time in detention. But I didn't care. I looked forward to my stolen moments with Guy the way a child looks forward to Christmas.

On the following Wednesday when I arrived, I pulled out a pink tardy slip. He looked from the tardy slip to me, a veil of caution sliding over his eyes.

"You know what this is?" I waved the slip.

"'Course I know. I've got a locker full of em."

"Just checking," I said in a playful sing-song.

He began shifting uncomfortably. "Look, maybe we should get to class."

I moved in closer. "I didn't bring it because I wanted to go to class. I brought it because when I look at my collection of tardies, instead of feeling like I need to straighten up, I think of you."

I smiled, and this time all the seduction I could hope for came shining through. He smiled back, taking me in his arms.

"I just wanted you to know that I've never done anything like this before. But if I had a chance to do it again, I would." I looked deeply into his eyes and he kissed me gently.

When the kiss ended, I took his left hand in mine. I pulled something from my pocket and waved it.

"What's that?"

"A bracelet," I said. "I made it out of tardy slips last night." It was a silly thing I used to do in middle school, braiding gum wrappers together into a bracelet or necklace. Last night, without thinking, I realized I'd made one with tardy slips.

"With this bracelet, I thee tardy," I said, and without a hint of embarrassment, I slid the pink-paper bracelet onto his wrist.

He laughed. "That is the lamest."

For a split second a pang of hurt stabbed into me. Like maybe he thought I was some stupid, immature girl. But when I looked into his eyes I realized he was happy. Happy to get the bracelet; happy with me.

"No one's ever done anything like that for me before." He held up his wrist, admiring my handiwork.

It was the happiest moment of my life.

#

Saturday morning I awoke to find my mother seated at the foot of my bed, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Mornin', sleepy head." Her voice was a melodious sing-song.

"Hey." I didn't trust it. I was having a hard time reading her expression. Did she know about the tardy slips and detention? Did she know I was still seeing Guy? "What's up?" I asked cautiously.

"I think we need a girl's day out. It's Chocolate Affaire weekend."

I'd been so involved with Guy I had nearly forgotten about the Chocolate Affaire.

"Breakfast, a little candy shopping, and then mud baths at that new day spa in Scottsdale we've been dying to try. How does that sound?"

It sounded wonderful. But it wasn't the kind of treatment normally afforded prisoners on death row. She was up to something.

"Um, good," I said softly, as I waited for her to take it back and begin hurling accusations at me.

"Great. Get dressed." She was smiling when she left the room.

The Chocolate Affaire was Glendale's tribute to all things chocolate. A carnival set up in Murphy Park with rides, music, and loads of vendors selling everything sweet, gooey, and chocolate.

In the car, on the way to breakfast, Suze chatted as if all the drama of the past week had never occurred; I'd never kissed Guy in the back of the bus; I'd never been kicked off the mathletes; I'd never snatched the letter sent by the school and hidden it—wait a minute. She didn't know about that one. I still had a few secrets, thank goodness.

It was as if we'd hopped into the old Wayback Machine and cruised to a time before the mathlete challenge, back to the good old days when we were friends.

I didn't buy her softened attitude for one minute. I sat there on pins and needles, contributing very little to the conversation—single syllables and soft grunts, as I waited for her to pounce.

I'd seen it all in an old sitcom, the one where Vanessa comes home thinking she's put one over on old Mom and Dad, and they greet her at the door smiling, gently feeding her the rope she'd use to hang herself: "You enjoy the concert, dear?"her mother asked. "It was amazing. My favorite group on stage right before my eyes. A dream come true." "You neglected to tell us your favorite group was performing in... Baltimore!" "But, but..."

No way was I going to let the fate that befell poor Vanessa happen to me. The key was to say as little as possible. Grudging single syllables was all my mom was going to get: _Yes. No. Really?_ She wouldn't get enough rope out of me to hang a flea.

We went to Sylvia's, our favorite breakfast spot. Like a lot of the restaurants in town, Sylvia's got into the Chocolate Affaire spirit by adding once yearly chocolate treats to their menu. My favorite was the chocolate chocolate chip pancakes. This super sweet delight was enough to put a big grin on my face.

Guys think diamonds are a girl's best friend. Ha! Trust me, it's chocolate.

"There you are," Suze said when she saw me smiling into my plate. She was grinning at me as if she'd just discovered a national treasure. "I was beginning to think Little Miss Sour Puss was going to be with me all day. So glad you could make it. Your friend was a lousy companion."

My smile widened as finally I relaxed. She wasn't setting me up. She was truly trying to reconnect. I let out a soft sigh, as the cloud that had hung over the morning lifted and we started down the road back to friendship.

Don't get me wrong, I realize she's a parent, fully capable of lulling me into a false sense of confidence before swooping in and cutting my legs out from under me. But I didn't think that was happening here. And if it was, she was even better than Vanessa's parents.

It was mostly frivolous girl talk—fashion, hair styles, the pop star who'd gone off the deep end. Then suddenly her expression turned serious.

"Megan, I owe you an apology."

Uh-oh. Is that the sound of the other shoe dropping?

She obviously didn't owe _me_ an apology. My antennae immediately went up.

"For what?" I said, as I searched her face for tell-tale signs of what was to come.

"For not seeing your side of things."

"Uhh... Okay. Apology accepted." I planted a fake smile on my lips, my eyes diving to my plate as I pretended to concentrate on the remains of a chocolate chip pancake. And remains is all there was, two measly crumbs drowning in an ocean of syrup. I swirled one of the crumbs as if it were a forkful, and waited for the bomb to drop.

"I think all this acting out is a result of me dating Armando. You're not a rebellious child." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I know you said it doesn't bother you, but I think on the inside maybe it does. Just a little."

_Wait a minute! Wait one darn minute! Is she apologizing to me because she thinks kissing a boy and wanting to have a boyfriend is_ _acting out?_

Sure, I don't want her dating Armando. But that's for her own good. What girl wants her mother dating a con artist, or a gun runner, or whatever he was?

I wanted to feel outraged. I wanted to scream _"kissing a cute boy is not acting out!"_ But another, more rational, part of my brain was looking at the bright side. It was sounding an awful lot like my grounding was coming to an end. And while I love my room, being confined there with no phone, no computer, and no TV was like being confined to Toyland without any toys. A girl needs her toys.

"Maybe you're right," I said with a soft sigh. "Sorry if I overreacted. Kissing a boy on the back of the bus, what _was_ I thinking?" I shook my head. Of course I know exactly what I was thinking— _Yipeee!_ But I wasn't going to tell _her_ that.

"I should have been more sensitive," she went on, "but I promise you, no one will ever come between us. In a few weeks I'll be turning forty... Ugh! It hurts just to say it."

"You're young, Mom. You don't look a day over... thirty-nine."

Sunshine spread across her face. "Always the funny one. I don't know what I'd do without you." She squeezed my hand again, her tone turning serious. "But sometimes a woman needs to know she's still desirable."

"I know exactly what you mean," I comforted. Of course the desirable woman I was referring to was me. "I'm lucky to have a mother like you," I said, piling it on. More sunshine.

"The Two Musketeers?"

"You bet."

We never made it to Murphy Park. Twenty minutes later we were kicking it in a vat of therapeutic mud. It was there she broached the subject of going out to dinner with Armando.

"You go," I said trying to deflect the invitation. I was buried in mud up to my neck. It felt strange, but good.

"You have to come along. He may be in our lives for a while, and I want you to feel comfortable around him. I know it's too much to ask for you to be friends..."

You got that right!

"...But maybe in time."

Or maybe in time I'll expose him for the phony I know he is.

"Okay. Let's do it," I said. "It's a date."

A look of delight came over her, as she settled back into the mud.

"Can I bring someone along?" The delight vanished.

"Who?"

"Matt. Who else?" Sure, I could think of someone else I'd rather go to dinner with, a certain someone who just might be the world's greatest kisser. But I knew it was wrong for me to be thinking of myself just then.

Suze had too many stars in her eyes to see the truth. I needed Matt by my side, someone she knows and trusts to help convince her that her _boyfriend_ was not who she thought he was.

# Chapter Fifteen

His name was Danny Tambor, and he was my first childhood crush.

I was a ten-year-old fifth grader, and Danny was fourteen. He was in high school—an older man.

He lived on our block and occasionally came by to throw the football with Matt. Even then Matt was a standout athlete. Older boys were always dropping by to check out his arm.

It was a crisp Saturday afternoon with the faint smell of wood-burning fireplaces in the air—the fragrance of fall. Danny and Matt were throwing the ball back and forth in front of Matt's house. I was patiently waiting on the sidelines for them to get bored, so Matt and I could do something exciting—such as have tea with my Barbies.

Matt threw an amazing pass that was about to sail over Danny's head, but he leaped, had the ball in his hands for a few seconds, before it slipped out. The dropped pass bounced crookedly in my direction, landing a few feet in front of me.

"Hey, Meg. Let's see your arm," He called playfully.

Meg? No one had ever called me that before. Danny had given me a nickname.

"Cool! Okay," I said.

I eagerly picked the ball up and tried to find a comfortable grip for throwing. But there wasn't one.

How do guys throw this thing?

"That's it. Come on," Danny urged. And then he smiled at me. Oh my goodness, what a smile. In it I saw our entire future: hand holding, walking me home from school, kissing, all the way up to our wedding day, and the birth of our three children. I couldn't let him down.

"Here goes," I called. I threw the ball... Well, I didn't exactly throw it. I made the throwing motion, but midway through, the ball dribbled awkwardly from my hand, landing a few feet in front of me, which is pretty much where it was when I picked it up.

"That's okay. You've got a little work to do," Danny said. His voice was filled with encouragement. "Hey, Matt, you better look out. Meg here is gonna be a killer quarterback." He moved in, picked up the ball and smiled at me again. "You're my quarterback, right?"

I smiled back. "Uh-huh."

_I sure hope_ quarterback _means_ girlfriend _._

After that, I begged Matt to teach me how to throw.

"You hate football."

"No, I don't. I love football. I watch it at home all the time. You just never want to play it with me," I countered. "And what's a quarterback?"

At my insistence, Matt gave me lessons every day after school all week. And I have to admit, after several days of practice... I stunk.

"Why are we wasting our time with this?" Matt complained.

"Why? Because I'm a killer quarterback, that's why." My words were hurled at him.

"Who says?"

"Danny Tambor, that's who!"

Matt shot me a look filled with odd surprise before saying: "I hate to tell you this, Megan, but a quarterback has to know how to throw, and you don't."

"The only reason I can't throw is you're a lousy teacher," I accused and stomped off.

The following Saturday afternoon, Danny came over as he'd done the previous week, and they began throwing the ball. I positioned myself near where Danny was standing.

_As soon as he drops a pass, I'll be ready,_ I thought.

They chucked the ball back and forth for a long, boring half hour, while I oohed and ahhed at every catch Danny made. Occasionally he looked over and smiled in my direction. But he didn't drop one pass.

"You've got a great arm, Dude. Let's do this again sometime," he said, as he prepared to make one last throw.

One last throw!?

"Hey!" I suddenly heard myself saying. I couldn't believe it. Did I just yell "hey" at Danny Tambor? I guess I did, because both Matt and Danny were staring at me.

"What's up?" Danny said. But this time when he spoke, it was different. He wasn't smiling. Instead, his face had twisted into a self-possessed smirk.

"She thinks she's a quarterback," Matt called. "Let her throw one."

"Really?" Danny said his eyes glaring mischief. "A quarterback, huh?"

I nodded. Held my breath. Even though I'd never done it before, I was going to throw a perfect spiral, and Danny would be mine.

He cocked his head to one side. "Maybe next time. We'll see." Then he threw one last pass to Matt before disappearing down the street.

I was devastated. I'd been in secret love with Danny Tambor for just one week, and already I'd been dumped.

Matt drifted over, offered me the ball. "Wanna throw?" His voice was soft and sympathetic.

I shook my head.

"You really do got a good arm."

"You told him," I said suddenly and without warning, my words coming in a hot rush.

"No, I didn't." He took a nervous step back.

"Yeah, you did. You told him I liked him." My words were emotionless and flat—the words of a ten-year-old who had lost the will to live.

He stared at me for a long while, his eyes betraying him every second.

"Danny's a jerk," he finally whispered. "I won't throw with him anymore if you don't want me to."

And that was the crushing end of my first childhood crush.

#

Matt was now staring at me skeptically. We were standing in my kitchen, him in his usual spot, munching Cheerios from the dispenser.

"What?" I said, trying to act nonchalant.

"It's deceitful, that's what."

"Of course it's deceitful. Do you honestly think my mother would dump Armando if we didn't trick her into it?"

He shook his head, and I found myself back-peddling.

"This is the good kind of deceit, Matt. The kind people thank you for later."

"Megan, you promised. You promised you wouldn't get in the way of your mother having a relationship."

"That was before she started dating a gigolo."

"Give it up already," he said, shaking his head again. I could hear his disappointment.

A flash of anger shot through me. "So, what am I supposed to do? I was at his house, Matt. The man is leading a double life, a life my mother knows nothing about. We have to expose him."

He stopped chewing, his brown eyes boring into me. "And if we don't find anything incriminating on this date, you'll stop these ridiculous accusations and leave them alone?"

I met his gaze with stony silence.

"It's the only way I'll agree to it, Megan." He snapped the lid of the cereal dispenser shut. There was a finality to it.

"Fine!" The word exploded from my lips like a projectile. "But we'll find plenty. You'll see."

He nodded, but his face was filled with doubt.

#

The night of the big dinner, Matt arrived early with a smile on his lips—and Erin on his arm.

"Oh, hello," I said, opening the door. I was taken aback seeing the two of them standing there, guarded smiles on both their faces.

Erin spoke first. "Hi!" Her voice was an octave too high of forced cheer. "I was just leaving Matt's and thought I'd drop by and see what you'd been up to. We haven't spoken in so long." Her eyes dropped along with her voice. "So, here I am. Hi," she repeated nervously.

"What a pleasant surprise," I drawled, matching her phony cheer. I could fake happiness with the best of them. "Come on in."

There was a frost looming between us. The joy in our voices did nothing to melt it. They entered, and we stood in the foyer.

"I thought it was time you two buried the hatchet," Matt said. He was holding her hand. The sight of their fingers intertwined sent tiny plumes of rage spiraling through me.

As I said before, Matt is not the hand-holding type. _What has she done to him?_ My cheeks began to redden.

"Hatchet? What hatchet?" On the outside, I was the picture of confused serenity.

"You guys haven't spoken in weeks."

"We _haven't?_ " I asked. I turned to Erin, all wide-eyed and wonder. "I hadn't noticed."

"I have." There was sadness in her voice. "I'm really sorry you got grounded, Megan. But I want you to know it wasn't me who told on you."

"I never said it was," I replied, my words stiff as dried timber.

"Megan, can't you move past this?" Matt asked. He was still clutching her hand.

Was she tethered to him like a kite? Did he think she was going to fly away?

"There's nothing to move past," I said. "You two are my best friends. I've just been... busy lately."

"I'd never do anything to hurt you. I hope you know that." Erin was staring at me with soulful eyes.

I nodded. I wanted to forgive her, I really did. I missed her laughter and all the goofy good times we shared. I missed her intelligence, and that she was the only one who laughed at my jokes. But seeing her standing next to Matt turned my heart to stone.

"What do you say?" Matt's eyes were hopeful.

I managed to choke back the anger and found a smile. I realized I couldn't think of myself tonight. Tonight, I needed Matt to have a clear mind for Operation Eliminate Armando.

I faced Erin. "Friends?" I asked softly. The word was dust on my tongue.

"Of course we're friends," Erin cried. "I couldn't bear this silence one more day." She threw her arms around me, drawing me closer, and I felt the tension draining from her.

My eyes moved to Matt. He was smiling at us like a proud parent. I returned the smile, all the while thinking: _"See, she's not flying away. You don't have to hold on so tight."_

#

When Armando arrived, Matt and Erin were still standing in the foyer.

"Well, hello," he crooned, in a voice smooth as velvet.

"Hi. I'm Erin."

"Yes, Megan's friend. I've heard about you."

She looked at me, curious. Had I told him she was a back-stabbing little minx or my best friend? My eyes betrayed nothing.

"Erin, Armando. Armando, Erin," I said, nudging her toward the door. "Erin was just leaving."

"Oh? Why doesn't she join us for dinner?" He turned to her, all charm and good looks. "The more the merrier."

"That is sooo sweet," I drawled, overdoing the syrup in my voice. "But I'm sure Erin has other, more important things she'd rather do."

I shot her a look implying I was letting her off the hook. But of course, I didn't want her along. And it had nothing to do with being jealous. I knew how clingy she had become when it came to Matt, and I needed him to be focused on the operation, not needy, _clingy_ Erin.

"Actually, I was just gonna go home and watch a couple of movies on DVD."

"Wow, DVDs! That sounds pretty darned exciting. Enjoy." I put my arm around her shoulder, preparing to usher her out when...

"Megan. I think your friend is saying she'd like to join us."

"No, she's not." I looked in her eyes. "You're not, right?"

"Well..."

"There, it's settled," Armando interrupted. "I know you are one of Megan's very best friends. I would love to have you join us, and I am certain Suze would, too."

Erin's eyes moved to mine, not sure how to respond.

"You can watch those DVDs another time," I said with a forced smile.

Delight bloomed across her face. "Okay, I'm in."

_Terrific! Just terrific,_ I thought. Just what we need to throw Matt's focus and ruin the operation. Needy, _clingy_ Erin.

#

No matter how roomy they may appear on TV, a Volvo is not meant to seat five—at least not comfortably. For our drive to dinner Mom sat up front with Armando, leaving me, Matt, and Erin to squeeze into the backseat. To top it off, I sat in the middle. You heard me, the dreaded middle seat. And believe it or not, it was my choice. I needed to separate the _love birds_ so Matt could stay focused.

I recalled when I was in the Girl Scouts. We'd go on outings in Mrs. Calendar's ancient station wagon, all of us calling _'shotgun'_ as we stood waiting for her to unlock the doors. None of us wanted to sit in the middle. The middle seat has a big fat invisible L stamped on it, and every young person in America knows it. Yet today, I willingly sat in the loser's seat. Anything to keep Matt focused.

"Matt's getting a new car as soon as he graduates," Erin said from her vaunted perch by the window.

I shot Matt a sidelong glance and gave a tiny sigh. "That's nice."

"Then he's going to teach me how to drive." There was a smugness in her voice. I swear, she'd become a totally different person since she started dating Matt. I did not like this Erin _at all_.

Turning to her, I said: "I already know how to drive. Why not take driver's ed? Then Matt won't be saddled with having to teach you."

She started blinking rapidly as if something was stinging her eyes. "Well... Umm... He..."

"I don't mind," came Matt's voice from my left. He reached across my lap and squeezed her hand.

"That is too sweet," Suze called from the front. "Megan's father taught me how to drive. It was... kind of romantic."

"I think so, too," gushed Erin.

That shut me up. All I could think was: Please, Armando, get us to the restaurant quickly, or kill us trying, but spare me this misery.

#

It was a posh restaurant called Cicada Bistro, with tiny candles and white table cloths on all the tables. _Tres romantic_. Definitely what you'd expect from worldly Armando. As the hostess led us to our table in the back, I whispered in Matt's ear: "Don't forget. You've got to get him talking about where he lives."

"I know, I know." He sounded annoyed. I didn't care. As long as he did his part.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen—at least not fast enough for me. Erin had somehow commandeered the seat next to Matt— _darn her_ —and when the hostess handed out menus, the two of them began going over entrées as if they were picking out china patterns.

"I hear the crab cakes are fantastic," Armando chimed, as he folded his napkin onto his lap like a pro.

Here was the perfect opening. I could wait for Matt no longer. I forged ahead. "Speaking of seafood, Armando's gallery is on Seaborn Street."

All eyes moved to me. Mine were shooting fire bombs at Matt, hoping he'd pick up on the hint.

"What does Mando's gallery have to do with sea food?" asked Suze.

"Nothing, I suppose. I was just making conversation." I kicked Matt under the table.

"Ow!" All eyes moved to Matt. "I uhh, just got a sudden pain in my shin."

"Shin splints?" Erin queried, her face a mask of concern. "Runners get them all the time," she said, so the rest of us would know she was an expert at track.

"No. I don't think it's shin splnts," Matt said. He looked at Armando. "So, Armando, your gallery's on Seaborn. Do you live in the art district as well?"

Finally!

"Yes, I have a lovely loft, not far from the gallery." His penetrating gaze moved to me. "I can't wait to have you all over. Perhaps we could hang some art together." There was a tiny smirk dancing at the corners of his lips.

Oh my God! He did know it was me at the house. And now he's toying with me.

"Do you live there with your mother?" I said, meeting his gaze.

"Megan!" Suze snapped. "What kind of question is that? Apologize this instant!"

"It's just that when we were at the art opening that night, I saw an older woman I swear could be Armando's mother."

I turned back to him. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Oh? Do you know the woman I'm talking about? I think she said her name was Señora Marisol."

"I do not know of whom you speak," he replied in a voice like velvet, smooth and comforting, yet it could not hide the fury in his eyes. I was on to him and he knew it.

"Are you sure?" I said, not backing down.

"Megan! What has gotten into you?" Suze called.

"Positive," he replied, the word short and stabbing.

"I think I should have gone home and watched those DVDs," said Erin uncomfortably.

I had him on the hook. I couldn't let go. I continued. "Dark hair streaked with gray. Looks like an escapee from a horror flick. She was at your opening the other night."

"I believe you are mistaken, my dear. I do not know a Señora Marisol."

"No, I'm not. She was there. And she knows _you_."

"Okay, that's it! I've had enough embarrassment for one night," Suze said, rising. "Megan Lilith Barnett, we're going home."

# Chapter Sixteen

We took a cab. Armando offered to drive, but Mom insisted we go alone. She put Matt and Erin in a separate cab, and then we found one of our own. The ride home was shrouded in silence.

"He's not who you think he is," I said after a while, my shrill voice piercing the still of the cab.

"Not a word until we're in the house," was her only reply. She sat looking straight ahead, hands folded neatly on her lap. Not once did she look at me the entire trip.

When we got home, she went into the kitchen, where she brewed a pot of tea. I sat at the dining table watching in silence as she meandered around like a zombie, never a glance in my direction. Done, she poured us each a cup, set two biscotti on a saucer, sat down across from me, and looked at me for the first time since we'd left the restaurant.

"Why?" The single word escaped her lips laced with anger, betrayal, pain.

"He's not who you think he is," I stammered.

"Why?" she repeated louder, not allowing me to finish. "I've given you everything. I have dedicated my entire life to your happiness. Do you realize the sacrifices I've made for you?"

I nodded, the beginnings of shame mounting inside of me.

"I want this, Megan." Her voice was flat yet decisive. "I want to have a relationship with a man. Armando—"

"Even if he's not—" I interjected.

"Yes!" she said, her voice rising unnaturally. "Even if he's _not!_ " These last words coming in a blistering attack.

My head was spinning. I'd seen her angry before, but not like this. This was more than anger, this was... betrayal. She felt betrayed.

"He has a secret house near the mall," I blurted in defense of myself. "I saw the old lady from the art gallery, Señora Marisol. The only reason I even noticed her that night at the gallery is she was staring at you so hard, it scared me. So when I saw her near the mall, I followed her." The words spilled forth in a stumbling, incomprehensible jumble.

She sat listening, her eyes slowly filling with disbelief. "I want this one thing," she said when I was done. "One thing for me. Why are you hell bent on destroying it?" Her eyes were awash with tears, tears she willed not to fall.

I opened my mouth to respond, to protest that I wasn't destroying anything, I was saving her. It was then I realized I was crying like a baby. Fat tears streamed from my eyes.

"I.... I.... I'm _sorry,_ " I heard myself whine, as the tears and emotion flowed. In that moment, I saw things differently. It was as if the cloud of confusion had been lifted. I realized then I had been blinded by jealousy.

"I... I was afraid I was going to lose you," I managed, my chest heaving. "I'm so sor-reeeee!" This last bit a guttural groan.

"As I told you before, I'm not going anywhere." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "By the way, you're grounded."

I nodded, as I continued to weep. I couldn't think about the grounding just then. I couldn't think about anything. I was too confused.

Later, I lay in bed staring out my window. My eyes were on the overcast sky, my mind a mishmash of errant thought. I had been jealous of my mother, Armando, Matt, Erin. I was so ashamed of how I had embarrassed my mother... my rock... my friend. I took stunned inventory of myself. Where did this jealousy come from? It was like a slow moving fog that had engulfed me so gradually, I didn't notice it. And once blanketed in the fog, I'd lost all perspective.

I want her to be happy, I really do. And Matt and Erin are my best friends. Yet, I could not hide from the truth. I was jealous of their relationships.

There are times in our lives when we have to take a hard look in the mirror and see who we really are. I was doing just that, and I didn't like who I saw. Petty. Jealous. Shallow. These are not words I would normally use to describe myself, and yet that is what I saw—a petty, jealous, shallow girl.

They say change only comes under duress. Losing my mother and my friends was duress enough. I was ready to change.

My thoughts moved to Armando. I hated him from the moment I first laid eyes on him. That was probably because he was perfect for her. My fear of losing my mother had colored my opinion of him. Of course, I knew he was lying about Señora Marisol, and he knew I knew. But that didn't mean he didn't care for my mother. Señora Marisol was probably some crazy old Aunt he wasn't yet ready to spring on her. That made perfect sense.

Everyone has a crazy relative in a closet somewhere. If only I could have realized it earlier, before my jealousy had swallowed me whole, allowing me to embarrass myself, and cause my mother so much pain.

After several hours of dizzying thought, I drifted into a fitful sleep.

# Chapter Seventeen

Incense.

I awoke with a start. The odor of incense was filling my room. And then the laughter began.

Was I having the dream again? I had been on that nether-world edge, where you're neither awake nor asleep. I sat up, looked around the room. Nothing. The house was quiet. I was alone. Yet, as I sat there coming full awake, a slow chill came bristling up my spine. I got the distinct feeling I hadn't been dreaming at all. What I smelled was real. What I'd heard was real. It was the voice of Armando, and he was laughing at me.

#

At school the next day, I began my quest to put the pieces of my life back together. I wanted to start at home in the morning with Suze. I was in the kitchen making cocoa when she emerged sleepy-eyed from her room.

"Hot cocoa," I said.

"No thanks."

And that was it, the only words between us before she left for work and me for school.

I wished I could have turned back the clock and lived last night over again. Oh, how different things would have been. But there was no turning back the hands of time. I had created this horrible mess. I needed to fix it.

Erin and Matt were at their lockers chatting when I arrived. When they saw me, the conversation stopped abruptly. Talking about me, no doubt. I approached.

"Got a minute?"

They exchanged dark expressions I couldn't read. "Sure," said Matt, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He put an arm around Erin's shoulder. A united front.

Suddenly, I needed a jolt of confidence. If I was going to get through this, I needed to know that they'd forgive me.

"Look, I know I acted like an idiot last night. Heck, I've been acting like an idiot for a few weeks now."

I peered into their faces as I spoke. Their lack of expression or empathy weakened my resolve. Still, I found the courage to push ahead.

"I was jealous... of my mother having Armando in her life... of you guys finding each other. There was so much happening so soon I guess... I didn't know how to handle it."

"I asked you if you were okay with us seeing each other." Matt's words came as an indictment, not a hint of sympathy in them.

"I know. But I wasn't aware I was jealous until last night, when I realized what I'd done."

"Last night you were out of control," said Erin.

"Yes, I was. And I'm sorry for any pain or embarrassment I've caused either of you. I hope you can forgive me."

I was suddenly spent, as the last of the apology crossed my lips. It was as if I had run a marathon. My arms and legs were lead weights, my head woozy. It was eight in the morning, yet I was ready to go home, fall into bed, cuddle with my binky, and sleep the sleep of the dead... And no, I don't still have a binky. Mine suspiciously disappeared when I was eleven. I suspect my mother, who had been hiding it from me for months.

"You were a real pill last night," Erin said.

I nodded.

"'Dark hair streaked with gray. Looks like an escapee from a horror flick.'" She repeated my words from the night before with dramatic flair. Then suddenly she smiled. "Drama Queen!"

And now Matt was smiling too. "I thought Armando was gonna have a coronary." They began laughing uncontrollably, as if they'd been hanging onto it all morning.

I was stunned. "So... you... forgive me?"

"I don't know who that person was roaming these halls the past few of weeks, but it certainly wasn't you. Welcome back." Erin threw her arms around me, hugging me dearly. "I missed you," she said softly.

"I missed you, too."

I looked up. Matt was staring at me, his expression serious. "No more of this crazy talk, Megan. From now on, you leave your mother and Armando alone."

I nodded.

"For real this time, or I promise we're gone forever."

I nodded again, my head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead. "No more. I swear." I extended my arms to him, wiggled my fingers. " _Now_ can I have a hug?"

The three of us stood hugging until the bell rang.

#

When Erin and I walked into English together, the expression on Maudrina's face went from pleasure to pain in two-point-five seconds.

It was obvious she'd been saving the seat next to her for me, even though no one ever sat there. When she spotted the two of us, she quickly looked away, pretending she was going over some homework. Surreptitiously, she removed the sweater that had been draped across the seat. I excused myself and approached the now-vacant seat.

"Thanks for saving it for me."

"Huh?" she said, turning as if she hadn't noticed I was there.

"My seat. Thanks for saving it." I plopped my books down on the desk.

"Umm, sure," she said, eying me with distrust.

I sat and looked over at Erin, who was trying to figure out what I was doing. I shot her an innocent smile.

"You don't have to," the voice next to me whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to sit here if you don't want to. You guys are friends again. I'm cool."

"I know I don't have to sit here, silly. I want to." I reached over and rubbed her arm. Faint doggy odor wafted over to me. "By the way, I'm not grounded anymore." Maudrina's eyes filled with hopeful expectation. "I was wondering if you still wanted to have that play date?"

"You serious?"

"Of course, I'm serious. I've been looking forward—"

"Yes! When?"

"How about Saturday afternoon?"

"You are going to love Sam. He is soo fun."

Visions of frolicking on the floor with smelly Sam invaded my thoughts. "Can't wait," I said. And I meant it.

I have to admit, the new me had me feeling pretty good about myself. Matt and Erin were my friends again, and I couldn't get over the smile on Maudrina's face when I told her I'd be coming over to play with her dogs.

When class ended, I formally introduced my old friend to my new friend. They eyed each other with caution. Getting them together was going to take some time.

After the brief intros, I excused myself and headed to the first floor stairwell for a rendezvous with Guy. I'd done a good thing. I deserved a kiss.

I arrived in the stairwell first. A few students drifted through, but by the time the first bell had rung, the place was a ghost town. Perfect, except... no Guy. I pushed open the stairwell door and peered out into the corridor. A few stragglers, like mice fleeing a sinking ship, raced to get to class before the second bell.

Brrrng!

The second bell. The corridor emptied. I ducked back into the stairwell, so as not to be seen by a roving hall monitor, pulled out my phone and texted:

Where R U?

I waited two, three, four, five minutes. No reply. I sent a second text:

Not here n 5 Im lvng.

I waited another ten minutes before heading off to class—late again, and unkissed. It was then I noticed the ache in the pit of my stomach. It seemed to grow with every moment.

_Oh, darn!_ I thought. I'd never felt anything like it before. But I knew exactly what it was. I was falling in love.

# Chapter Eighteen

When my mother got home from work I was waiting with her favorite flowers—peonies, her favorite fun food—grilled fontina cheese on sour dough ciabatta, wearing her favorite outfit that she'd bought me—brown suede skirt and vest that I couldn't stand, and reading from her favorite book of poetry— _Love Poems_ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." I recited as she walked through the door.

She stared at me, surprise etched across her face. It was as if she couldn't believe I was capable of such thoughtfulness.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach..." I continued.

After she put down her things, I escorted her into the dining room where I had candles burning.

She sniffed the cheesy fragrant air mixed with the vanilla of the candles.

I smiled. "Can't get anything past you. Yes, that is your fave, grilled fontina ciabatta."

She nodded, still absorbing it all.

"Sit," I said. "Dinner will be served in a few."

"You hate that outfit," she said, sounding as if I was up to something. I was.

"But _you_ love it."

She nodded again, and I thought I saw the vestiges of a smile chinking her armor.

"I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need..."

"I love thee freely," she said picking up the verse, a full on smile now shining through. And for the first time I had the feeling I might just be able to win her back.

"Peonies," she said, eying the flowers in the center of the table. "They're out of season."

"Tell me about it. You have no idea how hard it is to get peonies in this town this time of year."

"Must have cost a small fortune."

"Lose the word small, and you're on the right track... But worth every penny." My tone turned somber. "I know it's going to take time for you to forgive me. But I want you to know, I meant what I said last night. I'm sorry, and I wish you and Armando nothing but the best."

After a moment: "That took a lot of guts."

I shook my head. "No. Squeezing into this outfit took a lot of guts."

She chuckled. Just what I was going for. Her expression softened. "You're forgiven," she said.

The sweetest words I'd ever heard. The weight I'd been carrying on my shoulders all day was suddenly lifted. I felt like a death-row inmate receiving a full pardon from the Governor. "But you're still grounded," she added sternly.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Later that night we watched _Sense And Sensibility_ , one of our absolute favorite DVDs. And we both cried for like the umpteenth time when Marianne's heart got broken by roguish Willoughby.

The evening with my mother had a double effect—I was happy to see her smiling once again. I needed that. And spending time with her helped ease the love ache burning in the pit of my stomach. I needed that, too.

Over the next several days, Suze and I ate together and laughed together, friends once again. But there was an obvious strain in our relationship. We both knew it. We were strangers pretending to be friends. I'm sure we were quite convincing to the outside world. We went through our daily routine as if nothing had changed. But something fundamental had shifted between us. It was as if there were an elephant in the room, and neither of us was willing to acknowledge its presence.

On Saturday afternoon, I persuaded Suze to lift my punishment for a few hours so that I wouldn't disappoint Maudrina. An afternoon out was just what the doctor ordered.

I arrived at her house just after four. As soon as I started up the walkway, a cacophony of happy barking greeted me, coming from inside the house. I stepped up to the door, and a giddy Maudrina yanked it open before I could ring the bell.

"I thought it might be you. Welcome," she said, swinging the door wide. The toy poodle, Piddles, came barreling out, crashing into my legs, yapping and bouncing into the air as if he'd been waiting all his life to meet me. He was followed by the slower moving Sam, the boxer. He was obviously an older dog, but no less affectionate. Sam stepped up to me and nuzzled my hand onto his head.

"He insists everyone pet him. Not now, Sam! She just got here," Maudrina called, cheerfully chastising him.

Sam ignored her, continuing to nuzzle. The doggy odor drifted off him like a fog greeting me with open arms.

"Somebody needs a bath," I said, as I innocently scratched Sam's head.

"He does?" asked Maudrina with a nervous lilt. "I mean, I know _I_ smell him, but I didn't think it was that bad."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I've got an idea. Let's give them bubble baths. It'll be fun."

"A bath?" she asked, her eyes reflecting uncertainty.

Was I making fun of her and her dogs?

"A _bubble_ bath. It'll be fun," I repeated. I smiled brightly and watched as the uncertainty drained away.

"Okay," she replied after a moment. "Let's do it." She stooped to Sam. "You're going to get a bubble bath." He licked her face. He obviously had no idea what was to come.

We went to the drug store and bought a bottle of Mr. Bubble. When I was a kid I loved Mr. Bubble. I used to go through the stuff so fast, my mother once asked if I was drinking it. No. But I had to admit, I liked lots and lots of bubbles in my baths. I was a bubble nut. No doubt about it.

Maudrina wasn't big on bubble baths. That was probably because she was raised by a single parent—her father, who owned a salvage yard for old cars. He wasn't the girly-girl type, and Maudrina's upbringing and home furnishings reflected it.

When we got back to her house, I poured almost half the bottle of Mr. Bubble into the filling tub.

"That's an awful lot," Maudrina commented.

"I know," I replied with a knowing smile.

A slow wave of tiny bubbles began percolating in the tub. As more water sloshed in, the bubble wave grew until you could hardly see any water at all. All you could see was bubbles.

"Looks like fun," Maudrina said with a big grin.

The dogs looked on curiously, not realizing this growing fount of bubbles was just for them.

Finally, we turned off the water. Sam came over and nuzzled my hand. I petted him, running my fingers gently across the top of his head.

"Sam like water?" I asked.

"Sometimes. He likes when we turn the hose on in the summer. But I don't know about this."

"How do you think we should do it?"

"I think we're going to need both of us to lift him. But if he bolts, we'll never get him in."

She was right. Sam was about a hundred pounds of stinky dog. No way we could wrestle him into the tub if he didn't want to go.

Okay, new plan. I looked at Piddles. "Piddles like water?"

"Sometimes. Just like Sam. But one thing that might help is Sam doesn't want Piddles to have anything he doesn't have." A conspiratorial smile spread across both our faces. "Here, Pids," Muadrina cooed. She knelt and Piddles raced over, leaping into her arms.

"Hold him tight," I called.

She dangled Piddles over the mountain of bubbles. He began squirming in her grasp. Quickly, I scooped up a handful of the bubbles and petted them into his fur.

"Good boy," I said softly. "Good Piddles." I continued massaging the bubbles in. The squirming subsided. Maudrina gently lowered the toy poodle into the bath as I massaged and cooed.

" _Yip,"_ he barked contentedly. " _Yip, yip_." He was starting to enjoy himself.

"Woof!"

Sam's booming bark echoed off the bathroom walls. He wasn't exactly pleased with all the attention Piddles was getting. He wanted some, too. He stood on his hind legs, his front paws lopping over the side of the tub. " _Woof, woof!"_ He was itching to join in the fun.

"Sammy wanna bubble bath?" I called. He looked at me, his tongue lolling as he tried climbing into the tub.

I stopped massaging Piddles, moved to Sam, grabbed his hind quarters, and in one quick motion, shoved him over the edge and in.

_Sploosh!_ Sam joyously sloshed into the tub, sending a surge of bubbles and water everywhere. Maudrina and I were both soaked, but the dogs seemed to be enjoying themselves. We smiled at each other, our eyes shining. Mission accomplished.

#

By Tuesday morning I had to accept that something was seriously wrong. Guy was gone. It was as if he'd been plucked from the face of the earth. He wasn't in school. He hadn't returned any of my texts or calls. I looked for him everywhere and had Matt and Erin keeping their eyes peeled on Guy patrol. No one had seen him.

"Maybe there's been a family emergency and he had to leave town," Erin said as we ate lunch. She ate, I picked.

"But that doesn't explain why he won't return my calls or texts."

"Maybe he lost his phone."

I didn't want to say what had been lurking in the back of my mind for several days now. It was too selfish. But I wondered— _had I been dumped_?

Of course, being dumped wouldn't explain why he wasn't in school. I mean, no boy would be absent for a whole week just to avoid a girl.... Okay, no boy's parents would _allow_ him to avoid school for an entire week over a girl.

But maybe Guy's parents didn't know he wasn't in school. Guy was a bad boy, an expert at intercepting school correspondence.

The ache in my stomach spread to my head. I wanted to see him so badly; I was making myself sick.

#

When I awoke on Valentine's Day, my legs and arms felt as though someone had pumped them full of cement during the night. It took every ounce of strength I had to drag myself out of bed. If not for a calc exam, I could have lain there feeling sorry for myself all day.

When I got downstairs, I saw the Valentine's Day card propped up against a glass of orange juice on the kitchen counter. My head began swimming with possibilities. As much as I hoped for a Valentine's Day miracle, I knew who it was from before I picked it up. Suze.

_You will always be my valentine_ , was the sentiment inside. There was a time in my life when this would have been enough to get me through the one day of the year when not having a boyfriend was so painfully obvious. As I read the card, tears formed in my eyes. They were not tears of joy.

When I opened the door to Matt's car, I noticed the corner of a red package sticking out of his backpack on the rear seat.

"Is that candy from Cerreta's?" I asked, climbing in.

"Oh. Yeah," he said without looking at me.

A slash of the old jealousy I promised I'd gotten past stabbed into me. I have never known Matt to buy a girl a gift for Valentine's Day."

"That's very thoughtful."

"Yeah well, you know how important Valentine's Day is for you girls," he replied matter of factly.

He still wasn't looking at me. He was concentrating on the road, something I usually had to remind him to do. He knew I was hurting over Guy having gone missing, and he was trying to play down Valentine's Day.

I'd brought the mix tape I made of all the songs that reminded me of Guy to school with me. I'd been compiling it since that first kiss in the back of the little yellow school bus. It was supposed to be his special Valentine's gift. Beneath the pain in my gut, there was a tiny oasis of hope that maybe, just maybe, Guy would appear today.

When he didn't show up in the stairwell, to keep my heart from sinking any lower, I started coming up with all sorts of rationalizations. I told myself he would never miss Valentine's Day. _He must be sick, or worse, injured, and he can't get to me._

With a fresh rationalization on my mind, I went to the school office to see if I could get the low-down on where he might be. I didn't even know where he lived.

"Yes?" Mrs. Cleveland, the no-nonsense school secretary, looked up at me over her glasses. Or should I say, looked down her nose at me.

"Um, I was checking up on a friend. Guy Matson."

"What about him?" Those were her words, but her tone was clearly saying: _Guy Matson is none of your business._

"I haven't seen him for a few days."

"He's been absent."

"Yes, I know. I was wondering if he was okay."

"Sorry. Student records are confidential." Her head went back down, as if that were enough to get rid of me.

"Right, right. I know that," I said. I didn't move. Her head came back up, annoyance coloring her face.

"Then, what is it you want?"

"I was just wondering if he was sick, or if it was a family emergency or something."

"Student records are confidential." This time she said it as if talking to an idiot. Her head did not go back down. Instead, she glared at me.

"I know, but I'm worried about him."

"I'm sure he isn't going to die, young lady."

"So, he _is_ sick?" I asked, my voice rising with hope. Her glare took on a knowing expression. Her eyes widened. "I know, I know. Student records are confidential." She did not respond. She continued glaring until I turned tail and left.

#

Guy wasn't the only person who had gone missing from my life. I hadn't seen or spoken to Armando since the night at the restaurant. February gave way to March. I knew my mother was still seeing him, but always outside the house. Just a few weeks ago, he'd stop by at the drop of a hat. But no more. It was as if I had the plague.

Whenever I mentioned his name, I got a civil response. Oh, he's fine, or He asked about you, too, or It's easier for me to meet him at a restaurant than for him to come all the way over here.

I knew there was more to it than that. I also knew the giddy girl talk that once existed between us had been reduced to polite, civil conversation. That elephant was still in the room. The only way I was ever going to get it out and get things back to normal was to deal with the problem head-on.

I had one more apology to make.

Wednesday afternoon Suze called to tell me she had to stay late at the office. It was tax time again, which meant she probably wouldn't be home till after midnight. It was the perfect opportunity for me to slip out, shoot over to Armando's gallery, and apologize without her knowing about it. I smiled to myself as I imagined the conversation between them after my apology:

"Guess who was just here?"

"Who?"

"Megan. She made the most beautiful apology."

"She did?"

"What a lucky woman you are to have such a thoughtful daughter. You do know the only reason she was cruel to me that night is she was thinking of you."

Okay, maybe I was piling it on a bit with the _lucky woman_ and _thinking of you_ parts. But I was certain once I apologized, things between Suze and me would get back to normal.

# Chapter Nineteen

I took the bus. Daytime temperatures in March can push up into the eighties, leaving balmy evenings, almost like the tropics. The sun was going down when I arrived at Seaborn Street. The glow of the setting sun, glinting off tony shop windows, rimmed the street with an aura of muddy, orange light, like a dirty halo.

Daylight faded as I exited the bus. It's amazing just how quickly the sun actually sets. Watching a sunset seems to be a leisurely activity, but in reality, it happens in a matter of minutes. By the time I was a block from the gallery, shadows of impending night were already creeping up around me.

As I approached, I noticed Armando's old Volvo parked out front. _Good. He's still here._

Then someone emerged from the gallery. A woman. Señora Marisol. She was wearing an expensive-looking dark coat that dropped to just above her ankles. Her graying hair flowed freely.

I froze. I was about twenty meters from the gallery, but I couldn't take another step. Seeing her there sent goose bumps dancing up my arms. A few moments later, Armando came out behind her. He said something in her ear and she laughed.

He peered up and down the street, but I was already gone. Instinctively, I had ducked into a shadow, where I could observe them, but they couldn't see me.

He locked up the gallery, then walked around and opened the car door for her. She climbed in, no longer the old crone, but an elegant, aging woman. He smiled at her as he shut the door. Then he walked around to the driver's side, climbed in, and drove away. I stared after them until the car was out of sight.

My skin was tingling. A churn started in the pit of my stomach. The old suspicions returned like wildfire consuming my thoughts.

I knew it. Something was not right about Armando. Was he cheating with Señora Marisol?

I know it sounded ridiculous, but I had to find out. I took off on a dead run. I had a good idea where they were headed.

As I ran, the questions raged: _Drug dealer? Gun runner? Philanderer? Imposter!_ Armando was not the man my mother believed him to be. And the familiarity between him and Señora Marisol wasn't son to mother, or housekeeper to master. This was something different altogether. The thought of it set my heart racing.

By the time I reached the familiar street, my lungs ached, my breath coming in short ragged bursts. I stopped, bent over, hands on knees, welcoming sweet fresh air into my lungs.

Ahead of me stood the house where I'd met Señora Marisol and helped Armando with the art. The street was quiet... well, almost. Armando's house was lit up, lights in every window. A party was going on. A couple or small group arrived every few minutes. Some of them I recognized from the art opening.

As I regained my composure, I came up with a plan. I was about to become the uninvited guest. I'd crash Armando's party, and when he saw me, he'd have no choice but to come clean.

I swallowed hard, realizing if I was wrong about Armando, I'd seriously be grounded forever. But I wasn't wrong. I knew he wasn't who he pretended to be. I just didn't know what he was up to.

I was moving toward the house when I heard someone call my name. I recognized the voice instantly. Guy Matson. I turned.

He was walking toward me out of a shadow. He had on a snug-fitting, light blue hoodie and jeans. The hood was pulled up and cinched around his face. The blue hoodie bathed in the yellow of the street lights gave his complexion a swarthiness that made him handsomer than ever.

"Guy? Where have you been?" The ache in my stomach eased just a bit. Not because I knew he was my boyfriend, but because I knew he was all right.

He smiled his smile, and I nearly forgot why I was there. "It's complicated," he replied. "I'll explain later."

He pulled the hood back off his head. His hair was deliciously disheveled. I wanted to run my fingers through it.

"I thought something happened to you," I said. My shoulders tightened as I waited for his response. His smile widened.

"You worried about me?"

I could feel my cheeks redden. "Of course I'm worried. But I can't imagine why," I added, trying to hang on to a bit of dignity.

He continued moving toward me until we were inches apart. I looked down at his left wrist and saw the braided-paper bracelet was still there. The ache in my stomach eased a bit more. My eyes moved to his lips. I could almost taste his sweet kisses in the back of my mouth.

"Isn't it kind of late for you to be roaming the streets?" he said. "What are you doing around here?"

Oh, right. Armando.

My reason for being on the street came flooding back. As we stood under the street lamp, I told him everything, which was difficult considering I was staring at his lips the whole time. But somehow I got it all out. He listened patiently, never once interrupting me with a surprise kiss. _Darn him!_

"So, you're going to crash this creep's party and bust him, huh?" There was a devilish smile teasing the corners his lips.

"That's the plan. Hey, why don't you come with me? Two party crashers are better than one."

"I'm not much of a party crasher," he said. "You sure you want to go in there?"

Of course I wasn't sure. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But I knew I had to. I nodded.

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I'll be waiting for you when you come out."

"You're going to miss all the excitement," I said in a playful sing-song. I was trying to make it seem like fun, when in reality I was wondering if I could muster the courage to confront Armando. Guy's presence could provide the confidence boost I needed. "You sure you don't want to come?" I said in my most flirtatious voice.

"This is _your_ thing. The real fun begins when you get out." He winked at me, and my heart jumped.

Knowing Guy would be waiting for me with nibbles and kisses would have to be incentive enough to continue with my plan. For the first time in a week, the pain in my stomach was gone. But there was something new churning in the pit of my stomach—fear. Yet knowing that I hadn't been dumped gave me courage to deal with it.

Guy escorted me to the stoop.

"Give him hell," he said, patting my shoulder gently.

"You bet I will." A few arriving party goers walked past us and up the steps. I noticed they let themselves in. It was my turn.

Before I could chicken out, I climbed the stairs behind them, turned and waved to Guy who had an odd look in his eye. No time to wonder why. I pushed open the door and entered.

# Chapter Twenty

The hall was lined on both sides with brightly burning candles, giving the place an eerie sense of gloom. The smell of incense was stronger than ever. The couple ahead of me continued down the hall toward the rear, where many voices could be heard. They turned right, their footsteps moving away from me toward the voices.

This place is bigger than I thought.

I was alone in the corridor. I could see candlelight spilling from the rooms that lined the hall. What I hadn't realized from the outside is that the entire house was lit by candlelight. Again the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. This was not a party I was crashing. This seemed to be a séance, or some kind of cult thing.

The front door behind me opened and closed. Someone was coming. I pretended to admire one of the large paintings that hung on the wall. From the sound of the approaching footsteps, two people were moving toward me.

_Could Armando and Señora Marisol just be arriving?_ I angled my face away, hoping they wouldn't recognize me.

"Don't dally, sweetheart," a female voice said from directly behind me. "You won't want to miss it. Nights like this don't happen very often." It was a kindly voice. Definitely not Señora Marisol.

"I'm coming," I replied, dutifully.

I allowed the pair to pass. Two women, both in their early forties and well dressed. I waited until they moved to the end and made the right turn.

Nights like this don't happen very often.

The words teased at my confidence. Maybe this was the wrong time to confront Armando. Maybe I was in danger. If this is the lair of some maniac cult, I was very much in danger.

At that moment, I wanted to run from the house and into Guy's waiting arms. But if I told him what I thought was going on in here, he'd think I was crazy. Anyone would. Armando was in some kind of cult, maybe he was even their leader. It did sound crazy.

I'd been staring at the large painting for several minutes, but until then I hadn't actually looked at it. It was one of the paintings I'd seen on my earlier trip to the house. An empty field. But in the candlelight I could now see the field wasn't empty. The outlines of ghostlike people frolicking in the field was suddenly clear. The people were naked.

Quickly my eyes darted from painting to painting as I took in all the landscapes that hung on the walls. None of them was empty as I had thought. All of them contained ghostlike, frolicking, naked people.

The chatter down the hall quieted. People began whispering: "He's coming. He's coming."

As afraid as I was, I couldn't leave now. I had to know exactly what Armando was up to. If I didn't find out now I might never find out. I knew I might be in danger, but Guy was outside waiting for me. If I didn't come out, I was sure he would notify the police.

That didn't exactly make for a warm and comfy feeling, but under the circumstances, it was the best I could hope for. I sucked up every ounce of courage I could muster and headed toward the voices.

#

When I made the turn in the corridor, I spotted an open door at the end that led to a basement. Candlelight streamed up the stairs. My heart leapt into my mouth. In every horror movie I had ever seen, when a lone woman went into a darkened basement, she did not fare well. But this basement wasn't dark. It was well lit. And it wasn't empty. It was filled with people.

_Nothing bad can happen here,_ I told myself.

I tried convincing myself this was different from some old horror movie.

My self-convincing worked. I started downstairs.

The basement was wall-to-wall people, men and women of various ages, all standing shoulder to shoulder. The only open space was the area around an altar at the front. The altar, illuminated by the light of a hundred tall, thin candles, was adorned with grotesque demonic drawings in red and gold. Traced on the floor before it was a large circle containing a five-point star.

An ornate door beside the altar opened. Armando and Señora Marisol stepped into the room. A reverent hush settled over the crowd. In the bright light, I could see that Señora Marisol's expensive-looking coat was actually a long hooded black robe. The hood was now up, encircling her face, her graying hair jutting out from the sides. Armando wore an identical robe. A pendant with an all-seeing eye hung around his neck.

They entered, Armando stepping into the center of the circle, Señora Marisol by his side.

"Followers of darkness, the year is one." Armando's melodious voice resonated throughout the room. "The time for darkness is once again upon us."

An exalted cheer rose from the crowd.

"Hush," he breathed, and they quieted.

Satanists, I thought. Armando is a Satan worshipper. Worse. He's their satanic leader.

He stepped from the circle, careful not to touch the crudely drawn edges. Señora Marisol was now alone in the ring. "Witness the omnipotence of my power," he called, his booming voice rising, ricocheting off the walls. "My human servant for fifty-ought years, Señora Marisol, shall feel my grace. And you shall bear witness to my almighty power." He turned to her. "Kneel," he commanded. Slowly she knelt before him, her head bowed.

"I shall have no other gods before me but Thee, Oh Master," she cried.

These people _are_ crazy. Lunatics. What have I gotten myself into? I've got to get out of here.

I took a step backward, inching toward the stairs.

Kneeling before Armando, Señora Marisol made a reverse sign of the cross and waited.

"For your years of service, I shall bless you..." Armando's sentence trailed off as he touched one finger to her forehead. At that moment a surge of energy shot through the room. Señora Marisol screamed. It was a bone-chilling scream that shattered the silence.

She keeled over onto the floor, writhing in pain, yet never leaving the circle. "OHHH!" She moaned loudly. "Please! Oh, Master! PLEASE!" she screamed. It was as if she were being murdered.

I peered into the faces of the followers. No one moved to help. All seemed delightedly consumed with her pain. I looked at Armando. His eyes were transfixed on Señora Marisol. They glowed bright, luminescent red. It was as if electricity was emanating from within him.

_An illusion,_ I thought. They're performing some kind of carnival trick for the crowd. They really are crazy.

I had inched my way to the staircase. Everyone's attention was on Armando and Señora Marisol, so no one noticed me moving away. I took one step up, away from the madness.

The stair creaked.

The writhing and moaning on the floor abruptly stopped. Señora Marisol lay motionless.

For a moment I thought I'd been busted until...

"Rise!" commanded Armando.

As soon as he spoke, she began moving again, rising from the floor with catlike grace. Armando reached out and threw back her hood. "YOUTH!" he cried. "I bless you, my loyal servant, with eternal youth."

Señora Marisol was now young and beautiful. Her once graying hair was now a thick, raven mane of luxurious curls that flowed to her shoulders. The creases that once road-mapped her face were gone, her complexion clear, flawless, and youthful. She stood erect, a gorgeous twenty-five year old.

I rubbed my eyes. What I had just witnessed was impossible. Unless... No. I didn't dare think it.

The crowd began to chant. "The year is one, welcome Satan... The year is one, welcome Satan,"the chanting grew to a fever pitch. Señora Marisol now joined in: "The year is one, welcome back Oh, Master,"she cried, her voice rising above the others.

Armando looked over his satanic followers, a tight smile on his lips. His pupils narrowed to slits, his eyes suddenly glowing a fierce, iridescent yellow. He raised his hands, miraculously levitating several inches off the floor.

"The year is one!" he cried. "We shall not be UNDONE!" The final word boomed off the walls. No man could make his voice behave that way. But by then it was clear to me Armando was _no_ man.

There was more show to come, but I didn't see any of it. I was up the stairs and running down the long corridor for my life. My mind was a tangle of thoughts, blending together into one incoherent jumble. Yet through the fog that clouded my mind, one thing was crystal clear—Armando, my mother's boyfriend, was the devil.

# Chapter Twenty-one

When the knock came at my bedroom door, I'd been at it for hours. How could I sleep knowing what I knew.

"Come in," I called.

Matt and Erin entered, looking around, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. I had called them both earlier, asked them to come over and let themselves in. "An emergency," is all I said.

It was morning, yet the drapes were drawn tight, keeping the sunlight at bay. Dimestore crosses and crucifixes were everywhere, in every imaginable size. Several cardboard crosses I made myself dangled from long strands of electrical tape from the ceiling. A large circle, similar to the one at Armando's, had been drawn on my bedroom floor in charcoal. My desk and computer had been dragged inside the circle. I now sat at the computer working away.

"What's going on here?" said Matt. He appeared stunned, as he took it all in.

"Why are the drapes drawn?" asked Erin.

I looked hopefully over at the window. Daylight has a way of turning things imagined in the night to dust—boogie men in the closet, monsters under the bed. But daylight did nothing to diminish what I'd witnessed the night before. My fear was as strong as when I ran from the house. I was scared to death.

"I honestly don't know," I replied. "I guess at the time I thought drawing the drapes might keep him out. That was before I knew the power of a hexagram."

"Hexagram?"

"That's what they call this funny little circle I drew on the floor. Very similar to the one they used last night, but that one's called a pentagram. This one wards off evil. You guys should probably get inside. You'll be safe in here." I signaled for them to join me inside the circle.

They didn't move.

"Are you going to explain this to us?" Matt demanded, still looking around.

"You mean the crosses? It's hard to get a good crucifix at an all-night Seven-Eleven. Those were the best I could come up with at three in the morning."

"Oo-kay," he drawled. "But what are they for? What's the emergency you called us about?"

"Check it out," I called without looking up.

They came over, joining me inside the circle. They peered at the computer screen. It was a website called _Signs And Symbols of Satan_. "Recognize that?" I said pointing. "I thought it was a peace sign when I first saw the ring on Armando's finger. Boy, was I wrong." I shook my head and chuckled. It was a low, derisive laugh that emanated from deep inside me.

"I sure hope this is some kind of joke," Erin said, "because you're scaring me." Her voice trembled, her face a mask of concern.

"No. No joke. I wish it was. Armando's peace sign ring, the one he said he got at the old Woodstock farm, is not a peace sign at all. It's the sign of the devil."

Matt let out a long exasperated sigh. "So, this is about Armando again?"

I looked him in the eye. "I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with him. Drug dealer. Gun runner. Gigolo. I never would have guessed Satan. Not in a million years." I pointed to the next symbol on screen. "See that? That's called an Udjat. He was wearing that around his neck at the ritual last night. See what it says: _one of the few symbols referring to Satan, king of hell."_

"Are you telling us Armando is the devil?" Matt was trying to remain calm, but from the sound of his voice, he thought I was losing my mind.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

He and Erin exchanged a glance, and I could see my worst fears on both their faces.

"Go," I said softly. "I know what you think. And you have every reason to think it. I know it sounds crazy."

Tears welled up in Erin's eyes. Through them I saw eight years of friendship slipping away. They say _the truth shall set you free_. But my truth was a prison that isolated me from them.

"Does Suze know about this?" she asked, the first tears streaking her cheeks.

"No. And I'm asking you as my very best friends not to tell her, at least not for a few days. If I can't convince you in a week that what I say is true, that I'm not insane, then by all means tell her. But give me that time."

I recounted my tale of the previous night: my trip to the art gallery, the meeting at Armando's house, Señora Marisol miraculously turning young, Armando's eyes glowing as he levitated off the floor. Throughout the telling they eyed me as if I was mad. A day earlier I'd have done the same.

"So let me get this straight. Satan has come to earth and chosen your mother to be his girlfriend?" Matt's words were laced with disbelief.

"What? Are you saying my mother's not good enough to date the devil?"

A look passed between them. I know. Nutty as a fruitcake.

It was only after they'd left for school that I allowed myself to think about Guy. I was in such a frenzy when I ran from the house, I hadn't given him a second thought. I now realized he wasn't anywhere out front when I came out. We would have seen each other.

They got him.

A certain dread came over me. Guy would not have left me. The Satanists had gotten him and were probably using him as a subject in one of their demonic rituals. I regretted ever asking him to wait for me.

I checked my phone to see if he had called or texted. Nothing.

_They got him and it's all my fault,_ I thought, as I sent a frantic text. I didn't expect an answer. I didn't get one.

#

Suze slept in, so she had no idea I didn't go to school until around ten a.m. when she rose to go to work. I told her I wasn't feeling very well. "A touch of food poisoning," I said. "Must've been the buffalo wings I had for dinner." _If only..._

She chastised me for not eating healthy. "I'm going to be late again tonight. Promise me you'll have something nutritious for dinner."

"I will," I assured. She didn't notice the tiny cross I'd taken to wearing earlier that morning, or that my eyes were bloodshot from being up all night, _or_ that I made sure she didn't go near my room. After she left, I went back upstairs and dragged my old sleeping bag inside the hexagram. Only then did I allow myself the luxury of sleep.

#

I awoke with a start. My cell phone was on the floor next to me, vibrating away.

"Hello."

"There you are."

The sound of my beating heart filled the room. "Guy." I was suddenly full awake. "Guy, is that really you?"

"Yeah," he said, and I could tell he was smiling. "Sounds like you missed me."

"I need to see you." The tension drained from my shoulders. _He's safe,_ I thought. _Thank God, he's safe._

"Can't right now," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't see you come out last night."

I looked around the room that had once been quite orderly, to the disheveled mess of my furniture dragged into the middle of the floor, the crosses hanging every which way from the walls and ceiling.

"I'm fine." I knew I couldn't tell him the truth over the phone, not if I ever wanted to see him again. "I don't know how we missed each other."

"I guess I do. Had to go to the bathroom. Sorry about that. By the time I got back the place was locked up tight. Looked like everyone had gone home. So, did you confront him?"

"No. The time wasn't right." I changed the subject. "I really need to see you," I repeated.

The drapes were still drawn and the room was bathed in shadow, which is exactly how I felt, as if a cloud of darkness had been cast over my life.

"Can it wait until tomorrow? I'll see you at school."

The darkness increased. "Sure," I said, trying to be brave. There was nothing anyone could do between now and tomorrow anyway. "You take care of yourself. I'm glad you're safe."

He laughed. "I like the way you say that. Sounds like you really mean it."

I smiled for the first time in a long time. His arrogance was shining through, and I have to admit, it comforted me. "I do."

"Meet me in our stairwell between first and second periods?"

_Ah, our stairwell._ I had longed to once again be alone in the stairwell with him. Now the thought of his arms around me, his lips on mine, conjured no special feeling. "Sounds like a plan."

"Righteeo," he said, and signed off.

Sleep had cleared away the cobwebs in my brain. Now that I was thinking clearly again, I had to come up with a plan. I had one week to convince my friends that Armando was the devil before they told my mother. One week before word got out that Megan Lillith Barnett had gone bananas.

# Chapter Twenty-two

Matt was standing at my door, a stack of papers under his arm. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was out, the birds were singing. Until then, I hadn't realized what a beautiful day it was outside. Inside, not so pretty.

"Hey," he said, his face expressionless. I was surprised to see him and I guess it showed. "We've been best friends since kindergarten. I'm not gonna desert you, Megan."

My emotions were beginning to stir. When he and Erin walked out the door this morning, I was certain I'd lost my friends forever.

"Thanks," I said. "You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that. Come in."

My hair was a mess. I pulled it back into a pony tail, cinching it with a rubber band. It's not the way I'd allow most boys to see me, but Matt was like a brother.

We wound up in the kitchen, Matt at his favorite spot leaning against the counter, the Cheerios dispenser in his hand. He small-talked briefly about school and track practice, avoiding the subject for as long as possible.

"I know how I must have sounded this morning, and I apologize for that. I hadn't slept," I said softly. I poured myself a glass of cold water from the fridge. As I sipped the water, I realized I hadn't eaten all day.

"I could tell."

"Anyway, I didn't mean to scare you guys."

His eyes widened with hope. "Are you saying you're having second thoughts about what you told us?"

"No. I wish, but no. I'm just saying I'm sorry it came out the way it did."

The hope drained from his face like water through a sieve. "So you still think Armando is the devil?"

"No, Matt. I _know_ he's the devil."

He popped a few Cheerios in his mouth, pulled the papers from under his arm. "I Googled him," he said.

"Huh?"

"I Googled Armando," he repeated with a smile, waving the papers. "Got about fifteen pages on him."

"No way!" Excitedly I snatched the pages from his hand. Matt had found proof about Armando on the internet. Thank heaven for the World Wide Web. I began reading the first page and my face dropped. I looked up. "What's this?"

"That's the great thing about Google. You type in somebody's name and you can find out all sorts of things about them."

"But it says here he's a philanthropist who gives money to Africa, India..."

He waved another sheet. "I know. This one says he travels the world looking for undiscovered artists that he brings back to the U.S. and makes famous. He's changed a lot of people's lives."

I tore through the pages, giving each one a quick read before tossing it aside.

"You're not going to find what you're looking for," he said. "The man is a saint."

"Lies!" The word crawled from my throat, a hoarse whisper. I looked into his eyes and realized he'd only come to show me how wrong I was. "I thought you were my friend."

"I _am_ your friend, Megan—maybe the only friend you've got left. Erin was a mess at school today. I couldn't console her."

" _Erin_ was a mess!?" I said, my voice rising. "What about _me?_ What do you think I was doing all day? Baking cookies? I just found out my mother's dating the devil, Matt. The freakin' devil! And you're telling me you're worried about _Erin!_ "

It was as if I'd slapped him across the face. "You need help!" He hurriedly began gathering the papers strewn across the counter top.

"No. I need friends."

He stopped. "Megan, I want to believe you, but... come on. How can I? The devil speaks with a Spanish accent, owns an art gallery, and drives a Volvo." He threw up his hands as if to say _"impossible."_

"I didn't ask you to believe me, Matt. I know it sounds crazy. I asked you to give me a week to let me prove myself. Best friends since kindergarten, right? Don't I get at least that?"

Shadows were creeping up the kitchen walls and I realized the day had somehow gotten away from me.

He stared at me for a minute that stretched into an eternity. "Sure," he finally said. It was a grudging response. I didn't care. He agreed.

"I have a plan." My voice lowered conspiratorially. "I know how to expose him. I just need you and Erin present when it happens."

"Sure," he said again, a clipped response. "We'll be there."

It was a simple plan. My mother's fortieth birthday was in two weeks. I couldn't wait that long. I was going to give her a big birthday bash on Saturday night. Matt, Erin, a few of her girlfriends, and, of course, Armando would comprise the guest list. It'd be a birthday bash to remember.

#

I sent out evites that I designed myself using Photoshop. No evite for Armando, though. Aside from the fact I didn't have his email address, I needed him to be assured he wasn't walking into a trap. I called him at the art gallery. It was my first contact with him since I'd known the truth.

Does he know I know? After all, he is the devil. And if he does know, then what?

"Megan. What a pleasant surprise," came his velvet voice. He was trying to sound natural, but I could hear the caution that blanketed his words.

"I am so embarrassed. I'm surprised you haven't hung up on me yet. The way I treated you at the restaurant the other night. Just horrible. It just goes to show what kind of man you are."

A full thirty seconds of measured silence before: "Yes. The restaurant was unfortunate."

"That's putting it mildly. I was behaving like a jealous child. I'm so sorry, Armando. My mother talks about you all the time, what a great guy you are. And she's right. It's obvious how much you mean to her. I do not want to destroy the happiness that only you can give her." As I spoke, I realized this had to be my best acting job ever.

More silence. I could almost hear him weighing my words, pushing, prodding, poking for holes. All I could hope was that his vanity would not allow him to see the truth. I'd thrown around enough compliments. I was counting on Satan having a big ego.

"Your mother is very concerned about you."

"I know," I said with a sigh. "And I want you to know I'm past all the petty jealousies. In fact, I'm throwing her a surprise birthday party Saturday night, and I need your help pulling it off."

"Saturday night? But her birthday isn't until week after next."

"I know. But if I do it this week, it'll totally catch her off guard. And imagine how happy she'll be when she sees we did it together. It's just the boost our relationship needs."

I could sense his smile, cold and calculating. "You are a good daughter," he said.

And I knew I had him.

"What do you need from me?" he asked.

"First, I need to know that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"But of course, Megan. I'm glad you are seeing things more clearly now."

"Yeah, me too. Clear as a bell. I'll keep you abreast of things. I can't pull this off without you, Armando. Thanks again."

Perfect, I thought as I hung up. He thinks I'm taking him into my confidence.

The trap was set.

#

"You okay?" Maudrina asked, as I slid in alongside her in English the next day.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You were absent yesterday, and your friend, Erin, seemed out of sorts. I thought it was because of you."

I smiled, partly because it was nice to know Erin was concerned about me, but mostly because my new friend had intuited so much. Still, I had enough people worrying about me. I had to put her off the trail.

"I had a touch of food poisoning. Some bad buffalo wings is all. I don't know what Erin was bugging about. Drama Queen." I began rummaging in my bag for _A Tale of Two Cities_.

Maudrina laughed out loud.

I looked up. "Was that so funny?"

"It's just that..." She blushed. "It's just that, up until recently, I would have pinned that label on you."

Ouch!

"But that was before. Now that I know you, it's obvious you're not a Drama Queen."

Or now that we're friends you don't want to call me one.

"Piddles and Sam say hi," she continued, changing the subject.

A genuine smile crossed my lips. My day with Maudrina and her dogs was the best I'd had in a long time. Leave it to dogs to be non-judgmental. Man's best friend, indeed.

"Ooh, how are my little buddies?" I found the novel and placed it, along with my notebook, on the desk.

"Fine. They both had bubble baths again last night."

It was then I realized the ever-present doggy odor that clung to Maudrina was nearly gone. If she continued bathing them regularly, in a week or so, the odor would totally work its way out of her clothing. Good for her. Just then, I got a brilliant idea.

"You wanna come to a party Saturday night?"

"A party!" her voice rang out like shattered glass. She could barely contain her excitement. She looked around, lowering her voice. "Are you inviting me to a party?"

"Yes," I said, matching her tone. "At my house. Saturday night." Truth is, I needed a friend by my side, a friend who wouldn't judge me. Maudrina was that friend. "It's a surprise party for my mom. She's turning the big four-oh."

"I'd love to come. What a terrific daughter, giving your mother a surprise party." She grabbed my arm and squeezed it tight. "I can't wait to meet her. Your mom must be special."

I'd been so bent on exposing Armando, I hadn't stopped to think about why I was doing all this, why I was willing to risk my friends thinking I was insane. It was my mother. I'd do anything for her. Friends for as far back as I could remember. She was special, all right.

"Thanks for inviting me." Maudrina continued squeezing my arm. It was obvious she didn't get invited out much. This was a big deal for her. Come to think of it, it was big for both of us.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" is the opening line in _A Tale of Two Cities_. That line pretty much summed up my life.

#

When I arrived in the stairwell, Guy was already there, gorgeous in a simple white Gap t-shirt and jeans. I swear, that boy could make a dish rag look good.

"Hi," he said, smiling his smile.

"Hi." All night I'd gone over in my mind just how I was going to tell him about Armando.

"Remember that party the other night? Turns out it was thrown by the devil." or "You believe in hell? I think you should start."

Now that I was in front of him, I could feel my nerve slipping away. I couldn't stand it if Guy thought I was one card shy of a full deck.

"How ya doin'?" I said, moving in closer.

"Good," he replied.

Did he just inch away from me?

I stiffened slightly. All of a sudden, I was getting the feeling Guy didn't want to take me into his arms, didn't want to kiss me.

"I missed you." I moved closer. I was not going to allow some silly feeling that came out of nowhere to ruin the moment.

You were probably anticipating him thinking you were crazy, that's all.

But I hadn't told him about Armando. No reason to think I'm crazy—yet.

"Missed you, too," was his soft reply.

I was so close I could smell him, feel him, air had to struggle to pass between us, yet he hadn't yet put his arms around me. Most days when I arrived in the stairwell, he couldn't wait to hold me, to kiss me, to nibble at my lips.

I looked down at his bare left wrist. A hollowness sprang up inside of me. "Is something wrong?"

"No, 'course not. We just haven't been together in so long... I'm taking you in." He smiled again. There was something counterfeit in that smile, like an expertly reproduced painting. It looked flawless, yet somehow it lacked sincerity.

I couldn't tell him about Armando, not now, not with this strangeness hanging between us.

"Umm. You know, maybe I should get to class. I have enough tardies to last a lifetime," I said with a forced smile.

"Good idea." Guy has never allowed me to leave the stairwell without cajoling me for one more kiss. He was dumping me.

Once I allowed the thought to enter my consciousness, I knew it was true.

That's why he was out on the street that night. And because I was so busy going on about Armando, he decided to let it wait. No wonder he wasn't waiting for me when I came out.

"Well, guess I'll see you later." I do not know how I managed those words without my voice cracking.

"Righteeo." He leaned in, our lips touched. It was like kissing a dead fish. The hollowness spread to my arms, legs.

I was a zombie for the rest of the day.

I recalled how devastated I had been when Danny Tambor rejected my ten-year-old advances. This was far worse. First off, I wasn't a kid anymore. My feelings for Guy were far deeper than a little-girl crush. I was in love with him. Secondly, my emotions had already been ripped to shreds. I'd gone through so much over the past few weeks with my mother and friends. This was a serious blow to my already delicate psyche.

I wanted to sleep. Sleep, and sleep alone, could give me some relief from the mountain of troubles that weighed on my mind like an avalanche. But I knew better. Sleep was a way of avoiding what needed to be done. And there was much that needed to be done. I loved my mother too dearly to allow myself the extravagance of sleep. I had a party to plan. I had a deception to pull off. I had friends to convince. I had Satan to unmask. When that was all over, then I could sleep.

# Chapter Twenty-three

On Saturday evening, Armando asked my mother to accompany him to an art opening in Scottsdale. That would give me enough time to prepare the house and welcome the guests before they returned.

All week I had been sharing my plans with Armando over the phone. He seemed delighted with my new attitude toward him.

_I don't know what I'd do without you_ was a line I repeated dozens of times throughout the week. I even called and described the birthday cake I designed, and would bake from scratch, in great detail.

"Sounds marvelous."

I neglected to tell him I'd be using holy water in the cake. Marvelous, indeed.

I went to the Catholic Church store on Thursday and bought a few gallons of the stuff. I used it in the cake, the punch, I even carried a small vial on me in case things got out of hand, and I needed to subdue him.

My research touted the power of holy water, as well as a blessed crucifix. These would be my weapons against Satan. If either came in contact with his flesh, his skin would blister and burn, causing excruciating pain, as the demon fried to a crisp.

I smiled as I envisioned Armando becoming a crispy critter before being sent back to hell. Then, I thought of Matt. Witnessing Armando frying ought to convince even the biggest skeptic the devil was definitely in the house.

While my thoughts may have been filled with bravado, I was scared to death. I told myself it was the same kind of nerves I had before a mathlete challenge. Mrs. Brewster always said a little nervous energy got the blood flowing. Right. My blood was pumping so fast it felt as though it was being pushed through a broken water pipe.

Maudrina came at six p.m. to help hang the streamers. I couldn't ask Matt or Erin. They thought I was losing my mind. Maudrina had no idea what was really going on. To her, this was simply a surprise party for my mother's fortieth birthday.

"What a lovely house," she said as she entered. She had been transformed from the dowdy Maudrina I knew at school, wearing the cutest charcoal gray empire-waist party dress. Her hair was swept up away from her face. She looked adorable.

"I love your dress," I drawled.

"Really?" Her voice hinted concern. "I can't tell you how many magazines I went through checking the fashions. I wanted to be sure I wore something hip."

"You succeeded. And do I detect a hint of glitter on your face?"

"Yessss! I've always wanted to try it, but I never had any place to wear it until now."

"You look fabulous." Her smile was worth a million dollars.

By a quarter of seven, Maudrina and I had transformed our living room into a fairy-princess wonderland. A rhinestone tiara and scepter were placed on a small pillow in the alcove by the door. My mother loved princessy things. She would be pleased. More importantly, Armando's guard would be down.

Soon after we finished decorating, my guests began to arrive. Matt and Erin came together at around seven-thirty. As they entered, they eyed the decorations, their faces expressionless. "Nice," said Matt flatly.

"Oh. Maudrina's here?" Erin seemed surprised. Perhaps she thought I was replacing her as a friend.

"She was nice enough to help with the decorations," I replied.

Matt leaned in. "Does she know?"

"Uh-uh. I'm trying to keep the people who think I'm crazy to a minimum." I chuckled, but he and Erin didn't respond. Guess it wasn't such a good joke. "Thanks for coming," I continued. "I really appreciate it."

"Can we talk... alone?" Matt asked, glancing over at Maudrina, who was putting candles on the cake.

"Okay. Sure." I instructed Maudrina to see to it that everyone had a full glass of punch and their share of Princess Puffs, which were really cheese balls. Then I retreated to the kitchen with Matt.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I said as we entered. I was still trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

"Okay, Megan, we're here." The flame of anger ignited his words.

"I appreciate it," I said, taken aback.

"I want you to know you're the best friend I've ever had. But I... _we_ can't stay on this roller coaster any longer."

"I know that. After tonight the ride is over."

"You need help!" he said pointedly. "And I'm telling you, Erin and I are going to stop being your friend until you get it. We've made our decision."

I was stunned at how angry he seemed. "What is this, some kind of intervention?"

"Call it what you like, but after tonight, if you fail to prove that Armando is _the devil_ , Erin and I will be getting off."

"Don't worry. After tonight—"

"That means you're going to lose us as friends until you get help!" His voice was filled with rage. "No more making up. Erin and I have talked about this. We mean it!"

"They're coming," I heard someone call. "Turn out the lights."

I hit the switch engulfing the kitchen in darkness.

_Perfect timing,_ I thought. I didn't want Matt to see the tears forming in my eyes.

# Chapter Twenty-four

"Surprise!"

The lights came back on as soon as my mother entered. She looked around, her gaze bouncing from the decorations to the faces of her friends.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed.

Maudrina and I stepped forward. Maudrina held out the pillow that contained the tiara and scepter. Then she bowed. I removed the tiara from the pillow, placing it on my mother's head. "Happy Birthday, Princess Suze," I said, smiling.

"But... How?" Her face was a puzzle of delight. She turned to Armando. "Were you in on this?" He shrugged and smiled.

"Perhaps."

I moved in next to him. "We did it together," I said, wrapping my arm around his waist. The smile on her face was precious. She hugged us both.

With Maudrina's help, I served food and drink, watching Armando out of the corner of my eye. He seemed to be watching me as well. Whenever our eyes happened to meet we both smiled and nodded.

He didn't go near the punch. Did he know, or was he just being cautious?

"Armando, you look thirsty," I said, bringing him a tall glass of the holy water punch.

"No thank you. I'm fine," he said.

"It's dee-lish." I pushed the glass at him, and he seemed to jump back with catlike quickness. He moved so fast it was almost as if he hadn't moved at all. But he had.

"Maybe later," he said. There was an intensity in his eyes as he stared at the glass. "Do not waste that wonderful punch on me. Give it to one of our guests."

A short time later Erin drifted over. "Matt told you?" Her voice was that of a child who feared her mother's wrath.

"That you guys are dumping me? Yes!" I was hurting over the way Matt had treated me, and my voice reflected it.

"I'm sor—."

"Save it!" I quipped. "Apologies will be accepted _after_ I unmask the devil."

I glanced over at my mother and Armando, standing in a small cluster of friends. Armando was looking at me. He was holding a glass. He offered a toast up into the air.

I toasted back with my own glass. He didn't fool me. I knew it wasn't the punch.

He took an exaggerated sip. "Yum-yum," he mouthed. His eyes were laughing at me.

A while later my mother came over.

"Boy, am I surprised," she said and hugged me. "You and Armando. How?"

"I called him. I apologized and then I asked for his help."

"You are so special." She corralled me in her arms.

I was starting to get the bad feeling again. She was so happy Armando and I were working together. I didn't want to spoil that. I wished Armando and I were two normal people who had worked through their differences. But Armando was the devil. You don't work through differences with the devil.

"Let's open gifts," I whispered.

"Okay," she replied, eyes sparkling. "And thanks again."

In a few moments, I was next to her on the couch. Armando sat on the other side, a small pile of brightly wrapped gifts on the coffee table in front of us. Her friends were gathered around. I stood.

"Shall we hold hands?" As everyone clasped hands, I bowed my head. "Let us pray. Dear almighty, please cast the satanic forces of evil from this house FOREVERRRR," I cried, my voice booming. I looked up. Everyone was staring at me. "...Or, umm, we could sing happy birthday," I mumbled sheepishly.

"Why don't we just open gifts for now," said Suze.

"An excellent idea."

I handed her the gifts one at a time. She unwrapped each amid _oohs_ and _ahhs_ from the group.

"This one's from me," I chimed, handing her a brightly wrapped bundle.

"Ooh, it's heavy." She took the package, giggling as she unwrapped it. Inside was a fifteen-inch, jewel-encrusted, wrought-iron crucifix on a rusting metal chain. She peered down at the gift with an odd smile.

"It's a piece of personal art," I said by way of explanation. "From the fifteenth century."

Okay, it was a knock off of a crucifix from the fifteenth century, but it had been blessed, so I was hoping it would have the same devastating effect.

"Sounds expensive." She held it up for all to see. It took both hands for her to heft the weighty cross over her head. I looked over at Armando. I thought I would find him shrinking into the couch. But he was gone. I hadn't seen him move, but he was no longer next to her. Instead, he was standing across the room, by the window, leaning casually against the wall.

He didn't fool me with the casual pose. I had him on the run.

"Come on over here, Armando," I called. "Hang that pretty little thing around your sweet lady's neck." I looked to Maudrina. "Go get him and bring him back over here," I said with a playful smile. There was nothing playful about my intentions.

Fury bubbled just beneath Armando's calm expression. By now it was obvious I was hell bent (pun intended) on exposing him.

"Honey, I find the cross an... interesting piece. But I don't think I want to wear it."

A slow, chilling smile spread across Armando's lips. I smiled back. Game on.

Meanwhile, Matt and Erin were in another part of the room scrutinizing my every move—the poor little crazy girl. Throughout the evening, whenever I looked in their direction, I couldn't help but notice the pity on both their faces.

Just you wait, I thought.

A short time later we sang happy birthday and cut the cake. By then, Armando was suspicious of everything I went near. He avoided the cake like it was diseased.

"Hey, Armando, why don't you feed her a piece? I called. He was still avoiding me. "It would make a great picture." I held up my digital camera.

"Honey," Suze interrupted, her voice dropping. "We're not getting married. I can feed myself, thank you." Armando shrugged helplessly, as if to say: "She's the boss." Yeah, right.

The evening was winding down.

Our guests were starting to fidget and look at their watches, and I hadn't yet exposed Satan. My golden opportunity was slipping away. If I didn't expose him tonight I might never get another chance. Not to mention, I had given my _former_ friends full permission to think I was certifiable if I didn't unmask him tonight.

I needed something to happen quickly. I pulled out my tiny bottle of holy water, the one I'd saved for an emergency. _This_ was an emergency.

Armando was standing across the room with my mother, saying good night to some friends. I unscrewed the cap and started toward them. As I stepped in their direction his head jerked up as if an alarm had gone off in his brain. Like a dog sniffing out a treat, his gaze bounced around the room, eyes finally falling on me. They bored into me, commanding me to stop.

I didn't. I kept moving. A blast of energy shot from his eyes and across the room, slamming into my chest. It was as if I'd been sucker punched by a heavyweight. I hadn't seen the blow coming. But I felt it.

I stopped momentarily, reeling from the pain. I looked around. The room was as it was, friends chatting amongst friends, no one aware of the tremendous blow I had endured—no one, that is, except Armando. He flashed me a confident smile, to let me know he was in control.

Haltingly, I continued forward. With each step, my chest absorbed another blow. As the punches hammered into me, my breathing labored, my ribs ached, my lungs felt as if they were slowly filling with water... or blood.

_I can't go on,_ I thought. But I had to expose Armando. I _had_ to! I kept going.

"Hey, Armando," I wheezed, trying to sound natural, "Here's a gift I forgot to give my mom. Perfume. I'd like to get your opinion of it. You know, just to make sure you approve of the stuff."

Although my ribs and lungs were screaming, I forced a playful smile. My mother and the others looked up from their conversations.

Just then, the bombarding of my chest subsided. With all eyes on me, Armando couldn't blatantly continue his attack. He was backing down. Good. I wasn't. I kept going.

His eyes raged at me, but I didn't care. I had to expose him. It was now or never.

"I'd love to," Armando called back, all smiles.

When I was a few feet from him, I _'accidentally'_ stumbled forward. My flailing hand flung the holy water in his direction.

Take that, devil!

Yet when I looked up, holy water was all over my face and arms. I was drenched. Armando was desert dry.

"Oh, my! Are you alright?" my mother called.

Armando should have been doused in holy water, and yet it was all over _me_.

"Can I get you a towel?" I hadn't seen him move, but Armando was suddenly by my side, his dark eyes laughing. Maudrina handed me a small hand towel.

"I'm good," I replied, dripping holy water into the carpet. I turned and started from the room.

Armando sniffed the air behind me. _Sniff, sniff._ "If it makes it any better, I do like the fragrance, Megan. Smells heavenly."

The room erupted with laughter.

#

The night had pretty much been a bust. There was no other way to describe it. Yes, when my mother went to bed she gave me the biggest hug she'd given me in a long time. Yes, Maudrina, my new best friend, had the time of her life, hanging out with human beings for a change. Yes, my guests said it was a lovely party, and that I was the perfect hostess. Those were the positives.

But Matt and Erin were no longer going to be friends with me until I got help.

"The ball's in your court," Matt had said as they walked out the door.

My world was about to become a very lonely place. Matt had been a part of my life for as far back as I could remember. He was like a brother to me. That was over now.

A part of me wanted to cry uncle and say "Okay, you're right. There is no such thing as the devil." But there was more than a life-long friendship at stake here. My mother's future was tied to this. I couldn't pretend Armando was a normal human being. It would have been easy to do it. But it would have been wrong.

I was now also faced with the fact that Armando knew I was on to him.

What will he do to me? What can he do to me?

I was exhausted. Throwing a surprise party where you're trying to out the devil is tiring work. Despite all my concerns about losing my friends, about Armando seeking some form of retaliation, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I wanted to be vigilant, but my eyelids were growing heavier and heavier. Eventually I dragged my sleeping bag inside the hexagram and lay down. Just for a few minutes. That was all I needed. A few minutes sleep.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was gone. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought I smelled incense.

#

I awoke with a start.

Something had disturbed my sleep.

It was the humming of my cell. I looked down at my phone. A text message.

_Guy_ , I thought. I looked over at the clock. Two a.m. I'd been out for over an hour.

Guy must have been thinking about how he'd treated me when we were in the stairwell and he couldn't sleep either. _He probably wants to apologize._ At least that's what I hoped. I snatched up my phone and read:

Where R U?

Bed

come downstairs

???

ur livng rm

My living room?

A fear crept over me the likes of which I'd never known. It was a fear that seeped into my bones like a winter chill. I wanted to zip myself into the sleeping bag, a cocooning caterpillar, and cower there til dawn.

The text had come from a blocked number. What could Guy Matson possibly be doing in my living room at two in the morning?

I got up, rereading the message again and again, hoping, praying I'd read it wrong. Then a new, even more chilling text flashed onto the screen:

Coming? 

Aching with fear, I urged my legs forward, opened my bedroom door, and went downstairs.

# Chapter Twenty-five

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I could make out the silhouette of someone, a man, sitting in the darkened living room.

The Happy Birthday streamers cast a shadow over his face, so at first I couldn't make out who it was. But as I moved closer my worst fears came to pass. Armando was seated on our couch, dressed in a black warm-up suit. How appropriately sinister.

The cushion that earlier had held my mother's princess scepter was in his lap. He drummed his fingers on it impatiently as I stepped into the room.

Instinctively, I turned to run back upstairs. I took two steps in the direction of the staircase when, to my surprise, he was now standing in front me, blocking my path. A smile spread across his face that was so filled with evil, my blood ran cold. I wanted to move, to run in the other direction, but I was frozen in fear.

"Come now. You knew you couldn't get away from me that easily, didn't you?"

My shoulders slumped. "Yeah. I guess I did." There was a hopelessness in my voice that seemed to encourage him.

"Of course you did. After all, I am all powerful." He laughed. It was booming and penetrating. It seeped into my bones and made me shiver. I looked up the stairs. "Not to worry. Your mother cannot hear us. That's one of the perks of being me. The only person who can hear what I am saying is the person I choose to hear—you. Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

"Sure," I said. What else could I say? I didn't have a choice. I tried looking on the bright side. It isn't every day you get to have a _little chat_ with Satan.

He took me by the hand and led me to the couch. He had an overwhelming presence that left me feeling puny and weak. He sat next to me on the couch, crossed his legs, and sighed.

"That was a delightful party. Holy water, crucifixes, prayers. You're a regular Martha Stewart, aren't you?" He was toying with me. And why not? I was defenseless against his power, and he knew it.

"What do you want?" I rasped. It was the voice of a little girl lost.

"Whatever do you mean? I want to date."

"She's not your type."

"Ahh, but I am _your_ type."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "My type?" I said, my face twisted into a question mark.

"Don't you see? I am everything you have ever wanted in a man."

My eyes widened. He again picked up the cushion and squeezed it playfully with both hands, as if it were a plush toy.

"Do not try to deny it. I am the boyfriend of your dreams, the boyfriend you prayed for for her." He nodded and smiled. "I am the answer to your prayers."

"But... she's good," I stammered. "She's a good person."

"I know. At first that was a problem for me, being Satan and all. But the bad-girl types have lost their appeal. I guess I'm maturing." He laughed again.

"Stop teasing me!" My voice had been reduced to a soft whine. I felt ashamed of what he had so easily turned me into—a coward.

"You're right. I'm being cruel. Although, not as cruel as someone who tried to throw holy water on me. _Ouch!_ " He was really enjoying himself.

"I'M GOING TO SEND YOU BACK TO HELL!" I screamed. The words exploded out of me like a bomb.

I don't know how, in that moment, I mustered the courage to yell at him. I was so scared. But fear is one of Satan's biggest weapons. I realized this instinctively and knew that if I continued to show fear, it would let him know he was winning. I couldn't afford that. Not with all that was at stake. I marshaled even more courage and glared at him.

His expression changed momentarily, blooms of doubt creeping across his brow. His eyes narrowed.

"Okay, Megan. Let's get down to business. You must realize by now you cannot beat me. I have been doing this for as long as man has walked the earth. Trust me when I say I have beaten better men than you. Your mother shall be my bride. I have chosen. It shall come to pass. Do not try to stand in the way of destiny."

A knot began forming in the pit of my stomach, as I finally understood where this was headed. He wanted to marry my mother. Satan's bride.

I looked around at the decorations Maudrina and I had painstakingly hung to turn my living room into a fairy princess wonderland. _Wasted,_ I thought, as I realized how foolish I had been, believing I could set a trap for the devil.

"If you behave yourself, this can be rewarding for you, as well. Love. Popularity. Money. Youth. Any or all these can be yours. You witnessed the gift I bestowed upon Señora Marisol."

"You knew I was there?"

"Not at the time. I was preoccupied. Even _I_ can't know everything. But as I was saying, anything you can possibly want can be yours if you just cooperate."

"Okay, how about this one? I banish you back to hell. Think you can arrange that?"

I could feel my courage returning. I didn't hang the decorations for Armando. Yes, one of the reasons for the party was to trick him. But the decorations were chosen because my mother likes princessy things. I remembered the smile on her face when she observed what we had done to the living room. It was the kind of smile that makes a daughter beam with pride.

Armando was smiling at me. His was a different kind of smile—smug and self-possessed. "Consider what will happen if you continue on your current path, Megan: You will lose all of your friends and the respect and trust of your mother, and you will wind up locked away in an institution for the insane."

"Or... I will defeat you and send you back to hell," I said, my mother's sweet smile still in my eyes. I latched onto every ounce of courage that was in me and laughed in Armando's face, high and loud. Ha, ha, haaaa!

"Do not challenge me!"

"Or what?" I said my voice challenging. My confidence was returning in a hot wave.

He stood—better yet, he rose, lifting off the couch, hovering just above the floor.

"Ooh, is that supposed to scare me?" There was nothing more important to me than Suze, my mother. _Nothing!_ I was suddenly itching for a fight.

Armando's eyes glowed molten red. "Impudent child!" His words exploded into the air. He gestured with one hand and I went flying across the room, crashing into the wall with tremendous impact. I slid to the floor, waves of pain coursing through my entire body. It felt as though I'd been hit by a car.

"Let that be a warning to you. Do not challenge me!" he said again. He drifted toward me. Instinctively, I picked up the nearest thing and threw it at him. A towel. Okay, I know it wasn't much of a weapon, but I was acting on impulse here, trying to show him I was not afraid of him.

He caught the towel, plucking it out of the air. "Ouch," he said with a chuckle. "I'm afraid of you."

It was then I noticed smoke rising from the towel in his hand. He saw it, too. Momentary alarm flickered in his eyes. 'WHAT DID YOU DO?" he bellowed.

"N... nothing."

"The holy water! Idiot!"

It was the towel I had used to wipe off the holy water at the party. The vestiges of holy water left on the towel had the desired effect—pain. He dropped it to the floor as if it were contaminated. Too late. His flesh was beginning to fry. Loud, crackling sounds filled the air, like bacon on a griddle.

He glowered at me, bloody murder in his eyes. He resumed drifting toward me, and I could tell from the look on his face he was about to do something horrible.

"Megan? Are you down there?" My mother's voice rang out from atop the stairs.

Armando stopped, looked toward the staircase, weighing his options. "This is not over," he hissed. Just then, a loud wooshing sound echoed throughout the room, and he was gone, vanished into thin air.

A moment later my mother walked in. "What is going on down here?" She surveyed the room, the end table on its side, the dent in the wall, me getting up off the floor.

"A bat got in the house."

"Oh, my goodness." Panic streaked across her face. "Is it still in here?" Her eyes roamed the ceiling.

"No. I got it. You can go back to bed. The nasty vermin is gone."

She smiled. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're the best daughter."

I returned the smile. "You deserve nothing but the best," I replied, as I wondered how I was ever going to get us out of this mess.

# Chapter Twenty-six

Halloween of the year I turned seven, my mother overcame her irrational fear of the neighbors and finally allowed me to go trick-or-treating. For my costume, I chose Wednesday Addams, the sadistic younger daughter of _The Addams Family_. What you probably don't know is her name comes from an old nursery rhyme entitled "Monday's Child." Wednesday's child is full of woe, the rhyme states, and indeed, Wednesday Addams was.

I didn't know any of this back then. At seven, my love of trivia hadn't yet kicked in.

I was beside myself with joy over getting to go out and trick-or-treat. We'd been in Glendale for two years, and I was finally being allowed to join my neighbor and best friend, Matt, trick-or-treating throughout our neighborhood. This year I wouldn't be on the inside looking out, sitting by my window watching joyous, costumed kids roam up and down my street in search of treats. I pictured Matt and me joyfully collecting goodies from the neighbors as we ran through the neighborhood.

Then tragedy struck. Matt came down with the flu.

"It's all right," Suze consoled. "You can still go."

"But now I don't have anyone to trick-or-treat with," I said. It was as if someone had stolen Christmas.

"All of your friends will be out trick-or-treating."

But I didn't want to trick-or treat with my "friends." I wanted to trick-or-treat with Matt. And then she said:

"What if I went?"

"Mom! I don't want you taking me around like I'm some little kid." ( I was seven when I said that—how adorable.)

"I wouldn't be going as your mother. I'd be going as your older sister, who'd probably collect more candy than you. So, I can see why you wouldn't want me along."

"No way!"

"Way!"

And so my first trick-or-treat experience was with my... older sister. She put on a black cocktail dress, red lipstick and black stilettos.

"Who are you supposed to be?"

"You're older sister, remember? Tuesday Addams."

The old nursery rhyme states that Tuesday's child is full of grace. And that was my mother.

She felt no shame trick-or-treating alongside a seven-year-old, ignoring the sidelong stares and questions: "Aren't you a bit old to be trick-or-treating?" filling up her goody bag with the gusto of a seven-year-old. When we got home, we compared booty, laying our treasure out on the kitchen table, counting up each precious piece. I took in three more pieces of candy than she did. I was grinning for a week.

#

Sunday morning, when I came down to breakfast, Suze was hanging up the phone.

"Armando had a horrible mishap last night."

I didn't respond. My skin tightened as I looked on with a blank expression.

"He was making himself a cup of tea after he got home, and he accidentally spilled boiling water on his hand. He was in the hospital til just a little while ago."

"Oh, my." I do not know how those two words managed to ooze from my lips. Mock concern spread across my face.

In truth, I wanted to pump my fist in the air and holler _"yeah, boy!"_ like a basketball player scoring the winning hoop. But instead I said, "Is he going to be all right?"

"Yes. But he sounded really bad."

Chalk one up for the good guys.

"He's on some drugs for the pain, and he doesn't want anyone seeing him for a few days."

"Aw, poor thing." I was feeling pretty good about myself. It was good knowing that in his human form Satan could feel pain. I'd taken him on and had him on the run.

"Before I forget, he wanted me to make sure and tell you he hadn't forgotten you, and he was going to pay you back."

The blood drained from my face.

"Huh? Excuse me?" I could feel my complexion turning a pasty white and hoped she hadn't noticed.

"For his share of the party, I imagine. He wanted to make sure you knew he was going to pay you back."

"Oh... That's nice."

She looked at me. "You don't look so good."

"Umm. Too much party," I said with a dying smile. "If you don't mind, I think I'll spend another hour or so in bed recovering."

"Sure. Just want you to know, I loved my party. Thanks again, hon."

I smiled, nodded, and headed back upstairs—the nerve of Armando sending a warning message through my mother. Now I knew I had payback to look forward to. I just didn't know in what horrible form it would be coming.

#

Friendships in high school are a slippery slope, though not as bad as middle school, where allegiances can change over something as simple as, _"_ She thinks she's cute _."_ Fortunately, by high school, we're way too grown up to dump a friend over something as frivolous as being cute. No siree, we high school girls dump friends over mature stuff like boys, and clothes, and gossip, and popularity. Hmm.

I have always been a good friend. It's partly because there are slim pickings for those of us who are members of the geek squad. But mostly because I'm the kind of girl who makes friends slowly, and once I have a friendship, I cling to it for dear life.

I met Matt when I was five when we moved next door to the Dawsons. The day after we moved in, Mrs. Dawson brought over a dish of her famous apple cheesecake burritos. A southwestern dessert delight. Matt was standing behind her, his unruly red hair poking out from behind his mother's apron strings. He peeked out and said, "They're good." From that day on, we were inseparable.

I met Erin when I was nine, and Miss Morales seated us next to each other. A week later she had to separate us for talking too much, but by then the damage had already been done; we were thick as thieves.

My friendship with them was over.

What made it so bad is I wasn't just losing one of my best friends, I got a twofer—losing two of the most important people in my life on the same day.

When I got to school Monday morning, neither Matt nor Erin were by their lockers. This was no coincidence. I'd seen classmates get snubbed before and recognized the signs. I knew there would be no more funny text messages, no more long chats on the phone at night, no more lunches together. I knew when they saw me in the halls they would look right through me as if I were made of glass. That's how it is when you get snubbed. You're thrown on a desert island without a lifesaver.

When I got to English, Erin was already there. She was reading from _A Tale of Two Cities_ and didn't even glance in my direction. She sat perfectly still, too still in fact, her eyes glued to the pages of the book. I took my seat next to Maudrina, who was beaming at me.

"Wow," she said.

"Huh?" I was still looking at Erin, who continued staring at the book.

"The party," Maudrina gushed. "What a blast. Thank you so much for inviting me." I was struck by her sincerity. I took my eyes off Erin and noticed her smile. It was warm and friendly.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you had a good time." She slid a brightly wrapped square box onto my desk. "What's this?"

Her smile widened. "Nothing, really. Just a small token of my appreciation."

Oh, my goodness. She's giving me a present just for inviting her to the party. She still had no idea the entire party was nothing but a ruse for outing Armando. A pang of guilt jabbed at my stomach.

"Open it!"

I plastered a smile on my face and tore into the box. Inside was a chewed up old tennis ball. She saw the odd expression on my face and erupted with laughter.

"Don't you recognize it? It's Sam's _throw me_ ball," she said amid waves of laughter.

The entire Saturday afternoon I was at her home, after his bath, Sam kept dropping the beat-up tennis ball at my feet, urging me to throw it so he could slowly retrieve it... again, and again, and again, and again. While I quickly tired of the exercise, he never did.

"Thanks," I said, with a smile of my own. "Poor, Sam. No more _throw me_ ball."

"It's okay. It's his way of saying how important Saturday night was for his mommy."

Her sincere expression, along with the earnestness in her words, sent another pang of guilt galloping through. "You're a good friend," I said. "I'm really glad I'm getting to know you." She laughed some more. Erin never once glanced in our direction.

#

After class, I found myself at the far end of the school, wandering near the corridor that housed the infamous _kissing_ stairwell. I hadn't been kissed by a boy since the ninth grade, and yet after kissing Guy one time, I had become addicted to his kisses. His lips were always on my mind. I peeked into the stairwell. No Guy.

"Hey, Barnett," a familiar voice called from behind. I turned. Tran was walking toward me. "What are you doing way over here?"

"Nothing." I hadn't seen Tran since the mathlete challenge at Salesian, and frankly, I didn't care if I never saw him again. I frowned in his direction.

"I know, I know. I'm the last person you probably want to see. But I have some good news." He proffered a smile that I guess was supposed to be a peace offering. His right hand played with a loose thread dangling from his sweater, and I got the sense he was nervous about something.

"Oh?" I said, folding my arms across my chest.

"Mrs. Brewster wants me to ask you to come back to the team."

That _was_ good news. While on the outside I pretended not to care about getting kicked off the team, inside I missed the challenge and the camaraderie of being a mathlete.

"Thanks," I said. My voice was curt.

"Come on, Barnett. Don't do me like that. I'm the one who begged Mrs. Brewster to reinstate you. We need you if we're going to win the regionals."

So that's the reason he's nervous. He needs me to win the regional championships and is hoping I don't turn him down.

"What about Guy?"

His turn to frown. "Him, we don't need."

"You're not asking Guy to come back?" Outrage sprang up inside of me, and don't ask me why, since Guy had dumped me. "He's the reason we won."

"We would've won anyway," snapped Tran. "Guy is bad news. We don't need him."

All of a sudden, I felt the spark of hope igniting within me. I had a feeling that if Guy was a mathlete again, and we got the chance to spend more time together, there just might be a chance for us.

"So, you coming back to the team or not?"

"I'll think about it."

"Come on, Barnett—"

"I said I'd think about it!"

He frowned again. "Yeah, well, don't take too long. We need to start studying real soon if we're gonna to kick butt the rest of the year. If you take too long, you'll be too late." And with those words he turned and headed back down the hall.

The first bell rang.

#

Maudrina and I decided to study for the English final together, and since I was still grounded, she came over to my house. In all honesty, I was a bit apprehensive about going home alone. I had no idea if Armando was waiting in the living room to ambush me. The last thing I wanted was to walk in my front door and find Satan waiting to waylay me.

Maudrina and I entered together. She didn't notice me peering around every corner, fully expecting Armando to come floating out.

"I like parties," she said as we sat on the wooden stools in the kitchen sipping sodas. "Wouldn't it be fun to throw one for the boys?" She always referred to Piddles and Sam as _the boys._ "We could dress them as a king and a prince."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You really love your dogs."

"They're my best friends." Her expression changed. "And now, there's you," she added, her voice dropping a cautious octave.

"Yeah. Now, there's me."

I smiled. She smiled.

We finished our soft drinks and I took her up to my room. When we entered, she looked around expectantly. I guess she'd been wondering for some time what my room might be like. I'm sure she hadn't been in the bedrooms of many teenage girls, and she was curious to see how mine stacked up to hers.

It wasn't what she expected. When she saw all my things crammed inside the hexagram in the middle of the floor, she eyed me cautiously. "Are you some kind of Wicca or something?"

I smiled. "No, of course not. However, I could use a little witchcraft about now."

"Fire!" she called, pointing.

"Maudrina, stop playing. I—"

Smoke was pouring out of my computer. I ran inside the hexagram, yanked out the cord, and threw a glass of water on the CPU. The monitor was flashing an odd warning. A cartoon devil, pitchfork and all, was on the screen, smiling and waving to us.

CONGRATULATIONS

YOU NOW HAVE THE SATAN VIRUS

SAY GOODBYE TO ALL YOUR

FILES

"He trashed my computer," I said weakly, as I checked to make sure there was no real danger to the rest of my room.

"Who trashed your computer?"

"He's very clever, isn't he? He said he was going to pay me back. Who'd've thought he'd attack through cyberspace? Heh-heh." A shrill, high-pitched laugh leapt from my throat.

"Megan, are you okay? You're not making any sense."

I faced her. I could no longer keep up the lie. I was in danger, and if Maudrina was with me, so was she. "Look, Maudrina, there are some things you need to know."

Concern flooded her face. "I knew it! You don't want to be my friend."

"Of course I want to be your friend. That is if you're still interested after what I am about to tell you." I walked her inside the safety of the hexagram, sat her down at my desk, and told her my story.

# Chapter Twenty-seven

The way it was explained to me, Aunt Jaz was an outcast, one of those crazy aunts who was an embarrassment to the family.

When Maudrina heard my story, she didn't look at me as if I'd lost my mind. She hugged me, rocking me in her arms. "Poor, baby. You've been through a lot."

"So, you believe me?"

"I have to admit, it's hard to believe. But I don't think you're crazy."

She suggested I talk to her Aunt Jaz, who was known to be an expert on the occult. While Maudrina's father didn't approve of Aunt Jaz, Maudrina kept in touch. Aunt Jaz was her mother's oldest sister, and being around her made Maudrina feel like a piece of her mother was still alive.

She lived in a small apartment building about three miles from school. When we arrived, I was expecting to be greeted by a long-haired freak in exotic robes, with rooms smelling of incense. Instead, Aunt Jaz was a throwback to the sixties or maybe even the fifties. Her silver gray hair was in one of those styles made famous by TV moms of that era, like June Cleaver on _Leave It To Beaver_. She came to the door in full makeup, wearing an A-line dress over which she wore a colorful apron.

"Hey, Maudy." She greeted Maudrina with a big hug.

Maudrina turned to me mid-hug. "Forget you ever heard that nick name," she cautioned. "I wish she and my father could." This prompted a big, boisterous laugh from Aunt Jaz.

"So, I hear you're having a little trouble," she said, releasing her niece and turning to me. Surprisingly, she hugged me as well. "Come on in and let's talk about it."

Upon entering, I noted how wonderful the house smelled. She was in the midst of cooking. "You're busy. Maybe we should come another time." Now that I was here, I was losing my nerve. Her cooking was the perfect excuse to get away.

"I'm just making a pot of chicken soup. You like chicken soup, don't you?"

Before I could answer, Maudrina said: "Say yes. Even if you hate chicken soup, I promise you will love my Aunt Jaz's." The woman again let out a big, boisterous laugh.

She led us to the kitchen. Another surprise. The walls were covered with lime green flowery wallpaper that again brought to mind images of the sixties. The counter tops were Kelly green Formica; the fridge was mint green. Muadrina and I sat at a small, old-fashioned dinette that was several odd shades of green, none of which seemed to complement the other hideous furnishings in the room. The woman sure liked green.

Aunt Jaz moved to the turn-of-the-century cast iron stove and began stirring her soup.

"I know you're looking at this old stove and thinking, _who is this crazy woman cooking on that ancient thing."_ She laughed again. "The newer stoves never seem to get the heat right. I've tried em all, even an electric one. But food just comes out better on this." She dipped her ladle into the giant soup pot and pulled up a steamy taste. She sipped it, making loud slurpy sounds. "Mmm-mm. Maudy, I may have outdone myself with this batch."

"She always says that," Maudrina chimed.

"It's true. My cooking just gets better n' better." Her bold laughter once again filled the air.

I was beginning to have my doubts about Aunt Jaz. "You know, I'm thinking this is a bad time—"

"Nonsense," she called, not letting me finish. She put the lid back on the pot, wiped her hands on a yellow dish towel with green accents, and joined us at the table, plopping down with a soft thud. "Now then, deary, I'm all yours."

"Umm. Well..." I couldn't tell her. This was a crazy old color-challenged woman who was stuck in the sixties. How could _she_ help?

"I know, I'm not what you expected, deary. But I'm going to tell you something about problems. The more you talk 'em, the smaller they become. So maybe I can't help, but telling me is going to take out a little bit of the sting. And afterwards, we'll all have a nice bowl of chicken soup."

It was then I saw something in her eyes—a deep wisdom I hadn't noticed before.

"Go on," urged Maudrina. "Tell her what you told me." And I did.

It took almost fifteen minutes to get the entire story out. During the telling she seemed engrossed in my every word, nodding occasionally and _umm-hmming_ from time to time.

"Interesting," she said when I was finally done. Then she got up and went back to the stove.

I shot Maudrina a quick—she's no help. Let's get out of here—glance, but she pretended not to notice.

"What do you think, Aunt Jaz?" she asked instead.

The old woman stirred her soup in silence for a few moments. "This woman, Señora Marisol, does she have a dog?"

What an odd question.

"No. But Armando does. I didn't see him, but I heard him when I was at the house."

"Mmm hmm. You happen to know the dog's name?"

"I think it was Robin. Why?"

"Mmm hmm. And when did this Armando fella first show up?"

"I don't know, maybe five weeks ago. The night of the surprise party he told me he was the answer to my prayers"

"Mmm hmm." She moved to a large embroidered sampler on the wall. It was the kind that contained a calendar. She peered at it for a moment. "Could it have been February second?"

My eyes widened. "Why, yes. I think it was."

She came back over and took my hand in hers. "Bad news. It's him," she said with a sigh. "No doubt about it. He has returned."

"The _devil?_ " I asked. It seemed odd me saying the words to this stranger.

She sat. "There are four days out of the year when Satan can be summoned. The most potent is February first. That day in Satanism is known as Candlemas. Armando made his first appearance the very next day, so I'm guessing Señora Marisol and the other Satanists summoned him during Candlemas. Only a disciple can summon Satan. And that dog, he's hers. In Satanism, disciples have what they call a familiar, a pet whom legend says can double for them. The most widely used name for this familiar is Robin, as in Robin Goodfellow. The way a disciple honors the devil is by naming his familiar after him. Robin Goodfellow is another name for Satan."

I stared at her, wide-eyed, my thoughts pin-balling around inside my head. All this new Satan information was coming at me too quickly. But on the bright side, she believed me, and she seemed to know what she was talking about.

"And, sweetheart, my guess is she summoned him to take a bride."

"I know," I said sadly. "That's exactly what he told me. But my mother is good. She doesn't even cheat when we take those Cosmo quizzes, and everybody cheats on those. He can't possibly be interested in her."

"It would be a feather in his cap to marry a virtuous woman."

It was as if I were in quicksand, my sanity slowly sinking, sinking, sinking.

"But Señora Marisol doesn't even know my mother," I squawked.

"Perhaps she does and you're not aware. Maybe they worked together, or maybe your mother crossed her in some way."

"No," I said shaking my head. "My mother wouldn't cross a fly."

"Maybe she knows you. Are you sure you've never seen her?"

"Positive."

"Well, they chose your mother for a reason. And now we're going to have to get him to unchoose her."

Unchoose her?

"How?" I couldn't believe my dumb luck. Maudrina's crazy aunt was about to tell me how I could save my mother from the devil. I was beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.

"You have to retrieve the gris-gris."

"The what?"

"The gris girs. It's a trinket the disciple has made out of a piece of your mother's clothing, along with some chicken bone. It would be woven together by strands of your mother's hair. The more of her personal possessions that go into making the thing, the more powerful. You must locate and destroy this gris-gris. It will take some of his power away."

I was stunned to think someone had made something to give the devil power over my mother. The thought of someone going through her personal possessions gave me an icky feeling all over.

"You said destroying it would take _some_ of his power away. Just _some_ of his power?" I asked, still feeling icky. "What about the rest of his power?"

"He's Satan, deary. It isn't that easy." She again picked up my hand and stroked it gently. "But now you've got us on your side."

"That's right," said Maudrina. She got up and began massaging my shoulders.

I looked at the two of them, my team against Satan—an old woman stuck in the sixties, and a fifteen-year-old stuck on her dogs. My heart began sinking like a stone in the ocean.

# Chapter Twenty-eight

Aunt Jaz told us both to wear blessed crucifixes around our necks and to carry holy water whenever we went out. She applauded my precautions at home and added a few more. I had to keep my mind free of evil thoughts: jealousy, envy, greed, fear, even doubt. This is what Satan feeds upon. If I could keep my mind free of these thoughts, I could at least stand up to him.

I remembered how jealous I'd been of Matt and Erin's relationship, how envious I was when he came to see her at the mathlete challenge. These were the kinds of feelings that gave Armando his power. If I was going to get my mother back, I could no longer feed into them. I knew it wouldn't be easy. For my mother's sake, I had to find a way to keep the selfish thoughts at bay.

At home that evening, we had a relaxed dinner. _Relaxed._ That was something neither of us had been in quite a while. It felt like an old sweater, the one you should have thrown away years ago but you can't because it feels so right. That was how the evening felt—right. We cooked dinner together. Grilled chicken with a citrus marinade and Southwestern potato salad. We chatted and laughed like the old days as we prepared the meal.

Later, as we watched TV, I pointed to the outrageous outfits the girls were wearing on Top Designer. The designers had been told to design a casual outfit made of food. "You'd look great in that," I said, pointing to a dress made of cauliflower. The sound of my mother's sweet laughter filled me with its warmth.

Things were back to normal. Well, almost. I now knew the devil planned to take my mother as his bride. That sure wasn't normal.

_The gris-gris,_ I thought. _I need to figure out where Armando might be keeping it._ This would be the first step in defeating him and getting my mother back.

"Hear from Armando today?" I asked as we watched TV. I said it casually, no concern in my voice. I needed to sound like Armando and I were pals. In truth, I was trying to keep tabs on him.

"Yes. He's miserable."

"Maybe we should go visit him, bring him some chicken soup."

"I offered to stop by. He's so macho. I think he doesn't want me to see him in pain. Men are such boys," she said and laughed. There was joy in her laughter. She really liked him.

"You guys ever think about marriage?" I know I was being direct, but it's not the kind of subject you can ease into.

"Marriage? What makes you ask that?"

"You two are so good together. I just thought..." I let the idea hang in the air.

"Megan, is this about him coming between us again?"

"Heck no! Me and Armando are pals." I couldn't believe how convincing I sounded.

She smiled. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. If he ever asks me to marry him, you'll be the first to know—but I'm happy with the way things are for now."

For now? Again I got the sinking feeling. _She_ _has_ _been thinking of marriage. She's falling into his trap._

"You know, hon, I'm a little out of it tonight. Think I'll turn in early. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. You need your rest."

I gave her a hug and a kiss, and she went up to bed. Good. There was work to be done. My mind was abuzz like a beehive in spring. If I could locate and destroy the gris-gris, I could loosen Armando's grip on her.

I believed it had to be here in the house, either here or at the gallery where she worked. But the gris-gris' magic would be even stronger if it were here all the time.

I moved to the couch to look under the cushions. That's when I noticed a magazine my mother had been thumbing through. It wasn't _Vogue_ , or _Cosmo_ , or _People_. It was a baby magazine.

A baby!

Satan wanted a baby. Satan wanted my mother to have his baby. I thought of the old movie, _Rosemary's Baby_ , where poor Rosemary was tricked into having the devil's baby. That had been his plan all along. And now all of a sudden she's _tired_. _She's pregnant! My mother's already carrying the devil's child. Oh my God!_

These are the thoughts that stampeded through my mind as I frantically dialed Maudrina's number.

"HE WANTS A BABY!" I screamed when she answered.

"Megan?"

"Yes, it's me," I said, regaining my composure. "I just found a baby magazine. My mother's looking through a baby magazine. Quick, call your aunt!" Okay, so maybe I hadn't totally regained my composure.

"Megan, calm down. I can't call my aunt just because your mother is looking through a baby magazine."

"Think about it. She's not his type. I couldn't imagine what he saw in her. But it's not her he's interested in. It's her _eggs!_ " I said, my voice shrill and panicky. "We can't allow what happened to Rosemary to happen to my mother."

There was a long silence at the other end.

"Maudrina, are you there?"

"Uh-huh. I'm waiting for the body snatcher that's taken over Megan's body to hand her back the phone."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"Just because your mother is looking through a baby magazine doesn't mean Armando wants a baby. It doesn't even mean she wants a baby. It's just a magazine. I'm not saying you're wrong. But if you're right, it's another reason to find the gris-gris as soon as possible. Have you thought about where it might be?"

I told her I thought it might be in the house, and that when I started looking I found the magazine. "And then I called you."

"Okay," she said calmly. "Forget about the magazine for now, and finish looking. I'll call my aunt and see what she thinks. If she says anything important, I'll call you back. All right?"

I breathed a long sigh of relief. "Thanks, Maudrina. You're a good friend." I could tell she was smiling on the other end.

I went back searching for the gris-gris. I had no idea of what I was looking for. Something made of hair, clothing, and bone. I didn't even know how big or small it might be. I went through the house like a maniac, turning out cushions, pulling out drawers, turning over chairs. The place was slowly beginning to look like a tornado had stormed through.

The doorbell rang. My shoulders tensed, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. Armando.

He knows I'm looking for the gris-gris. But of course he does. He's the devil. He's coming to stop me.

The doorbell rang again.

I fingered the crucifix around my neck, said a short prayer. I had been meaning to get more holy water. I'd used mine up at the party. It was one of my most powerful weapons against him, and I didn't have any.

A third insistent ring.

"Megan, are you going to get that?" my mother called from the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Mom. I was on my way. Sorry to wake you. Go back to bed." I moved to the door, braced myself, and opened it. Matt was standing on the other side.

"Thank God!" I sighed, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. "What are you doing here?" I couldn't hide how happy I was to see him and not Armando.

"You okay?" He didn't seem sure how to take my attitude.

"Yes. It's good to see you." _...and not the devil._

"Oh. Okay. I was just wondering if... you know... you'd looked into what we talked about?"

Instant anger shot through me. "You mean you want to know if I found the perfect loony bin yet?" Suddenly, I wasn't so happy to see him.

"Can I help it if I'm worried about you?" He stepped inside and looked around at the living room and dining room turned upside down. "What happened in here?"

"Nothing," I snapped. "Mom lost an earring. I'm helping her look for it. And in answer to your first question, _no_ , I haven't found a loony bin yet."

"Don't put it like that."

"How else can I put it? My two best friends won't talk to me until I get help. I haven't gotten any, okay? End of conversation." I began pushing him out the door.

"Megan... I miss you." There was a sadness in his words that tore at my heart. I could feel my emotions beginning to rise. I stopped pushing.

"I miss you, too." There was a longing in my heart. I wished I wasn't so darned transparent, but there it was. Tears welled up in my eyes. My thoughts traveled back to when we were kids.

I recalled when I first found out Matt was special. My mother had taken me to one of his Little League games. It was so boring. I couldn't wait for the game to be over so we could do something way more exciting than baseball. But I noticed how all the parents were talking about him.

"That Dawson kid's got a rocket for an arm... Matt Dawson must have a sledge hammer in his bat... That kid's gonna put this town on the map."

The game was tied in the final inning, and I remember Matt coming up to bat and hitting the home run that won it all. Kids swarmed him like flies to honey. Everyone wanted to touch him.

That's the first time I was ever jealous. I wanted to yell "Leave him alone. He's mine!" Suddenly, I had to share him with all these kids. Not just kids— _boys_. I couldn't compete with boys.

After the game, as I sadly walked to the car with my mother, Matt called: "Hey, Megan, where are you going?"

"Home."

"We're going for pizza. You should come, too."

"I think that's just for the teams, honey," Mom said.

"Nuh-uh. You can come," Matt called. "You come or I won't go."

I couldn't believe my ears. What a friend.

The team officials ruled I couldn't come along, so Matt and I went for pizza with my mother instead. It was a day to remember.

"Where do we go from here?" Matt now asked, his voice dragging me back to the present.

"Umm. I'm not sure. I don't want to lose you guys as friends, so I know I have to do something. Just give me a little more time."

"Okay," he said with a small, indulgent smile. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Will do." We didn't hug. I could tell we both wanted to, but neither of us was willing to make the first move. Tears were falling by the time I closed the door.

With tears in my eyes, I resumed my search for the gris-gris.

#

"Megan... Megan, come."

My mother's call pulled me from my sleep. I was curled up in my sleeping bag on my bedroom floor, clinging to my crucifix. I was dreaming about Guy. It was the night of the surprise party. We were in my kitchen. He apologized for the way he had been acting and kissed me long and deep, ending with his teeth sinking deliciously into my lower lip.

"Megan, can you hear me?" Her voice sounded distant, weak.

"Coming." I dashed down the hall and into her room. When I walked in, I was met by a wall of hot air. The place was like a furnace. "Mom? Are you okay?"

I moved to her bed. Her hair was stringy and matted. Sweat streaked her brow. Her sleeping gown clung to her, as if she was a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest. I put a hand on her forehead.

"You're burning up."

She looked at me through rheumy eyes. "I... c... can't move."

# Chapter Twenty-nine

Glendale General is the best hospital in the region.

I remember Suze telling me just that when she brought me there to have my tonsils out. She also told me that, for taking my tonsils, the doctors would give me all the ice cream I could eat. What she didn't tell me was my throat would be hurting so badly I wouldn't be able to eat any ice cream. What a rip-off.

Still, as we now raced across town in an ambulance, mom on a gurney, siren howling, I kept the positive thought at the forefront of my mind that Glendale General was the best hospital in the region. And they were going to fix what was wrong with my mother.

It was an old hospital with long, creepy corridors, painted antiseptic white with gray tile floors. By the time we got there, she no longer recognized me. It's tough staying positive when your mother keeps calling you the name of her best friend from high school.

"Don't look so worried, Darla. It's going to be all right. I'm feeling much better now."

"Good. Glad to hear it," I responded, playing into her delirium.

"Did you do the history homework?"

"Umm. Yes."

"Mind if I copy?"

"Didn't I let you copy yesterday?" I asked innocently.

A sudden dreaminess appeared in her eyes. "I know. But I got sidetracked again by Tommy Gayle. That boy has got one terrific be-hind."

What is with my mother and men's butts? This was waaay too much information.

"I'm gonna go talk to the doctor now," I said quickly, and I scurried away.

The doctor said she was running a hundred and four temperature. He said it casually, trying to make it sound as if she had a slight fever, but I watch too many doctor shows to be fooled. I knew she was on the verge of her brain being cooked inside her head like an egg.

After a preliminary examination, they rushed her away, down a long scary corridor, through a set of double doors— _woosh_ —out of sight, leaving me staring after them.

Is she dying?

I was sent to an empty waiting room where they told me someone would come and talk to me. But they didn't say when. Sitting alone in the tiny room, my thoughts turned dark.

So, this was my payback. This is what Armando was talking about. Trashing my computer was just the preliminary of what was to come.

He was sending me a message. Well, I had a message of my own. If she died I would kill him.

Okay, I know he's Satan and therefore can't die, but I wasn't thinking rationally. It's hard being rational when your mother is lying in a room somewhere, her brain slowly turning to Swiss cheese. So maybe I wouldn't kill him, couldn't kill him. But he was going to pay. One way or the other, he was going to pay. However it happened, it would feel like a hellish death.

"Are you Megan?"

A nurse was standing in front of me. Her expression was guarded. I lost it. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. I'd seen that guarded look on TV doctor shows many times. It meant the worst.

"Y... yes," I said, trying to hide my sobs.

"Your mother is awake now. She wants to see you." I checked her expression again. No change.

"Awake?"

"Yes. Follow me."

"What about the fever?" I asked as we walked.

"It's broken. Her temperature is back to normal. She's feeling quite good now."

Waves of relief washed over me. "I thought my mother had..." I let my sentence trail off.

"No. She's fine."

_Then what is with that dour expression?_ I wanted to say. This nurse obviously needed to watch more doctor shows on TV.

When I walked into my mother's room she was sitting up in bed. Her hair was pinned back, away from her face. It was no longer drenched with sweat, and her color was returning.

She smiled as soon as she saw me. "Hi. Sorry to alarm you." She seemed embarrassed.

"Mom, I'm sure you didn't do the whole hundred and four fever thing on purpose."

"I know. But I know how you worry."

I returned the smile. "I think I was justified. You called me Darla."

"Oh, no! Really?"

I nodded. "You thought you were back in high school. You wanted to copy my homework. _Tsk, tsk, tsk_. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ground you, young lady."

She shook her head, continuing to smile. "That's way more information than I wanted you to have."

"Trust me, it was _way_ more than I wanted to have."

"Did you call Mando?"

The question seemed to come out of nowhere and caught me off guard. My shoulders tensed.

"Umm, no. I was so worried about you I forgot to call him." _That_ was a lie. I'd thought of nothing but Armando as I sat sweating it out in the waiting room. _The bastard._

"That's fine. I'm actually glad you didn't call him. No need worrying him. He's got enough on his plate with the burn and all."

"Right."

A few minutes later, the nurse came in and said Mom needed to get her rest. She assured me that, after a few tests in the morning, if nothing flared up, she could come home. I wondered if the tests would reveal she was having a baby. While it was good news knowing she wasn't going to die, having the devil's child was a kind of death all its own. I kissed her good night and headed back home, where I resumed my search for the gris-gris.

This time, I searched her bedroom from top to bottom, tearing it apart, but to no avail.

By seven a.m. I had returned my mother's bedroom back to normal. I knew I should get some sleep, but I was so fired up on adrenaline, sleep wasn't an option.

I called the hospital and was surprised to hear that mom had had a hearty breakfast and was off for her first round of tests. I wasn't aware that hospital days started so early. My thoughts again turned to Armando. _He wants me to know he's in charge._

Now that his message had been sent, he was allowing her to recover. Face it, nobody wants to kill the woman he plans on marrying and have a child with. At least, not until after the child was born.

With the tragedy averted, I decided to go to school. School provided a sense of normalcy to my life. I needed that.

#

Matt and Erin continued to avoid me. When they passed me in the hall before first period, I couldn't help but notice the sadness in Matt's eyes. I was certain he hadn't told Erin he'd stopped by my house last night. He wanted to keep up the image of the united front. However, I believed he was cracking. I saw something in Erin's eyes as well—anger. Her eyes raged at me when she looked in my direction. It caught me by surprise.

As they moved past, she took his hand in hers, moved it to her lips and kissed it.

A twinge of jealousy invaded my thoughts. I pushed it aside. There was no room for jealousy in my battle against Satan. I reminded myself it was the kind of thought that gave him his power.

I dredged up a healthy dose of empathy for both Matt and Erin. It had to be hard not talking to your best friend. Poor things. I told myself they were having really rough go of it. That's probably why Erin was so angry. She wanted things to go back to how they used to be. So did I.

The jealous thoughts faded.

In English, I filled Maudrina in on last night's near tragedy.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"After I wigged out about the baby magazine? No way. I'm not trying to lose any more friends." She grinned, and I knew it was because I called her my friend.

"I'm glad she's okay."

"Me, too." I looked over at Erin. While her head was buried in her calc book, I could feel the anger radiating off of her in hot waves.

I couldn't remember when I'd last seen Erin angry at anyone. She had always been a forgiving person. I knew it had to be tough not hanging with your best girlfriend. I'm sure Matt was great with her, but there are some things that can only be shared with a girl. This exile was her choice, certainly not mine. She shouldn't be mad about it.

#

Maudrina thought it was a good idea for us to go see Aunt Jaz again after school. I didn't want to tell her she'd taken the words right out of my mouth. As we rode over on the bus, she caught Aunt Jaz up on recent events by cell phone.

When we arrived, Aunt Jaz opened the door, and without a word, slipped back down the hall into the kitchen. "Shh," she called as she retreated. The subtle, sweet aroma of gingerbread filled the air.

"Walk softly," whispered Maudrina. "She'll be impossible if it falls."

We crept down the linoleum-lined hall, walking into the kitchen on tip toes. When we entered, Aunt Jaz was stooped in front of the closed oven door. It appeared as if she was listening for something. Without looking up, she waved us over to the green dinette.

"Sit, sit, sit." Her voice was less than a whisper.

"Gingerbread comes out lopsided when it falls. You have no idea how much a lopsided gingerbread can upset my Aunt Jaz," Maudrina said, rolling her eyes.

I didn't know gingerbread could fall, so I kept my mouth shut and sat perfectly still.

_Bing!_ The bell from the timer atop the stove chimed softly.

"There we go," said Aunt Jaz with a grin. She pulled open the oven door and peered in. "Perfect. I hope you like gingerbread," she called as she grabbed two oven mitts.

"She's talking to you. She knows I love it."

"Oh, I do," I responded.

She slid a baking sheet with a large gingerbread out of the oven. Setting it down atop the stove, she sniffed. "Maudy, I think I've outdone myself this time."

Maudrina eyed me knowingly. "See, I told you. She always says that." Aunt Jaz's bawdy laughter filled the air.

After a few moments, she plopped down at the table across from us. "As soon as it cools, we'll have a nice slice of gingerbread with whipped cream on top." She turned to me. "Have you found the gris-gris yet?"

And just like that, she was all business. "No. I looked all over my house. Maybe he's carrying it on him."

"Perhaps. But from what Maudy told me, your mother got better as soon as she was away from the house. I think it was there. You just didn't find it."

" _Was_ there?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's retrieved it by now. He can't afford for you to find it. He knows how much power it contains."

The thought of Armando creeping around my house when I wasn't there made my skin crawl.

"But I looked everywhere."

"Well, maybe you did and maybe you didn't. But if we're going to defeat him, you'll need to locate and destroy it."

If _we're_ going to defeat him?

I wanted to say "the only person doing anything to defeat him is me,"but instead, I nodded.

"I've been thinking," she continued, "Satan granted Señora Marisol eternal youth, is that right?"

"Yes. He said it was for being his loyal servant for over fifty years."

"That's what I thought. Sounds to me like old Satan is grooming a new servant. Has anyone come into your life recently, someone who's suddenly playing a large role?"

It was as if I'd been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. "Do bad boys who get you in trouble at school, ask you to disobey your mother, and have the sweetest kisses you've ever tasted count?"

They both stared at me, blank expressions on their faces.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I cried, slapping myself upside the head.

"It's okay," Aunt Jaz comforted. "It was that person's job to keep you from ever guessing they're in allegiance with him."

"Well it worked." I looked at her and shook my head. "It all makes sense now. What a fool I've been."

Aunt Jaz didn't say a word. She was up and across the room, humming and slicing gingerbread I knew I would not be able to eat.

With a hunk of warm gingerbread and a glass of milk in front of me, I told them about Guy, about how he came into my life just before Armando showed, about how lucky I thought I was that someone as cool as he could go for a girl like me, about how exciting it was to be liked by a bad boy, about how he appeared outside Armando's house the night I discovered the truth. And finally I told them that now that Armando was getting what he'd come for, Guy had dumped me. I told them everything except that I had fallen in love with him. I could never tell them that. It was too embarrassing.

"Stop acting like that, deary. It isn't over yet. We're just getting started."

I looked up into her sparkling eyes. I wanted to believe her, just as I had wanted to believe Guy really cared for me. At that moment, though, I felt the weight of Satan's power crushing me. How could I ever stand up to someone or some _thing_ who could fool me so easily?

"He had said: 'I have been doing this for as long as man has walked the earth.' He'd beaten better men than me. He told me so."

I hung my head. It wasn't that I wanted to give up. I was just being honest with myself. I was overmatched.

"Don't say that. That's what he wants you to think. You _can_ beat him, and you will." Aunt Jaz seemed excited over the prospect.

I wasn't. I sat silently, wagging my head back and forth like a rag doll. _No sense in pretending,_ I thought. Beating him was impossible.

Aunt Jaz saw the defeat in my eyes and roughly yanked my hand up from the table. She looked at me, eyes filled with wisdom.

"You can have thirty or forty pairs of shoes, you can have a whole boat load of sisters and brothers, you can have a new boyfriend every week, you can have so many friends you can't remember all their names, you can get married as many times as you like, and have more husbands and ex-husbands than you can shake a stick at... But, deary, you only get _one_ mother. And it sounds like you have a good relationship with yours. In my mind, that alone is worth fighting for."

# Chapter Thirty

Maudrina did her best to cheer me up on the way back home. "We need a plan," she said.

"I've got one. We quit while we're ahead." My voice was filled with sarcasm.

"That's funny," she said with a chuckle. "Humor is good. But seriously, we need a plan."

"You don't get it, do you? It's over. He won."

She ignored me. "You burned him with holy water, so he can obviously feel pain. After we find the gris-gris, we need gallons of holy water."

It was as if she hadn't heard a word I was saying. I looked at her. What else could I do? If she was fool enough to believe we could beat Satan, let her. She'd find out in time, just as I had.

"It's my mom's fault," I said, my words coming from a darkness in the depths of my soul. "If she didn't want a boyfriend , none of this would have happened."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. She did this to herself. For all I know, she wants to be the devil's bride. And if she gives birth to the devil's child, that's on her."

Maudrina didn't utter another word. I could tell the high regard she once held me in was fading.

Despite how I was behaving, she accompanied me to the hospital to pick my mother up. Truth was I liked having her along. While my emotions had me behaving like a spoiled child, Maudrina remained calm. I needed that.

We arrived just after sundown. As soon as we walked into my mother's room, we knew something was wrong.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Maudrina said with a shiver. It was as if the air conditioning had been turned all the way up.

I checked the thermostat. The AC wasn't on. I looked at my mother, lying in the bed; she was as white as a sheet.

"Hey, honey!" she called when she saw me. Her voice was a cracked whisper. "Guess I had a bit of a relapse."

I moved to her, and took her hand. It was like holding the hand of a dead person. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I just started feeling really, really weak."

"He's testing you," Maudrina whispered into my ear. "Don't give in."

"Say, Mom, what happened with the tests you took this morning?"

"They didn't find anything. Supposedly, I'm as healthy as a bear, which is why this relapse seems so strange."

"They didn't find _anything?_ "

Alarm spread across her face. "What should they have found? What did they tell you?"

"Nothing, Mom. I was just... making sure." I secretly breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't pregnant.

Okay, so she's not pregnant. But she's not out of the woods yet, either.

"Look who I brought," I said, changing the subject. I didn't want her questioning me anymore.

"Erin?" she asked.

"No." Erin was the logical choice before all this had gone down. I was reminded of how close we had been.

Her eyes moved to Maudrina. She smiled. "Didn't I meet you the other night at my party?"

"Yes. I'm Maudrina."

"Hi, Maudrina. Sorry you have to see me like this."

"It's okay, Mrs. Barnett." She sat down at the foot of my mother's bed. My mother frowned. "Oh, sorry." She got up quickly.

"It's not that. Mrs. Barnett is my mother. Please, sit."

"She wants you to call her Suze. Everybody does... but me."

"You got that right."

"Oh. Okay... Suze." Maudrina sat back down.

"Umm, I'm going to go talk to the doctor," I said. "I'd like to hear what they think. I'll be right back."

That was another lie. I had to get out of there. My mind suddenly seemed as though it was coming apart at the seams, and I didn't want my mother to see me falling apart.

However, fall apart I did. As soon as I was out of the room, I began bawling and sobbing uncontrollably. All this back and forth with my mother's health was tearing my emotions to shreds. For days I'd had them under control, but I was like a volcano on the verge of erupting, and eventually I did.

"Why?" I cried through an ocean of tears. "She's not even your type. You win!" I called.

Fortunately, the corridor outside my mother's room was empty. There was no one to witness my outburst.

"It's all my fault," I shrieked, continuing my rant. "I know I said it was hers, but that's because I was angry. Please! Take me!" I cried as I sagged to the floor a crumpled mess. "She doesn't deserve this. Take me instead!"

Armando knew he had won. All he was doing now was rubbing it in.

After several minutes of letting my feelings out, I regained enough composure to go back inside. When I walked in, my mother and Maudrina were chatting like old friends. They had no idea of the emotional thunder storm that had occurred just outside the door.

"Talk about surprised. I never would have guessed she'd give me such a wonderful party. She's some special kid." There was undeniable pride in my mother's voice.

"I know," said Maudrina. "She sits next to me in English. She's so smart, and yet she doesn't throw it in your face. Did you know she loves dogs?"

"Dogs, cats, birds. When she was little, Megan was always picking up strays—anything she thought needed love."

Listening to them giving me more praise than I deserved, something inside me clicked. I can't explain it. It was like a switch in my head had suddenly turned on. The world that had been spinning out of control slowed down, and I was seeing things more clearly than I had for a long time.

"Uh-oh," my mother said when she realized I was back in the room. "Your ears must have been burning."

I looked at her, a smile radiating from deep inside me. I recalled making light of our friendship. When Matt and Erin told me how lucky I was to be friends with my mother, I tried dismissing the idea. I was embarrassed to have such a close relationship with her. Now as she lay in bed near death, though, I realized that she was way more than just my mother. She truly was my friend. I had to pull myself together. I had to save her.

"Hey, Mom, did Armando drop by today?"

"Yes. He left just a little while ago. I told you not to bother him with this, although I'm glad you did. It was good seeing him."

"I thought you'd appreciate it."

My eyes met Maudrina's. We now knew why my mother was suddenly so ill. Armando had placed the gris-gris somewhere in the room.

# Chapter Thirty-one

After about fifteen minutes, she drifted off to sleep. We went to work.

We searched the drawers, the closet, her clothes, under the mattress, under her pillow, the bathroom, under the bed. We came up empty. No gris-gris. There aren't a lot of places to hide something in a hospital room. We had searched them all.

"It's not here," Maudrina said. I could hear the frustration in her voice. It was starting to get to her, too.

"Maybe Aunt Jaz was wrong. Maybe there is no gris-gris," I said.

"Or maybe he drew power from it while he was here and then took it with him," Maudrina replied.

The emotional roller coaster was draining me again. I slumped into the room's only chair.

"The chair!" Maudrina cried.

I jumped up, suddenly fresh as a daisy and turned it over. No gris-gris.

"What are you doing?" My mother's voice. She was waking up.

"Nothing." We were standing with the chair turned over between us, looking like a couple of school kids who'd gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Mom, did Armando bring you anything when he visited earlier?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Just the flowers."

On the windowsill across the room sat a crystal vase containing a small bouquet of red roses. I moved to the windowsill, stuck my hand inside. Feeling around in the water and thorny stems, I touched something made of cloth wedged between the stalks. A small bag. I could feel twigs and sand just beneath the surface of the cloth. It was bound tightly with wire and what felt like hair.

Bingo.

#

I was standing in my kitchen when he arrived.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes."

I placed the tiny bag on the counter between us. It was a two-inch, multi-colored sack, bound at the top by thin wire and hair.

Matt's eyes moved to it, fear and loathing just beneath the surface.

"What's that?" he said, his eyes transfixed on the totem. A sick smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh, come now, Matt. Surely you recognize a gris-gris of your own making."

"A gre-what?"

"The charm you used to raise the devil." My voice was calm, fearless.

"Megan, please! Not this again. I thought you called me because you were finally ready to get some help."

He turned to start away.

"DON'T-YOU-MOVE!" The words exploded from my lips. The fury in them froze him in his tracks. He turned back now, staring down at the gris-gris on the counter top.

"You made it from my binky—my old blanket that disappeared when I was a kid. I recognized it instantly. I always thought my mother threw it away. Then, imagine my surprise when I tore open the gris-gris and found plastic from my Cabbage Patch doll. Remember when Samantha disappeared?"

"No, I don't! And if you keep talking like this they're going to put you away," he said, his eyes never leaving the gris-gris.

"Really? One day she was in her basinet in my bedroom, and the next... I guess the big surprise, though, is I was expecting it to be filled with things belonging to my mother."

"Y... you're not making any sense."

"I'm making perfect sense," I said calmly. "You didn't raise the devil for my mother. You promised him me, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Matt was turning a pasty green, the color slowly draining from his face. He looked up from the gris-gris. There was pleading in his eyes.

"You may not recognize the gris-gris, but I'm sure it recognizes you."

Just then the gris-gris moved. It was as if someone had nudged it ever so slightly. Matt's eyes widened.

"It's waking up," I said.

The tiny bag magically lurched forward, sluggishly at first, like a larva waking to new life. Matt's eyes grew even wider, as the enchanted totem began inching its way along the counter.

"I'm a trivia junkie, Matt. You know that. So I decided to do a little research. That was difficult with my computer being trashed and all. But I used Maudrina's, and guess what I discovered?"

"What?" Pure horror in that word.

The gris-gris was now writhing and wriggling along the counter, making its way to him.

"Come on! Don't you want to guess?" I teased.

As the gris-gris inched closer to Matt, it's movement became more anxious, as if it sensed his presence and was excited by it. Matt's eyes were frozen to the gris-gris.

"Okay, party pooper, if you're not going to guess I'll just have to tell you. Along with all the stuff belonging to me, that thing is made from a piece of your soul. And now it's coming home. You probably didn't know that, but eventually a gris-gris always returns to its maker. You need to study up on your trivia, Matt." I laughed. There was a hollow emptiness to it.

"What do you want?" he groaned.

The gris-gris was next to him, nuzzling his hand on the counter like a faithful pet. He began stroking it with his forefinger.

" _Why?_ Why on earth did you become the devil's disciple? And of all the things you could have promised him, why _me?_ "

#

It began when we were children, about a year after Suze and I arrived in Glendale. Matt fell in love with me, although as he described it, it seemed more like an obsession.

The first thing of mine he stole was Samantha. He said after Suze gave her to me, I paid more attention to her than to him. I loved her.

At first he'd taken her as a joke. He planned to tell me the next day that he had kidnapped her. But when he saw how much I needed him when she disappeared, he decided it was best that she stay gone.

That was the beginning of his stealing my stuff.

I liked Matt. I loved him. We were best friends, but I didn't love him the way he loved me.

"We were just little kids, Matt."

"Love is love," he said softly. "I tried showing you in so many ways. But I understood why you didn't love me back, at least I thought I did. I was a little skinny six-year-old nothing." He lowered his eyes. "I have a confession to make. Remember the Halloween I got the flu?"

Of course I remembered. It was the first year I got to go trick-or-treating, the year I went with my mother. "Yes," I said.

"I didn't have the flu. I couldn't go out with you. The older boys were always picking on me back then. I didn't want you to see them knocking me around and taking my candy. I knew you wouldn't love me if you saw that. So I faked sick."

"But the older boys admired you. They always wanted to play ball with you."

"You mean Danny Tambor, the boy you were so hot to throw the football with?" He said the name as if it was a nasty taste in his mouth. "He was the ring leader. But on that Halloween night I made a wish. I promised the devil my soul if he could make them stop; if he could make me popular. I was just a little kid. I didn't know it would come true. But it did. Overnight I was a gifted athlete. Everyone wanted to be around me. Nobody picked on me anymore." He sighed. "I had everything going for me... except you. Maybe I should have asked for brains."

I looked at my best friend and realized I had no idea who he was.

He went on. "Over the years I continued collecting things that belonged to you; your binky, your retainer. Things that were important to you. They made me feel closer. I never planned to use them the way I did."

"Then why did you?" I demanded.

"I got angry, okay!" It came out the confession of a spoiled child. "All the years of loving you and getting nothing in return. Something inside me snapped. I wanted to get even.

"So when you started talking about your mother dating, I got an idea. And on Candlemas, I carried it out." He looked into my eyes. "You're a strong-willed girl. You'd never freely give yourself to him. But I knew you would sacrifice yourself to save your mother. So he pretended he wanted Suze to trick you into being his bride."

"But if the gris-gris is made for me, why did it work on her?"

"You share the same genes. Some might say, the same spirit. You are parts of the same whole. I guess he figured if you found it, you still wouldn't realize who it was for." A wan smile crossed his lips. "He underestimated how smart you are." His voice became a near whisper. "I'm sorry, Megan. Once I realized I could never have you, I became desperate to get my life back. Can you ever forgive me?" He again pleaded with his eyes.

"No," I said firmly. "You've ruined our lives. For that I can never forgive you."

He nodded somberly, as if he knew that's what I would say. He picked the gris-gris up from the counter and opened it. He held the tiny bag before his nose and breathed in, as if he was inhaling the fragrance of a cherished flower. Then he placed what remained back on the counter top. The gris-gris was gone. It its place was a pile of junk: hair, plastic, cloth, wire, bone. The gris-gris had been destroyed.

We moved to the kitchen table and sat. He popped Cheerios into his mouth like in the old days. He filled me in on a life of longing, a life I knew nothing about.

"I was there that night when Armando gifted Señora Marisol with eternal youth. When I saw you come down the basement stairs, I nearly died."

"But you didn't. Too bad."

He looked at me with a pained expression. "I've loved you for as far back as I can remember."

It was supposed to be a compliment. Hard to accept when I considered what his love was costing me.

"That's a heck of a way of showing your love, promising me to the devil."

He got a far-away look in his eye as if he hadn't heard a word I'd said. "You're not going to believe this, but at first I only dated Erin because I knew she liked me. I guess I figured if I couldn't have you, your best girlfriend was a good second choice." His eyes dropped. "But after we hung out together for a while, I started liking her, too. I really like her." He seemed surprised that it was possible. "I guess if I tried that a long time ago, none of this would have happened, huh?"

"How do I beat him, Matt?" My voice was strong and firm. "How do I beat the devil?"

He stared at me for a long time. I held his gaze and could see him turning my request over in his mind. After a moment he leaned in. "Go to the house," he said urgently. "The thing you need to defeat him is there."

"What thing?"

"I can't tell you." He looked around nervously, as if he expected Armando to suddenly appear. "A book. That's all I can tell you. If I tell you more, he'll know."

"So what? YOU OWE ME!" I screamed.

"I can't," he whimpered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Look for a book. You're smart. You'll know it when you see it." His voice got even lower, so low I could hardly hear him, his words coming quickly. "In his human form he's almost human. So he's not all powerful right now. And he's used up a lot of his power granting Señora Marisol's wish and keeping your mother sick. But once he returns to spirit form, there'll be no stopping him. In his human form he can't know everything. He can miss things if he's not tuned in. So go to the house, Megan. Go to the house. Now!"

# Chapter Thirty-two

It was close to midnight when the taxi dropped me off in front of the house. It was a chilly night, and I was bundled up in my warmest sweater under my windbreaker, a wool scarf and cap on my neck and head.

As the cab pulled away, I looked up and down the street. It was like any other residential street in Glendale. There isn't a lot of crime in our city, and when families are home on a winter's night, they usually stay inside and keep to themselves. There were lights burning in many of the windows of the homes that lined the street.

Armando's windows were dark.

Matt had told me the house would be empty. Señora Marisol had cleared out over a week ago, off to her new life of youthful immortality. I got the sense Matt would make sure Armando was being kept busy elsewhere. He didn't say he would, it was implied.

With shaky legs I climbed the steps and looked under the flower pot. The key was where he said it would be. I slid it into the lock and turned. _Click._ My heart caught in my throat. I guess a piece of me was hoping it wouldn't fit and that I'd have an excuse for not going in. I couldn't help but remember the last time I was in the house. It was the night I discovered my mother was dating the devil. That seemed so long ago, now.

A car cruised up the street and I jumped as its headlights passed over me. I stood unmoving on the top step, watching until the car was out of sight, and the street was once again dark and quiet. Then I pushed open the door and entered.

Inside, the house was dark as pitch. I pulled the pen light from my windbreaker pocket and turned it on. The tiny beam swung around the room, passing over the paintings of landscapes on the walls. I didn't want to look at them, didn't want to see the ghost-like naked figures, frolicking. I aimed the narrow beam down the hall toward the study, and started down, making certain I kept my eyes off the walls. I had a feeling if I looked at the paintings, I might run from the house and never come back.

The smell of incense was gone. The house now smelled slightly musty, which was strange, considering someone had been living here just a few days ago. I told myself it was the smell of hell.

I reached the study door. It was partially open. I swung it open the rest of the way. Through the shadows, I could see someone seated at the desk. _Armando._

My heart thumped as I swung the tiny beam toward him, fully expecting to see him smiling at me from behind the desk. No one was there. Just the shadowy outline of the high back chair.

A truck rumbled by on the street outside. Then silence. I stood in that one spot without moving, allowing the frantic beating of my heart to return to normal—well, as normal as possible.

Once I'd calmed down, I entered and moved to the bookshelves that ran the length of the far wall. I cast the beam of the penlight along the rows of books. There were novels: Dickens, Tolstoy, Melville, Hemingway and Faulkner. While I hadn't read any of them, I knew it was quite an impressive collection. There were self-help books as well, such as _The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People_. I had to chuckle at that one. Highly effective indeed, but _people?_

No title jumped out at me. Matt said I'd know it when I saw it, but nothing grabbed me. I ran through the titles again and was suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread. If the book wasn't here, it had to be somewhere else in the house. I didn't want to see anymore of the house.

_Click_.

What was that?

My head whipped around toward the door. I could have sworn I heard a sound coming from down the hall. I stood stone still for a full minute, listening as hard as I could. Silence.

What if this is a trap?

The thought invaded my consciousness. Could Matt have lured me here knowing Armando would be lying in wait? After all, he is the devil's disciple. Armando is his master.

No. I saw the look on his face. It was sincere remorse— _wasn't it?_

The book I was looking for was not on the shelves. I moved to the old desk and shined the light along the tooled leather blotter. A silver letter opener sat alone atop the desk.

_Armando sure keeps a neat desk,_ I thought. _Yet if you're the devil, what paperwork could you possibly have?_ I shined the light along the desk drawers and noticed the bottom drawer had a keyhole. I tried pulling the drawer open, but it was locked.

If the drawer was locked, that meant there was something of value in it. I searched around the desk for a key, but there wasn't one. I picked up the letter opener and jammed it into the lock, fiddling it back and forth. After a few futile minutes, I realized I had no idea how to pick a lock.

It looked a lot easier on TV.

Next I jammed the letter opener through the tiny space between the desk and drawer and attempted to pry it open. I leaned hard on the letter opener, and it began to bend.

Snaaaap.

After a few minutes of some real elbow grease, the old wood around the lock splintered, giving way. I pulled hard on the drawer, and the lock, along with a hunk of old desk wood, fell to the floor. I opened the drawer the rest of the way, shining my light on its contents. The drawer contained more books, but these titles were quite different: _Sadducismus Triumphatus, De la Demonomie des Sorciers, Satanism And Witchcraft_.

Ah, finally one in English.

Among them was a tiny leather-bound book with no title on the spine. I pulled it out, and opened to the title page:

The Book Of Calls

An electric chill went coursing through my veins. This was the book Matt was talking about. I was certain of it. I opened the book and began reading.

Click, click.

That sound again. This time nearer. I raised my penlight and shined it on the doorway. I could hear something moving quickly down the hall toward me. I knew what it was before it came through the door.

A moment later Robin came skidding into the door frame, his dark eyes shining like black quartz. His lips were curled over bone white teeth, incisors glinting in the light.

He was a large, black bull mastiff—a monstrous, snarling, snapping dog.

Instinctively, I inched backward until my back was against the wall. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

This wasn't just any ferocious dog. This was Señora Marisol's familiar, here to guard the devil's house at any cost.

He leapt.

The big dog flung himself at me, like a projectile with a mind. I took a step to run, but he slammed into me, knocking me to the floor. I screamed "Stop! help!" He lashed at me with snapping jaws, slashing my hand with his razor sharp teeth. Then he went for my throat.

I was lying face up on the floor, the monstrous dog on top of me. My bloody hands were wrapped around his neck. It took every ounce of strength I had to hold him off and keep him from ripping my throat out. But my arms were weakening—his jaws getting closer, closer. Saliva drizzled from his lips, dripping onto my throat.

As my strength ebbed, fifteen years of friendship with my mother passed before my eyes—fifteen years I'd taken mostly for granted. I promised myself if I got through this, I would never take our friendship for granted again.

Miraculously, I summoned up a well of strength I didn't know I had and flung the big dog off of me. He went sailing across the room.

I was up in a flash, running for the door. I reached out to grab it, to pull it shut behind me, but there was no time. He was already on me, tearing at my clothing, trying again to wrestle me to the floor.

As we fought, I worked my way out of the room and into the corridor. With the big dog on my back trying to pull me down, I moved farther into the house and around the corner. I figured if I could just get to the basement, perhaps I could escape. The basement door was open, but Robin was on my back, the weight of him again forcing me down.

Ooof!

I hit the floor hard, my teeth jarring in my head. I now lay prone on the floor, as Robin dug his fangs into the back of my neck. Pain exploded in my head and neck. Bright stars appeared before my eyes.

I was losing consciousness.

It was then I felt something in my windbreaker pocket pressing into my side. Quickly I pulled it out and held it up and away from me.

The attack stopped, as the big dog sniffed at what was in my hand. Sam's throw-me ball. It was a gift from Maudrina and the dogs—a gift that might save my life.

The big dog snuffled at the ball and began to whimper. It was then I realized something else—Robin was a she, a she in heat.

"Hey, girl," I said softly. "Smell Sam, don't you? Sure would like to get with a stud like him, wouldn't you?" She continued whimpering and cooing at the ball.

The attack was over for now. My eyes moved to the basement door. I needed to throw the ball through the open doorway and into the basement. I wasn't much of an athlete. I was especially bad at throwing while lying down. But I knew I would only get one chance at it. If the ball was off target, and didn't make it through the basement doorway, once the big dog was finished with it, she'd come back and finish me.

I remembered the football-throwing lessons Matt had given me every day after school for a week. I was horrible at them. He had said, "I hate to tell you this, Megan, but a quarterback has to know how to throw, and you don't."

"Okay, girl. Here goes. Fetch!"

I flung the ball as best I could. Instantly the big dog was off me in hot pursuit. As she bounded toward the ball, I realized if she got to it before it made it into the basement, I was still a goner. She reached the ball as it bounced and knocked it against the wall. The ball rolled, stopping in the basement doorway. Not good.

Robin went to pick it up and accidentally nudged it forward. "That's it. Push it, girl!" I whispered.

My only hope was that she'd push the ball through the open doorway and into the basement. Slim chance, but it was all I had.

She looked up at me momentarily and barked.

Uh-oh. She's lost interest in the ball, and now she's coming back for me.

She took a step in my direction and barked again. I lay still. If she decided to come for me, there would be nothing I could do. Kill her with my bare hands. That was my only choice.

She turned and moved back to the ball. She bumped it with her nose, and the ball rolled lazily through the doorway.

Thump...Thump...thump-thump-thump-thump

The sweet sound of the ball bouncing down the basement stairs greeted my ears. A moment later, Robin dashed through the doorway and down the stairs after the ball.

I was immediately up and running for the basement door. I reached it, slammed it shut, and locked it. Robin was trapped on the other side.

I breathed for what seemed like the first time in a long time. As I leaned heavily against the door, I took inventory of myself. My neck had been torn open and was bleeding badly; my hand was bleeding as well, but I was alive. Thank God, I was still alive.

# Chapter Thirty-three

The incantation used to raise Satan was in a language that had been dead for centuries. The ancient Druids had compiled the writings as a way of harnessing Satan's power to work for good. However, the fear of the day was that once raised, Satan might wreak more havoc than good _. Duh!_ Thus, the wise Druids created a reversal, a second incantation to reverse the first. The feeling was if Satan knew he could be sent back, it would give the priests a certain power over him.

This was the section of the book Matt intended for me to see. He wanted me to know if I did the reversal incantation properly, I could send Armando back to hell. A ray of hope was finally cracking through the gloom that had engulfed me for so long. I now had the tool I needed to defeat Armando.

I boarded the bus and moved to the back, where I sat staring out the window. I breathed a deep sigh of relief that Matt hadn't double-crossed me. In his twisted mind, he cared enough to help me in my quest to free myself and my mother from Satan's grasp.

I wondered what would happen to him once Satan knew he had betrayed him. But I didn't think about it too long, or too hard. Matt deserved whatever horror Satan and hell had in store for him.

I didn't go home. I couldn't go anywhere Armando knew I might be, for fear he could psychically monitor those places and know I had the book. Instead, I got off in Old Town and went to the twenty-four-hour Coffee Haven there. I ordered a double- shot espresso, sat on one of the comfy armchairs in the corner, and began memorizing the incantation.

The strange words felt odd rolling off my tongue.

"Ie n'ay cekt que toi."

Odd or not, I knew it was important I get them right. I'm a good student. If it's in a book, I can excel at it. That's how it had been all my life. Now more than ever, I needed it to be true again. I needed to excel at the incantation.

At four a.m. I took a break. I had started in on a yawning jag. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy. I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the sleep of the dead. I knew I could do this a lot better with rest. But rest was not an option. I wasn't sure how much time I had. I needed to learn the incantation now.

I went outside to get some air. Downtown Glendale was just waking up. The newspaper truck was dropping its bundles in front of the small office buildings. The cleaning crews, who worked all night, were catching rides home. The area was so peaceful and quiet. A far cry from how it would be in just a few hours.

The morning air was brisk as I walked around the block, breathing deeply to get oxygen into my lungs, trying to get oxygenated blood to refresh my brain. A fresh brain meant a good memory. Another helpful piece of trivia.

I thought of the many times Suze and I had driven into Old Town to browse antique shops or take in a movie. I remembered all the times I didn't want to go. All the times I thought I'd rather stay home and watch TV, or hang out with my friends, or do anything but hang out with my _mother_. Now, as I walked, I was grateful for the times we'd spent and said a soft prayer that there would be more.

Refreshed from my walk, I went back into the coffee shop, ordered another double-shot espresso, and I went back to memorizing. At six a.m. my phone rang. It was Maudrina.

"I know you said no phone calls, but I had to know that you were okay."

"I am," I said. "Mission accomplished." She knew what that meant. I quickly filled her in on the plan before I said: "Hanging up now. You know where I'll be."

"Good. Great. I'll see you later."

"Wait," I said. "Could you give Sam an extra big hug for me?"

I owed Sam a special treat for slobbering all over the throw-me ball. It was the only thing that had saved my life.

"Okay, sure," she replied to my odd request. "Sam's a glutton for hugs."

"Thanks."

After I hung up, I spent the next hour memorizing the reversal incantation. When the hour was up, I knew it backwards and forwards. Unfortunately, that was the easy part.

With Glendale beginning its daily grind, I walked over to the bus station and bought a ticket to Coolidge, a small city three hours away.

I got on the bus and took a seat in the back. I had the incantation down cold, and I was sure Armando couldn't find me here. With the first part of the job done, I could finally relax. Amid the soft hum of the bus tires against freeway blacktop, I drifted off to sleep.

About an hour into the ride I woke up with a start. It felt as though someone had nudged me. I looked around. There were seven passengers on the bus, none of them near me. It was him. Armando. I was sure of it. Every muscle in my body tensed. I could feel his presence. He was searching for me.

Megan, where are you?

The words rang out in my mind. I blanked my thoughts, not allowing him entry. I squeezed my eyes shut tight doing my best to think of nothing.

You cannot hide forever.

After a while, I sensed his presence fading. Then he was gone.

I had taken every precaution to keep him from knowing what I was up to. I didn't go back to sleep. I sat staring out the window as miles of cactus and scrub brush drifted by.

#

"Coolidge," I heard a voice call, and realized I had fallen asleep again. The driver and I were alone on the bus. He stood by the door staring at me.

"Thanks," I said, rising.

I got off and went into the bus station restroom where I splashed water on my face. I spent the next few hours touring the Casa Grande Ruins. Greasewood and dead mesquite dotted the barren landscape. The monument was a four-story structure of mud and rocks built by the Hohokam tribe around thirteen hundred. It wasn't much to look at. The house was all that remained of an ancient village that now lay under centuries of dust and debris.

It was the kind of outing Suze would have loved. It was very much like one of our antiquing outings, the trips to antique shops and garage sales that began right after my father left, and we moved from Phoenix to Glendale. That's when we became friends.

I blamed my father. The thought had been lurking in the back of my mind for some time. I knew it wasn't fair to blame him for our current troubles, but if he hadn't left, had been man enough to stick it out, we wouldn't have been in this mess. As far as I knew he never wrote, never called. My mother never mentioned him. This was his fault, and if things didn't go as planned I would never stop blaming him, even though I couldn't remember what he looked like.

When I finished the tour, I grabbed a few tacos off a truck and headed back to the bus station. I hoped this was enough time to recharge my batteries. When I got back to Glendale, I needed to be ready to battle the devil. I pulled out my phone and called Maudrina.

#

It was seven p.m. when I arrived back at the hospital. I walked through the sliding glass doors. The power of Armando's presence radiated through the hospital walls. _The Book of Calls_ had taught me how to sense when Satan was near. I could tell he wasn't in the building, but he wasn't far.

When I got to my mother's room, she was sitting up in bed.

"Where have you been? I've been calling you all day."

"I had a mathlete challenge in Coolidge," I lied.

She shot me a questioning glance. "Really? I thought you were kicked off the team?"

"They asked me to come back. They need me."

This was partly true, and the part that wasn't, I'm sure she'd forgive me for. There is no way I could tell her I'd spent the day preparing to battle Satan. That wouldn't have gone over too well.

"I'm glad you're back on the team," she said with an encouraging smile.

"Me, too."

Tran had told me, "If you take too long, you'll be too late." I hoped I hadn't blown it.

"They wanted to release me today, but I needed a family member to pick me up."

"I'm not old enough to check you out."

"I know. I thought you could do it with Armando."

I stiffened at the thought of doing anything with Armando.

She noticed the change in me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm just sorry I wasn't around this afternoon to get you out of here."

"That's okay. Tomorrow's good."

"Yes," I said with a forced smile. "Tomorrow."

We spent the better part of the evening watching TV and chatting. Nothing important, just girl talk. As we passed the time, I realized how precious these moments were. The idle moments that seem like nothing, that feel like you're just killing time, are actually the important ones.

Cooking together, polishing the silver, watching DVDs, estate sales, garage sales, these tiny threads of seemingly meaningless activity are the bedrock on which relationships are built. Our special friendship thrived on such things. I realized then, it was these trivial moments that gave me the strength to fight for both our lives.

At nine, I kissed her goodnight and stepped out into the corridor. It was empty, yet the atmosphere seemed charged. A cool breeze drifted through. It was as if the corridor had its own weather system. The breeze started blowing toward me.

_He's coming,_ I thought, as I pulled my windbreaker shut.

Tentacles of dread tickled at my belly. I immediately wished them away. Fear would give him power. I couldn't afford that.

I started down the empty corridor. There was an old wall-style telephone on the wall, midway down. It started to ring.

Brinng, brinng!

The ringing echoed throughout the corridor, shattering the silence. I continued toward the phone. I knew it was for me.

I picked up.

"Yes," I said, holding the receiver gingerly in my hand. My voice was flat.

"I believe you want to make a deal with me." It was Armando. He seemed so confident. Good.

"A deal?" I asked innocently.

"A trade? I think you said you wanted me to take _you_ instead of her."

I knew he had been listening last night when I screamed "take me, instead!" just as he'd been listening to my earlier prayer.

"Of course, if you've changed your mind, I'll give you a few minutes to go back inside and say your final goodbyes."

"You wouldn't!" My words seethed with anger.

"It's your choice, Megan. I am trying to be reasonable here. I have agreed to take you in her stead."

"Stop flattering yourself. It was me you wanted all along."

He chuckled. It was a laugh filled with evil. "Very intuitive. So that should make it easier. Right?"

I knew if I was going to send him back to hell, I needed him to be closer. "I'm yours," I said. "Come and get me."

"As you wish."

I hung up the phone. As soon as I did footsteps rang out in the empty corridor, obliterating the silence. They were coming from down the hall and around the bend.

As the footsteps drew nearer, I heard him whistling. I didn't recognize the tune.

He ended the song and let out a self-satisfied laugh that echoed throughout the empty corridor. A moment later, he came around the corner.

"I love that song. Have you heard 'The Land Down Under?'" he said. "Men At Work. I do believe they wrote it just for me."

He stood about twenty feet away, bathed in shadow and eerie light. He wore a light trench coat, the kind you see in old black-and-white movies. It rippled in the breeze.

"I don't know the song," I said.

"Pity. You should check it out on YouTube." He inhaled, expelling the air in a deep, self-satisfied breath. "I am so happy you have agreed to come with me, Megan. I promise you we will be happy together."

"Cut the sappy stuff. I'm here to save my mother. What do I need to do?"

His expression changed momentarily, a flash of anger spreading across his face. But just as quickly it was gone, replaced by a beatific smile. I was so caught up in his evil, I'd forgotten just how beautiful he actually was.

He started toward me.

"All you have to do is renounce this life and say that you will be my bride."

He stopped just in front of me.

"Is that all? Okay. How's this?" I began chanting the reverse incantation: "Ie n'ay cekt que toi."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "STOP!" He screamed. Where did you learn that?"

I smiled as I continued the chant. "Semeck tous n'vrais—"

A tremendous force of energy slammed into my chest, sending me air born, and hurtling backwards. I hit the ceramic tile floor, and continued to sliding backwards along the cold tile.

The moment I stopped sliding, I sat up. A searing pain shot through my ribcage and lungs. I was certain I had cracked a rib, yet I resumed the chant.

Armando rose up off the floor, and flew at me like a wraith, rage strewn across his face. He reached me in a second and raised his hand as if to smite me. It was then I threw the holy water I'd been concealing up my sleeve.

This time he was totally caught off guard. The blessed water splashed into his face.

" _YIIIIIII!"_ he shrieked.

It was a sound like none I'd heard before, an ancient cry of an animal long extinct. His face began to blister and burn. Like a birthday cake caught in the rain, his features began melting away, dripping to the floor.

What lay beneath the beautiful face was a mask of horror. His twisted mouth, filled with shark-like fangs, took up much of the face. His pupils were dark slits surrounded by irises glowing iridescent yellow.

"Is that it!" I shouted. "Is that all you've got?" I continued the chant from where I had left off.

"Insolent child! You shall pay!"

Armando took to the air, retreating back down the hall, his face still falling away. I gave chase, continuing the chant as loud as I could.

A storm began to brew.

An icy twister kicked up, spinning through the corridor, sending chairs and debris flying, anything that wasn't nailed down. It was as if I were in the heart of a tornado.

A food cart slammed into my head, its hard rubber wheel hitting me in the mouth. Salty, sweet blood flowed freely from a gash in my lower lip, spilling into my mouth. I continued my pursuit, along with the chant.

The force of the storm increased. I was suddenly in a hurricane, being pelted by stinging rain.

It slowed my movement, eventually stopping my progress. I felt like a mime, pretending to walk against the wind. I was going nowhere. Then just as suddenly the wind died. The corridor became unnaturally quiet.

He was gone.

# Chapter Thirty-four

Immediately, I ran back to my mother's room. She was hiding under the covers. The bed had been moved away from the wall to the center. A hexagram had been drawn on the floor in dark charcoal. This was very different from how it was when I had left her.

She was quaking under the covers as I joined her inside the hexagram. "It's okay, Mom," I comforted. "He can't hurt you in here. The hexagram will protect us."

"What's going on?" she whispered. She sounded so lost.

Before I could respond, the storm started in the room.

The things atop the bedstand, along with the equipment on the floor, were lifted by the swirling wind and came flying at me. Yet instead of hitting me, everything bounced away, as if there were an invisible force field around the hexagram protecting us.

We were safe as long as we were inside the hexagram.

Armando appeared. He rose out of the floor like fog rising off a swamp. He continued rising until he loomed over me, a hideous genie rising from the depths of hell.

His beautiful face was gone. In its place was the grotesqueness that I knew was the real Satan. All the misery the world had known was etched in the creases of that face. This is how he really looked when he was not trying to convince an innocent human to be his bride.

As the storm raged, I began the chant anew.

"Ie n'ay cekt que toi."

"I will spare your mother and friends if you give up now," he thundered, his words reverberating throughout the room.

I ignored him. "Semeck tous n'vrais nom seigneur s'oignt."

The hexagram around the bed caught fire. Flames leapt up from the floor licking at the bedding. Nothing burned. I wasn't singed, although I could feel the fire's intense heat.

"YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!" he bellowed. "Do you think I am a fool? I know your mother is not in this room. She is down the hall—unprotected." His yellow eyes bore into me.

My chanting slowed. _"O.... venez..."_

"Don't stop," Maudrina called from under the covers. You're almost done." She threw off the covers. "You're going back to hell, Satan!" she screamed.

Satan smiled. It was a hideous toothy grin that took up half of his face. "Not without my bride."

He looked at me, speaking softly in that wonderful, melodious voice. "You love your mother, Megan. She is most precious to you. Don't you see you cannot win? She will die. All of your friends will die. Is that what you want?"

"Ahhhhhh!" Just then an ear piercing scream rang out from down the hall. I recognized the voice—Suze.

"Leave her alone!" I called.

"Not unless you stop this foolishness."

She screamed again. The anguish in her scream tore at my heart.

"Stop it! Stop it!" I called. "You're killing her!"

His tone darkened. "Are you ready to become my bride?" he asked, his horrid eyes boring into me.

I nodded, my face filling with defeat.

Slowly the storm in the room subsided. The ring of fire died. Thankfully there were no more screams from my mother.

Satan continued to hover.

"Thank you," I wheezed.

"My pleasure. Now step from the hexagram and tell me that you will be my bride. I will not ask again." There was finality to his words. If I didn't obey, Matt, Erin, Maudrina _and_ my mother would all die.

I stepped from the safety of the hexagram.

"Good girl. Now renounce this _life_." His voice was filled with contempt for my current life.

I opened my mouth, but instead of renouncing anything, I completed the reversal incantation. When I finished the strange language, I said the last part in English.

"With these words, Satan, I command you back to hell!" I cried for all I was worth. Then I stood there, praying it would work.

As soon as I finished the incantation, the Armando thing reeled backwards, as if he'd been punched in the jaw.

"You... you tricked me!" he called. His voice was suddenly much weaker than before. He seemed to be losing strength.

"Be gone with you, Devil," I called back, gaining confidence.

He stopped hovering, drifting down to the floor before me. He landed, standing like a mortal, and began stumbling around as if he were drunk. "How dare you call from the _Book of Calls_ , he slurred. "You are not my equal! You are NO ONE!" he cried as loud as he could. But his voice was getting weaker with each, slurring word.

He collapsed to his knees.

"You will pay," he rasped. It was a feeble threat, coming off his lips a drunken slur. And then he exploded right before our eyes.

There was a loud bang, a tremendous flash, followed by plumes of billowing smoke. When the smoke cleared, he was gone.

The room fell eerily silent, as wisps of the smoke hung in the air, along with the stench of brimstone.

"You did it!" Maudrina cried, breaking the silence. "You did it!"

I turned to her, a big smile blooming on my lips. " _We_ did it. I couldn't have done it without you."

I stood smiling at her, relief flooding my body. "I can't believe it," I said. "He's gone. He's really gone."

Just then, an earth shattering scream erupted from down the hall—my mother again. We took off on a dead run.

# Chapter Thirty-five

When we entered the room, my mother was in the bed that Maudrina had moved her to. And the bed was on fire. Everything in the room was ablaze or smoldering. It looked like an inferno.

I wished we'd had the time to draw a hexagram on the floor. Now my mother was paying the price.

"My head," Suze called, as the flames danced around her. "It hurts so bad." There was a distant look in her eyes. She was losing it."Make it stop!" she cried.

I couldn't help but notice the heat. The room was like a furnace. Yet, while the room seemed to be on fire, nothing was burned or scorched. It dawned on me: _This must be what it's like in hell._

_Perhaps Armando isn't gone_. The thought crept into my consciousness, chilling me to my bones.

Just then, Armando's malevolent laughter filled the room.

"We didn't defeat him," whispered Maudrina. There was genuine fear in her words.

I was too stunned to say anything. The spell hadn't worked. I had no more tricks up my sleeve. All I could think was: _We are all doomed._

The floor in front of my mother's bed began to quake and then buckle. A crevice the size of a jagged manhole opened up. Steam began pouring out.

"I'm ba-ack!" Armando's voice called from beneath the rising steam. And then the laughter. It was loud and confident, saturating the air, as if in stereo.

A figure began rising from the hole in the floor—a shirtless black man with a thick afro and a beard that was curly like lamb's wool. Steam poured out of the hole around him, engulfing him in a vapor cloud.

It seemed like a cheap magic trick, an illusion you might see on a TV show from Las Vegas, but it was real.

Once the man's torso emerged, I realized the bottom half was that of a horse. My eyes widened in disbelief as an eight-foot-tall centaur struggled from the hole.

Totally out, the centaur reared up on his hind legs, and then let out a whinny that echoed throughout the room.

"Excuse me for using this form," the strange centaur said in Armando's voice. He came to rest on all fours and gestured toward his body: "The spell you cast trashed my old body. Would you believe that just five minutes ago, the former owner of this fine frame was diving off the Great Barrier Reef?" He chuckled. "Then he got bitten in half by a great white shark, and well... he was the closest thing available, so I had to improvise."

It was then I realized the man's torso had been jammed unnaturally on top of the horse. Blood oozed freely from where the two bodies had been joined together.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, still incredulous that the spell hadn't worked.

"Problem with the spell. Seems when you break it up the way you did, it loses power. So you got rid of my old body, but not me. Shame, huh? That was a really good body." His arrogance was back and shining through.

He grinned at us, obviously pleased with himself. This version of Satan had the same awful teeth from the face I'd thrown the holy water in. His eyes were narrow slits, glowing yellow. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

A torrent of dread flooded my belly.

He saw the panic in my eyes. "I told you you cannot defeat me." His tone was low, malevolent. "Now you will pay with all of your lives."

Just then, my mother screamed again. She held her hands to her head as if it was about to explode.

"It huuuurts!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was crying, pleading for the pain to stop.

I had one weapon left—my crucifix. I yanked it off my neck, extended my hand, and started running toward the centaur.

He reared up on his hind legs and I was instantly air born, flying across the room and slamming into the wall. My left arm hit first, shielding the rest of my body from the blow. But the damage had been done.

A tidal wave of pain rippled through my arm. I could tell it had been broken it in several places. It hurt so bad I thought I might pass out, but I ignored the pain. I had to. Ignoring it was my only choice if I wanted my mother to live.

I bounced off the wall, landing on my feet. "Don't you have any other tricks?" I hollered—mostly to make him think he hadn't hurt me.

I again lunged toward him, crucifix first. He puckered his lips and blew in my direction. A blast of hot air knocked my legs out from under me. I flew up, feet first, coming down hard, crash landing on my derriere.

"Ooof!" My teeth slammed together. My jaw shuddered on impact.

"How's that for variety?" he called. Then he got serious. "Megan, I am getting tired of your insolence. I am going to kill your friend over there, and if you still refuse to be my bride, I am going to kill your mother. And trust me, hers will be a slow and painful death."

I looked at my poor mother. She was lying face up on the bed, unconscious. The pain had been too much for her. My eyes moved to Maudrina. The fear I'd sensed in her earlier was gone. She yanked off her crucifix and started for Satan.

"We are going to send you back to hell," she said in an even tone. She was fearless.

"Oh, please!" he called, seemingly annoyed with the game. "Don't you know that doesn't work?"

He jerked his head upward, and both our crucifixes flew from our hands, clinging to the ceiling as if they were magnetized.

The room began to quake.

A large chunk of concrete fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing Maudrina. If she hadn't danced away, it would have killed her. It crashed to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust.

"Now then, last chance, Megan. Renounce this life, or witness the carnage."

The room continued to burn and quake. Chunks of ceiling were falling everywhere. Maudrina dodged them as best she could. But for how long?

This time, I had to accept it was over. I had no more weapons to use against him. They had all been neutralized. I could not allow my friends and mother to pay for my mistake. I had given it my best shot and had failed.

I got to my feet.

"Don't," Maudrina called, the word coming off her lips like a weight. "We can do this." She dodged another hunk of ceiling debris.

I shook my head. "You're a great friend, Maudrina. Really. I don't deserve you. But this time it's over. For sure. I can't risk your life or Mom's." I shot a weak smile in her direction. "It'll be okay."

I faced the devil. "No more tricks, sir. You win. Tell me what to say, and I'm all yours. Just don't hurt them."

The evil grin returned to his lips. He was pleased that he had beaten us. The quaking subsided.

Then he pricked up his ears, as if listening for something.

"Tell me what to say," I repeated.

"No," he said softly.

"What?"

"NOOOOO!" he screamed. "It cannot be!" he said incredulously. His voice was beginning to weaken. "It is _impossible._ "

Was this another trick?

His yellow eyes turned a pale blue. The look in them was so sad. His shoulders slumped forward.

"Our son would have ruled the world," he said, staring at me sadly.

And then he began shrinking in stature. As he wagged his head in despair, he began fading away. He was now shrinking and fading.

"I would have given you everything," he called weakly.

"What's happening?" whispered Maudrina.

"I don't know."

Satan was turning into vapor right before our eyes. Something was up. I didn't trust it.

"What kind of trick is this?" I demanded.

"It is not a trick. I underestimated you, Megan Barnett. An excellent play." He was nearly vanished now, the voice coming from a fading mist.

An excellent play? What had I done?

"The choice has been made," he continued. "So it shall be." These last words were a distant whisper, hanging in the air like smoke.

And then he vanished.

"What happened?" asked Maudrina, looking around nervously.

"I don't know."

"Is it some kind of a trick?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think so. I'm not sensing his presence anymore. He's really gone this time." With my next words, my voice cracked, and my tears began to flow. "I don't know how we did it, but... I think we won."

#

Later that night, we discovered there'd been a terrible accident on West Glendale Avenue. Matt had been driving his Corolla at a high rate of speed. He skidded off the road and hit a telephone pole going almost a hundred miles an hour. He died instantly at nine thirty-seven p.m. Authorities suspected he may have taken his own life.

# Chapter Thirty-six

My mother believed what she'd witnessed that night was the result of a raging fever. She told herself she'd been delirious. But in her heart, she knew something extraordinary had happened at the hospital that night.

She'd never admit it. Admitting it would mean the world she'd known all her life wasn't the real world at all. It meant that boogie men weren't just the stuff of children's nightmares, but in fact, walked the earth. She couldn't allow herself to believe that. But she knew in her bones, something miraculous had happened.

I spent the next several days in the hospital, recovering from my own injuries—injuries sustained from a fall during the freak earthquake that had hit the hospital that night. _Right._

While I was there, Suze rarely left my side. I was drugged much of the time. But whenever I looked up, there she was, sitting across from me with anxious eyes.

One time, I awoke from a deep sleep and heard her on the phone. I didn't open my eyes. I listened.

"Hey, Mando, it's me again. Are you okay? I'm here at the hospital with Megan. Like I said in the earlier messages, she's had an accident. That's why I haven't been home. Call me. Love you."

She had been trying to reach Armando for several days and never got a response. Go figure. Armando was back in hell where he belonged.

I knew she was hurting. A boy she'd loved as a son had suddenly died in a car crash. And she'd been dumped by a man she was falling in love with. The reason for all this misery didn't matter. I had to get back on my feet quickly. In addition to my own broken heart, I had hers to deal with.

I realized how childish I'd been, how selfish I'd been, wanting to keep her to myself. In two years I'd be off to college, and she'd be alone. She deserved to have someone in her life.

"I love you, mom," I said, pretending to wake up.

"I love you, too." She clicked off her phone and put it back in her purse.

#

Maudrina came to see me on Thursday. She sat at the foot of my bed, small-talking. Finally, Suze got up from the chair she'd been glued to all morning.

"You're in good hands. Think I'll pop out and get a quick bite to eat."

"Okay."

"I'll just be in the cafeteria," she added.

"Okay."

"It's right downstairs."

"I know."

"I won't be far. If you need anything, call me."

"Mom! Go, already!"

It was like I was a kid again. And as much as I hated her treating me like a baby—I loved it.

"Aunt Jaz wants you to know you're a hero in the good-magic part of the occult community," Maudrina said when we were alone.

I looked at her, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"Word of what you did is spreading. It's also spreading in the evil-magic community. The people you encountered at Armando's that night are not happy with you."

"It's not my fault. Matt's sacrifice sent him back to hell. His original deal was for Matt's soul, which is why he had to accept it. It was Matt's doing, not mine."

"I know, but I think they liked the idea of you and Satan having a child. You cheated them out of that."

I shuddered at the thought of being Satan's bride. "But he _is_ gone?"

"Yes," she said, and smiled. "He's gone. Aunt Jaz said he can never bother you again." I didn't like the way she said it.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not. We need you to get better and out of the hospital."

I stared at her for a full minute. Finally she looked away. "There is something wrong. It's got something to do with those evil-magic people feeling cheated, doesn't it?"

"They're just nutty Satanists, Megan. Most of them are old. So what if they have it in for you."

I was about to ask her what she meant by _have it in for me_ when my mother came back in.

"You finished eating pretty fast."

"There's a boy outside." Her expression was not happy. "I told him to come back later, but he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Who is it?"

"You tell me," she said, her eyes probing.

"I don't know. Tran?"

She sighed. "He says his name is Guy."

"Guy?" I couldn't hide the hope in the way his name came off my lips. They both heard it.

"Isn't Guy the boy who got you kicked off the mathletes?"

"I got myself kicked off the mathletes. Is Guy really outside?" I was dying to see him, to find out the truth, or to hear a lie. I didn't care. I wanted him to take me in his arms one more time, even if he was every awful thing he could possibly be.

"Please, Mom, send him in."

She looked at me for a long moment, sighed, and bustled out the door.

"Guy?" asked Maudrina. "The boy you thought was the devil's disciple?"

"I was wrong about that."

"Maybe. But maybe you weren't. How do you know they didn't bring him in to distract you?"

"I don't. But if that's the reason he was here, wouldn't he be gone by now?"

She thought about it for a moment.

"Well, just in case, I'm not leaving you alone with him."

Just then, my mother reentered. Guy Matson trailed her in.

His eyes seemed tired, and what had once seemed dreamy was now glassy. The whites were faded as well. Yet as bad as he looked, he was still adorable. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Maudrina. "I need to know," I whispered, urging her to leave with my eyes. "Please!"

"Okay," she said reluctantly.

As much as she didn't want to, my mother exited with Maudrina. Guy and I were alone.

"Who _are_ you?" I asked as soon as they were out of ear shot.

He smiled his smile. "Wow, you really did get banged up pretty bad. It's me, Guy. Remember?"

I didn't smile back. "Cut the crap. The most beautiful, intelligent boy I've ever known comes into my life, and I'm lucky enough to have him as _my_ boyfriend."

"Talk about vain." He was still smiling, trying to make light of my words.

"I'm serious, Guy. I'm not the kind of girl who gets the Guy Matsons. I know that. I also know you're not who you say you are. _Who_ are you?"

His expression changed. It was startling how quickly he could become serious. The serious Guy was even more gorgeous.

He sighed. "I was sent here to protect you," he said softly.

"Yeah, right! Well, you did a lousy job. I almost died."

"You're right. I did do a lousy job. That's because I broke the cardinal rule of a Guardian. A Guardian is supposed to remain objective; don't get involved, just protect. Instead, I fell in love."

When he said he'd fallen in love, my heart began to race.

"Guardian?" I focused on the one word. I knew if I thought about the other thing he said, I'd begin to hyperventilate.

"Yes, sent from..." He looked up to the ceiling.

The room began spinning. I blinked my eyes several times to make it stop. So much for not hyperventilating. _Love... Guardian._ It was all too much for me.

"Are you all right?" He took a step toward me. I held up my good hand, stopping him.

"Of course I'm not all right. You mean like a Guardian _Angel?_ " My eyes lashed out at him.

"Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

I took a few deep breaths. The spinning slowed, but I was still feeling off balance. I tried laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

"You're asking me to believe that the boy who asked me to ditch class and disobey my mother is an _angel_?"

He nodded. "I was sent here by the good guys to protect you from _him_." His eyes were somber.

I finally had my breathing under control. The spinning stopped. "Guy, I want to believe you."

"It's the truth. I have no reason to lie."

"I've been through a lot these past few months. This is just too hard to believe: first the devil comes into our lives, and now an _angel?_ "

"I know. Hard to believe. But it's true." I looked into his eyes; they stared back, unwavering.

"But you arrived in Glendale before Armando came into our lives."

"I needed to be in place before Candlemas."

The only people who knew about Candlemas were Aunt Jaz and Maudrina—and Matt. I looked at him in disbelief, but a part of me was starting to believe.

Guy Matson was an angel... an angel who said he'd fallen in love with me.

"I have a lot of explaining to do. But please know, my hands were tied. I would never have deserted you."

He reached out and touched my arm. I hadn't realized how long I had ached for his touch until then.

"They made me stop seeing you."

"Who made you?"

"It's hard to explain. But my superior forbade me from further contact. At the cost of—"

Just then, my mother came back into the room. "I think my daughter's had enough excitement for one day," she said, shooting daggers at Guy.

Talk about rotten timing.

He looked from her, to me. "Yes. I think she has. Thank you, Mrs. Barnett, for allowing me this time with her." The perfect gentleman. He looked me in the eye. "Until we meet again," he said, and walked from the room.

"There's something about that boy. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't want you seeing him anymore."

Maudrina drifted back in.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Mom."

"Why? What did he say?"

"Mom, please stop."

Maudrina was trying to read my expression. Good luck. I didn't even know how I felt. All Guy's visit had done was make things even more confusing. _Until we meet again._

My mind was reeling. What Guy had said was preposterous. Yet in his words, I found a ray of sunshine. He implied I would get to see his sweet face at least one more time. I looked forward to it, no matter what.

"You're upset," my mother said, continuing to needle. "Did he tell you something bad?"

"Yes, he did. He said he was leaving." It was a lie. But if he was truly a guardian angel, and I didn't need guarding anymore, didn't that mean he would be leaving soon?

My response put a stop to her needling. I could see in her eyes she was pleased he would be gone soon. I could also tell Maudrina was waiting until we were alone for me to dish about Guy's visit. I knew I couldn't tell her what he'd said, not until I was certain it was true.

"Think I need some rest," I said, and yawned. I looked at Maudrina.

"Oh? Okay, I guess I'll go."

I nodded. She was obviously disappointed. I'd make it up to her.

# Chapter Thirty-seven

Matt's funeral was on Saturday. There was a tremendous turnout—most of the student body was there. Matt was very popular.

It was held at Masenger's. Most of the funerals in our community were held there because the Masengers were locals. The good people of Glendale didn't trust sending off their loved ones to one of the big corporations.

It was my first funeral.

I didn't know what to expect. I'd seen lots of funerals in movies or on TV, but that was different. The chapel was small, with rows of folding chairs facing forward. The casket was closed.

I sat with the family. I was like a daughter to the Dawsons. Losing a beloved son is no easy thing to endure. Mrs. Dawson seemed broken beyond repair. She kept squeezing my hand until I thought I'd lose circulation, but I never pulled it away. My heart ached for her.

I was still wearing a cast on my left arm as I sat in the chapel crying my eyes out along with the rest of the family. Matt had been my best friend since kindergarten. Despite almost destroying my life, his loss touched my soul.

When the funeral was over and we were filing out, I saw Erin seated alone in the back of the chapel. She wore oversized shades to hide her bleary eyes. I thought back to brighter days, when the three of us hung out at the mall or rendezvoused at our lockers before class. Only two remained. Now more than ever, Erin and I needed to reconnect.

Later at the house, I caught her staring at me. The shades were removed. The anger was gone from her tear-soaked eyes. She seemed lost.

When I looked at her, she looked away. I knew I needed to fix the rift between us. Matt would want that.

I had been asked to help with the repast at the house. It was difficult since I was only able to use one arm, but I took coats, got food for friends and relatives, whatever the Dawsons needed of me.

To my surprise, Guy showed up. He hardly knew Matt, yet he came to pay his respects to his parents.

The moment my mother saw him, her expression darkened. She kept giving me things to do so that I wouldn't have a moment to talk to him.

He seemed uncomfortable among the strangers. I'd never seen Guy uncomfortable around anyone before. He was always on top of things. But not today. I knew he was only waiting around to talk to me.

Once, while I was helping an elderly relative with her walker—a real chore with one arm—I smiled across the room at him.

"Megan, when you're done there, could you see if there are any more soft drinks in the cooler?" my mother called. She was determined to keep us apart. I went out to the kitchen to check on the soft drinks. There were plenty.

When I returned, Guy was gone.

As the guests thinned and my duties waned, I began looking for Erin. I hoped she hadn't left before we'd had a chance to talk.

I found her outside, sitting alone in the porch swing. Matt and I used to sit in that old swing for hours planning our fabulous futures. I came over and sat next to her. She didn't move.

"I'm so sorry, Erin."

She nodded. Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks. I moved to give her a hug and she jerked away.

"No!"

I was caught off guard by her reaction. "Erin?"

"Stay away from me." Her words were filled with rage. She eased herself out of the swing. "How dare you come here?"

"What do you mean? Matt was my best friend."

"This is all your fault."

I stiffened. _She knows about the deal with the devil?_ I thought. I stared at her, waiting for her to reveal what she knew.

"He talked about you all the time. He was in love with you, you know. I was his _second_ choice." Her words were coming from some far-off place.

"No, that's not true. He told me he cared about you."

"I know he cared about me, idiot! But he _loved_ you. He never told me he did. He was too much of a gentleman for that. You had some kind of magical hold over him. I tried my best to break it, but I couldn't. And you did everything you could to break us up, even though you didn't want him."

I was suddenly riddled with guilt. "I'm sorry about that. It was stupid of me, but I was jealous. It's selfish, I know, but I guess I thought I was losing both of you."

She ignored my apology. "All Matt ever did was worry about you. _Megan this_ and _Megan that_." She released a bitter chuckle. "And now look at us. You have Guy, and I have _nothing._ " There was pure hatred in her words.

"Erin, please—" I reached for her, and she jerked away.

"No!" she said again, holding her up index finger. "He killed himself because he couldn't have you. He drove into a pole at a hundred miles an hour for you, Megan. How does that make you feel? Special?"

My head started spinning. "No! That's not true!"

"You know it is. No one wants to talk about it, but everyone knows it was suicide. But only you and I know why. He killed himself for you."

"No, don't say that!" My throat seemed to be swelling, and the words inched out. "It's not true."

But in a sense she was right, and the rightness of it filled me with guilt. _If only I had the chance to do it all over again._

And yet, as right as she was, she couldn't have been further from the truth. Matt had taken his own life to right the wrong he'd done. She had no idea of the deal he'd made with the devil. I would never tell.

"I could have made him happy, if you'd have let me."

"I'm sorry," I said again. My voice was cracking. I reached for her again, and she moved away.

"Stay away from me, Megan Barnett! I can't believe I used to follow you around like a little puppy dog. Well, no more. This was my time, and you stole it from me. I can't ever forgive you for that."

"But... Erin, we need each other now. Matt would want it. We're best friends."

A bitter laugh sprang from her lips. It was so filled with venom, it reminded me of Armando. "That was before you ruined my life. _Now_ I am your enemy. Never turn your back on me!"

# Chapter Thirty-eight

I returned to school on Monday.

Whispers of Matt's suicide swirled all around me like ghosts in a graveyard. No one would say it to my face. They knew how close we were. But I heard the whispers in the wind.

I got a surprise when I arrived at English class.

"Erin's transferred out," Maudrina said. "I guess she couldn't take the memories."

I didn't want to tell her about my conversation with Erin after the funeral.

"Did you know?" she asked.

"No. I'm as surprised as you are."

Erin was acting irrationally. I would reach out to her again once her grief had faded. I was certain I could get through to her. She just needed time.

On a whim after class, I went to the familiar stairwell. To my surprise, Guy was waiting. When I saw him, I wanted to rush into his arms. But there was too much left unsaid from our last meeting. I kept my distance.

"Hi."

He was wearing jeans and sneaks, and a white V-neck tee. His dreamy eyes were once again pulling me in.

"Hi. I hoped you'd come." His words sent a chill of desire dancing through the pit of my stomach.

"I hoped you'd be here," I replied. We stared into each other's eyes for an eternal moment, and I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper. "So, you're my guardian angel," I said, breaking the spell.

"We're called Guardians. They think the angel label is a little too intimidating." He made no attempt to move toward me. Something was troubling him.

"Ya think?"

He smiled. I needed to see that smile.

"So there are a lot of you guys around?"

"Yes. Men, women, boys, girls. We are called upon to protect the innocent souls of the living from demons."

"But you failed to protect me."

He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I did everything right. I made contact, I worked my way into your confidence, but something went wrong."

"And that is..." I knew how I wanted him to complete the sentence.

"I fell in love."

While these were the words I'd been waiting to hear, I proceeded cautiously. "You fell in love?" There was a hint of skepticism in my words.

"Yes." The word came out tortured. "Once they realized I loved you, I was told I had failed my mission. Once a Guardian fails, he is not allowed to help. Your soul was in the hands of fate." He smiled. "But as it turned out, you didn't need me."

"Is that why you didn't go inside Armando's house with me that night?"

"I wasn't even supposed to be there. I came to try and get you to leave. I was so worried about you. I knew what was going on in there, but I was forbidden to tell you. And you were so determined to go in. That was the night they clipped my wings. They told me I had disobeyed orders, and I had to end contact immediately."

I raised an eyebrow.

"But I didn't. I couldn't. I disobeyed a second time, and now I cannot go back. I am doomed to walk the earth."

"That's the cost you were talking about in the hospital."

He nodded and then smiled his smile. "Although, I can think of a lot worse fate."

"A fallen angel." It came out more statement than question.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"What will you do?" There was genuine concern in my words. There was also hope.

"I'm not sure yet. Wait for orders from above. Some form of absolution. Until then, I'm here."

Did that mean he could be my boyfriend again?

The thought exploded in my mind, and I pushed it aside.

"My mother doesn't like you." It was a strange thing to say just then, but the emotions were coming too quickly for me to sort through my words.

"I know. That's my own fault. I got you in trouble."

"I'm a big girl. I got myself in trouble."

"I did the bad-boy thing to get your attention."

An impish grin pierced my lips. "It worked. So, you're not a bad boy anymore?" I couldn't believe that, despite what he'd just told me, I was flirting with him.

Stop it!

"I didn't say that."

_Brring!_ The first bell rang.

"Want me to sign that thing?" he asked, referring to the cast on my arm. When he grabbed my hand, I noticed he was again wearing the bracelet made of braided tardies. It was beat up and coming apart, but it was on his left wrist.

"It's not that kind of cast. It's soft. See?" I displayed the new cast for him.

"Oh."

"I see you're wearing the bracelet I gave you." I held my breath.

"Uh-huh. Till tardy do us part."

Soft laughter began spilling out of me. "That is so lame."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it." He laughed along with me, staring into my eyes. We stood there for several minutes I prayed would never end.

But eventually they did.

He peeked at the time on his PDA. "Guess you should get to class. If you leave now, you can make it on time."

"So, is this it?" I held my breath.

He shrugged. "I needed to be honest with you about who or _what_ I am. It's the only way this relationship can survive." He looked deep into my eyes, and I could tell this was the reason he was so cautions with me. He thought I might reject him.

"Relationship?" The word dribbled off my tongue.

He nodded. "That is, if you still want one."

I knew there was too much coming at me too quickly, and I should take my time about it. There were still many unanswered questions. But I was operating on emotion, and once a girl allows her emotions to take over, common sense goes out the window.

I slipped into his arms. I hoped I wouldn't regret it.

His eyes widened. Then he smiled. "Go," he said. It was a half-hearted request.

"I'm going," I replied. I put my good arm around his neck.

"The second bell's going to ring any moment now."

"Who made you the official time keeper?"

"It's just that—"

I kissed him. I missed the entire second period.

#

That night, I had the first of a new wave of weird dreams. I was back to sleeping in my bed, dead to the world, when something dragged me from my sleep.

Eyes.

In my dream, someone had been staring at me. I couldn't see the face. All I could see were the eyes. They were frightening.

I know those eyes.

I sat up, trying to remember where I'd seen them before. I needed to remember before the dream faded. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and concentrated. Slowly, the image drifted up from the depths of my subconscious.

The eyes belonged to Erin, and in them I saw something so horrible, so frightening. It was something I had never seen in Erin's eyes before—revenge. Then something else drifted up. Words. In the dream my former best friend had spoken to me.

"This isn't over, witch!"

###

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And if you want to get a head start on the next book in the series, keep scrolling.

Here's a sneak peek at Earth Angel — the irresistible sequel to Boyfriend from Hell.

## Chapter One

I thought I arrived early, that I would have a few minutes to get my thoughts together before all the unpleasantness began. But when I reached the top of the escalator, she was already seated in the food court where we always sat, the three of us.

Now there were two.

This was our old hangout spot. The Glendale mall. We'd been coming here since middle school. Once our parents had given us permission to get on the bus and make the trip across town, this is where we gathered. Most of Glendale hung out here at one time or another. For Erin and me, it was a safe place to find adventure in the eyes of cute boys.

"Thanks for coming," I said as I walked up.

Her eyes had been on me since I'd gotten off the escalator. Angry eyes. She was wearing a lot of black eyeliner, which was new for her. It seemed to highlight her anger.

"You're welcome," she said, without the hint of charm.

The mall had been remodeled and the food court renamed _the dining terrace,_ to go along with all the fancy new upscale restaurants. But they still served our favorite, curly fries.

"Wanna get some fries?" I asked. It was an ice-breaker line. One I hoped would chase the anger from her eyes and put a smile on her face. "We love curly fries," I added, now smiling.

"Used to." _Ouch!_ "So, what's up? What's so important it couldn't wait?" The anger leaked from her eyes and onto her lips.

I hadn't seen Erin in three weeks, since Matt's funeral. We used to see each other every day. We used to meet at our lockers in the morning, and gossip about boys, and share clothes, and had all our AP classes together. We used to be inseparable.

It was Sunday afternoon, and the mall was packed. The spring warm-up brought people out of their homes, flooding the streets, the parks, the mall.

"I miss you," I said, taking the seat across from her. She stiffened, as if I had violated an invisible barrier.

I pretended not to notice and reached across the table, touching her hand. It was ice cold. The saying goes _cold hands warm heart_ , but judging from the look in her eyes, her hands and her heart were on the same page.

"Why do you want to see me?" She gently removed my hand from hers. _OUCH!_

"Matt wouldn't want this. He would want us to be closer than ever now that he's gone. I want it, too." My voice cracked, and I got the feeling that I might cry. "Remember that night he brought you over? I was mad at you, and he wanted us be friends again. Now you're mad at me, but there's no Matt to bring us together. We have to do it on our own."

"How dare you bring up Matt's name?"

"Huh? He... was my best friend."

"You're the reason he's gone!" Her voice was rising. Heads were turning in our direction. "You're the reason he killed himself. My boyfriend killed himself for you!" she was practically screaming, making a scene. All eyes were on us.

"That's not true," I lied, trying to get her to lower her voice. "It... it was an accident."

She stood, her eyes glowing hot yellow, irises shrinking to narrow slits. I'd seen eyes like these before on the devil himself. "Youuuuu." The voice coming out of her was thick and guttural.

"Erin? Are you okay? Do you have a cold or something?" I was starting to get scared. People were flocking to the food court as if we were a reality show. _The Real High School Girls of G.U._

A crack appeared in Erin's forehead. Yellow vapor, like steam, seeped from the crack. "You shall pay for what you have done!" The words were coming out of Erin's mouth, but it wasn't Erin who was saying them. It was the voice of a monster.

"Um... in case you haven't noticed, there's a crack in your forehead."

The crack proceeded to spread, extending down the bridge of her nose, her chin. The yellow vapor came spilling out. Erin was splitting in two.

Somebody screamed.

Erin's body fell away like a mascot's costume. When the vapor cloud cleared, standing inside the shell of what once was Erin, piled up on the floor like discarded fabric, was a monster, its greenish-hued skin percolating with festering sores. "You shall pay for what you have done!"

Somebody else screamed. I think it was me.

#

"Sweetheart... Sweetheart... Sweetheart."

I opened my eyes to my mother gently rubbing my arm. I was in my room, in my bed. Safe.

"You were having another bad dream." There was tension in her eyes.

I sat up, looking around. The horror of the dream was so vivid, I was trembling. I fingered the silver crucifix I'd taken to wearing around my neck as I reassured myself I was safe in my room.

"I think we should get Dr. Kahn to have a look at you."

"It's just a bad dream, Mom." I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, digging my feet into the carpet. _Safe._ I repeated the word over in my mind, trying to get my heart rate back to normal.

"Do you remember what this one was about?"

"Nope. Nothing. It's gone already. Just a bad dream, Mom," I hastily replied.

It was in her hospital room where I did battle with Satan. He had weakened her and had threatened to take her life if I didn't become his bride. She witnessed some of the battle but was delirious at the time with a high fever. She'd convinced herself that what she'd witnessed that night was the result of the fever.

I'm actually glad she feels that way. I want her to believe it was the fever. She's always been one of my best friends. I don't want to sound like an old movie, but I'm not sure she can handle the truth.

"All these bad dreams that you can't remember. I'm sure it has to do with Matt." She gently lobbed his name out there. She didn't say _Matt's death_. That would have been too much.

"Me, too. But I'm not having as many. Time is making the bad thoughts go away." I brightened my smile. "Go back to bed. You have to get up early."

She looked at the digital clock on my night stand. Three forty-five. "Maybe I should bunk with you the rest of the night."

"No way! I'm not a little kid afraid of the boogey man, Mom. Besides, you snore."

"I do not snore!" She was smiling now.

"Well, whatever that breathing trick is you do while you're sleeping, it keeps me up. So, go back to bed, and close your door."

"Seriously, hon, you going to be okay?" she asked, the smile fading.

I nodded, keeping up the cheery exterior. "I'm good."

A few minutes later she was gone. I turned off the bedside lamp and sat staring into the darkness. It was the third time in a week I'd had a similar dream. They all ended with Erin turning into a monster. I knew they were more than just dreams. It was an omen.

I lay down, resting my head on the pillow, my eyes wide. Erin's words from the very first dream emerged from the depths of my mind: "This isn't over, witch!"

I believed her words to be true.

#

"It looks like an invitation."

Maudrina Salley, my new best friend, was pointing to the tiny envelope taped to my locker. "Open it!" She snatched it off the locker and pushed it at me. "It's the Explosion. You've been invited to the Explosion. I'm sure of it!"

My hands were full with my backpack and purse, so I couldn't take the envelope right away. A hatch of butterflies released in my stomach, as I wondered if the envelope had something to do with the danger I'd been feeling the past several days. One thing was certain—I had not been invited to the Explosion.

I leaned my backpack against the bank of lockers, took the envelope, and opened it. There was an invitation inside.

"Am I right?" Maudrina was on pins and needles. Mostly because the invite to my mother's birthday party was the first she'd ever received since she was a little kid. Maudrina never got invited to parties. Come to think of it, neither did I. I pulled the invite from the envelope and read it.

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense."

"I looked at her, my face awash with disbelief. "I've been invited to the Explosion."

Maudrina started dancing around me. "We're going to the Explosion! I knew it! I knew it!" She stopped. "It does say plus one, doesn't it?"

I nodded, staring at the invite, still dumbfounded. She went back to dancing.

The Explosion was a ditch-day tradition. Every spring, the Poplarati got together and threw the biggest daytime party of the year. If you were invited to the Explosion, it meant you were somebody.

"This has got to be a mistake," I said, rereading the invite. "Or a prank."

Maudrina stopped dancing again. "Why can't you be happy? I'm happy!"

"Because I wasn't invited."

I looked around. It was ten minutes before first period and the area was teeming with arriving students. I spotted envelopes taped to some of the other lockers. Jimmy Calderon walked up, pulled the tiny envelope from the front of his locker, read it and stuffed it into his pocket, practically in one motion. But of course Jimmy Calderon would be invited. His father owned Calderon's Liquor, making Jimmy the go-to guy when it came to supplying beer and wine for underage parties.

"Look, that's Ashley Scott's locker," I said, wagging my finger at the locker with no invite. Ashley Scott was the gold standard, the girl every girl at G.U. wanted to be, every guy at G.U. wanted to have. "How come there's not one there? She's a member of The Poplarati. And she's got a Chanel purse and it's not a knockoff. This was probably meant for her." I stuffed the invite back into the envelope, diving into my backpack in search of a fresh piece of tape.

"Megan, isn't your name on the envelope?"

"Oh. Yeah."

So, there it was. I'd been invited to the Explosion. I knew I should have been feeling giddy about it. I am on the debate team and the math team, which makes me a bona fide member of the school's geek squad. Geeks do not get invited to cool parties. And yet, somehow I had been. I couldn't help but wonder why.

The answer came at lunch.

## Acknowledgements

It's amazing how much help goes into creating a book. A lot of it is psychological—the push needed to keep going.

Garett Chipman

The G-man took the time to listen to me read the early chapters.

Yvette Wilson

Who not only listened to me read, but suggested that Guy might be an angel.

Camille Pollock

Amazing business manager and friend, who sees the pages first and does my initial edit.

Sheree Guitar

For staging the early readings, and trying to find a home for my work in Hollywood.

Jill Metzler

Blogger and awesomeAP student, who gave me insight into the mind of AP students.

Jim Kellem

My agent.

Lorraine

My partner.

Ken

My Man.

And Chris

Friend, editor, publisher. Thank you for believing in and guiding me.

## About the Author

E. Van Lowe is an author, a television writer, screenwriter, playwright, and producer who has worked on shows such as The Cosby Show, Even Stevens, and Homeboys in Outer Space. He has been nominated for an Emmy and an Academy Award. Van Lowe recently stepped into the young adult fiction genre with his novel Never Slow Dance With a Zombie, a horror novel with a comedic twist. It was a selection of the Scholastic Book Club, and a nominee for an ALA Award.

Visit E at his website _www.evanlowe.com_.

If you enjoyed what you just read, please leave a review at your favorite retailer. For a humble typewriter-jockey like E, getting reviews means he can submit his books for advertising. Reviews also help you share your reading experience with new readers. So please leave a review—it's a win-win for everyone!

As an added bonus, when you leave your review at your favorite retailer, drop E a line telling him on which platform you placed it and I will enter you in a drawing to win a

FREE $25.00 gift card.

He will award one entry for each review you post for any of my books. Notify him at info@evanlowe.com. Put the word "Review" in the subject line. Your email address will only be used for this offer. This is a very small, limited drawing so everyone who enters has a chance to win.

**Offer expires October 30th 2015**. Drawing will be held on November 1st. Only winners will be notified.

