Table of Contents

- Synopsis

- Advance Praise for Father Knows Best

- Acknowledgements

- Dedication

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

- Chapter Fourteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- About the Author

- Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

Synopsis

After a tumultuous junior year, best friends Lila Moreno, Meryl Morganstern, and Caressa Thibodoux plan to make the most of the summer before senior year. But those plans fall by the wayside when Lila’s archenemy, Jennifer Hamilton, finds herself friendless and flailing in a mess of her own making. Meryl steps up to help…and drags Lila and Caressa along with her.

What was supposed to be a carefree few months morphs into a summer of girl power, growing up, and giving in to situations beyond their control. In the end, all four girls are tighter than ever and one step closer to tackling their all-important senior year.

Advance Praise for Father Knows Best

“Loosen your belt for a laugh-out-loud, fast-paced romp into enemy territory where three amigas swerve into unexpected growth and feelings of love.”—Mayra Lazara Dole, author of Down To The Bone, winner of the Rainbow Project award, Americas Award commendation, Booklist Top 10 Novels, starred ALA Booklist, and nominated for Best Books for YA 2009

“Sandoval shows us the real glue of female friendships. She has the girls’ voices—sweet, funny and a little bit snarky—down pat. You’ll wish you were their best friend.”—Ellen Wittlinger, Lambda Award–winning author of Hard Love

“Beware! Once you start reading Father Knows Best you will not be able to put it down! Lila Moreno will capture your heart. Not only is she a wonderful tangle of teenage innocence and (her words) ‘classic Lila snarkitude,’ but also her predicaments are truly heartfelt. Her razor-sharp observations are so hilariously portrayed that you will feel you’ve made a new BFF (best friend forever). That goes for her friends Caressa and Meryl as well; for have no doubt, this is a story about the power of friends, about moving past our grudges and fears to step up and help someone in need. In short, it’s about girl power. And girl power, when it’s turned on high, as it is in Lynda Sandoval’s page-turning novel, has the capacity to move mountains. Father Knows Best will make you laugh out loud, get choked up, and finally, reflect on your own life to see if you’ve got the guts to live from your heart, the way these Three Amigas do.”—Clifford Henderson, author of The Middle Of Somewhere and Spanking New

“Father Knows Best is a laugh-out-loud novel that is populated with fun characters that don’t just leap off of every page, they vault right into your heart. Lila Moreno is an unforgettable, endearing protagonist who takes us through a tender journey of family, friendship and forgiveness. The clever and true-tothe- ear dialogue is hilarious; this is one of the funniest firstperson narratives that I have read. With this novel, Sandoval has established herself as a strong literary voice for teenage girls. Young adult fiction doesn’t get much better than this!”—David- Matthew Barnes, filmmaker and author of Mesmerized

“Father Knows Best is a warm-hearted, humorous romp, filled to the brim with girl power and sincerity. The characters are likeable, believable, and often insightful and witty. It’s a story that blasts preconceived notions, and shows how life and fate have a mind of their own, no matter what plans you have. The message is positive and the story leaves the reader wanting more.”—Melissa Jauregui, Poised at the Edge Book Reviews

“A heartfelt story about friendship—not just between three teenage girls, but between a girl and her father. There may not be any traveling pants, but this book should be a good fit for girls looking to see what friendship is really all about.”—Brent Hartinger, author of Geography Club and The Last Chance Texaco

“Reading Father Knows Best is like sitting down for a talk with your crazy friend who makes the most mundane daily happenings sound like a party, and always cracks you up. It’s a warm and hilarious novel about friendship, and by the end you’ll agree that Jennifer is very lucky to have Lila, Meryl and Caressa in her circle.”—Jennifer Echols, author of The Ex Games and Going Too Far, nominee, ALA Best Book for Young Adults

“Any book with the name Lynda Sandoval on the cover is guaranteed to make its way to your keeper shelf. Lila, Caressa, and Meryl are three of my favorite characters—snarky, warm, and real.”—Niki Burnham, author of the Royally Jacked series and Sticky Fingers

“Sandoval once again captures the voices of Lila, Meryl and Caressa with warmth and humor as the three friends navigate the summer before their senior year, showing how the bonds of true friendship can grow ever stronger. A totally fun read and worthy successor to Who’s Your Daddy?”—Denise Vega, author of Fact Of Life #31, winner of the Colorado Book Award for Young Adult Literature and the Colorado Top Hand Award for Middle Grade/ Young Adult Literature

“Father Knows Best is an attitude-packed, breezy read about friendship, love and family that will leave you with a big, goofy smile on your face. Love, friendship, and attitude! What more could you want from a YA novel?”—Simone Elkeles, awardwinning author of Perfect Chemistry, How To Ruin A Summer Vacation, and Leaving Paradise. 2008 Author of the Year by the Illinois Association of Teachers of English.

“I laughed, cried, and cringed along with Lila as she walked the tightrope of wanting to grow up but not lose her spot as Daddy’s little girl. Luckily, she has Caressa and Meryl to help her navigate her way to adulthood. Any teenage girl would be lucky to have such a perfect trio of amigas!”—Stephanie Hale, author of The Alpha Bet

Father Knows Best

Brought to you by

eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

http://www.boldstrokesbookshop.com

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

Father Knows Best

by

Lynda Sandoval

A Division of Bold Strokes Books

2010

Father Knows Best

© 2010 By Lynda Sandoval. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-60282-147-XE

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-147-7E

This  Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: April 2010

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

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

Acknowledgements

Thank you, first of all, Radclyffe, for giving this book a chance to reach readers. I’m so grateful. Also, thanks to Cindy Cresap for everything, to Sheri for the wonderful cover art, to Stacia Seaman, Connie Ward, and everyone else at Bold Strokes Books for being so welcoming. Much love to my agent, Jenny Bent, for basically being a rock star. Thanks, most of all to my mom and sisters for being my biggest fans, and to LaRita for being exactly who you are. I love you.

Dedication

For Alex and Sarah, with all my love

Chapter One

So, the short version: junior prom rocked, I’d scored the perfect boyfriend, and the school year ended—YAY!—which meant my friends and I were officially incoming White Peaks High School seniors, a.k.a. The Shit.

Additionally, Dad had returned my driver’s license with the surprisingly good picture—not that I had a car (minor detail)—and nearly three months of freedom stretched out before me like a big, beautifully wrapped gift, because it was sum-sum-summertime, at last!

But, despite everything in my life that was going more perfectly than I could ever have imagined, here I stood late on a Friday night inside my own house, fuming and humiliated, flicking the porch light on and off.

And for whom, you ask?

My father. Yep, dear ol’ Dad.

The man apparently intent upon destroying my life, no matter what. The very man, I might add, who had been sucking face or whatever with his girlfriend on our porch swing for the last five minutes. Gross!

That fact alone was enough to kill me, let me tell you. One should not have to witness one’s father sucking face, not that I could actually see, nor did I want to, but you know what I mean. I knew. That was—or should’ve been—enough.

Oh, but there was more. So much more.

Don’t get me wrong—I think my dad deserves to find true love as much as the next guy. And, fine, I suppose he can even, you know…suck face and stuff if he feels he has to. But not on our porch, and not with This Particular Woman.

Okay, truth time. That was the big problemo right there.

His choice in women.

Track with me on this:

There are approximately six and a half billion people in the world, right? Let’s say, then, about three and a quarter billion of those are women. Cut out those who are jail bait, married, or blue-haired, and we’ll postulate that one billion are left, give or take (yes, I am randomly making this number up, but who gives a rip?). Subtract all those who live on other continents or in other parts of the country, or who are just plain skanky, and surely there are at least fifty thousand eligible women left from whom my dad can choose, right?

Right?

Even if there are only, say, ten thousand left, I think that’s a pretty darn good crop of options. Heck, five hundred is a decent dating pool considering most people—hot or homely—don’t have the luxury of more than a handful of choices, even when they sign up for every single one of those online dating services at the same time.

So who does Daddy Dearest choose out of those ten thousand hypothetical women potentially clamoring for his attention?

Yeah. My boyfriend’s mother.

No, you didn’t just hallucinate. No one had a seizure.

You heard me correctly, much to my abject horror.

My father is actually dating Dylan Sebring’s freakin’ mother, and they are playing tonsil hockey on my porch right at this very nauseating moment.

Let’s all pause to harness the gag reflex, shall we?

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Hork!

I mean, can you even wrap your brain around the myriad levels of wrongness about the whole sordid, creepy-ass, unfair affair? Not just the making out on our porch part, although, geez, get a room!

Wait! I take that back. Glug.

Whew, the very concept of a room, with all its implications, made my heart pound in a get-the-cardiac-paddles-and-“Clear!” kind of way. But, I’m talking, the wrongness of the entire thing.

Look, I’m a reasonable person. I can understand my dad liking Ms. “Call me Chloe” Sebring. I like her, too, for crap’s sake. But the very fact that I am dating her son should render her immediately and permanently off-limits to anyone related to me, most especially my father.

There should be a law.

With consequences. Painful ones.

I am not overreacting!

Seriously, what if they’re totally into each other?

What if, God forbid, they eventually get married?

I shudder at the notion, wrapping my arms around myself as I stand by the front door making sure not to look out of the three glass panels up top.

Can you grasp the gravity of the marriage possibility? Should it occur, Dylan would be my boyfriend and my stepbrother, and if that doesn’t set off some mental banjo twanging in your head, then, dude, I just can’t help you.

Yeah, yeah—I know. He wouldn’t be my real brother, and amen for that, because my four current ones are more than enough overbearing brotherage, thankyouveryfreakingmuch, but it still lends a seedy ick factor to what has become a really perfect and well-deserved boyfriend / girlfriend sitch. It would ruin everything.

Too bad my dad just doesn’t get it.

He thinks I’m flipping out for no reason.

As freakin’ if.

I could hear the murmur of voices from the front porch—a relief, because that meant the groping had ceased, at least temporarily. I eased out a breath, and my shoulders, which had been practically clamped around my ears, dropped.

“Are they still going at it?” Caressa asked, from just behind me.

I jolted and spun toward her. What was she now, Stealth Girl? Leave it to Caressa to whip out the superhero skills at a moment’s notice. I hadn’t even heard her approach.

She reached her hand into the bag of microwave popcorn she’d just popped and craned her model-long neck for a glimpse.

“Don’t look!” I said, yanking her away from the windows, traumatized by the very thought of us pulling the voyeur act on my dad and—Ugh!—Chloe Sebring. I lowered my voice. “And please don’t use the phrase ‘going at it’ unless you want me to hurl. The images in my head—God!”

“Sorry,” she said, squinching up her nose.

“Hey, where’s the popcorn?” asked Meryl as she bopped down to the stair landing, all decked out in her monkey pajamas. She stopped, hand on the banister. Her forehead furrowed as she looked at the two of us huddled by the front door. “What on earth are you guys doing?”

“Spying on Lila’s dad ramming his tongue down Dylan’s mom’s throat,” Caressa told her, and in an inappropriately blasé tone, I might add. I forgot to mention, my friends think I’m sorta freaking out for nada, too.

Really, though. Ramming, Tongue, and Throat in one sentence with my dad’s name and Dylan’s mom’s name included? Evil.

But, getting to the point, that’s the salt-in-the-road-rash aspect to this whole porch debacle. My best friends, Caressa and Meryl, were spending the night before Caressa headed off to New York City for the summer of a lifetime; hence, they were officially witnessing the whole sordid affair, up close and personal, for the first time since I’d told them whazzup.

And then with the tongue-ramming comment.

Kill. Me. Now.

I suppose I should tell you how the whole nightmare went down. Mind you, I can’t explain why my dad ultimately decided to go for it with my boyfriend’s mother, of all people, because (1) I’m not inside his head, thank God, and (2) I don’t smoke crack; but here’s what I know:

After prom, when Dylan and I were An Official White Peaks High School Couple and everyone knew it (which fully rocked), Chloe Sebring arranged a meeting with my dad, the police chief, because she was worried that our coupledom would somehow interfere with Dylan’s work as a Police Explorer, which had snatched him back from the brink of hoodlumville and turned his life around. (So dramatic, but that’s how they see it. Even Dylan sees it that way). How us dating would affect his “job,” I have no clue. We’d worked side by side as Explorers for a whole school year and nothing horrible had occurred. In fact, we worked well together. But parents can be twisted like that, though.

Make no mistake, she likes me and everything—it’s not that. In fact, she likes me a heck of a lot more than Dylan’s last brittle, bitchy girlfriend, Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton, who is all about the hair bleach and the acrylic eye-poker nails and the airbrush tan. Oh, and Jennifer hates my ass with a white-hot, fiery passion—have I mentioned that small detail? Whatev.

It’s just that Ms. Sebring—I mean, Chloe—didn’t want such a positive part of Dylan’s life, the Explorer thing, to be compromised or whatever by the fact that he’d begun dating the police chief’s daughter. Words were brought up, like nepotism, favoritism, other isms.

You know how adults think. Illogically.

Still, I didn’t even blame her for seeking reassurance. At that point, it was NBD—no big deal. I knew my dad would tell her that Dylan and I are very professional on the job, blah blah blah.

The meeting, initially, was very normal and parentish, with none of the usual underlying agendas. Chloe didn’t knit my dad police-themed pot holders or anything, like so many of the other badge bunny single women in town who barfingly warm for his form (and there tons of them because he’s a hottie—mentally harmful, but true). As far as I know, she didn’t even sport the ultimate push-up bra with the low-cut, too-tight top, or whatever other slutty tactics these man-hunting women usually employ.

It was just my dad meeting Dylan’s mom to make sure all was cool with us dating and the Explorers, blahbiddy.

That’s it.

But they got to talking and who the hell knows—spring was in the air, I guess. In any case, my dad suffered some sort of catastrophic, socially-crippling-to-his-only-daughter, brain malady and asked Chloe to join him for dinner in the middle of town in front of everyone, and she said yes.

Two errors in judgment, right there, people.

And they say teenagers can’t make good decisions.

Snarf!

A couple of steaks and a bottle of wine later, and the rest is history. Actually, if you want to be technical about it, that whole story qualifies as history, but you know what I mean. Steaks and Shiraz are one thing, but now my dad’s Officially Dating my boyfriend’s mom, and my life basically sucks because of it. Trust me, you just don’t want your boyfriend to give you a wake-up call Sunday morning and ask, “Hey, is my mom over there?” Not that this has happened yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

It’s all so freakin’ inbreederish.

And gross. Have I mentioned the grossness?

But I didn’t want to think about it anymore. This was supposed to have been the ultimate girlz night, and I refused to let my dad’s egregious indiscretion ruin it. See, Caressa’s Grammy-winning dad and his Grammy-winning young colleague, Bobby Slade (former inappropriate crush of Caressa’s—long stupid story), managed to score her a totally kick-ass summer internship working in makeup and wardrobe with a Broadway show in New York City, which is what she wants to do for a living someday.

I’m serious! It was all, Bobby knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, and after these unseen guys (or their “people”) made the obligatory phone calls, she scored the job.

This kind of thing only happens to Caressa, incidentally.

I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who might be able to snag me a part-time gig at Burger Wonder, manning the legendary zit-producing fry machine, but that’s about as thrilling as it gets in the mundane world of Lila Moreno.

Caressa? Whole different universe. What with her pops being who he is, they have connections, which is super coolio for her! Her dad, Lehigh Thibodoux, a.k.a. Tibby Lee, is now producing Bobby Slade’s next single; Bobby’s finding Caressa a killer summer job. It’s like a thing with these entertainment industry people, this networking. Magic to the rest of us poor saps, but business as usual to them.

Anywhooo, Caressa jets off for the Big Apple Sunday afternoon. Saturday was set aside for packing and parent time, so this was our last evening together until she gets back in August. Wah!

I refused to spend any more of it fretting about my dad putting the moves on Chloe Sebring right out in public, even though, good Lord, the man should know better.

Not. My. Malfunction.

I grabbed the popcorn bag out of Caressa’s hand, even knowing my tummy was so cramped and swirly, I couldn’t possibly swallow a single kernel. But I wanted to at least fake feeling normal despite all the madness and humiliation clouding my world.

“Come on,” I said. “Forget them”—as if it were that easy—“let’s go upstairs.”

Once inside my room, I flung myself backward onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

So not with the forgetting.

Meryl gently extracted the popcorn bag from my clutches, then she and Caressa sat down on either side of me. Meryl took a handful of corn, then passed it to Caressa.

“It’s not so bad, Lila,” Meryl said, softly.

I snorted. Always the optimist, our Meryl.

“Mer’s right,” Caressa said, crunching a mouthful of Orville’s Tender Whites. “So your dad’s dating Dylan’s mom. Big whoop. It’s not like he’s dating his little sister.”

“Gross!” I pushed up on my elbows. “God, Caressa!”

“Well, you know what I mean,” she added sheepishly. “They’re both adults is all I’m saying. I mean, look at the bright side. He could be dating Jennifer Hamilton’s mom.”

Great. Stir my ultimate nemesis into the cauldron of ick. That bleached-blond hagatha had done her level best to ridicule me and make my life a nightmare last year, all because I was WORKING (Hello!) with her boyfriend and—oh yeah—she’s an insecure dope. I hate her guts.

I lay back down and crossed my arms tightly over my midsection. “Okay, that would suck, granted. But it’s not the point. Chloe’s my boyfriend’s mother. Besides, Hellspawn’s mom is still married to her dad and Dylan doesn’t have a little sister.”

“I know.”

“Theoretical,” Meryl said.

“Yeah, just an example of how things could be worse,” Caressa said, holding up her palms.

“At least you know your dad will always approve of your boyfriend,” Meryl offered, all chipperlike, as if that angle would cheer me up.

Yeah, he’d approve. Especially when Dylan became his stepson. I groaned. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. Caressa, tell us about your trip.” Anything for a distraction. Plus, I wanted to know.

She bounced a little, and her green eyes went all sparkly. “It’s going to rock, you guys. I wish you could go with me.”

“Me, too,” Meryl said.

“Me, three,” I added, meaning it desperately.

“I’m staying with one of my dad’s producers and her husband. They live in Tribeca in a loft.”

Meryl and I oohed and aahed loudly, as if we had a clue what Tribeca was. I knew they held a film festival there, thanks to the entertainment network on cable, so my keen deductive powers told me it was a place, but beyond that, I knew jack. Still, it sounded cool. Tribeca…

If I ever get a dog, I’m naming him / her Tribeca.

“They’ve visited us tons of times, so it won’t be too weird,” Caressa continued. “Plus, they have a daughter who’s a couple years older than us, and she’ll be home from college for the summer. She’s not you guys, of course, but she’s nice.”

“That’s so great,” Meryl said, tucking one leg beneath herself.

Caressa grinned. “I will work the show five nights a week plus a matinee on Saturday. I get Sunday and Monday off, and, oh!”—her face lit up like neon—“this is the totally best part! There’s a Sephora store right in Times Square! I’ve already mapped it on the computer and it’s walking distance from the theater.” She clasped her hands together at chest level, her expression reverent. “Can you imagine?”

Sephora.com is Caressa’s favorite online makeup store, or should I say, Temple of Wor$hip. To be able to actually enter a bricks-and-mortar establishment, and in NYC, no less? No, I couldn’t imagine. She might pass out. I just hoped the floors were carpeted so she didn’t suffer a swoon-induced head injury upon entry. Her parents’ credit card was going to take one helluva beating.

“You’re going to have such an amazing time,” I told her. “Just think of all the New York guys you’ll meet, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah, after my recent male-related fiasco, which will remain unmentioned, I’m sort of off the guy thing right now. Besides, I have a non-guy-related goal for the summer, and it’s first priority.”

“What’s that?” Meryl asked, sipping her soda.

Caressa looked from me to Meryl, determination in the set of her chin. “I’m going to wow the show’s bigwigs so wildly that they’re going to invite me back after I graduate. For a real job this time.”

Meryl clapped. “That’s a great idea! You can totally do it. I have a goal for the summer, too.”

I sat up and leaned my back against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Tell us.”

“I’m going to learn to speak Bosnian, and after graduation, I’m going to go backpacking over there with Ismet for a month.”

Caressa and I laughed, but with glee. Our little Meryl. After much turmoil last year, she’s now happily dating Ismet Hadziahmetovic, formerly known in White Peaks as That Bosnian Guy (rude and ignorant). She’s, like, the best girlfriend in the world, wanting to learn about his culture and all that, right down to the language, which is no doubt difficult.

“What’s your goal for the summer, Lila?” Caressa asked.

That took me by surprise.

Goal. Huh.

I twisted my mouth to one side and stared at the corner of my ceiling for a moment. Like, who knew I was supposed to have a goal for the summer? Wasn’t summer supposed to be the goal-free part of the year? Whatever. So, a goal. Okay. Hmmm.

I took a deep breath, then puffed my cheeks like a blowfish as I exhaled. Goal, goal, goal. I could do this. There had to be something.

Let’s see… Hang out with Dylan? Not. That goal sucked compared to theirs, plus it was the kind of goal Hagatha Jennifer would choose. I mean, it wasn’t even a goal, really. How about avoid my brother, Luke the Puke, until he left for college? Again, the underachiever’s route since I’d been ignoring him since I entered school. Maybe I could make over my room, or learn to grass ski. Bleh. Neither of those compared to learning a whole new language or securing a kick-ass post-high-school career. I opened my mouth to say I’d have to think about it, but a knock on my door interrupted me.

“Go away, Puke!” I hollered, none-too-nicely.

The door creaked open, and my dad popped his head in. “Your brother bothering you, m’ija?” He smiled, all innocent-like, as if to negate what we all knew had been going on out there on the porch swing.

“Oh. Um. No.” I scratched my chin. “I mean, he bothers me by his mere existence in my airspace, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dad chuckled, then glanced at my friends. “You girls need anything?”

“No, thank you, Chief Moreno,” Meryl said, with a sweet smile. She held up the popcorn bag. “Have junk food, will travel!”

“Popcorn’s not junk food,” I told her. “It’s a perfectly valid whole grain. Practically a food group unto itself.”

He raised a brow at Caressa. “All ready for your big adventure, Miss C?”

Her excitement blurted out in a giggle. “Just about. A little more packing, but my mom’s going to help me tomorrow, and you know how she is.”

“Yes. You’ll have no problems. Okay, then.” His gaze moved back to me. “Did you need something, m’ija?”

Heh? I double blinked. “W-what do you mean?”

“You were flashing the porch light, weren’t you? I just thought maybe someone had called for me, or…”

Dude! I guess my dad’s goal for the summer was cluelessness, and he was off to a rip-roaring start. I mean, duh, wasn’t a flashing porch light a universal “make-out session over” signal? “Wasn’t me,” I said, ignoring the way my face got all hot. “And no, I don’t need anything. The porch bulb must be going out.”

His eyes gleamed as though he knew I was lying. “Ah. Well, I’ll leave you to your fun. Just don’t be too loud, yeah? We’re headed to bed.”

Time slammed to an ugly halt.

Wait a sec—we?

My gut spasmed. I clutched the comforter in both fists.

Did he say we?!?

As if to answer my question, Dylan’s mom poked her head into the doorway and smiled. “Hi, ladies.”

“Hi, Ms. Sebring,” Meryl and Caressa said, in stereo, while all I managed was, “Gah…”

“Oh, please,” she said, flicking her hand. “Call me Chloe. Ms. Sebring sounds so old. Night!”

With that, they were gone.

Dead. Awkward. Silence.

My friends stared at the sides of my face.

I stared at my bedroom door.

HELLO, YOU ARE OLD! I wanted to yell. NOT ELDERLY, BUT YOU’RE MOM-OLD AND YOU’RE MY FREAKIN’ BOYFRIEND’S MOTHER TO BOOT, AND YOU’RE SPENDING THE NIGHT WITH MY DAD! LIKE, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND MY FRIENDS! SHAME ON BOTH OF YOU! DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO SENSE??

My heart slammed and my throat felt like someone had looped a noose around it and yanked. I want to be adult about this. Truly. But I can’t. And, technically, at seventeen, I’m not an adult yet, so I submit that it is big of me to even try.

The thing is, my mom’s been dead so long, I don’t particularly mind if my dad dates and has his little adult sleepovers, not that he has in the past zillion years, at least not at our house. In fact, now that I think about it, he deserves to do so. He’s been full-on Mr. Dadmom Hybrid since he became a single parent, and we all appreciate that. So let it be known that I’m wholeheartedly okay with the poor guy dating—I’m not so selfish that I want my daddy all to myself. I just didn’t want him having a non-pajama party with my boyfriend’s mother! Too much to ask? I don’t freakin’ think so!

“Uh, Lila?” Caressa ventured.

I held up my palms. “Wait. I just thought of my goal for the summer.” I glanced grimly from one friend to the other, gulping a few times to stave off the dry heaves. I flicked a shaky hand toward my bedroom door. “This whole creepy affair ranks way too high on the ick-o-meter for me to handle, so”—deep calming breath—“my summer goal is to find a way to break up Chloe and my dad.”

Chapter Two

My newly acquired cell phone belted out my fave Bob Marley reggae ringtone early the next morning, dragging me out of a great dream that involved—wait a minute. None-ya-biz. Anyway, I flailed my hand around until I felt my phone, flipped it open without opening my eyes, and gave a pillow-muffled, “H’lo?”

“Lila?”

Dylan! Speak of the devil. I was awake immediately and smiling. “Hey!”

“Did I wake you?”

I cleared my throat. “No, not at all.”

“Liar,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so yeah. The girls and I were awake kind of late.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Did you have guys from the wrong side of the tracks climb in your bedroom window in the middle of the night?”

“Right,” I said, wryly. “You’re the only guy from the wrong side of the tracks I know, Sebring.”

He laughed out loud. Dylan had always, and still, loved when I acted like a snot to him. I know—strange. Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend is weird. Let’s just lay it out there up front.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to repair the worst of the bed head, as if he could see me straight through the phone line. “What’s up? Other than me?” Freakin’ early, I thought.

“Two things. First, I was wondering whether you have plans for the day, and if not, do you want to hang out?”

My tummy felt all warm and gooey, which I simultaneously loved and hated. Boyfriend or not, I wasn’t going to turn into one of those stupid girls who goes all warm and gooey at the drop of a do-you-want-to-hang-out?, ya know? Lame. But Dylan was…sigh. No doubt about it. “Of course I want to hang out. What’s the second thing?”

“Oh.” An awkward pause ensued. “Um, is my mom at your house?”

*

So, it happened.

My boyfriend had to call in the morning regarding the whereabouts of his wanton mother, the subtext of which was whether or not she was beneath the sheets with my dad. And, just in case you’re wondering, it was as horrible as I’d imagined it would be. At least for me. Dylan didn’t seem to care, which baffled me.

Hello! My dad! Your mom! Nakedness!

Anyone barfing yet?

I swear, Dylan’s such a guy.

I’d grudgingly admitted she was there (which, it turns out, she’d told him via a voicemail that he’d failed to check—proof, at least, that she’s a responsible mom), lobbed insults with him for a bit, then shuffled him off the phone as quickly as possible, promising to call back when I was showered and ready to bail. First point of business, I had to herd Meryl and Caressa out of the house before the creepy lovebirds emerged from my father’s bedroom, all pajama-clad and rumpled, thereby rendering my life an embarrassing hellpit from which there was no escape.

Luckily, Meryl and Ismet had plans to hike Quandary Peak, one of the Rocky Mountains’ “Fourteeners,” which is what we Colorado folks refer to as a peak that rises above 14,000 feet of elevation (I’m sure other mountainous states employ the same terminology). It can be dangerous at the summit, so they had to get an early start. Caressa’s mom, no surprise, wanted her home ASAP to finish up the preparations for New York. It all worked out.

I stood on the forever-nastified (thanks, Dad) front porch of my house, waving as the two of them took off, Caressa in her shiny, pristine BMW, Meryl right behind her in “the beast,” an ancient turquoise Volvo station wagon that holds a special place in my heart. I have to say, it was the first time I’ve ever felt relieved to see my best friends leave.

Especially Caressa!

I mean, God, I won’t see her all summer, yet I couldn’t bask in these final moments because my brain-impaired father decided last night would be a swell opportunity to have his girlfriend stay over for the first time.

Do people think of anyone besides themselves these days?

With dread welling up inside me, I tightened my robe belt and grimly re-entered the house. The aroma of coffee brewing wafted toward me from the kitchen, as did Chloe’s tinkly laughter.

Glurk!

I froze in the living room, midstep, as though I’d been busting a moonwalk move or something and got stuck. What to do? Kitchen? Bedroom? Kitchen? Bedroom? Coffee? Safety?

My first instinct was to hole up in my room until the coast was clear. Still…that coffee aroma.

It was the charmer, I was the snake, darn it.

Besides, I’d have to face them sooner or later, and I’d do a better job of it well-caffeinated. I wanted to get the day rolling with Dylan, too, and who knew how long Chloe would linger at our house making googly eyes at my dad.

I scuffed into the kitchen, relieved to the depths of my soul that she and my father were fully dressed. Not that I thought they’d be bare-assed—geez, why did I even think that?—but even in pajamas. Ack! Too horrible to imagine.

“Hi,” I said, without much enthusiasm. Try as I might, I couldn’t make myself meet Chloe’s eyes.

Therein lies the problemo, girls and boys.

I don’t want to be rude to my boyfriend’s mother, what with the whole good impression goal hanging in the balance, but my dad had put me into a really awful limbo position.

“Morning, m’ija.” Dad crossed over and kissed me on the top of my head, just like always. As though nothing were out of the ordinary! Crack smoker. “You girls have fun last night?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping he didn’t expect me to parrot that question back at him and MBM—My Boyfriend’s Mother. Does the phrase “no way in hell” ring a bell? I retrieved a mug from the cabinet to the left of the stove and held it in a two-handed death grip. “Coffee done yet?”

Chloe laughed knowingly. “That means you girls had a great time, not just a good time.”

I couldn’t help it. I grudgingly flashed her a small smile. I will concede, she is really, really nice. And pretty. She would make someone other than my father a great girlfriend.

Task number one: find Chloe a hook-up.

“We always stay up too late. There’s just so much to talk about.”

She closed her fingers around her own mug and crossed one leg over the other. “I understand. Do you know, I’m still friends with by best gal pals from high school. We meet in New York City once a year for a long weekend of shopping, laughter, and no sleep whatsoever.”

I perked up at the mention of New York City and silently forgave her for using the dorky phrase gal pals. So Nancy Drew, you know? Not that I didn’t gobble up those books about the Tahitian-haired puzzle wonder back in the day. I still own a hundred or so of them, but so? That was then, this is now.

What freakin’ color is Tahitian, anyway? I can guarantee you they don’t have that shade of dye at the Aveda salon. And, while we’re on the topic, what was with that alleged boyfriend of hers, Ned Nickerson? They never really hooked up in the books, but it seemed like they were “close.” The question is, how close? More than friends, close? Was he her boyfriend on the sly and they just hooked up off page? Or maybe he was just her “fun gay pal”?

Startled, I blinked.

You know, that possibility never occurred to me before, but it could totally be true. Ned did emit a bit of a queeny vibe, now that I’m older and have a wider perspective and the benefit of hindsight. And George Fayne, the so-called “tomboy” cousin? Nancy’s “gal pal”? [snarf] Yeah, definitely gay. I don’t care that she found a boyfriend in the later books. Gay. Totally. And, good for her. I always admired George for that. Difficult to figure out the Ned stuff, though…wish there was someone I could ask for a definitive answer. I concede, the books were written in the Stone Age. Maybe they just weren’t allowed to include the hotter romantic details and / or gay stuff back in the day. Why was I thinking about this?!

Dad wrestled the mug from my spaced-out clutches, filled it, then handed it to me. I smiled my thanks, turning toward Chloe as Dad returned to the sizzling skillet on our stove. He always cooks great breakfasts on the weekend. It’s a ritual.

But, back to moi. I bet, years from now when Meryl, Caressa, and I are old like Chloe Sebring, we’ll meet up in New York City, too, because Caressa will be working there.

But where will I live? What about Meryl?

The idea that we might be stuck here with the other Lifers in White Peaks, Colorado, was enough to harsh on my (questionable) mellow in a permanent way. I pushed the possibility firmly out of my mind. “Do you know where Tribeca is?” I asked Chloe instead.

She actually looked relieved that I was conversing with her. That kinda made me feel bad, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. “Yes. It’s in lower Manhattan. A big artist’s community, lots of great restaurants and shopping. Why?”

I moved around the breakfast bar and claimed a bar stool, then sipped. Ah, blessed caffeine. I swear you can feel that first gulp shooting straight to your veins. “Oh. Um. Caressa’s staying with family friends in their Tribeca loft while she does this Broadway thing.” Confusion showed in Chloe’s blue eyes. Clearly my father hadn’t spent the evening regaling her with my friends’ summer plans—don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it—so I explained about Caressa’s kick-ass internship and what it entailed.

“Wow,” Chloe gasped, laying a palm on her chest. “I would’ve given anything for that kind of experience when I was your age. Or even college age. That will give her memories to last a lifetime, I’m sure.”

I sucked down another giant gulp of my java, nodding as I swallowed. “She’s totally amped. It’s what she wants to do after she graduates. Work in makeup and costuming for Broadway shows, I mean.” I rolled my eyes. “That, and have a Sephora store within walking distance.”

Chloe laughed.

I planted my elbows on the counter top. “In fact, her summer goal is to do such great work that they’ll invite her back after graduation for a real job instead of an unpaid internship.”

“If anyone can do it, Caressa can,” Dad said, sliding his signature cinnamony-yumfest French toast onto two plates and setting them in front of Chloe and me simultaneously. He followed that with butter and syrup.

“Thanks,” Chloe and I said, in stereo.

I did a double take. Wait a minute. How had we come to be sitting side by side at the breakfast bar, speaking in tandem, all family-like? My heart started to pound, so I began doctoring my French toast and, well, rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous, especially when the question “Did you get naked with my father?” keeps threatening to blurt out, all on its own. Because, really, I don’t want to know! My imagination concocts enough psyche-damaging images all on its own, thankyouverymuch.

“Yeah, Caressa will do it. She’s determined. And, um, Meryl’s summer goal is to learn Bosnian so she and Ismet can backpack through his former country after graduation. That’s where he’s from. Bosnia. Cool, huh? I mean, most people would just rely on Ismet to do all the translating, but not Meryl. She wants to understand. I think Bosnian is a pretty difficult language, too. Plus there’s the Croatian and Serbian, which are sorta like the same language as Bosnian but a little different. Like British English versus American English versus Australian English, at least that’s how Meryl describes it. But she’s really good with foreign languages, and I’m not even talking about pig Latin, like the rest of us speak…”

Pathetic, dwindling end to ramble. Commence face-stuffing.

“That’s really impressive,” Chloe said, just as I jammed an oversized bite of the syrupy toast into my mouth.

I nodded.

“My daughter has a wonderful circle of friends,” Dad said.

Chloe flashed him a quick smile, then turned back toward me. “What’s your summer goal, Lila?”

Gak!

That was more than just an expression in this instance, by the way. It’s almost what I did. Gak up my food, that is. After the instantaneous lurch of my stomach from the unexpected question, I tried to swallow the bite too fast or something, and the toast took a wrong turn, launching me into a near-puking hack fit.

Luckily, nothing sprayed out during the spectacle.

Being a female herself, Chloe likely would not transport that kind of embarrassing story back to her son, but one never knew.

When I pulled myself together and reassured everyone that, yes, I would live to see another day, both Chloe and my dad settled back down and peered at me in anticipation.

My gaze ping-ponged from one to the other. “What?” I asked.

“Your goal for the summer?” Dad prompted. “You never answered the question.”

“Yeah, I was busy almost going toward the light, sorry,” I said, with classic Lila snarkitude and a prodigious scoff.

I waited for them to drop it.

They waited for me to answer.

Good thing I hadn’t showered yet, because I instantly began to sweat, interrogation-style. I slid my glance away, another clear sign of deception. Sometimes it sucked having a cop for a father, because he would know I was hiding something. “I, uh, haven’t actually decided on a goal.”

Dad laughed.

I’m not sure what that meant.

Before I could ask, he lifted his chin toward my plate. “Finish up, m’ija. I have a big surprise for you today.”

Surprise? Rock on!

But wait—what about Dylan? “Today?”

“Trust me.” He held up a hand. “You’ll like it.”

Curiosity got the better of me. I admit it. “Tell me!”

He grinned, plating some French toast for himself. “It’s something you’ve been talking about for a long time now.”

Enough with the teasers already! “What?!”

“We’re going to buy you a car.”

My fork dropped with a clatter, thanks to the shock-provoked hand spasm. I didn’t even bother to pick it up, because I wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead, I gripped the edges of our countertop, fighting hyperventilation. “Dad, if this is some sort of a cruel joke—”

“It’s not. I promised I’d match your savings, didn’t I?”

“Yeah?”

“And I think you’ve proven yourself responsible enough after last year’s problems.”

Forging parental signatures for cash, getting busted, detention. Ugly memories. “I did. I am. I swear.”

He took a bite of his French toast, chewed, swallowed, then wiped his mouth. “Then today’s the perfect day. It’ll take your mind off Caressa leaving.”

“Oh, Dad!” I scrambled from the bar stool and ran over to throw my arms around him. “Thank you! You rock the most.” Then I remembered we had an audience, and the self-consciousness kicked in big time. So naturally, Luke swaggered in, all wrinkled clothes and bed head, at that moment.

“Aw, check out the sweet little suck-up,” Luke drawled.

“Shut up, Luke.” I scowled.

“Don’t tease your sister, son,” Dad said. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Can’t. Gotta bounce. I’m meeting Miffany.”

Miffany, his horrific girlfriend and—oh yeah—Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton’s good friend. More about her later.

“Hey,” he said to Chloe, hiking his chin while he snagged a protein bar out of the cabinet.

“Hello, Luke,” she said, oblivious to his heinousness.

Right after he (thank God) left, the reminder of my plans with Dylan—which I really, really, really wanted to keep—slapped me in the face.

Internal war. Dylan? Or a car?

I pressed my mouth into a thin white line.

“What’s wrong?” my way-too-perceptive dad asked.

“I’m totally psyched about the car thing. But…does it have to be today? Because—” I flicked a glance toward Chloe.

See?

Do you see the problem here?

How could I bring up my boyfriend in front of his mother?

The whole thing was fart-in-church awkward.

My dad cocked his head to one side. “Because why?”

I raked my bottom lip in between my teeth for a moment and flashed another sidelong glance at Chloe. “It’s just, I’m supposed to spend the day with…Dylan.”

“Is that all?” Dad said, looking relieved and unconcerned. “Bring him along. I’m sure he’d love to car shop with you, give you his opinion when you don’t want it, linger too long over the engine components while you’re focused on the paint color and stereo capabilities. We men are like that.”

“So true,” Chloe said in a dry tone.

My heart soared. “Really? Okay.”

Dad’s eyes widened as though he just had a tremendous brainstorm. “Wait—Chloe, do you have plans?”

Just as quickly as it had soared, my heart took a nosedive, straight into the rocky ground—like a twin-engine lawn dart.

“Not a one,” MBM said, with a clueless-to-my-trauma smile.

Dad chucked my chin and winked. “Excellent. What do you say we make it a foursome then, m’ija? Roadtrip to Denver? We can have lunch there, too.”

“Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it, Lila?” Chloe asked, just a bit too enthusiastic. She leaned in, all conspiratorially. “We can keep the boys’ noses out of the engine if we team up.”

I didn’t answer.

“Gosh,” Chloe continued, this faraway expression in her eyes. “I remember buying my first car. An old, ugly 1966 Dodge Dart.” She laughed. “Oh, how I loved that hideous beater. Right up until the engine imploded while I was on the way to take midterms in college. Boy, what a hassle.”

I should’ve asked about her car.

I should’ve asked polite questions about where she went to college.

I should’ve done a lot of things, but I didn’t.

Instead, I pasted a brittle gash of a smile on my face. “Great. I mean, sorry about the, um, Dart”—who’d ever heard of such a car?—“but great about today. Well. Uh. I’ll just, um, go call Dylan, and—”

“I can call him,” Chloe said, reaching for her mom-purse.

“No, really. Let me,” I said, trying not to beg.

Clearly, she caught the thread of near hysteria in my tone, because she studied me for a moment, then set her purse down on the floor again. “Okay.”

“I need to take a shower, too. Thanks for breakfast, Dad.” I snagged my coffee mug from the countertop and fled without another word.

Dude. I mean, duuuuude.

A freakin’ foursome? What were we, golfing buddies now?

For the love of God, the phraseology alone could kill me.

I thought waking up with Dylan’s mom in our house, all implications sickeningly included, would be the worst thing ever, but now we were practically, like, double-dating! Not really, but it felt oogey enough to be true. Bleh! As much as I looked forward to finally having a car of my own, this happy-freakin’-family situation was reeling way out of control. And fast.

The shower could wait.

Dylan could wait.

I had to talk to my friends.

Chapter Three

I signed on to my computer and launched a group IM to Meryl and Caressa, drumming my fingers on the desktop as I waited for them to cyber-appear.

LawBreakR: Meryl and Caressa, I know U have plans, but please, please, PLEASE tell me UR still there!!!!!!!!!

Lipstickgrrrrl: I’m here. Surfing Sephora. What’s up?

LawBreakR: Aren’t U supposed 2B packing?

Lipstickgrrrrl: Done. U know my anal-retentive mom.

MerylM: I’m here, too. Waiting for Ismet to pick me up. What’s going on?

LawBreakR: Get this! Wait—do U want the good part or the bad part first?

MerylM: Just tell us all of it. And don’t you think it’s about time to change your screen name, all things considered, Ms. Police Explorer?

Lipstickgrrrrl: What she said.

LawbreakR: No time 4 that. Listen. My dad’s taking me 2 buy a car of my very own today.

Lipstickgrrrrl: LILA, OMG, THAT ROCKS!!!!

MerylM: I’m so happy for you! Be sure to get something safe and environmentally sound.

LawBreakR: Wait, UR missing the traumatic part.

MerylM: So tell us!

LawBreakR: Dad invited Dylan to join us.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Traumatic? Duh, stoner, that’s totally cool!

MerylM: Yeah!

LawBreakR: Oh, I know. But, that’s not the bad part. He also invited Dylan’s mother. Over breakfast, of all things, because she was still here, need I say more. And he called the outing “a foursome.” A foursome! That’s one person worse than a threesome, I think. I swear, I could die.

MerylM: Lila, honey, take a deep breath, okay?

Lipstickgrrrrl: Listen to Mer. This isn’t as horrid as you think. Just go with the flow. UR getting a car!

LawBreakR: [scoff] Easy 4 the 2 of U2 say—UR parents are still married, therefore not on the prowl.

MerylM: Lila Jane Moreno, your dad is not on the prowl. These things happen. And Ms. Sebring is really nice. That’s the part you’re missing.

LawBreakR: I knowwwwwwwww she’s nice! U guys just don’t get it! I’m not feeling the loving support I need from U!

Lipstickgrrrrl: No, we do get it. Honest. But try 2 have a little perspective. How bad could it really be? U like Dylan’s mom, right?

LawBreakR: Not the point.

Lipstickgrrrrl: I get that, but look at the bright side—U have to grit your teeth 4 a day, and U score a car out of the deal. A car!!!

LawBreakR: Yeah, probably a 1966 Dodge Dart.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Huh?

MerylM: What?

LawBreakR: Never mind. I just don’t want 2 double date with my father. The word godawful comes to mind. Also heinous. And puke-worthy.

MerylM: I don’t think puke-worthy is an actual word, just for future reference. Besides, it’s two words, hyphenated.

Lipstickgrrrrl: LOL, Mer! Lila, it’s not a double date, geek. Just ignore the parentals. Spend time with Dylan, find the car of UR dreams, turf off the rest.

MerylM: I agree. You’re blowing this thing up into astronomical proportions. Fantasticno je!

LawBreakR: Heh? Meryl, is something wrong with UR computer?

MerylM: No. That was Bosnian (well, technically CROATIAN) for “it’s fantastic.” I’ll teach you how to pronounce it next time I talk to each of you.

Lipstickgrrrrl: [baffled] Bosnian, Croatian, Martian. U kill me.

LawBreakR: Me, 2. Mer, UR an overachiever, but we love ya. Anyway, I can see I’m getting no sympathy from U2, and I have 2 get ready. I’ll fill U in later. Caressa, U will have UR BlackBerry, right?

Lipstickgrrrrl: Yep, though I can’t check it when the plane’s in the air. E or text away. TTYL!

MerylM: Bye, Lila. Hang in there. It’ll be fun.

LawBreakR: Riiiiight. Anyway, laters. Hey, wait!! One question.

MerylM: I’m still here.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Me 2.

LawBreakR: Considering they never actually hooked up, despite having tons of chances since they spent so much time alone, do U guys think Nancy Drew’s alleged boyfriend was really her gay pal, and she was his straight cover?

MerylM: Huh? Are you talking about Ned Nickerson?

Lipstickgrrrrl: Gurl, what RU smoking!? Where did that come from??

LawBreakR: Right. Whacked question. Never mind. Ignore me. Just having a mental breakdown or something. TTYL. Safe flight, Caressa. I’ll miss U!! Safe hike, Mer. E me when U2R back down from the mountain. <SWAK>

*

It wasn’t a Porsche, but it wasn’t a 1966 Dodge Dart either, which counted for something in my book. For a lot, actually. And, to be honest, I’d never wanted a Porsche. They suck in the snow, at least that’s the word on the street, no pun intended.

I sat in the driver’s seat of the light green Subaru Outback sedan with my hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a proprietary manner. It occupied space 411 in the vast section marked “pre-owned,” which, I guess, was supposed to sound better than “used.” I don’t know, though. Applied to a different scenario, I would no more want to be “pre-owned” by a guy than I’d want to be “used” by one. But, whatever. Lingo schmingo.

Anyway, whoever pre-owned this particular ride had taken really good care of it. It looked brand new! I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Patron Saint of Pre-Owners who were anal about car care.

We’d stumbled across the sedan at the zillionth place we stopped (Denver sure has a lot of car dealerships!), and the moment I laid eyes on it, I wanted to drive it straight back up the mountain to White Peaks and park it in our driveway—locked, of course, so The Puke wouldn’t try to take it for a spin.

There is sooooo much to love about it, but here are the highlights: the heated seats move up, down, and all around at the touch of a button, and the dash has this fake woodgrain stuff (cooler than it sounds) that just gleams. It features a sun / moon roof, leather seats, low mileage—all things considered—great tires, and a fresh blast of New Car Scent.

Oh, and the stereo rocks—MP3 compatible and the whole nine.

Despite the higher sticker price, we’d taken it out for a test drive after I’d nearly gone apoplectic begging. It drove like a dream and didn’t bounce around like some of the other SUV-type vehicles we’d tried. I hate that bouncy feeling.

Back at the dealership, as predicted, my dad and Dylan stuck their heads under the hood for about three hundred thousand years pointing at various boring-ass hoses and metal things, until my eyeballs nearly exploded. It’s not that I don’t have the capacity to learn about car engines, it’s that I just don’t care.

Finally, just before I snapped into a homicidal frenzy and started looking for a hatchet and some crack, they finished their annoyingly tedious perusal and closed it up, both of them side by side brushing engine blech from their hands.

It wigged me out for a sec, seeing them mirror each other’s actions right next to each other, like they’d both attended the same Super Secret How-to-Be-a-Guy School, or something. It made me picture Dylan at my dad’s age, which wigged me out further until I simply had to shove the whole creepazoid observation out of my mind.

After that, Dylan (young as ever, thank God) and I sat in the car while my dad engaged in a deep conversation with the sales dude. Chloe went with him, which was a huge relief. Can you imagine if she’d climbed into the backseat instead? All chipper and friendly-like? Dylan and I wouldn’t have been able to talk about anything. As things stood, I was too tense to talk about much with Dyl, but that’s beside the point. At least we were alone.

“I take it you like it?” Dylan asked me, smiling from his sprawled position in the passenger seat. He reached over and laid his palm on my thigh—yummy!

“I love it. Do you?”

“For sure. The engine looks great.”

Like I care. I staved off an eye roll. I mean, I care. I want a safe car in good condition, but you know what I’m saying. “Doesn’t matter, though,” I said with a sigh, twisting my mouth to one side.

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “Do the math. Even if my dad matches my savings dollar for dollar, I can’t afford it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That blows.”

“To an epic level. Which begs the question, why are they wasting their time talking about it? At length.”

We both stared through the windshield in silence at my dad and Chloe a few yards away talking earnestly with the excessively jovial man sporting the golf shirt and khakis over a physique that said he swilled just a bit too much beer after quittin’ time, if you get my gist. I squeezed my eyes shut, sending pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top vibes toward the (pointless) negotiations. Which took forever. Almost as long as the engine perusal, if you can believe that. If only I could read lips.

After a series of shrugs, chin rubs, gestures, and nods—and a whole lot of jolly blabbing—Mr. Golf Shirt finally shook my dad’s hand, then walked away.

No one looked giddy, but then again, why would they?

Definitely a good-bye handshake.

“Darn,” I said to Dylan, deflating as Dad and Chloe approached the car, heads down. I wanted to throw a fully unwarranted and inappropriate seventh-grade-esque tantrum. I swear. “I knew it. You’d think the safety features would count for a few extra thousand on my dad’s part, but oh well,” I said, trying to leach the shakiness out of my voice and stay positive. “I’ll find something I can afford.”

When they reached the front bumper, I glanced at Dylan. “Come on.”

We reluctantly got out of the car. My car. Wah! My best, most perfect car in the history of motor vehicles.

My dad crossed his arms. Pursed his lips.

“Too expensive, huh?” I asked in a depressed tone, knowing the answer already. I don’t even know why I bothered to ask.

Dad blew out a breath, bestowing an apologetic cringe. “It is a little more than I wanted you to spend, m’ija—”

I nodded, with unexpected tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t believe I had to walk away from my car! But Dad was being generous with his whole fund matching deal, so I wasn’t going to act like a jerk. “It’s okay. That’s what I fig—”

“So…you’ll have to work to pay me back for half of the difference.” He eyed me.

Time skidded to a stop.

I blinked, replaying his words in my head. “Heh?”

Dad shrugged. “The car has excellent safety features—a big plus in my book. In fact, the Subaru Outback is the only all-wheel-drive car that I’ve never seen roll.” He winked. “Besides, you look good in it, and it’ll last for years.”

Dylan and I bug-eyed each other across the hood.

I gulped back my burgeoning excitement, smoothing my palms against the sides of my shorts as I tried to remain calm. No sense jumping to conclusions just to be smacked down by reality. I mean, I could be hallucinating right here. For all I knew, Dylan and I were still sitting in the car watching Dad and Chloe talk to the man with the bulbous belly.

“Wait. Just wait a sec.” I gulped. “Dad, do you mean—?”

“I need to sign the paperwork, my dear daughter, and the car’s yours. That’s what I’m saying.” He grinned. “Congratulations.”

My jaw went slack. He’d been pimping me, faking like it was just too pricey and all that! I started jumping and squealing in a highly uncool way considering my boyfriend was witnessing the entire spectacle, but I didn’t even care—that’s the thing!

I had my dream car!

I threw my arms around my dad and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll wash it every week and get the oil changed every three months, and—cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye—I’ll never speed.”

Laughing, he lifted me off my feet and spun me around, then set me down. Lowering his chin, he said, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lila Jane. Just be sure to drive safely always.”

“I will, I swear. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too. Let’s go sign those papers, I’ll call my insurance guy, then we’ll get out of here.” He patted his super-flat tummy with smiles all around. “Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for a celebratory lunch.”

“I’ll ditto that,” Dylan said.

Chloe and I shared a conspiratorial eye roll.

I was so feelin’ the parental warm fuzzies right then big-time, despite the whole pops-hitting-on-my-boyfriend’s-mom foul, that our little “chick” moment didn’t even oog me out. “Thanks, Dad. I mean it.”

He raised one eyebrow and speared me with the chief of police look he’d perfected over his years on the job. “Thank me by being a conscientious teenage driver every single day, claro? An example. That’s all the thanks I want or need. Oh, and get a summer job, will you?” He grinned.

Ohhhhh, he meant pay him back now. I get it.

I attempted a cheeky reciprocal grin, but it felt brittle. A brick of worry dropped to the bottom of my gut. “Sure,” I said, managing to hide my instantaneous stress spike.

Dilemma.

See, here’s the prob. We live in White Peaks freakin’ Colorado. It’s not like we have a mall there with a bazillion different shops. Where in the heck was I going to find a decent job at this point in the summer? Sure, school had just ended, but—hello!—small town. Guaranteed, all the good jobs had been nabbed long before now, and I’m embarrassed to admit I’d planned on just hanging out for my pre-senior-summer, staring at clouds and sniffing flowers. No such luck, eh?

But I had a killer car. No complaints. Just worries.

I started to rack my brain for employment possibilities. Dylan was teaching grass-skiing and off-season ski fitness at the resort, like he always did, but I knew jack about that stuff. Meryl still worked at Inner Power, the coolio metaphysical shop downtown. We all know what Caressa had planned. If you want the whole truth, I’m sort of lacking in the job skills department. But, hey, there was always Burger Wonder. I’m sure I knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who could hook me up there. Snort!

The thought of resorting to the fast food route didn’t appeal, but I’d do it if I had no other options. No sense sweating it now, though. I had a car to buy and the longish drive back to White Peaks before I could do anything about the job sitch anyway.

After glancing lovingly back at my car—my car!!—I took Dylan’s hand and followed Dad and Chloe into the dealership. Dad had grabbed Chloe’s hand, too, I noticed, and she’d moved closer so their shoulders were sort of bumping all intimate-like. Ew. My stomach soured, and the day dimmed a bit.

Just like that.

I struggled to stay positive and not be…well, a self-centered bitch, like Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton. I wanted to bask in this milestone moment for me, whether or not my dad was doing my boyfriend’s mom.

Um, double ew. Strike that last thought, ’kay?

Chapter Four

I can’t believe it. Dylan and I had our first fight. Like, not the normal fun snarkfest in which we often (okay, daily) engage, but a real fight, and it totally sucked.

Here’s how it went down:

After buying my car, our happy little foursome (whatev) went to lunch at the Paramount Café—a rockin’ spot on the 16th Street Mall. I admit, I was over the whole “foursome” schtick by then. I wanted to be alone with Dylan—is that so wrong? Anyway, we scored a primo table on the outdoor patio. I people-watched while noshing on burgers and huge mounds of super yummy fries and subtly ignored my dad’s attempt to draw me into conversation with Chloe. This isn’t to say I acted like a Paris Hilton–esque entitled snot after just having received the car of my dreams. I didn’t. I was polite, just not chatty. I wasn’t going to buy into the whole happy family propaganda. I needed my boundaries.

After lunch, we rode the free Mall Shuttle up to the turnaround near Union Station, then back down to the gigantic Adam’s Mark Hotel, because really, how often do I get to come to Denver? I wanted to check out the street mall, the horse-drawn carriages, the street kids and old guys playing chess together right in the middle of everything.

It was fun, but it would have been a million times better if my dad and Chloe weren’t there trying so hard to bond with Dylan and me. I mean, dude, bond is the beginning of bondage—need I say more? It felt like they were throwing their relationship in my face. Sigh! On the shuttle, I did my best to ignore them and focus on Dylan, as Caressa had suggested, and it was working at first. But at the Larimer Square stop, a lady lugged her double stroller filled with identical twins onto the bus, and my ever-active (or should that be over-active) imagination kicked into high gear.

Like, what if my dad and Chloe Sebring had a baby sometime down the road? He or she would be my half-sibling and Dylan’s half-sibling, too.

Is it just me, or does that seem insurmountably weird?

How could we continue to date if that happened without appearing…creepy? Almost—I hated to say the word, but there it was—incestuous. And, you know, if you worry about this kind of thing long enough, it starts to feel totally real. Almost like you’re thinking it into existence.

In any case, by the time I slid behind the wheel of my brand-new car, the whole potential twin siblings thing had me thoroughly freaked out. I was more than ready to be as far away from the parentals as humanly possible.

The first several miles I concentrated on getting used to the car and the controls and the road—just driving. Dylan kept me company by reading to me from the owner’s manual. Dude! Ever read one of those suckers? I couldn’t believe it, but that fat ol’ book is chock-full of valuable information, and some of it isn’t even boring. Who’da thunk?

When we hit the highway Dylan put the manual back into the glove compartment, then slid in a CD. He’d thought to bring a few because radio reception can be spotty at places in the mountains—isn’t that sweet? Music filled the car, and we settled in for the rest of the drive.

As the highway became more twisty, and vast, pine tree-filled valleys overtook the vista, my tension started to ease. I blew out this big, noisy breath and laid my noggin back against the headrest. “God, I’m glad that’s over.”

Dylan peered over at me. “Searching for a car?”

“No. Hanging out with our googly-eyed parents.” I scoffed. “I mean, how uncomfortable can you get?”

Dylan didn’t say anything. He stared at the side of my face for a minute, then focused his attention out the passenger window. Silent.

After the current song ended, I reached over and squeezed his leg, which, incidentally, is totally muscular from being on the ski team. Yum. I’m such a dork. Don’t tell anyone.

“Are you okay?” I asked, breaking rule-number-one I read in one of the current teen magazines. It said (with authority) you should never ask a guy that question, because it “shuts him down.” Well, Dylan was already shut down, so I risked it. What did I have to lose?

At first I thought he hadn’t heard me over the music, because he didn’t move or react or, most especially, answer. Just as I was about to ask again, he shocked the hell out of me by saying, “No. I’m not okay, Lila,” in this cold, stony voice that gave me the sneaking suspicion I might’ve somehow pissed him off. He lifted my hand off of his leg and sort of threw it back toward me. Uh, yeah. Suspicion confirmed.

Dylan? Totally pissed.

Fear wavered in my vision like gasoline evaporating off of hot pavement, but (be proud, Dad), I kept my focus on the road anyway. Still, my throat dried up and my thoughts raced as I placed the dissed hand back at the “two” position on the wheel. “W-what’s wrong?”

“Like you really want to know,” Dylan said, derisively.

Dang, he really was upset. My heart pounded out a funeral dirge in my chest. We’d never fought before. Not even close! I didn’t know quite how it was supposed to go. “Dylan, I do want to know. Tell me.”

Nothing.

“If you don’t, I’m going to pull over until you do.”

“Fine.” He adjusted in his seat wrenching some slack in his seat belt so he could almost face me. “You want me to tell you? Here goes. I’m sick of you constantly acting like my mom isn’t good enough for your dad.”

I accidentally screeched the brakes going around a curve. Whoa! Where did that bombshell come from? My mouth dropped open and I shot a quick double take in his direction.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” he said, all scowly, reaching out to smack off the stereo. “You want to wind up being one of those idiot teenagers in the Denver Post who crashes her car on the first drive off the lot?”

Dead silence ensued.

Now there wasn’t even music to break up the tension.

My jaw clamped shut as I white-knuckled the steering wheel and tried to figure out what to say next.

See? If my father weren’t dating his mother (no matter what anyone says), we wouldn’t be having this argument. We would not. I swallowed thickly, scared to say anything, scared to say nothing. “Dylan, I have never once said Chloe—I mean, your mom—isn’t good enough for my dad.”

He snorted. “You don’t have to say it.”

So he was clairvoyant now? “For God’s sake, what are you talking about?”

“Damnit!” he said. “The four of us spend one measly day together, a day where your dad helps you buy a pretty pricey car and treats all of us to lunch, and all you can do is watch them with thinly veiled disgust—if you acknowledge them at all—act ungrateful, and whine about wanting to be away from them—”

“But—”

“—and why? Because your dad happens to be dating my mom.” He knocked on his temple with one knuckle, which I caught in my peripheral vision. “I know I’m a dumb jock and everything, but it’s pretty clear why you don’t want to be around them—”

“But—”

“—because you don’t think my mom, who happens to be awesome, by the way, is worthy of your perfect dad.”

“No, that’s not—”

“—And that sucks, Lila. It really does. For someone who claims to care about me, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

To say I was stunned did a disservice to the complete reeling, screeching brain mode his outburst had thrust me into. Chloe? Not good enough for my dad? That wasn’t even in the same ballpark as the issue.

I concentrated on breathing deeply until I could manage to speak without squeaking or crying or yaking. Still, my stomach trembled beneath my T-shirt, and the pulse pounded so hard in the side of my neck, the sound was actually distracting in my ears. “How long have you been feeling this way?” I managed after another tense silence.

“I don’t know. Awhile,” he said, through clenched teeth.

Awhile?! “Why didn’t you say something?”

He snorted again. “Because I hoped you’d get over it, that’s why. Besides, I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Stunned again.

Had our relationship gone so sour, so quickly, that Dylan thought he couldn’t even communicate with me? Was I really such a total suckass girlfriend? My leg started quaking so badly, I had a hard time keeping my foot steady on the accelerator. “I h-have to…pull over.”

“Why?”

“Because! Because you just laid all this on me and I want to talk about it. I can’t keep my focus on driving when you’re so pissed off.”

He flicked a hand. “There’s a pull-out just up there.”

I spied it, engaged my right turn blinker, and steered carefully into the gravel area. When I’d turned off the car—thankfully—I released a long, slow breath, then rested my forehead in my fingers for a moment before leaning my head back against the headrest.

I crossed my arms.

He crossed his arms.

I freaked.

He fumed.

We both sat there in awkward silence for several minutes staring straight forward at the rock face.

I don’t know what was going through Dylan’s mind, but all I could think of was that nasty B-word, breakup. Meryl would probably tell me that it’s two words. Is it two words? It feels like one, and a bad one. BREAKUP. BREAKUP. BREAKUP.

BREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUP.

The more the word echoed in my mind, the faster my breaths came. Shallow, like I’d just run from a rabid dog. Shallow, like Dylan thought I was. My eyes stung.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” he asked, sounding nothing at all like the boyfriend I knew and…loved. Not that I’d ever said the L-word to him. But I did. Love him, I mean. I was pretty sure anyway.

And that’s what did it.

I simply couldn’t let the B-word happen before I ever made it to the L-word, so I thought I’d better get on with the T-word: talking. No matter how frightened I felt, we needed to talk this misunderstanding out.

I unhooked my seat belt and turned in the seat to face him, tucking one ankle under the opposite knee. “Dylan, look at me.” He didn’t. I watched the muscle in his jaw bunch as he clenched his teeth. “Please,” I said, somehow managing to keep the pleading tone from coming through, miracle of miracles.

He turned my way, but every bit of his expression radiated fury. Even worse, disappointment.

My chin verged on a quiver, and we all knew what happened after that. Another thing that article in the teen magazine said was, don’t cry when you’re arguing with a guy, because he’ll think you’re being manipulative or just plain annoying.

I swallowed hard, deciding to take that one to heart.

It also said to apologize if you were in the wrong. I wasn’t sure if I was in the wrong or not, but I hated seeing my boyfriend’s face so dark and remote when he usually looked at me with such joy and amusement. We were, like, the fun couple. I wanted to get back to that place.

“I’m sorry, Dyl,” I said, surprisingly with minimal wimpiness. “Truly. This isn’t about me thinking your mom isn’t good enough for my dad. Not at all. Not ever.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“Come on. I swear.”

Skeptical silence.

I expelled my frustration in a burst of air. “Look, if I’m lying, I’ll wear my beloved”—I said in a facetious tone—“double-knit Dacron polyester Junior Narc uniform pants to school every day for the first week of senior year. With tops that don’t match. And the Rocky boots.”

He eyed me for a few, seeming to roll the idea around in his brain. “How about with four-inch slut heels instead?”

Brief hesitation. I’d have to borrow them from his ex-girlfriend, but okay. “Deal,” I said. He was just testing me anyway.

His face softened a tiny bit, because he knew how much I despised that whole hideous cop wannabe get-up. And he also knew I wouldn’t be caught dead in The Big Ass Pants with four-inch slut heels. Can you imagine?

“What is it about, then? I don’t get it.”

I uttered a sound of frustration because I didn’t know how exactly to explain it. “It’s about…us,” I said.

“What does our relationship have to do with theirs?” His brows furrowed.

I spread my arms. “Everything?” Duh. “She’s your mom, Dyl. And—I mean, don’t you think it’s the least bit strange that they’re sleeping together?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Why would I? They’re adults. It’s what adults do when they’re in love with each other.”

My eyes widened. “Holy—you think they’re in love?”

He huffed. “They’re sleeping together, aren’t they?”

I had to reel this convo back in damn quick and regain some self-control. There’s sleeping together, and then there’s sleeping together. Two very different animals, people. This whole ordeal was getting more convoluted by the second. I shoved all ten fingers into the front of my hair and held them there. “I…I don’t know if they slept together. I mean, not definitively.”

“Huh?”

Now I sounded like an idiot. “I’m just saying I wasn’t in the room, thank God. She did spend the night, granted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Hold up.” He lifted one palm as his expression morphed into incredulity. “You don’t even know if they’re having sex, and you’re still all self-righteous and disapproving?” He shook his head around, as if to clear it. “What’s up with that, Lila?”

“It’s not about them having sex!” I yelled, a little louder than I’d intended. “Not totally, at least.” Shudder. “The point is, you’re my boyfriend! He’s my dad! She’s your mom! Any of this ringing an alarm bell?”

“No! I’m not an imbecile. I get what you’re saying. I just don’t understand why it’s such an issue.”

“Not an issue?!” Now I was yelling, and I didn’t care because Dylan was bringing true life and meaning to the word obtuse, at least by my estimation. Why did guys always seem so “no big deal-ish” about stuff that really mattered, and yet they could stare into a car engine for three weeks straight without blinking? So frustrating. “If they do love each other, like you say, what happens to our relationship if they get married?”

He jolted. “That’s what you’re stressing about?”

I hiked my chin. “Well, yeah. What else?”

A silent moment stretched.

Dylan’s eyebrows raised.

And right after that is when he busted into laughter.

Yep. Big, honking laughter. At me.

It began as one of those startled bursts, but pretty soon it had digressed into full-on belly guffaws, complete with tears rolling from the corners of his eyes and a couple of inadvertent snorts. He even leaned his seat back until he was almost lying down, probably to relieve the gut-cramping from his uncontrollable howling during the biggest, most traumatic fight of my life. Freakin’ guys.

My face flared with heat.

Now I was really pissed off.

“Stop it!” I said, pushing at him. “Stop laughing!”

He didn’t.

“Dylan! God!” I wrenched open my door and stomped across the parking area to the rock wall that jutted straight up. I leaned against it, crossed my arms, and decided stupid relationship articles in teen magazines didn’t take into account boyfriends who launched into massive hyena-esque laughing fits at their girlfriends’ expense. So I started crying. Screw that dumb article.

After a minute, Dylan’s door opened and closed. He crossed over toward me, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. When he saw my tears, it didn’t seem like he thought I was being manipulative or annoying (freakin’ magazine. That subscription would be cancelled immediately). In fact, his expression morphed from rollicking humor to sympathy.

“Aw, Lila. I’m sorry I laughed. I just don’t share your worries about our parents dating, okay? People date.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

“Come here.” He pulled me into his arms, and I went reluctantly at first. But then I smelled his woodsy scent and felt the warmth of his muscles, so I wrapped my arms around his body and buried my face in his chest. I was soaking the front of his T-shirt, but tough nuggets. It felt good to be hugging instead of yelling.

He just held me like that, resting his cheek on the top of my head, until I’d stopped crying and started hiccuping.

Uncontrollably, in case you wondered. Lovely, I know.

Worse, in my infinite how-to-be-hot wisdom (or the lack thereof), I decided to try and speak during the aforementioned hiccups. “I”—hic!—“don’t think your mom”—hic!—“isn’t good eno”—hic!—“enough for my dad, Dy”—hic! hic!—“Dylan. It’s just hard for”—hic!—“me, and I don’t want to”—hic!—

“To what?”

“To”—HIC!—“lose you.”

Holy craaaaaap, had I actually said that? I felt so emotionally naked right then, and I just wanted to hoof it into the hills, like a shaggy mountain goat, and hide.

Dylan, in his infinite guyishness, didn’t seem bothered by my lameoid, borderline codependent admission, though. Instead, he slipped his hands around to cup my face and tilt it up toward him, then he kissed me. Softly at first, but more intensely after that, until everything around us disappeared.

When we pulled apart, the hiccups were miraculously gone, and I have to say, the “hot kiss remedy” is much more enjoyable than hanging upside down while trying to drink water from the far side of a cup.

“Lila,” Dylan said.

I sniffed, smearing my nose on the back of my hand. (I know, I know, another real date-getter. I grew up with five guys, okay? Granted, my three oldest brothers are grown up and out of the house, with Luke soon to follow, but cut me some slack—habits are hard to break.) “What?”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Dylan said.

I peered up at him through wet eyelashes. “I’m…not?”

He shook his head. “That’s what you don’t get. This isn’t about me or you. You’re opposed to our parents possibly getting serious.” He rolled his shoulder. “I’m not. We’re just talking things out.”

“Oh.” But…but…how could he not be opposed?

One corner of his mouth curved up into a smile. “If you say your hissy fit isn’t about my mom, I believe you. Especially after that uniform pants and slut heels deal, which I will hold you to.” His eyes gleamed as he, no doubt, pictured it. “But I had to tell you how I was feeling. It’s what couples do.”

“I know. But we’re fine?”

“Yes. Although you should cut your dad some slack in the relationship department. Everyone deserves someone.”

“I get that.” I cast him another glance, not wanting to be needy, but I had to be totally sure. “We’re okay, though? I mean, really okay?”

He nodded. “You have some whacked-out worries, no doubt. But where else am I going to find a girl as adorably snarky and low maintenance as you?”

Relief washed through me, followed by the rocky detritus of shame. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am, too.”

I slid my palms up his chest. “I love your mom, Dyl. She’s really cool.”

“She is.” He tucked in his chin. “But?”

“I just—” I bit the corner of my lip.

“Tell me.”

“My mom died a long time ago, and it’s always been just us guys. Well, and me. I’ve never really known my dad with a girlfriend. It’s…weird.”

“Maybe he was waiting until you were older?”

“Could be.” I considered that. “Anyway, it would be weird anyway, no matter who he picked. But it’s weirder because of us and the fact that the girlfriend in question is your mom. But not because I don’t like her or think she’s good enough. It’s because I…like you.”

He kissed me on the forehead, then took my hand and led me toward the car. “I understand.”

“Riiiiight.”

“I do. I’m not as clueless as you think. But don’t stress so much. They’ve only been dating for a couple of months. I know my mother. Trust me, they’re not going to get married any time soon.”

“H-how can you be so sure?”

“After my parents’ awful divorce, Mom’s in no hurry to rush back into wifehood again. She’s happy the way things are.”

Happy? Uh-oh. A new horrible thought seeped into my brain, and I stumbled to a stop.

Dylan cocked his head to the side. “What now?”

“W-what if they break up?” I wadded the neckline of my T-shirt in one fist and searched his face for reassurance. “What if they break up, Dyl, and your mom doesn’t want you to see me anymore because it’s awkward for her to—”

“Lila!” he barked.

I clamped my mouth shut.

He shook his head, smiling like I was some freakish specimen he should put into a large jar with Formaldehyde for further scientific study and evaluation. “Enough with the negativity, okay? Can you stop thinking so much? Please?”

Bewildered, I asked, “How can I just stop thinking?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Pretend you’re a guy.”

Made sense in a eerie kind of way. I know my slack-jawed brother, Luke the Puke, didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking deep thoughts. Or any thoughts. He’d rather just belch and scratch himself.

We started toward the car again. “Just let them do their thing. We’ll do our thing. It’s not the end of the world if our parents date.”

I crinkled my nose. “Even if they sleep together?”

He held up a finger. “We have no definitive proof that such activity is occurring.”

“Yeah, but still.”

He sighed. “Yes, Lila, it’s not our place to worry even if they start having wild jungle sex—”

“Stop!” I covered my ears. “I get it.”

“Good. Finally.”

Thoroughly nauseated, I tossed him the keys. “You drive.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “I have too much swirling around in my head. More now, thanks to that last horrific comment of yours. And I promised my dad I’d pay attention on the road whenever I got behind the wheel.”

He clamped his palm closed around the keys. “Sweet.”

We got in the car and snapped our seat belts tight. Dylan fired up the engine and maneuvered the car into merging position.

I bit down on my tongue. The “don’t think” directive? Yeah, not quite working yet—big shocker. I drummed my fingers on my lips, watching him watch the traffic whiz by. It felt like my insides were inflating like a balloon with too much air. “Can I just ask you one thing before I embark on the whole ‘stop thinking’ plan?”

He sighed. “Okay. But one.”

“Just play along. And don’t get mad.”

He bulged his eyes at me.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s say your mom and my dad do end up getting married eventually.” I paused, waiting for him to get what I was implying. He didn’t. “Could happen, right?”

“Okay, sure. Your point?”

“What do you mean? That’ll make us step-siblings.”

He blinked, unconcerned. “So?”

Damn, guys really didn’t think so much. “So, what do we do about our relationship then? To make it less…weird?”

“Why would it be weird? We’re practically adults.”

“It just would.”

He pulled onto the highway, then flashed me an evil grin. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to move to one of them states where it’s okay to date your sister, Daisy Lou,” he teased in a doofus accent.

Still, it cheered me. “You are one sick, twisted puppy, Dylan Sebring. Totally, completely—”

“Irresistible.”

I smirked. “Right. Only if that’s a euphemism for sick and twisted,” I said, glad that we were on the road back to being us.

After that, things seemed normalish again, but wow! I’d like to go on the record right this moment to say, fights blow. A lot. However, having gotten past our first one and airing out all our worries (well, my worries), we seemed to have moved to a new level in our relationship.

I felt good. Secure. Totally in the L-word with Dylan, which, of course, would remain unmentioned. For the time being, at least.

Now, if only I really could stop thinking.

Chapter Five

By the time we entered White Peaks’ city limits, the setting sun had painted pink and orange streaks across the sky, and all seemed peachy in Dylan-n-Lila Land. Thankfully. I dropped him off at his house, punctuating the trip with a super-yummy long kiss good night and promises (from me) to try and think more like a guy—in other words, not think. I did, however, decide to rethink the whole plan to break up Dad and Chloe. Maybe it wasn’t necessary, and it definitely wasn’t nice. I wasn’t ready to start calling her Mama, but I could let them do their thing…I think.

The day had been an exhausting roller-coaster ride of emotions. Excitement and then worry and then elation about my new car. Weirdness about the parentals and then the fight with Dylan.

That had been the worst.

I was wiped, and looking forward to simply chilling in my room, checking e-mail from my friends. Just…being alone. Quiet. Free to not think.

So, imagine my surprise when I pulled into the driveway and found Meryl and Caressa, who was supposed to be in final prep mode for NYC, waiting for me on the—gak!—porch swing (not thinking about it. I might have to get one of those sage smudge sticks from Inner Power and cleanse the whole area before I could Zen out about the whole thing).

I stepped out of the car, smiling curiously at my pals. “Hey! What are you guys doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Caressa said. “Nice ride!”

“Thanks!” I twirled my hand like one of those busty, scantily clad girls on the game shows, displaying the Big Prize. “Come check it out. It’s awesome.”

They both stood and started toward me.

“But, seriously, Caressa, how’d you get out of the house? I thought today was parent day?”

“Special dispensation,” she said, by way of explanation, which really didn’t explain jack.

They both came down to inspect the car, but their enthusiasm seemed…tight. Their focus fractured. Their smiles and comments just a bit too bright and rehearsed, if you know what I mean. Instinct told me something else was on their minds. Meryl, especially, seemed super preoccupied. I watched them examine my car, but a sense of alarm had begun to seep into my brain. I crossed my arms protectively across my abdomen.

Maybe I was a worst-case scenario thinker. Or maybe my raw emotions were too close to the surface after today, and I was reading too much into my two BFFs’ uncharacteristic behavior.

Yeah, that was it.

Had to be. Right?

I made a concerted effort to relax, stretching my neck side-to-side and shaking out my hands. After clearing my throat, I asked, “Mer, how was the hike?” I tilted my head toward the front door. “You guys want to come inside for a bit after you’re done drooling on my dashboard?”

“I can’t stay,” Meryl said. She’d been bent over peering into the passenger side at the airbags. She stood up slowly, and I studied her. Her naturally alabaster skin seemed even more pale against the red of her hair, making her freckles stand out, and her normally sparkly blue eyes looked…heavy. “Oh,” she said abruptly, in total afterthought mode. “The hike was hard, but great.”

Okay, now I knew I wasn’t imagining things.

Something was up.

On a normal day, you could ask Meryl seventeen unrelated questions all in a row—without punctuation—and she remembered to answer every single one of them, appropriately and in order. It was one of her many special talents.

“I can’t stay either,” Caressa said, with a small shrug. “My freedom pass has an expiration time stamp, what with the flight tomorrow and everything.”

They closed my car doors, and then we all stood there sort of staring at each other from various sides of the car. Me, in front of it. Meryl, passenger side. Caressa, driver’s side. I swallowed, searching my brain for a plausible reason why (1) they’d sit here and actually wait for me, and yet (2) have nothing to say. Goose bumps washed over me.

“So…you guys just dropped your plans to come by and wait for me so you could check out the new wheels?”

Please say yes.

“Yes,” Caressa said, just as Meryl said, “No.”

They exchanged a weird, unreadable glance.

Caressa moistened her lips with a quick, nervous flick of her tongue and cast me an apologetic look. “Actually, Meryl’s right on that one.”

I could feel my body bracing itself from the inside, safety gates slamming down, windows boarding up, emotions heading into the deep freeze for safekeeping. Still, I tried to keep my tone light. “Right about what?”

“About why we came over. Well, we did want to see the car,” Meryl offered. “But there’s something else, too.”

Again with the freakin’ blood pounding loudly in my ears. I’d had about enough of that for one day. I needed Excedrin. And possibly a hearing aid. I stepped around the front bumper of the car to be closer to Mer, my hands in fists at my sides, and dropped all pretense of lightness. “What? Tell me what’s wrong, because I know something is. Are your families okay?”

“They’re fine. Everyone’s fine,” Caressa said, flashing a quick, uncertain glance across the hood at Meryl again. I watched her take a deep breath and blow it out. “It’s just—”

“Jennifer Hamilton is pregnant,” Meryl blurted.

I gasped as though someone had kicked me in the gut.

Wait. Wait. Back the hell up.

Jennifer.

Hellspawn.

Hamilton.

Knocked.

Up?

Holy, holy, holy—

“What?” I whispered.

Meryl nodded. “Pregnant.”

“D-do you mean she’s going to have a baby?” I asked, stupidly.

“Yep,” Caressa said, on a sigh. “That kind of pregnant.”

“Is there a different kind?” Meryl asked us both, totally serious.

Natch, we didn’t answer.

My mind spun as I tried to wrap my brain around this unexpected bit of news. Let’s review. Jennifer Hamilton is the kind of pregnant that meant she would eventually give birth. To a baby. Which simply wasn’t heard of in her circle, I might add. Speaking of her circle…

I blinked, then looked from one friend to the other. “And the evil flying monkey posse?” I ventured, referring to her so-called “in crowd” of vapid, cheerleading, bleached-blond followers, all of whom despised and tortured us whenever possible and for no reason.

“Well, none of them are pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking,” Caressa said.

“But, according to Jennifer, they’ve pretty much dropped her completely,” Meryl added, in a strangely sad voice. “Some friends, huh?”

Something seemed off. Why was Meryl compassionate to this girl? Hellspawn and the Evil Flying Monkey Posse had treated her—all of us—like unadulterated crap for years, and now she was all empathetic to the Spawn just because she was going to spawn? We shouldn’t care about Jennifer and her stupid mistake. We shouldn’t care about her hateful posse. We shouldn’t care about any of it. But there were issues…

A beat passed.

“Dude, this is like a bad MFTVM.”

“What?” Meryl asked, looking mystified.

Ah, yes. It bears mentioning that Meryl’s family is anti–pop culture. They don’t own television—never have, so she’s often utterly clueless when it comes to stuff the rest of us take for granted. “It stands for Made-for-TV-Movie.”

“Oh.” She still looked confused, but I didn’t feel like launching into an explanation about the differences between a big-screen movie and a Made-for-TV flick. There were more important things to discuss.

I eased out some tension and got back to the matter at hand. Of course Meryl was compassionate, despite everything. She’s Meryl. The girl doesn’t have an unkind bone in her body, and that’s why I love her to death. “How did you—?”

“I ran into her,” Meryl said quickly. “Just by chance. She was sitting on one of the benches outside Inner Power. Crying. Like, hard.” Mer hiked one shoulder slowly. “I’ve never really seen her looking so…bereft. So I just went and asked her if everything was okay. And she told me.” Meryl twisted her lips to the side.

“Why, though? Why did she tell you?”

Meryl flipped one hand listlessly. “Because I asked? I don’t know. Everyone’s going to find out eventually, especially since her former friends are being so evil. And I guess her parents are”—she shuddered—“well, you can imagine how they feel, I’m sure. I assume she just needed someone to talk to.”

I forced a swallow past my constricted throat, and nodded. Made sense, and I was trying to rein in my inner bitchiness about the fact that she chose my best friend to talk to. I pictured Jennifer as a lone polar bear drifting on a glacier chunk in the Antarctic. Why wouldn’t she unburden herself to the first living thing that crashed into her lonely ice floe? The first person who showed any interest in her plight? So many questions swirled around my head, but one whopping scary one stood out:

How far along was she?

That’s what I needed to know, but I was too afraid to ask. I mean, I didn’t even know if Dylan and Jennifer had ever—ugh.

Shudder.

But, for my own peace of mind, I needed to calculate the last time they could’ve possibly—ugh.

Shudder.

Unless I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did, and they were still—UGH!—on the sly.

Big shudder.

I needed to get a grip, remember the Dylan I knew and L-worded. I closed my eyes for a moment.

Gut check.

I waited.

No. Somewhere deep inside me, I knew with unwavering certainty that Dylan wasn’t cheating on me. So, if the baby was his, the whole conception aspect had to have happened a while ago. “She’s pregnant,” I repeated in a zombie monotone.

“Yep,” Caressa said.

My eyelids fluttered shut, and I’m not sure, but I think I swayed on my feet. “How do you say pregnant in Bosnian, Mer?” I don’t know why I asked that. But I did. Avoidance, I suppose.

She swallowed. “Trudna. Or zbijen. Or—”

“Two choices are more than enough,” I said. “Really.”

Surreal. I knew I possessed extremities, like, say, hands and feet, but I couldn’t feel any of them right then. I couldn’t even feel my face. I couldn’t feel anything except abject fear straight down to the soul level. It buzzed within me like a wasp’s nest that had been thwacked with a broom handle until all hell had broken loose inside my chest cavity. I mean, what was I supposed to say about this? When’s the freakin’ shower?

“We just wanted to tell you,” Caressa said in a sad voice, as though reading my mind, “before you heard about it…some other way.”

Like from Dylan.

That was the unspoken part, but it came through loud and clear, believe me.

Because if Jennifer Hamilton was preggers, logically, who could the father BE besides her ex-boyfriend, a.k.a. my current boyfriend, the one for whom I deeply felt the as-yet-undeclared L-word? At least, that’s what all the gossips in White Peaks would think and spread around—Dylan and Hellspawn: teen parents to be.

The question was, what did I think?

*

Caressa

I can’t believe I had to leave for New York City right after springing that awful news on my girl, Lila. What kind of best friend was I, leaving in her time of need? Not that I had a choice. My job at the theatre (oh, God, I just got all jittery with excitement) starts Tuesday, so I only have Sunday evening and Monday to settle in.

Not a whole lot of margin for friend crises there.

This thing with Jennifer Hamilton is a big deal, considering the identity of her ex-boyfriend. No one said it out loud, but you could tell Lila thought the same evil thing Meryl and I had the minute she heard the news: Baby Daddy, starring Dylan Sebring. But, really, even if I had stayed, what could I do besides show my support? And I could do that from here—it’s not as if I’m going to be living in some remote jungle without cell phone or e-mail access. Still, I was torn. Nothing’s quite the same as being with your friends in person, you know?

But Lila wouldn’t want me to cancel my plans no matter what. This is an opportunity of a lifetime for me. I decided to send her positive mental energy and get on with the summer. They’d call or e-mail me with every update and I’d call and e-mail constantly. It wouldn’t even be like we were apart.

My plane landed, and once I got off and headed toward baggage claim, everything seemed to move in fast forward. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. New York time and White Peaks time? Not even on the same clock.

I was in love with the pulsating energy of this city.

My dad had instructed me to look for a uniformed driver holding up a sign with my name on it just past security, so I did. Okay, let me just say there seemed to be more uniformed drivers than people on the flight—not that they were all for the same flight. But still. I scanned and scanned until I saw my name, then I glanced up and smiled at the driver.

Holy—!

Daddy hooked his baby girl up with a stone cold hottie for a driver! I wonder if he knew. Believe me, I wasn’t going to tell him. The guy looked like he’d had a choice between the NFL draft for one of the cute positions, like running back, but decided to become a chauffeur instead. Skin the color of melted chocolate, soft lips, wide shoulders, and ripped muscles.

I don’t know if he knew what I looked like, but I shrank back against the wall and quickly flipped open my phone to write a text message to Lila (who made me swear I’d tell her everything good despite what was going on in her life). Meryl didn’t have a cell phone, so I started with, B sure 2 tell M: JUST saw my driver & he’s so hot, I don’t know if I can walk over and intro myself!!!

I hit Send, then waited.

Mere moments later, my phone made that telltale blip.

Lila wrote: How old???

Leave it to Lila. Just because I crushed on one way-old guy didn’t mean I hadn’t learned my lesson—sheesh! I texted back: Not Bobby old. Bobby as in Bobby Slade, my embarrassing older crush from last year. But hey, the embarrassment eased, we were friends now that he was recording music with my dad, and he’d gotten me this job, so I suffered that trauma for a good reason, at least!

Then I added: Looks like way younger version of Taye Diggs. Way.

Lila texted: Just go! And try 2 get a picture of him if U can.

I blurted a laugh, then slapped my palm over my mouth. I glanced over, but he hadn’t seemed to notice me. So I keyed back: Right. Turn me in2 a stalker. Thanks.I hesitated, then added, how RU?

Her response took a bit longer. When it came, it said: I still don’t know. Afraid 2 ask. I miss U.

Me: Miss U2. More L8R. ciao.

Lila: <SWAK>

With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and cut through the crowds toward my driver. I stopped in front of him. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He paused, his eyebrows raising. “You Caressa?”

I smiled. “That’s me.”

He extended his hand, and I shook it, feeling all grown up and giddy and stupid all at once. “I’m Thomas.”

“You’re my driver, right?”

He laughed, this deep full sound that made you want to laugh right along with him. “I’m going to drive you to the Rosenthals’ house, yes. But, to clarify, I’m your bodyguard.”

My jaw must’ve dropped. I don’t really know.

Thomas goes, “Your dad didn’t tell you he’d hired a bodyguard?”

After a sec, I remembered to answer. “Nuh-uh.”

He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Well, don’t worry. I promise not to cramp your style, but those shows you’re working on end pretty late at night, and Tibby Lee didn’t want his daughter hailing cabs or hitting the subway.” He winked. “I’m just here if you need someone to run to, okay?”

“Oh. Okay.”

Cue in the romantic music.

Mr. Thomas the Hot (and too old for me—I know, I know, I know!) was going to be glued to my side all summer long. I think I might’ve sighed, which was so inappropriate. I didn’t care, though.

Glancing around, I saw a savvy-looking grandma-type from Somewhere Other Than New York standing against the wall near us. I held up a finger to let Thomas know I’d be right back, then approached her. “Ma’am?” I said.

She pointed at her chest as if to ask, “Moi?”

I nodded, bestowing my winningest smile. “Can you do me a favor? I’m in New York for the summer to work on a Broadway show, and I just arrived. Would you mind taking a picture of me and my bodyguard? For posterity?”

“A Broadway show! Why, how exciting,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I’d love to, dear. And when you’re famous, I’ll tell people I took your photo in LaGuardia Airport.” She pushed away from the wall and took my camera phone from me, studying it.

“It’s that button on the side.” I showed her. “Pretty much point and shoot.”

“Alrighty.”

I moved next to Thomas and faced the woman, smiling.

He glanced down at me, confused. “What’s up?”

“She’s going to take a picture of us. A keepsake.”

“Ah.” Thomas draped his arm across my shoulders and flashed this unbelievably sexy (too old) smile. He looked like the star, not me. And he was mine for the summer!

Snap!

“Can you take one more, please?” I asked.

The lady moved closer, focusing on us from the shoulders up.

Snap!

Thomas and I broke apart, and I moved forward to the lady. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” She handed me the phone, then extracted a pen and a wrinkled receipt from her giant handbag. “Now, what’s your name, dear?”

“Caressa Thibodoux,” I said. “And yours?”

“Oh, who cares about me,” she said, flapping a hand. “I’m just a tourist. But you! Why, you’re an up-and-coming celebrity.”

I laughed.

“Anyway, it’s Esther. Esther Newberg.” She aimed her finger at me and grinned. “And I’ll be looking for you in People and US Weekly, Miss Thibodoux.”

Everything around me bubbled, like a freshly poured glass of 7-Up. Esther made me feel like such a star, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was strictly a behind-the-scenes part of Broadway, and unpaid, to boot!

Floating on the effervescence, I returned to Thomas’s side.

“Ready?” he asked, clearly amused by my excitement.

“Definitely,” I said. I couldn’t wait to get to Tribeca and explore. We gathered my luggage and made small talk as we carted it to Thomas’s Town Car. He stowed everything in the trunk while I climbed in the backseat and stealthily texted the photos Esther had taken of us to Lila, along with the message: News—he’s my bodyguard, not just my driver. I get 2 spend all summer w / him.

As we exited the airport property, my cell bleeped.

Thomas glanced back in his rearview mirror.

“Sorry,” I told him, waggling my BlackBerry where he could see it. “Incoming text.”

He chuckled. “Guess I’m gonna have to get used to that sound, right?”

I giggled, then opened the message from Lila.

It read: OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. Exactly how I felt.

Lila: He does look older tho, C.

She was right, of course. Definitely over twenty-one. But it didn’t matter, because guys weren’t on my radar at the moment. Still, who had expected Thomas? Harmless eye candy, and I got to hang with him for the whole summer!

I texted: Older, 4-sure. Don’t worry, not looking 4 any more Bobby Slade-esque luurve, just having fun, fun, fun. <g>

I slipped my BlackBerry into my bag and grinned to myself.

New York City, watch out! Caressa Thibodoux’s in town.

Chapter Six

Meryl

I slid the antique cash register drawer closed, enjoying its familiar coin jangle, and handed the customer her change. “Here you go. Be sure to use two droppers full of the green tea extract in an eight-ounce glass of water.”

“Thank you. I will,” she said with a smile.

“Come back and see us!” I called out as she headed toward the door, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. I don’t know exactly why I’d been worrying about this lately except that it seemed like business might be slowing down. To say I loved my job at Inner Power was a gross understatement. Everything about it fit me—the serenity, the size of the store, the products we sold, the women I worked for.

But we’d been deathly slow all day thanks to a steady, chilly rainstorm hanging low over White Peaks, and weak sales always set me on edge. I guess people felt they could only get metaphysical in good weather or something. In any case, the lack of foot traffic had me tightening my shoulders and searching my brain for ways to bring in more business. There had to be something. Reese, one of the owners, had sensed my tension earlier and asked about it, but I put it down to missing Caressa. Which I did, but that wasn’t the real reason I’d been stressing. The truth is, I don’t want to lose this job.

I’ve been with Inner Power for two years now, and I can’t think of another place in White Peaks I’d rather work. But if we kept having low sales and zero foot traffic, there was a distinct possibility Reese and Kelly might have to let me go. Not that they’d ever mentioned that, but we studied economics in school. I’m not blind to the realities of small business.

I don’t know…maybe I was overreacting.

Maybe I wasn’t.

Maybe I needed to calm down. Meditate. Do a yoga pose, or have a little of that green tea extract myself.

Still, I glanced out the front display window, silently willing customers to simply open the door. Was that so hard? The store is cozy and clean, filled with treasures. Once they come in, I guarantee I can sell them just about anything we stock. Sales, as it turns out, is one of my latent talents. I guess people tend to trust earnest, freckle-faced, redheaded nerd girls. Or maybe they can sense how much I believe in our products. I don’t know.

The rain continued to pelt the street, turning everything a hazy gray. It pinged on the roof, steamed the front door. And no one came in. Dang.

With a sigh, I picked up the ostrich feather duster intending to keep myself busy by making the shop sparkle. Anything’s better than sitting here fretting about the possibility of impending unemployment.

I headed toward the display of crystals, and that’s when I saw her. Jennifer Hamilton.

Again.

She sat on that same park bench where I’d seen her the first time, the day she’d told me she was pregnant. Today, she sat hunched in an oversized gray hoodie she wouldn’t be caught dead in normally. But obviously nothing was normal in her world at the moment. She didn’t have on her usual full face of makeup, and her chunky blond highlights were growing out, exposing a wide alley of mousy brown straight up the middle of her head. Sopping wet at this point. She looked so not Jennifer. So alone, and it made me sad. Maybe she wanted some alone time, but come on. Out there? The rain was really was coming down.

Ever have one of those internal struggle moments?

Count me in, right then.

A pang of that signature Meryl Morgenstern compassion made me forget that, oh yeah, she hated me and my best friends. I tucked the feather duster under one arm and bit my pinky nail, warring with myself over the whole convoluted situation. I didn’t know what to do. Fact: Jennifer Hamilton is Lila’s archenemy now that Lila and Dylan are an item. Not only that, but Jennifer has treated me like a leper since the first day of middle school for absolutely no reason other than the fact that I don’t fit her mold of someone “worthy.” I’d count that as fact number two.

Still, she’s pregnant, friendless, and sitting outside in a chilly rainstorm hanging her head. Dejected. Lost.

Moral dilemma.

What was I to do? Turn away? Reach out? The whole thing was awful.

Some might say her predicament is pure karma in action, that Jennifer deserves what’s befallen her for all the evil things she’s perpetrated over the years. Maybe so, but I just can’t buy into that kind of nanner-nanner meanness. I don’t believe in paybacks. What good do they do?

It only took me a moment to get clear on my decision.

“Reese?” I called toward the back as I set the duster aside and grabbed my rain jacket off of the coat rack adjacent to the door. Reese and her partner (in life and business) Kelly had started Inner Power together, and I loved them like second moms, even though they aren’t old enough to be my moms really.

“Yeah, hon?” The familiar rhythm of the adding machine permeated the shop as background. Reese is old-fashioned when it comes to tallying up sales. So cool.

“I’m going to run outside for a minute if that’s okay.”

“It’s pouring, you know.”

“I have a slicker,” I said. I crossed to the back of the shop and peeked my head into the office. “I’ll watch the front door. If any customers show up, I’ll follow them in so you don’t have to interrupt your work, okay?”

She smiled. Her long dark hair was wound into a messy knot at the back of her head with an ink pen stuck through it. “That’s fine. Try and stay dry.”

“Right,” I replied in a wry tone.

The bell jangled over the door as I exited. I grimaced at the tiny bullets of rain that immediately pelted my face, then lifted the hood of my bright yellow slicker over my head and tucked my chin into my chest. The pavement had that chalky rain smell, which I usually loved, but to be honest, right then I couldn’t enjoy it. I was concerned for Jennifer. I was concerned that Lila would hate me for being concerned.

Concern, concern, concern.

I know, I’m a sap. A doormat. A sucker.

Bottom line, Jennifer hates me, so why should I care?

That was the Great Imponderable.

The thing is, if I were in her predicament—not that I ever would be—I’d want someone to reach out. Period. Her fair-weather friends obviously didn’t want anything to do with her now that her life had gone from wild popularity to sad statistic, and she didn’t seem to have anyone else. I mean, her mom wasn’t even sitting there with her. It just seemed so wrong to me.

After looking both ways at the curb, I jogged across the desolate street, my shoes slapping up sprays of water that soaked my socks and the ankles of my jeans. On the other side, I sat on the bench next to Jennifer without saying a word, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I huddled into myself, stuffing my cold hands into my pockets. For a minute, we stayed that way, tight from the chill, awkward from our not-so-pleasant history.

Finally, she sniffed. “What do you want?”

“Are you okay?”

She huffed, sounding utterly miserable. “Yeah, right. I’m just great. I’m knocked up, exhausted, and my boobs totally hurt. Senior year is ruined, my parents are so utterly disappointed with me that you’d think it was World War Three in our house, and my so-called friends are talking about me behind my back. I’m just peachy, Mary,” she said, with heavy sarcasm. “My life is one big F-ing party.”

A renewed tense silence stretched between us. I guess it had been a pretty inane question now that I thought about it, but she didn’t have to be so bitchy. “Meryl,” I said, finally.

“Huh?”

“My name is Meryl, not Mary.”

“Oh.”

No apology, just more silence. I cleared my throat. “So, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“About the baby.”

She hiked one shoulder. “Have it. I guess. What else is there to do? You can’t exactly clench up and keep it in.”

I didn’t feel like it was my place to point out all the various options. This whole conversation was weird enough already. “Is everything progressing…normally?”

“I guess.” She glanced over at me then, her narrowed eyes laced with suspicion.

I expected her to grill me about invading her personal business, but she didn’t. I remained silent, giving her the next opportunity to speak.

“You work there?” she asked, hiking her chin toward the pretty purple façade of Inner Power.

“Yes.”

She studied me from head to toe. “You’re not a witch, are you? I heard that was some kind of a witch store.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. Obviously she’d never been inside, but then again, why would she? We didn’t carry designer purses. “It’s a metaphysical shop. There’s a Wiccan section, but there’s more to the shop than that. It’s very cool, actually.”

She nodded, then crinkled her nose. “Yeah, but isn’t it run by a couple of lesbians?”

Okay, line crossed. The back of my neck prickled at her judgmental tone, and I stiffened, immediately second-guessing my decision to be the bigger person and come out here. Pick on me all you want, but don’t judge my friends. “Reese and Kelly have been together since college. They’re one of the most loving, stable couples I know. Yeah, they’re two women,” I added, in a snappish tone. “So what? This is the twenty-first century, in case you haven’t noticed.”

My uncharacteristic lashing out seemed to subdue her. After a moment, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I’m not exactly in the position to question other people’s choices, am I?” She shrugged. “After all, if I’d chosen to be a lesbian instead of a post-breakup slut, I wouldn’t be in this predicament, would I?”

I didn’t bother launching into the “homosexuality isn’t a choice” lecture. That’s what I believe, but she could believe whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t bash people I care about in my presence. “You’re not a slut just because you happen to be pregnant,” I said instead. Speaking of judgmental. I hate the crap society piles on women. What about the guy? Was he a slut?

“Well, you’re the only person who thinks that,” she muttered.

I took a deep breath. “What are you doing out here?”

A beat passed. “Sitting.”

Queen of the obvious, this girl. She was shivering violently, I noticed, and her fingers were white. Her normally perfect manicure consisted of chipped purple polish and nails bit to the quick. My (irritating) compassionate side returned. I silently forgave her for the ignorant comments about Reese and Kelly, even though my annoyance about it still lingered. With a sigh of resignation, I said, “You know, it’s cold out here.”

“Gee, really? You should be a meteorologist.”

My face flamed again, but I told myself her snotty tone was a self-protective measure and ignored it as best I could. “Well, if you’re just sitting, why don’t you come inside the shop?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are some comfy chairs. I’ll make tea. You can stay as long as you like and no one will bother you. We’re that kind of shop. Inclusive.”

“Are you serious?”

I nodded. “You know us lesbian witches. Sweet to the core,” I said, in as sarcastic a tone as I could ever manage, which wasn’t saying much. Lila, now she was president of the Snark and Sarcasm Society. I wasn’t even an associate member.

Jennifer flicked a surprised glance my way. “Are you—? Oh. No.” She shook off the notion. “You’re dating that Bosnian guy.”

“They actually name their children in Bosnia now.”

“Huh?”

I sighed. Subtlety was totally lost on Jennifer. “His name is Ismet, not ‘that Bosnian guy,’ and yeah, I was only kidding. But you’re more than welcome to come in the shop. Everyone is,” I added, hoping she’d get the gist that we didn’t discriminate, and maybe she should follow suit.

She hesitated, lifting her eyes to study the storefront again.

“Look, it’s just an offer. I can understand you wanting to get out of the house, be alone, but there’s no reason for you to stay outside.”

After a moment, she asked in a low tone, “Why?”

“Um, because it’s pouring rain?”

“No. I mean, why are you being nice to me?” She met my gaze steadily.

Good question, but unexpected. “I—”

“Face it, we both know I’ve never been the least bit nice to you. In fact, I’ve treated you like dirt for years.”

True enough. A triumphant thrill rushed through me from the simple fact of her acknowledging what a witch (ha ha) she’s always been, but I maintained my composure. And I told her the truth. “Because you’re alone. You’re sad. And you’re sitting in a downpour right in front of the shop where I can see you.” I paused. “I know you don’t like me, and that’s fine. I have all the friends I need. But, like you said, I also know what it feels like to constantly be treated like dirt.”

Her face reddened.

“I can’t stand by and watch you shivering and miserable out here.” I spread my arms. “Think what you will about me, but I’m not a mean person like that.”

“No,” she said, softly. Almost too softly for me to hear. “You aren’t.”

Those three simple words melted my iciness. I jostled her shoulder with mine. “So, what do you say?”

She shrugged, but her voice came out watery sounding, like she could barely hold back tears. “Whatever.”

I stood, then waited.

After a moment, Jennifer stood, too.

As we crossed the street, curiosity got the better of me. I asked, “So, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you mean what you said about…um…your boobs really hurting?”

“Pain like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, rolling her eyes toward the sky. “Imagine pre-period soreness and then magnify it about a hundred times. And they’re getting ugly stretch marks on the sides, which is probably more than you wanted to hear. I guess it’s a normal part of pregnancy.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. The pain keeps me awake at night. That and the peeing every five seconds. This baby stuff just…sucks.”

I nodded. “Have you thought about adoption?”

Her eyebrow furrowed. “Why would I adopt? I’m already pregnant.”

I laughed that time—just couldn’t help it. The Society of the Profoundly Obtuse has a poster child, apparently, and her name is Jennifer Hamilton. “No. I meant about giving the baby up for adoption.”

“Oh. Duh. Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Because of…the boob thing?”

“That, and the constant worry.” She shrugged. “My brain doesn’t seem to work right on sleep deprivation.”

“No one’s does.” I pulled the door to the shop open and the bell jangled. “It’s me, Reese!” I called out.

“Okay, hon,” she hollered back, distractedly.

“Reese,” Jennifer said. “Is she one of the—?”

“Owners,” I said sharply, cutting off whatever ignorant comment she was about to make, because I truly didn’t want to punch a pregnant girl, even if she pushed me to the edge. “Yes, she is.”

The warmth and soothing vibe of Inner Power wrapped around us like a hug. I watched Jennifer rubbing her hands together, taking it all in. She looked pleasantly surprised that we weren’t sacrificing goats or virgins or something in here. Oh—I guess I should’ve left that virgin part off, just to be sensitive to the situation. “So? Adoption?” I prompted, since she hadn’t answered.

She unzipped her soaked hoodie and shook it over the entrance mat, the water droplets making little ploppity-plop sounds as they hit the rubber.

I pointed toward the totally cool coat tree fashioned out of real tree branches, and she hung it up. I did the same with my slicker.

“Well, since my parents are threatening me hourly unless I do put the baby up for adoption, yeah, I’ve thought about it. But they’re just being such jerks, always hammering it into my head that I’m a disappointment.” Her chin quivered. She pressed her lips together until it stopped, and I extended her the courtesy of acting like I hadn’t seen. “That fact alone makes me want to do the opposite of what they want,” she finished, her tone bitter.

“Yeah, but be realistic. Are you ready to be a mom?”

She blew out a sigh. “No. No way.”

“Then forget rebelling against your parents and think about what you want to do.” I raised my palms. “I mean, do you really want to pull an ‘I’ll show you’ with your parents and wind up with a baby at seventeen?”

“No, you’re right. It all just sucks. I’m overwhelmed and just…overwhelmed.” She hiked her shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know another word for it.”

I decided to drop the subject. Instead, I spread my arms to encompass the cozy store. “So, this is the place.”

She peered around again. “It’s cute. And it smells good in here.”

“Essential oils. And candles.” I gestured toward the super-comfy chairs in one corner of the book section. “Feel free to look around, but if you want to just sit, those chairs are the primo spot.”

“I’ll sit for now. I’m so exhausted.”

“I guess that’s normal, too. Right?”

She nodded. “Especially in the first trimester.”

“Do you want some herbal tea?”

Her nose crinkled. “Do you have hot chocolate?”

I nodded. “My own private stash. Marshmallows?”

“Sure.” A small, pensive look strained the corners of her mouth. “Meryl, wait.”

I stopped. Turned. Crossed my arms.

“Let me just…say something.”

She hesitated, and I have to say it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Jennifer looking genuine, free of agendas or meanness. It softened her sharp edges and actually made her look pretty—no makeup, dressed like a slob, bad dye job and everything.

She cleared her throat. “I still don’t fully understand why you’d be this nice to me after…everything. I mean”—pain and, dare I say, embarrassment? tightened her eyes—“it’s definitely not how I’d react if the situation was reversed, which says a lot about my personality, I guess. But…thank you. I mean it.”

I chose my words carefully. “Some people don’t see the point in being nasty for nasty’s sake,” I said, before heading to the back for the cocoa.

Just remember how nice I’m being once your trauma ends.

And how good it feels when people aren’t evil to you.

I wished I could say it out loud, but that’s Jennifer’s life lesson to learn in her own time. The best I can do is lead by example, I suppose.

*

Two hours later, Jennifer was sound asleep in one of the narcolepsy chairs (my pet name for them, because they were soooo comfortable) with alternative birthing books piled up around her. I tiptoed over and glanced at the open one on her lap. I’m always curious about what other people are reading.

Bending down, I read a few lines.

Well, well. Jennifer “isn’t that a witch store?” Hamilton was reading up on the ancient Navajo Blessingway ceremony to celebrate a woman’s transition into motherhood, which isn’t exactly mainstream fare. Interesting. The Navajos say, “Whatever happens here on earth must first be dreamed,” and that’s what a Blessingway’s all about. It made me wonder if she was considering keeping the baby. And that made me think about Lila, and what she would think if she walked into the store right this very second.

My chest tightened.

Gosh, this being a good person vs. being a loyal friend stuff is super difficult. Really, it shouldn’t be mutually exclusive, but that all depends on who’s the father of Jennifer’s baby. If it is Dylan, I can’t blame Lila for her feelings. I should just ask Jennifer, but I was afraid to hear the answer.

Awful.

I went crossed to the cash wrap area and plunked my elbows onto the countertop, then rested my forehead in my hands. I was going to have to tell Lila about Jennifer. If only I knew how. Just then, Reese emerged from the back room in mid-comment about placing an order for some new soy candles or something.

I glanced up and laid a finger across my lips, then pointed toward Jennifer. Reese raised her perfectly arched eyebrows, then tilted her head toward the back room. I followed her.

“Okay, so who’s sleeping beauty out there?” she asked in a soft tone. She yanked the pen out of the knot at the back of her head and her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders. She ran her spread fingers through it, brushing it away from her face.

“She’s this girl,” I said with a sigh.

Reese smirked. “I can see that.”

“Actually, she hates me.”

Bewilderment. “What?”

Way to explain things clearly, Meryl. I flipped my hand. “She’s in the popular group, and I’m totally not. You know how high school is.”

“Ah. Unfortunately yes. Why is she here, then?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Oh! Poor thing.” A shadow crossed Reese’s expression. “But that still doesn’t explain why she’s here.”

I twisted my mouth to the side and nodded. “It’s really complicated, Reese, and I’m so confused.”

She steered me over and sat me down in her desk chair, then leaned one hip on the desk. “Talk to me.”

I quickly explained about the whole Dylan / Lila angle and the fact that Jennifer’s parents weren’t exactly supportive. “But, the thing is, even though she doesn’t like me, even though my best friend is her archenemy, even though…all of it…she’s so alone and scared, and I can’t stand it. I saw her. She was sitting out in the rain, and I just…” I shrugged.

After a moment of studying my no doubt ravaged face, Reese gave me a hug. “You’re an awesome soul, Mer. And she is welcome here anytime.”

I cringed, glancing at the floor.

“There’s something else?”

I nodded. “She’s not exactly what you’d call a progressive thinker when it comes to gay stuff. I’m afraid she might say something ignorant.”

Reese laughed. “That’s probably because she thinks she doesn’t know any gay people, although I guarantee she does. But don’t worry about that. Neither Kelly nor I need your protection from the bigots of the world. You just be you, okay?”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Thank you.” Another nagging question kept me sitting there, though. I wanted to let it go, but I couldn’t seem to. I’d been worrying about it for way too long, and I needed to get it off my chest. “Um, can I ask you one other thing?”

She crossed one foot over the other. “Shoot.”

“We didn’t have many customers today.”

She brushed it off. “Eh. Rain.”

“But”—I swallowed thickly, and my heart started to thud—“I guess what I’m asking is, you won’t have to, ah, fire me or lay me off anytime soon, will you?”

Crossing her arms, Reese shook her head slowly. Her brown eyes softened. “You’ve been stressing about this all day, haven’t you?”

My face heated. “Sort of all week. Or…maybe longer.”

“Listen, hon. Kelly and I would take every other measure possible before we ever lost you as an employee, okay? You have nothing to worry about. We’re smart about the business, and one slow day isn’t going to kill it.”

I released a long breath. “Oh, good. I didn’t mean to imply that you and Kelly aren’t good businesspeople.”

“I know that, Mer.”

I held up my palm. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I was just worried because I can’t think of anyplace I’d want to work besides here.”

She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “And we can’t think of anyone else we’d want to work here, so that’s one less thing for your overactive imagination to focus on. Deal?”

I giggled. “Deal.”

“Meryl?” came a sleepy voice from the shop floor. Jennifer. For some reason, that made my heart rev. Now she and Reese would have to meet. I know Reese told me not to worry about the whole gay issue, but I swear, if Jennifer said something rude—

Reese gave me a little nudge. “There she is. Come on. Introduce me to your friend.”

My tummy plunged. I felt radically disloyal to Lila, consumed with guilt, torn in so many different directions, I just wanted to run. “She’s not really my friend.”

Reese lowered her chin. “There are many definitions of friendship, and the best thing about it?” She paused. “It’s ever expanding, just like love. Plenty to go around.”

I hesitated.

“You aren’t taking away from your friendship with Lila by showing kindness to Jennifer. That, I promise. Lila will come to understand.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I felt a little bit better knowing Reese was on my side. At the same time, I felt slightly worse that there were even sides to take.

Torn. That was the word of the day.

Good thing Reese and Kelly always seem to make things so simple and straightforward, but I wasn’t so sure. As we walked out to meet Jennifer, I prayed Reese was right this time. Because as much as I sympathized with Jennifer, I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt or alienate Lila. Ever.

If it came down to a choice, well, there simply wasn’t one.

Chapter Seven

You know your life has to be in pretty rotten shape if the fact that your father is doing your boyfriend’s mother slips from the top spot on the Things in My Life That Suck chart because something worse comes along.

But, there you have it.

My boyfriend’s ex? Pregnant.

Suck ranking? Numero uno, baby.

I still can’t get over it. And since there’s no chance in hell the conception had been of the immaculate variety, knowing Jennifer, odds are decent that my boyfriend had a hand in it. Or a, you know, a something in it.

Bleh. The images in my head, God!

I can’t even stand the thought that the two of them might have had sex. Even though I’m not ready to have sex, it feels like she has a part of him that I don’t, which kills me. Every time it pops into my brain, I get dizzy and have to lie down. Even worse? I haven’t managed to cowgirl up and just ask him, nor has he said a thing. Instead, I’ve gone the avoidance route, concocting lame excuses about why I can’t see him, spending my days pounding the pavement in search of a job that didn’t land near the top of the omnipresent Suck Chart with the rest of my life.

Not that anything could beat the pregnancy debacle.

Not even Dad and Chloe. Astonishing, really.

By day three of my job search, I’d realized, with a sobering certainty, that I was totally screwed. None of the shops or restaurants had open positions. Mountain Lion Coffee had more than its share of baristas, and no, they didn’t need someone to sweep up and clean the bathrooms—the baristas did that, too.

Yes, folks, I’d actually begged to be a janitor.

But the low point was being wait-listed by freakin’ Burger Wonder. I mean, come on! I wasn’t even number one on the list. I was tenth. If that isn’t an ego killer, I don’t know what is.

My stomach wound itself into knots of worry and dismay. I wandered through town in a daze, like some amnesiac from rural Canada who’d found herself here but didn’t know why. I honestly didn’t know where to turn, but the bottom line was, I’d promised my dad I’d find a job, and I was frighteningly close to the “no more options” point.

And then there was the Jennifer thing.

And the Chloe thing.

And the missing Caressa thing.

It was all too much.

I sank onto an empty bench along Main Street and launched a massive pity party for moi, hosted by moi, and attended only by—you guessed it—moi. Why, why, why had I blown off the whole summer job scramble when all my peers were vying to snap up the best positions first? Because I’d worked soooo hard as a Police Explorer all school year? Because I felt entitled to hang out with my boyfriend and / or contemplate my toenails for three months while my friends worked? What a loser. I was worse than Luke the Puke.

Dejected, stressed, defeated, I started to cry. Not sob, but just sit there, immobile, while tears streamed down my cheeks. God, what was I going to do? No way could I pay Dad back for the totally cool car at this rate. Would I have to return it? Everything around me blurred, but I didn’t bother to wipe my eyes. What did it matter?

I heard the jangle of a bell as a door to one of the local (not hiring, of course) businesses opened, but I didn’t even waste the effort to look up. I sniffed, then crossed my arms around my body and slumped into my misery.

“Lila?”

Jolted, I smeared at my eyes and blinked up. Chloe. Perfect. How totally humiliating. “Hi,” I said without one iota of enthusiasm.

“I thought that was you.” A line of worry bisected her forehead. “Is everything okay, hon? Did you and Dylan have an argument?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I sniffled. “I haven’t actually seen him in a few days.”

She cocked her head. “Because there’s a problem between you two?”

“No,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. “Because I’ve been killing myself looking for a job.”

“Ah.” She took a seat next to me, and I scooted a cheek to give her more room. She reached over and took one of my hands in both of hers, which I have to admit felt good. Mom-like. “Do you want to talk about it?”

For some unfathomable reason, I opened my mouth and started unburdening myself in a manic babble. Yes, to Chloe.

“No one is hiring,” I said, in a boogery, watery tone. “At least, not anymore. I’ve been searching nonstop, but everyone’s already hired help for the summer—of course. I have to pay Dad back for the car and…I just—”

“Come on.” Chloe stood, but didn’t release my hand.

I peered up at her. “What?”

“Come into the travel agency.” She angled her head toward the door and tugged at my arm. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee and we have cookies.”

“I’m not hungry.” I hadn’t had an appetite since I’d learned about Jennifer, frankly, and this ungainfully unemployed status was only making it worse. At this rate, I’d wind up looking like one of those shivering Chihuahua-esque Hollywood starlets by the time school started.

“So forget the cookies.” She eyed me knowingly. “But I bet you wouldn’t turn down a cup of coffee.”

True. I’d wanted to buy one at Mountain Lion, but I felt guilty for spending the money, so I’d piously restrained myself. “Okay. Coffee sounds good.”

As we walked toward the front door of High Country Travel, which Chloe managed, some blurty, reckless part of me wanted to ask her if Dylan and Jennifer had ever had sex. But then again, how would she know? I guarantee, if I were having sex, which I am not, my father wouldn’t have clue number one—I’d make darn sure of that.

But maybe Chloe had women’s intuition…?

No. Total party foul to front my boyfriend like that, especially to his mother. Even if he had gotten his ex-girlfriend pregnant. Emphasis on if. “I’m sorry to interrupt your workday,” I said instead.

“You’re not interrupting. We’re always a bit slow at this time of day, for some reason.” She pulled open the door and stood aside to let me enter first.

As businesses go, it wasn’t huge. Then again, none of the businesses along Main Street were, because the buildings were historic and protected. But they had character. High Country Travel was light, bright, and inviting. Huge destination posters adorned the walls, places like Budapest and Hong Kong, Paris and Nepal. Four desks occupied the main room, each with its own computer, and cabinets ran all along the exposed brick wall in the back, with machines on the countertops, like faxes, copiers, scanners, and such.

They might be in a slow period, but the place gave off a good, busy vibe. A couple of other women bustled around carrying papers or packages, and the one male travel agent was on the phone waving his hand around as he spoke a foreign language I couldn’t discern. I bet Meryl would know what it was.

I took a deep breath and let my shoulders fall on the exhale. “It’s nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said. She gestured to a chair in front of the largest desk that sat near the front window. “Have a seat. I’ll get you that coffee.”

I did so. While she was gone, I spied brochures for New York City in a rack up front, under the big windows. I scurried over and took one. Maybe they’d have pictures of Tribeca, or at least a paragraph about it. I was leafing through it when Chloe returned with two steaming mugs.

I twisted my mouth shyly, holding up the brochure. “I’m totally missing Caressa.”

“I bet you are. Have you ever been to New York City?”

“No. But I’d love to go. I wish I could see Caressa’s show, you know?”

She arched her eyebrows thoughtfully. “That would be an experience to remember. Feel free to keep the brochure.”

“Thanks.”

She sat with her elbows propped on her desk blotter, studying me for a sec like she had something else to say.

I gulped. Did she know about Jennifer?

“Lila, do you know what a go-fer is?”

Uh, okay, hadn’t expected that out-there question. A gopher? How stupid did she think I was? I tried not to sound sarcastic or indignant when I answered. “Well, yeah. It’s one of those ugly rodent things.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, then she laughed out loud, exposing her perfect teeth. Dylan had the same choppers, thanks to the weird but cool phenomenon of heredity. “Not that kind of gopher. I mean the kind of go-fer who works for a business, does odd jobs. Copying, filing, refilling the brochure racks, taking packages to the post office. That sort of thing.”

“I hadn’t heard of that kind, no,” I said, feeling dumb. And dumber. But why did they refer to this person as a gopher anyway?

She crossed her legs to the side and sort of studied me over her shoulder. “We could use one here at the agency.”

“A gopher?” My heart gave a thunk, and I glanced behind me toward the front display window. “Really? I didn’t notice a help wanted sign—”

“That’s because we haven’t been actively looking,” she said, then held up a hand. “I know, totally uncool to work for your boyfriend’s mom and all that—”

“No,” I lied in a rush, desperate for any option, even that. “That’s not what I was thinking.” Even though it maybe kinda was. I swallowed and gripped my coffee mug tighter, not wanting to appear even more ignorant by making assumptions that she might be offering me the job, even if all clues pointed to that. “Are you…am I—?”

“Would you like the job?”

My tummy took the express elevator to the bottom floor, crashing somewhere around my feet. “You mean I don’t have to interview or anything?”

Chloe laughed again. “I think I know you well enough to vouch for you.”

A zing of guilt rushed through me. Maybe, but she didn’t know me well enough to realize that my goal for the summer was to break up her and my dad. Still, I wasn’t about to turn down this chance. “I’d love the job. Really?”

“Really.”

I blew out a huge breath of relief. “I thought I was going to have to settle for Burger Wonder, even though I’m tenth on the waiting list, so it would’ve been a while. Still, God, have you seen those embarrassing uniforms?”

“No uniforms here,” she said with a smile. “Just nice, casual clothes. Slacks, skirts. And since you’ll be carrying packages and things, jeans are fine for you, too. Just no shorts unless our air-conditioning breaks, which it usually does about once a summer on the only day we really need it.”

I smiled. “Okay.” I sipped my coffee, noticing my hands had begun to shake. After I’d swallowed, I thought I should act at least a little professional. I asked, “What, um, exactly will the job entail?”

“Well, I’d need you four hours a day, Monday through Friday. Morning’s fine if that works for you, so it doesn’t cut into your fun time too much. Or whenever.”

“Morning’s great,” I assured her. That was usually when Dylan worked. Sweet.

“Like I said, you’ll be doing all the busywork that takes away valuable booking time from the travel agents. Making copies, sending faxes, shipping things, restocking, sorting and distributing mail. The occasional coffee or lunch run. Does that sound tolerable?”

Tolerable? “It sounds fine.”

“Wonderful. I can pay you ten dollars an hour—”

“What?” My eyes bugged and I almost dropped my coffee.

“I’m sorry, that’s all the budget will allow.”

“No, I meant that’s great! Burger Wonder pays crap—excuse my language—and they make you wear those hats that look like a thing of French fries.”

“Don’t forget having to say ‘Have a Burger Wonderful Day’ to customers as they leave,” she teased.

“So you’ve been there,” I said with a smirk.

“Who hasn’t? The outfits are hideous, to be sure, but they have great burgers.”

True enough. I did quick salary calculations in my head. At ten bucks an hour, twenty hours a week, I just might be able to pay my dad off by the end of the summer if I scrimped. “I really appreciate you helping me out like this, Chloe. But, um…well, this is dumb.”

“What? Just ask me.”

I twisted my mouth apologetically. “Can I be called something other than a gopher? That job title is like asking to be ridiculed.”

She smiled. “How about office assistant?”

“Much better,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem. It’ll really help us out having an office assistant.” Her gaze drifted to the desktop and she bit the corner of her mouth. After a sec, she looked up again. “And it’ll be a good opportunity for you and I to get to know each other better,” she said, in a softer tone.

My gaze bounced around, unsure where to land. “Uh…”

“I was your age once, Lila. I know the fact that I’m dating your dad is…difficult for you.”

I started to blurt a denial, then chose not to. Why bother lying about it, you know? My face flamed.

She leaned a little closer. “Maybe you’ll come to realize that I’m not so big a threat and you have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” I stutter-fibbed, setting my empty coffee mug on the edge of her desk. So much for the not lying, huh?

She bestowed a patient, knowing smile. “Can you start tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”

“Definitely.” I gave Chloe Sebring a genuine grin, the first in a long time. Then, in a moment of impulse, I rounded her desk and hugged her. “You don’t know what this means to me. I’ll let you get back to work now, but thank you.” We split apart, and I sort of backed toward the door.

“No. Thank you,” she said. “For giving me a chance.”

As I left, I wasn’t sure if she meant a chance with the job or a chance with my father, but all I knew was, Chloe had just about saved my life. And right then, I didn’t even mind that she was sleeping with my dad.

Well…at least not as much.

*

On the way home, I decided to pop into Inner Power to (1) tell Meryl about my good fortune, and (2) buy a gratitude candle to burn in my room. She was dusting or something and looked up when I passed the window and waved at her. Dude, I have to say I’ve never seen Meryl move so fast, but before I could even reach for the door handle, she’d come outside and was standing in front of me.

“What are you, a sprinter now?” I joked.

“No, just…what’s up?” she asked, all breathless.

I frowned at her, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?”

“Oh. Okay.” Whatever. “I was just coming by to tell you I found a job.”

All weirdness fell away and she smiled broadly. “Lila, that’s fantastic! Not Burger Wonder, I hope.”

“No, but you’re not going to believe it.”

“Tell me,” she said, bouncing.

“I’m working for Chloe.” I crinkled my nose. “Horribly hypocritical of me, but it’s an awesome job as an office assistant at the travel agency.”

Meryl clasped her hands at her chest. For the record, Mer was the only person I knew who actually did things like clasp her hands at her chest without looking odd. “What a great way for you two to get to know each other better,” she said, sounding more mature than the rest of us—like always.

“That’s what she said.” I gestured toward the door. “Can we go in? I want to pick up a gratitude candle to burn.”

Her face paled, and it’s hard to say that about a freckle-faced redhead. It’s like saying a puppy suddenly got fuzzy. But seriously, she paled. “Oh, I’ll pick you up one as a congrats gift and bring it to your house later.”

“Meryl, that’s nice, but Chloe’s paying me ten bucks an hour—”

“Wow!”

“I know. And thanks for the offer, but I think the gratitude vibe will be stronger if I buy my own candle this time.” I started to bypass her.

“No, it works either way.” She grabbed my arm to stop me. “Lila, I…”

Now this was definitely weird. “Meryl Morgenstern, what’s going on? You’re acting—”

Just then the door opened a crack, and a girl with light brownish blond hair pulled back into a ponytail stuck her head out. “Meryl, Reese wants to know if—”

My gut spasmed.

Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton.

I hadn’t recognized her sans highlights and a spackle-thick layer of makeup coating her rapidly widening face.

“Oh,” the two of us said, in dazed unison.

Hellspawn recovered first. “I’ll tell Reese you’ll be back in a sec,” Jennifer said to Meryl, quickly disappearing back inside the shop.

Silence descended. My heart thrummed in my chest, and Meryl looked miserable, as well she should. This was a pretty huge friendship omission. I didn’t want to feel angry or betrayed, but I couldn’t help it. I lowered my tone to a rasp. “What the hell is she doing inside Inner Power?”

“Working.” She quirked her mouth. “Sort of.”

Jealousy stabbed through me, and it didn’t feel good. My hands tightened into fists at my side. “You told me they weren’t hiring.”

“They weren’t. They didn’t, Lila,” Meryl pleaded. “I know it’s going to sound weird, maybe even like a lie, but I swear it’s true. She’s working for free.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Huh? Jennifer is doing volunteer work? Riiiight.”

“It’s not like that,” Meryl said.

I paced about five feet away to gather my wildly bucking emotions, then stomped back. “Then please, please, tell me what it is like, because I’m feeling really awful right about now.”

Meryl sighed, and then this huge story just came tumbling out of her mouth. A bench, rainstorm, ugly hoodie, chunky highlights showing huge roots. Reaching out, feeling guilty, hot chocolate, Blessingway ceremonies (heh?). “So, Reese and I both told her she was welcome to hang out in the shop if she needed to get away from her parents and their issues, and she took it to heart. She just started just showing up. Every day.”

“Stalker,” I muttered.

Meryl went on. “After she followed me around so much, I got to the point where I shoved a feather duster in her hand and sent her over to dust the angel and goddess statues, just to get her off my back. And”—Meryl shrugged helplessly, her eyes brimming with tears—“she never left. I would never do anything to hurt you, Lila. You’re my best friend in the world. You and Caressa. We’re the Three Amigas forever. Please believe me.”

I crossed my arms and sighed, kicking the toe of my pink checkered Chuck Taylor into the sidewalk. The thing is, I did believe her. But did she think I was such a hateful wench that I wouldn’t have understood had she told me about Stalker Jennifer?

I pondered that.

And, you know, I could understand if she felt that way.

“I’m not going to be her friend,” I said stiffly.

“I don’t expect you to be,” Meryl said. “I’m not really friends with her either. We don’t hang out or anything.”

I nodded. “What happened to her blond highlights?”

“Kelly gave her some natural henna treatment to darken her back to her natural color. I guess you’re not supposed to dye your hair with regular hair dye when you’re pregnant or something, and she was starting to look like a four-lane highway ran down the middle of her head.”

I couldn’t even laugh. My chest was too tight. “Is the baby Dylan’s?” I asked quietly.

Meryl’s blue eyes widened. “You think I wouldn’t tell you that if I knew?”

I huffed. “Well, gee, I don’t know.”

“I haven’t asked her.” She spread her arms, looking hurt. “I told you, it’s not like we’re bosom buddies. I’m just being me. I’m trying to pay it forward, show her by example that life is much more pleasant when you’re not a bitch.”

Right. Jennifer had cornered the market on bitchy. “Is it working?” I asked in a skeptical tone.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. That’s her journey. Mine is just to do the right thing.”

Silence descended. It was so hard to stay mad at Meryl when she was just being…Meryl, the oddball girl I’d known and loved for so long. Truthfully, I admired her for having the decency to reach out to a person who had no one else. I just hated that it was Hellspawn. That was small and petty and nothing I was proud of, but there you have it. I guess that was my journey—abdicating the pettiness from my heart and mind.

Maybe tomorrow.

Finally, Meryl cleared her throat. “Her pregnancy is none of my business, Lila, and she doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. Nor do I. She comes into Inner Power to get away from her problems.”

“And to steal my best friend,” I said, feeling my face heat up when I realized I sounded like a petulant, insecure child.

Meryl gasped. “Do you honestly think she could do that?”

I thought about it. “No. But she might try since she doesn’t have any of her own.” I crossed my arms. “She thinks I stole her boyfriend, after all.”

“Who cares? It wouldn’t work anyway even if she did try, which she isn’t. I wish you’d believe me.”

“Okay. But…still,” I muttered.

“She’s just…here, Lila. I promise. And this whole pregnancy thing has knocked her down several notches. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s changed.”

“I don’t.”

“She actually apologized for having treated me horribly over the years.” Meryl raised her eyebrows. “Does that sound like the Jennifer we all knew and loathed?”

“Probably some part of her evil plan.”

Meryl eased out a sigh. “There is no evil plan. She has no friends, like you said. Nobody. Everyone dumped her, as if pregnancy is contagious or something. And you know how welcoming Reese and Kelly are. They’re like the ultimate cool aunts everyone wants to hang out with. She started out with all these asinine homophobic beliefs that made me want to smack her—”

“Go figure.”

“I know.” Meryl grimaced. “I almost punched her.”

Ah, my first smile of the day.

“But the more she’s around Reese and Kel, the kinder she’s becoming. She’s bonding with them. It’s a good thing.”

I sniffed. “How do you know for sure that she isn’t launching some scheme to hang out with you?”

“Because I know,” Meryl said softly, like she really did. “Personally, I think you should just ask Dylan if he’s the father. Get it over with. Odds are, he isn’t, and the two of you can move on. In the meantime, Inner Power is just walking the talk, welcoming everyone, serving as a haven.”

She had a point. My anger dissipated, but a rush of fear replaced it. I bit my lip. “I’m so afraid to ask Dylan.”

“Oh, come on,” Meryl said, in a tone that felt like she’d shaken me by the shoulders. “The Lila Moreno I know isn’t afraid of jack shit.”

My jaw dropped open, and I blinked up at my best friend. “Meryl Morgenstern, did you just swear?”

Her cheeks reddened. “I was just trying to make a point. Besides, I swear.”

“You don’t say stuff like ‘jack shit,’” I said, laughing.

“I do now,” she said, all tough-girl. Well, as tough as Meryl could get, which was sort of like Disney bunny tough-girl. Then just as quickly, her face sort of crumpled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I was going to tell you, I swear. Are we okay?”

I opened my arms and we hugged. “Of course we’re okay. How can I fault you for being the person I know you are? Just, next time, trust me enough to tell me sooner.”

“I will. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And if she tries to steal you to be her best friend, I’ll kick her butt.”

“There is no chance of that.” She squeezed me harder. “I’m just trying to be the bigger person. That’s all.”

We pulled apart. I took a deep breath and blew it out. “So, you’ll come over tonight? Bring me that gratitude candle? Maybe we can even do a group IM with Caressa, celebrate the fact that I can take myself off the dreaded Burger Wonder waiting list and won’t have to wear a French fry hat. Ever.”

Meryl smiled with relief. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I’ll totally need you there. This Dylan / Jennifer thing is freaking me out like you wouldn’t believe.” That inner shaking I’d felt for days returned.

“Go ask him,” she said.

I grabbed both of her hands and squished them like tension-relief balls, feeling more scared than I ever had in my life. “I’ll think about it.” Translation: The Land o’ Denial was a much more comfortable place to be, thankyouverymuch, and I’d rather just stay there for a while, bathed in my pretty illusions.

Chapter Eight

Turns out Dylan was sick of being avoided.

My super-cowardly Live in Denial plan? Denied.

When I arrived home, he was sprawled on our front steps drawing cartoon images on the soles of his tennis shoes with a red Sharpie. “Hey,” he said all casual-like, when I got out of my car and closed the door.

“Hey.” I wanted to puke.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Nothing like getting straight to the point. My throat tightened. “No, I’m not. I was looking for a job.”

“And avoiding me,” he said, accustomed to my bullshit. Trust me, his words hadn’t been a question. “All I want to know is, why? Did I do something wrong?”

He was right. We needed to get past this.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. It’s sort of the Latina way, as instilled by my paternal grandma when I was younger. If you don’t know what to say next in any given situation, offer something to eat. The direct route is for wusses. (Right.)

“If it’s not for real food, sure,” he said.

“You’re speaking my language.”

We went for a couple of scoops at I Scream, because it was a normal Dylan and Lila thing to do. Dylan ordered this enormous waffle cone concoction with so many extras, it bordered on barf-worthy. Of course, it wouldn’t put an ounce of extra poundage on the guy (argh!), because the body fat universe is not fair. I settled for a single scoop of butter pecan in a cup.

Loved the stuff. Unfortunately, I couldn’t eat it.

My throat was still clamped and my gut felt as though it was having a grand mal seizure in the middle of a mosh pit, with all kinds of stoned rock fans stomping on it. All during an earthquake. Yeah, that bad. I poked at the ice cream with my plastic spoon while it melted.

We’d taken an umbrella table on the outdoor patio, enjoying (Dylan) or pretending to enjoy (me) the warm breezes, which were, admittedly, a pleasant change from the rain we’d been having over the past week. Despite everything, it was so good to see him. I studied him from beneath my lashes. He didn’t look like a teen father to be, not that I really knew what one would look like. No giant scarlet sperm tattoo on his forehead or anything. It just didn’t seem like such a big part of him was…somewhere else. He looked exactly like my Dylan—nice, fun, weird, sexy.

And then he lunged into this enormous bite.

I shook my head, rethinking the sexy part. Ha, not really. Still, I scoffed. “You’re such a hog, Sebring.”

Unapologetic, he hiked his chin toward my cup while he chewed. Once he’d swallowed (thank goodness his mother had instilled some manners into him), he said, “You aren’t eating.”

I started to make excuses, but stopped myself. “Nope.”

“Why not?” He frowned. “The Lila Moreno I know never met a scoop of butter pecan she didn’t love.”

Now or never.

I garnered my courage. “I have to ask you something.”

I watched him freeze in mid-bite. He probably picked up on the tone or something in my words. But he didn’t seem cornered or worried or guilty. That gave me hope.

He skipped the bite. “Okay, shoot.”

Deep breath in.

Whoosh.

“I’m working with your mom for the summer.”

“Cool. I already knew because she told me.” He paused, lowered his chin. “But that’s not a question.”

My heart shook like a tambourine inside my chest cavity. Was that even safe? Like, did I need immediate medical attention? I’d find out in a moment, that’s was for sure.

“Jennifer Hamilton is pregnant,” I said in a rush, as if it were one long word: jenniferhamiltonispregnant. A German word, one of those super-gigantic compound nouns we learned about in seventh grade when we had one month each of four different languages, French, Spanish, German, and Russian.

Jenniferhamiltonispregnant.

Sprechen Sie Preggo?

He stared at me for several excruciating moments, then set down the remaining part of his porker cone. “I’d heard. But that isn’t a question either, Lila. Which brings up the point, what is your question?”

I blinked at him, feeling exposed and raw, wanting to cry and hating myself for it. Or maybe I should hate him for it. Yeah, much better plan. I mean, I’d never been a big crier. That kind of emotional display had never gone over well with four evil brothers on hand to mock and pummel me at a moment’s notice, so I’d learned to rein it in. And then along came Dylan, the one guy who made me feel all kinds of things I wasn’t used to. Yep, the crying urge? Definitely his fault.

“Lila?”

Oh yeah. The heinous conversation.

Just get it over with!

“Is it yours?” I asked finally, in a near whisper.

Dylan sat in silence so long, I started to think I’d spoken the question in Bosnian, or some other language he didn’t understand. Not that I spoke a second language with any kind of fluency, much to my bilingual dad’s chagrin, but maybe it was a stress reaction from a past life or something, during which I had spoken a different language. Tagalog or Mandarin Chinese or German, with its fun compound nouns. Or perhaps I’d just thought the question and not actually voiced it.

Maybe I was freakin’ insane.

Distinct possibility!

After a full eternity had passed, Dylan reached across the table and took my hand. “Listen to me.”

Oh no. Here it came. I braced myself as if he were going to throw a punch, tightening up the ab muscles and all that.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“I’m listening,” I said, peevishly, to mask my abject fear.

“I never had sex with Jennifer.” Long pause. “Never. Not even close.”

Okay, stop. Rewind.

Not at all what I expected, but the pall started to lift. I tried not to smile, because that would have been crass, I think, considering the conversation. Her life’s totally screwed, but mine isn’t, and it’s all about ME ME ME—YIPPEE-KI-YAY! Just so wrong. Even if she is a hag. “You…you didn’t?”

“No. We weren’t…that close.”

“You weren’t?”

“No. I thought you understood that.”

“You thought I understood it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Polly want a cracker?”

“Huh?”

“You’re repeating everything I say.”

I pulled a face. “Sorry. I’m just…I don’t know. Something. Surprised. Relieved. Stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Don’t sweat it. But please believe me when I say there is no possible way that baby is mine,” he said, enunciating every syllable slowly. “Okay?”

“Swear it?”

“On my Olympic dreams.”

“On your—?”

“Polly,” he said, in a warning tone.

“Oops.”

He reached out and touched my cheek. “Yes, I swear it on my Olympic dreams, so stop freaking out. You have no reason to. Ask Jennifer herself if you think I’m not telling the truth.”

I huffed. “I think I’ll avoid that particular circle of hell, but thanks for the suggestion.” I exhaled a week’s worth of trauma and silently castigated myself for wasting a perfectly good scoop of butter pecan ice cream over worst-case-scenario stress.

Hand churned, people!

If Dylan was willing to swear on his goal of making the U.S. Olympic Ski Team, I had zero doubt that he was telling the truth. That’s nothing he’d take lightly. I almost felt bad for having asked him, now that it was over. I sighed. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I just…I had to know.”

“Of course. I understand.” He seemed to be contemplating digging back into the wreckage of his melting porker cone, then threw a napkin on top of it. Apparently it had lost its appeal. “If our situations were reversed, I would’ve needed to ask you, too. For my own peace of mind.”

“Good thing I’m physiologically incapable of knocking anyone up, I guess.” My tummy flipped. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have used that terminology.”

“It’s okay. Stop apologizing.”

I glanced into my cup. “My ice cream is screwed,” I groused. Oops. “No inappropriate pun intended.”

“Yeah, the pregnancy puns just seem to pop out, don’t they? Hey, there was another one. Pop out.”

We both laughed, then I said, “Gallows humor.”

“Excuse me?”

I flipped my hand. “It’s like when cops joke around on a murder scene. They call it gallows humor. I’m sure Meryl would know the derivation and so forth, but all I know is, cops do it. And not because they’re heartless jerks, but because the reality is so awful, joking around depersonalizes it.”

“Makes sense.” He started to stand. “Hang on. I’ll get you a new cup of ice cream. And a pickle. Ha ha.”

“No.” I swallowed back my need. “Just…stay with me.”

He stilled in this half-crouched pose for several seconds waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he sat. “It sucks for her, though, doesn’t it? All other things aside.”

I didn’t want to feel sympathy for Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton, of all people, but I did. It was almost as if her pregnancy resulted in emotional stretch marks for me and my friends. Namely, Meryl. “Yeah.”

“Her senior year is going to totally blow, if she even goes to school.”

“You think she’ll drop out?” Wow. Hadn’t thought of that.

“I don’t know. But either way, she’ll have to take some time off. And it’s not like you can relive your senior year.”

“Not true. Bart Holyoke did,” I pointed out, referring to our reigning twenty-year-old senior from last year. “Twice.”

He cocked his head. “You know what I mean. Everyone thinks Bart is a joke, even though he’s nice enough. They’re going to think worse of Jennifer, and she’s going to take the full blame for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the pregnancy did take two.”

Oh. “It’s always that way with girls.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

My boyfriend—such a coolio guy.

“No, it doesn’t. But it’s still true.” I planted my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands. “Do you have any idea whose baby it is?”

He pulled his mouth sideways. “I have my suspicions, but the sad part is it could be one of several guys.”

I bugged my eyes, truly shocked by his statement. “Really? I didn’t know Jennifer was…that way.”

“She wasn’t.” He hiked one shoulder. “She took our break-up harder than I’d figured she would and went off the deep end. Which surprises me. Our relationship wasn’t some first love kind of thing, as you well know. I mean, neither of us were exactly into each other.”

“Uh, to put it mildly.” Before we were a couple, he used to confide in me all the time. I was his undateable gal pal. Holy crap, I was Alleged-Boyfriend-Ned to his Nancy! I almost laughed at that, but nipped it off. Talk about inappropriate.

For the love of God, it was almost as if I were incapable of carrying on a serious conversation. I chalked it up to being slap happy with relief, but really I think it’s because I’m not, nor will I ever be, as mature as Meryl. Smart-ass comments just live in my head, like squatters in an abandoned house. Every so often, one of them has to dart out for a six-pack of Pepsi and some chips, you know? “Usually, you could barely stand each other.”

“We had zippo in common.” He shook his head. “What a waste of a year. I’m really not her kind of guy. She’s into image, social climbing, all that stuff that skeeves me out. And, apparently, sleeping around.”

“So true.” I shook my head. “If she wants to hook up, fine, but why wasn’t she careful? We all took the same health class.”

“Who knows? I’m not in her head.” He blew out a breath. “Forget the pregnancy thing. What about STDs? Herpes? HIV? You can’t take that kind of stuff back.”

Well, wasn’t he just Mr. Health Teacher. Not that I didn’t appreciate how responsible he sounded, it just struck me as amusing. “You can’t take a baby back either.”

“So, she’s going to have it?” he asked.

“How would I know, nutjob? I’m the last person she’d talk to.”

“True.”

“I guess people react the way they do, period. I know that’s an obnoxiously obvious statement, but—”

“No. I know what you mean.” He sucked in one side of his cheek. “I do feel sorry for her, though, even though I’ve been on her shit list since we broke up. But I gave up trying to make sense of Jennifer’s logic a long time ago.” He paused. “Have you ever met her parents?”

Clueless male. “Uh, Dyl? I know I haven’t mentioned this much, but ol’ Jen and I don’t exactly run in the same posse,” I said in a wry tone.

He ignored the snarkitude. “Well, they’re all about image. Doesn’t matter what’s on the inside as long as everything looks good on the outside. It’s part of what made Jennifer so irritatingly Jennifer.”

“Pressure. She got that image thing from them.”

“Totally.” He eyed me carefully. “In the interest of full disclosure, I did call to see how she was doing when I heard about the pregnancy. I was just trying to be a decent person. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying not to sound choked off, trying to tamp down the icky emotions welling up inside me.

Relief cooled his expression. “You’ll be relieved to know she blew me off, but she did tell me her mom and dad were treating her like a felon.”

That sour, jealous clench from the mere fact that he’d checked in on her lingered, but I couldn’t help it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wanted a boyfriend who gave a crap in situations such as this. But she was his ex and she despised me. And my friends.

Bigger issue, Lila.

Cowgirl up.

I cleared the green non-Shrek monster from my throat and tried to channel my inner Meryl. “She didn’t tell you what she’s going to do?”

“Nope. She doesn’t confide in me either.”

“She told you about her parents.”

“That’s as far as it went before the whole ‘go to hell’ stuff started. But no way is she ready to be a parent.” He frowned. “She has a helluva lot of growing up to do before that ever happens.”

“Don’t we all. I can’t even imagine.”

Dylan’s expression softened, and he scooted his chair right up next to me. We gazed at each other for a moment, then he leaned in and kissed me softly. “I’m glad you finally asked me instead of making all kinds of assumptions,” he said, his face still close enough that I could feel the warm puffs of his breath. “I know how your whacked mind works—”

“Hey!”

“—but I want us to be able to talk about this stuff. I want us to be able to talk about anything and everything.”

“I’ve never had sex,” I blurted, my skin instantly exploding with heat. I covered my mortification by rambling onward. “And, as much as I…feel…things sometimes when we’re kissing and stuff, I’m not sure I’m ready to. In fact, I know I’m not ready to. Especially after the whole Jennifer situation. Just so you know. It’s scary.” I paused, pressing my lips together. “Crap, I can’t believe I just said all that.” Commence dying now.

He touched my cheek and kissed me again. “Well, news flash, I’ve never had sex before either.”

Shock cut through me like a lightning arc. “Really? B-but you’re a guy.”

“So? We’re not all uncontrollable horndogs.” He shook his head with mock disgust. “Geez, Lila, you’d kill me with your bare hands if I made a sexist comment like that.”

He was dead-on right. “I…I’m sorry. It just blurted out.” I was so stunned by his admitting to being a virgin, my brain stopped working, as was evidenced by my next question: “But, do you, um, feel stuff, too, sometimes? When we’re, you know…together? Like it would be so easy to just…”

Holy—did I just ask that?

What if he said no?!

Thankfully, he released this low, tortured chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I never said I was a monk.”

“Oh,” I said, for lack of something intelligent.

“I’ve never been attracted to anyone like I am to you. But we both have big plans for our life. I think we can hold off.”

Big plans: His? The Olympics. Mine? Uh…

“Definitely,” I said anyway. “But, well, I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“That you also think about—” I rolled my hand, unwilling to say the words. “With me.” Great. Now I sounded like Tramp-o-matic. Why couldn’t I just stop while I was ahead? “I mean, not glad. I just didn’t want it to be one-sided, this…feeling stuff. Bleh, never mind, shutting up now.”

He grinned. “Lila, it’s okay. I’m glad you feel it, too. It’s a good thing.”

I peered over at him cautiously. “It is?”

“Yes.” He reached over and ran his fingers through my hair. “And if it were ever to happen with any girl, I’d want it to be you. Even though your father has a pretty impressive gun collection and knows how to use them.”

“Stop it,” I said, smacking his forearm.

He laughed. “But, seriously, when it happens, it won’t be some light, meaningless thing for me. And I wouldn’t want it to be for you, either. I really…care about you, Ly.”

Wow, that was dangerously close to the L-word. My heart swelled and certain body parts that apparently missed the abstinence memo began throbbing, causing my brain to get fuzzy. “I feel the same,” I said, lamoid as ever.

We spent the next several minutes kissing until someone driving by hollered, “Get a room!” out of their car window. I pulled back shyly, considering the convo we’d just had.

“So, we’re good?” Dylan asked.

“We’re great.”

He eased back into a guy sprawl in his chair. “It’s totally cool that you’re working with my mom this summer,” he said, out of the blue. “It’ll give you two the chance to get to know each other better.”

I groaned and pushed up from my own chair. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

“I don’t know, Moreno,” he said, as we stood and deposited our slimy, melting trash in the marked receptacle like good little non-littering, celibate, Police Explorer citizens. “Maybe it’s your clue to get a clue.”

I punched him in the upper arm. “Whatever. Shut up. Like I’m going to take advice from you. You stole a car once, remember?”

He busted me a stink-eye. “Borrowed—”

“And got busted. Besides, borrowed, stole—semantics.”

He side-eyed me. “That was a long time ago.”

“It’s still on your record in my mind,” I teased. “In fact, it’s one of your few charms.”

He wound one arm around my neck and pulled me closer as we walked down the street. “Ladies and gentlemen, my endearingly caustic girlfriend is back.” And then he made stupid sounds of a crowd cheering.

I mocked him unmercifully, as per the unspoken rules of our relationship, but the truth was, I hadn’t felt this connected and safe in weeks.

Chapter Nine

Caressa

Let me tell you, a Broadway production vs. a high school play? Two vastly different animals, from completely separate jungles, each on their own continent, for that matter. Not that I was complaining, but I will admit to being awestruck, starstruck, and just a bit overwhelmed.

I hadn’t expected that. I mean, I’d been brought up in the entertainment industry. But all those years and the experiences that came with them were about my dad, and I was just a tag-along. This felt subtly different. Mine. Sink or swim, boys and girls, this one was all on me.

And you know what? I loved it.

But it freaked me out, too.

Who knew if I had the chops to make it? A name could only take you so far, and just because Lehigh Thibodoux had a stellar career under his belt and the Grammy statues and other awards to prove it didn’t mean I possessed any of his talent. Plus…how do I put this? While I appreciate the foot-in-the-door that my dad’s reputation affords me (who wouldn’t?), now that I was here, I wanted to stand out on my own. As me. Not as Famous Musician’s Daughter, but based on my own skills.

It was my first day on the show, and I’d been assigned to a super-efficient (read: slightly scary but ultra cool) makeup artist coordinator by the name of Sasha Savage. No lie—that is the name on her birth certificate. I know because I asked. I’m inquisitive that way, sorry.

All I had to do that first week was shadow her and take it all in, yet I was still gooberish and awkward, totally out of my element. At White Peaks High, dude, I was the reigning queen of the makeup and costuming room. Here, I was just some dumb high school girl from Somewhere Other Than Manhattan, without a single clue. (Oh yeah—in a mere forty-eight hours, I’ve learned there are exactly two locations in the world: Manhattan, and Somewhere Other Than Manhattan. Wiggy.)

To be clear, I’m fine with being the clueless newbie. Really. In fact, I am psyched into utter silence by all that I’m going to learn this summer and more happy than ever—ever!—to be here. It’s better than I expected.

But my hands still shook like a junkie who needed a fix.

The long, narrow room smelled of hot lights, melting makeup, powder, and aerosol hairspray. Mirrored makeup stations lined the walls, interspersed with racks of costumes and various duffles and cases brought in by the actors and dancers. It was beautiful organized chaos.

“Keep up, Caressa,” Sasha snapped. Well, to be perfectly fair, she didn’t really snap it. She’s been super nice to me from the get, but she’s just one of those Type-A overachievers, which is exactly why she’s in charge. And as much as I feared her, I also wanted to be her. Someday.

She dresses like my vision of a long-time New Yorker, with access to all the upscale boutiques in Soho (see? I was learning NYC already) and the money to buy whatever the hell she wants. The result? Understated quality. Her lightish-medium auburn hair was so expertly highlighted with a color I recognized (scary, I know) as Cuba Libre, it didn’t even look highlighted, with a capital H. It just looked perfect.

I made a mental note to study Sasha, from her clothing style to her hair and makeup, all the way down to her mannerisms and the busy, important click-clack way she moved through the backstage area, owning it. Sasha Savage was truly a force to be reckoned with, and I stood in awe of her.

I’m a Sasha wannabe. Big time. Not ashamed to admit it.

Fake it ’til you make it—that’s my plan.

“The dancers and actors should start arriving any moment,” Sasha said, in a controlled rush. “They never have a friggin’ clue, despite the fact we do the show seven times a week, so it’s important we nab them at the door, like kindergartners, and tell them exactly where to go.”

I snickered at the double entendre. Couldn’t help it.

To my surprise, Sasha tossed me a half-smirk. “Believe me, with some of them, you’ll want to tell them where to go.”

“Prima donnas?” I asked, squinching my nose.

She raised her eyes heavenward. “Not all of them, but gawd. It only takes one or two to drive you to drink.” She blinked like she realized what she’d said, and her face paled. “Well, not you. You’re too young to drink. Okay? Jesus, your dad would fly out here and kill me if I propelled you onto that downward spiraling path.”

I held up a hand. “Don’t worry. That’s not my scene.”

“Really? Good.” She exhaled. “Good for you, truly. Too many young people in this business take the wrong road and destroy everything they ever dreamed about before they ever have the chance to achieve it.”

This I knew, just from having been immersed in the entertainment world for my entire life. It’s part of the reason the drinking scene didn’t appeal to me. That and the fact that it always embarrassed me to see my peers totally sloppy and out of control, and I didn’t ever want anyone to see me like that. I didn’t ever want to be like that. Most of the time, it seemed like the drinkers didn’t even realize they were acting so…whack. That was the scariest part. Just imagining all the horrors that could happen to a person in that altered state brought a chill to my flesh.

Which, of course, made me think of Jennifer Hamilton and her shocking predicament. I’ll go on record saying I don’t like the chick, but I wouldn’t wish a teen pregnancy on her either. I couldn’t have been more relieved when Lila, Meryl, and I had our group IM the night before and they gave me the 411 on all the Jennifer data. Somehow I’d known deep inside that the baby wasn’t Dylan’s. He never struck me as that kind of guy. But having that gut feeling confirmed by the dude himself was positive all around—especially for Lila.

As for the other dish, I still can’t quite believe Jennifer has glommed onto Meryl and the women at Inner Power. Unless she’d gone through a radical personality change, it makes no sense. I mean, Jennifer is notorious at White Peaks High School for making totally inappropriate (not to mention mean) gay comments to Mark Bartlett, one of my best theater friends. And he’s the nicest guy ever! Who’d want to pick on someone so nice, regardless of his sexual preference, except a total bitch?

But stranger things have happened, I guess. Case in point: in her leg-shaking relief over knowing Dylan wasn’t Jennifer’s baby daddy, Lila even vowed to amend her summer break-up-the-parentals goal to include showing as much kindness to Jennifer as was humanly possible for her, which almost brought me to tears. This was huge for Lila. Epic. Plus, she didn’t sound so adamant about breaking up the Chief and Dylan’s mom anymore either, which, personally, seems like a mature move to me. Not that I’d tell her that.

Meryl had amended her language goal, too, although Meryl is Meryl, so it was less surprising. Trust me, she is still studying Bosnian, being the ultimate multitasker. But she also wants to spend time being compassionate where Jennifer is concerned, to show her the kind of acceptance that we all know will never be reciprocated.

I thought, wow, we’re all growing up.

And it’s just, like, happening.

Standing there in the makeup room, my eyes misted over just remembering the group IM. I missed my BFFs more than I can say.

Just then, the stage door opened, and three dancers (I could tell by the way they moved, even though they wore baggy jeans and wrinkled T-shirts just like everyone else) filed in. Two lithe, beautiful girls with impeccable carriage and one guy who looked about my age and was so head-to-toe breathtaking, I nearly passed out. Literally.

What is up, people?

The one summer I’d sworn off guys in search of a bigger, more mature goal, and I’d somehow fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in Hottie Heaven. First Thomas (who, okay, is too old for me—I know that. But it rules having a fine bodyguard anyway), and now this guy.

As if reading my thoughts, Sasha leaned in and lowered her tone. “First step, honeybunch, close your mouth.”

I snapped it shut and shot her a grateful glance.

“That’s Joaquin Esquibel, one of the principal dancers,” she whispered. “And because I know you’ll grill me, he just turned eighteen, and he’s been a professional for more than two years. He dances so beautifully, it’ll make you cry. Swear to God.”

She said it like Sweah to GAWD with her Brooklyn accent.

“Eighteen?” I asked in a dreamy tone. For once, a guy in my age range. Will wonders never cease?

She nodded. “He attends the High School for the Performing Arts. A senior, just like you.”

“He’s…”

“Totally kill-me-now hot. I know. But try to hold back the drool just a teensy bit, kiddo,” she said, then stepped forward, holding her clipboard and taking charge. “Hello, people. Oksana, chair number eleven today. Lisette, you’re in number four. And, Joaquin”—she ran a finger down her list—“Ah. You’ll be with us today in chair one.”

“Cool,” Joaquin said, slinging his duffel to the scuffed floor next to the designated chair, then taking a seat, his lean, ripped dancer’s legs sprawled.

She tossed me a sly wink.

My heart fluttered.

Darn Sasha.

A few more backstage details: Sasha had first chair always so she could get to work on her actor or dancer right away and still direct the others as they arrived. She is the ultimate gatekeeper.

I watched as Joaquin glanced lazily into the lighted mirror at his disheveled self with eyes the color of caramel and lashes so long he should be locked up for the unfairness of it all. He looked like he’d just woken up, and it was so so so so sooooo hot.

I needed the backstory on this guy, like, now.

I grabbed Sasha’s sleeve and pulled her toward me and out of earshot from Mr. Gorgeous in Chair Number One. “Sasha, is Joaquin straight?”

It was a legitimate question in this industry, but probably inappropriate for the workplace. I didn’t care right then, though. I had to know. After the Bobby Slade fiasco (long story), I don’t want to crush on any more unattainable guys, whether or not I’m actually looking for one. Which I’m not. From here on out, new rule: I will only sigh over guys who have potential.

She laughed knowingly. “Straight, single, and your age,” she said under her breath. “Now, keep your mind on the job at hand, young lady.”

I straightened. “O-of course.”

“At least until the after party,” she added, with a wink.

I tittered nervously as we approached her station.

Joaquin spun in the 360-degree chair and pinned me with a mesmerizing stare. “You the new intern? Tibby Lee’s daughter?” he asked, with this luscious half-New York, half-Latino accent that made my mouth go dry.

My eyes bugged that he even had a clue who I was.

He grinned, pulling dimples into both perfectly sculpted cheeks. “Sorry, I’m a fan.”

“Fanatic. And he’s nosy as all hell,” Sasha said.

“That, too,” Joaquin said, unapologetically.

I cleared my throat, quickly got myself together—no easy feat—then extended my hand. “Hi. I’m Caressa Thibodoux. And yes, Tibby Lee is my dad.”

“Cool,” Joaquin said. He had this way of saying it that made the L disappear. Kind of like he was saying Coo. “So what’s it like having a famous musician for a dad?”

I laughed at the familiar question, all of a sudden calmer. Guess I wasn’t the only starstruck person in the room. That eased my nerves. “I don’t know. It’s like having any other dad, I guess. He wears slippers, tells me to turn my music down, nags me about homework. All that. He’s just…my dad.”

Joaquin’s beautiful face took on a pained tightness. “Right. Stupid question. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Everyone asks.”

“Chop, chop,” Sasha said.

He turned around in the chair as she began pulling out her tools of the trade: pots of makeup, brushes, cotton swabs. “Take off your shirt, sweet cheeks,” she told him.

He reached one muscle-sculpted arm over his shoulder and gripped his T-shirt at the neckline, pulling it over his head in that totally guy way.

I averted my eyes, but not before getting an eyeful of his chestnut brown, ripped upper bod. He is seriously the finest dude I’ve ever seen in my life. I sorta wanted to sit on the floor and collect myself, suck in a few deep, centering breaths. Maybe nap. Dream.

Sasha, unfazed, began coating his chest and arms with thick stage makeup, powdering his skin, full-on touching him—all the stuff I might be doing within days, I might add. Yikes! I was going to have to get a grip if I wanted to be effective in this job.

“So what’s your scoop, Caressa?” Joaquin asked, startling me out of my inappropriate worship mode.

He has this exotic way of saying my name, rolling the R just so, that makes me sound way more exciting than just some girl from a hick town in Colorado. I swallowed. “My scoop?”

He closed his eyes as Sasha continued with the makeup application on his face. The whole process seemed like a choreographed dance. It was as if they’ve been through this hundreds of times before, because oh yeah, they have. Lucky Sasha.

“You know,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was teasing, but not in a bad way. “What brought you here, your life history, favorite pizza topping, most embarrassing experience, favorite topic in school, the whole nine, dig?”

“Mouth closed. Powder,” Sasha directed.

Joaquin clammed up.

“Oh.” My brain raced, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t sound utterly dull. I grew up in White Peaks, Colorado, for God’s sake! “Well, this is what I want to do for a living after I graduate from school. So my friend, Bobby Slade—”

“Damn,” Joaquin said, his eyes popping open. “You know Slade, too?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Step back. You run with the big dogs, chica.”

“Joaquin, dollface, close your friggin’ eyes before I powder them,” Sasha said in a slightly impatient tone. “Or you’ll look like a red-rimmed heroin junkie on stage tonight. You want that photo to wind up on Page Six tomorrow?”

He complied without comment.

She shook her head at me and I stifled a giggle with the side of my fist. Then she angled her head toward Joaquin as if to say, answer the boy.

I cleared my throat. “Oh. Bobby’s a friend of my dad’s, really. Dad’s producing his next single.” No way was I going into the whole story of how that had come about, with me crushing on Bobby from afar and not realizing he was, well, old. “But, yeah, he—Bobby, I mean—arranged the interview. And afterward, I landed the internship on the show.” I shrugged, glancing to Sasha for a prompt.

She mouthed, Go on.

What else could I say? My life was actually quite mundane, and my most embarrassing moment? Off-limits, as already stated. “I like English and Drama best in school, and I’m a boring cheese and onion topping girl.”

Ugh! Why did I say onions?

Then again, what did it matter? I wasn’t going to kiss the guy. I cleared the humiliation from my throat. “But I’m really psyched to be here working with Sasha. And everyone.” Great, Caressa. Way to end with pageanty-sounding drivel.

He laughed, deep and rich. “You’ve already mastered rule number one. Get on Sasha’s good side,” he joked.

“Oh, be quiet,” Sasha said, tickling his nose with the huge powder brush. She glanced at me. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not the evil one on the show.”

“No, that would be the stage manager, Yul,” Joaquin said.

“Shh,” Sasha cautioned, glancing around. “Don’t fill her head with that crap on her first day, ’Quin. Yul has a difficult and important job to do and he has to deal with you creative boneheads all day long. That’s all.”

One corner of Joaquin’s mouth curved up in a smirk.

“You going to the after party, Caressa?” Joaquin asked, his eyes still closed.

I flapped my hands at Sasha, like a panicked goose, for another prompt. She nodded.

“I guess,” I said. “I-I’ll have to talk to, uh, my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard, huh? Cool.” Joaquin paused while Sasha powdered the area around his mouth. “If you don’t want to hit the party, we can go for a slice or a cuppa. If you’re down.”

Again, I looked to Sasha. She mouthed, Pizza or coffee.

“That sounds good.” I laughed nervously. “I think I might need to work my way up to the infamous after party. I’m a small-town girl, after all.”

Joaquin chuckled, eyes still closed.

Sasha winked her approval.

For the rest of the time, I sat back and absorbed the atmosphere, trying to catalogue all the stuff I’d learned on day one. My brain already felt overstuffed.

Note to self: avoid Yul.

Note number two to self: get to know Joaquin better.

Screw the No Guys edict. Dude is hella-hot, people.

I mean, Lila and Meryl had revised their summer goals, right? How could I not find out more about Joaquin Esquibel when he was so utterly mesmerizing and perfect? And asking me out for pizza or coffee? Well, a slice or a cuppa.

I just keep remembering the quote that Thomas had printed and laminated, then attached to the dashboard of his Town Car. I’d asked him about it on that first day, and he told me it was from some unnamed Russian fairy tale and said:

Go—not knowing where. Bring—not knowing what.

The path is long, the way unknown.

Those words, so full of possibility, had intrigued me from the first time I’d read them. They seemed to epitomize promise and excitement, taking that leap and knowing you’ll land in a safety net. In the hot noisy makeup room, the quote got me thinking. Maybe it was okay for me to focus both on obtaining a Broadway job (because no way was I abandoning that plan) and on getting to know a really cute, age-appropriate guy a little better. After all, the path in this life is long and the way unknown, at least according to some Russian dude. I didn’t have to date Joaquin, after all. I could just be his friend. His slice / cuppa friend.

Dig?

*

Lila

Before I knew it, a month of summer had passed, and to say that I loved being an office assistant at the travel agency would be a gross understatement. The positive energy of the employees—Alan, Bonnie, Francesca, and yes, even Chloe—amped me up from the moment I arrived each day. I always wanted to stay longer, do more, learn everything.

Maybe I could be a travel agent after graduation!

Sure, this was the era of Internet travel planning, but you’d be surprised how many people still rely on the professionals—older folks especially. And, thank God, or I’d be wearing a French fry hat right now, probably wanting to face-plant a few of my coworkers—and a bevy of rude customers—into the vat of boiling French fry oil, which I’m pretty sure is felony assault.

Plus I’d have zits.

As it was, my complexion was as clear as a CoverGirl model’s and I’d even dropped a few pounds from all the “go-fering” I’d been doing. And, oh yes, I’d finally caught on to the fact that an office GO-FER was not spelled like a ground-dwelling, uglyish gopher. Color me stupid. Whatever. I still liked my revised job title much better, because (1) FER is not a proper word, despite the globally humiliating fact that America still spells cheese K-R-A-F-T, and (2) mistakes can be easily made, people, when you don’t actually see a word written on paper. GO-FER sounds like gopher, and I’m just not down with a rodent-esque job title. Call me shallow.

But the most shocking news of the summer boiled down to this: I had basically abandoned my “break-up Dad and Chloe” plot. It seemed like a miscalculation, now that I knew her better.

The thing is, Chloe’s really nice. Confident, fun, goofy, independent, laid back and yet totally in charge. And the more time I spent with her (in a capacity other than my boyfriend’s mom), the more I realized she doesn’t act like she’s merely biding time until Dad pops the question so she can quit her job and spend her days painting her toenails and bragging that she is Mrs. Police Chief. On the contrary, she loves her career. She seems just fine with the way things are—dating my dad, raising Dylan, kicking butt at her way-cool job.

I really liked her.

Sure, I still can’t think of her and my dad in any kind of, um, romancey-schmancey way without getting skeeved, and the whole boyfriend / potential stepbrother notion freaked me, but that’s normal if you ask me. In any case, I’d put the break-up plot on my mental back burner and turned down the heat.Wait and see mode felt better for now.

That super-mature (in my book) decision happened on a perfect Colorado July day. Cloudless, turquoise skies, perfectly warm but not sweaty-hot temperature. People smiled at each other on the street, and we all knew that the evening would cool off enough for us to sit on our back patios to watch the spectacular sunset, comfortably decked out in sweatshirts and jeans. All seemed swell in my world.

Chloe had given me a boatload of packages to cart down to the FedEx store, which I dragged along behind me in one of those metal rolly things that cute grandmas use to lug their groceries home. I was fully leaded on java, loving my outdoor task, and looking forward to an evening spent with Dylan after we both got off work.

I’ve never been able to whistle, but I was easing out this lame pseudowhistle-rasp as I hoofed it up the sidewalk toward FedEx, staring up at the endless beauty of the sky. So when I slammed into the other pedestrian, it threw me out of my mellow for a sec. My grandma cart careened to one side and dumped its load on the sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry,” came the voice above me as I bent down to gather up my goods, thankful nothing was breakable.

“It’s okay. My fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I was staring up at the sky,” said the voice.

“Yeah, same here.” I peered up at none other than Jennifer Hamilton.

“Oh,” we both said. It had become a pattern with us, that “Oh” thing, as if we were simpletons.

I faltered, but maintained my cool as best I could. My gaze dropped to her tummy, which had started to protrude in an impossible-to-ignore, totally-not-the-normal-skeletor-Jennifer kind of way. She’d even gained a ton of weight in her face. I mean, come on, this was a girl who wouldn’t eat in front of the opposite sex last year. Yet here she stood, all pudgy-like, and seemingly cool with it.

As if she had a choice.

“Are you…um…okay? I didn’t hurt you guys or anything, did I?”

She laid her palm on her abdomen—why do pregnant woman always do that? “No. I’m fine. Or I should say, we’re fine.”

“That’s…good,” I mumbled as I gathered up the rest of my stuff with shaky hands. My heart had started to rev. The thing is, despite my vow not to retch every time I thought of Jennifer, I didn’t exactly know what to say to her in person. This situation was uncomfortable to the max.

Uncomfortable like the whole “how do you end your laugh?” conundrum. You’ve heard of it, right? Once you start thinking about it, you always realize you sound like a dumbass at the end of your laugh, and then it’s hard to (1) laugh, but even more to (2) stop laughing once you’ve started.

Because you don’t want to sound like a dumbass.

Get it?

Okay, my thoughts were making like a grandma cart and veering way off-track—big shocker. Not. It’s just the way my gray matter seems to operate.

“You working?” Jennifer asked, yanking me back to the present.

I shot her a glance. “Uh. Yeah. You?”

“Well, the free kind of work, yes.” She laughed.

She laughed! Like, within the context of a conversation with me. Me, Lila Moreno. Archenemy. She-who-allegedly-stole-Dylan (even though I didn’t). I don’t know why I was so weirded out by this surreal exchange, but there you have it. I was. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen Jennifer—who, incidentally, was rocking the full-on mousy light brown coif by now—in the past month, but we’d always had Meryl as a much-needed buffer and conversation conduit. It freaked me to be one-on-one with Jennifer. I mean, what the heck was I supposed to say now?

Sorry I could’ve hurt your fetus. Smell ya later?

Nothing seemed right.

Come to think of it, nothing had seemed right ever since my friends and I had found out about Jennifer and her baby. In that instant, everything about our carefully planned-out summers subtly (or dramatically, I wasn’t sure which) changed.

Why was that?

With all my loot loaded back into my grandma cart, I stood and brushed my palms against the sides of my jeans. “Okay, well…I have to go to FedEx.”

“Oh. Sure.” She stepped aside, tucking her hair—which, admittedly, was still cut in a cute style—behind her ears. “I guess I’ll…see you around?”

“Uh-huh.” Sure. Whatever. Like she’d want to?

I started to roll my cart up the sidewalk again, away from Jennifer, thank God. I needed to hit the brakes on my racing brain and get back to my happy-day-in-July place, darn quick. Where were those bluebirds on my shoulder when I needed them? Freakin’ fairweather Disney.

“Lila, hang on,” Jennifer called out.

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. My gut clenched.

“Can I…can we…”

With trepidation, I peered back toward her. She seemed to be struggling with her words. Her skin got blotchy red when she was nervous, I noticed. Not a good look for her. “What?”

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee at Mountain Lion?”

My eyes must have projected my incredulity.

She held up a hand. “I just thought we could talk. Nothing more.”

I turned back toward her then, resting both palms on the cart’s handle. “You don’t have to do this. I’m cool with you hanging out with Meryl. You don’t have to pretend to be my friend, too, okay? I get it.”

“It’s not that.” She uttered a frustrated sound.

“What, then?”

Her face got this pinched look, and she didn’t bother to brush away the strands of hair that the gentle breeze blew across her lips. “You and Meryl…and Reese and Kelly…have been nicer to me than my own group of so-called friends ever since”—she indicated her midsection—“or maybe, nicer to me than they ever were, which makes me an idiot.”

I felt an unwelcome twinge of compassion. “You’re not an idiot. They’re idiots.” Actually evil flying monkey idiots, I thought but, thankfully, didn’t voice.

“Whatever. I guess.” A pause. “Yeah, they are.”

I watched her neck contract with a tight swallow, and it occurred to me that this might be as difficult for her as it was for me, not that she deserved my sympathy, really, after all the bullying she’d inflicted on me and my friends over the years. But I still felt a pang of it.

“I just…owe you guys more than I’ve said.” Jennifer shrugged. “That’s all.”

I squirmed from one foot to the other. “Oh. Well. It’s okay. If that’s all.”

“It’s not all.” She raked her hair away from her face. “See, I’ve been attending these teen AA meetings, and—”

“You’re an alcoholic, too?” I blurted, stunned by this news bomb on top of everything else. Oops, I guess that was thoughtless.

She laughed nervously. “No. Not at all. But my home life totally sucks. My friends are…”

“I know,” I said softly.

“Yeah, I guess we’ve covered that.” She huffed. “It’s weird, me with the whole AA thing. I realize that. But everyone there is so nice and nonjudgmental, and they listen to me. They’re the only people who seem to really…listen. Plus, a lot of what they say makes sense beyond the whole alcoholism thing.”

I blinked a couple of times, trying to wrap my brain around this brownish-haired, Alcoholics Anonymous–attending, makeup-free, chubby, pregnant Jennifer Hamilton.

Like, seriously, who the hell was she?

I gulped. “Are you telling me you’re working the ten steps, but just not in an alcoholic way?”

“Twelve.”

“Huh?”

“There are actually twelve steps.”

“Oh.” Whatever. “So, are you?”

She shrugged. “I’m not ‘working them’ in any formal way. But this whole…baby thing has given me a lot of time to look at myself, and I’m not always happy with what I see.”

I half laughed. “I can understand that.” Oops. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken.” She twisted her uncharacteristically unglossed lips to the side. “Besides, you’re right and I know it.” She paused. “I guess I just want to make some changes in the way I live my life.”

This intrigued me. “Like what?”

“Come have a cup of coffee and we’ll talk.” She stared at me, a challenge. “My treat.”

I stared back, chewing on the insides of my cheeks.

Finally, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking to be your best friend, for God’s sake. You’re not required to confide a single thing in me. It’s just coffee. The brown stuff. Nectar of the Wired Gods.”

I smirked. She had a point, and hadn’t I said I was going to try harder to not actively despise her, in light of her tribulations? This was my chance to walk the talk, as Meryl always touted. I glanced at my grandma cart. “Well, I have to get this stuff shipped first.” I hesitated. “Then I have to call my boss and ask her if I can take a break.”

“That’s cool,” she said mildly. “Look, if you can make it, I’ll be at Mountain Lion. If not, I understand.” And then she turned heel and headed in the opposite direction.

Seriously.

No snit. No snark. No snide remark.

Hey, I think I just made some kind of a poem.

Well, at least it rhymed.

But back to the Jennifer sitch. I swear this summer was getting weirder by the second. I mean, what would she understand if I didn’t show up? That I hated her? Did I hate her? I stood there for probably two minutes, stunned by what had just occurred, replaying it in my mind, trying to get real with how I truly felt. This time last year, if Jennifer and her minions had witnessed me dragging FedEx packages up the street, they would’ve (1) mocked me, or (2) looked past me, as if I were just another pine tree in the whole damn forest.

That was then, this is now.

Wait—is that the name of a book? Never mind.

In any case, progress, right?

Still, I didn’t have to go. She’d given me an out.

All I had to do was pretend that Chloe needed me back at the agency, and I’d be off the hook. No questions asked. The world’s perfect lie. Perhaps for that very reason, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Chloe’s number. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hi, it’s Lila. I was just wondering if I could take a twenty-minute break after I finish at FedEx?”

Unprecedented, I know.

Lila Moreno and Jennifer Hamilton. Having coffee—decaf or something for her, of course, since she was preggers. And yet, despite the fact that I’d agreed to meet up with my ultimate nemesis, and not for a rumble, the earth didn’t seem to be splitting in half.

At least…not so far. But I have to say, I kept my ear perked for the cracking sound.

Chapter Ten

The vulnerable way Jennifer’s face lit up when I walked into Mountain Lion Coffee shot a lightning bolt of guilt through me for even having contemplated blowing her off. She waved both arms with enthusiasm—as if I wasn’t capable of finding her in the small establishment. Duh. Her hair may have returned to its unobtrusive natural color, but those platinum blond-dyed roots reached straight into her brain waves, boy.

Be nice, Lila, my conscience said. Actually, I think my conscience is a dead ringer for Meryl—no lie. It might even be Meryl, and without her I’d morph into some impulsive, politically incorrect sociopath.

I held up a finger, then pointed toward the front counter. After ordering a nonfat latte (extra hot, extra foam, double shot), I headed over to her table.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” The chair legs scraped on the polished concrete floor as I pulled it away from the table and sat down.

“Totally,” she said.

We both chuckled nervously.

She eyed my java. “I told you I’d treat.”

I shrugged. “Raincheck. I only have twenty minutes before I have to be back at work, and I didn’t want you to lose the table.”

She sipped her cocoa, nodding. “What’s it like working for your boyfriend’s mom?”

I averted my gaze.

Awkward, awkward, awkward.

She sighed. “Listen, Lila, if you think I’m fishing for info about Dylan, I’m not. Being pregnant? It forces you to examine your life whether you want to or not. He and I were never right for each other. Ever. Let’s just lay that right out on the table and be done with it, once and for all. I don’t have romantic feelings for Dylan. None. Pathetic as this may sound, I don’t know that I ever really did.”

A beat passed. “O-okay. So, why’d you date him?”

She twisted her mouth to the side. “Because he’s…Dylan.”

I nodded. Hard to explain, but it made sense.

“So?” she prodded. “The work gig. What’s it like?”

I sat back and relaxed as best I could. “I love it. I get to dream about all the places I want to visit one day. Plus, it’s fun, and the atmosphere at the agency is upbeat. High energy. You know?”

She nodded. “That’s why I love Inner Power. Well, for the opposite reason. It’s so serene there, so laid back and just…accepting. So unlike my heinous home life.”

We fell silent, concentrating on our drinks.

Awk-k-k-k-ward.

Finally, I cleared my throat. “So, uh, have you decided what you’re going to do? About the baby?”

“I’m not keeping her, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She hiked one shoulder and looked sad. “One part of me thinks that sounds so incredibly cruel, like I’m throwing her away—”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re just a kid yourself.”

She bit her lip, looking grateful. “I know. I’d be a terrible mom at this point in my life. Think about it: would you want to be raised with me as your mother?”

I accidentally snorted latte foam out of one nostril at the horrible notion, then coughed. “Uh, no way in hell.” I paused, wiping my nose. “But I wouldn’t want to be raised by any of us. We’re too young.”

“That’s it exactly. I know lots of women have babies at eighteen and raise them successfully. But not me. I still have a lot of growing up to do.”

I didn’t comment, because trust me, it would’ve been one helluva snark, and my inner Meryl would not have been pleased.

She smoothed her fingertips around her cocoa mug, seeming to chew on her next words. Finally, she peered up from beneath her lashes. “If I tell you something, do you swear not to tell anyone?”

Ugh! I cringed. “I don’t know if I can keep that promise. Sorry. Just being honest.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, do you swear not to tell anyone who might tell my parents at least?”

Yeah, like I know anyone who’d tell her parents. “Sure.”

Her face took on this excited yet apprehensive glow. Happy and terrified all at once, if you can imagine. “I’m thinking of asking Reese and Kelly to adopt her. Oh! It’s a girl. I had an ultrasound.”

My brain was in stutter mode from the first part of her confession, so I focused on the end part. “Cool. I grew up with four annoying, stinky brothers, so a girl rocks.”

“Boys stink?”

I rolled my eyes. “Way. I can’t even go into Luke’s room without gagging.”

“Huh,” she said, as though this were a revelation. “Miffany always bragged about how hot he was.”

Miffany, if you’ll recall, is Luke the Puke’s reprehensible ghoulfriend and Jennifer’s former BFF. “She doesn’t live with him. Besides, her name is Miffany, for God’s sake. That alone indicates a lack of brain cells.”

Jennifer snickered. “Anyway, I agree that a girl rocks. I was hoping for one.” She laid her hand absentmindedly on her slightly protruding belly again. “I’m sort of down on the whole male gender right about now.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“Guys suck ass.”

A true statement if I’d ever heard one. Except Dylan, of course, not that I was going to voice that. Ismet was cool, too. I sipped and a hideous thought entered my brain. I had to ask. “Is that why you’re thinking of Reese and Kelly as adoptive parents? The no guy aspect?”

“God, no. That would be lame.” She grimaced. “Not to mention stereotypical and patronizing.”

“Right-o,” I said, relieved, but trying to hide my astonishment that those words had come from Jennifer Hamilton’s mouth. People, can you even grasp the hugeness? If High School Homophobia held a pageant, the former Jennifer would have a curio cabinet full of tacky tiaras.

Her face morphed into a pensive expression. “It’s just”—she flipped her hand—“they’ve been trying to conceive through artificial insemination, and it isn’t working. And they’re having trouble adopting because they’re lesbians and we’re not exactly a progressive state.”

“Oh.” Startled. “I didn’t know that. I mean, about them wanting kids.”

She eyed me sideways. “Well, the subject came up just because of my own pregnancy. That’s all. I feel so bad for them, because they deserve to be parents. Homophobia sucks.”

I must’ve looked stunned, because she blew out a dejected sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a total asshole about the gay thing before I started hanging out with them.” Distress seemed to age her features. “I just…didn’t know any lesbians.”

“So? You knew Mark Bartlett and never cut him any slack. They’re regular people like us. Love is love.”

“I get that now. I do. And, for the record, I’ve apologized to Mark.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “But Reese and Kelly, man, they’re more than just ‘people.’ They’re special.” She widened her baby blues at me. “Wouldn’t you have loved having them as your moms?”

An unexpected wave of sadness rocked me, and I gripped my coffee cup. “I would’ve loved having my mom,” I said softly.

Jennifer inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, shit,” she said, muffled. “I forgot that your mom…you know—”

“Died,” I said, in a flat tone. “It’s okay to say the word. It’s not as if she did anything wrong. She just…got sick and died. Cancer’s impartial that way.”

Anguish pulled lines between her brows. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “My mom died a long time ago, practically when I was a baby. I want to know.”

Her turn to look thrown. “Really?”

Surprisingly, the answer was yes. Why the answer was yes, I hadn’t figured out, and I didn’t want to examine it too closely. “So. Reese and Kelly. Do they know?”

She tilted her head from one side to the other. “We’ve talked about it a little, in an abstract what-if kind of way. But I get the feeling they’re excited by the prospect. Not getting their hopes up, you know.”

“I think that would be really great. But”—I pressed my lips together, choosing my words carefully—“wouldn’t it be hard for you? I mean, to see her around town like that?”

“No. Maybe.” She threw her arms wide. “Okay, truth? How the hell do I know? I’ve never had a kid before. I’ve never put one up for adoption. I’m clueless.”

I snorted. Very unladylike, but who the heck cares? There’s something so satisfying about hearing someone admit to a blatant character flaw you’ve recognized from day one.

“The only thing I’m sure of is that I can’t raise this little girl the way she deserves. I don’t even want to and, ashamed as this makes me feel, I’m not totally sure who the father is.”

What the hell do you say to a comment like that?! “Oh. That…um…sucks.”

“Sorta,” she said, nonplussed. “But, now that I’m on this adoption track, knowing would just cause more problems.”

“How?”

“The father could try to take her, and trust me”—she shook her head—“I wouldn’t want her raised by any of the possible suspects.”

I wondered why she hadn’t thought about that before she’d had unprotected sex with these disreputable yokels, but then I remembered, oh yeah, she’d been on a one-way trip down the drunk-and-irresponsible road when the whole thing occurred.

“Every time I think about keeping the baby, my chest tightens up and I panic,” Jennifer said. “But I can’t imagine two better adoptive parents than Reese and Kelly. If they want her. I’m not saying they’re perfect, but they’re pretty darn close, as far as adults go.”

I glugged my joe, taking all this info in. “What will your own parents think, though? I mean, aren’t they card-carrying members of the anti-gay movement, or something?”

“Screw them.” She flicked her hand, her expression hardening. “I’ll be eighteen on August third. After that, I can make my own decisions.”

True again. Side note: my birthday is in early September. Weird that she and I were born right around the same time yet share utterly no defining personality characteristics whatsoever (please, God, make that true). “Will they fight it, though? As the biological grandparents?”

“Truthfully? They’re so worried about their image, I think they just want the baby to be gone.”

I nailed her with a stare. “This isn’t the decision you would’ve made a year ago,” I pointed out. “I mean, I’m just saying.”

She huffed. “A year ago, I wouldn’t have had to make it, because I wasn’t a totally irresponsible dumbass who slept around with scumbags.”

My glance slid away and I flipped my coffee stir stick between my fingers, index to pinky and back. “Well, no offense again, but you were kind of a dumbass.”

A pregnant—no pun intended—pause ensued.

“I’m really sorry, Lila,” she said, sounding sincere. “I know I ridiculed you and Meryl and Caressa, even when you didn’t deserve it.”

Cue astonishment background music again.

I eyed her as unsuspiciously as possible, which was difficult. “Apology accepted. As long as you acknowledge the fact.”

“I do. Believe me.” She blew out a breath. “I’ve done a lot of soul searching in the past few months. I’ve had to. Plus, Meryl’s amazing.”

“Which you would’ve realized long ago if you weren’t so into image.”

“I know. I get that.”

I nodded once, deciding maybe she truly did.

“Anyway, you’re right, I wouldn’t have had to make these difficult plans last year.” She squared her shoulders. “But now I do. So be it. It happened for a reason, and I’m going to learn from it. If I have a choice—and why shouldn’t I?—I want Reese and Kelly to be the little goober’s moms.”

I blurted a short laugh at the use of the word goober. I swear, I don’t care what Jennifer or Reese or Kelly or who-the-heck-ever named her, she’d always be Goob to me.

Dude! I was pet-naming Jennifer’s baby!

What the hell?!

Clueless to my inner turmoil, she continued with, “I just don’t know how private adoptions are set up, or I’d get the ball rolling right away. And I don’t know if Reese and Kelly being gay is going to be a roadblock.”

“I don’t know either.” Frankly, none of this had ever crossed my mind. Why would it? I was barely into year one of my first boyfriend ever and the extent of my sexual experience included some excellent making out and a little groping here and there. Weird how Jennifer’s pregnancy was forcing all of us to grow up more quickly.

“Do you think your dad would know?” she asked, chewing the corner of her lip and watching me with hopeful eyes.

I jolted. “You seriously want me to discuss this with my dad?”

Her face paled. “You think he’d go to my parents?”

“No. It’s not that. But…he’s my dad.” I crinkled my nose. “You know?” I was still trying to recover from the heinous shopping-for-my-first-bra-with-Dad debacle that had happened years earlier, not that I planned on explaining that whole traumatic incident to her, thankyouverymuch. I didn’t want to launch into the sex-and-pregnancy realm with the dude.

“Just think about it.” She glanced at her watch. “Your twenty minutes are up, Cinderella.”

I blinked at my own watch, surprised by how quickly the time had passed. Unreal. We’d actually had stuff to talk about. Hellsp—I mean, Jennifer and moi. Who’da thunk? “Crap, you’re right. Gotta blaze.” I stood and downed the rest of my coffee, then clunked the mug on the table.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “Truly.”

“Sure. See ya.” I turned to leave, but something cosmic affected both my brain waves and my ability to just keep walking. Swiveling back, I met her curious gaze. I can’t explain what came over me, even now. Planetary whiz-bang. Tectonic plate shifting. Early onset stroke. Something. But I actually opened my trap and asked “the artist formerly known as Hellspawn,” “Um, would you ever be interested in having a girls’ night at my house? Just me, you, and Meryl? Maybe we could do it for your birthday if you don’t have plans?”

Her eyes goggled. “You’re not pimping me, are you?”

Was I? Uh…

I gulped. Backpedal, backpedal, backpedal. “No. We can’t watch movies or anything, because of Meryl’s family thing—”

“I know all about that. It’s cool how she’s never watched television or movies, even though I can’t imagine it.”

“I know. Well?”

She smiled. Like, a really bright smile. She positively beamed, truth be told, as if she were auditioning for one of those whitening toothpaste commercials. “We could just talk or do each other’s toenails or something. I can’t really reach my own toenails very well anymore, thanks to the gigantic gut, and I’m sure they look horrible.”

“Yeah, okay. Something like that.”

“We could even learn to knit,” she offered, all glowy and excited-like.

Baffled by her conversational one-eighty, I said, “Huh?”

“Oh.” A chuckle. “Kelly knits to relieve stress, and she’s been teaching me how to do it. It’s actually kind of cool and relaxing, and it would be fun to make stuff for the baby.”

Jennifer Hamilton.

Knitting.

Does. Not. Compute.

I blinked. Maybe twice. “That would be…sort of…interesting.” I was having one of those out-of-body experiences, right? Right?! Inviting Jennifer to my house, for one thing, but agreeing to knit baby stuff?

I do not knit!

I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Anyway, okay. So. I’ll figure out a time and let Meryl know. She can pass it on to you. It might not be exactly on your birthday.”

“Whenever. I can’t wait. Thank you. For including me.”

“I…well…sure. It wouldn’t exactly be a logical birthday thing without you.” Dang it, I was trying, but the bonding / trusting part just wasn’t there for me yet, nor was the talking-without-sounding-challenged part. However, I’d taken a huge Meryl-esque step toward being a more forgiving person, and surprisingly, a sense of pride ballooned inside my chest.

When I caught my last glimpse of Jennifer as I left the coffee shop, I could swear her eyes glistened with tears, and that blew my mind. Mostly because it made me feel good.

Freakin’ weird, huh?

*

Two full weeks passed before I garnered the courage to (1) set into motion the insane girls’ night I’d impulsively suggested, or (2) talk to anyone about the whole private adoption process. Why I was inserting myself into this baby fiasco, I don’t know. No explanation. No excuses. But there you have it, people, absolute proof that something wiggy was going around in White Peaks that summer. Demonic possession, maybe. It was seriously as if we’d fallen into some weird “it takes a village to gestate a fetus” mode.

Stephen King could kick ass with the screenplay on this one.

And, oh, by the way, I didn’t discuss the adoption thing with my dad. Just too ick, ya know?

Instead…I asked Chloe.

Yep, Chloe. I know! What the—?

In my defense, it happened spur-of-the-moment one morning while we were restocking the brochure racks, before I’d had caffeine so I was’t actually thinking straight. I’d left the house late, counting on a cup of joe at the travel agency, but alas, our office coffee machine had gone to that great big kitchen in the sky sometime during the night, may it rest in peace.

So, no java. Sucked.

Caffeine-deprived or not, morning sunlight angled in through the front windows, all golden, shining on the crisp brochures and lulling me into a sense of safety.

And the question just popped out.

“Do you know anything about setting up a private adoption?” I asked, instantly shocked and chastising myself for the blurt. Oh well. Too late for a retraction.

“Private adoption?” One corner of her mouth quivered up. “I didn’t know you and my son were so serious.”

“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. She’d quickly caught on to the whole snark-joke mode, which she regularly used against me. “I’m asking for a friend. Or…someone, an acquaintance. Whatever.”

Chloe laid a finger alongside her chin and looked upward. “Hmm, let me guess. Jennifer?”

I widened my eyes at her in surprise, but quickly realized, of course she’d know. Duh. It’s not like we’d had a pandemic of teenage pregnancies in White Peaks, which was one point in the town’s favor, I guess. “You can’t tell her parents. She’s just looking into options, and they’re being…well—”

“Jerks?”

I barked a laugh. “From what I’ve heard, yes.”

“I’ve met the Hamiltons,” she said, ruefully. “I can only imagine what that girl’s going through.”

Just so you know, I did want to grill her about the Evil Hamiltons, about Jennifer, about all of it from start to finish, but I held back. “I just promised I wouldn’t tell anyone who would run to her parents,” I explained, starting to relax. “That’s all.”

She handed me a stack of leaflets for Ibiza, Spain, which I’ve since learned is pronounced Ih-BEE-tha. Turns out there was some Spanish king back in the day who spoke with a lisp, and in order not to offend his royal highness (or highneth—snarf!), the whole freakin’ country started speaking with a lisp.

No, I am not lying, and I know it’s insane.

Anyway, it stuck to their native tongue like peanut butter to the roof of the mouth. That’s why Spanish Spanish and Mexican Spanish sound very different, just in case you were wondering (and I’m sure you were).

I swear, the crap people do to suck up to their royals.

After I’d slipped “Ibeetha” into its proper “thlot,” Chloe said, “Looking into adoption is a responsible thing, so I don’t see why I’d have reason to go to her parents. It’s not as if you’re telling me she’s doing Ecstasy or huffing paint. Something irresponsible and dangerous.”

No, that would have been the whole drinking and sleeping around thing, which was “game over” for Jennifer. She’d been there, done that, hence my question. “Okay. So? Private adoption?” Nudge, nudge. And people said I got off track.

“As a matter of fact, I do know a bit about it.”

“You do?” I asked, both thrilled and surprised that I’d hit pay dirt right away. “How?”

“I have a close friend who went through one. It was an open adoption, too,” she said, as if I would fully understand.

Um, yeah. Seventeen here! Clueless! “Meaning?”

“That they still have regular contact with the B-mom. Birth mother,” she explained, when I obviously looked confused. She handed me a stack of Phuket brochures.

Shut up, okay? I mean, I snort-laughed until I almost peed my pants, too, the first time I saw it, too, but it’s a really popular resort in Thailand and it’s not even pronounced like that. (Makes for some excellent travel comedy, though: “Where do you want to go on vacation?” “I don’t know, Phuket.” “Fine! We won’t go anywhere!” Har!)

Phuket—read: Poo-khet, not Fuk-it (if you want to, that is—I certainly pronounce it Fuk-it in my own head)—was devastated by that giant tsunami a while back, but it’s rebuilding its tourism trade.

Anywhoo, I slipped Phuket (shut up) into its place as excitement bubbled inside me that I’d found a viable adoption source in Chloe. Maybe she should change her name to Google.

Google Sebring.

Uh, never mind. Sounds like a clown, and sorry, but clowns are kill-you-in-your-sleep creepy to me.

“That’s exactly the kind of stuff Jennifer needs to know. I’m pretty sure she’d want that, too. An open adoption.” I leaned closer and lowered my volume. “She knows the potential parents very well.”

Chloe stood, grimacing as if she were sore.

No way was I going to ask her what whazzup, because—as had become a semi-regular, back-and-forth habit—she had spent the night at our house last night. Get my drift?

She saw me watching her, though. “Spinning class yesterday,” she explained, thankfully evicting the evil parental sex thoughts from my brain.

“Ah. I’ve always wanted to try spinning.” I stood, too.

“You should come with me some time. We can groan and complain together.”

I’d walked right into that one, huh? Dude, I was just making conversation! I didn’t comment on her invitation.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and leaned in. “I think you’re an amazing girl to be helping Jennifer, all things considered—”

“I’m not really helping her.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, with a small smile, “you’d be surprised.”

Again, no comment from me, because I couldn’t think of what to say. Why was I regressing into such a big “duh” communicator? I used to have a quippy comment at the ready at all times, locked and loaded, like an old-timey gunslinger.

“Tell you what,” Chloe said. “I’m on the brink of a raging caffeine headache, and I suspect you are, too.”

“I fell over the brink twenty minutes ago.”

“Perfect. Let’s head down to the Mountain Lion and get a latte. I’ll tell you everything I know about private adoption, and you can pass it on. Of course, I’d be happy to talk to Jennifer, too.”

“Really?” Excellent insta-plan. Hook Jennifer up with Chloe, and back my way out of the picture completely. Plus, an espresso jolt right at that moment sounded like the best thing ev-er. Let’s face it, I’d maintained my composure through Ih-BEE-tha and Fuk-it, but if Chloe handed me those new quilting tour brochures from Intercourse, Pennsylvania, I was going to lose it for sure. My maturity level had a definite time limit, and—oh yeah—it had been reached. “Sweet,” I said. “Let me get my purse.”

“No need. This one’s on me.” Chloe smiled.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. But then a brilliant idea struck me. “Hey!” I aimed my thumb over my shoulder in the general direction of Inner Power. “Why don’t I just go get Jennifer and she can come with us?”

Chloe looked confused for a second, then said, “Oh, that’s right. She’s been hanging out with Meryl at the shop.”

I nodded eagerly.

Odd how that fact didn’t even bother me anymore.

Chloe hesitated. “Do you think you should wait to see if she wants to speak to me directly? I don’t want to put her on the spot.”

“Trust me, she’s eager for info. But I’ll ask her. If she’s not down with coming, she doesn’t have to.”

She considered this, then nodded. “Okay. You run ahead. I’m going to let Alan know where we’re going and take their drink orders. We’ll bring everyone something back.”

I smiled. Genuinely.

See? That’s the kind of boss Chloe is.

No, that’s the kind of person she is.

Dang it all, I was liking her more and more, despite the fact she’s my boyfriend’s mother and my dad’s main squeeze, which, in a perfect world, would be diametrically opposed identities. “Meet you there,” I said, bolting out the door.

Two seconds later, it seemed, I busted my way into Inner Power, totally jacking up the Zen of the place, I might add.

Meryl must’ve been restocking displays. I heard a clunk as if she’d dropped something. She peered wide-eyed around the corner of a shelf, saw it was me, then blew out a breath. “Lila, geez. You scared me. No one ever bursts in here that way. I thought we were getting robbed.”

“Right,” I said, wryly, then lowered my tone to something allegedly menacing and held out my index finger gun-style. “Give me all your meditation supplies and some patchouli incense, and no one gets hurt.”

Meryl giggled. “Very funny. What’s up, smart aleck?”

“I need to talk to Jennifer.”

Holding up one hand, Meryl smirked. “Wait. I’m replaying this surreal moment in my head.”

“Shut up.” I craned my neck. “Is she here?”

She angled her head toward the corner with the chairs.

I nodded once, lowered my tone, and said, “I’ll tell you all about it later. Promise.”

“Can’t wait,” she replied, going back to her work.

I found Jennifer in a chair, engrossed in a book, and let me just say, sitting cross-legged while sporting short-shorts is just an eek!-producing pose, what with the protruding preggo belly and the even more disturbing watermelonous boobs. Jennifer seemed bigger than she should be at her stage, but Meryl told me that Jennifer had told her the women in her family carry large for some reason. Divine justice?

Stop it, Lila. <sigh>SO hard to rein in the snark.

“Hey,” I said, silently thanking God for bestowing me with minimal boobage. I’d never whine about being flat again.

She blinked up, obviously surprised. “Oh. Hey.” She closed the book and set it aside. “What’s up?”

“Come to the Mountain Lion with me,” I said without preface. “I found you a source who knows all about private adoption.”

She unfurled her legs in an ungainly way and hoisted herself to her feet. “From your dad?” She smoothed her babydoll top.

“No, from his…” Girlfriend? Bad. From your ex-boyfriend’s mother? Also bad. I settled for, “From my boss.”

She lumbered closer and lowered her voice to a rasp. “Chloe Sebring? Dylan’s mom? Have you lost your mind?”

Maybe. “No, but listen. She thinks it’s responsible that you’re looking into this and she’s willing to help.”

Jennifer looked dubious at best.

I flapped my arms once. “Look, she can give me the scoop and I can relay it, but wouldn’t you rather hear it from her directly? What if I screw up an important point and you end up selling your baby into slavery or something?”

That wouldn’t really happen, folks. I’m not a complete imbecile. But I so wasn’t into playing the middleman. Please, God.

“How embarrassing.” She exhaled, then picked up her (designer, of course) purse. “Okay, let’s go. You’re positive she won’t talk to my parents?”

“She said she wouldn’t, and I trust her.”

“Fine.” Her eyes shone with fear and vulnerability. “I can do this,” she said, mostly to herself. “Ugh.”

A pang of…something gooey and un-Lila-esque struck me, and I actually reached over and squeezed her hand. I know! Crack in the town’s water system, folks, it’s the only explanation I have. “It’ll be fine. Chloe’s cool about the whole thing.”

Jennifer took a deep breath, held it, then blew it out. “Okay, let’s do this.”

We got past the awkward hellos at the coffee shop quickly, thanks to Chloe leading the pack on that front. Once we had our foamy-yummilicious double espresso drinks (and Jennifer had her boring-ass cocoa), we settled at an umbrella table on the outdoor patio.

“So, tell me what’s going on, Miss Jennifer,” Chloe said, then watched her over the rim of her paper cup as she sipped.

Jennifer cleared her throat and adjusted her position in the metal chair. Back straight. Shoulders tight. Chin high. “Well,” she started clumsily as though she were giving a presentation in school for which she hadn’t prepared, “as you know, I’m pregnant.”

“Really?” Chloe asked, all wide-eyed. “I thought you’d smuggled a stolen crystal ball out of the metaphysical shop under your shirt.”

Jennifer froze, her face pale, then glanced toward me.

I laughed, no help whatsoever.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said, with a regretful smile, as though just then realizing her gaffe. “That was sarcasm, not to mention a poorly timed joke.”

Poorly timed? She’d been dead-on if you ask me.

“Working with Lila is rubbing off on me.” Chloe winked my way, then turned back to Jennifer. “I know you’re pregnant, honey.”

Like the whole world didn’t? I thought. Hello, protuding gut!

“Oh.” Exhale. “Okay. You scared me,” Jennifer said.

She and I shared one of those forced, nervous “heh heh heh!” laughs until that ever-intrusive (at least to me) question, “how do you end your laugh?” entered my brain (remember?) and made me cut mine off abruptly to dive into my latte.

Jennifer took my cue, sorta, and let her laugh taper off with all the grace of an untied balloon farting its way empty through the air until it landed limp and embarrassed on the ground. I couldn’t blame her, because, apparently, she’d never been introduced to the whole “how do you end your laugh?” conundrum. I’d school her about it later.

“So, I know a prospective couple who have been trying to get pregnant through, um, artificial insemination, but it’s not working. And they’re banging their heads against the brick wall of bureaucracy when it comes to adoption.”

Wow, she actually sounded sort of smart. Who’da thunk?

She cleared her throat. “I’ve talked to them a little about adopting my daughter. Just with a ‘what if’ kind of tone.”

“It’s a girl?” Chloe asked gently, with a smile.

“Yes,” Jennifer said, shyly. “The thing is, I don’t want to give her up to some big, impersonal adoption agency where I’ll never know anything about her again, and she’ll never know about me. Plus, I want her to have these moms.”

Chloe blinked twice. “Moms?”

“Reese and Kelly,” I said.

Jennifer’s mouth opened as if to defend any forthcoming argument, but Chloe didn’t even startle. “Oh, that’s sweet. Reese and Kelly are good people. They’ll make amazing parents.”

“If they ever get to be parents. They’ve gone through hell trying.” Jennifer blew out a breath, sipped her cocoa, regained her questionable cool, then said, “Anyway, that’s what I think, too. That they’re the perfect parents for the little goober. In fact, I’m completely obsessed with making it happen at this point.”

They smiled at each other, and I concentrated on my java again. Dude, they so didn’t need me here. In fact, maybe I could melt my way under the table, then low crawl outta there. They wouldn’t even notice.

But—odd as this sounds—I really wanted to find out about the whole adoption process, too. Sure, it felt squirm-worthy to bandy about terms such as “insemination” and “trimester,” with my boyfriend’s mother, but still. Curiosity got the better of me. It seems weird to just sort of give the baby to people you know. I mean, what if you woke up one night and decided you wanted her back? What then?

“It sounds as if you’re interested in open adoption,” Chloe said. “Is that right?”

Jennifer darted a furtive glance toward me. “Um—”

“That means you’d be able to see her even though Reese and Kelly would be her moms. You’d have contact,” I said, all informed and whatnot. I glanced at Chloe. “Right?”

She nodded. “There are basically three types of adoption. Open, mediated, or confidential.” She reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. “Confidential means you’d have zero contact, zero information. You wouldn’t even know where the baby went.”

“No way,” Jennifer said.

Chloe inclined her head. “I don’t think mediated adoption would work in this case, because you live in the same small town as Reese and Kelly. You couldn’t very well keep all your contact with them through a mediator, like a caseworker or attorney, because—”

“I hang out at their store.”

Chloe laughed softly. “Right. So, the question is, are you—the three of you—prepared to deal with open adoption?”

Jennifer tucked her long hair behind her ears. “Well, I don’t really know what’s involved.”

Chloe nodded once. “A close friend of mine has an open-adopted baby. They’ve had regular contact with the birth mother, Mimi, since day one.” She held up a hand. “Let me make it absolutely clear, my friend and her husband are the sole parents. The legal relationship of parent / child between Mimi and her baby was permanently severed when the papers were signed. Period. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“But MiMa, as the child knows her, visits regularly, babysits on occasion. She’s part of their family life without any parental duties or rights whatsoever. She never assumes a parental role with the child, and that’s imperative.”

“That’s exactly what I want. I’m not ready to be a mother. I don’t even want to be one.” Jennifer gulped. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to watch the baby grow up with good parents who can give her the life she deserves.”

“How do Reese and Kelly feel?”

Jennifer bit her lip. “I’d have to talk to them more.”

“If you’re serious, you should do that. We’re talking tons and tons and tons of paperwork, sweetie. All of the interaction details and rules have to be hashed out with separate attorneys for each of you up front and put into an agreement. Of course, things can be modified as the child gets older and her needs change.”

“Oh.” Jennifer’s chin quivered, and tears glistened in her eyes. “I don’t have money for an attorney, and there’s no way my parents would foot that bill. They’d rather the baby just disappear so they can pretend she never happened.”

Chloe reached across and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. Usually the adoptive parents pay for both attorneys.”

A beat passed. “Really? Oh—whew. Okay.” Jennifer visibly relaxed.

“The whole point of open adoption is to minimize the loss of relationships for the baby,” Chloe said. “There won’t be all the questions like, who is my birth mother? Or, why didn’t she want me? You can also make sure she has access to genetic information. That’s so valuable.”

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, wistfully.

“Also, and most vital, an open adoption will allow your birth daughter to maintain connections with all the important people in her life, and that includes you, the young lady who actually gave her the gift of life.”

Jennifer’s tears came in earnest then, and I started to fidget in my chair. Soooo uncomfortable. Chloe, though, she had a handle on it.

Thank God for Chloe! Wait—did I just think that?

“Talk to us, Jen,” Chloe said, in a gentle voice. “What’s going through your head?”

“Everything is just so messed up. My parents—” She punctuated the half-statement with the classic eye roll / head shake combo, which said it all, really. Then she waved her hand. “Don’t mind the tears. It’s a hormonal thing, according to my doctor. I absolutely sob watching reality television these days, even when it’s not sad.”

We all laughed at that one.

As she regained her composure, Jennifer said, “I just so want it to work out. Like, you have no idea. I want Reese and Kelly to be my baby’s moms. More than anything. And I’m afraid it won’t happen because they’re gay and the system will block them. Somehow it feels like having them raise her would make everything all better.”

Chloe dipped her chin. “You have to be clear, hon. A successful open adoption takes work and flexibility and commitment to the long-term, fluctuating relationship between all of you. There will be ups and downs, and through it all, you have to be steadfast in knowing that Reese and Kelly are the moms. No matter what, and I guarantee there will come a day when you disagree with one of their parenting decisions, no matter how perfect you think they are right now. Once you sign that paper, you are not the baby’s mom anymore. Ever.”

Jennifer nodded, her expression solemn.

“How your relationship with the baby will be defined is up to them,” Chloe added firmly. “Not you. Okay?”

“That’s what I want.”

“You’re going through a lot. You have to be sure.”

The set of Jennifer’s chin said she was resolute. “I’m sure. I can’t even keep my St. Patty’s shamrock alive through April each year.”

“Okay, then.” Chloe stooped and retrieved her purse from the ground. She dug through it and extracted a business card. “This is my friend who went through the open adoption. She’ll help as long as she knows you’re serious.”

“I am. Way.”

“When are you due?”

“Christmas.” Jennifer huffed and shook her head sadly. “I know, joke’s on me, right?”

I counted back quickly in my head…nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two—score. The baby had to have been conceived at the end of March, after she and Dylan had broken up for the last time. Mind you, I’m not worried, nor do I doubt what Dylan told me. I was simply double-checking now that I knew her actual due date.

Chloe passed over the card. “Contact her soon, Jennifer, and tell her I sent you. I’ll speak with her, too, but you need to take the initiative before I do that, okay? This is your problem to solve.”

Jennifer nodded.

“What about the baby’s father?”

Jennifer pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Chloe, to her credit, didn’t react one way or the other. “Then this is one hundred percent your responsibility.”

“I know. I swear I’ll contact her ASAP.”

“ASAP means today or tomorrow, not next week or next month.” Chloe raised her eyebrows. “You’re four months along already. These things take time and effort and come with miles of red tape. No dragging your feet.”

Wow, so mom-like, I thought. It gave me uncharacteristic warm fuzzies.

Jennifer studied the card, then beamed up at Chloe through watery eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to help me with this. I know I royally screwed up and all, but—”

“None of that. What’s done is done. And it’s my pleasure to help. No sense compounding one error in judgment with another.” Chloe scraped her chair back, then paused. “Tell Reese and Kelly I’d be more than happy to speak with them, too, if they have questions. We belong to the White Peaks Downtown Commerce Group together, so they know me.”

“Okay.”

“I hate to run, but Miss Lila here and I need to pick up coffee for my employees and head back to work. Here”—Chloe motioned for the card back—“let me write my phone number on the back. Anytime you need to talk or have a question, you can call me.”

Jennifer hesitated. “Um…Chloe? I still know your phone number.”

My gut dropped. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

Just the reminder that Jennifer and Dylan had dated wigged me.

Weak, jealous, stupid.

Dylan was allowed to have a past, for God’s sake. Just because I didn’t have one doesn’t mean he had to be a dateless loser before we hooked up. In fact, I’m well aware he wasn’t a dateless loser pre-Lila. Plus, he and Jennifer hadn’t even really liked each other, which I needed to remember. And they’d never had sex.

“Of course. Sorry. My offer stands.” Chloe stood.

I followed suit, relieved.

“By the way, I like your hair that color,” Chloe said.

“Thanks.” Jennifer reached up and touched her head. “Back to the color God gave me, you know? It sure is easier to maintain. And cheaper.”

I glanced down at the list of coffee orders for the travel agents.

“Lila,” Jennifer said.

I looked up.

“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without all your help and just…well, you’re being so nice to me and I don’t deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves it,” I snapped, way sharper than intended. “That’s the part you and those snotty so-called friends of yours don’t get.”

The three of us—and people at surrounding tables—froze.

Oops. Emotion-belch. Eh, it happens, but bummer that it happened in front of Chloe. Then again, she was a high school girl way back in the day, so surely she’d understand. In any case, I stuffed Honest-but-Tactless Lila back into her inner jail cell where she belonged, then tried to smile at Jennifer. “But at least you’re starting to get it,” I added, to soften my rather harsh (okay, way harsh, albeit true) previous words. “Don’t sweat it.”

The whole coffee shop seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that a smackdown had not ensued. As if I’d open the whup-ass can on a pregnant teenager—please. Last time I checked, I didn’t have “dirtbag” tattooed on my forehead.

We said our good-byes without incident.

After buying the coffees for the other employees, Chloe and I walked silently back to the office, each lost in our own thoughts.

Mine raced. Questioned. Doubted.

So, okay. You could claim that I’d helped Jennifer “formerly Hellspawn” Hamilton gather info about private / open adoption, when all she’d been was pure, spitting evil to me over the years. I get how weird that is, but things change, you know? And grudges are overrated. Meryl was helping her feel included. Chloe was helping her get things in order. Reese and Kelly—well, they tended to help everyone, what with their metaphysical bent, so it kinda didn’t count. Well, it did, but you know what I mean.

And, yes, even I had stepped in—big whoop. If I were in Jennifer’s awful position, I’d sure as hell want support, no matter who gave it. Come the first day of school, there’d be talk, no doubt about it. But frankly, the other kids at WPHS could think and gossip and be as cruel as they wanted about Jennifer and her unfortunate situation. Believe me, they would.

But that didn’t mean I had to play along. That had never been my M.O.

Not even with my boyfriend’s evil ex.

I mean, Phuket, people. Seriously. Just Phuket.

Chapter Eleven

Caressa

Gotta say, the moment I realized Joaquin wasn’t as worldly and out of my league as I’d originally feared? Total relief. He might be an accomplished Broadway dancer, but dude is a regular guy. I mean that in a good way. In fact, he was raised up more “regular” than I was, if you want the truth. He lives with his completely regular family in a regular, smallish apartment (no recording studio, for instance) located in the completely regular Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn, a.k.a. not Manhattan. Plus, he has regular chores that he bitches about and a gloriously regular messy bedroom.

Wait, back up.

The bedroom knowledge is only because he and I have been inseparable buds since that first “cuppa” date, week one of my internship, which we’ve made an almost daily ritual. Thomas would kill me if anything else was going on in that bedroom, trust me. And Dad would ship me home in an instant.

But, when ’Quin and I aren’t at work or at the studio where he practices (and I watch), we hang out, listen to music, watch TV, take long walks. He introduces me to the neighborhoods (I like Greenwich Village, Soho, and, of course, Tribeca), plus he even goes to Sephora with me! And he never cares if I hang with my other friends, like a few other young cast members, or Brandon, this dry-witted, snarky screenwriter a couple of years older than I am who lives in the Rosenthal’s building. We met in the elevator. Brandon has great insights about people and always keeps me laughing. We’re not into each other at all, but I dig chillin’ with him.

The way ’Quin isn’t so regular is that he’s a great talker, unlike a lot of guys I’ve known, Brandon notwithstanding. Seriously, Joaquin and I can walk through the streets of New York City for hours at a time and never run out of stuff to talk about. Love that. During one afternoon outing in Central Park, I’d even come clean about my inappropriate crush on the way-too-old Bobby Slade and how embarrassing it had been. That’s how comfortable I feel with him, and he’s totally cool about anything and everything I confide. He’s like a best friend who happens to be male, something I never thought existed.

Plus, he knows all these excellent cheap places to eat. Yeah, yeah, I know I can afford to eat anywhere, but I don’t want to be that girl, you know? It’s super cool that I can just be regular here, too. Anonymous. I’m not the famous Tibby Lee’s daughter, despite the driver / bodyguard aspect. I’m simply Caressa Thibodoux—boring old regular chick, and I love it.

Don’t misunderstand, I adore my family and I appreciate everything Dad provides. But it’s cool to experience how different people live, too, and Joaquin’s home is so filled with warmth and laughter. I feel one hundred percent comfortable enveloped in the Esquibels’ tightly knit circle.

This evening in Park Slope, Joaquin’s mom encouraged Thomas to take a few hours off, swearing she’d watch me like only a Puerto Rican mami (or a vulture) can. Okay, actually, she practically shoved him out the door, but not before he gave me The Look. You know, the one that conveys, “Behave, no sex, no getting in trouble, no leaving Mrs. Esquibel’s sight (as if she’d allow that—please), no anything that can get me in trouble with Tibby.”

I smiled to encourage him, and frankly? I think he was relieved to have some time to himself. Plus, I adore Thomas. He’s like the non-annoying big brother I never had, and I wouldn’t do anything to get him busted by my dad.

So, he left, and here I stood in the small Esquibel kitchen while Joaquin’s mami taught me how to make asopao, which is a lot like the gumbo I’m used to from my New Orleans background. I felt utterly at home. I don’t know how else to explain it. The scents of salt pork, garlic, and chili peppers permeated the room, and Mrs. Esquibel’s favorite Narciso Figueroa CD played in the background. She danced around in her apron and sang off-tune as sunlight streamed through the narrow window at the end of the kitchen.

Joaquin stood shoulder to shoulder with me chopping papaya into cubes to be cooked in sugar and cinnamon for the dessert, tembleque. When his mom stepped out of the kitchen for a moment, he jostled me from the side. “Sorry Mami roped you into cooking.”

“Are you kidding?” I popped a cube of papaya in my mouth. “I love this.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

“And truly. I’m having the best time.” Overcome by the perfection of the moment, by the way our gazes tangled and locked, I impulsively leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t a tongue-down-the-throat kiss, just an I want to be here with you and nowhere else kiss.

But the fireworks inside me? Mindblowing.

Apparantly, the explosions were mutual.

After one frozen moment, Joaquin set down his chef’s knife and pulled me into his arms, then kissed me as though he’d been wanting to do it for his whole life. I know all the stupid romance novels describe the feeling as “melting into each other,” but maybe they’re not so stupid after all, because that’s exactly what we did. I’d never felt so amazingly wanted in my life, and there was none of that high school awkwardness you’d expect.

We broke apart in an instant as we heard Mrs. Esquibel returning, but from that moment on, a subtle change came over our relationship. I was Joaquin’s, and he was mine. Unspoken, true, but there just the same.

After dinner, we went to Joaquin’s room to watch a movie, and for the first few minutes, we actually did. Side by side on our tummies, eyes fixated on the screen. My mind reeled, though, and pretty soon I couldn’t stand it. I had to know.

I swallowed. “’Quin?”

“Yeah?”

“What was that? In the kitchen?”

A smile teased the corners of his lips. “I guess you’re not talking about the asopao? ’Cuz that’s a Puerto Rican dish.”

I nailed him with a droll stare.

He rolled onto his side, facing me, our bodies touching, then he ran the back of his fingers down my cheekbone. “The truth? I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. Just didn’t seem like you’d be down with it.”

I sighed, pressing my face against his hand and closing my eyes. “I swore I was going to focus on my job and not on guys this summer after the whole—”

“Bobby thing?”

I cringed, peering at him. “Yeah.”

“And now?”

I bit my lip. “Now I’m confused.”

“You’re doing a great job with the show, chulin. I’m not going to jeopardize that.”

I leaned my forehead against his. “But?” I whispered.

“But I’m attracted to you big time. Can’t lie about that. If we were more than friends, that’d be cool with me.”

Beautiful, magical Joaquin Esquibel was into me. So many emotions swirled around inside me right then, I started to think it might’ve been a mistake for us to lie on the bed together, even though we’d been doing so as friends for what seemed like forever. Right now, though, it felt like I couldn’t get close enough, like I couldn’t breathe. I tried to express all that in a simple kiss that turned more complicated and intense. When we finally broke apart, both of us were short of breath. “I want that, too,” I said.

“You sure?”

I nodded.

Joaquin rolled onto his back and pulled me close so I could nestle my head on his shoulder. I curled my body against his, inhaled the spicy scent of his skin and watched his muscular chest rise and fall, rapidly at first and then slower as we both recovered from the explosion of passion that, I suspect, had taken us both by surprise. We stayed there, just like that, for the longest time. Frankly, I could’ve stayed there forever. The movie had completely slipped off our radar, and neither of us cared.

“Ay, mamita,” ’Quin said, on a sigh. “You’re something else.”

I closed my eyes and drank in the bliss of the moment. My world in White Peaks seemed a million miles away, like a different universe, and I’d never felt more special in my life.

*

Lila

After the powwow with Chloe and Jennifer at Mountain Lion, I found myself spending a lot of free time lying on my bed in the yoga corpse pose, staring at the ceiling. I tried to call it meditation. Or a workout. All rationalization attempts failed, though. I finally conceded that this particular (non)activity didn’t count as a hobby. But I couldn’t stop doing it nonetheless, because my life had turned weird.

It was Tuesday afternoon. The infamous birthday sleepover hung above my neck like a guillotine with a weak rope, or whatever the hell they used to hold up the deadly blade. Not only that, but I felt as if I were teetering barefoot on the business edge of a machete. Anxious. Restless. Distracted.

Blades everywhere, if you hadn’t noticed.

Exhaustion enveloped me from the effort of trying not to get sliced or beheaded by all the unexpected sharpness in my life. I knew why, too, but I was having a hard time facing it.

So I pouted.

I flailed.

I memorized every inch of my ceiling (which needed a paint job, incidentally, but who wants to paint a ceiling? Hello, neck pain?).

Then, all of a sudden and with no particular prompt, I decided to grow the hell up. Screw it. No time like the present, right? I’d learned through experience that dreading something is a million times worse than just getting it over with.

Hence, having finally dragged my father out of the dark ages of technology, I rolled onto my side, grabbed my cell phone, and sent him a text message: Have to talk 2U alone. Can I treat U2 dinner 2nite after work? Text back. Love, L.

Moments later, my cell wailed out some kickin’ Bob Marley, indicating, yes, a freakin’ phone call—not a text. Incoming text messages played a Santana riff. So, okay, apparently Dad still has one toe in the dark ages.

I rolled my eyes as I answered. “Hi, Dad.”

“What’s up, m’ija? Is everything all right?”

“You were supposed to text back,” I teased in a groany tone. “I taught you how to do it.”

“Too much work, all that button pushing,” he said. “It’s easier to just dial.”

I shook my head in pity at his ineptitude. “Everything’s fine. I just need to talk to you. It’s important.”

A pause. “Okay.”

“In person. Alone.”

Silence from the other end. “But nothing’s wrong?”

“Nope. I need a favor, is all. An easy favor.”

“A favor, huh?” he said, sounding relieved. Ever since Jennifer’s mom-to-be dilemma, dads all over White Peaks were running scared that their daughters would wind up in the same boat, as if pregnancy were an airborne virus. One wayward inhale and blammo! Pregnant. “Dinner it is,” Dad said. “Burger Wonder, I assume?”

“Of course. Only the best when I’m treating.”

He chuckled. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“’Kay.”

Fast forward to the moment when some poor, minimum-wage slave thrust our paper-lined tray of artery-clogging chow forward with a forced smile and the requisite, socially crippling, “Have a Burger Wonderful evening.”

Dad took the tray and turned to scan for an open table. Meanwhile, feeling like I dodged a huge employment bullet, I leaned toward the poor French fry–hat wearing kid and lowered my tone. “I’m sorry you have to say that. Do you ever fantasize about beating the owner to a pulp?”

The mandatory cheery expression never slipped from the poor kid’s oily face, since big brother apparently watched them constantly. But he managed to answer through clenched teeth that resembled a smile. “Every minute I’m sentenced to this godforsaken hellhole.”

“Hang in there.”

He sagged into his hideous polyester uniform. “I’m a pacifist by nature, but this place is turning me evil, I swear.” He allowed a small eye roll. “I’ve never wanted school break to end so badly.”

“That’s totally bunk.”

“Tell me about it. Next year, I’m going to start looking for a summer job in January.”

I laughed, then turned to find my dad. He’d scored a booth on the left side of the dining area and had already arranged his meal neatly on the spread-flat wrapper of his burger and dug into his fries.

I slid into the molded plastic seat across from him and retrieved my own super yummy junk food, paper wrappers crunching with promise. “How was work?” I stuffed a fry into my mouth.

He bit into his burger. “Eh, same old. Nothing to report.”

I nodded, ate a few more fries. Finally, I cleared my throat. “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting,” I said, in a movie voice. “And at Burger Wonder, of all places.”

His eyes twinkled. “Here I thought you just wanted to have dinner with your dear old dad.”

“We’ve gone over this,” I said with ultra-patience. “You’re not old.”

He huffed. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re my age.”

As if. “Plus,” I said in a droll tone. “I told you I needed to talk to you.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

I sucked down some of my Diet Pepsi because my throat had gone instantly dry. After I swallowed, I knocked on my chest with the side of my fist. That Pepsi burn, you know. Afraid I’d chicken out, I dove right in. “The thing is, Dad, I invited a couple friends for a sleepover on Friday night.”

His brows arched. “A couple friends?”

My skin heated. That’s the problem, see? Dad knows my only sleepover friends are Meryl and Caressa, because a girl can’t be too careful about who she invites into her private sanctuary. And Caressa was across the country. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I’m, um, not sure if you know Jennifer Hamilton? Actually, she was my hugest enemy ever last year. She sort of hates me. Well, we sort of hate each other.” I sighed. The explaining thing? Not going so well. “Um, not anymore, though. At least I don’t think so.” I sighed again, more dramatically. “It’s a long confusing story that even I don’t understand completely, but—”

“I’ve heard all about Jennifer.”

Chloe must’ve filled him in. I gulped. “Even the part about her being pregnant?”

He lowered his chin. “How’s she handling everything?”

“Better than I ever expected her to, especially since her family isn’t the least bit supportive.” I hiked a shoulder. “But anyway, in a weak moment, I invited her to come over. With Meryl. We’re just trying to be nice.”

Silent, he watched me. It was this danged cop technique that worked like a charm. Stay quiet, and eventually the other person will start singing like a bird. I think priests use it in the confession booth, too. And even though I knew about it, I still cracked. “See, it’s her eighteenth birthday, her old friends have dumped her—totally rude, but no great loss, believe me, even though one of them was Miffany—”

“I’m well aware how you feel about your brother’s girlfriend.”

“Not sure you know the extent of it. My hate has grown exponentially since she dumped her supposed best friend. I mean, who does that?” Miffany, O she of the ridiculous name and vapid personality, is proof positive of my stupid brother’s questionable taste. “Anyway, Jennifer’s parents aren’t in the party-throwing mood, as you might imagine.”

He nodded, all calm-like.

I exhaled my frustration. “Okay, fine. I don’t know why I invited her over, Dad, but I did. Done deal. And I can’t take it back. It just seems wrong to have your eighteenth pass with no fanfare whatsoever, even if you are a former total hag who only changed into a halfway decent person because of an unplanned pregnancy that probably happened when you were drunk.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m not even sure I trust her,” I said, my tone plaintive. “But, there you have it.” I flailed my arms. “Party at the Morenos’, Friday. Woot woot! I’m an idiot, right?”

“No. You’re a good, kind person,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “You make me proud. But what does this have to do with the favor you need from me?”

My blood pressure shot up as though I was one of those ring-the-bell carnival games and someone had just smacked the thingie with a sledgehammer. Ding! But I had to go there. I held both palms out. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, okay?”

A beat passed, and he stilled. “Okay.”

“Because it’s going to sound bad. And it’s not because I’m trying to be a jerk or act like I don’t approve of—”

“Spit it out, m’ija. You can say anything to me.”

I sighed, then cringed. Then I felt disloyal to my boss, a woman I’d come to like and respect, totally separate of her relationship to either my father or my boyfriend. Total mental flailing, people. I blinked at Dad. “Can you…not have Chloe spend the night on Friday?” To my surprise, my eyes got all misty. “I’m sorry. It’s just because, who knows what kind of person Jennifer’s going to transform back into once she has the baby, and I don’t want people gossiping about me and my home life at school.”

Dad studied me for several long moments, then reached out and covered my hand with his. He sucked in one side of his cheek with some kind of emotion. Regret? Sadness? I couldn’t tell. “I never even asked you how you felt about my relationship with Chloe. I’m sorry for that.”

Ugh!

“You don’t have to ask me, Dad. You’re the adult.”

“We’re a family. If something makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t,” I said.

He looked skeptical.

My skin flamed. “I mean, it did at first. I won’t lie. I was sort of…mortified by the whole thing. But not because of Chloe herself,” I rushed to add. “Just because of the whole me dating Dylan issue.”

His face fell, and guilt washed over me.

“I don’t feel that way anymore. I really like Chloe,” I said. “I’ve gotten to know her at work and she’s so cool. I totally understand why you like her, too.”

He smiled then.

“Can I ask you something, though?”

“Of course.”

My chin quivered, but I searched his eyes. “Why my boyfriend’s mom, of all the women in White Peaks? You’re not exactly unpopular with the badge bunny set, so desperation couldn’t have been the issue.”

Dad grimaced at the mention of badge bunnies.

“It’s just, the fact that you have a thing with Dylan’s mom sort of puts me in a really awkward position with everyone at school.” I twisted my mouth to the side. “You know how evil high school is.”

Dad sat back with a sigh, stretching his arm across the back of the booth. “Ay, m’ija. That amorphous attraction to another person, it’s hard to explain. When it happens, it simply happens.”

I nodded. Boy, did I understand that. I used to think Dylan was the Antichrist, what with his Junior Narc (oh, pardon me—Police Explorer) wannabe cop status. You have to understand, growing up in a family of five guys, all cops or future cops, put me off the whole notion of dating one. But Dylan had turned out to be so much more than just an Explorer.

“I never meant to make your life more difficult. Chloe and I, we just click. She has her life and interests, I have mine. She’s independent. I’m busy. No clinging. It works.” He paused, pinning me with his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry.” I took a moment to wallow in the utter weirdness of the fact that I was having this conversation with my father, and in a rather mature way, I might add. “I want you to be happy.” I paused so long, I could almost hear the rhythm of my pounding heartbeat. “Mom’s been gone for a long, long time, Dad.”

“She has.” His mouth curved downward in this melancholy way that made my tummy ache. “Sometimes it seems like forever, and other times I can still smell her perfume in the house or hear her singing to herself off-tune as she cooked dinner.”

I gulped back the giant lump in my throat. If only I had more genuine memories of Mom. Sometimes I can’t even picture her anymore without looking at an actual photograph. “She sang while she cooked?”

“Yeah.” The smile lines around his eyes deepened, and he pressed his lips into a flat line. “Sounded like a cat with its tail stuck in a door. Horrible.”

I gave a watery chuckle.

Dad reached across the table and took one of my hands in his. “I’ll always love her, Lila. No one can or ever will replace your mother in my heart.”

“I know.”

“You remind me so much of her, m’ija, now that you’re a young woman. I catch a glimpse of you sometimes and it’s like a kick in my gut.”

Great. Now I really wanted to cry. Sob, really. The kind with drool and boogers and irreparable public humiliation. I staved it off, albeit with considerable effort. “You’ve always put us kids first, for so many years. You deserve to be with someone you like. Someone who gets you.” I shrugged. “If that’s Chloe, then it’s Chloe, regardless of the fact that she’s my boyfriend’s mom. I’m sorry if I was a jerk about it before.”

“You weren’t. I would never think badly of you for feeling what you feel.” He reached across the table and cupped my chin. “You’ve really grown up recently, you know that?”

“I’m trying. But, man, growing up sucks.”

“You’re a whiz at it.”

I sat a bit straighter, proud that he thought so. “So, about this Friday?”

“Consider it done.” He smacked his palm flat on the table. “I’ll stay home alone, the perfect spinster dad.”

I laughed. “I don’t think a guy can be a spinster.” Could he? I’d have to ask Meryl. She’d know. “But thank you anyway.”

“De nada. Anything for my baby girl.”

We dug into our burgers, then, the air cleared like it hadn’t been all summer. In between bites, I decided, since I was on a roll, I might as well throw down the big mondo request. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Sure.” He eyed me. “As long as it doesn’t involve a keg for your party.”

“Dad!” I bugged my eyes with indignance. “Get a grip. It’s me, Meryl, and a pregnant girl, for God’s sake!”

“Good point. Plus I was joking. Okay, shoot.”

I gulped and doubted myself. But if I was going to bring it up, now was the time. “If you and Chloe decide to, like, move in together…or get married, can you at least wait until Dylan and I are both in college? I just can’t bear the thought of my boyfriend living in the same house with me.”

Dad leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “That statement is music to a father’s ears, babe,” he said. “And of course. You have my word.”

I sigh-smiled.

“Just so you know, Chloe and I haven’t even broached the topic of taking our relationship to that level.”

My tummy flopped. “It’s okay if you have, and really, I don’t need details.” Gak! “But thank you. Again.”

That settled, we relaxed and enjoyed the rest of our meal, the conversation centering around Jennifer’s predicament (my dad was shockingly compassionate—although I don’t know why that surprised me), next year’s plans for the Junior Narcs (yes, after all my whining last year, I’d decided to stick with it another year anyway since the heinous uniform was broken in and all that—so what?), and an update on Caressa’s adventures in the big city, including the recently gleaned fact that she has a hottie boyfriend.

As I wadded my greasy burger wrapper into a ball and stuffed it into the empty French fry container, I decided I have a pretty awesome dad. Okay, so he jacks up my life on a fairly regular basis, but I suppose that’s just part of his fatherly duties. Being female, I couldn’t be sure. In any case, Chloe wouldn’t be spending the night during our slumber party, so no parental sex awkwardness, and Dylan wouldn’t be witnessing my morning bed head anytime soon.

Two fewer worries for moi.

Plus, I felt…grown up. Closer to my dad.

I’d dealt with the situation head-on rather than freaking out about it like usual. Excellent results for one dinner’s worth of work, if I do say so myself.

I decided I would indeed have a Burger Wonderful evening.

Chapter Twelve

The next afternoon, Ismet and Dylan surprised Meryl and me by picking us up from work for a treat at I Scream. Can we pause for a moment and reflect on just how cool it is to (1) actually have boyfriends after being guy repellant for so long, and (2) have the kind who think to pick you up for surprise ice cream dates?!? This time last year, I was destined to be one of those thirty-year-old virgins from the movies. Being an almost-eighteen-year-old virgin? A-OK with me. A thirty-year-old virgin? Whooooole different ball game, folks.

Sunlight streamed down onto Main Street as the four of us ambled toward the ice cream parlor with that carefree summer attitude of having all the time in the world. If I could swing a butterfly net around and capture Everything Good in the Universe, that’s how life felt to me right then. Flowers cascaded out of giant urns spaced along the sidewalk, and the air smelled sweet and juicy, like a slice of watermelon. Perfect afternoon, perfect friendship, perfect boyfriend, perfect simple surprise.

I slid my hand into Dylan’s and moved closer. We shared one of those private BF / GF smiles as we listened to Ismet relate his tale of a harrowing encounter with a rattlesnake earlier that afternoon. (Ismet won.)

Ismet, incidentally, had scored a job on a landscaping crew for the summer, and—all snake encounters aside—the outdoor, physical work agreed with him big time. He was looking mighty tan and muscular. I’d say Meryl was a lucky girl, but anyone who really knew Mer would agree that Ismet was a lucky guy.

Meryl’s just…totally stellar.

Unique, quirky, but definitely top shelf. I mean, look how she’d opened her heart to Jennifer when she had no logical reason to do so. That’s the coolest thing about both of my best friends. I wanted to be more like each of them, just in different ways.

At I Scream, we ordered, then settled at an umbrella table with our goodies and continued talking about our various work days while we ate. Meryl told us about some weird lady from Troublesome Gulch, a nearby town, who’d brought in all the clothes she’d purchased from the secondhand shop to have them “exorcised” of their previous owners’ karmas. Hilarious, I tell you. Dylan had taught a seventy-five-year-old lady how to grass ski that day, and apparently she kicked ass.

I’d done my usual Office Assistant duties, dull in comparison to a poisonous snake, a garment exorcism, and an athletic grandma, but I was able to share that Alan had booked an older couple on a freaky-expensive, four-month, round-the-world trip that morning—a total score for the agency. We’re talking thousands of dollars, a full college education worth of cashola, with out-of-state tuition, books, and beer included.

Just perusing their itinerary was enough to make me drool (and—how much does this rule—they’re making a stop in Phuket!).

Dylan finished his gigantic, repulsive waffle cone concoction from hell about the same time I savored the last bite of my single scoop (butter pecan—duh) in a cup. He took my trash and his and chucked them in the bin, then sat down next to me again. Ismet and Meryl were still eating.

He looked around the table at each of us in turn. “What do you guys think about having a marathon Monopoly tournament on Friday night?” Dylan asked. “Couple versus couple? Winners take all?”

“All of what?” Meryl asked, ever the pragmatist.

I flicked a glance at her. “That would be fun, but Meryl and I…kind of have a thing on Friday.”

“A thing?” Dylan asked.

Ismet nodded once. “Ah, that is the night of the birthday sleepover at Lila’s for the pregnant girl, yes?”

Shoot. The ice cream curdled in my gut.

“Yep,” Meryl said, cheerily. “I just bought her present today. I think she’ll like it. In fact, I know she will. Have you shopped for a gift yet, Lila?”

I felt like I had a wasp in my throat. A pissed-off wasp. “Um, no. Not yet. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, just swamped staring at my ceiling for hours on end.

I suck.

Clearly she and Ismet had discussed The Big Event.

As for me? Well, let’s just say my girlfriend ranking dipped instantly, because I hadn’t said word one to Dylan about Jennifer coming over. Why? Because it seemed sticky, and avoidance had always been so convenient for me, sort of my Way of Life. Caressa even gave me a coffee mug for Christmas last year that says, “Hard work may pay off eventually, but procrastination always pays off now.” So profound.

But now I’d been outed, so I had some ’splaining to do.

I met Dylan’s surprised and curious gaze, silently pleading with him to wait. I tried to telegraph the message that I’d tell him everything later, that it was no biggie, and that I really did L-word him and hadn’t meant to be a jerk. Hard to convey all that in one glance, but I threw out my best shot.

He studied my expression, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. “That’s cool. I have the whole weekend free. How about Saturday night, then?”

“Works for me,” Meryl said.

“Me, too,” Ismet said.

I still hadn’t found my voice, what with the wasp, so I just nodded. And, despite the gorgeous afternoon and the super fun surprise, I really, really wanted to break up the ice cream social ASAP so I could come clean to Dylan before this lie of omission came back to bite me in the ass.

We continued to make small talk, but seriously, the moment Meryl and Ismet finished their shared banana split (yes, they’re that cute), I smacked my palms together once then rubbed them rapidly. “I hate to eat and run,” I said, in an overly chipper tone, “but I have something to do for my dad.”

“No problem,” Meryl said, with a smile. “I promised my mom I’d go through my closet and gather all the things I no longer wear so we can take them to charity before the school year starts. Maybe I should have the karma exorcised out of them first.”

The guys laughed.

“I’ll call you later to firm up the plans for Friday, Lila.”

“Okay.” I glanced up at Dylan, who’d already stood. Gulp. “Do you have time to walk me home?”

“Definitely,” he said, the muscle in his jaw clenching. That one word was packed with so much meaning, I can’t even tell you. Problem was, I didn’t possess the decoder ring to decipher the message.

We did the hug-hug good-bye ritual all around, then Dylan and I headed off toward my house. For the first block, I couldn’t come up with a way to launch this particular squirmy-icky-blechy conversation. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Dylan gets me, so he’s always good about pushing me out of procrastination city.

“So,” he started. “A birthday sleepover for the pregnant girl?” His tone sounded more mystified than pisstified.

A positive sign. I think.

I sighed. “Let’s stop in the park and I’ll tell you all about it. Do you have time?”

His brow furrowed. “I have all the time in the world, but I thought you had an errand to do for your dad.”

“Oh.” I flipped my hand, feeling all busted and stuff. “Actually, that was sort of…a lie.”

He studied me with pity, then shook his head. “You really should stop with the lying stuff, Lila.”

“But it was a harmless lie. A lie with purpose!” I spread my arms. “I just wanted time alone with you to explain what’s up.”

He nodded, lips pressed together. I still couldn’t read him, and that freaked me out.

I stared at him.

He stared at me. “Is this when the explanation part happens? I’m just trying to get the timeline down.”

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the gazebo. We settled on top of the empty picnic table beneath it, our feet resting side by side on the seat bench. The shade felt comfortably cool on my overheated skin, helping me relax. I wound my fingers together in a decent rendition of a Celtic knot and blew out a sigh. “So, the thing is, in a moment of…I don’t know…weakness, idiocy, you name it, I invited Jennifer for a sleepover. With Meryl and me. Friday.”

“I gathered that part,” he said, in a wry tone.

“Right.” I stared at the ground. Why was it always so difficult to get to the heart of a discussion like this? I plunged back in. “Does it wig you out?” He didn’t answer for so long, I glanced over. “Does it?”

“No.”

“Seriously, Dylan.”

“I am being serious. It’s not that. I’m glad you and Jennifer aren’t doing the whole mutual hate thing anymore. That scratchy girl-fight stuff always makes me uncomfortable.”

“She started it.”

“I know.” He hesitated.

I thought about further arguing the fact that I had never once engaged in a scratch fight with the chick, but decided that was a tangent not worth pursuing. “But?”

He reached over and wrangled one of my hands out of its knot so he could hold it. “I guess I’m just curious why didn’t you tell me.”

“Oh.” That. I shoulda known.

“Meryl told Ismet.”

“Yes, but Ismet never dated Jennifer.” The hand-holding thing eased my worry a bit. He even massaged my knuckles. But still.

“Weak argument. Come up with something better.”

I twisted my lips, thinking. “Just because, I don’t know.”

He scoffed. “Even weaker. Geez, Moreno, I used that argument in third grade.”

I forced out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Because it seems bizarre and dangerous, even to me, that I’m willingly hosting your ex-girlfriend-slash-my former archenemy at my house. On a variety of levels. So I figured it would be even more bizarre to you.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

I chewed on the question. Brain malady? It was the kind of excuse the old, immature Lila would’ve jumped on, but I knew it wasn’t true. I thought about Jennifer at the coffee shop, and that pang of sympathy returned. “A few reasons, I guess. I’ve gotten to know her a little better since she’s been hanging with Meryl, for one thing. I’ve decided maybe she’s not from hell. Maybe only purgatory.”

He stretched the corners of his mouth down and weighed it. “A step up, I guess.”

“Plus, her parents are jackasses.”

“True.”

“And so are her friends. Ex-friends, make that.”

“Isn’t Miffany still dating your brother?” he asked.

“Yes. Hork.” I feigned the finger-down-the-throat action. “But they won’t be around Friday or it would never work.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. I could tell things weren’t completely settled between us yet, despite my—if I do say myself—excellent display of raw honesty.

I looked into his eyes beseechingly. “Listen. The invitation itself was spur of the moment, Dyl. I don’t know. It just blurted out. She’s turning eighteen and, like, no one was going to celebrate with her because she’s knocked—I mean, pregnant. That seems so harsh.”

“Okay. I get that.”

Startled, I asked, “You do?”

He nodded again, then spoke in his version of a snark tone, which, incidentally, wouldn’t even warrant an associate membership in the Snark and Sarcasm Society. Props for trying though. “I know I’ve been hiding it behind a total jerkoff demeanor, but I’m actually a pretty reasonable guy.”

“I never thought you were a jerkoff—which is a gross word, by the way.” Or is it wordS, as in plural? Meryl would probably say it was two words, hyphenated, but I had no plans to ask her the proper spelling and / or usage of jerkoff.

“Sorry.”

I rolled his apology off one shoulder. “I’m glad you understand because I’m not even sure I understand,” I muttered, refocusing on my feet. “I mean, I still don’t know if I want to be friends with the chick.”

“Cut yourself some slack. And her. It was a nice, selfless gesture and it’s one measly night. She’s not so bad when she’s not with her pack.”

“She’s packless at the moment. Pack-free. Unpacked—well, forget that one.”

“Niiice,” Dylan said, sardonically.

“My point—”

“And you do have one—”

“—is that she’s a lone wolf. A lone pregnant wolf, and if Disney made the movie, her parents would’ve been killed by hunters within the first two minutes of screen time. I always hated that about Disney animal movies.”

“Me, too.”

“Hence the invite.”

He leaned over and kissed my temple. “It’s cool, Lila. Really. The invitation’s not even the issue.”

I blinked toward him. “Then what is?”

He shrugged. “I’m hurt that you felt you couldn’t tell me about it.”

My heart shot into my throat as panic set in. “Not telling you didn’t mean anything. Honest. I’m ooged out, that’s all.” And frankly, I didn’t want to have another fight with him. About anything. Ever.

He brushed my hair behind my ear. “But we’re a couple, Ly. Tight.”

I leaned against him. “I know.”

“So why can’t you talk to me about oog stuff?”

“I can!” I widened my eyes. “I mean, don’t I always? You’ve been a witness to my neuroses more than anyone in the world besides my family or Meryl and Caressa.”

He smirked. “Okay, you have me on that one.”

I lifted our joined hands up and kissed the back of his. “I guess it’s just because the whole situation is…beyond strange. For one, she’s your ex-girlfriend—”

“Ancient history.”

“I know. But it still feels wiggy.”

He didn’t respond.

I squinched my nose. “I give. Not telling you was dumb and I admit it. I know all about your relationship with Jennifer, how it was. I should’ve told you right away and been confident that you’d be the coolest boyfriend ever about the whole stupid thing.” I paused. “I made a mistake. Probably the first of many. Do you accept my humble apology?”

“Depends.” He tilted his chin down and eyed me. “Do you promise to be more open with me?”

“Yes,” I said in a rush. “I swear. I’ll tell you everything I’m feeling or thinking every single moment for the rest of my life.” I swallowed. “Like, for example, I really want to kiss you right now.”

That was when we started making out.

Really, you don’t need details about that aspect of our big talk, okay? Use your imagination.

When we finally broke apart, our breathing seemed heavier, parts of me felt throbby and off-kilter, and I loved it. Hey, I’m only human. Dylan ran his hand through the side of my hair, and he seemed equally off-kilter. I didn’t detect any throb activity on his behalf, but I just assumed it was there.

“So…” He touched the edge of my nose. “On the rare occasion that she actually eats, Jennifer likes German chocolate cake. Just a tip, in case that was part of the planned birthday festivities.”

A cake. Oops. I hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh, she eats now. Trust me. Like for two or three.” Hadn’t he seen her expanding girth recently? I smiled. “You’re the best boyfriend ever, did you know that?”

“Duh,” he deadpanned.

I laughed. “Modest, too.”

“You’re not half bad yourself, Lila Jane Moreno,” he said in that deep but soft tone of voice that always made me turn into one of those stupid girls I silently mocked, all sighs and eyelashes batting and googly. Lame.

Proof positive of my transformation into the aforementioned stupid girl, I sighed. Couldn’t help it. I decided to turn the conversation to something that would render me less mockworthy. “So”—I smacked my palm on his thigh—“about the Monopoly tournament.”

His eyebrows lifted. “What about it?”

“I know you said couple-couple, but I think it should be girls versus guys.” I jostled my shoulder against his. “I want the opportunity to royally kick your testosterone-fueled asses, and believe me, we will.”

He grinned. “You’re on, but you’re also dreaming. Prepare to die in the poor house, woman.”

And then, with everything settled between us, we made out some more.

I have to admit, those hideously over-the-top waffle cone thingies Dylan seemed so fond of taste pretty good on his lips.

Chapter Thirteen

T-minus forty-eight hours until the infamous birthday sleepover, and I still hadn’t come up with a single decent gift idea for ol’ Jennifer.

Stretch mark ointment?

First day of school maternity smock?

A gift certificate to Humongous-Bras-R-Us?

They all sucked. I was pondering this very issue as I tossed a green salad to go with Dad’s world-famous chicken enchiladas Wednesday evening while Chloe set the table.

Hang on.

Can you even grasp how huge it is that it no longer seems whack to me when Chloe joins us for dinner? It’s usually when Dylan has evening training sessions for the WPHS ski team, by the way, which is practically every night now that school is creeping up on us. It’s not like she abandons him at their house to eat Pop-Tarts in front of the TV while we dine on my dad’s meals, not that Dylan would mind. (Guys.) But still. The point is, he’s never excluded, he just seems to have ski team training around dinnertime. And the super-secret truth is, I’m okay with it, what with that whole stepbrother-stepsister-boyfriend-girlfriend freakishness always lurking around the corner.

The scents of chicken and chile and melted cheese permeated the room. My dad let me pick the dinner music, so Bob Marley wailed softly in the background, making me wish—and not for the first time—that I was a Caribbean beach-dwelling Rastafarian. (Don’t ask—it’s just one of those inexplicable childhood fantasies that clung.)

In short order, we sat down to the dinner I’d been looking forward to all day, and yet—I don’t know—call me paranoid, but it seemed like Dad and Chloe were hiding something. Don’t get me wrong—serving dishes were passed, water was poured, clink, clink of the silverware and whatnot, all that normal stuff. But I am my father’s daughter when it comes to trusting the gut feeling.

Evidence: they both had smirky smiles on their faces that they were obviously trying (and failing) to hide, and the conversation hovered on the surfacey level. It was all way too chipper, too, like all the important things were left unsaid.

It started to give me the creeps. It reminded me too much of the day Meryl and Caressa broke the news that Jennifer was preg—

My hand spasmed, and I flicked a forkful of enchilada onto the table.

Oh no! Was Chloe pregnant?!

I shoved the thought away and stared down at my plate taking deep breaths. Dad’s chicken enchiladas, I told myself, in an effort to get back in the groove. My favorite meal.

It didn’t work.

The stress level was destroying my ability to groove with the food. That’s just wrong. I set down my fork with a clank that I hope conveyed my annoyance. “Okay. I can’t take this tension for the whole meal.”

“Excuse me?” Dad asked.

“Come on, Dad. You’re the one who taught me to trust my instincts.” I glared from him to Chloe and back. “Something’s wrong. Don’t bother denying it.”

They exchanged a glance that had guilt written all over it.

“Well? What is it?” I asked, looking from one to the other. All the stuff it could be swirled through my head…marriage, pregnancy, a breakup. I didn’t puke; point in my favor.

“Dad?” I demanded.

After an internal struggle that played out on his face like the Cirque du Soleil of expressions, he blurted, “Your eighteenth birthday is coming up,” in total non-sequitur fashion.

Was he kidding? My gaze bopped around the room. “O-okay, yeah. I know. It’s been penciled in my mental calendar since kindergarten. Not really an answer to my question, though.”

“Actually, it is,” Chloe said. “Sort of.”

Now she had my attention. “What do you mean?”

“First of all,” Dad said, having regained his composure, “nothing’s wrong. We were going to tell you after dinner, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you should have worked on the sly thing so I didn’t pick up on the ‘secret, secret, who has a secret?’ vibe.” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my abdomen. “You have to tell me whatever it is now. This is torture. I can’t even eat.”

Chloe touched my dad’s forearm as if to say it was okay, then focused on me. “You’ve done such an amazing job at the agency, Lila, that your dad and I have been racking our brains for the perfect, extra-special birthday present.” Her perfectly shaped brows raised. “Your eighteenth. That’s big.”

“Indeed,” I said.

“So this gift is part birthday and part bonus for all your hard work at the agency,” Dad said.

“Wow. Thanks.” My throat tightened, my brain raced with expectation, and I could think of just one word.

Phuket.

Yeah, I know, it has nothing to do with anything. But it had become the theme word of my summer job, I’m afraid to say. I’m Just That Juvenile, ladies and gents. Deal with it. I stayed silent, waiting for them to spit it out.

Chloe pulled a face. “One concession: you’re stuck with me as a chaperone. I hope you girls can handle that.”

Chaperone? Girls? Heh? I was completely confused. I felt like they’d duct-taped me to the wall, and they were chucking random puzzle pieces of info at me, expecting me to somehow grasp the whole picture. Which I wasn’t. “Just tell me. Please!”

Dad grinned. “Okay, okay.” He paused just long enough for me to get dizzy with anticipation. “In a couple of weeks, Chloe is taking you and Meryl to New York City for a girls’ weekend, and you’ll get to see Caressa’s show.”

My entire DNA lurched, I was so stunned by his words. Can I just say, U-N-E-X-P-E-C-T-E-D. In a global way. Holy, holy, holy—I gripped onto the table edge, shaky with excitement, jaw hanging open. I had so many questions, I didn’t know where to start. “Oh my God! D-does Meryl—?”

“It’s all been cleared with Meryl’s parents and her bosses, but she doesn’t know about it yet.” Dad winked. “We thought we’d tell you first, since it’s your birthday gift, and let you pass on the surprise.”

“It has to be before your actual birthday, because Caressa will be home by then,” Chloe added, with a sympathetic twist to her lips. “Hope that’s okay.”

Like what was I going to say? Stomp! “I will not go to New York City before I’m officially eighteen, and that’s final!”

Adults, I swear.

Like, who cared when? I almost passed out, I was so psyched. “Oh. My. God! Dad! Chloe! Really?”

They nodded. “Happy birthday, m’ija,” Dad said.

I widened my eyes at Chloe. “You guys did this all behind the scenes? Without slipping up?”

“At the agency while you were there, in fact.” Chloe laughed. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

I admit it—my cool flew straight out the window like a bird. I jumped up from my chair and danced around, squealing and laughing like a simpleton. When I’d regained a semblance of my composure, I gave both of them huge bear hugs, then demanded all the pertinent details, none of which I could actually retain. I mean, New York City! And Caressa’s show! And getting to meet her hottie dancer boyfriend! Could it get any better than that?

When I finally sat back down, my tummy was so swirly I couldn’t eat. Well, except for dessert, because my dad’s homemade flan—a Mexican caramel custard—was To Die For, and there’s always room for dessert. But it was all good, because leftover chicken enchiladas make a great breakfast (really), so I’d get to enjoy them tomorrow with my coffee.

I repeat: Oh. My. God.

New York City!

I kept blurt-giggling as my wannabe chef Dad plated the jiggly flan, topped it with caramel sauce, then set it before us. I couldn’t help it. Dad and Chloe continued blabbering about the details, but all I heard was, like, “Flight-blah blah blah-Hotel-blah blah blah—New York City!”

I couldn’t think of a better eighteenth birthday gift!

Honestly, it was utter perfection.

And that’s when it hit me, right during my second bite of flan. The brainstorm. Actually, I don’t know if it was a brainstorm or a brain fart, but there you have it.

I swallowed my flan, heart pounding, then looked across the table at Dad and Chloe. “Um…I just thought of something. It might not be possible, but…” Doubt crept in like a squatter. “No, never mind.”

Dad glanced at Chloe, then back at me. A line of curiosity bisected his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” Maybe I should just go ahead and ask. I’d already started. UGH!

“What is it?” Dad urged.

I had to take several breaths before I could get the question out without sounding shaky. “Do you think, maybe, Jennifer could come with us?”

That rendered them both dead silent.

I mean, they looked shell-shocked, truth be told, which made sense because they know Jennifer’s and my sketchy history. Or, wait—maybe it was a fiscal blow. Maybe I’d asked for too much.

Maybe I seemed ungrateful!

I cleared the panic from my throat and, you guessed it, rambled. “I mean, I only suggest it because she’s had a crappy summer. Like, the crappiest. And she’ll have to face the evil flying monkey posse on a daily basis come September. So her senior year will be even worse which, like Dylan told me, you can’t really relive. Unless you’re Bart Holyoke, who relived it twice, but it’s not the same thing—Dylan said that, too. What I mean is, Jennifer won’t be able to cheerlead—is that a word? I’ll ask Meryl. Or wear cute clothes, and oh—then Christmas will blow because of the whole going into labor thing and giving her baby away deal.” I flipped my hand. “I know it’s probably way too expensive, so just forget it. But I haven’t gotten her a present yet because I couldn’t think of anything good. New York—now that’s good. The sleepover is in two days, so I have to come up with something. Wait! I can pay for it out of my check—if you don’t mind me taking just a little bit longer to reimburse you for the car, Dad. I just think it would be nice—”

“Lila,” Dad said.

I snapped my mouth shut. Sometimes, during one of my infamous uncontrollable rambles, my dad could bark my name just so, and it worked like the perfect slap across the face that knocks a person out of hysteria.

“I get travel benefits from work,” Chloe said softly, “so it wouldn’t cost much at all.”

Gulp! “Really?”

She nodded. “I’d be more than happy to include Jennifer. If that’s what you really want.”

I blinked. Was it? “It is. I think.”

Dad and Chloe beamed with so much pride, I almost needed sunglasses to look at them.

“It’s so generous of you, m’ija.”

“You raised an amazing daughter, Nathan,” Chloe said, all bright-eyed and sappy.

Ew. I didn’t want all these accolades. In fact, the sap quotient in the room had reached a barf-worthy level. “Well, if she can even go.” Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with the whole Lila Is a Saint deal. “Her parents are jacka—”—oops—“um, jacking her around.”

“I’ll talk to Jennifer’s parents,” Dad said, his tone confident. “Her father’s involved in the city council and I know him quite well. I’m sure I can make him understand how beneficial this trip would be for his daughter’s morale.”

Wow, thug it out, Dad! The way he said it, I knew he’d handle the mean Mr. Hamilton, no problemo. “Can you find out before Friday? I’d like to tell her at the sleepover if I can.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dad said.

“Jen will be so thrilled,” Chloe said. “You’re such a sweet, thoughtful girl.”

I smiled, closed mouthed and feeling just this side of nauseated. First the chicken enchiladas, and now I couldn’t even finish my flan. That sucked. Plus, the second-guessing had begun. I’d been given the best trip ev-er for my birthday, with my very bestest, truest-bluest friends in the universe, and who did I spontaneously invite to join us?

Jennifer Hamilton. Of all people.

Helping her with the pregnancy stuff was one thing. Welcoming her into the inner circle? Whole different issue. But what’s done is done. No turning back unless I wanted to look like a complete ass to Dad and Chloe.

Plus, I must admit, the warm fuzzy factor was pretty dang high. Last year I’d been busted for forging parental signatures at school and had totally lost my dad’s trust. This year I was, miraculously enough, a “sweet, thoughtful girl.” If that’s not personal growth, folks, I don’t know what is.

I just hoped all this growth was worth it.

On that frightening note, I said a silent prayer that my impulsive let’s-include-my-former-enemy suggestion didn’t come back to bite me.

*

The instant we’d finished cleaning up dinner, I excused myself and dashed up to my computer to see if Meryl was signed on. She was—probably studying, knowing Mer. Summer, be damned! Ya gotta love her. I released a long, relieved breath.

My fingers shook as I keyed in the IM:

LawBreakR: Mer, I don’t care if UR studying Bosnian, even if UR about 2 have a breakthrough moment in UR learning. U have 2 come 2 my house right now. Not kidding. It’s urgent.

I drummed my fingers on the edge of my desk like I’d had a Red Bull / espresso combo with an extra shot of ADD while I waited for her to reply. She was, admittedly, quick about it, but it seemed like it took about five years.

MerylM: Are you okay?

LawBreakR: I’m fine. No, I’m great.

MerylM: I can’t come over. Something’s wrong with The Beast—it won’t start. Dad’s taking a look at it tomorrow. He thinks it’s something to do with the—never mind. Can you come here instead?

LawBreakR: I’ll be there in 5 minutes.

MerylM: Lila, it’s a 15 minute drive on winding roads. Don’t be reckless. And watch out for deer. I’ll be waiting.

Reckless schmeckless. We’re talking New York City! I signed off and bounded down the stairs with all the grace of a stampeding rhino, startling my Dad and Chloe, who were watching TV. They both spun to face me.

I pointed toward the front door. “Can I run to Meryl’s and tell her about the trip?”

Dad relaxed. “Of course. Just calm down and remember your promise to always drive carefully.”

“I will,” I said on the fly as I palmed my keys and yanked my purse off the table by the front door.

“Lila Jane!” Dad said, snapping me to attention.

“Yeah?”

“Focus on your driving,” he said, in his police chief voice, leveling me with a deadly serious stare. “I’m not kidding.”

“I will.” I sighed with a fair bit of drama, then smiled at my boss. “Bye, Chloe. See you tomorrow and thank you again. So much.”

“Bye, honey,” she said.

It didn’t even bother me that she called me honey. In fact, I kinda liked it.

Seventeen thousand hours later (it seemed), I spun gravel as I parked in front of Meryl’s house. As promised, she was waiting for me on the front porch swing, pushing it in a lazy sway with the toes of one bare foot. When I cut the engine, she glanced at her watch face, then shook her head. Okay, so I’d actually shaved five minutes off the drive, but I didn’t tailgate, and no wild animals were injured or killed in the process. My tires didn’t squeal once. So there. My car door slammed.

She stood up and spread her arms wide. “What on earth is going on?”

“Sit down.” I walked toward her.

“I just stood up.”

“I know,” I said, taking the steps two at a time. “Reverse it. Trust me.”

She sat. I plunked down next to her.

I sucked in a deep breath and let my shoulders drop on the big exhale. “Dad gave me my birthday present tonight. Well, Dad and Chloe.”

“Chloe, too? Cool!”

“I know. It wasn’t even weird.” I shrugged.

“But it’s not your birthday yet.”

“I know that, too. It had to be early. You’ll understand in a minute.” I tucked one foot under the other leg as I faced her and clutched her hands in mine. “Here’s the thing. We’re going to New York City to see Caressa’s show.”

A huge grin lit up her face. “You are? How fantastic!”

“No,” I said firmly. “We are. You and me. We. That’s the present. A long weekend in the Big Apple, just us girls. And Chloe. Well, she’s a girl, but you know what I mean.”

Meryl went completely still as she studied me. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s the big surprise!” I said, bouncing enough to make the porch swing jerk and jolt on its chains. “And, get this: your parents, Reese and Kelly—they all know about it. It’s planned and approved, and in two weeks we’re going to be in New York City seeing Caressa and her show and her hottie-boyfriend and hottie-Thomas-bodyguard and Times Freakin’ Square!”

Meryl’s face went bright red and she squeezed her palms against her cheeks. “Wow! Really? We’re going to New York City?! They included me?”

“Yes!”

We jumped off the swing, leaving its chains jangling, as we hopped and bopped around the front porch, holding each other’s hands and cackling like crazy women. During a pause in the sheer insanity, Mer asked, “Does Caressa know yet?”

“Nope. So far it’s just me and you.”

She pulled me toward the front door. “Are you kidding? Let’s go IM her right now!”

I resisted, and she glanced back. “What?”

“There’s one other teensy thing.”

She turned her head to the side, studying me through narrowed eyes. “Uh-oh. Is this the bad part?”

“Not necessarily.” I moistened my lips with a quick flick of my tongue, then cringed. “It’s just…you know how I’ve been wrestling with what to get for Jennifer for her birthday?”

Confusion showed in her eyes. “Yes?”

A beat passed. “I sort of…asked Chloe and my dad if she could come along, too. I just thought she needed a break.”

Meryl’s features softened, and she relaxed. In fact, tears brimmed her blue eyes. “Oh, Lila. That’s so selfless of you, I don’t even know what to say.”

I pulled out of her grasp and held up both palms. “My dad has to talk to her parents first so it’s not a done deal, but if they say yes, I’m going to tell her at the sleepover.” I sighed. “Are you okay with that?”

She laughed, then pulled me into a hug. “I think it’s amazing. You’re amazing. I’m so lucky to have you as a best friend.”

I was not comfortable with all these kudos. “Or a complete idiot. I’m not sure which yet.”

“You’re not. Jennifer’s changed. You know it as well as I do. She’s going to be so happy. Wait and see. And your karma is just glowing.”

I groaned. “Okay, you’ve officially been working at Inner Power way too long, Mer.”

We laughed, then I sobered slightly and bit the corner of my lip. “How do you think Caressa will feel about Jennifer coming?”

Mer clicked her tongue. “Caressa always stood up for us, but she doesn’t have a hateful bone in her body. She’ll be fine. She’ll be thrilled!”

“You’re sure?”

My buddy looked supremely confident, which is something. I always used Meryl’s emotions as a barometer for my own, which were all over the map (I know that’s a shocker). “I’ve kept her up to speed with All Things Jennifer, so she knows we’re helping her, hanging out and stuff. She’s fine with it.”

I huffed. “Well, there’s that and then there’s inviting her to New York on what should be a Three Amigas trip.”

Mer angled her head toward the front door. “If you’re worried, there’s one way to find out how she feels for sure. If she’s totally against it, you still have time to buy a different gift and forget the whole thing.”

We bolted our way up to her room and launched a group IM. Meryl, Caressa, and me, together again.

Two weeks and counting!

*

Caressa

As had become our habit since we’d begun the more-than-friends thing, I was hanging with Joaquin in the empty (at the moment) dance studio in Park Slope while he practiced. I never tired of watching that boy dance. Thomas was hangin’ downstairs in the coffee shop, catching up on today’s Times. He knew by now that I wasn’t a gullible, impressionable girl, and leaving Joaquin and me alone together was cool. I sat against one of the mirrored walls, knees pulled up to my chest, just…being. Soaking it all in. This summer had been…wow…completely intense.

In so many ways.

The city, the show, my new friends.

Joaquin. Tummy flop.

My life here was so different from my life back home. Neither one was better. They were just different. And yet similar, too. I know that sounds stupid. At home, I had my close group of girls, my family, my own thing. Here I had my close group of guys, my theater family, my own thing.

I found myself missing Lila and Meryl something awful just as Joaquin executed this split jump that had such lift and extension, it stole my breath.

The BlackBerry bleeped while he was in midair.

Joaquin looked over with a smile as he landed the jump.

“Sorry,” I said, pawing through my bag.

“It’s cool, baby,” he said. He tapped on his temple and added, “Mental concentration. That’s what it’s about,” before going back to his work as if the interruption was no sweat. His dedication to craft and perfection awed me.

I checked the text: Check your IM! NOW!!!

“I’ll be right back.” Psyched and curious, I scrambled up from the floor and headed toward the studio’s office. I already knew I could use their computer to sign on, because I’d been here with Joaquin many times before. The owners were like his second family. When he wasn’t performing, he taught lessons here, to kids from his own ’hood. He basically had the run of the place.

I quickly tapped in, smiling when I saw the group IM invite.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Que pasa, chicas?

LawBreakR: Okay, U already speak more Spanish than I do. That’s just wrong.

I laughed out loud. Lila was so full of crap. Her dad spoke Spanish to her all the time, and she understood every word. She just didn’t use it, rebellious little wench.

MerylM: I can’t stand this. Just tell her!

Lipstickgrrrrl: Tell me what?

LawBreakR: Brace yourself.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Braced.

LawBreakR: 2 weeks. 2 weeks, and we’ll B in NYC 2 CU!

I shrieked—couldn’t help it. Then I read and reread the line about five times. I honestly hadn’t realized how homesick for Meryl and Lila I was. Finally, with shaky fingers, I got back to typing, though I couldn’t seem to come up with anything except—

Lipstickgrrrrl: Um…what????

LawBreakR: It’s my Bday present from my dad!

MerylM: And Chloe.

LawBreakR: Yes, and Chloe. She’s coming 2. Our chaperone. :-) We have tickets 2 the show!! UR show!

Lipstickgrrrrl: OMG, U guys, that’s beyond fantastic!! Tell me EVERYTHING! When do U get here, where are U staying, etc.

MerylM: Tell her the rest, Lila. It’s okay.

Lipstickgrrrrl: The rest? Uh-oh. Sounds ominous.

LawBreakR: It’s not, really. It’s just that Jennifer might be coming 2. No biggie, honest. She’s like a totally different person, U won’t believe it.

MerylM: Lila just thought it would be a chance for her to have something this summer that didn’t suck. Isn’t that sweet?

LawBreakR: Is that okay, Car? Because if it isn’t, I’ll kick her pregnant ass to the curb, no problemo. She doesn’t know yet.

Lipstickgrrrrl: LOL, Lila!!! U guys!!!! I don’t care if Jennifer comes 2. If Lila has forgiven her, I certainly can.

LawBreakR: Phew!

MerylM: Told you so, Lila.

Lipstickgrrrrl: I’m calling U now. I want all the details. Can U do a three-way call?

MerylM: No need. We’re both at my house. I’m on my laptop, Lila’s on the family desktop.

Lipstickgrrrrl: Is the line free?

LawBreakR: All yours, baby!

Lipstickgrrrrl: Call U in a sec.

*

After I got off the phone with Lila and Meryl, I ran into the main room of the dance studio and executed a jump of my own. It was probably an egregious violation of dance rules the world over, but I didn’t care. I felt like I’d leapt ten feet off the ground and hung there, suspended on the power of happiness alone.

Joaquin, stretching against the wall, laughed. “What was that for?”

I twirled my way over until he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Amazing kisser, that boy. He made the rest of the world fall away with those lips. When we broke apart, I said, “My best friends are coming here in two weeks to see the show.”

And then I burst into tears.

Tears!

I know, strange, huh?

I give Joaquin huge props for simply holding me and letting me cry it out when he didn’t even know what it was about. When my sobs had slowed to hiccups, he caressed one palm down the back of my hair and kissed my temple. “Want to talk about it?”

I nodded against his chest, and we sat down on the hardwood floor, backs against the mirror, knees pulled up. How could I even verbalize this? “It’s a combination of things, I guess.”

“Tell me. Just try.”

“I’m homesick,” I said, tossing him an apologetic sidelong glance. “And on the other hand, I never want to leave the city. Or you, actually. I want to be in White Peaks with my friends, and I want to be in the city with you. Both of those make me feel guilty.”

“I get that.”

“I miss my friends so much, but when I leave…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll miss you,” I said, in a shaky whisper, and the tears returned. “I almost can’t take it. You’re like a part of me. What am I going to do all year without you, ’Quin?”

“Ay, mamita”—he pulled me against his side, and I rested my head on his shoulder—“I’ll miss you, too. So much. But we’ll be fine. We’ll work through it.”

“Promise?” I sniffed. “You won’t find some other unpaid makeup lackey to take my place?”

He chuckled. “Swear.”

“But we’ll be so far apart.” I peered up at him through wet lashes. “You know what they say about long-distance relationships.”

“We’re different, baby. And it’s only for one school year. When two people are soul mates, distance doesn’t mean jack. We can visit, call.” He pressed a fist against his chest. “No one could take your place here, Caressa.”

My heart thumped. “Is that enough, though? Calls? A visit or two?”

“For us to both finish high school, reach for our goals? Yes. We can handle it. Te amo, Caressa,” Joaquin said, lifting my chin gently so he could kiss my lips. “I love you, don’t you know that?”

Everything inside me got all swirly and warm. I felt magnetized toward him like I’d never been to another person. Ever. “I love you, too.” We kissed some more, gently at first, but bursting with a tornado of emotions. The more we kissed, the more urgent we both became, until Joaquin was breathing heavily and I was clutching at him like I’d never done with any guy. I loved the salty dance taste of him, the sleek firmness of his muscles, the way he made me feel about me.

I wanted him. Yeah, like that. The knowledge struck me like a lightning bolt, but it was true.

As if sensing my thoughts, Joaquin pulled back and searched my face. After a moment, he stood up in one graceful move and crossed the room. He locked the studio door and turned back toward me with a private smile.

I started to think Thomas shouldn’t be quite so sure about leaving Joaquin and me to our own devices after all. But right then it didn’t matter, and I was so glad he had. Joaquin loved me, and I loved him. Truly, madly, all the way to our souls. Which is why, when he returned to my side and reached for me, I went willingly into his arms knowing exactly what was going to happen and ready for it.

Sometimes you just know when something’s perfect.

Chapter Fourteen

Meryl

If this strange summer has taught me one thing, it’s that you can’t plan the future. Well, let me qualify that. You can and should make plans, set goals, visualize—all that’s important.

What’s the old saying?

A dream without a plan is just a wish?

Something along those lines. But the point is, no matter how carefully you map out your moves ahead of time, sometimes life just steps in and scrambles up the pieces on your game board, like a bratty little brother knocking over the chess set one move prior to your ultimate checkmate.

It’s not bad. It just is.

Lila and I, as it turns out, are living proof.

Case in point: I’d planned on hanging out with my very first boyfriend, Ismet (of course), working at Inner Power (of course), and learning Bosnian. Lila had planned on spending lots of time with her very first boyfriend, Dylan, interspersed with a questionable plot to break up Chloe and her dad.

But how were we actually spending our “lazy days of summer”?

Lila was working for—and becoming quite chummy with—said enemy, Chloe. No recent mention whatsoever of breaking up her and Chief Moreno, I might add, a topic I wasn’t going to raise. I think she’d changed her mind, which was great if it was true. Chloe and Lila’s dad are perfect for each other, and as an outsider, I can see that. Lila did hang out with Dylan just as I hung out with Ismet—in fact, the four of us hung out together a lot—but not as much as I suspect either of us had planned to.

Still, it was fine.

Likewise, I was, indeed, working at Inner Power and making a good enough dent in learning Bosnian that I could keep up with most of the conversations in the Hadziahmetovic household. They all speak English, of course, but I’d asked them to speak only Bosnian in front of me, and they’d obliged.

All that aside, Lila’s and my main focus for the season had unexpectedly shifted 180 degrees and sent us off in a direction we could never have anticipated, not in a million years. Our carefully constructed plans had changed from a purely Guys and Goals deal to an emotion-packed and fully unexpected Girl Power agenda.

All because of Jennifer Hamilton. Of all people.

Irony in action, that’s for sure.

Former enemy turned…friend? Something within the friend arena at least. I don’t think she’d ever be one of the Three Amigas (and not just because there would be four of us, rendering the name obsolete), but we’d all gotten to know each other a lot better and gained a ton of mutual respect. Plus, I never wanted enemies in the first place, nor do I think Lila or I did anything whatsoever to deserve them.

Bottom line, sometimes we girls simply have to stick together through the hard times, and there had been a lot of those this summer, especially for Jennifer.

Ismet understood. Dylan got it, too.

Lila and I were starting to catch on as well.

It’s just funny how things work out.

I’d been proud of Lila for letting go of her grudges, but when she told me she’d gone so far as to invite Jennifer to a sleepover to celebrate her birthday—just the three of us—I was so stunned I’d had to slump down onto the floor to gather my wits. Right there in the middle of Inner Power, too.

A couple of things went through my mind.

One, I missed Caressa down to my soul. It would be our first girl’s night without her there, and that made it feel off-balance. Plus, let’s face it: the whole makeover, manicure, pedicure aspect of the evening wouldn’t be the same without Caressa’s monumental stash of goods and veritable wealth of knowledge about how to use everything.

Two, despite gigantic odds, our favorite seemingly impenetrable snark queen, Lila, had really matured over the past couple months. Kicking and screaming, perhaps, but there you have it. Seriously, she had a million and one reasons to snub Jennifer…yet she hadn’t. Instead, she’d reached out when Jen needed it most. Lila stepped in when Jennifer’s parents fell down on the job. It was enough to make me cry, but Lila would’ve hated it if I’d made a big deal.

Let me go on record, however, saying it is a major deal.

And then, oh my God, suggesting Jennifer join us on the New York trip?!

Gigantic.

But the night of the infamous birthday sleepover rolled around and, as expected, Lila got cold feet. She begged me to come over half an hour early to talk her down from the ledge of panic. She needed convincing that what she’d done—basically drawing Jennifer into the inner circle—actually constituted a good idea rather than a mental break.

No problem. I’d dealt with Lila’s meltdowns for years.

I showed up as usual with my pillow, an overnight bag, a big bag of junk food (along with some healthy options for the mom-to-be), and a wrapped gift. I knocked with the toe of my shoe. When Lila opened the door, I said, “Hey.”

“No time for that.” She reached out, grabbed the sleeve of my T-shirt, and yanked, causing me to stumble over the threshold. “Please tell me what in the hell I was thinking? First this sleepover, then the trip? Our freakin’ trip? And her parents said yes. Yes! Can you believe it?”

I smiled mildly, handing her the bag of junk food. “You were being a nice person. It’s great that her parents agreed. Big karma points, Lila. Big.”

“Yeah. Explain that.” She tore into a bag of Cheetos, wide-eyed and manic. “It’s totally out of character for me to give a rip about my karma,” she added around a mouthful of neon orange crunch.

“It is not.” Such a drama queen. I angled my head toward the stairs. “Mind if I dump my stuff in your room?”

Lila hiked her chin toward the staircase, because her mouth was crammed too full to speak at that point, a little dusting of orange like an aura around her lips.

I sniffed the air. “What smells good?”

“I baked her a German chocolate cake,” Lila groused, after she’d swallowed. “From scratch, which was freakin’ hard. I can’t believe people even baked before packaged mixes. And, anyway, don’t say a word.”

We clomped up the stairs, me in front with a huge smile on my face and a warm feeling in my chest. I held my tongue, but it wasn’t easy.

“Oh yeah, how’s Caressa feeling about this whole sleepover debacle?” Lila asked, in that freaked-out Lila voice we all knew and loved. “The trip is bad enough, but a sleepover? She’ll think we replaced her. With a bitch, no less!”

I dumped my overnight gear onto her bed and spun to face her, fists on my hips. “She doesn’t think that at all. First of all, nobody could replace her.”

“Well, true. We know that.”

“Besides, I already told her we’d call her tonight.”

Lila blinked, surprised. “You did?”

I nodded. “And in case you’re wondering, she thought it was sweet of you to throw this party together.”

“It’s not a party,” she grumbled.

“Yes it is,” I said in a calm tone. “Another thing: you’d better stop referring to Jennifer as a bitch, because she’s the guest of honor and we don’t actually think she’s a bitch anymore, remember?”

“Right. Okay.”

“Plus, she’s going to be here in just a few minutes.”

“Oh, God!” The Cheetos bag crunched in her clutches as the panic crested in her expression.

I held both palms up. “Unless you want the whole event to be a nightmare, you’re going to have to calm down. Haven’t we moved past all that drama with Jennifer?”

She nodded…and didn’t stop. She looked like a Lila Moreno bobblehead. I wanted to laugh, but I knew I needed to maintain the calm, cool confidence.

“Yes. You’re right. Okay, how?”

“How what?”

“How do I calm down?” Without warning, the Cheetos bag was thrust against my chest. “And get these away from me before I puke. My stomach is churning enough as it is.”

I carefully folded the top of the bag, then stowed them on top of Lila’s dresser. Someone had to be the voice of reason, maintain the serenity. That role always fell into my lap, incidentally, but I was comfortable with it. “Well,” I started, “why don’t you think back to the moment you invited Jennifer over.” I paused. “What was going through your head then?”

Lila jammed all ten fingers into the front of her hair and paced. At the far end of the room, she spun toward me. “It might’ve been a psychotic episode.”

I laughed that time. Couldn’t help it. It’s gratifying when someone you love reacts true to form. Makes you feel all warm and safe inside. “Come on. Stop it.”

She sagged with the power of her exhale. “Fine. I did it because she seems to be trying. Really trying, you know?”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Good! That’s a great start. So, Jennifer’s trying…to what?”

Lila looked uncertain. “Be a better person?”

I cocked my head. “Statement or question?”

“Statement. I think.” She grimaced. “Plus, it’s her birthday, and I just felt…bad.”

“That’s compassion.” I narrowed my gaze at Lila. “Admit it, you sort of like her.”

“Sort of, I guess. This version of her at least. Jennifer 2.0.” Her eyes widened with worry. “But what if she’s using us? What if she makes fun of my room, or our house? What if I’m nothing more than a stupid, gullible—”

“Stop!” I crossed my arms. “Do you really want to walk through life harboring those kinds of paranoid thoughts?”

A pause. “No, I guess not.”

“You don’t. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Lila stepped closer and gripped my upper arms. “That’s the thing. You and Caressa are the only people I trust, Mer. And yet I invited someone from the enemy camp to infiltrate one of our private, sacred rituals.”

The drama was getting out of hand. I pulled her down to sit next to me on the edge of the bed. “Okay, listen. There is no sacred ritual. It’s a sleepover, plain and simple. Pajamas. Junk food. We’re going to paint each other’s toenails.” I waited until I felt certain her overactive imagination had stopped racing, or at least slowed down. “We are extending an olive branch of friendship to a girl who has no one, a girl who has changed and apologized, all that. We’re being the bigger people letting bygones be bygones. That can never be wrong.”

Lila gnawed at her bottom lip, but she nodded.

“And besides, all this time that Jennifer’s been trailing around after me—”

“Single white female,” Lila said, with a touch of scorn.

This confused me. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Old movie reference. Go ahead.”

I nodded. Why did the whole world speak in movie and TV references? Sheesh! “Well, let’s just say I have pretty good instincts about people. I don’t think she’s using us to get through to her due date. Honestly. The pregnancy has opened her eyes quite a bit. It’s changed her.”

“Yeah.” Lila snort-chuckled. “Into a chubby girl with brown hair and really gigantic boobs.”

“Lila,” I chastised. But she had a point about the boobs.

“That’s another thing!” Lila spread her arms. “Why does it feel like we’re all pregnant?” she cried. “I’ve never even had sex! I don’t want to be pregnant!”

I smirked. “Empathy. But, fact is, we aren’t pregnant. We’re just caring, trying to put ourselves in her place and understand what it would feel like.”

“It would feel like I needed a much, much bigger bra,” Lila said, her tone serious.

I admit it, I flopped back onto the bed and cracked up.

Eventually, Lila even smiled. Good sign.

When I’d settled down, I said, “It’s one night. Who knows? We might actually learn things about Jennifer we wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“What, like she maintains a state-of-the-art torture chamber in her basement?” Lila muttered. “I always suspected that anyway.”

I giggled again. “No. Maybe we’ll learn that the three of us are more alike than different.”

A pause ensued, and the energy changed subtly.

“You really think so?” Lila asked, sounding vulnerable.

Just then the doorbell gonged.

I hugged my best friend toward me. “Looks like we’re about to find out. Ready?”

Lila huffed out a non-laugh. “No.”

“Bull. You’re totally ready.” I stood, tugging her up with me. “Focus on how special she’s going to feel when we tell her about New York City.”

“Wait!” Lila lunged and grabbed the hem of my T-shirt, stopping me.

“What now?”

Her eyes searched mine, darting back and forth. “Where did that whole ‘olive branch’ saying start anyway?” she asked, as though the question were vitally important to our next move. “I mean, I’d be much more amenable if someone brought me a pound of Dove chocolates or a bag of potato chips.”

I shook my head. Lila’s panic mode was so predictable. If there was a tangent available, she was going to take it. “It’s traditionally a symbol of peace, but I’m not exactly sure. I think it’s biblical. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Her eyes bugged with pure panic. “What do you mean you don’t know? You always know everything!”

“No, I don’t.” I smacked her on the upper arm. “But, if it makes you feel better, I’ll do some research, okay? I’ll do it tonight, on your computer.”

She released a breath as if I’d just solved every problem of the whole summer—her dad and Chloe, Jennifer and the baby, world peace, and how Burger Wonder could actually have a waiting list for people who wanted to work there—something we’d been puzzling over for months. “Okay. Thanks, Mer. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Meds, I thought. But I was only kidding. “Well, you’ll never have to find out, okay? Because we’re going to be best friends forever.”

The doorbell gonged again.

I raised my eyebrows. “Now or never, Lila.”

“Right.” She blew out a breath. “I’m better. Now.”

As we bopped down the stairs, I tweaked her waist. “You baked her a cake,” I teased, in a singsong voice.

“Shut up,” Lila said, but a smile flickered at the edges of her mouth. “I told you not to comment.”

“That was then, this is now.”

She scoffed. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just what you do on someone’s birthday.”

“Yes,” I said, pinning her with a knowing look. “But usually only for someone you like.”

For once, Lila didn’t have a reply.

*

Caressa

As I threw my head back and laughed over something Thomas said, I realized that if I’d learned one thing during this NYC summer, it was that you can’t plan the future.

You can set goals and work toward them, but fate’s always lurking stage left ready to switch up the choreography at the last second, just to see if you have the guts to dance your way through the unfamiliar steps.

To prove my point, I’d planned on Just Saying No to all things male this summer in order to work on my goal of securing a post-grad job with the show (and recover from the humiliation of crushing on a guy who was way too old for me).

It was to be a me summer. A girl summer.

I hadn’t planned on Thomas—my ultimate pal, advisor on all mystical things male, and protector. Or my friends from the show: Dmitri—a dancer (who secretly harbored the Biggest Crush Ever on Thomas), Kennedy—an actor who’d also become a friend (although I suspect he was initially interested in more than just friendship with me), and of course, Brandon, my snarky screenwriter neighbor buddy.

Mostly, I hadn’t expected Joaquin.

He’d become way more than a friend. Mindblowing, I know.

The last thing I wanted this summer was a boyfriend, much less a serious one. And yet, now, I can’t imagine starting the show without a break-a-leg kiss for Joaquin, or hugging him after he leaves the stage for the last time each show, sweaty, panting, and breathtakingly beautiful. I can’t imagine missing out on those times spent alone with him in his arms either…

My tummy did a crocodile death roll at the mere thought.

In fact, I couldn’t even think about saying good-bye to him at the end of the summer, which was rushing up on me like a high-speed train. As much as I wanted to be back with my friends and family, I also wanted to be with Joaquin. So much. Forever. And I couldn’t do both—bottom line.

The six of us guys—Thomas, Dmitri, Kennedy, Brandon, Joaquin, and I—occupied a table at our favorite by-the-slice pizza joint in Chelsea after a show that commanded three curtain calls and earned a deafening standing ovation. As had become our habit, we shared pizza, great conversation, huge belly laughs, and, as far as Joaquin and I were concerned, private, promising romantic looks and a little hand-holding under the table. Perfection.

Still, who’d have thought I would be spending all my time with five guys? The summer had morphed from a “Caressa-focused” plan to a full-on “hanging with the boys” situation. Me? Part of a tight-knit posse of males?

Freak-ay. I don’t even get males half the time—not that I’m complaining. It’s just, everything in my world seemed to be changing. My girls back home were taking care of our former enemy-turned-friend, and I am knee-deep in testosterone-ville, smack in the center of NYC.

It’s just funny how things work out sometimes.

Just then, my BlackBerry bleeped.

I let go of Joaquin’s hand and wrestled it out of my bag to check the display. The girls. I grinned, then told the boys, “Be right back,” as I stood to head to a quieter location. One thing about a pack of guys, they were damn loud and they all talked over each other like it was some big competition. People say girls are screechy—Ha. No way could I carry on a convo in the dudes’ presence.

I glanced toward Thomas as I left—habit—and he gestured for me to stay inside and right by the front door where he could see me. I nodded, feeling cared for. Thomas rocked. “Hello?”

“Caressa!” came Meryl’s giddy voice. “How was the show?”

“Fantastic! Three curtain calls and a standing O. Joaquin was amazing.”

“Not that you’re biased or anything,” came Lila’s wry response.

“Am I on speaker?” I asked, with a laugh.

“Yep,” Meryl said.

“Have you guys opened presents yet?”

“No!” Meryl and Lila barked, in unison.

Message received: don’t ruin the surprise.

My heart started to beat faster, and I swallowed to steady my voice and sound upbeat. It’s not like I’d never talked to the girl before. “Jennifer?”

“Um, yeah? I mean, hi. Sorry. How are you?”

“I’m great. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” she said, and the relief came through loud and clear in her tone, as though she’d jumped some hurdle. “I hear you’re having the time of your life there.”

I sighed and glanced at Joaquin’s back. I knew every inch of it now, every muscle striation. The smell of his skin, the taste of it.

They had no idea.

But I wasn’t about to spill all on a speaker-phone call, and not with Jennifer. Sorry. I was willing to be nice to her, but some secrets were for the Three Amigas only. I’d tell Lila and Meryl about Joaquin and me, later. “It’s amazing. I’ll give you guys the rundown when I get home.”

My stomach twisted at the thought, and I shot another glance toward my boys, but my attention drifted to Joaquin. Beautiful, sweet, talented Joaquin. “Just a few more weeks now,” I said, sounding chipper to my own ears, despite the lump in my throat.

“How do you feel about that? Honestly?” Meryl asked. She was always way too insightful for my own good.

I decided to answer down and dirty. “Torn,” I said, with a ravaged laugh. “On the one hand, I can’t wait to see you guys and my mom and dad. But being away from Joaquin—” My voice caught, and tears stung my eyes.

“We understand,” Lila said, softly.

“Maybe he can come visit,” Jennifer said.

“Yeah. But still.” I honestly don’t think they understood the passion, the intensity. I mean, I wanted to wake up next to Joaquin, every day. I certainly hadn’t expected that when I’d arrived in New York a couple months ago.

Lila said, “It’s one school year, and then you can head back if you want.”

“Oh!” I bounced up and down. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you right away. They did offer me a real job after graduation. Just today!”

I had to hold my BlackBerry away from my ear because of the super-loud cheering. It made me laugh, which was good, because every time I looked at ’Quin, it felt like my heart was being torn out. When the cheers died down and Meryl and Lila had finished ripping me a new one for holding out, I told them, “I owe it all to Sasha. She’s the best, I tell you. You guys will love her—” I cut myself off. Whoops, almost blew it. This was too hard, hiding the trip. “Enough about me. How’s the birthday party going?”

“Lila baked me a cake,” Jennifer said, triumphantly. “My favorite—German chocolate.”

“Did she, now?” I said, in a tone that I knew would get under Lila’s skin a little. I settled against the wall, the cleanliness of which was questionable, but I didn’t care. “That sounds really awesome.”

“We’ll freeze you a piece,” Meryl said.

“Thanks, Mer.” I cleared my throat. “Jennifer, how’s the adoption stuff going? If it’s okay to ask that.”

“Of course it is. Everything’s motoring right along,” she said. “Reese and Kelly are beyond excited. We were worried that they’d run into problems as a same-sex couple, but they’ve already been home-study approved.”

I shook my head. “Uh…sorry, out of the whole adoption loop. What does that mean?”

Jennifer laughed self-consciously. “Sorry. I tend to think everyone speaks teen-pregnancy and adoption lingo. Home-study approved is sort of like being pre-approved for a mortgage, to put it in a crass way. See, Social Services has to assess every adoptive household and give it the stamp of approval, but you can do it ahead of time in preparation to adopt, and Reese and Kelly did. So, since they already went through that, it’ll cut down the red tape and speed up the legal process of me relinquishing the baby to them.”

“Cool. They’ll be great moms.”

“I know. The best. Right now, we’re going through all the other paperwork with the attorneys—”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, when I can visit, how I’m going to be identified to my—excuse me, I mean to their daughter. Details, details, nightmare details. But when Christmas rolls around, it’ll be all worth it. They’re going to be Mom and Mommy, and I’m going to be Auntie Jen.”

A part of me melted. “That’s so sweet. Who’s Mom and who’s Mommy?”

“Reese is Mom, Kelly’s Mommy.” She exhaled. “The whole process has been easier than I imagined, thanks to Chloe’s help. And Lila’s, of course. I’m just starting to feel relieved.”

“I bet.” I swallowed, impressed with Jennifer’s maturity in spite of myself. “You’re a strong person to go through this without any support.”

“Oh, I have support. Just not from home.”

I got her point. We all fell silent.

“So, how’s that hottie dancer of yours, Caressa?” Lila asked, in an overly bright tone.

“He’s…” I sighed. What could I say? So much had happened between us recently. I was so in love.

Meryl chuckled. “Enough said.”

I couldn’t agree more, because I did not want to go there. “Okay, I think you should open presents, Jennifer. Right now, while I’m on the phone so it’ll feel like I’m there, too.” Before I slipped and said something to blow the surprise is what I really meant.

“Open mine first,” Meryl said.

I heard the paper tearing, then Jennifer exclaimed. “Oh, cool! Meryl gave me a book about Blessingway ceremonies.”

“You’ll have to explain that to me later,” I said, with a laugh. It’s like they were speaking a different language, I swear.

“I’m with you on that one, Car,” Lila said, wryly.

Meryl said, “It’s a Native American tradition to transition a woman from pregnancy to motherhood—”

“And it involves skinning three rabbits, eye of newt, and a ton of peyote,” Lila quipped.

Everyone laughed, but Meryl said, “Be quiet. It’s a beautiful, powerful, women-centered ceremony. Very celebratory.” And then, to Jennifer, “I was thinking we’d host one for you, Reese, and Kelly a little closer to the birth instead of a regular baby shower.”

“Really?” Jennifer said, in a vulnerable tone that was so not the Jennifer I remembered. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

“We’ll explain the details to you and Ms. Smart Aleck later,” Meryl said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Now open my present,” Lila said, and I could tell she was nervous. Heck, I was nervous, too.

“Okay. Oh,” Jennifer said to me. “Caressa, Reese and Kelly gave me an original oil painting, sort of an abstract mom-and-baby thing that’s called Auntie Jen. It’s so…” Emotion cracked her voice.

“It’s awesome,” Meryl said. “Reese painted it.”

“That sounds really cool,” I said. I glanced up, and Thomas tapped his watch face. “My bodyguard is giving me the hurry-up signal,” I told them. “Open!”

“Yes, open, open!” Lila said.

“Sorry. Okay.” I heard more paper tearing, and then dead silence. My heart started to pound.

“A map of Manhattan? What’s this?” Jennifer asked.

Lila struggled. “It’s…well, it’s…”

“Not that hard to explain,” Meryl said, with laughter in her voice. “Just tell her, Lila.”

“Yes,” I said, unexpectedly caught up in the excitement of bringing something good to Jennifer’s worst summer ever. “Tell her.”

“You guys are making me nervous,” Jennifer said.

Lila cleared her throat. “The thing is, my dad gave me a long weekend trip to New York City for my eighteenth, which isn’t until September. But they wanted me—well, us. Meryl, Chloe, and me—to see Caressa’s show. So we’re going in two weeks.”

“That’s awesome, but—”

“You’re going, too,” Meryl said, obviously giddy. “That’s the present. Lila set the whole thing up.”

“What?” Jennifer asked, in a rasp-whisper filled with wonder and clogged with emotion.

“I only suggested it,” Lila corrected.

“That is so awesome of you, but trust me, there’s no way my mom and dad—”

“My dad already spoke to your parents—”

“What?”

“—and believe it or not, they agreed.”

“You’re kidding?” Jennifer said.

“Nope. Chloe is taking us. And you are going.”

For a few moments, everything seemed silent. But then I realized Jennifer was crying quietly.

“Are you okay?” Lila asked.

“Yes.” A large sniffle carried over the connection. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”

“We just thought you deserved one good memory from this summer,” Lila said.

Jennifer laughed, a watery sound. “Believe me, I have more than one, and it’s all thanks to you guys.”

“Happy birthday,” I said, wishing I were there right then, wishing I’d been part of this transformative summer with my friends. But then I’d never have met Sasha, or the guys. Joaquin. He’d been my transformation. “I can’t wait to see all three of you. Introduce you to Joaquin and Thomas and Sasha. Just…everyone. You can come backstage before the show.” I started to tear up myself. The silent cacophony of emotion from four girls was way too much. I needed to escape back to the straightforwardness of the guys for a bit. “I have to go. It’s really late here, and Thomas has to take me home before the Rosenthals kill us both.”

“Okay. Love you!” Meryl said.

“Me, too,” Lila added.

“I can’t wait to get to know you better, Caressa,” Jennifer said, with another huge sniff. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for all the times I was a jerk to you guys before. I wish I could change the past, but all I can do is apologize for it. Which I wish I didn’t have to do, but there you have it.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jen. It’s ancient history, and now’s not the time for that kind of talk anyway, okay?” I smiled. “Happy birthday. Just have a blast.”

“Thank you. Really. Enjoy the rest of your time in New York,” she said.

My gaze shot toward Joaquin, and my stomach clenched. “I plan on doing just that. Talk to you guys soon.”

Chapter Fifteen

We caught a later flight to New York City (cheaper) and landed at LaGuardia Airport in Queens too late to see Caressa until the next day. But believe me, that was the only bummer. During the cab ride into Manhattan, all of us sat there awed into silence by the massive, glittery skyline.

After we’d checked into our hotel and changed into pajamas, I picked up the designated bucket and announced happily, “I’m going to get us some ice.” I didn’t know why. We were going straight to sleep. But when you’re in a gigantic, super-cool hotel in New York City for the first time ever, a trip to the ice machine seems mandatory.

“I’ll come with you,” Chloe said, setting down her brush.

“Oh. You don’t have to.”

“Indeed I do. It’s late and we’re in a strange city.” She winked. “Your dad would kill me if I didn’t.”

I didn’t think he’d kill her. He liked her way too much for that. But he might be pissed. “Good point,” I said. “Okay.”

“Don’t open the door for anyone, even if they claim to be a hotel employee,” Chloe told Meryl and Jen.

“We won’t.” They were too busy reading the thick leatherette folder that extolled the virtues of the hotel and everything it had to offer.

As we walked down the long, carpeted hallway, our footsteps completely silent, I realized something with the illuminating jolt of a lightning strike. I’d made my peace with Jennifer. I’d cleared the air with my dad. I’d agreed to be more open with Dylan, and our relationship was stronger than ever. The only person I hadn’t had a heart-to-heart with was Chloe, and she deserved it.

After we filled our ice bucket, I spied a small seating area in an alcove off the hallway. “Um, Chloe? Can we sit for a minute?”

She looked surprised, even concerned. “Are you okay?” She laid one cool hand on my forehead, and the sheer momishness made me have to swallow a few times before I could even speak.

“I’m fine,” I said, finally. “I just…want to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

Now she looked curious. “Of course.”

We sat.

I set the full ice bucket on the little table between the chairs and blew out a breath. I tucked my hair behind my ears, then pulled my legs up to sit crosslegged on the big fancy chair.

“Okay, lady, what’s up?” Chloe asked.

I flicked her a guilty glance. Sighed hard. Jennifer’s AA twelve steps popped into my mind. Holy crap, I was working them in a non-alcoholic way myself, wasn’t I? I cleared my throat. “I’m trying to be more a better person these days, and I think I owe you an apology.”

Her brow furrowed. “For what?”

God, this was hard. Like, I-want-to-barf-right-now hard. But it had to be done. “The truth is, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call…thrilled when you and my dad started dating. I’m sure you know that but you’re just too nice to say so.” The notion that I might have hurt her feelings in any way made me sad.

She simply nodded.

I fidgeted—my body’s classless way of letting off steam during times of stress. “I’ve just come to realize over the months that I wasn’t being fair.”

Her expression softened. “Oh, honey, you don’t have to do this. I understand.”

“No. I have to say this. For me.”

She studied me for a moment, then inclined her head.

“The thing is, I was being selfish. My only concern was myself and Dylan and how you dating my dad would impact that.” I cringed. “You know?”

“I know.”

“But I was wrong, Chloe,” I said, in this stupid teen-angst sounding blurt. “Self-centered and wrong and, God, I’m a horrible person. I can understand if you hate me.”

She smiled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No. It’s true.” I pleaded with my eyes. “You and my dad are”—just say it, Lila—“perfect for each other, and I’m sorry if I was—”

“You weren’t. Anything. First of all, I do not hate you.” She reached over and held one of my hands. “Listen, I was a teenage girl once, too, you know. I understand how difficult it is. How cutthroat and judgmental those high school hallways are.”

Relieved, I exhaled all my tension. “It sucks. Especially when your dad’s the police chief and you have to go to school with people like Miffany,” I spat.

She chuckled. “I can only imagine. But please know that your father and I would never intentionally do anything to make your life miserable. You and Dyl? Absolute first priority for us. I promise.”

That scared me for some reason, propelling me off on a whole different track. “Please don’t break up with my dad,” I said, shocking even myself. I even teared up. “You make him really happy, and my mom’s been gone for so long, he deserves to be happy again.”

Chloe laughed out loud. “You’re nuts, do you know that?”

I smirked as I wiped my eyes. “I’ve been told. By your son, as a matter of fact, and on many occasions.”

“Well, I raised a smart boy.” She lowered her chin and leveled me with a straightforward glance. “I have no plans to dump your dad, so stop worrying. But you should know that your dad’s been happy his whole life, not just since I came along. You kids make him happy.”

“Well, I know. But still, he needs the girlfriend kind of happiness. He needs you, actually.” I smiled shyly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “You have no idea how much your words mean to me.”

I bugged my eyes. “You have no idea how difficult they were to say.”

We grinned.

“Ready to head back?”

“Oh…um—” Was I? Our big talk seemed to have just ended abruptly. “Okay,” I said, standing up and grabbing the ice bucket. I clutched it to my chest as we walked toward the room, but I quickly realized the conversation wasn’t over. My whole body felt like a cauldron of bubbling emotions, jumbled up and twisted and under pressure. I needed to release some of it before the whole mess boiled over. I stopped short.

Chloe realized I was no longer beside her and turned around. She blinked at me curiously. “Lila?”

“I…I…”

She walked toward me. “What is it?”

“I have to say something else to you,” I blurted.

“Okay. You can tell me anything at all. Cross my heart. Even if it’s about my son.”

I laughed nervously. “It’s not. Although, thank you for having him. He rocks.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I took a deep breath in and held it. Now or never. Grow up and be honest, or remain a stupid kid forever. After a big whooshing breath, I peered up at my dad’s girlfriend. But she’d become more than that, more than my boyfriend’s mother, more than my boss. In my mind, she’d become her own entity—my friend. A woman so ingrained in my life, I couldn’t imagine it without her anymore. I swallowed to try and keep my voice from wavering, but it wavered anyway. And then I—you guessed it—rambled. “The thing is, I never really had a mom because she died so young and Dad never remarried. So, I want to say…it’s been so nice having a female to talk to about things.” I paused. “And thanks for making Dad happy.”

“Okay,” she said, uncertainly. “You’re welcome.”

I sighed miserably. “Shit. Sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say. I mean, all that was true, but none of it was the point.”

“And there is a point?”

She didn’t say it in a mean way. It was more of a subtle prompt. Now I know where Dylan got it from. Because I was skirting the issue, typical Lila, but no more. I braced myself, then looked her straight in the eye. “Yes. And here it is,” I warned. “I love you, Chloe, and I want you to know that, regardless of your thing with my dad, I’m glad you’re in my life. As my friend.”

Tears sprang to her eyes instantly, and her face flushed. She had to gulp several times before speaking. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “I love you, too.”

My nose started to burn. Thank God we were in a desolate hotel hallway, because a blubbering could ensue at any moment, believe you me.

“I would never presume to replace your mom in any way,” Chloe said, gently. “But you can always come to me about girl stuff. Or anything. Regardless of the fact that I’m dating your father and you’re dating my son—all that stuff that doesn’t matter. My point is, if I had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like you.”

My heart expanded. Then we hugged, right there in the middle of the hallway, all awkward and everything around the stupid ice bucket, laughing and teary and all kinds of dorky.

But you know what? It was absolutely perfect.

*

New York City wound up being the ultimate bonding experience for all of us. Caressa was our guide as we did absolutely every touristy thing you can possibly conjure up, and then some, and all of it ruled.

Well, almost.

There was the moment I accidentally tried to take a photo of One Police Plaza for my dad, only to be pounced on by a couple of stern-faced NYC cops who informed me that photography wasn’t allowed because of terrorism concerns. And they had deep voices, wild eyes, and itchy trigger fingers, or maybe that part was my imagination.

In any case, it was kinda scary.

We walked all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge and ate some world-famous ice cream on the pier, using the excuse that Jennifer needed the calcium. We caught a water taxi back to Manhattan, then walked miles and miles back to our hotel in the theater district. Central Park ruled, Times Square ruled, the fashion district ruled. Greenwich Village ruled. The West Village ruled. Jennifer asked if we could stop at the Stonewall memorial, which signified a huge step forward in gay history, apparently. The girl had done her homework! We made makeshift signs: “Auntie Jen,” read one, and Jennifer held that. Then we propped the others—“Mom” and “Mommy” on the white statues of a lesbian couple before we took pictures of Auntie Jen sitting next to them. Reese and Kelly would love it, and Jennifer planned to have one framed as a gift for them.

But the best part, by far, was Caressa’s show.

Before curtain time, as promised, we got to hang backstage while she did her job, and I was so utterly impressed by how much she’d grown up, how confident she was in her work, it rendered me speechless—and we all know how abnormal that is. Caressa’s amazing in her element. All of us were awed by the chaotic energy of the makeup and costuming area. The actors, the dancers, the grips, the scary stage manager barking orders. All of them.

I watched from a short distance away as Caressa finished Joaquin’s makeup (and all reports of his hotness, incidentally, have been way understated. Oh my freakin’ God!). When he got up from the chair, he said, “Thanks, mamita,” then gave Caressa a kiss. Not a huge make-out kiss, but something softer and yet far more intense. His fingers against the side of her face, the way she leaned into him, the way their gazes locked. It spoke volumes.

Volumes I had yet to read, mind you.

My jaw dropped as he walked away to get costumed. I glanced over toward Jennifer, Meryl, and Chloe, but they were listening intently to something the amazing Sasha was telling them. They’d missed the entire exchange completely.

But I didn’t need confirmation from them.

I knew what I’d seen.

Before another dancer or actor plunked down in Caressa’s chair, I grabbed her arm and yanked her behind some…theatre set thingie. No clue what you’d call it. I had to ask Caressa now.

“Lila, what are you doing?” she said, laughing.

I stared up at her, wanting to push for details, wanting to laugh, wanting to cry. Everything was rushing through my brain, and I didn’t even know how to begin speaking.

Her smile faltered. “What?” she whispered.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Instantly, tears filled her beautiful green eyes.

“Don’t cry,” I said, hugging her. “It’s okay.”

“I was going to tell you guys. I just wanted it to be in person, and only you and Meryl. It’s not an IM kind of announcement, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I held her, patting her back, but my whole reality reeled. Caressa and Joaquin. Oh my God.

What now?

What did a best friend ask now?!

“Were you…safe?”

“Of course, dummy.” She pulled away and patted beneath her eyes so as not to smear her mascara, then shook her head as if to get herself together. “Lila, I have so much to tell you guys. But please know, Joaquin and me, it’s not just a hook-up. I’m in love with him. We’re in love with each other. So”—her voice caught—“so much.”

“I can see that.” I smiled, really and truly happy for her. She’d had her first, and apparently it hadn’t sucked. At least, it didn’t seem to have. “Was it…weird?”

“No,” she said, almost as if this surprised her, too. “It was beautiful. Perfect. I know the first time’s not supposed to be, but he’s so…” She tried to smile, but her chin quivered. “God, Ly. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him all year long.”

I hugged her again. “Just hang with us, chica. We’ll help you suffer through.”

She squeezed me really hard. “I was going to tell you. Just…at the right time. Please believe me.”

“I know. I do.”

“You’re just too damn perceptive for your own good,” she groused. “Cop genes.”

Odd. A year ago I might’ve punched her for that statement, but I just sighed. “I know.”

She gave me one last bone-crusher squeeze, then pulled away. Her eyes wide, worried. “Do you think I’m a tramp?”

I huffed. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Of course not.”

She laughed. “Okay, news flash? The ‘of course not’ part of your answer was you dignifying it with a response, dork.”

I groaned. “You sound like Meryl. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I have to get back. Can you let me tell Meryl myself?”

“Of course!” I frowned, righteously indignant. “I don’t pass gossip, and this isn’t even gossip, it’s your life. Who do you think I am, Miffany?”

She barked a laugh, then covered her mouth with her palm. As we walked back to her makeup station holding hands, she said, “I hope you enjoy the show. It’s really awesome.”

“We will.” I released her hand and smiled.

“And I’ll see you right after?”

“Definitely.”

She grabbed my shoulders. “Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too.” As I backed away so she could do her job, I blew her a kiss and returned to Meryl’s side. And Jennifer’s. And Chloe’s. All normal-like and stuff, but—oh my God—I stood there dumbstruck and dizzy realizing just how profoundly everything had changed this summer.

*

The show ended, and I clapped so hard I think I busted a blood vessel in my palm. Let me just go on record saying, once again, all reports of Joaquin’s mad dance skills and stage presence and, oh, utter hotness were grossly underreported. That boy’s dancing indeed could bring tears to a person’s eyes, regardless of whether or not you were having sex with him. Caressa hadn’t been biased in the least!

We were utterly high on first-Broadway-show giddiness as we shuffled backstage to congratulate Caressa and Joaquin and the rest of the cast and crew. I’d been blown away, and although I know I have a tendency to exaggerate on occasion, this time I wasn’t. The show rocked. It was the best thing ever, and the perfect cap to a strange, surreal, but really special summer.

The moment we saw Caressa, Meryl and I squealed with excitement and ran over to envelope her in a huge three-way hug, bouncing and giggling and basically being high school.

“It was phenomenal, Caressa,” Meryl said, in this breathy voice that totally wasn’t Meryl. “I’ll remember it forever.”

“It really was.” I sighed. “And Joaquin—holy crap. You weren’t kidding.”

Caressa laughed, a bubbly, happy sound. “Didn’t I tell you? Like, a million times?”

“You did,” Meryl and I said, in stereo.

“You know what made this performance better than any other for me?” Caressa asked.

We waited.

“Having the Three Amigas reunited. You have no idea how much I missed it.”

“Yes,” Meryl said, with a sigh. “The Three Amigas.”

We hugged again, and I caught a glimpse of Jennifer over Meryl’s shoulder. She looked winsome and awkward, out of place. Chloe was deep in conversation with Sasha, and Jennifer stood simply alone, lips pressed together, eyes focused down. I felt a pang in my tummy.

Been there.

In a penultimate un-Lila-esque move, I pulled away from my best friends in the world and yelled, “Hey!”

Jennifer’s gaze darted my way.

I gestured for her to join us.

With a tremulous smile, she waved me off. “It’s okay.”

“Jen, come on.”

She approached hesitantly, as if I were the coyote and she were the cottontail bunny. Oh, how much a season changes things. “Seriously, I’m fine,” she said, in an unsteady voice. “I don’t want to barge in on a Three Amigas moment. Really.”

“Oh, shut your hole.” I yanked her pregnant ass into the fold and wrapped my arm around her.

She searched my eyes for some clue as to my total turnaround.

“Three Amigas, Four Amigas…whatever.” I smiled, genuinely feeling it down to my soul. “I never was very good at math anyway.”

Her eyes glistened, and she squinched closer. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank us,” Meryl said. “Just be.”

Jennifer bit her bottom lip and nodded.

The four of us broke apart and hooked elbows. Meryl and I on the outside, Caressa and Jen in between. Caressa glanced down at Jen with the regal confidence that scared off (well, used to scare off) all the guys. “From now on, you’re part of us, we’re part of you. Got it? As for your stupid non-friends come the first day of school?”

“Evil flying monkey posse,” I said with derision.

Jennifer looked baffled.

“That’s what we call Miffany and the others,” Meryl explained, calmly.

Jennifer muffled a laugh. “It’s so true.”

“Duh.” She doubted me? Scoff. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore, okay?” I told her.

“But—”

“But nothing,” I cut in. “True friends always have each other’s backs.”

“But—”

“Ah-ah!” I said loudly, as though training a puppy. “Trust me, those fairweather hags even come near the Three—”

“Ah-ah!” Caressa said, as though training her own puppy. Then she smiled at Jennifer. “The Four Amigas stick together through the good times and the bad. That’s what Lila’s saying.”

“And believe me,” Meryl interjected. “I suspect there will be a lot of bad times. Sorry.” She scrunched up her freckly nose.

“But you won’t be alone,” Caressa said.

“Yeah. You’ll always have us,” I told Jennifer, even surprising myself. “We mean it. Those vapid wenches don’t stand a chance against the Three Amigas.”

“Four Amigas,” Meryl reminded.

“Yes, sorry, habit,” I said, pulling away. “Four. Strong and Solid.” I smiled at Jennifer. “Trust me, they’re powerless as long as we stick together.”

I extended my hand into the center of the circle, palm down. Caressa laid hers on top of mine. Meryl followed suit. Then Jennifer—hesitantly, which made us all laugh.

One unexpected warm fuzzy moment, and, just like that, backstage of the theatre where Caressa had spent her summer away from us, I could hardly wait for senior year to a start, the four of us, all together once again. One thought kept running through my mind: Bring it on, evil flying monkey posse. Give it your best shot.

Cocky? Some might think so.

I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?

About the Author

Lynda Sandoval is the author of twenty-four books for both teens and adults, but her heart has always drifted toward the often heinous, sometimes hilarious, but always life-changing teen experience. Her first teen novel, Who’s Your Daddy?, the precursor to Father Knows Best, was an American Library Association Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, landed on the New York Public Library “Books for the Teen Age” list, won the National Readers’ Choice Award, and was nominated for the prestigious Colorado Book Award for best young adult literature.

Lynda’s novels have spent several weeks on the Waldenbooks/ Borders Bestsellers list, peaking at #3, and her full body of work has racked up close to forty awards and list placements in the ten years she’s been publishing. Her books have sold foreign translation rights in Argentina, Mexico, Spain, Holland, Denmark, Japan, Germany, Italy, Australia, Portugal, Latin America, and the U.K. She has been featured in publications such as People en Español, Writer’s Digest, the Romance Writers’ Report, The Denver Post Book Review, and Romantic Times.

A former police officer and current 9-1-1 medical/fire dispatcher, she now serves as a mentor with the Nevada Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and as an instructor with the prestigious Big Sur Writing Workshops. She enjoys helping other authors ferret their way into the wonderfully nutso world of teen fiction. In her spare time (ha!), Lynda volunteers at Rainbow Alley, a LGBTQ teen drop-in center, and especially loves chaperoning the annual Queer Prom and cheering on the brave youth at the annual Gaybutante luncheon, held every National Coming Out Day.

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

The Pleasure Set by Lisa Girolami. Laney DeGraff, a successful president of a family-owned bank on Rodeo Drive, finds her comfortable life taking a turn toward danger when Theresa Aguilar, a sleek, sexy lawyer, invites her to join an exclusive, secret group of powerful, alluring women. (978-1-60282-144-6)

A Perfect Match by Erin Dutton. The exciting world of pro golf forms the backdrop for a fast-paced, sexy romance. (978-1-60282-145-3)

Truths by Rebecca S. Buck. Two women separated by two hundred years are connected by fate and love. (978-1-60282-146-0)

Father Knows Best by Lynda Sandoval. High school juniors and best friends Lila Moreno, Meryl Morganstern, and Caressa Thibodoux plan to make the most of the summer before senior year. What they discover that amazing summer about girl power, growing up, and trusting friends and family more than prepares them to tackle that all-important senior year! (978-1-60282-147-7)

In Pursuit of Justice by Radclyffe. In the dynamic double sequel to Shield of Justice and A Matter of Trust, Det. Sgt. Rebecca Frye joins forces with enigmatic computer consultant J.T. Sloan to crack an Internet child pornography ring. (978-1-60282-147-4)

The Midnight Hunt by L.L. Raand. Medic Drake McKennan takes a chance and loses, and her life will never be the same—because when she wakes up after surviving a life-threatening illness, she is no longer human. (978-1-60282-140-8)

Long Shot by D. Jackson Leigh. Love isn’t safe, which is exactly why equine veterinarian Tory Greyson wants no part of it—until Leah Montgomery and a horse that won’t give up convince her otherwise. (978-1-60282-141-5)

In Medias Res by Yolanda Wallace. Sydney has forgotten her entire life, and the one woman who holds the key to her memory, and her heart, doesn’t want to be found. (978-1-60282-142-2)

Awakening to Sunlight by Lindsey Stone. Neither Judith or Lizzy is looking for companionship, and certainly not love—but when their lives become entangled, they discover both. (978-1-60282-143-9)

Fever by VK Powell. Hired gun Zakaria Chambers is hired to provide a simple escort service to philanthropist Sara Ambrosini, but nothing is as simple as it seems, especially love. (978-1-60282-135-4)

High Risk by JLee Meyer. Can actress Kate Hoffman really risk all she’s worked for to take a chance on love? Or is it already too late? (978-1-60282-136-1)

Missing Lynx by Kim Baldwin and Xenia Alexiou. On the trail of a notorious serial killer, Elite Operative Lynx’s growing attraction to a mysterious mercenary could be her path to love—or to death. (978-1- 60282-137-8)

Spanking New by Clifford Henderson. A poignant, hilarious, unforgettable look at life, love, gender, and the essence of what makes us who we are. (978-1-60282-138-5)

Magic of the Heart by C.J. Harte. CEO Susan Hettinger and wild, impulsive rock star M.J. Carson couldn’t be more different if they tried—but opposites attract in ways neither woman can resist. (978-1- 60282-131-6)

Ambereye by Gill McKnight. Jolie Garoul is falling in love with her assistant. The big problem is, Jolie is a werewolf. (978-1-60282-132-3)

Collision Course by C.P. Rowlands. Tragedy leaves Brie O’Malley and Jordan Carter fearful and alone. Can they find the courage to take a second chance on love? (978-1-60282-133-0)

Mephisto Aria by Justine Saracen. Opera singer Katherina Marov’s destiny may be to repeat the mistakes of her father when she becomes involved in a dangerous love affair. (978-1-60282-134-7

Battle Scars by Meghan O’Brien. Returning Iraq war veteran Ray McKenna struggles with the battle scars that can only be healed by love. (978-1-60282-129-3)

Chaps by Jove Belle. Eden Metcalf wants nothing more than to flee from her troubled past and travel the open road—until she runs into rancher Brandi Cornwell. (978-1-60282-127-9)

Lightbearer by John Caruso. Lucifer dares to question the premise of creation itself and reveals that sin may be all that stands between us and living hell. (978-1-60282-130-9)

The Seeker by Ronica Black. FBI profiler Kennedy Scott battles ghosts from her past, deadly obsession, and the evil that haunts her. (978-1- 60282-128-6)

Power Play by Julie Cannon. Businesswomen Tate Monroe and Victoria Sosa are at odds in the boardroom, but not in the bedroom. (978-1-60282-125-5)

The Remarkable Journey of Miss Tranby Quirke by Elizabeth Ridley. When love enters Tranby’s life in the form of a beautiful nineteen-year-old student, Lysette McDonald, she embarks on the most remarkable journey of all. (978-1-60282-126-2)

Returning Tides by Radclyffe. Insurance investigator Ashley Walker faces more than a dangerous opponent when she returns to the town, and the woman, she left behind. (978-1-60282-123-1)

Veritas by Anne Laughlin. When the hallowed halls of academia become the stage for murder, newly appointed Dean Beth Ellis’s search for the truth leads her to unexpected discoveries about her own heart. (978-1-60282-124-8)

The Pleasure Planner by Larkin Rose. Pleasure purveyor Bree Hendricks treats love like a commodity until Logan Delaney makes Bree the client in her own game. (978-1-60282-121-7)

everafter by Nell Stark and Trinity Tam. Valentine Darrow is bitten by a vampire on her way to propose to her lover Alexa Newland, and their lives and love are placed in mortal jeopardy. (978-1-60282-119-4)

Summer Winds by Andrews & Austin. When Maggie Turner hires a ranch hand to help work her thousand acres, she never expects to be attracted to the very young, very female Cash Tate. (978-1-60282- 120-0)

Table of Contents

Synopsis

Advance Praise for Father Knows Best

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

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