A new message appears on my phone.
NEV:Hey!
ME:Hey back.
NEV:Can you come over?
I don’t answer right away, because her house is Ten’s, and I doubt he wants me to come hang out.
NEV:I really need to see you.
ME:What happened?!?
She doesn’t answer for so long that I dial her number. It goes to voice mail.
ME:Nev?
NEV:I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Please come.
As I typeI’ll be right over, I jolt off my bed like a pole-vaulter, and then I’m careening down the stairs, yelling to Mom, who’s working on the layout of a restaurant she’s been hired to decorate, that I’m going over to Nev’s.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Just boy stuff,” I say, hoping I’m right, hoping the mean girls aren’t after Nev again.
Even though my legs want to carry me in every other direction than toward the Dylans’ house, I bike over. When I ease to a stop in front of their gate, there isn’t a car in sight. I feel momentarily relieved that Ten isn’t home, but then I worry harder for Nev. She’s such a sensitive girl…
I push the gate’s call button and unfasten my helmet. After a couple of rings, the gate swings open. I stride up the path with my bike, thrust out the kickstand, then hurry into the house through the front door that’s been left ajar.
“Nev!” I holler into the dimly lit foyer.
She doesn’t answer. I’m about to run up the stairs when my white sneaker connects with a piece of balled paper. I pick it up and toss it onto the foyer table, but then I notice more balled-up papers littering the hallway. I seize one and unfold it.
“Nev?” I spot the wordsArcadia Prepon the top of the page. I scan the rest of the sheet quickly. It’s Tennessee’s acceptance letter from that New England boarding school.
This must be the source of her glumness. I sigh because at least no one—not the stupid girls in her school or Charlie—has hurt her.
“Nev?” This time when she doesn’t answer, I add, “Where are you?”
I follow the trail of balled-up papers all the way to the kitchen. I’m expecting to find Nev at the end of it, eyes puffy with tears because her beloved brother chose to leave. What I’m not expecting to find is her beloved brother.
He stands by the stovetop, stirring something in a big pot. Perfumed steam drifts up, fogging his chiseled profile.
I freeze in the arched entryway.
Why is he here?
“I live here too, remember?”
I slap my palm over my mouth. I should be rendered mute in stressful situations.
There’s music on in the kitchen. Not just music. Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Ten is playing one of my favorite love songs—not that he’s aware of this—and cooking a meal.
“Are you cooking for someone?” I ask.
I don’t say the worddate, but I obviously don’t mean Bolt or Archie. Ten wouldn’t be playing sappy love songs for his track buddies. I’m surprised he’s even playing sappy love songs in the first place. Besides, there are only two place settings on the granite island.
When he nods, my heart triples in volume. If I don’t get out of here fast, it’ll balloon right out of me, then pop.
