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“I was joking!” she backtracked. “Of course, I don’t know him. Or me him. Him know me?” Oh my God. No one said the head trauma would make her lose her filter or forget proper grammar.

“If that’s what you want⁠—”

“Isn’t he dating Shaina?”

“No, they broke up. Again.”

“I was kidding. He has no clue who I am.”

“Yes, he does. He’d definitely go out with you.”

Analise should’ve been elated, but Taylor had delivered the declaration with such a flat tone it made her all the more determined to back out. “Don’t say anything to him, please?”

“Sure.” Taylor moved toward the door but paused. He pulled a greeting card from his pocket. “You can open it later. It’s nothing. I wasn’t sure what to get you.”

Before Analise could say thanks or ask why he ditched school, and why he seemed so weird about a date with Dave, he left. She watched him plod down the shoddy porch steps, over the broken concrete, past the rusted chain-link fence and gutter full of trash. In his clean Adidas soccer shoes, name-brand jeans, and with a cell phone in hand, he climbed into his Jeep Wrangler and left with a limp wave.

Analise opened the envelope. Inside was a Get Well card with Charlie Brown and Snoopy on the front saying:

Wouldn’t life be nice if it were a DVD player?

The inside read:

You could skip through all the yucky parts.

Hope You Feel Better Soon.

He’d scrawled his phone number and signed it. In neat, measured, capital letters.

Chapter Thirty-One

Analise

The day after she returned to school, there was a note on her locker. Analise unfolded it and read the message:

Ana,

Roses are red violets are blue.

Turn around and you might find another clue.

Analise started to whirl around, but then caught herself. What if this were some kind of a prank?

Missy rammed her voluptuous hips into the locker next to Analise’s and grabbed her shoulders. “Would you just look behind yourself? You’re being asked to Homecoming for God’s sake.”

Homecoming? Analise’s Homecoming experiences were fraught with a consistent low-grade misery. She’d been asked by okay guys, but it often felt like she were leftovers. Usually being asked with only a week’s notice. There’d been Ross from Bandland sophomore year. Swim-team Alex was last year, who also took her to prom, and, even in flats, she was still taller than him. This year she’d planned to go stag with the entire cross-country team.

Homecoming was still weeks away.

Analise turned and faced a dozen red roses. Behind them was Dave Laviolet. “I promise to keep stray balls from your head if you say yes,” he said with a wicked grin.

Rocketing laughter came from the crowd of students that had gathered to witness. She covered her red-faced grin, accepted the roses to collective applause, and wondered if this would go down as the best day of her senior year. Of her entire life.

The students dispersed to class. Analise spotted Taylor among them, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slumped, his back facing her as he slowly retreated.

The red roses invited stares and comments from passengers on her city bus ride home. Who’s the lucky guy—or girl! She usually took a later route after cross-country practice but was still banned from physical activity to heal her concussion.

Analise watched the scenery pass out the window. It melded from suburban, cultivated landscaping into uneven lanes, people panhandling at stoplights, shops selling fantasy lingerie, money transfers, tarot card readings, and gyros. Attending the fancy Wayzata High School instead of her local neighborhood’s school had been a manipulation of Melia, her great-godmother, who worked there as a substitute secretary. The application for open-enrollment was swift, and by winter, Analise had been accepted.