"Oh, I thought you were way more popular."

"I did warn you," I add gently, but I feel ridiculously upset that I've disappointed her. "If it helps, Mich.e.l.le and Corey are both awesome. You'll see. We always hike when we can. I also get free use of bowling lanes, skating rinks-whatever I want from the sports complex. Finding places to do the dates should be easy. Do you skate? Ice, or roller?"

"No way. Never. Neither. And it's not happening." She hits me with the dangerous *back off' glare I'm getting used to ignoring.

"Lose that idea. It would make no sense if I didn't take my girlfriend skating. If we don't use the rinks, Corey and Mich.e.l.le will know something's up. I think ice is more fun than roller because it's so much colder, and I'm so very warm," I tease and toss her a wink.

"Eew. And eew." She shudders. "That's flirting again. I swear I'll dock your pay. Don't forget the part where you said I could hit you. I have an extreme right hook. I'll use it. Final warning."

"Right. Bad habit, and complete accident, again."

She frowns, but doesn't answer. I can tell she feels betrayed, and she should. I only want this girl to trust me but I keep messing up. "I'm sorry. Truly," I plead again.

Should I tell her I want to hit myself really hard right now? Why does it only take two minutes of this girl smiling into my eyes to make me forget none of this is real? Not to mention she's just asked me not to flirt with her. "But you will skate," I add, forcing myself right back on task. "We'll do roller. Okay?"

She shrugs. "It's your funeral. Whatever you think will seem realistic, but know this: innocent children will die, limbs will break, and walls will come crashing down."

"Impossible." I grin, pleased she's considering it. "I won't let you fall. Besides, if you get hurt you'll miss the annual ThunderLand fun. It's an all day trip we always make to Fort Collins every summer. It's a perfect opportunity for everyone to witness...to our love." I wink, and then flush when she glares bullets at me. "Right. Sorry. Sorry."

She shakes her head and smiles. "ThunderLand!" Her smile changes into a huge beam that hits her eyes. I realize this is the first time I've ever seen this expression on her face. She still looks tired, but I think she's happy. Really happy. It's like all her defenses are down. My heart catches when I think some of that happiness might be because of me. Our contract. Because we are beginning to know each other.

She continues, "I've never been there. But we've been to Disneyland a few times. I love the coasters-going fast, cotton candy, boardwalk games, listening to the rides roaring from every direction...and..."

"Don't stop. And what?" I lean on my own elbow, enchanted by the dreamy excitement crossing her face.

"I don't know...to get to go with..."

Her eyes return to my face. She freezes for a second like she's been doused with cold water, and I wonder if she too, is forgetting off and on that this is a paid arrangement and we really aren't close friends. Real friends.

Yet. I think. Yet.

"To go...just to go...will be really cool," she finishes in a much more subdued voice. She reaches for her yearbook and finds our cla.s.s section. "Does Corey have a girlfriend?"

I take note of her deliberate subject change and applaud her. She's as good at that as I am. "Corey's got a bad crush on Mich.e.l.le, but she won't give him the time of day. I'm all for it if they go out. But...if they ever broke up and hated each other it would be the end of my world. I'm actually glad you and I are going to be a couple for the summer. It will be nice to have an excuse not to feel like such a third wheel around the two of them while they figure out what's going on."

"What is going on?"

"Mich.e.l.le destroyed Corey's heart with the *I just want to be friends' line a few months ago. Personally, I think she's in denial. Girls go through that denial stage, don't they?" I shoot her a grimace.

"No idea." Jess grimaces back.

"Either way, Corey's still hanging around and doing back flips, trying to change her mind. You'll see. It's weird. Entertaining, but weird."

"Has any girl ever said the *just friends' line to you?"

She's asked it so naturally I see no reason not to answer truthfully. "I'm the one that uses that first. Like I said, I don't have that kind of time."

"Wow. Right." She blinks. "Can I be the first to use it when I break up with you?"

"Only if you mean it. It would be cool if we could be friends after this."

She doesn't answer. She flips to Corey's photo in the yearbook. "Nash. Here he is. Cute. Blond, blue eyes-a great smile, and a little dorky too. My mom will be thrilled when she sees this shot. He's also in the chess club and an Eagle Scout! Believable, and so me. Nice to meet you, Corey Nash." She holds out her hand, and we shake. "And he won't know? Swear?"

"Swear. He's been like my brother since we were seven. If I do have to tell him, you can trust in his silence."

"No way. It's bad enough I have to trust you," she says.

I feel slightly sick because every time trust comes up between the two of us, I'm well aware I'm a hypocritical, lying freak. Coach William's was right. This situation is going to be harder than I'd thought. I break her gaze and mess with my keyboard.

"Let's just try to do this without any other people knowing the deal," she continues. "I've had to lie tons to Kika and it's already been brutal. You're going to have to do the same. What have you already told Corey about me? Anything?"

"Corey's witnessed most of the text messages I sent during finals. He and everyone also watched me approach you on locker clean-out day. I bring you up every chance I get, but Corey thinks I'm nuts to be into you."

"G.o.d...how embarra.s.sing. I want to know why Corey thinks you shouldn't like me."

I feel the back of my neck grow hot. "Corey believes you'll draw and quarter me. Eat me alive. Roast me on a spit, or just spit on me."

She smiles. "I'm glad someone respects the reputation I've worked so hard to set up. You deny yours as a player, but I'm proud of mine. What else did you say about me?"

I smile and shake my head. "I said I wanted to date someone different. That I'm geared up for a long summer fling. I also told him you're sweet and I've had a secret crush on you since freshman year." I swallow as my chest tightens, and I'm hit with the realization that everything I've told Corey about Jess is the complete truth.

And then some.

Jess's laugh is almost bordering on giggle. "Such whoppers! See? You're a natural. What else!"

"That I can't wait for them to meet you-which reminds me-" I struggle to straighten my thoughts-keep my expression void of too much excitement. "What time are you coming to the rink tonight? I'm on at five, but everyone usually shows up at six. That's when I start the snack bar shift. It's dead during dinner, so I can hang out pretty easily until the late crowd shows. Do you know how to get there?"

Jess's eyes are now unreadable. I can't miss how she's tightened her shoulders. "Tonight? So soon? Is that normal...like if this were real, would that seem like a normal thing for me to do?"

"Of course." I nod and hold back an urge to laugh, because she's so darn serious. And because more than anything, I want to hang out with her, show her my rink and the other parts of my life. Tonight. Tomorrow. All summer.

"You sure?" She raises one eyebrow.

I sigh as though I don't care either way and turn it into a challenge. "Your summer is ticking away and I'm on the pay clock. Are you afraid you can't handle being nice in public?"

She crosses her arms, her eyes snapping as she rises to my bait."Please. How dare you insult my talents? I'm the master at layering on any state of being to hide my whacked out self."

"I don't want you to show up faking it." I shake my head, feeling bad for calling her on this. But if anything, by the end of the summer, I want Jess to understand I'm not buying her act. "You don't have to layer on anything...just be yourself. I'm afraid you're going to show up and act like a too friendly h.e.l.lo Kitty...or something creepy. Just be how you are. If today has been you, being crazy, I've liked it. And you. As is. Crazy or not, if that's the real you, I'm in. And guess what. You come across as nice by default. My friends will feel the same."

She laughs. "Well then, even you've bought into my talents. I'm never the real me-not today, not ever. That girl scares the h.e.l.l out of everyone."

"You are so flipping cr-" I stop myself before I say the word she wants me to believe about her. I was about to fling it out there carelessly, and hurt her. And she knew it.

I call Corey and Mich.e.l.le crazy twice a day or more, but around Jess I'm going to have to watch myself.

I shake my head at her glaring face. "Nothing. Whatever."

"Whatever back," she mutters, and glances at the table. "Will you be able to handle a girl visiting you at work that doesn't end up making out with you in the parking lot after?" She raises her brows up high in challenge, to prove she doesn't care.

But she does. And I do. And I think it's freaking us both out.

"I think I can manage." I shoot her a smiling glance. "Especially if you're wearing that bullet proof skirt. Don't get me wrong, it's attractive on you-but wrong for the rink," I say, hoping I can tease her from shutting me out completely.

"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll dress even more like a nerd. Get some gla.s.ses and my mom's eighties clogs on my feet! And was that flirting again?" She's got her hand balled into a fist.

I lean out of her reach. "Easy, there. I'm innocent." I have to work to keep my expression serious but it's difficult because she's hilarious-cute when she's p.i.s.sed off. I continue, "Mentioning that something is attractive on a person is a compliment. Flirting, for example, would be me, mentioning that I believe you would be way s.e.xy in all clogs. Even little painted, wooden Dutch girl ones."

"I get it, dork. But you're smart to stay out of my reach." She laughs and throws a pencil at me.

I laugh back. "No. Seriously, what you wear is up to you." I shrug, but just in case she decides to call her own bluff and show up in a whacked outfit just to put me in my place, I press the point. "I thought the key to your success this summer is making yourself believably normal? If you step out of your house in front of your parents in that outfit plus ugly shoes, and tell them you're heading to meet friends at the sports complex, they're never going to buy it."

"Okay. Okay! This whole situation is demoralizing enough without me taking advice from you on wardrobe." She all but bursts out of her chair and paces the three steps it takes to cross to the door of the office and turns to face me. "I'll be there around six. And I'll be...believable." She gives me little disgusted snort and glances into the hallway as though she's about to bolt.

"You want to make any suggestions about what I should wear? It's only fair," I add.

"G.o.d. No. You're pretty much perfect-as is." She turns bright red as she continues, "You...you...just do your job and prep your peeps for the oncoming summer of lies. I...I'm going to get a Red Bull out of my car," she says in an odd, strangled sort of voice. She's dashed out so fast I don't even have time to blink because all I can think about is how she'd just said I'm perfect.

The girl's delusional. If she only knew.

Chapter Fourteen.

Jess As I inch my Jeep through the maze of parking lots that make up the Town of Golden Sports Complex, known to everyone as The TOG, I have the sensation that I'm an intruder on an alien planet. I've never been anywhere near a sports complex, and the only professional sporting event I've attended was a Bronco's game back when I was ten. And from that, I only remember the cherry snow cone my Dad bought me, not the game.

To prepare myself for my trip to The TOG, I've researched the place. Go Wikipedia!

The five-acre complex is a ma.s.s of interconnected metal buildings, parking lots, and windowless field houses. It boasts two indoor soccer and inline arenas, two compet.i.tive ice rinks, and one giant recreational roller skating rink (here since 1956). Back then, ice skating used to be on the pond which now holds the gas-powered b.u.mper boats. There's also an ancient bowling alley (here since 1962 and was recently updated), one large set-up of outdoor batting cages, three areas for mini-golf and a two story driving range.

To add insult to this nightmare, a bounce house, laser tag, and birthday party annex was added last year. From the impression I got by looking through The TOG website, I mean to avoid that sector of my first visit to planet h.e.l.l at all costs.

How can Gray stand coming to this place every day?

Up close and in live action, I think The TOG is just how I've imagined a prisoner-of-war camp might look: low barrack-like structures growing out of blacktop, dingy colors, and zero landscaping. Not even weeds.

Instead of prisoners, the place houses swarms of kids in lumpy hockey gear flanked by their personal parent-jailers. Each grouping of decked out, mini-athletes hauls some sort of strange, canvas, wheeled duffle that looks suspiciously like a body bag.

Intimidating hockey sticks take the place of machine guns.

I concentrate on avoiding the kids darting between the cars and scan for any signs of the indoor rinks. They are supposedly connected to the bowling alley and the parking lots by some long *intake tunnels.' Gray had said to find the largest building, but I can't tell which one looks largest. Instead, I focus on the warped, plywood bowling-pin creatively-if not dangerously-attached to the metal rooftop and drive toward it.

Apparently, this crumbling bowling pin was not part of the recent renovation budget.

It's just past 6:20. I'm a little late, but proud for having the courage to come at all. I turn off the engine and I can now hear, in addition to feel, my heart's incessant, painful pounding. It's been doing that since I backed out of our driveway. I'm starting to sweat underneath the cotton, v-neck t-shirt Kika made me borrow. It's too tight. The lace on the matching white cami she insisted I wear underneath everything also itches like mad.

Thankfully, my getting ready show went as planned. Heck, better than planned!

Kika had been delighted to share her fashion knowledge and her closet full of clothes with me. Mom's antics had been comical during Kika's wardrobe consult. The woman pretended to stay out of our way and *not be involved or listening at all' while she refolded the entire linen closet located in the hall outside Kika's room.

It's been a decade since anyone has cleaned out the linen closet.

I used the opportunity of Mom eavesdropping in the hall to plant the name, Corey Nash along with glowing descriptions of his blond hair and blue eyes. The family radar is fully activated. I imagine Kika and Mom are gushing over Corey's photo in the yearbook right now. To make the whole thing perfect, a text message t.i.tled *CNash' came in on my newly adjusted iPhone while Kika and I were talking about him.

One that said: YOU Coming soon? Can't wait to c u, QT.

Always the QT. I'm not going to lie, I really like when he adds that.

I blush now, thinking about how badly I'd blushed in front of Kika when the text came in. So much so, that she went wild with giggles on me. Giggles and squeals I'm sure Mom heard. Ah, progress again!

I avoid looking in the mirror because I don't want to be reminded of the eyeliner, mascara, blush-not to mention the squirt of some new glittery lotion my sister attacked me with. As much as I want to sweep my hair into a ponytail or up into my bun, I leave it alone. It took Kika a long time to brush it out. She curled each and every strand of my hair into (what I have to admit) are some cool looking loose curls. I must have been nuts to let a puny, giggling twerp be in charge of my outfit. But it had made Kika so happy...

I take a few calming breaths and focus on the fact that I have no other choice but to go inside. I've been dressed to a.s.similate. And a.s.similate I will.

After all the work and lies-and lotion-it took to get me into this parking lot, I'm not going home without more success to add to my list. Even if Gray and everyone I'm about to meet think I've gone overboard.

I step out of the car and feel the curls bouncing around my shoulders. I swallow the ball of dread at the back of my throat because I know it's going to take a lot more than a new hairstyle and a clone outfit to keep the natives of this planet from tagging me a *fake'.

I can do this. I can do this.

As I approach the door a flood of mini-hockey players and their parents rush past me, heading for the parking lots. I'm hit with a puff of cold, stale air as I work to get through the crush. For every step I take forward, the throng pushes me back. Just when I'm about to give up and retreat, a little kid dressed in hockey pads way too big for his small body saves me.

He stops, blinking up into my face, and holds the door open. I peek around him, wondering if I'm close, but I can only make out the green plastic-turf flooring and the bobbing heads of yet another stream of sweaty hockey kids and parents heading toward me.

"You going in?" the kid asks, probably because I'm blinking back at him like he's some sort of scientific specimen. Because...he is. Is this how Gray started out? Buried in padding, all freckles, red cheeks and missing front teeth?

I smile at the kid. "Uh yeah. Thanks for holding the door."

"You're pretty," the kid says, lisping. Still blinking.

"Josh!" A man, apparently the kid's dad, catches up. "Sorry. He's a lady-killer. Knows what he likes. Son, you can't blurt out things like that to women."

"It's okay. He's pretty adorable himself," I say.

"What did I do? She's pretty. But I'm not adorable, lady. Sheesh." The kid's cheeks turn pink.

"Right. I'm not all the way a lady yet, either. So we're even. How about you call me a girl and I call you handsome. Deal?"

"Maybe." He glowers.

The kid's dad smiles at me and shakes his head. "Take the compliment, Josh. This girl's way out of your league." He pulls him off the door. "Let's go."

Relaxing a bit after my first encounter with this alien race, I head farther into the tunnel just as the second swarm of kids and parents envelop every inch of s.p.a.ce around me. I hold my ground until they pa.s.s. Then, without looking back, I march through this second hallway as though heading for battle.

If this place is an alien planet, then I'm entering the mother ship. Gathering my courage, I stop a guy who looks like he's my age. "Excuse me..." I say, watching his gaze skirt over me and then land on the floor. "You know where the snack bar is?"