"Why is that weird?" he asks, running his hands through his hair.

I shrug. "Because of your job, and your, uh, extremely active social life."

"Yeah, well, I hate the d.a.m.n thing," he mutters, sounding annoyed. "I usually have it turned off."

"Huh."

Zane leans over and flicks on the lamp, bathing the couch in light. "Well, what about you? Most teenagers are glued to their phones, but I rarely see you on yours."

"I only ever talk to my friend, Lauren, or my mom," I reply. Then I smack myself in the forehead. "And now you think I'm a real loser."

Zane laughs. He stands up and looks down at me with his gorgeous dark eyes. "I think you're beautiful and funny, and if I didn't have to be somewhere tonight, I'd make you watch another scary movie with me just so I can watch you pretend you're not scared."

I stare up at him, speechless. He thinks I'm beautiful?!

We stand there for a breathless minute. The eerie soundtrack of the movie plays in the background. I am desperate to say something-anything-to break the sudden tension.

Finally, Zane looks away, shaking his head a little, as if to clear a thought away. He grabs his phone and our plates and goes into the kitchen to put them in the sink. The plates, not his phone.

"You gonna be okay alone?" he asks before he heads into his room. "You look a little spooked."

I scowl at him. "I'm not a little kid."

He only smiles at me over his shoulder before he disappears into his room.

In a daze, I turn off the lamp and the television, then I go straight to my room. I do a swan dive onto my bed.

I can't stop smiling. I replay our day together in my head, especially the really good parts. I can't believe we spent the day with him-complete with the awkward is-he-gonna-kiss-me moment at the end.

Knowing he's right across the hall from me makes me feel restless, giddy. There's a funny fluttering in the pit of my stomach that only grows when I think of walking that short distance to his room, and-I don't know what I'd do. Kiss him. Run my arms up and down his back...

He thinks I'm beautiful and funny!

Yeah, right, Violet. Then why is he going out-probably with yet another gorgeous woman? He must have felt sorry for you.

Ugh, the voice of reason in my head is right. I need to stop thinking like that. Zane is my future step brother, and the most we can be is friends. I can ignore that spine tingling electricity, that feeling of falling, whenever I'm around him. I just won't allow it.

Yeah. The next night I walk in on Zane just coming out of the shower. He's wearing nothing but a towel knotted low around his waist. Beads of water slide down his tanned muscles, from his chest down to the fascinating ridges along his hips...

Don't worry, I handle it well. I scream, "Ewww!" and run from the room.

No, I really did. I walked into that room and saw the hottest s.e.xiest guy I've ever seen--wet and half naked. And I said, "Ewww."

I know. How am I still single, right?

Chapter 11.

"Look at this pic," I say to Lauren, showing her my phone. "My mom sent it this morning from Paris."

Lauren takes it and squints at the screen. "What is that she's holding?"

"That would be a phallic-shaped French pastry that my mother is holding up to her open mouth. I don't think she realizes, however-or she wouldn't be posing like that."

She laughs and hands my phone back to me. "She looks really good, V. Happy."

"Yeah," I agree with a sigh. I poke unenthusiastically at my taco.

We're at Taco Bill's right now, having lunch off campus for a change. We aren't really allowed to, but usually the school doesn't enforce this rule. So we're seizing the day. I order tacos instead of my usual enchiladas, just to be different.

"What did you get on that Chem quiz?" Lauren asks me.

"Ninety-six." I say. "What about you?"

She smiles. "Ninety-eight."

I make a face at her. "Show off."

"Right, I studied my b.u.t.t off. You rarely crack a book open. Are you going to work on your essay tonight?"

"No." I busy myself with running my fingers through my hair. "I think I'm hanging out with Zane tonight."

Lauren raises an eyebrow. "Again?"

"Yeah," I mumble nonchalantly. "It's no big deal. He asked if I wanted pizza for dinner. We might watch a movie after."

Lauren doesn't say anything, but her brown eyes seem judgmental.

"What?" I say, a tad defensively. "We're just friends. In fact, why don't you come over? You can finally meet him."

"Not today. I'm tutoring after school."

"Ugh. Is Mr. Tanner back yet, or do we still have Mr. Jensen?"

Lauren takes a long sip from her soda before answering. "Jensen. Mr. Tanner is still out sick. I think he's actually having some kind of surgery."

"Oh. Poor guy." I tsk sympathetically. "I like Jensen, though. They should just make him be our permanent teacher. He's been there more than Tanner has."

"Yeah, I'm sure all the girls would love that." Lauren rolls her eyes. "Did I tell you about yesterday, after school? Kari Geddes was all leaning up against him when I came in."

"Really?" My eyes widen. "And what was he doing?"

"Leaning away from her." She laughs. "You should've seen the look on his face."

"Well, yeah," I say, squirting hot sauce on my taco. "If he ever got caught with a student, he'd be in so much trouble. Remember Mrs. Alvarez?"

"Yeah, but I still wonder if Casey was making it all up. Mrs. Alvarez was sixty, with rheumatoid arthritis."

"True," I agree, licking the hot sauce off my fingers. "So, do you wanna come over after tutoring?"

"No, thanks," she declines. She takes a small bite of her burrito, then suddenly bursts out laughing. Covering her mouth, she mumbles, "I still can't believe you said 'eww!'"

Even now, I flush with embarra.s.sment. "I was fl.u.s.tered. You know how I get when I'm fl.u.s.tered."

"It's totally something Fat Violet would have said."

"I miss her," I sigh. "She was fearless."

"She was. Why don't you take a pic of Zane so I can see what he looks like?"

"I don't think he likes having his picture taken," I say. "I asked him once why he doesn't have any pictures in his room, and he said something to that effect. You know, he's not vain at all. I never see him look in a mirror."

"Hm, sounds like someone else I know." Lauren b.a.l.l.s up all her used napkins and sticks them on her plate. "We should go. We have ten minutes to be back on campus."

I didn't get to finish my tacos! But Lauren is already standing up, getting her things together. I take a giant bite and follow after her.

We get in the short line to pay our bill, and I don't notice Matt and Rachel are standing in front of us until I hear his familiar laugh.

Oh, great. I exchange eye rolls with Lauren. She quietly asks me if I want to wait outside, but I shake my head.

Oh, that's nice-he's got his hand on her b.u.t.t. He never put his hand on my b.u.t.t in public. We barely held hands.

By the way, I've still got a mouthful of taco. Seeing my ex-boyfriend caress my ex-friend makes me want to puke. It makes me...I'm just so...

I'm not hurt, I realize. I'm irritated. When I think about Matt, I can't help but compare him to Zane, and next to Zane, Matt is...nothing. Inconsequential. Faded gray, school lunch, immature boy. Zane is-he's fireworks, bursts of color, exciting, dangerous, s.e.xy, and he makes me want. What, I'm not quite sure. All I know is if he- "Violet."

Matt suddenly turns around, spotting me. His blue eyes widen as I start choking on taco meat.

Ow!

My eyes water as I gag helplessly. Matt reaches for me-maybe to perform the Heimlich-but I hold a hand up. Lauren hands me a napkin, and I s.n.a.t.c.h it and discreetly spit out half a masticated taco. Ugh.

Coughing hoa.r.s.ely, I glare up at Matt like it's his fault. I turn to Lauren and hand her money. "I'll be waiting outside," I mutter.

Rachel looks like she's actually going to say something to me. I give her a look, and she hastily turns back around. Just because I've decided Matt isn't worth crying over doesn't mean I'll forgive either of them for betraying me.

I don't forgive people. Just ask Shauna Bradley. We were best friends in kindergarten-until I discovered she was the one stealing the fruit snacks from my desk. She lost my trust that day, and even now when I see her, I have to refrain myself from shouting, "Why? Why did you do it?!"

The rest of the school day seems to go on forever. By the time Spanish is over, I am all but jumping up and down with impatience. I can't wait to get home. To see him.

He's not there when I get home. I do my homework, and take a quick shower. What to wear? I know, it's not a date. My first instinct is to reach for something flattering, but I know I'd end up feeling stupid and uncomfortable. So I slip on a plain gray t-shirt and a long pink skirt with little bunnies printed all over it. How did I even get that skirt, anyway? I don't know why I even packed it.

I'm sitting on the couch, pretending to read a book while acutely listening for the door. When I finally hear the sounds of Zane coming in, I am so nervous, I nearly fall off the couch. Scrambling to maintain a casual expression, I try to calm my racing heart, while blindly turning the page of my book.

"Hey," I greet him, proud of how normal I sound.

"Hey, yourself."

Zane sets a large flat box on the kitchen counter, and wanders into the living room. He looks absolutely beautiful and dangerous with his windblown dark hair and dark sungla.s.ses.

"Someone smells good," I blurt out when he leans over the couch to inspect my book. "No, I mean something! The pizza. It smells good."

He just grins at me, and grabs hold of my book, turning it-oh, G.o.d-right side up.

Yes, it was upside-down. I was pretending to read Tolstoy upside down. And he caught me.

I'm such a dork.

Zane heads back to the kitchen while I sputter incoherently. "You hungry?" he asks over his shoulder.

I take a few deep calming breaths before joining him in the kitchen. I give up. I totally accept the fact that I'll forever be making an a.s.s out of myself in front of the hottest guy I've ever known.

Forget it. It's fine-I'll just be the awkward yet amusing friend.

Having resigned myself to a role, I feel a little of the pressure I put on myself ease up. I follow him to the kitchen. He's opening up the box, and I find myself looking at a bizarre pizza. Why's there green stuff on it?

"What is that?" I ask, unable to keep the horror out of my voice.

Zane chuckles, glancing up at me. "I take it you've never had a Greek pizza?"

I shake my head. "It...is there any meat on there?"

"No. There's spinach, olives, tomatoes, feta...trust me, you'll like it."

He's getting plates down from the cabinet, so he doesn't see the dubious face I make. "It smells good," I say hopefully.

He nods, handing me a plate. "Tell you what-just try it. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it. And tomorrow, you can pick whatever you want for dinner, and I'll pick it up. Okay?"

My spirits soar crazily. He wants to hang out with me tomorrow, too? "Okay!" I agree-way too enthusiastically.

We grab our pizzas and a couple of bottled waters, and move to the living room. I thought we were going to watch a movie, but Zane brings out his laptop and we end up watching how-to videos on the internet. Yeah, it turns out Zane is really into do-it-yourself projects, and alternative forms of energy. We watch videos on how to make your own greenhouse, gasifiers, parabolic mirrors, and Stirling engines. It's actually really fascinating, and I'm impressed at his knowledge.

"What, are you gearing up for the zombie apocalypse?" I tease him, after taking a bite of my delicious Greek pizza (Zane was right-yum!).

"I just believe in being prepared." He smiles, leaning forward to click on a link. "And I think this stuff's really cool, you know? I have a farm in Oregon that actually runs on some of the things I've built. I'll take you out there, sometime so you can see for yourself."

I am stunned by his casual invitation. "That'd be awesome," I say faintly.

I wonder if he really means it. Or was it one of those things that people say? Like the way I always invite my third grade friend-Janie Donnelly-over to my house to hang out whenever I run into her-even though I barely know her, anymore, and I really don't want her to come over, because what would we talk about? The last thing we had in common was our sticker collections.

Moving on.