"It was all a fan-girl daydream, okay?"

I don't acknowledge this.

She tries again. "Just a little fan-art fairy tale."

"Okay," I say. "Now can we forget it ever happened?"

"Yeah," she says.

"Because I'm not giving it back. No one will see that damn drawing again."

"Got it," Eden agrees. Then she asks, "Friends?"

"Friends," I say, and nudge her with my elbow.

The pedestrian traffic and the lack of parking near our destination indicate that the Saturday market is in full swing. Eden decides to bail on our plans to study in favor of shopping, so I park behind my mom's office and we walk over to Eighth Street. Twenty minutes later Eden tugs on my hand and pulls me into a booth selling pastries. "What do you want?" she asks.

"Blueberry muffin," I say.

She pushes a loaf of bread, a paper bag containing a jar of local honey, and a bouquet of flowers into my arms. "A chocolate croissant and a blueberry muffin, please," she tells the baker, and soon we are looking for a bench to sit and eat.

"Bookstore!" Eden says with her mouth full, pointing excitedly down the street.

"Next stop?" I ask, peeling back the paper from the bottom of my muffin.

"Definitely," she agrees.

I feel a little lost in the bookstore-not sure where to start and not wanting to explain to anyone my utter lack of reading anything that wasn't assigned since junior high (when I finished the Harry Potter series). But Eden appears to feel right at home. She zooms over to the young adult section and plops down on the floor, her bread, honey, and flowers piled around her as if she's moving in. She pulls out a handful of graphic novels and starts reading. And I get the feeling we're going to be here awhile.

I skip the girls-in-flowing-dresses section, the display of girls-with-swords books, and another of girls with mermaid tails. I find myself in the children's section and half look for a bedtime story for my sisters-preferably one without Disney princesses and that I haven't read a million and two times, but I know I won't be buying a book. Not with the five dollars I have left in my pocket.

Near the register is a collection on non-book items. I try on a finger puppet, spin a display of magnets, and run my fingers through a basket of buttons. Most have silly quotes on them, others silhouettes of Sherlock Holmes, and a few the rainbow flag. I pick up one of the rainbows and run my thumb over the smooth surface.

My stomach feels queasy, but not in a bad way, as I imagine myself at college. Where I'd pin this to my backpack. And never have to say a word.

I'd be that guy in my self-portrait-the confident, who-I-want-to-be one with the squarish Adam's apple and his eyes on the future-asking guys if they want to study or grab a cup of coffee. I'd meet people. Maybe find someone special and fall hopelessly in love with him. Not Mason, obviously. I picture the four of us hanging out: me and a boyfriend, Mason and a pretty, dark-haired girl who adores his every move. I'd be happy for him. Happy he found someone.

The bookstore employee looks up from shelving books and asks me, "Can I help you?"

I look down at the circle of stripes in my palm and take a deep breath. "Just this," I tell her, and hold up the pin.

"Sure," she says, and walks to the cash register. She punches a few keys and says, "A dollar six."

I hand her the five and she counts out my change.

"You need a bag?"

I shake my head and take the change and my receipt.

"What'd you get?" Eden asks from her seat on the floor.

"Nothing," I say, but show her the quarter-size button.

"Pretty," she says with a smile. "And so not nothing."

FORTY-ONE.

"You can answer that," Eden tells me when my phone rings.

"But-"

"Here." Eden grabs my phone.

"Good afternoon," she answers like a secretary. "Jamie Peterson's phone."

She listens for a moment, then asks me, "Where the hell are you?"

"Downtown, with you," I say.

"Oh," she says. "I thought you wanted me to lie."

I take the phone back.

"You're with Eden?" Mason asks, sounding a little wounded.

"We were going to study at Flying M, but the market's going on," I explain.

"So we're shopping," Eden says.

"Yeah, um," Mason says. "I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie."

Eden wiggles like a happy puppy. Yes, she mouths through a big grin.

But I feel kind of bad, dumping her for him. And I'm not sure I want to be alone with him. "Can Eden come?" I ask.

Eden's face switches channels. She shakes her head.

I shoot her a give-me-a-break look as Mason says, "Yeah, that'd be great. Meet you there? I've got my mom's car."

Back in my car, Eden says she shouldn't be chaperoning our date.

"It isn't a date. Besides, I was avoiding him," I tell her. "Until you answered my phone."

"You aren't good at avoiding people," she says. "Especially Mason."

I sigh. She's right. Part of me can't wait to see him, can't wait to feel his fingers rub my head as he messes up my hair.

"So you gonna talk to him? About what you said in government?"

I wonder, briefly, how she knows. But remember everyone knows. "Um, no."

"But what if this is the date? What if he does one of these?" She yawns and stretches, letting her fingers fall on the back of my neck.

"Why would he do that?" I ask.

"Um, because he likes you?"

We just went over this. We agreed to drop it. I sigh and decide to put an end to this conversation. "I saw him kiss a girl. On the mouth. With-never mind."

I don't need to look at Eden to know she's shocked. "He was sitting in a tree? With who?"

"Bahti."

"No way!"

"Yes way."

"Not important." Eden dismisses my reasoning. "Lots of gay boys kiss girls. It's lips-are-lips logic."

I've never heard of that. "I don't kiss girls," I tell her.

"That's because you're saving yourself."

"No," I say, and almost say exactly why I don't kiss girls-it's gross-but stop before I hurt her feelings. "I don't like lip gloss."

"Maybe Bahti wasn't wearing lip-gloss. . . ." Eden trails off.

Mason meets us with an ear-to-ear grin. He's wearing a cowboy-inspired plaid shirt that's a little tight across his shoulders-something that didn't migrate from Gabe's side of the closet in time-and cargo shorts.

My stomach does a little dance-happy and sickening-and I smile back.

"Jamie!" he says, giving me a hug-slash-thump on the back that has Eden shooting me I-told-you-so glances over her shoulder as we walk toward the theatre.

"Alien invasion?" Mason asks, stopping to read the movie titles on the marquis. "Or rom-com?"

"Aliens," I answer before Eden has a chance to. She'd probably choose the romantic comedy and try to make this into that date that's never going to happen.

Although, contrary to my not-a-date plan, I do bum some money for a ticket and a soda off of Mason, but I'll pay him back.

Mason is in his movie zone and I am in mine. He's got his large bucket of popcorn, extra butter, on his lap and an orange soda in a cup holder on the far side. I'm slouched low with my sneakers wedged between the seats in front of us, sipping on my soda while the aliens plot to take over the planet. Eden is sitting on my other side, snuggled deep in her seat and leaning close to me. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses-probably because she doesn't see to many rated R-movies and these aliens are creep-tastic.

I steal a handful of popcorn from Mason without asking and eat it all at once. Then I focus on the movie, secretly wishing that the cute guy won't bite the dust or make out with the hot chick.

Cute guy is frying aliens with his laser gun when Mason's bare arm brushes mine. It zaps me out of the moment and into the next galaxy.

My heartbeat quickens. I jerk away.

"Dude," Mason says. "That scared you?" He means the slimy alien that just jumped up behind the cute guy in the movie, not the touch of his arm.

But I just nod.

FORTY-TWO.

Our government exam is on Tuesday afternoon, so I know I'll see Mason at school. Basically, we haven't been alone together, so my plan is working. We haven't talked about my declaration or about Gumshoe. And that's okay with me.

I'm putting my notebook and my phone in my locker-we can't have anything in the exam room but pencils and a water bottle-when Mason plops down on the floor at my feet.

He leans back against the lockers and says, "I'm starving."

"Hey."

"You hungry?" he asks, and opens a plastic bag from the grocery store where his mother works.

"Yeah," I say. Stupidly, the cafeteria is closed during exam week, and I forgot about it. So I didn't have lunch.

Mason pulls out package of tortilla shells and another of sliced cheese. He's beginning to look like a godsend in a gray mechanic's shirt. He spreads the plastic bag on the floor and puts his loot on top of it. He adds a bottle of orange soda, an apple, and a can of chiles.

I sit cross-legged on the floor, facing him.

He folds a piece of cheese into a tortilla and takes a bite.

I help myself to one, then ask about the can of chiles. "How are you gonna get that open?"

"Pocket knife," he mumbles through the food in his mouth.

"A knife? In school? Are you crazy?"

He is. He shifts and pulls a Swiss Army knife from his pocket.

I look up and down the partially empty hall.

"They aren't gonna do anything," he tells me. "It's the last exam."