I rubbed my palms on my dress and smiled at Dad who was smiling at me, the look in his eyes conveying, "my little girl's all grown up." And I was. At least, I felt like it.

Cameron whistled, low and slow. "Lane, you look-"

"Overdressed," Lucas cut in.

My dad's eyes snapped to his.

"Not in a bad way," Luke said, hands up in surrender. "I just mean... I feel underdressed is all."

I quickly forgave him for his earlier comment.

That was mistake number two.

Luke wore khaki shorts and a white polo. He looked nice, even if he didn't work at it.

"Be good, kids," Dad said as he closed the door behind us.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean you were overdressed. It's just..." Luke paused as he opened the door of the minivan for me. "You're dressed like this is a date or something, and I told you it wasn't."

I dropped my gaze, revealed my disappointment.

Mistake number three.

I sat in the last row of seats in the van, between the twins' booster seats, because I didn't want him sitting next to me. I was hurt. His words hurt, and I felt stupid. Pathetic.

He didn't speak on the way to the movie theater where I'd later find my first place of employment. He didn't glance in my direction. Not even when Lucy said, "You look so pretty, Lane. Doesn't she look nice, Luke?"

He shrugged, mumbled, "I guess," and kept looking out the window.

It was the first time I physically felt my heart sink. Felt it crack.

I wanted to cry but doing so in the car on the way to our non-date would make the actual non-date unbearable, so I kept it together. I should've faked sick and asked Cam to take me home. I didn't.

Mistake number four.

I paid for my own ticket even though Luke offered.

I paid for my own snacks, too, just to reiterate to myself that it was not a date.

I wanted to sit on my own, or at least on the other side of Cameron and Lucy and away from him, but I thought that might be taking it too far. I didn't hate him. He told me how it was, but my own wants and fantasies turned it into something it wasn't.

Yep. Mistake number five.

I said I needed to use the bathroom and that I'd catch up with them. That way they could choose the seating arrangements, and yeah, I realized even then that I was overthinking everything, and as I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes getting redder from my withheld tears, I realized how pathetic I was being. Hurt, but still, pathetic. I yanked a square of paper towel from the dispenser, ran it under warm water and removed what little "fake" make-up I wore, which was just grape flavored Lip-Smacker that turned my lips a light shade of purple to match the dress that was apparently too "overdressed."

When I got into the theater, Cameron waved at me even though the room was practically empty and the lights hadn't been dimmed yet. They were sitting in the middle of the last row. It was Cam on the left, Lucy next to him, empty seat, then Luke. I a.s.sumed the empty spot was for me. Luke stood when I approached so I could get past him and take my seat. I looked at my watch. We were ten minutes early. I had to sit in silence with the light on for ten whole minutes. A group of girls sat a few rows in front of us, their ages ranging from mine to Lucy's. They turned around often, giggled to each other, then whispered words I couldn't hear.

"Are you wearing perfume?" Luke asked.

I should've scrubbed the perfume off me when I was removing the purple from my stupid lips. "Yeah. My grandmother gave it to me. I don't really have anywhere else to wear it so..."

"It's nice," he said. "It suits you."

"It's not really me," I admitted, choking on a sob. I whispered, "This really isn't me at all. I look stupid."

He didn't respond for a long time, and I felt that twisting ache in my chest again. "I liked your slogan tees," he said. "And your crazy colored flip-flops."

I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling, all so my tears wouldn't fall.

He hated my outfit, and I hated that it bothered me so much.

Mistake number six.

The girls giggled again.

"If they do that through the entire movie I'm going to take a rusty chainsaw to all their heads," Lucy snapped. "Why do they keep looking this way?"

"Leave it alone, babe," Cam said, trying to settle her. "If they do it while the movie's on, I'll talk to them."

"Sure," Lucy said. "You talk to them, babe, and if they so much as even try to hit on you, I'll stab them in the eye with this straw."

"You're very death-to-the-world today," Cam said.

Lucy giggled. "I'll strangle them with my Red Vines."

Cameron laughed. "Stone them to death with your Whoppers?"

Lucy said, "Shove my hot dog up their-"

"Okay, that's enough," Cam cut in just in time.

Another round of giggles.

"What do you b.i.t.c.hes want?" Lucy shouted, her arm raised, hand full of popcorn.

Cameron grasped her wrist, stopping her.

One of the girls, brunette and beautiful, pointed to Luke. "Come here," she said, laughing with her friends.

Luke pointed to himself, his eyebrows raised. "Me?"

Five heads, hair perfectly straight, nodded at the same time.

Luke turned to me, and I faced him for the first time since he was at my door. "Do you mind?" he asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, shook my head, said, "Why would I mind?"

His eyes stayed on mine. He said nothing. I said nothing.

"Luke," Cam said behind me. There was something in the way he said Luke's name. It wasn't to get his attention. It almost sounded like a warning. Like that was his chance to speak to those girls and if he didn't do it then, he might never get to again.

"He has a name," said one of the giggling girls.

"Luke!" they cooed in unison.

I dropped my gaze, hid my emotions.

He left, only to return when the movie started.

I timed the release of my tears to match Lucy's sobs.

She cried over the movie.

I cried over my life.

And when the movie was over and Cam, Lucy and I waited for Lucas to stop talking to the girls just outside the building, his words "I'll call you," acting as the final stab wound to my chest, Lucy turned to me, her voice full of pity. "You really do look nice, Lane."

"Yeah?" I asked, looking down at the prettiest dress I owned. "Because I feel so f.u.c.king stupid."

Chapter Nine.

LOIS.

There should be a limit to the amount of tears a person can shed within a certain amount of time. Or at least some kind of chart to verify the level of tears to the level of tragedy. For example, losing someone like Kathy Preston should equal infinite tears for an infinite amount of time. Being hurt by the sp.a.w.n of Kathy Preston should equal, say, three sets of tears for three f.u.c.k-ups and then said sp.a.w.n should be deleted from your life, your mind, for all of eternity.

But there is no chart.

Just tears.

It's 10:30 pm when the knock sounds on my door.

I answer, but I don't speak. I have nothing to say.

"Just hear me out," Luke asks. "She called me over thirty times yesterday, sent me a ton of messages. I went to see her last night to break up with her, and when I got there, she was crying. Her brother was in a car accident over in LA and her parents flew right there and she was alone and she needed me and I wasn't there. She kept crying, Lane, like non-stop, and I couldn't get a word in and I couldn't do that to her. But I will. I promise." He takes a breath. "You just need to give me time."

"Don't," I whisper.

"Don't what?"

"Don't break up with her."

"Laney, stop."

"Did you stay with her last night?" I ask, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Yes, but we didn't do anything. I swear. I've been trying to get away from her long enough so I could see you and explain it but with school and practice, I couldn't, and then you saw us and you saw wrong. You have to believe me." He pauses a beat. "You believe me, right? Because I want to be with you. And you know that. But I can't break up with her right now. I just can't."

"You need to leave." I start closing the door on him, but he stops me, his palm loud when it smacks against the timber. "Lane, please."

I finally look up at him, my tear-stained eyes meeting his sorry ones, and I'm sick of his sorry eyes. Sick of his sorry face.

I blink, let the tears fall, and I don't wipe them away because I want him to see what he's done to me. I clear my throat so my voice doesn't falter. I want him to hear my words, and I want them to be loud. To be clear. "You need to leave because I don't want you here. I don't want you standing at my door, apologizing, trying to make me understand why I can't be hurt by this because I am. I hurt. And I don't want to hurt. I want to go back to last night when you made me feel beautiful, when you made me feel loved and worthy of that love. When I gave you something I'd been holding on to that I can't take back, that I'd been saving... for you. And you can't be here because having you here is making me forget that feeling, and I don't want to forget. I want to pretend like that feeling lasted more than seventeen f.u.c.king hours, and I want to pretend like I don't hate you for it. Or hate you, period."

Chapter Ten.

LUCAS.

I try to be quiet, but I'm crashing into walls, into chairs, into Dad's giant desk in his home office. I got home from Laney's and went straight to the garage apartment and drank every single drop of alcohol I'd kept hidden from my dad. But it still doesn't erase the image of Laney's tear-stained face from my mind.

I had it all planned out. I'd tell her the truth, no sugar-coating, because she deserved that much. I didn't say it to hurt her. I don't want to hurt her. I f.u.c.king love her. In my head, she'd forgive me, tell me she understood that I didn't have it in me to hurt someone I care about. And honestly, I did care about Grace. I just didn't love her. I love Laney. Always have. If the roles were reversed and something happened to Brian, I'd have spent the night with Laney. I probably would've spent the night with her anyway. I just wouldn't tell Grace about it. Grace doesn't know I sleep in Laney's bed. No one does. And maybe that's where I f.u.c.ked up. Where my mistakes turned me into an a.s.shole because in a way, Laney was my secret, hidden away from the eyes of my friends so they couldn't want her, have her. She was mine. My secret pleasure. She didn't forgive me, obviously. She gave me her own truths, laid out her pain in detail so someone as stupid as me could understand. Then she slammed the door in my face and switched off the outside light, the light she always kept on for me. I should have expected it. But I didn't. And I stood outside her door, in the dark, and I knew it was over.

She told me, warned me, if I didn't show her I loved her, I'd ruin everything.

I f.u.c.k up, Lane. I make mistakes. I told you. I warned you, too.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing, son?"

I don't bother turning to my dad, too out of my mind to care. I keep going through his keys, one after the other, trying to find the one that'll unlock his liquor cabinet so I can keep drinking the pain away, so I can drown in it, just enough to get her words, her face, her hurt, out of my mind. "I hurt her," I murmur, fumbling with the keys.

"Who?" he says, his voice louder as he steps toward me. "Grace?"

f.u.c.k Grace. "Laney. She hates me, and I hate me, and I can't get the hate out of me."

Dad's hand grasps my shoulder, pulls me back until I tip over and land on my a.s.s. I want to cry, but I haven't cried since Mom died and I sure as h.e.l.l won't show him, the strongest man I know, how weak I am.