"And where'd you get this?" She grasps my wrist.

"Please. You've seen that like a million times already. I got it last Christmas," I say, trying to break free of her grip as Brandon comes toward me, thinking how cute he is when his hair falls into his eyes. "Not the watch silly, this!" She taps the bracelet that's next to the watch, the one with silver horseshoes encrusted with pink crystal bits—the one that's not the slightest bit familiar though somehow manages to make my stomach go all weird when I look at it.

"I—I don't know," I mumble, wincing when I see her gape at me like I'm losing it. "I mean, I think my aunt might've sent it to me, you know, the one I told you about, the one who lives in Laguna Beach—"

"Who lives in Laguna Beach?" Brandon asks, slipping his arm around me, as Rachel glances between us, rolling her eyes when he leans in to kiss me. But something about the feel of his lips is so strange and unsettling, I quickly turn away.

"My ride's here," Rachel says, rushing toward her mom's SUV and calling over her shoulder to say, "Let me know if anything changes—you know, about tonight?"

Brandon looks at me, pulling me tighter against him until I'm practically fused to his chest, which only makes my stomach go weird again.

"If what changes?" he asks, oblivious to the way I squirm out of his arms, unaware of my sudden lack of interest, which is a total relief since I've no idea how to explain it.

"Oh, she wants to hit Jaden's party, but I'm scheduled to babysit," I tell him, heading toward his Jeep and tossing my bag onto the floor by my feet.

"Want me to stop by?" He smiles. "You know, in case you need help?"

"No!" I say, too forceful, too quick. Knowing I need to backtrack fast when I see the look on his face. "I mean, Riley always stays up late, so it's probably not a good idea."

He looks at me, his eyes grazing over me like he feels it too, the unidentified big wrong thing that hovers between us, making everything feel so dang weird. Then he shrugs and turns toward the road. Choosing to drive the rest of the way in silence. Or at least he and I are silent. His stereo is screaming full blast. And even though that usually gets on my nerves, today I'm glad. I'd rather focus on crap music I can't stand, than the fact that I don't want to kiss him. I look at him, really look at him in the way I haven't done since I've gotten used to us being a couple. Taking in the swoop of bangs framing those big green eyes that slant down ever so slightly at the corners making him impossible to resist—except for today. Today it comes easy. And when I remember how just yesterday I was covering my notebook with his name, well, it just doesn't make any sense. He turns, catching me staring and smiling as he takes my hand. Entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing them in a way that makes my stomach go queasy. But I force myself to return it, both the smile and the squeeze, knowing it's expected, what a good girlfriend does. Then I gaze out the window, holding down the nausea as I stare at the passing landscape, the rain-soaked streets, the clapboard houses and pine trees, glad to be getting home soon.

"So, tonight?" He pulls into my drive, muting the sound as he leans toward me and looks at me in that way that he has. But I just press my lips together and reach for my bag, holding it against my chest like a shield, a solid defense meant to keep him away.

"I'll text you," I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I glance out the window, seeing my neighbor and her daughter playing catch on the lawn, as I reach for the door handle, desperate to get away from him and into my room.

And just as I've opened the door and slipped one leg out, he says, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I gaze down at my backpack, knowing it's all that I brought, but when I look at him again, I realize he's not referring to that. And knowing there's only one way to get through this without arousing any more suspicions from him or from me, I lean toward him, closing my eyes as I press my lips against his, finding them objectively smooth, pliant, but basically neutral, with none of their usual spark.

"I'll—um, I'll see you later," I mumble, hopping out of his Jeep and wiping my mouth on my sleeve well before I've even reached the front door. Rushing inside and heading straight to the den where I'm blocked by a plastic drum set, a guitar with no strings, and a small black microphone that's going to break if Riley and her friend don't stop fighting over it.

"We already agreed," Riley says, yanking the mic toward her. "I sing all the boy songs, and you sing all the girl songs. What's the problem?"

"The problem," her friend whines, pulling it even harder. "Is that there's hardly any girl songs. And youknow it."

But Riley just shrugs. "That's not my fault. Take it up with Rock Band, not me."

"I swear, you are so—" Her friend stops when she sees me standing in the doorway, shaking my head.

"You guys need to take turns," I say, giving Riley a pointed look, glad to be presented with a problem I can handle, even though I wasn't consulted. "Emily, you get the next song, and Riley, you get the one after that, and then so on. Think you can handle that?"

Riley rolls her eyes as Emily snatches the mic from her hand.

"Is Mom around?" I ask, ignoring Riley's scowl since I'm pretty much used to it by now.

"She's in her room. Getting ready," she says, watching me leave as she whispers to her friend, "Fine. I get to sing 'Dead on Arrival,' you can sing 'Creep.' "