What was I going to do about him? Tell him, of course. It was a betrayal to allow our relationship to continue. I realised now I only ever loved him as a friend. That the physical aspect of our relationship evolved because that’s what was expected. A girl meets a guy, they fall in love, have sex, get married, not necessarily in that order.

Expectations. They ruled my life.

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.

I was sniffing the rose, wondering how to let Seth down easy, when I arrived at my Jeep. Cece was leaning against the hood, arms folded, foot tapping. “Holland.” She launched off the bumper. “Could you give me a ride?"

A bolt of lightning shot through me. Would she always excite me this way?

“Sure." I smiled at her. Followed her eyes to the pavement, to the flat tire on the driver’s side of her Neon. "Oh, no," I said. "I hate when that happens. You want me to help you put on the spare?"

“I’m out of spares,” she said, her voice sounding cold. "I just need a ride, okay?"

“Sure, of course." I unlocked the passenger door and she climbed in. I ran around to my side. “You want me to drop you at a gas station or something?" I lay the yellow rose across the dash. “There’ s a tire place not too far from here."

“No, I’ll just call my dad later. If you could take me to Hott ’N Tott, that’d be great."

I switched on the ignition. The engine coughed. "Oh, crap. I need gas. I’Il have to stop at home to get some money. Will that make you late?"

“No. Your house is on the way.” Cece buckled her seat belt. "I’lI pay you back."

“You don’t have to. I need gas anyway." How did she know where I lived?

She asked, “Am I going to make you late?"

“Yeah.” No sense lying to her. “But that's fine.” I backed out of my parking slot. "I’Il just call in sick." What? Had those words issued forth from the mouth of Holland Jaeger? She'd never blow off work. It was expected she'd be there, and be there on time. She was a slave to expectations.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Cece remarked, “I had no idea you and Faith were related. She's really cool."

I just looked at her.

Cece laughed. “You are so easy to read."

Which made all the blood rush to my face.

“She’s your stepsister, huh? On your mother or father's side?"

“Father,” I said. “Stepfather. My mom got pregnant with me in high school when she was fifteen. She didn't really want me." My breath caught. Why did I tell Cece that? I’d never told anyone, not even Leah.

Cece frowned. “She said that to you?"

“Not in so many words.” My voice sounded weak, same way I felt. “Her parents kicked her out, so she didn’t have a choice."

Cece’ s eyes widened. “Wow. What were they, like religious fanatics?"

“I donʼt know,” I admitted. "She never told me why. She hasnʼt spoken to them since. I guess her mom's written to her over the years wanting to reconcile; be involved in my life. But Mom absolutely refuses to have anything to do with them."

“How do you feel about that?" Cece asked.

“Me?" I looked at her. Back at the road. All these years. “I wish she could forgive them. Or at least let me meet them. I mean, they’re my grandparents, you know?"

Cece nodded, like she understood. I felt her eyes on me, studying me. What did she see? A writhing bundle of raw nerves? After a moment, she said, "There's always a choice. Your mom didn’t give you up for adoption, so she must’ve wanted to keep you."

I’d never thought of that. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I'd always figured she just wished she’d had an abortion. End of problem. End of me.

“Where’s your dad?" Cece asked.

"Who knows? Mom told me he turned out to be a loser and thank God they never got married. He didn’t want anything to do with me. My stepdad, Neal? He’s a good guy. He’s the first really nice man Mom’s ever met. He makes her happy. That’s what counts. Unfortunately, he comes with baggage."

Cece shot me a dark look.

“Sorry, but this whole Goth thing makes me want to hurl."

“Why?" She shifted to face me.

“It’s seriously demented." I smirked at her.

“Not reaIly.” She snaked an arm across the seat back. Almost touched my shoulder. One more inch. “Most of the Goths I know are pretty cool. I think the whole movement just got a bad rep with Columbine. What I understand about it is, they’re into nonviolence, peace, celebration of life. Celebration of death, too. They try to find all the beauty in everything. Even pain. For some it’s like this quest for immortality. For nirvana."

I stared straight ahead, letting her words sink in. Chastising myself for not even discussing it with Faith; not finding out what Goth meant to her.

Cece dropped her arm. “l think she’ s just trying to get noticed. I feel sorry for Faith having to compete with you."

My head whipped around. “What do you mean? We’re not competing."

"Oh, come on." She twisted toward me again, tucking one leg under the other, her knee a hairbreadth away from mine. Her hand rested on her thigh. "All of a sudden, she's thrown into this new family. She has to share her father." It took every ounce of willpower to concentrate on driving, on what she was saying, on not looking at her thigh. “She has this new sister who’s gorgeous and brainy and athletic and popular. How’s she supposed to feel?"

My face flared. She thinks I’m gorgeous? "We're not competing.” I repeated.

“You may not be." Cece blinked away. "You never had to."

Instead of the driveway, I pulled up at the curb and ground to a stop. Just sat there, staring at Cece. I felt as if she’d just skinned me alive, like she saw me from the inside out.

I exited the Jeep and Cece followed.

Mom was in the living room watching her soaps and giving Hannah a bottle. “Hey, Ma," I greeted her. "This is Cece. Cece, the Mom."

“Hi.” Cece stuck out her hand.

Since both her hands were full, all Mom could do was smile. “Hello.”

“And this is Hannah, my baby sister.” I tickled Hannie's belly and she gurgled. Mom, I noticed, was examining Cece, reading her T-shirt. She said, "Would you get me a towel, Holland? This one’s all wet."

“Sure." I lugged my junk to the kitchen and dumped it on the back landing. When I returned, Cece was sitting on the sofa next to Mom. "No, I just transferred to Southglenn this term," she said. “How old is Hannah?" Cece tickled her foot.

Mom stood up. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” she said to me, snatching the towel out of my hand.

“I got a day off,” I fibbed. “Come on Cece. I’ll give you a tour of the crypt.’

Cece got up and trailed me downstairs. While I retrieved the key from under my lamp and unlocked my safe — which I'd purchased as a precautionary measure against Faith and now felt guilty as hell about — Cece wandered around my room, fingering my things. Finger away, I thought.

She picked up the Dixie Chicks CD and smiled at me. I smiled back. Pocketing a twenty, I said, “Okay, I’m ready."

“For what?" She arched an eyebrow.

I shook my head. “You're bad."

“You donʼt know how bad."

“Why don’t you show me?"

“Why don’t you show me?"

A nervous laugh tripped over my lips. “Are you coming on to me?"

Her face hardened and she said coolly, "I haven’t touched you.”

It was true; she hadn't touched me — physically, anyway. In fact, she'd gone out of her way not to touch me. The electricity between us was palpable. Visible, almost. And dangerous. "Come on, let’s go,” I breathed, stumbling out of there. I didn't even remember driving her to work, dropping her off, or getting home. She hadn’t touched me, but God, I wanted her to.

Chapter 15

We were deep into a drawing exercise on three-dimensionality when Cece casually moseyed by and dropped a folded note on my sketchpad. It bounced and landed on the table between Winslow and me. He reached for it, but I got there first. Opened it in my lap. “My mom's catering the KBTO Battle of the Bands on Saturday night," it read. “She said sheʼd pay you fifteen dollars an hour if you helped. My way of making up to you for missing work. We get into the concert for free, too. lt'll just be the two of us. Wanna?"

Her handwriting was small, cramped, tiny little letters. l scribbled my response underneath, then got up and delivered it. l hadn’t made it back to my seat before she burst into laughter. “Only it you can keep your hands off me," l'd written.

***

Saturday couldn't get here fast enough. l put Seth off by telling him l had my period. That always grossed him out. l knew l had to break it off, and l would, when the time was right. When l could manufacture the words. So far I'd assembled, “Guess what, Seth. I met someone I’d rather be with. Oh, here’s the good part. She’s a girl."

God. I could never do that to him.

Cece said to come to her house around four so I could help load and set up.

“What kind of concert?" Mom asked as I was getting ready to leave. She'd invited herself in after changing the towels in my bathroom.

"A rock concert, I think. It's a battle of the bands."

“You're going with Seth?"

I ran a brush through my hair, wishing it was longer so I could do something interesting with it. Curl it, braid it, something. “No. Cece."

“Where did you pick up this Cece?"

My head raised to meet Mom’s eyes. Her tone of voice annoyed me. "You make her sound like a disease."

Mom lifted a college catalog off my dresser and flipped through it. “What do you see in this girl?"

If she only knew. “She’s cool. I like her."

Mom set the catalog down and said, "I don’t really want you hanging out with people like her. After tonight, tell her to look elsewhere for friends."

My jaw unhinged.

Mom added, "And be home by eleven."

Since when did I have a curfew? And since when did my mother choose my friends? I waited until I heard her footsteps on the stairs, then murmured, "Go to hell," and flipped her the bird.

***

Cece's house was a couple of blocks from Washington Central, a remodeled Victorian, two stories, with a glassed-in front porch. Homey. I rang the bell, and a kid, six or seven, charged out the door.

“Hi." I smiled a greeting. He had Cece’s cute nose. “Is Cece here? I’m helping with the catering."

“Mo-om!” he bellowed over his shoulder through the open front door. Then disappeared inside.

l caught the storm door before it swung shut, and let myself in. The aroma hit me first — Mexican food. My stomach growled. l’d been too jittery all day to eat. Too nervous, psyched. Cece rushed out from a rear hallway, lugging an armload of linens – tablecloths and napkins. "Holland." She stopped dead. “Hi." Her eyes narrowed at her brother, already zoned in front of the TV. “Eric, you turd." She shook her head at me. “He has no manners. Come on in. My mom’s in the kitchen."

I trailed her through a set of arched doorways. The spicy smell was stronger in the kitchen and my mouth watered. “Mom, this is Holland."

Cece’s morn straightened in front of the oven, daubing sweat off her forehead with an oven mitt. “Hi, Holland." She smiled at me. "Thanks for helping."

"Thanks for paying me so much,” l said. “That’s really generous."

Cece’s mom slit eyes at her. “How generous am I?"

Oh, God. Cece –

Cece said quickly, "You can give her my share. We'll finish loading stuff in the van. Grab that box, Holland." She indicated with her elbow.

As I passed Cece’s mom, she looked at me, examined me.

Made me feel like an amoeba under a microscope. What else had Cece told her?

A van was parked in the circular driveway out back. On the side it read, “Kate's katering.” Cece balanced her load on her knee and rolled open the panel door. We hauled in five or six long tables, then linens, dishes, silverware, cups, trays. Finally Kate – I assumed Cece's mom was Kate – handed us the last metal vat of enchiladas and consulted a checklist. “Go wake up your brother," she told Cece. "Make sure he knows what time it is. Tell him we’re leaving now."

Cece disappeared before I could move. Leaving me alone with her mother. "You don't have to pay me,” I said, fanning the flaps of my jean jacket, since I was sweating like a pig now. "I don’t mind helping."

“How much did she tell you?" Kate asked, not glancing up from her list.

I gulped. “Fifteen an hour."

Her head rose slowly. “That girl." One side of her lip cricked up, the way Cece’s does. Then her expression darkened and she said, “Be careful with her."

What did she mean by that? “I will,” I said automatically.

A man emerged from the garage, scraping a length of copper tubing with sandpaper. "You have everything loaded already?" he asked.

“Your timing is perfect — as usual." Kate exaggerated a grin at him. “The girls helped." She reached around me and yanked the panel door shut.