“I think Spider needs a band,” I said to Sebastian.

He arched a brow. “You gonna be a groupie now? Cause I’m taking applications. Oh, wait. Aren’t you dating Spider some?”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re not a couple.”

He mulled that over. “Does Spider know that? He looks pretty intense when he talks about you.”

He looks intense when he comes too, nearly popped out of my mouth, but I squashed it.

“He’s not even speaking to me right now.” My mouth twisted. “So much for being best friends.”

“Ah, forget about him then. Come to the party anyway,” he said. “You know you want to.”

One last hurrah before my audition perhaps. I hadn’t been to any social events all year.

He must have sensed me waffling. “And best of all, you get to hear me sing. You won’t be able to handle all the sparkle I shoot off. I actually recommend you stand back about eight feet.”

I chuckled. He was infectious.

“When is it?”

He grinned and sat up straighter, seeing a victory. “This Friday at The Dorchester, seven to midnight and includes a catered meal. Party of the year, Tiny Dancer.”

My stomach churned and bubbled. The party was during my thing.

The room spun a little, and I gripped the edge of my desk as it all sunk in.

No, no, no.

“Dovey?” he asked, pushing his desk back from me. “Dude, you gonna hurl?”

I jumped up and my books and papers flew around my feet. I didn’t care.

My classmates were going to be at the same hotel I was.

“Dovey?” Cuba said, snapping up too, his eyes lasered in on me, and heaven help me, it made it worse. It shot my freak-out all the way up to subatomic level. He. Would. Be. There.

My stomach clenched, and I flew out the door, down the hall and straight out to the quad where I bent over and gasped in deep breaths.

While I lay under someone in a posh hotel room, my classmates would be downstairs in a ballroom, dancing and celebrating.

I WALKED IN to BA on the day of the dance a wreck although I tried to cover it up with cheetah stilettos and a black leather mini-skirt. I swept my hair up with gold clips on the side, and let my heavy bangs hide my eyes. With a big pair of sunglasses perched on my nose, I went into the building.

On auto-pilot, I strolled to my locker. Cuba was there, but it barely registered. Too much other stuff had taken up residence in my head, pushing everything else out, him included.

He leaned against the wall, watching me. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I nodded, opening my locker. Playing it cool. He’d tried to talk to me after the episode in Lit, but I’d shut him down then. I didn’t want him asking questions.

He sighed. “Listen, we haven’t talked much this week, but…do you want to come to the dance? We’re allowed to ask as many girls as we want.”

Oh, it was like that then. Ask as many girls as you want. Seriously. Why did he care if I was there or not? I didn’t need his weirdness right now.

“Sebastian asked me already.”

He straightened up, eyes flashing. “He did? What about April?”

I stiffened at his tone. “So? He says they aren’t dating.” Not that I cared. “Jealous?”

He fidgeted. “No.”

But it felt like a lie, confusing me. Again.

I turned to go when he said, “You still hate me, don’t you?”

That wasn’t true, but I couldn’t have this conversation right now.

He grabbed my hand and spun me back around.

“What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done when I saw you in the snow,” he said, locking his fingers with mine until we were holding hands.

He pulled me past other students, some who stopped to stare and grin at us, like it was a lover’s spat, but it wasn’t. It was him being complicated and moody. And then it hit me. Was this him chasing me? Like he used to? And didn’t that just send a wake-up call straight to my heart, making me weak.

He stalked into the library, directing me past the empty circulation desk—thank goodness—and into a narrow hallway that led to the study rooms. Most of them were used as isolated detention spots. But other things happened there, too.

He checked one of the rooms to make sure it was empty and guided me in. I let him. Because I was curious. That’s all.

He shut the door, leaning against it. Like I’d try to leave?

“Want to explain yourself?” I said, crossing my arms.

“Is there something going on with you and Sebastian?”

My mouth opened. “Oh, that is rich. You have Emma, and you really are jealous. Catch a clue. I have. We are over.”

“Stop punishing me, Dovey. I want us to—” he stopped.

“What?”

He rubbed his hair, furiously. “I don’t know,” he exclaimed. His voice throbbed with uncertainty, and it made me catch my breath because most days I felt the same way, lost and unsure. I clasped my hand over my chest, protecting what lay there.

He froze. “What’s that?” He stared at my pink skull shirt, and I looked down at it. Had I dropped some syrup from my waffle this morning? Because that was entirely possible.

“Is it syrup?” I dropped my hand, pulling my shirt down at the hem, surveying the fabric.

His entire body softened, and he sauntered over to me, his lids low. “What’s underneath your shirt?”