Because Rick had always hung out with the fringe teenagers, and since he'd only lived here for a year and a half, my friends knew very little about him.

"Does his family have money?" Rachel asked, and then everyone looked at me, like I should know. And you would think I would, seeing as Rick was dating my sister. But I didn't. I generally blocked Rick, and all things Rick-like, out of my mind.

Most of the kids at Pullman High had parents who worked at WSU or Schweitzer Engineering Labs, which made us a fairly homogeneous tax-bracket group. I'd just assumed Rick was the same, but now I struggled to remember if there was something different about his background. What had Adrian said about his family?

Um . . . they didn't understand his musical genius . . . and well, I usually stopped listening after that. Could they be wealthy?

Rick drove a jeep. Those weren't that expensive. On the other hand, over the summer his family had vacationed in Kauai. I knew this because Adrian had moped around for the entire two weeks he'd been gone. That's when I'd started trying to set her up with normal guys.

I shrugged. "Maybe they have money."

I didn't say more because Rick walked up to the mike, welcomed people, and started his first song. I recognized it right away. It was the one we'd accidentally played at the pep assembly. Everyone burst into applause. I rolled my eyes, then let my gaze wander over the crowd.

I mentally rated each outfit I saw, every once in a while commenting to my friends if someone had made a great choice or an especially glaring mistake. Samantha is trying to break me of this habit because she says I sound like a fashion fascist, but really, is it that hard for people to follow simple rules? No one gets mad at teachers for pointing out where you should use punctuation in your writing. It's the same thing, but instead of commas, I point out that you shouldn't wear a sweater that makes you look like you're smuggling a life vest under your shirt.

I want to be a fashion designer someday so I have to pay attention to this kind of stuff. Besides, it's not like I say these things to people's faces. Although I admit I'm considering it in Naomi's case. She's so thin and wears such tight-fitting clothes, that every time I see her I have the urge to slip her a Snickers bar just to keep her from starving to death.

She and Mike were hanging out with the football crowd. The guys smiled and talked with her, accepting her as easily as they ever accepted me. Naomi had her hand draped across Mike's waist in a way that made me feel conspicuously boy-less and wanting to spend the rest of the evening dancing with a hot, mysterious stranger.

In fact I needed it. I wasn't about to go one more night letting Mike think that I was still moping over him.

I leaned over to Rachel. "Hey, are any of the cute guys here without girlfriends?" I knew she'd know. Rachel calculates these sorts of things almost subconsciously.

"Enough of them to keep me busy," she said.

Samantha's gaze skipped back and forth between the two of us. "I thought we came to keep an eye on Adrian. Is this going to turn into one of those everyone-goes-off-flirting-with-guys-and-I'm-left-standing-by-myself-in-a-corner nights?"

"Maybe," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have come without Logan."

"I'll stay with you," Aubrie said, "because I'm loyal, and besides, I have too much taste to go out with any of Rick's friends."

"Thanks." Samantha cast me a glance designed to make me feel guilty.

Rachel put her hand on my arm. I recognized the boy-hunting glint in her eye—and yes, she does actually use the term boy-hunting. She has a whole hunting-season vocabulary worked out. She smiled at me. "Let's go get a drink and scope out the room." Then she shrugged in Samantha and Aubrie's direction. "Well, we all agreed that Chelsea needs a new boyfriend; and I'm going to let her have first pick."

"All right," Samantha said with a martyr-like sigh. "If it's for a good cause . . ."

How had I suddenly become a pity project?

I followed after Rachel, enjoying the growing distance from Rick's music. Honestly, he only knew one volume: painfully loud.

When we got to the back of the room, we picked up some sodas and looked around. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall guy in tan Dockers and a white button-down shirt off to our right. A Hilltop employee. A few guys dressed in the same uniform milled around the room, picking up discarded cups and plates, and in general acting as crowd control.

I ignored him and looked out at the guys standing around the edges of the room.

"The quarry is before us," Rachel said, "so dust off your supply of pickup lines and let's stalk our prey."

"I don't have a supply of pickup lines," I said.

"Then you can use one of mine. Try: Is it hot in here, or is it just you?"

I laughed because I couldn't imagine myself saying that to anyone. My gaze traveled around the room. "They're nice, healthy stock," I said.

"Got anyone in your sights?" Rachel asked.

I didn't answer and kept looking. It only took me half a minute to realize that this wasn't such a good idea after all. I'd forgotten that trying to pick up guys involves the very big possibility of rejection. And did I really need any more of that right now? I think not.

"How about that tall blond guy by the door?" Rachel said. "He's here with a friend but he keeps looking around—a sure sign he wants to meet someone."

When I didn't protest, she nodded in his direction, sizing him up again. "We'll have to approach slowly so as not to scare him off. Blonds startle easily."

I didn't move. I just stood there clutching my glass. "You know, I'm not sure I want to do this. It's been so long since I've been hunting, I think I've forgotten how to talk to new guys."

Before Rachel could answer, a voice off to my right said, "Oh, I don't know about that. You didn't have any problem talking to me."

I recognized the voice. Even before I turned, I knew the Clark Kent guy stood next to me.

Chapter 6

I gasped and said something that came out as, "Ahh eeh!" Plus I jumped a little, which jostled the drink in my hand so that some of it spilled onto the floor. This was especially bad since he obviously worked here and probably didn't appreciate people sloshing soda around in the restaurant.

"Oh, sorry." I grabbed a few napkins from the table and bent down to mop up the mess.

"No, it was my fault." He took some more napkins and bent down to help me. "I shouldn't have spoken like that. I'd forgotten how easily blondes startle."

I felt myself blush bright red. I'm not sure which embarrassed me more: That I'd run into him again after taking his money and disappearing, or that he'd heard Rachel and me discuss hunting guys.

In an attempt to regain some dignity, I stuttered, "Uh, thanks for your help. With the floor I mean. And also, you know, the other night."

"You still owe me a dance," he said.

I blinked at him, surprised that he still wanted anything to do with me. "Do you want to dance right now?"

He glanced at the table. "Sure. Cup cleanup can wait for a few minutes.''

I'd forgotten he was working. "We don't have to if it's a problem," I said. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

He grinned. "You're not getting out of our bargain that easily. Remember, I paid for you."