“Ugh, just spill it!”

“Well”—I lick my lips—“my dad got the mail today.”

“Wait, which news is this? The joyous or the concerning?”

“Both,” I say. “I told you they were both—”

“Right, right. Go ahead.”

“My dad got the mail today,” I continue, “and there was a letter from Julliard.”

“No fucking way!”

I cover my mouth out of habit. Curse words always tickle my ears, no matter the content or occasion. “Yes, fluffing way.”

“Oooo, is he, like, really pissed?”

“Of course.” I stifle a giggle, not because of how mad he is, but because of the ‘P-word.’ “There’s no way he’d ever let me go.”

“I don’t think he has the right to tell you what to do, Tally.” Madison sounds angry on my behalf. “You’re gonna be eighteen in three days.”

Of course she doesn’t understand. Her parents are nothing like mine. “I don’t want to disappoint them, though. I don’t—”

“Well, I don’t want you to disappoint you, Tally.” As usual, she bowls right over me. “This is a dream come true. An opportunity of a lifetime, a fucking…”

Suddenly, I hear a soft knock on my door.

“Gotta go.”

I hang up the phone and try to act natural just as Mom walks in.

“You okay?”

I sit up, trying to remember Madison’s words of encouragement. Maybe I just need to try harder.

“I feel awful, Mom, but I don’t want to lie to you. That letter, that acceptance … it makes me happy. So, so happy.”

She sits down on the bed and pulls me into her shoulder. “Give him a couple of days, sweetheart. Just let him think, stew, and vent to me for a while. Then, I think he’ll get over the betrayal.”

Only my mom could make the word ‘betrayal’ sound so biblical.

“Mom, that’s not what I was trying to do. I never dreamed I would get a letter telling me my audition tape was accepted, that they wanted me to come to the auditions, or that I would be chosen to move from ballet to modern dance to …” I trail off when she starts to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m being selfish. My baby girl is growing up. I always knew you had talent. You shine up there on stage. Year after year, I have watched you at recitals—”

“That Dad hates.” I look down, already dreading where this is going.

“No, Tally, he loved watching you dance. He just didn’t like the team uniform,” she says, pushing my hair away from my face. “Every recital, he sat and watched you, and he was in awe of you. He said you looked like he imagined an angel would.”

“I never thought this would happen, but now that it has … I’m so afraid he’ll say no.”

She smiles faintly. “I know you are nervous, but it’s going to be all right.” She kisses my forehead. “Get some rest, baby girl. Things always look brighter in the morning light.”

I nod, feeling better for the first time, hopeful even. “Okay, but first I’m gonna shower. I haven’t had a chance since I got home from the studio.”

“Of course.”

After my shower, I towel off my hair and throw on my favorite pink pajamas. It’s been unusually warm lately, so I open the window and lean out to breathe in the fresh spring air. Then I hear a noise on the street and lean out farther to see what it is.

“Oh, my word!” I freeze when I see him standing under the streetlight.

My breath catches in my throat, but I’m not afraid. I would know him anywhere. Not just because he stands a perfect six-feet-three, but also because of the way he walks—with his head held high, broad shoulders squared—and because of his messy black hair, so effortless and cool. If I could see his eyes in the dark, I would see they are a brilliant blue, like the ocean on a hot day. His jeans hang almost obscenely low. Of course, he’s also wearing his signature white tank top, black boots, and that worn, leather jacket.

I must have leaned a little too far, though, because my phone slips out of my hand to clatter loudly across the porch roof and then over the edge to thud dully on the ground below.

Oh, no! I cringe. Please let that indestructible black case truly be indestructible.

After a few seconds of standing frozen, waiting for all chaos to break loose, I open the window wider, quietly lowering myself onto the roof. I’m not afraid of getting hurt, because I have done it before. We have practiced fire safety drills twice a year in my house for as long as I can remember.

Keeping my center of gravity low, I slide down on my bottom and roll onto my stomach, scooting down until my body is hanging over the edge, my feet blindly searching for the railing. It takes a few tries, but I figure it out. A few seconds later, I’m bent over, rummaging through the bushes, praying I don’t get sprayed by a skunk or bitten by some other inhabitant of the underbrush world. I reach in blindly, poking around until my hand makes contact with something hard and plastic. Then I get out of there as soon as the phone is in my hand.

Once up off the ground, I frisk myself, hoping to remove any dirt or bugs that may have hitched a ride on my pajamas. Confident that I’m not a carrier, I turn around … and scream as a huge hand comes up to cover my mouth.

“If I let go, do you promise not to scream?” The voice is deep and slurred, though undoubtedly Memphis Black’s.

I relax a little, nodding against his hand.

“That’s a good girl.”

He lets go and steps back, eyeballing me suspiciously.

“You don’t have a gun, do you?”

“No,” I whisper, smiling stupidly.

He crosses his muscled arms and leans back against the corner of the porch. After a few seconds, he starts to slide.

“Memphis.” I grab for his arm, trying to keep him upright.

“Shh.” He holds his finger to my lips. “If we wake my parents up, I won’t have any time to spend with you. Not that engaging in a midnight surprise meet and greet with a fan is normal or deserving of my time, but I will say I am intrigued by your choice of attire. Were you going for the ‘little virgin’ look? Because ‘naughty school girl’ is more up my alley.”

I frown up at him. “What are you talking about?”

He smirks and his dimple deepens. “Oh, I see.” He takes a step closer to me.

“You do?” I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Are you lost, little girl?” His tone is campy and a little creepy as he moves into my personal space.

I take a step back.

“Oh, and she is shy.” He groans in a sexy way, and I immediately feel my face burst into flames.

“Memphis, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

“Oh, I’m sure you just stumbled across my address on the Internet.” He doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking.

“Memphis,” I try again. “You know me. I’m—”

“Shhh. No names tonight.” His arm snakes around my waist, then pulls me hard against his body. “No names, you sexy, lost, little thing. I’m going to make this little game worth your effort, though. I promise you that.”

His right hand slides up the back of my pajama top, and then he gently takes the back of my head in his other hand, leaning in close.

I should step away; I know that. I should, but I don’t. And when I try to speak up, my voice just isn’t there.

As his lips finally make contact, he slides them across mine without pressing too hard; instead, it’s soft and gentle, the way I always imagined my first kiss, and I feel my body begin to tingle. My eyes close on their own as he kisses my cheek, running his nose along my jaw and down my neck, taking a deep breath as he goes.

“Damn, lost, little one, you smell so sweet.”

I find myself moving my head to the side, giving him more room to take in my fragrance.

I have never felt anything so amazing. I have never felt more special, never thought in my wildest, most secret dreams that Memphis Black would be my first kiss. I can’t believe my childhood dream actually came true.

“Fuck,” he says right before turning his head to throw up not once, but three times. The third time, he manages to get vomit all over my bare feet. When he’s finally done, he straightens up shakily. “I need to go in and lie down.”