“She made me do my homework first. I tried texting you!” Mercedes cries.

My neck and face heat. I know I’m blushing, something I can attribute to my ever-white Irish skin. I shoot an accusing look to Mercedes that she reciprocates with a laugh.

“I knew already. King can’t keep a secret. Not from me.” Mercedes’ voice holds a lilt from her obvious amusement.

“No gloating,” King says, walking his bike up beside us. Mercedes’ smile isn’t affected by his words, but she does turn and get her own bike.

“Hey.” My eyes stop following her and return to King, my pulse quickening. “Want to try getting on a bike again? We can go for a ride on the trails instead of in here.”

“I have to be able to stand for three hours tonight. I don’t think riding would be a great idea figuring what happened the last time.”

“I’ll help you. You can trust me. I won’t let you do anything to hurt yourself.” The sincerity in his eyes makes turning down his offer a little harder, but I’m not ready to get back on two wheels.

“That’s okay. I don’t want you to do it while you’re nervous. That can lead to unnecessary accidents. Take your time, watch, and when you’re ready, we’ll go together,” he says before I have to object.

“King’s the best teacher,” Mercedes chimes as she rolls her bike past us.

“At everything,” he adds, his eyes lighting up with endless innuendos.

I smirk to hide my laughter, but his growing smile tells me he knows that I understand his silent insinuations. I’ve been holding on to our last kiss since Monday, four days ago, and it’s making the teenage boy euphemisms and implications that are running through my mind seem far more entertaining than they are.

“Hey!”

I turn, hearing the greeting and find Isabelle at the door with a bag slung over her shoulder. It’s too big to be a school bag or purse.

“Hey, Isabelle!” Mercedes calls out. Her excitement for seeing Isabelle makes guilt swim thickly through my distaste for her.

Isabelle’s smile is a mixture of nerves and excitement as she steps inside, and while I know King has feelings for me, watching her actions makes me aware of how much she likes him and drowns the guilt with jealousy.

King steps forward, his chest meeting my back. His hand loosely clasps my left shoulder. “What’s up, Izz?”

“I heard you were heading to Seattle tomorrow so I came by to see if I could bum a ride. A friend drove me down a couple of days ago but came down with the flu, and I’m worried about riding with her. Getting sick right now would really suck with classes.”

I listen to the steady clicks of Mercedes’ pedaling, the intakes of King’s breaths, and feel the slight pressure as his fingers squeeze me closer to him so that as he starts to tell her he can if she’s willing to get up early, I can feel the reverberations of his voice. Like everything about King, I feel it in every single cell, all the way to my toes. I want him to speak again, let me experience the sensation once more, and then Isabelle laughs and expresses a genuine appreciation that tears my attention to her. I tell myself to smile three times before my lips finally listen.

“STAND UP straight. You have all of this beautiful height and long neck, and you stand there slouching like a tortured tortoise.”

I purse my lips so tightly I’m sure it looks like a pucker as I force my spine into a rod and push my shoulders back. I don’t care for most of my own professors, but having to deal with someone else’s, who constantly ridicules all of the volunteer models in the class, is becoming my greatest challenge.

Allie gingerly pats my forearm. “Sorry. I think she’s getting a little stressed out about things.” I cock and eyebrow to ask if that’s an excuse for her always acting like such a bitch, and Allie presses her lip together, one side going up in a hopeful expression. It forces my thoughts of her professor, and the sharp prick of a pin that she apologizes for sticking me with, to subside because it reminds me of King. I didn’t see him as I left today because he was in the office with the door closed, talking to someone about the weekend. I had wanted to wait until he was done so we could sneak in another make-out session, but I was already pressed for time and after missing the last two modeling practices, I had to leave. My thoughts of regret wander to King riding in a car with Isabelle for three hours tomorrow. Both thoughts make my muscles contract, bringing me to stand a little taller.

“You okay?” Allie asks, her light eyes moving between the bead she’s replacing and my face.

“I’m fine.”

“Want to hang out Sunday? Maybe go see a movie at the discount theater? We haven’t done that in months.”

“You and Charleigh aren’t doing your Sunday DVR marathon?”

She shakes her head, and I notice the edges of her lips press into a frown as she completes another knot in the tiny thread. “She has plans with that guy again—Brandon.”

“That’s his name?” Allie nods, her focus moving to the dress. “She must really like him.” I watch as she processes my words. I’m sure my face has looked similar to hers now since earlier when Isabelle showed up. Tight lips and eyes: it’s envy, tinged with loneliness.

“He’s not at all what I expected him to look like.”

“What does he look like?” I ask, straightening my shoulders as I catch the glare of her professor once again.

“Short and kind of scrawny,” Allie explains. “He’s got great hair and dresses well, but he kind of looks like he’s sixteen.”

My laughter makes her smile before she disappears behind me to inspect any additional missing beads or flaws. “Apparently he’s not so scrawny in bed though, if you know what I mean. Apparently he was a virgin and is a very quick learner.”

“A virgin?” My eyes are wide with disbelief.

“I know, right?”

“He isn’t sixteen, right?”

“I went to a club with them, and the bouncer like quadruple-checked his ID, but apparently it was legit.”

“Well, it’s good that she’s happy.” I scan the room as I try to remind both of us of this fact.

“Yeah, but she dropped out of the show because of him.”

“What?” The shock in my voice has several people turning to look at us. I think even my arms are flushing as I try to smile an apology to everyone.

“Yeah, she said she’d rather spend her time with him than doing this right now.”

“But we’re seniors. This is her last chance.”

“She can try to get other internships, but it will definitely eliminate several opportunities.” Allie’s voice is forlorn, much like her expression, as she comes back around to my front.

“I can’t believe she’s willing to give up all of this after only knowing the guy for a couple of weeks.”

“I know. But don’t tell her that. If you do, she’ll pretend you don’t exist. I know from experience.”

“Lame.”

Allie looks back to me, her eyes crinkled with a smile. “You’re so good with words, Lo.” The air seems to lighten as we quietly laugh, adding another plank to our bridge of friendship.

When our dress rehearsal is over, Allie drags me to pick out two pairs of heels that, even with my many objections, she insists on paying for with the reasoning that I’m only getting them for the show. Before we leave, she lays on a thick layer of guilt that has me agreeing to wear one of the pairs home and promising to continue wearing them for the next two weeks.

My objections are drowned as we share a late dinner of enchiladas and margaritas, and then Allie watches as I paint until hours after the restaurant closes. Unlike many others, she barely speaks while I work, and when she does, it’s never in reference to what I’m making, simply discussing plans, or stories about school, friends, and at times her family.