“You’ve got to go. Everyone’s invited. There’s a ton of good food, some good, old country music,”—I cringed at the “good” part of country music—“cute cowboys, and a really good time. Come. You can hang out with me and the girls. If you don’t want to drive over in the Walker caravan, I could pick you up. Or Jesse could give you a ride in Old Bessie. Although that’s an experience I’m sure you can live without.”

“Unfortunately, Old Bessie and I are already acquainted,” I said. “But you’re right. That was an experience I could have done without.” The Old Bessie part, not so much the Jesse part.

“You’ve been in Jesse’s truck?”

I didn’t miss the subtle nuance there. It was Old Bessie before she learned I’d been a passenger in her boyfriend’s truck. Then it became Jesse’s truck.

“Eh, yeah,” I said, wondering if it was too early in the ride to stick my foot in my mouth. “Just one time though. When he picked me up at the bus station. I haven’t ridden in it since. I haven’t even seen it.” Jesse in the bed of his truck that night outside the barn jumped to mind. I’d been a cowboy-stalking Peeping Tom that night. Probably not something I should admit to her. “I mean, I haven’t seen his truck running, with him in it, since that first day.”

Oh, dear God. Strike me mute before I said anything else. Maybe that was why I pushed people away: It was a defense mechanism to keep myself from going on like a blubbering idiot.

Josie gave me a curious look, but that was it. “No big surprise since Old Bessie isn’t a big fan of running. At least not consistently.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. If I couldn’t laugh about something like Jesse’s truck, there was no hope for me.

“So? Are you going to come?” she asked once we’d stopped giggling like a couple of girls.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, grabbing the handle above the window and hanging on for dear life as Josie took a right turn at forty miles per hour. And I’d thought Jesse drove like a maniac. Apparently speed limits and road rules didn’t apply to country kids.

“What’s there to think about?” she asked as the bed of her truck fishtailed when she punched the gas coming out of the turn. “Music. Barbeque. Dancing. Cute boys in tight jeans. There is nothing about that line up that needs thinking about.”

I agreed with at least one of the four things there.

“Yeah . . . well,”—I bit my lip and decided how much to say—“I don’t think I’d fit in very well at that kind of thing.” That summed it up without going into too many details.

“Says who?” she said instantly.

“Garth,” I admitted.

I couldn’t tell if Josie was cringing or shuddering, but if someone could dislike Garth Black as much as I did after tonight, it was Josie. The fact that we weren’t fans of the same guy made me feel some sort of sisterhood with her. Like we were sisters in boy tastes. The more I thought about that, the truer it was. We didn’t just dislike the same guy; we both liked the same guy.

“What did that asshole do, say, or ruin?” Her voice took on a certain chill. I wouldn’t have guessed Josie had the word “asshole” in her repertoire. We really did share some kind of sisterhood.

“Just some asshole thing . . .” I started. “About me being a freak. Or dressing like one. I don’t really know. Or care.” I lied. I usually didn’t care about the constant name-calling, but when it came to Garth—a guy I thought liked me—the names cut me more than usual.

“I’m going to tell you something, Rowen, and I want you to really hear me out. Okay?” Damn. Her hands were almost shaking over the steering wheel. “Don’t let a guy like Garth Black ruin your summer. And don’t let him ruin your life. Guys like that, people past the point of saving, have only one goal—to take as many others down with them as they can. And they’re good at it.”

I certainly hadn’t expected to get a sermon from Josie on the evil ways of Garth Black when I’d jumped into her truck, but I was kinda digging it.

“Okay, Rowen? Steer clear of Garth, and if he gives you a hard time, let Jesse know. He’ll take care of it.” She looked over at me and lifted her eyebrows. She was obviously waiting for a response.

“O. Kay,” I said dramatically, giving her a salute. After what he’s said, I’d dodge Garth as much as Willow Springs would allow. Speaking of Willow Springs . . .

We pulled into the driveway. The house was dark except for the porch lights and that lone lamp shining in the window. We’d beat the Walkers home, so all I had to do was rush upstairs and lock myself in my room before they got back. I wasn’t in the mood to recap the night, and I really wasn’t in the mood to see Jesse.

“Thanks again for the ride, Josie,” I said before leaping out of the truck.

“Anytime.” She inspected the Walkers’ house. When her eyes drifted up to my second floor bedroom window, her expression fell. I only hoped it wasn’t because she was clairvoyant and knew I’d checked her guy out from that window. “If I don’t see you before, I expect to see you at that dance or else I’ll come and drag you there.”

It was a full week away. An eternity. So I shrugged and said, “I’ll make sure to wear my non-freak wear.”

“Wear whatever the hell you want,” she replied.

Flashing her a wave, I closed the door and headed up the porch. The girl reversed out of the driveway as fast as she drove forward down it.

Once I was inside, I was up the stairs and in my room as fast as my booted and blistered feet could carry me. It was late, I was tired, and all I wanted to do was get into bed and put the day in the delete folder. But first, I needed pajamas.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t listened to Rose when she’d reminded me to bring my laundry down. In the midst of the sunrise-to-sunset work, doing one more chore at the end of the day just hadn’t been a priority. As I pawed through my drawers, unable to find one article of clothing that could work as sleepwear, I realized I should have made personal laundry duty a priority.

Live and learn.

Desperate, I slid open the bottom drawer. I knew it would be empty—the top drawers had enough space to hold my clothes—but I had to check.

And the heavens opened and rained down pajama shirts.

It wasn’t mine, but one folded white undershirt was in the back corner of the drawer. I pulled it out and gave it a whiff. It was fresh.

I lifted it and let it unfold in front of me. Clean, too.

My pajama dilemma was solved.

Sliding out of my freak-wear, according to Garth Black, I slipped into the white tee. It went down to my knees, and I was pretty sure I could fit two more Rowens inside of it, but I wasn’t complaining.

I couldn’t crawl into bed fast enough, and after a couple of minutes, I was out.

I FELL ASLEEP fast no problem. The staying asleep, not so much. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was still dark and the house was quiet. Sneaking a peek at my phone, I saw it was just past midnight. I’d barely slept for two whole hours, and from the way I felt, I doubted I could fall asleep again anytime soon.

I threw the covers off and headed for the window. Maybe the crickets would lull me back to sleep.

A rush of cool air burst inside my room, instantly filling it with the scent of grass and the sound of those crickets. I stood at the window and breathed in a few slow breaths. The Walkers’ Suburban was in its usual spot, and from the looks of the bunkhouse, everyone was asleep. Except for me.

I crawled back into bed, closed my eyes, and tried to fall back asleep. Try being the operative word. I was about two minutes into failing to sleep when strange, creaking sounds started outside my window. Not even a second later, something crawled inside said window.

Well, someone crawled inside.

Instead of screaming bloody murder, I rolled across the bed, grabbed one of my boots, and took aim. The boot circled through the air and couldn’t have landed in a better spot: right in the side of the person’s face.