She looks up at me with big green eyes, and the awkward tension between us instantly transforms into a charged current, pulsing up and down the staircase. She parts her lips and it’s like her inhales are magnetic, drawing me closer to her, pulling me into the circle of her body heat—

A lock of her straightened blonde hair falls into her eyes and reminds me that things are different now.

I blink, breaking the charge, and step away from the scarf.

Shifting her eyes away, she snatches up the scarf and something small goes flying from the folds of the material and skids across the floor.

A condom.

For a moment, we just stare at it.

I have no right to care. I have no right to care.

With pink cheeks, Pixie casually picks up the condom square and drops it back in her bag.

I clear my throat and point upstairs. “So I’m just gonna…”

She looks up and sees how she’s blocking my passage. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She scoots over to clear a path, her eyes avoiding me completely.

I carefully step past her and head upstairs, feeling my pulse heat and hammer in my head.

Cake? Check.

Icing? Check.

Trojan cherry on top? Check.

Must the morning birds chirp so loud?

Are they mocking me? I bet they’re mocking me.

I can’t really blame them. After my horrendous run-in with Levi last night, I would mock me too. The condom? I mean, seriously.

And what the hell is up with my phone suddenly being a loudspeaker? Levi could totally hear everything Jenna was saying to me last night, and the look on his face when she said “boyfriend” was just… ugh. He obviously had no idea I was dating someone, and the revelation seemed to unsettle him.

I pull a pillow over my face and let out a muffled groan as more birds join in on the uber-cheery chirp fest.

It shouldn’t matter. Levi dates people. I date people. This is how it’s always been. But for some reason I feel icky inside, like I should write a letter of explanation and maybe print out a boyfriend permission slip for Levi to sign.

I, Levi Andrews, give my explicit permission for one Pixie Marshall to date whomever she wishes without any feelings that might resemble guilt or betrayal or awkward confusion. Signed, Levi Andrews, platonic third party in all Pixie Marshall–related endeavors and keeper of the east wing hot water.

My phone rings and I ignore it. It keeps ringing.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring—God!

I stay buried under the pillow as I grab my phone and bring it to my ear with a grumpy “What?”

“Drunk Jack asked me to have his baby,” Jenna says.

I move the pillow aside and blink a few times into the bright morning sun streaming in through the window. “What?”

“Yeah.” I can hear the bewilderment in her voice. “He was all like, I love you, Jenna. Let’s have a baby and name it Taylor.”

“Taylor?”

“Can you believe that?”

I pull myself into a sitting position and yawn. “Pure madness. Who names their baby Taylor?”

“I love that you think this is funny.”

“It is funny.”

“No, it’s not. Jack. He’s just… he’s just so confusing, you know? Sometimes he makes me want to scream and kick and just… ugh.” She sighs dramatically. “But enough about me. There are more important things at hand. Spill it.”

“Spill what?” I say groggily.

“Uh… your night? What happened with you and Matt?”

“Oh. That.” I quickly fill her in on all my non-sex with Matt. “So yeah. I’m broken. I have sexual ADD or something.”

“You’re not broken. You’re just…”

“A prude? Cold? Destined to die a spinster?”

“Waiting,” she says. “You’re just waiting. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Right.” My stomach growls, and I look at the time. Maybe if I hurry I can still make it downstairs to catch the end of breakfast. “Can I call you back after I have my coffee? I don’t feel alive yet.”

“Yeah, and you sound like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

After hanging up with Jenna, I roll out of bed and put on a bra before padding downstairs in my socks and pajamas. In the kitchen, Ellen is seated at the small table in the corner, reading the newspaper. Because Ellen still gets the newspaper.

“Morning, Pixie.” She chomps on a piece of bacon. No one else is around, so I assume breakfast is over. Bummer.

I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Morning.”

“I thought you were staying at Jenna’s all weekend.”

“Yeah, well.” I sit down and wrap my hands around the warm mug. “Plans changed, and Matt brought me back early.”

She eyes me. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I say, stealing a piece of bacon from Ellen’s plate. “Matt submitted an appeal to NYU for my transfer application.”

I can feel her eyes examining me. “I didn’t know that was even an option.”

“Neither did I. But good ol’ Matt had me covered there.” Why do I sound bitter about this?

She takes another slow bite of bacon. “When will you find out if you got in?”

“The end of summer, maybe? Who knows.”

Ellen rubs a thumb down the handle of her coffee mug. “Is New York still what you want?”

“Maybe.” I pick at the tablecloth. “They have a great art program. I could move to New York, become a famous artist, live happily ever after… It sounds perfect.”

She nods. “Oh, that reminds me. The canvases you ordered are in my office. I’ll bring them up to your room later.” She looks at something behind me. “You’re here too?”

I turn to see Levi walking into the kitchen.

“And good morning to you too,” he says to Ellen as he moves to the fridge and pulls out a water bottle.

He doesn’t look at me, which is fine. Better than fine.

“I’m just a little disappointed, that’s all,” Ellen says, looking at both of us. “You two are the only employees with weekends off and yet you’re both here. On a Sunday.”

Levi shrugs.

I shrug.

“Weirdos,” Ellen mutters, taking a sip of her coffee. “Hey. Do you guys want to drive into town together and grab some stuff for me today?”

“No,” we say at the same time. Our panicked eyes meet across the kitchen.

“Wow,” she says. “I guess that’s a no.”

Levi exits out the back door as I go back to picking at the tablecloth.

“Well, that wasn’t obvious or anything,” Ellen says, eyeing me over her mug. “You should talk to him.”

“About what?” I feel sick inside, already knowing the answer.

“You know,” she says casually, like she’s not bringing up the mother of all taboo topics.

“And how, exactly, would I do that?” I tap the side of my mug.

Ellen turns a page in her newspaper. “One word at a time.”

I shake my head, half-angry, half-broken. “If Levi wanted to talk about it, we would have talked about it a long time ago.” With a final chug, I finish my coffee and stand up. “Thanks for letting me mooch your bacon.”

“Anytime,” she says, following after me with her eyes as I leave the kitchen.

I head back to my room and, once inside, my gaze falls to the easel in the corner and my inner ickiness eases up a bit. I prop a new canvas on the wooden stand and pull out a paintbrush.

My black and white paint tubes are still out from the last time I painted. I’m not sure where my colored paints are. Maybe in one of the unopened boxes I brought from my dorm? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m not really in a red or green or yellow mood, and haven’t been for quite some time.