Questions clamor in my mind, and before I realize it, I’ve blurted, “Why are you here?”

His brow goes up in quiet amusement, which is when I notice his black eye. “For fighting, of course.” Sardonic tone.

“You mean when those assholes jumped you?”

“The athletic department needs them. I’m superfluous. So, obviously, I need to work harder at getting along with my peers.” Though he’s trying to be cool, bitterness seeps through his flat tone like rain through a crack in the roof.

“That is so unfair.”

Shane shrugs. “Welcome to life. What’re you doing here? Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” He offers a smile that makes me feel … I don’t even have the words, but it’s a longing that curls my toes.

“Mrs. Palmer has no tolerance for tardiness,” I answer.

“Harsh.”

“Not really. I was late, so I’ll do my time.” With him sitting beside me, it doesn’t even feel like punishment anymore.

Until Mackiewicz shuffles into the room and demands that we quiet down and do our homework. I do … for the ten minutes it takes him to doze off. The burners are already asleep, which leaves Shane and me alone for all intents and purposes. He digs into his backpack and produces the pink Post-it I left him. I guess he’s heard about the Princess.

“You left me this?” he asks.

I nod, feeling heat wash my cheeks.

“When did you hear me play?” He studies me through those thick, curling lashes, giving me the I-see-you look. I could curl up in that expression like it’s an afghan.

“Just before last period.”

“Explain to me why this was worth a tardy.”

So he knows, then. It sounds stupid when I try to articulate it; my reasons come out in a whispered jumble, about making somebody’s day better when things are total crap. I talk about silver linings and being the queen of bright and shiny things. He’s listening, but I sound crazy. I know I do. It’s pointless, possibly even pretentious, to think I could make a difference. I end my rambling recitation by saying as much.

To my surprise, he shakes his head. “No way. I’m sure there are people who are glad that you pay attention to them, who need to know someone gives a shit.”

“But not you?” I ask softly.

“This is a cakewalk compared to what I’m used to dealing with on a daily basis.” The moment the words are out, he looks like he wishes he hadn’t spoken them, but it’s too late.

I’m left wondering what’s so bad at home that being beaten up is a welcome change. His tropical eyes dare me to ask, dare me to pry into his business, but I’m not brave enough. If he wanted me to know more, he’d tell me, right? Otherwise it’s just me being nosy.

“My aunt Gabby is pretty great,” I say. “But … it was bad before.”

Shane makes a scoffing noise. “What do you know about ‘bad’?”

He sees the image I’ve cultivated for the last three years. I went to therapy; I learned how to be good, how not to be angry. But every day, there’s an underground river inside me, and I’m trying not to drown in it, every second of the day. This smile hides so much. It hides everything.

Part of me wants to tell him the truth. But I don’t. Instead I duck my head, dodging his slow realization that my life hasn’t been sunshine and rainbows. I rarely let anyone see Shadow Sage; I’ve done my best to bury her. Now she’s just a thin hand reaching up from a fresh grave.

“Hey.” He touches my forearm briefly, and in those scant seconds, I register the heat of his fingertips, the calluses on his skin. “I didn’t mean to be a dick. I don’t hold the trademark on crappy deals.”

He’s looking at me that way again, and the pretext of dispassion falls away. We’re twin counterweights on a scale, hanging in a moment of perfect balance. I hardly dare to breathe for fear the air will shift, and the hunger I’m seeing in him will disappear. Though he’s pretending otherwise, he wants somebody to notice him. I recognize it so fast because I’ve been there. Hey, world, please acknowledge my existence. Please care. On my end, nobody has ever seen me before. Not like this.

Until this moment, I didn’t realize I was walking around all this time with a Shane-shaped hole inside of me.

CHAPTER FOUR

I love weekends.

Most teenagers probably feel the same way, but I adore them. Friday night belongs to Ryan. Since there’s so little to do in this town, he comes over with a DVD and I make popcorn on the stove. Aunt Gabby doesn’t own a microwave oven; she says they’re dangerous and can give you cancer. I don’t agree with all of her opinions, but I’m so grateful to be here that I don’t argue with her. This is heaven, compared to where I’ve been, and I’ll do anything to stay, anything to keep her happy.

She’s four years younger than my dad would be, if he were alive, which makes her thirty-seven. Gabby was married once, but it didn’t stick, and she’s been single for five years. So that means she’s bustling around the bungalow, trying on various accessories. I can’t remember when her last date was, so she’s probably nervous.

“How does this look?” she asks from her bedroom doorway.

Outfit number four is a simple black dress with wedge heels and silver accents. “Good.”

She makes a face. “You said that about everything I’ve had on.”

“It’s impossible for you to look bad.”

She has smooth blond hair that falls just below her shoulders. While some people might argue that she needs to lose weight, I think she looks soft and feminine. Like me, she tends toward narrow shoulders and wide hips. It looks better on her. She’s a little shorter than I am, which makes her five three. We share the shape of our faces and eyebrows, but that’s where the resemblance ends.

“What’re you and Ryan watching tonight?” she asks, buckling a belt around her waist.

“I dunno.” We didn’t talk today like we usually do, so there was no chance to ask him.

“I want him out of here by midnight.”

I laugh. “Absolutely. But you realize, even if he slept in my bed, nothing would happen.”

“I’ve always wondered what his deal is. Is he gay?”

“I have no idea,” I admit. “But it would explain a lot. I mean, I understand why he wouldn’t want to come out, here. JFK isn’t the most progressive of schools.”

Of course, that would mean I’m functioning as his beard. I’m not sure how I’d feel, if that were true. During year two of our friendship, I developed an unfortunate crush, but since he never showed any sign of returning it, I smashed all such inclinations. I figured it was better to keep him as a friend than embarrass myself by pushing for a relationship he didn’t want. In retrospect, I’m glad things worked out like this. My aunt warned me that high school boyfriends rarely carry beyond graduation, so this way, I have some hope of keeping him in my life, even after he goes to MIT.

“Still good?” she asks, shaking back her hair.

“You look fantastic. Tell me about this guy?”

“He works for UPS.” Aunt Gabby makes a face, like there’s some shame in that.

I grin. “Does that mean you’re gonna inspect his package?”

“Sage!” Her tone is faintly scandalized, but she smiles back at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. They’re a pretty shade of hazel, flecked with gold and green. She relents. “Probably not tonight, but maybe someday, if things go well.”

Ryan and the UPS man, whose name is Joe, arrive at the same time. There’s a confusion of introductions and greetings, then Aunt Gabby goes off in her date’s truck. It’s silver, shiny, looks new, so that tells me he’s fiscally solid. I’d like for her to find someone and be happy, but it also scares me because bringing a new person into the life we’ve built together could be pure chaos. I imagine Joe the UPS man telling me what to do, and I get a little queasy. But I’m jumping too far ahead. There’s no way Aunt Gabby would let him move in here after one date. Like me, she’s slow and cautious, so by the time she gets serious enough for such a big step, I’ll probably be off to college anyway.