“So, have you figured out a major yet?” he asked. “Is it Russian? Please pick Russian.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Still haven’t picked.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I think I’ll just be undeclared for a while,” I said. “I’ll take a class in everything that sounds interesting. Figure out what makes me happy. Even if I waste a year or two and have to stay in school longer, I think it’ll be worth it to find something I love.”

“But you’re going to take Russian, right?” he asked. “Just one class.”

I laughed. “We’ll see.”

“When do you start classes, Harrison?” Nathan asked.

“Week from Monday,” he said. “Mom and I are flying out to L.A. the Friday before to check out the area. I think she’s more excited than I am. Speaking of which”—he got to his feet—“I’d better go tell her good night, or she’ll be out here in half an hour doing her best to embarrass me. Be right back.”

I watched him run up to his back door, smiling to myself. I’d been so resistant to having a best friend again, but Harrison had forced himself into my life. I was going to miss him so much. But we’d call and text and maybe, if he talked me into it, I’d even get on Facebook. One thing was for sure—I wasn’t going to let Harrison go easy. And I hoped he wouldn’t let me go, either.

“Finally,” Nathan said as he located a radio station that played clearly. He scooted over to sit next to me. We were both in shorts, and my bare knee leaned against his as we watched the last shreds of my flip-flops being devoured by the flames, stinking up the delicious smell of the wood fire with burning rubber. “So,” he said. “Are you ready to go home tomorrow?”

“I’m not going home,” I said, shaking my head. “This place is my home. Despite all the shit that went down this summer, it’s my home, more than my mom’s house has ever been.”

“So… the answer is no, then.”

“I guess.” I leaned back on my elbows, stretching my feet out in front of me. “But I’m ready to start school. Even though I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m ready to start figuring myself out, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

We sat in silence for a while, just listening to the fire crackle and the radio sing. Then the song faded away, and it was replaced by another.

“Hey,” Nathan said, brightening up.

“Yeah. Van Morrison.”

“It’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ Our song.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nathan, this is not our song.”

“Fine. What is our song, then?”

“Easy. It’s ‘Wonderwall.’ ”

“Wonder-what?”

I glared at him. “You’re kidding, right? ‘Wonderwall’! It’s by Oasis. One of the biggest hits of the nineties. One of the greatest songs of all time?” When no recognition dawned on his face, I opened my mouth to sing it, but Nathan leaned down and put a hand over my mouth.

“Stop. You can’t sing.”

I batted his hand away. “Shut up. You’re a jerk.”

“Why is that our song?” he asked, laughing.

“Because it’s a classic and it’s deep—at least in a they-were-probably-high-when-they-wrote-it sort of way—and it’s one of my favorites and it has nothing to do with brown eyes. So ‘Wonderwall’ is our song. Deal with it.”

“Whatever you say.” He leaned down and kissed me. It was meant to be just a quick peck, but I turned, pushing my weight down on my left elbow and wrapping my other arm around his neck, twisting my fingers in his soft, dark hair.

“We are going to have so much fun at college together,” I breathed against his lips.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, pulling away just an inch. “You think you’ll come to a basketball game? Watch me warm up the bench once in a while?”

“Only if you’ll join me under the bleachers a few times,” I said.

“I might.”

He leaned in to kiss me again, but Harrison’s shout of “Get a room, you two!” convinced him to pull back.

Harrison came hurrying out of his house, three large bundles in his arms. “Here you go,” he said, dropping one beside me.

“What’s this?”

“A sleeping bag.”

“We’re sleeping out here tonight?” Nathan asked, taking one of the other bundles from Harrison.

“Yep.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s the last night of our summer together,” he said, unfurling his bundle in the grass beside me. “And it’s fucking beautiful out here, so why not?”

Nathan and I spread out our own sleeping bags. I was in the middle, the boys lying close on either side of me. We talked for a long time, laughing, staring up at the stars, making plans for the future when we’d meet up again. After an hour or so, the boys fell asleep, leaving me in silence.

I wished that moment didn’t have to end. A gorgeous summer night with my best friend and my first boyfriend. It was perfect. And I was happy.

But there would be other perfect moments, more friends, more times to be happy—they might not come easy, but they’d come. And no matter what, no matter what ups and downs and ins and outs I faced, I had a family I could turn to. One that would love me unconditionally. It felt good to know that again.

I closed my eyes and nestled down into my sleeping bag. Tomorrow, seeing Mom, would be tough. But I’d get through it. Then, a few days later, I’d get to start over in a new place, with new people, with no reputation or rumors. No hiding, no wallowing, no begging for my parents to notice me. Just a chance to start over and figure out exactly who it was I wanted to be.

Screw nightmares. I was waking up.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, I have to thank my family. My parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins—you have all shown your support and confidence in me. Thank you so much for loving me and making Whitley’s loneliness a complete work of imagination.

Enormous gratitude also goes to the women who make my dreams come true. To Joanna Volpe, who loved this book way before I did—thank you, Jo, for your undying faith in me, even when I don’t always have faith in myself. And, as always, this book would not exist if it weren’t for Kate Sullivan, who loved Whitley at her worst and helped me find her best. You two never let me down.

Thanks also to Cindy Eagan, Lisa Sabater, Tracy Shaw, JoAnna Kremer, Stacy Abrams, and the team over at Little, Brown. You guys never cease to amaze me! Also, Nancy Coffey and Sara Kendall, who are, in general, fabulous.

Love and appreciation also go to my friends. There are too many of you to name here, but you know who you are. Special thanks go to Loretta Nyhan, Holly Bodger, Lee Bross, Amanda Hannah, Courtney Allison Moulton, and Amy Lukavics, who all helped shape this story in some way, or shaped me as a writer. I couldn’t do this without you all. And thanks, of course, to the girls at YA Highway. I love you guys so much.

And last—but never, ever least—thanks to my readers. You are the reason I write, the reason this job is my dream. Thank you for letting my characters into your hearts.