“Chloe!”

As I spun around in the crowded hallway by my locker, Madison caught me up in a bear hug. She had gone to stay with her cousins in Florida for two months of summer break, and she had come back tan and beautiful. I laughed as I removed a piece of her streaked blond hair that was caught on my backpack.

“Wow! Maddi, you look gorgeous. You obviously had a great time in Florida.”

Madison sighed. “It was wonderful!”

“So, tell me, did you find some amazingly hot lifeguard to sweep you off your feet?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wish.” Then she glanced at me suspiciously. “So how about you? Did you find anyone this summer?”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. I just hung out and did my theater gig. Besides, every guy I’m remotely interested in ends up too self-centered and a total jerk anyway, so—”

“You know, Chloe, one of these days some guy is going to prove you wrong. And when he does you’re going to fall for him hard. Personally, I can’t wait.”

“Whatever.” I laughed and shook my head. Madison was crazy, of course, but something about the way she looked at me with one eyebrow raised made me uneasy. I decided it was a good time to change the subject. “Well, we may not have been so lucky, but wait till you hear about this Zack guy Alyssa’s been talking about.”

“Alyssa found a guy?”

“She hasn’t told me much, but from what I can tell she’s head over heels. I’m going to art class with her next, so I’ll get the scoop for you.”

“You have art next? Me too.”

“Seriously?” I said, and she handed over her schedule to confirm. “No way!” We jumped up and down like a couple of eighth graders. The three of us had tried since we were freshmen to get a class together, but it never worked out.

“Chloe, wait up!”

At the sound of Alyssa’s voice, Maddi and I both turned to see her running through the crowded hall. Her cello case bounced up and down on her back as she headed straight for us. She halted midway. “Madison? Madison! It’s you. Eeeh! You look so good. I love your hair.”

Excitedly, we joined her and took a few seconds to stare at each other before we all said at the same time, “Group hug?” We stood there hugging each other, taking up most of the hallway. Later, we would have time to catch up with all of our other friends, but right now it was just us. This year was going to be good—I just knew it.

I glanced at my watch. “Hey, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to beat the bell. I hope there’s a table left for all of us.”

We rushed into the art room just as the bell rang, giggling while the whole class witnessed our excellent example of how not to enter a classroom. With a glance at Ms. Bailey, our art teacher, I could see we were forgiven—barely. Hiding a grin, she raised an eyebrow and pointed to an empty table with four plastic blue chairs in the back of the room.

A whole table just for us. Yes. “Thank you, Ms. Bailey,” I said as we almost skipped to the table.

“Yes. Well, girls, hurry and get situated while I call roll.” Ms. Bailey scooped up a clipboard with a pen dangling from it and began to call out the names on her list. “Daniel Addison?”

At our table, we chattered and chuckled over our amazing good fortune. The energy in the room positively sizzled with excitement and anticipation. Then Ms. Bailey called out, “Taylor Anderson?”

It was like the summer when I was fourteen, all over again. My heart stopped, and I could feel myself begin to shrink to the size of a pea.

Taylor is here? He’s in this class? With us? No! This was supposed to be our perfect year.

As I scanned the room, I saw excitement on almost every face. Clearly, our classmates were thrilled at the thought of the most popular guy in school gracing us with his presence every day. But there was no Taylor.

He isn’t here. Taylor isn’t here. Ha ha, I thought.

“Taylor? Taylor Anderson, are you present?” asked a worried Ms. Bailey.

He had probably changed his schedule at the last minute, I decided. I was prepared to shout with glee when a pretty blond sophomore raised her hand at the table next to us.

“Ms. Bailey, I was told Taylor was in California saying goodbye to his girlfriend, who’s going to college. He’s supposed to be here Thursday.”

“Thank you, Miss—”

The blond girl blushed. “Oh, I’m Emma . . . Emmalee Bradford. My name is probably next on your list. My stepbrother Zack Bradford, who is a senior this year, is, like, Taylor’s best friend.”

Alyssa gasped. “That’s Zack’s sister?”

I thought she was going to have a heart attack. “His stepsister. So? What of it? Oh! He’s the Zack you’re going out with?”

“I’m not going out with him. I just kind of like him. Well, a lot.” Alyssa grinned shyly.

“We are definitely hitting Colleen’s Diner after school,” Madison announced. Then she zeroed in on Alyssa. “Zack Bradford? Sheez. I want to know everything.”

“Chloe Hart is—present.”

I looked up as Ms. Bailey marked my name on her clipboard. Good ol’ Ms. Bailey. She had been my art teacher all throughout high school. I loved this class. Freedom to draw and design and create was something that moved me toward art more than anything. Yeah, so we had to do the assignments she gave us— portraits, still life, watercolor, or whatever—yet she always let us express ourselves however we wanted. If I wanted to paint my lion purple with a green mustache and an orange Gucci bag, I could. Not that I ever had. It was the fact that it was up to me how I painted the subject that made Ms. Bailey so cool. She was a teacher first, but a friend always.

Why oh why is Taylor Anderson in here, of all places? He’s going to mess up everything.

I knew he liked art. Everybody knew Taylor liked art. But with eight art periods to choose from, I never thought we would be in the same class together.

I have seriously got to get a grip. There is absolutely no reason for Taylor to have this sort of effect on me. So he is the most annoying, arrogant, pig-headed idiot—that doesn’t mean he’s going to concern me in any way. Ms. B. may not be able to get the rest of the class to work since they’ll all be staring at him, but I am way above that. I am smarter than every other girl in this room. I see him for who he is. He doesn’t fool me with his carefree mask and witty charm, and he never will. There. That sounded good. But why did he have to be so, so good-looking?

“Okay, fess up. I want to hear all about Zack and how you and he—you know, met,” Madison said as we waited for our milkshakes at Colleen’s Diner.

Alyssa fidgeted and made that funny, squeaky noise that happens when you squirm on vinyl-covered booths. “He, well, he . . . he likes the cello.”

“Okay, and? How did you meet him? What were you doing? How did he know you played the cello? Did he see you perform or something? Come on, Alyssa, I’m dying for some exciting news already, so tell me!” Madison begged.

“All right, but you have to promise not to laugh, okay?” She turned to me. “Okay?”

We both nodded.

As if I would. Well, maybe a little.

“You know how my family and I go to the rest home in Bloomfield every Sunday evening so I can play for my grandpa, right? Actually, I’m pretty popular, and now I perform in their main lounge area so anyone who wants to can come in and listen. Some nights I even get requests. It’s like a standing gig every Sunday night at 6:30.” She winked at us.

“Really? I had no idea,” I said. “You should invite us sometime.”

“Yeah, we could be in the front row and hold up signs that say, ‘Alyssa rocks, so get your rocker and rock along with her!’” Madison added.

We all burst into giggles, but Madison quickly got back on track. “Okay, so about Zack?”

“Well, what you may not know, and what I definitely didn’t know,” said Alyssa, “was that Zack goes to the same rest home every Sunday afternoon to visit his grandma. Anyway, his grandma had told him about my playing. Which was cool, because his mom used to . . . Oh my gosh! Did you know his mom died of breast cancer?”

“What?” I almost dropped my drink.

Alyssa continued, “I mean I knew he had a stepmom and all, but I just always assumed his parents were divorced.”