And as Parker wraps his arms around my waist, I slide my hands down the front of his shirt, making my way down to his pants, hesitating near the spot that I would never try to touch, but that Zoë wouldn’t think twice about.

“I don’t get you,” he whispers, suddenly pulling away. “It’s like, inside the dance you’d barely even look at me, but now?” He shakes his head and squints, obviously not complaining, but still, more than a little perplexed.

But I just smile, knowing I’m no longer me. I ditched that nervous loser and became someone better. “I lost the bet,” I say, gazing at him with Zoë’s eyes, touching him with Zoë’s hands, and kissing him with Zoë’s lips.

He kisses me on the neck, as I lean back against the seat, feeling so incredibly daring and free. Then he slips his finger under my blue silk strap, sliding it all the way down, as I turn my head and gaze toward the window, shocked to see my own dull reflection staring back at me.

“I can’t do this,” I say, pushing him away, frantically reaching for my strap.

Parker just looks at me, his face flushed and confused, his hands halted in panic. “But you seemed so—”

I turn back toward the window, hoping not to see me, feeling disappointed when i do.

“Echo, really, I didn’t mean… please don’t be mad,” he says, his hands fumbling awkwardly as he reaches for me, trying to make me face him.

I move farther away, my heart beating frantically as I run my hands through my hair and over my dress, erasing all evidence of my little digression, knowing I need to act fast, to come up with some excuse that will explain my bizarre behavior, so everything will get back to normal and stop being so weird. “Jeez Parker, it was only a limo bet. I mean, just how big a prize did you think you were gonna get?” I ask, chasing it with a laugh so he’ll think we’re okay.

He laughs too, his eyes relaxing, his face clearly relieved. Then he opens the door and steps onto the curb, offering his hand as a guide. “Well, I probably should’ve told you this before, and I hope you’re not too mad, but I have a confession to make,” he says, slipping his arm through mine as we head back inside.

I gaze up at him, happy that we’ve moved on, but only mildly interested in what it might be.

“That wasn’t really our limo.” He smiles.

Thirteen

The next morning when I woke I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I expected. Or at least not in a physical way. I mean, I didn’t throw up, I didn’t have a headache, and I didn’t feel the slightest bit queasy. Which basically means that all of my parents’ warnings about the “high price one always pays for a night of overindulgence,” didn’t come true for me.

But mentally? Mentally I felt like crap. And I don’t remember anyone ever cautioning me about that.

I roll over and gaze out the window, noticing how the big oak tree has lost most of its leaves, making it look stark, alone, and defensive. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m getting all Freudian and weird, projecting all of my innermost feelings onto a tree. I mean after last night, and that whole freaky limo episode, I found myself feeling pretty stark, alone, and defensive too.

Yet I was also aware of how I was quite possibly making a snowstorm out of a snowflake. I mean, there are tons of girls who practically line up to “go wild” and who end up going a whole lot further than that. And it’s not like you ever see any of them stopping to think twice, or mentally torturing themselves like me.

But clearly, I’m nothing like those girls. And I’m obviously nothing like Zoë. And even though I know my life would be way more fun if I was, the truth is, I have no idea how to act like that and not lose myself in the process.

“I can’t believe you actually brought your books,” Teresa says, eyeing my bulging backpack and laughing.

“You said we were gonna study,” I say, cringing at how whiny I sound, while wondering what I missed. I mean, earlier, when we were on the phone, I specifically heard her use the word “study.” So excuse me for taking that literally.

“Well, I also said we were going to the library, but you don’t see me heading there now, do you? The only reason I said all that is ’cause my mom has ginormous elephant ears, and she was totally listening to our conversation that whole time.”

“So where are we going?” I ask, walking alongside her, my way-too-heavy backpack digging a wedge deep into my shoulder.

“The park. I told some people we’d meet them.”

“What people?” I look at her, noticing for the first time how she’s dressed so differently from how I’m used to seeing her at school, way less preppy and a lot more sexy.

“Just some guys, no one you know.” She smiles.

“Like, friends of Sean’s?” I ask, wondering why she’s acting so undercover and secretive.

But she just laughs. “Please. Sean is totally sweet, don’t get me wrong, and he’s good for school dances and stuff like that, but, well, I don’t know. There’s this other guy, and it’s kind of hard to explain.” She shrugs. “But you’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”

When we get to the park, instead of going right down to the lake like I usually do, Teresa leads me over to the old fountain, the one with all the angels and cherubs and overblown biblical images, all molded from a single slab of cement.

“Omigod! There he is, Jason. He is so hot! So just act cool, okay?” she whispers, shooting me a doubtful look, obviously not convinced I’ll be able to pull it off. She fluffs her hair around her shoulders, then straightens her sweater and picks up the pace, heading straight for these two guys who are drinking, smoking, and just overall loitering on the fountain’s tiled edge.

“Hey,” she says, stopping before them and tilting her head toward me. “This is Echo.”

I gaze at the two of them, wondering which one of these delinquents she could possibly think is hot.

“Echo? Who names their kid that? What’re your parents, like, hippies?” This comes from a fat guy wearing a size too small I DO MY OWN nude SCENES T-shirt that I hope is meant to be ironic. And when he laughs his whole belly shakes, stretching and bulging against the overburdened cotton, just like jolly or St. Nick. Only a whole lot grosser.

I stand there, wondering how soon I can leave, when Teresa shakes her head, pushes him playfully on the shoulder, and says, “Tom, you asshole. Leave her alone. Echo’s cool.” But when she looks at me, her expression tells a whole other story, having already decided I’m not.

She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse and settles herself onto the ground, sitting Indian style at their feet. “Somebody give me a light,” she says, offering the pack to me, as the other guy, the one I’m assuming is “Hot Jason,” leans toward her with a burning match.

I shake my head as I watch her inhale, then release it back through her nose and mouth like an angry cartoon bull. Making sure to shift just ever so slightly, so that the V of her low-cut sweater is aimed straight at Jason — who’s aiming for slick but nailing seedy, and who’s definitely old enough to know better.

It’s weird how she acts like this around me, yet plays it so straight at school. Like last night, when she was drinking, only I saw how much. And I’m willing to bet I’m the only one who knows about the smoking, the cleavage flaunting, and how she’s hoping to cheat on Sean with this loser.

“How’s your little boyfriend? What’s his name? Sam?” asks Tom, who’s already been called an asshole, and now seems intent on proving it.

“His name is Sean, you moron. And he’s not my boyfriend, we just hang sometimes.” She glances quickly at Jason, with his slicked-back, longish blond hair, faded Levis, motorcycle boots, dark T-shirt, and black leather jacket. And I realize he seems really familiar, though I can’t imagine why.

“You go there too?” Tom asks, kicking his foot in my general direction, as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, gesturing politely or addressing me by name.

“Bella Vista? Urn, yeah,” I say, feeling pretty squeamish under his heavy, judgmental gaze, and wondering not for the first time, why I’m still here.

“That school sucks. Principal Hames is a fucking loser! L-O-S-E-R,” he says, pumping his beer-gripping fist in the air, proving he can spell.

I just stand there, not agreeing, not denying, not saying a word. Just trying to avoid the secondhand smoke while plotting my escape.

“You leaving soon?” he asks, dragging on his cigarette and sipping his beer, going from beer to cigarette, from cigarette to beer, barely taking a break in between.

“Bella Vista? No, I just started,” I say, looking at Teresa who’s ignoring me now, since she’s too busy flirting with Jason.

“No, I mean now. You’re just standing there like you’ve got an appointment or something.” He sips his beer and laughs. “At least drop your bag and relax. It’s not like we’re gonna hurt you. Unless you want us to.” He narrows his eyes, giving me a long, leisurely once-over, starting at my Converse tennis shoes and working his way to the top of my head.

“Oh, no, I just…” I gaze at Teresa who’s still ignoring me, then I turn back toward the way we came. I mean, not to be a prude, but I don’t like this scene. And not to be a freak, but I’m getting a really bad vibe.

“You guys got any more beer?” Teresa asks, getting the attention back on her, which believe me, is where we both want it. “I need a little hair of the dog. I swear I have like the worst hangover, ever. Echo and I got totally wasted last night, and I need some relief.” She stands, moving toward Jason and grabbing his beer, tilting her head back and