“Well, um, thanks for the coffee, the ride, but I’ve got to go.”

I began walking away, then realized I’d left my bag in his car. “I need my bag.”

Grayson frowned as he poured the rest of his coffee into the dead leaves. He stood up, tossed the cup into the trash, and walked toward the car. I followed behind, taking two steps for every one of his brisk strides. When he reached the car, he opened the passenger side, stooped in for my bag, and held it out for me. My fingertips grazed his as I took it from him.

“Guess you’re thinking, Why’d I save this asshole?” he said, leaning against the car.

Our eyes met. The tool was gone. And there it was—that longing—like right after I’d saved him. What did he want from me?

“God, Grayson, no, I’m not thinking that at all,” I said, taking a step back from him.

“Then what are you thinking?” he asked, flipping his bangs out of his eyes with a toss of his head. In that second all I was thinking was how charming he looked when he did that. Wren, get a freakin’ grip!

“You hit a nerve, okay? I’m royally screwing up this semester, and I hate it but not enough to cheat. I totally feel all that bullshit pressure to get good grades. And I’m not. Not like my friends,” I said, all the stuff I couldn’t admit to Jazz and Maddie came rushing out in one long breath. “Why do we even have to be judged by rank? What does that measure? All my number says about me is that I’m average. And to top it off, I’m supposed to know what I want to do with my life, but I know I won’t ever get into Harvard, so hey, at least that’s one thing I can cross off the list.”

“You’re applying to Harvard?” Gray asked.

I huffed. “Just forget it,” I said, turning away from him. Leaves rustled beneath my feet, punctuating the rush of my exit. He trotted next to me to gain ground, then stood in my way. I tried to go around him, but he kept dodging in front of me. I stopped, staring up through the canopy of half-barren branches. The sky was a deep shade of dusky blue. It would be dark soon.

“Wren, please,” Gray said, putting his face in my line of vision, hands up in surrender.

“I have to go,” I said, ducking under his arm. He grabbed my elbow, so I spun back to face him.

“Why did you save me?”

The question stopped me. I wrenched my arm free. “You were choking?”

“I know, I just . . . but why did you step in? If it had been me, and the situation was reversed, I don’t think I would have stepped in.”

“So . . . you’re telling me you wouldn’t have saved me?”

He ran a hand across his face. “No, that’s not what I meant . . . not you, personally, I mean anyone. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“Sure you would have. Simple. Health 101.”

“Okay, I guess I deserve that,” he said. “I’m just saying I would have panicked. I did panic. I thought I was a goner until you stepped in.”

“Someone would have helped you,” I said.

“Maybe, maybe not. All I know is you did,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I guess what I want to say is thank you for saving my life.”

A jogger trotted by. I crushed some leaves under my foot, letting what Grayson said sink in.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” I said, stepping away.

“What?” he asked.

“I feel like I know you, but I don’t,” I began. “It’s like we had this intense moment, but . . . it’s over, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, “does it?”

I rubbed my hands together, folded my arms across my chest. “I think I’d better get going.”

“Sure,” he said, taking his keys out of his pocket. “Let me take you home.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t live too far. But . . .”

“But what?”

Asking for his number crossed my mind, but why would I ever need to see him again? He insulted me. Thanked me. What more did we have to say to each other?

“But maybe I’ll see you around,” I continued, backing up. “Bye, Grayson.”

He called my name, but I kept moving toward the entrance of the park, thankful that I had the green light to cross the street. I jogged, putting as much space as I could between us. The “Wren the Hero” chapter of my life could close now. It was more like an anecdote anyway, something I could tell my college roommates one drunken night.

That is, if I even went to college.

Something nagged at me though. Since the night I saved him, I’d felt a magnetic pull toward Grayson so strong, it scared me. I thought it was some sort of mystical thing, that once you saved someone’s life, you always had some connection. But then he’d looked at me, those bangs grazing his eyebrows, the top button of his tee casually undone, and it wasn’t only his well-being I thought about.

That was a feeling I wasn’t ready to get lost in again. I was supposed to be thinking about what I wanted to do with my life, not who I wanted to do. Or was it whom?

FOUR

GRAYSON

ALL WAS QUIET IN CASA DEL BARRETT WHEN I GOT home. There was a note on the island.

Grayson

,

Your father has a late showing, and I’m off to my monthly sales meeting

.

Tilapia in the fridge. Take your shot of acai

.

btw—your mother called again. CALL HER. She says it’s urgent. Why aren’t you answering your cell?

Kiss, Kiss—Tiff


I dashed off a mental reply.

Hey, Tiff

,

Tilapia is too fishy and I need a splash of vodka with my acai, but thanks for thinking of me

.

btw . . . I’m avoiding Mom. I DO NOT need reminding that I’ve completely dropped the college ball once again. They don’t let fuckups into Columbia. No matter how many strings her

alumn ASSmunch

alumnus husband can pull

.

Gray


I nuked some pizza rolls, grabbed a Coke, and sat down on the sectional in the dark. It was like a reflex. Dinnertime = FOOD. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. I was . . . agitated. Ticked.

Why did I let Wren just walk away?

She was even prettier than I remembered, with her light hair loose around her face. And she’d been anxious, even a little shy at first. The kind of girl I could have eating out of my hand. Instead I’d opened up my mouth and all the old bullshit came tumbling out.

Why? I hadn’t intended to confess anything—all I wanted to do was thank her, give her a ride home and maybe strike up a friendship. Then she mentioned her brother. While I hardly knew Josh Caswell, I’m sure he knew me, or at least about me. Hell, the St. Gabe’s lunch ladies probably knew the sad, strange tale of my term-paper-pimp demise. Better that the story come from the source . . . but it was more than that too. There was a genuineness about Wren that made me feel like I didn’t have to put up a front. Like she really saw me. Past the BS, the cool hair, the stupid attempt to draw attention to myself like a silverback gorilla.

I sank deeper into the leather sofa Tiff had picked out to give our great room a more masculine feel. My ass slipped until half my torso was parallel to the floor. The perfect position for how I felt at the moment. Spineless.

Why didn’t I have the nerve to ask for her number? I knew I could get it some other way, but I wanted her to give it to me. That would tell me a lot. Just like not giving it to me said something. She didn’t trust me. And after today, why would she? Smart girl.

My pocket vibrated. I picked up without even checking. Might as well deal with my mother and her college-application assault.

“Mom.”

“Dude, it’s about time.”

I stiffened.

“Luke,” I said, sitting up. “Should have screened.”

“Harsh, Grayson. So is it true you almost bought it last Friday?”

“Maybe. How’d you find out?”

“The stepmother mafia. This is huge news down the pike. You choked . . . some cocktail waitress saved you. Sounds like a sexy way to go—was she wearing fishnets and a tight skirt?”

An involuntary smile crossed my lips. It pissed me off that he could win me over so easily, but I had to admit: I missed my daily dose of Dobson.

“C’mon, Grayeesun, you know I’m just jabbin’ at ya. Saint Gabe’s is so boring without your ugly mug roaming the halls. How are you dealing with the bottom-feeders in Bergen Point?”

“What do you want, Luke?”

“Just wondering why you haven’t returned my calls, bro.”

There was a time a call from Luke was a call to the hunt. For parties. For girls. For epic nights I knew would be legend in our high school history. My remember-the-time friend. Brother from another mother. When I was drop-kicked to the curb last spring, my brother, the one who said he’d have my back, disappeared from my life. It was only about a month ago that he tried to make contact. He didn’t even have the decency to apologize.

“No one called me all summer.”

“Grayson, what’s that, three months? Stop acting like a wounded bitch.”

“When I got in trouble, you scattered,” I said.

“That’s not entirely true,” Luke began as if he were leading a Socratic seminar about the topic of my expulsion. “You agreed it was better if we all lie low for a while. And as for the summer, no one got together. Don’t you get it? Seeing you get caught was too close for comfort. But we’ve regrouped. Operation Amsterdam is on again. Andy, Dev, and Logan are completely on board. This, my friend, is your wake-up call.”