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“Real y? It’s not because I’m a party girl?”

“Hel no. You’re al sweetness, through and through.

They’ve known that for a long time.” She bumped shoulders with me. “And I think Ian has, too.”

“Then why do we keep missing each other? Why aren’t
we
human magnets?” I cried like a blubbering mess. “It’s my reputation, isn’t it? It’l never go away.”

“What reputation, sil y?”

I wiped the snot from my nose with the back of my hand.

“Last summer at Jimmy DeFranco’s party”—I took a deep breath, scared to tel her the rest. So I closed my eyes and let it out—“I kissed two guys in one night.” She laughed. Like a big, deep, horse laugh. “You don’t even want to know what I’ve done with two guys in one night. Bliss and I used to play that game. I understand. I’ve kissed
a lot
of guys.”

224

“But why’d you stop? Why Mike?”

“This one weekend, Bliss and I went to the lake. We were standing in line to rent inner tubes, and Mike introduced himself.” She tapped her finger on her cheek, taking her time to enjoy this memory. “My hands were ful , and he offered to carry mine. And that was it. Isn’t that stupid? Something so smal .”

It wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what she meant. Ian did look good the day he wore that green shirt, it was true. But it wasn’t the shirt that changed everything. It was the licorice and Motrin. He knew when I most needed help.

He always gave me what I needed.

Peanut butter cookie.

Daisy ring.

That crease.

It never was the green shirt.

Serenity put her phone away and watched Mike as he fil ed cups and handed them out. “It’s easy with Mike. Al of it. I don’t worry we’l run out of things to talk about. I don’t worry whether or not he thinks I’m hot.” She looked across the room and winked at him. “With him it is seriously no worries.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the same way. With Ian, I never had worries. Not until tonight. “There has to be a reason Ian left, right?” I grabbed her by the arm. “Tel me there’s a good reason.”

“There’s an explanation. There
always
is.” She looked at 225

me with gleaming eyes. “Wait here. I’l go see what Mike knows.” She stood, then put her hand up like a stop sign.

“Don’t. Move.”

I sat frozen and watched Serenity walk over to Mike. But he immediately attacked her, and they started making out.

This must be the effect of sexting . . . uncontrol ed public displays of affection. Extreme affection. It looked as though Serenity had already forgotten why she’d gone over there in the first place. Wow. Graphic.

Sitting on that love seat by myself, I felt smal . Defeated.

Alone. I either needed to find Ian or go home.

“Want a slice?” It was Al yson, standing at my feet as she held out a piece of pizza.

The sudden appearance of pizza near my face caused my stomach to growl like a pit bul .

Double damn.

I was starving, and it was veggie—the only kind I eat—

but I wasn’t about to take pizza presented by Al yson Moore.

Because then I’d have to thank her. And make eye contact with her. And
not
inflict bodily harm on her.

No way. I couldn’t do it.

But I was secretly relieved. At least she was here, in this room, and not with Ian.

“I’m glad you final y made it to the party. We were getting worried.”

“We?”
My adrenaline started flowing. I popped up off the sofa and faced her. “As in you and Ian?” 226

“Everyone. And yeah, Ian.”

Oh, no. Here we go. “You talked to him.
You
did.”

“You turned your phone off.”

“So did he!”

“But he turned it back on and now he can’t get a hold of you.”

That was it. Some people have boundaries or lines or whatever. And this was mine. She wasn’t going to talk about Ian as if she knew him better than I did. As if she had knowledge of that crease.

“I was in the bathroom at the In-N-Out Burger, Al yson.

I know you’ve been talking to him al night.”

“We were planning this.” She motioned her hands across the room.

“Exactly. You were the one asking him for favors. You were making plans with
my date
!” I gritted my teeth, feeling the werewolf grow inside me.

She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

But I didn’t want to hear one word of her worthless explanation. “Back the hel OFF!”

She batted her eyes, stunned by my words, or maybe my growing sharp teeth, and she stood speechless.

I hadn’t pul ed her ponytail or pushed her into the pool or thrown a concoction of Herpes In A Jar at her—but I had made my point.

Damn, that felt good.

I sat back down on the sofa, gingerly, purposeful y, as if 227

I sat on sofas for sport. But when I heard Al yson’s perfect shoes walk in the other direction, I covered my face and started praying.

Help me find Ian. I need to get to him!

And then the Gods of Simplicity returned from their rafting trip and answered my prayer.

“Dude, it’s tradition, we
have
to go do this. Finish what we started.” Brian Sontag was in a corner, deep in discussion with this lanky guy named Boner—no one knew his real name. Apparently he got the nickname because of an incident that happened at Whitney Malone’s sixth grade birthday party at a bowling al ey. Something about a stuck zipper and a plate of cheese fries. I don’t know. I wasn’t there.

But the name stuck and we’ve been cal ing him Boner ever since.

“We’ve got to find someone to drive.” Brian shook his head. “Al yson doesn’t understand.”

Boner didn’t say much, but seemed in agreement as he picked at his Styrofoam cup.

Serenity was now hovering next to the keg, showing her texts to anyone who’d read them. I thought she was going to find out where Ian was, but her thoughts were on Mike, not me.

I was going to have to do this myself. And this was it—

my way to Ian. Brian and Boner had a car and they needed a sober driver.

I didn’t know what this tradition was they were going to 228

do, but I could stil feel some werewolf left in me—my inner Ledbetter girl. I would get that car to go in the direction I needed: left out of the Hampton Inn.

To find Ian Clark.

I walked up behind Brian and whispered in his ear. “Let’s go. I’l drive.”

229

15

Tap Water

“THAT’S MY GIRL,” Gilda says, pumping her fist in the air.

“There’s something else—” I try to say, but I’m interrupted when Gilda glances out the window and her face drops.

Another visitor. I’m guessing from the lack of color in her face, it’s not a pleasant one.

“Morning, Gilda.”

A fast-walking boxy woman—comfortable shoes, no makeup—charges up to the register, punches in some numbers, and opens the drawer of cash.

What in the world is going on?
Gilda must have read my mind, because she stands behind the woman and mouths to me, “The owner.”

230

We al remain silent as the owner counts the cash and only glances up at us to flash a quick smile.

By the time she gets to the twenties, the awkwardness of the moment catches up to her. “Can I help you?” She glares at Donna, who is casual y sipping a Red Bul (her third of the morning), then looks over at me, comfortably perched on Gilda’s stool.

“Nope,” Donna says, sounding like a rebel ious kid.

Oh, brother. We don’t need trouble. “I’ve had a rough night,” I explain, “and Gilda and my friend Donna were helping me figure out—”

But before I can finish, the owner rol s her eyes and spins 180 degrees to face Gilda. “How many times do we have to go over this?”

Gilda’s face flushes and she nervously tugs at her braid as she motions for the owner to fol ow her. The two stand in the chip aisle and have a conversation, but I can only hear the owner’s booming voice.

“I don’t care if she had a bad time at prom. This isn’t a therapist’s office. You’re too nice to these people, Gilda.

They’re customers, not friends. They have to leave.” Gilda leans in and whispers in the owner’s ear. The lady steps back, squints her eyes, and looks over at me. She crosses her arms, then final y says, “Okay. But help the poor girl find a way home. And soon.”

I fil a cup with tap water from the bathroom, hoping the owner sees me so she doesn’t think I’m stil eating 231

complimentary junk food. But she just quietly walks back to the register, eyes down, takes out a stack of receipts, and closes the register. Before she leaves, she turns to me. “I hope you figure it out.” She pats Gilda on the back and leaves.

We’re al frozen.

What. Just. Happened?

Donna breaks the quiet by crushing her Red Bull can and tossing it into the recycling. Then she shoots Gilda a wicked smile. “So what’d you say to old crotchety pants?” Gilda stands up straight and brushes a strand of hair back from her face. “I lied. She was going to make you leave, so I told her you needed advice.” Gilda crinkles her nose, then final y says, “I told her you’re gay.” I tilt my head. First left, then right. Like Sol, my Labrador. “Why’d you say that?”

“I listen to a lot of stories at this job. And I’m not supposed to socialize with the customers. She knows I don’t give out advice anymore, unless it’s really important. And she knows this is one issue I have a lot of experience with.” I chew at my lip. Is Gilda saying she’s gay? Whatever—it doesn’t matter, but—

“My daughter’s gay,” she says, as if she can read my mind.

I’m starting to think she can. “And she went to the Ledbetter prom last night. With her girlfriend.”

Of course I remember. “Red dresses? Total y gorgeous?” She smiles and nods, her eyes sparkling. Gilda is probably the type of mother who knows it isn’t her job to pick out her 232

daughter’s dress. Or pick out
anything
for her daughter.

“I can tel you this,” I say. “She was
very
happy.”

“I know,” she says as she checks her braid again. “Final y.” I shake my head. “Gosh, I feel stupid with my heterosexual story. I don’t even know why I’m bothering you with this.” Gilda walks over and gently grabs my hand. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. With love, it’s
always
complicated.” I close my eyes briefly and think of Ian’s face. And his voice—so soothing. “Very.”

“That’s right,” Donna interjects. “You just told us you agreed to be the designated driver for Brian and
Boner
?” It’s one of those questions she doesn’t actual y want me to answer. But this next question, she does.

“Where’d they take you, dol ?”

My stomach clenches at the thought of answering this.

My eyes drift away from her and out the window—past the gas pumps and across the intersection and up to the jagged mountains in the distance. I secretly imagine myself living in those hil s, alone. Forever. And never answering this question.

Gilda is stil holding my hand. She tightens her grip as if to say, no matter what, it’l be okay. The warmth from her hand calms me. My stomach unclenches.
I can tel them.

Donna steps closer to us and squints as she stares at my dress. “Looks like we’re out of stains. What happened next?” I lift up my hand—the one Gilda’s not holding. And I show them the mark.

“I was bitten.”

233

16

A Three-Legged Chihuahua

BRIAN’S PRIUS WAS much easier to drive than Mike’s Cadil ac.

The blinker worked, I didn’t have to crawl through anything to get to my seat, nothing caught on fire, and the seats didn’t have deep leather cracks that tried to go to third base on me.

The only problem was the seating arrangement. Brian and Boner both crawled into the backseat, leaving me alone to act as chauffeur. But that was okay . . . I was now in charge of where we were headed.

I glanced in my rearview mirror, noticing how pleasantly uncracked it was. Extreme visibility. How nice.

I eased the car to the hotel exit and turned on the left blinker. “I need to find someone first.” 235

“Take a right.” Boner was looking on a map.

“But I need to go left first. If you guys don’t mind . . . I need to find—”

Brian leaned over the seat. “Enough rights and you’l be going left.” He patted my shoulder al reassuring-like.

Which it was.

“There!” Boner jammed his finger at a spot. “Huntington Drive. Let’s hit ’em up!”

The guys were pumped. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do, but whatever it was, these two were giddy little monsters—cackling and growling.

Kind of cute.

Huntington Drive was a couple of blocks from my house, so I knew the area wel .

I turned the Prius right, out of the parking lot, and we cruised oh-so-quietly down the street. “Okay, we’l do your errand first, but then I have to get back to the other Hampton Inn. Cool?”

Neither one of them answered. They were too busy putting on dark hats and gloves.

Crap! Were we going to do something il egal? “Whoa, whoa! Please tel me we’re not robbing anyone!”