I roll my eyes because that is just so Charlie. Always concerned about someone or something. Jesus, dude, you’re eighteen. Who fucking cares what the neighbors think? The world is not your problem.

There’s silence for a whole minute, and then Charlie turns to me.

“Are we okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, after last night.”

Last night? Shit. I had forgotten about that whole disaster. Do we really need to dredge that up again?

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” I reassure him.

“’Cause I still feel kind of weird about everything.”

“You so shouldn’t give it another thought. It just happened. We were both drunk. It was…whatever. Don’t worry about it. We’re fine. No one needs to know.”

“I know, but…maybe we should tell Max? I don’t want it to get back to him from someone else. I feel bad—”

“Nothing happened, Charlie. What is there to tell? Besides, who knows what he did in Mexico. He probably has a lot more to unload than I do.”

Charlie keeps looking over at me. I can tell he still wants to talk about things. Please, Charlie, I’m begging you, can we just drop it?

“You seemed really pissed at me last night when, you know, I couldn’t…do anything. And I just, um, wanted to say that—”

“Charlie, it’s so not a big deal. Put it out of your mind. I seemed pissed because I was pissed. At Max. Not at you. We messed up. It happens. There is no larger meaning here. Don’t look for it.”

“I guess you’re right,” Charlie says.

“I know I’m right. We’re seniors. This is the kind of thing people do senior year. So they have something to tell their grandkids.”

“Okay, I just, well, I thought I should explain why I couldn’t—”

“The less said, the better.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“We all have our junk.”

What is this, Oprah? Enough with the over-sharing. Now I get why Max finds my need to constantly communicate my feelings annoying.

“Before you go all postal on Max, you should probably listen to what he’s got to say.”

“Sure.” As if.

am jolted awake by sunlight flooding the room.

What time is it? Where am I?

Disoriented, I attempt to open my eyes. The light is stabbing. My head is throbbing, my throat is raw, and my stomach is roiling. Is this what a hangover feels like?

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one. Until now.

I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and lie still, trying to get my bearings. Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. I think. But then again, it could have turned into one of the worst. I don’t remember much past a certain point.

I give it another go. I glance around, taking in my surroundings. A partial view of an unfamiliar bedroom comes into focus. There’s a dresser in the corner where a mess of snow globes, stuffed animals, and Barbie dolls fight for space. A poster of a fuzzy white kitten with a huge purple bow around its neck is taped to the wall, between two windows. One window has a shade pulled halfway down, the other has no shade at all. Light pours in, mercilessly. Is it always this sunny in the morning?

I turn my head to avert my eyes, and that’s when I see him. Asleep. Oh. My. God. Max. I am now wide awake and it’s all coming back to me.

I try to sit up, but the effort makes me woozy, and I lie back down. Why on earth would anyone drink if this is what it feels like the morning after? Maybe because the night before felt pretty damn great. That much I remember.

feel the hangover immediately. But it’s not nearly as brutal as I thought it would be, considering the amount of tequila we downed.

I can tell it’s going to be another gorgeous day in Ensenada from the way the sunlight hits the wall. Surf is probably up. I bet the breaks are sweet. Wouldn’t mind picking up a board and going out. I’m sure Kylie’s never surfed. I could teach her. How fun would that be?

I look down and catch a glimpse of my watch. Shit. It’s six thirty. I wish we had more time, but we don’t; we have to motivate. Graduation is in less than six hours.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem so important. I briefly think about missing it entirely, staying in Ensenada with Kylie. But that’s a no go. Kylie needs to be there. Reality rules, which is a bummer. I’m afraid of what happens when we get back to real life and Lily is waiting there for me. I shove that thought to the back of my mind. I’ll deal with it later. I’ve got six more hours with Kylie. I don’t want to think about Lily until I absolutely have to.

I turn over to see Kylie gazing at me through those impossibly long lashes. The sun bathes her brown skin in a golden glow. Damn, that’s a nice sight to wake up to.

I curl into Kylie, wrapping my arms her. I can feel the curves of her body as they melt into mine. She’s perfectly rounded. All positive space. The soft arcs of Kylie’s flesh feel so much more like home than Lily’s hard edges. Man, I’ve fallen hard. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but it feels like a lifetime.

ey, you,” Max says, smiling lazily. “We got pretty messed up last night.”

“Yeah,” I say, hoping he’ll offer more, giving me a better picture of what exactly happened toward the end of the evening, when my disc got erased.

“I hope we didn’t do anything stupid,” I say, fishing for information.

“Yeah, pretty sure we did.” Max laughs softly and his eyes close again.

That’s all I get?

Max takes my hand in his, which is when I see them—two identical gold bands. One on his hand. One on mine.

The rings catch the sun; light shoots off the gold and bounces around the room.

What exactly happened last night? I am ablaze with an unsettling mix of passion and panic. I’m sweating now, which can’t possibly be appealing. What have I done? I’ve got high school graduation, a summer internship at the San Diego Arts Council, New York University in the fall, and parents who are going to freak. I’ve been MIA for the past twenty-four hours. I’m in Mexico with Max. And we’re wearing rings that look suspiciously like wedding bands. This is bad. Very, very bad.

I’ve never even been on a date.

Or had sex.

Or have I?

I sit up, intent on hatching a plan, and that’s when I see Lily Wentworth standing in the doorway, staring at me.

hat. The. Fuck. Max?”

I hear her before I see her: the unmistakably piercing sound of Lily.

I am going to kill Charlie. What part of “come alone” wasn’t clear?

It’s a rude awakening to what is bound to become a bear of a day.

I lift my head to see Lily standing in the doorway. If this were a cartoon, smoke would be rising from her head. Her body would be engulfed in flames.

I am in some serious shit.

I look over at Kylie looking at Lily, and sure enough, she is flipping out. Her eyes are as big as saucers. If she were a cartoon, her eyeballs would be popping out of her head and rolling onto the floor. Unfortunately, none of us are cartoons. This is not a comic book. It’s real life. And what was once a romance is now a horror show.