When he finally pulls up to my house, I don’t get a chance to unbuckle my seat belt before he gets out the car to open my door. “So, you really are a gentleman, huh?”

“When it comes to you.” He extends his hand with a grin, making me blush against my will. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” I rush inside and shut the door behind me. I place a hand over my heart to see if it really is beating as fast as I think it is, or if it’s a figment of my imagination.

Shit, it’s real...It’s real...What the hell?

“Why are you standing there with your hand over your heart like that, Mia?” My mother walks into the foyer. “Have I unknowingly installed an American flag in the hallway? Are you pledging allegiance?”

My heart rate instantly returns to its normal pace, to the beat of “Fuck my life.”

“Is that Dean Collins?” she asks, peering through the window. “Did Dean Collins just drop you off at home?”

“Yes, he did.”

A smile crosses her lips and she pulls me into a hug. “Good. You’re finally learning how to be social and you’re dating.”

“We’re not dating. I’m his tutor.”

“What could he possibly use tutoring in?” She looks confused. “What teacher at Central would be dumb enough not to pass him? Especially with a third state championship on the line?”

I bite my tongue before I can say something smart, something really smart.

Fortunately, she doesn’t notice the look on my face. Instead, she pulls me into a hug that makes me feel hundreds of degrees colder. “Have you heard back from Harvard yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“You did apply, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” My eyes veer toward her framed degree that hangs on the wall. (She has like twenty copies of it hanging all over our house.)

“Well, if you haven’t heard anything back in four more weeks, let me know and I’ll make the call.” She lets me go. “What about the bonfire and homecoming? Also, prom? I know you’re planning on going to all of those events this year. At least, you better be.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Let me know when you look for a dress for homecoming. We’ll make an event—a mother daughter type of thing. It’ll be good for your development.” She smiles as she walks away from me and into the living room. Just like that, I know our numerous arguments for the past month are now forgotten.

Especially since this is the first time she’s spoken to me in a while.

All of our arguments end the same way, with her holding a grudge until I do something that makes her smile. While most moms get upset over bad grades, drug experimentation, or serious shit that actually affects a life, my mom gets upset over my inability to like the things that really matter in life. Things like wanting to be homecoming queen, having a great high school social status, and dating.

Two hundred and fifty-five days...

Before she can ask me to do anything, I run up the stairs to my room and shut the door.  I plop onto my bed and groan as I take in the pale and bleak ugliness that surrounds me.

If anyone else saw my room right now, they’d think I was trying to imitate a cell in a psych ward. My walls are covered in a near-colorless eggshell color, my bed spread is taupe, and all of the furniture is the color of coffee cream.

If that’s not horrible enough, the only pictures that hang on the wall are those of gray and brown rocks. Oh, and sand. Lots and lots of sand.

I’ve been begging my mom to let me paint and redesign this ugliness since I was seven years old, but “neutral colors are a necessary stimulus for the female brain” according to her ridiculous psychology studies. And besides, to her, my art is a hobby that’s distracting me from the things that are truly important in life. Popularity.

I pull the covers over my head and feel my phone buzzing. A text from Dean.

DEAN:  Hey. Is red your favorite color?

MIA: Hey. Just because we had a good day today does not mean you’re allowed to text me outside of tutoring. Goodnight.

DEAN:  LOL. Answer the question, Mia. Is it red?

MIA: No, red is not my favorite color. Stop texting me.

DEAN:  Is it blue?

MIA:  Yes, it’s blue. Goodnight.

DEAN:  Interesting. I only thought it was red because you always wear red bras, and you clearly have quite the collection...The one with the polka dots, the one with the lace, the one with the flowers, and today’s silk one. The best one yet, in my opinion. Goodnight :-)

I turn my phone off, my cheeks on fire.

Chapter 3

MIA

Something is definitely wrong with me. After only a few weeks of tutoring sessions with Dean, I’m actually looking forward to seeing him today. I’m looking forward to having another good conversation and seeing what he thought of the indie rock CD I gave him. (Okay, and I’m also looking forward to being close enough to smell his seductive cologne and get an up close glimpse of his smile that I secretly like.)

During school hours, we still exist in two completely different worlds, but when we’re together and alone, we get along better than I could’ve ever imagined and I haven’t had the desire to thrash him once.

Well, so far...

Hanging around him has also quite a numbing effect on my home-life. I can get through a whole dinner with my mother without wanting to scream, and for some reason, if I come home a few hours later than normal, if I tell her that I’ve been with Dean, she doesn’t mind at all.

Only one thing has me questioning me and Dean’s current arrangement: He never wants to go home. Like, ever. He’s always looking to extend our time together somehow with more conversation or more homework, and although I want to believe that he enjoys hanging out with me as much as I enjoy hanging out with him, I can’t help but think that there might be something darker beneath the surface...

Taking a seat in AP Chemistry, I pull out my books and notice a text from Autumn.

AUTUMN:  Sooooo, I’m in crisis mode and I’m pulling the ‘BFF Trump Card’ ASAP!

ME:  The what?

AUTUMN:  The BFF Trump Card. That you-cannot-say-no-to-whatever-I-request but only just this one time type of card. Say yes!

ME:  You pulled ten of those last month, Autumn.

AUTUMN:  I pulled NINE. That last one didn’t count. Anyway, say yes. I’m about to take a pop quiz in Bio.

ME:  Tell me what it is first.

AUTUMN:  Just say yes. (Oh, and is it the nucleus or the mitochondria that stores the cell’s information?)

ME:  Does it involve a party? (The mitochondria)

AUTUMN:  Never. Stop being difficult! (DNA helix was discovered by...?)

ME:  Does it involve being a third-wheel with you and Jacob? (Crick and Watson)

AUTUMN:  Shockingly, no. We’re currently fighting :-( (Can you just take this damn quiz for me? WTF...There are like fifty questions on this thing. This isn’t a QUIZ! It’s a TEST!)

I laugh, figuring whatever it is she wants to do can’t be too bad.

ME:  Yes. Now, what is the trump card for?

AUTUMN:  You have to be my wing woman at the pep rally tonight! Okay gotta go for real this time! I’ll pick you up at seven!

What the hell... Ugh...

She knows I don’t enjoy going to those, that I’m going to fight her to the very last minute about going with her tonight. I start texting a response, but I hear a familiar deep laugh next to me.

“Good morning,” Dean says as he slides into the empty seat next to me.

“Good morning. That’s not your seat.”

“I’m aware.”  He shrugs.

“We have assigned seats for a reason,” I whisper as the class starts to fill up. “If you’re aware, then why are you sitting there?”