I was going to tell Sydney the truth and lose her forever. Or I was going to tell Sydney the truth and probably lose her forever. So you could say I was screwed.

Dread won over relief when angry footsteps stormed down the hall. Then as quickly as they came, they stopped, right in front of my door.

A nearly inaudible knock sounded against the oak, and I jumped.

“Gray?” Sydney’s soothing voice crept under the door like a poisonous gas. “Baby, open up. It’s Sydney.”

She called me baby? This is a trap. All men know the female trap, and Sydney was laying down a snare at this very minute.

“Sydney, I can explain,” I said, locking the door and checking its strength. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Her honeyed voice was coated with bitterness. “It’s getting cold in the hallway. All I’m wearing is lingerie. I bet Chance’s room is warm.”

I placed my hand on the knob but jerked back as if it were a hot flame.

Trap, Gray.

“Sydney, please.”

“Please what?” Her voice turned into a siren’s roar, almost shaking the door from its hinges.

“I can explain everything.”

She slid a piece of paper under the door, and I swished it around with my foot. Satisfied it wasn’t laced with any fine white powders, I picked it up.

Syd, Great time tonight. I totally agree with everything you said. Jacob is better for Bella than Edward. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you read the book. No need for threats.

Anyways, my phone battery is dead. Jack’s taking me home. Ur my best friend. I love you so much. Ur like the cool older aunt I never had.

Hugs and smooches ~Ally (followed by a series of asymmetrical, badly drawn hearts)

“A note from Allison?” The paper was familiar, and when I examined the torn edge, I realized it came from my sketch pad.

Fuckity fuck.

“Turn it oooovvvvveeerrrrr.”

Flipping it over, I saw my handwriting. Then I saw my words. Then I saw my sentences. Then I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was my detailed notes on Sunday Lane.

Ripping the door open, I pulled Sydney inside before she could clock me. Which she was just about to do, because her fist was already raised toward my left eye.

“Stop.”

She slammed her palms into my chest. “You made me wear an Iron Man costume,” she said through clenched teeth.

For a second, I lost myself. It was all I could do to keep from laughing at her adorable scrunched-up face… that was now turning red… that was now turning purple…

“Sydney, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to tell you I love you. I was going to tell you about this, I swear.” Open mouth, insert every foot under this roof.

Holy crap, is there a color deeper than purple? Yes, blue.

Sydney was blue-faced, and dropping my arms to my sides, I closed my eyes.

Slap me. Punch me. Do whatever you want. I wanted her to get it out of her system, but nothing came.

When I opened my eyes, she was sitting on my bed, tears pouring down her face.

“Shit, Sydney.” I rushed over but kept a healthy distance. “Please, I’m so sorry. I was pissed about my car, and it all just spiraled, but I didn’t mean for it to go this far. We were playing a twisted game.”

“I don’t even have time to waste being pissed at you, Peters.”

I moved to rub her back, but she jerked away.

“I have bigger problems—my identity is coming out.”

“No, it’s not. Allison won’t say shit.”

“Not Allison, you idiot—Katharine DeSonna. That emaciated bitch. She knows about me, and it’s your fault.”

“Katharine?”

“Yes, and I can’t stop her.” She moaned as a fresh round of tears slipped down her cheeks. “Is this it?” she asked, grabbing the note from my hand. “Is this all, Gray?”

I had to blink a few times. Was this possible? Sydney was forgiving me?

“You’re gonna forgive me?” Sinking down on the bed next to her, I ran my palms over my eyes. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t tearing up my room, screaming in my face, shredding my curtains with a knife.

Wiping her arm across her eyes, Sydney angled her body toward me. “Just tell me you screwed with me for a few weeks… ran me around campus… tried to steal Jack’s virginity? That’s all?”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, I’m fucking livid.” She narrowed her eyes to thin slits. “Allison had to wrestle a pair of scissors from my hands. I had this big, elaborate plan to come here and snip your dic—” She paused, staring directly at my crotch. “Anyway, Allison told me I was a terrible person,” she said, dropping her head to her hands. “She reminded me of all the awful things I did to people, including you, and she’s right.”

“No, Sydney.”

“She forgave me,” she whispered into her palms. “Allison forgave me for calling her a shallow puddle. She said sometimes people say things or do things they don’t mean, and she’d only forgive me if I put away the scissors and came here to forgive you.” Grabbing my pillow, she wiped her snotty face across it. “Allison said… Well, she thinks you do really care about me.”

Dropping to my knees in front of her, I rolled my hands over her thighs. “The word care doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you, Sydney.” I took her hand and lightly kissed her palm. “I’ve never felt so scared to lose anything or anyone in my entire life as I have these past weeks.”

Sydney laughed through her tears and grabbed my other hand in hers. “I can forgive you, but you have to promise me our game is over.”

I opened my arms, and Sydney slid into them, sniveling into my sweatshirt.

She forgave me, but not for everything. The worst part was still to come.

“Don’t leave me,” I whispered. Stroking her hair away from her neck, I brushed my fingers over her tattoo. Memorizing it with my fingertips. The tattoo owned by a perfect, witty, sassy girl. A girl who would no longer be mine to mess with.

“I sent that letter to the radio station,” I said, and her body stiffened in my arms. “There’s no internship offer. There’s nothing, Sydney.”

Slowly, she pushed herself from my lap, and I braced myself for her wrath but was met with deadly silence. She said nothing, but she didn’t have to because her eyes said it all.

They were so filled with venom I could feel its painful sting in my own. Soon, I found myself blinking up at the ceiling, taking short, shallow breaths. “Sydney, plea—”

“Don’t,” she whispered on a sob. Clutching at her chest, she released a pitiful noise and doubled over, lying on her side. “Do you know how happy I was?” Her voice was thick with emotion, and I was too much of a coward to look at her. “I told my mother, and she said, Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are talented, Sydney.”

She rolled over on her knees and lifted her swollen cheeks to mine, and it was impossible to divert my gaze. “That’s the nicest thing she’s said to me in years.” Then she slid her cheek across mine until I could feel her breathe against my ear. “There’s no forgiving that,” she whispered, and I closed my eyes. “You deserve nothing but the worst, Peters, and I hope you get what’s coming to you.”

Chapter Forty-One

Whoever said, Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me, was a fucking liar.

Back in grade school, I wrote a heart-warming rap for the love of my life, Jacob Deris, and I performed it in front of my fifth-grade class. A week prior, I’d been tucked under blankets on the couch with a 103-degree fever and a crush the size of Siberia (which is one and half times bigger than the US, FYI). In my delirious state, I came across the magical syndicated TV program, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.