I open the bathroom door and peek into the hall—it’s clear. I hurry down the hall and shove open the green double doors to the parking lot like a burglar escaping the scene of a crime. I step into the afternoon sun and slide my backpack onto both of my shoulders. I’m two-strapping it and don’t care. I’m totally out of control. I scan the parking lot and find Matt leaning against a shiny black car. He stands a bit straighter when he sees me and runs his hand through his hair. It’s in its usual disheveled mess, but I can see where his hairline naturally parts to the side, giving him sort of a clean-cut look. He’s got on baggy jeans and a black No Fear t-shirt. The sight of him makes me warm and tingly inside, a feeling I missed when he skipped class today.

A chilly, ocean-scented breeze flings discarded papers at my feet as I cross the parking lot. A flutter tickles the inside of my belly at the thought of having a conversation with Matt that doesn’t involve HTML. Suddenly, a car pulls out in front of me. I stop right before a silver Volkswagen takes out my legs. The driver waves to Matt, then yells, “Later, Nick” as he speeds away.

I follow the driver’s gesture to the boy standing beside Matt and find him staring back at me. It isn’t like I’ve never seen him before. I pass him in the hall at least three or four times a day. He’s even been in the café where I work. Small latte—extra foam. This is the first time I’ve seen him look at me. I mean really, consciously look at me.

“Hey Dani,” Matt greets me. “This is Nick Marino.”

I try to say hi, but my throat has seized, so I give a faint smile and wave my hand. Nick smiles and nods back. He’s leaning against the car beside Matt with his hands shoved into the pockets of his blue jeans. His clothes aren’t as baggy as Matt’s, so I can see his body bulging from beneath his white t-shirt. He’s a cross between Leonardo DiCaprio and the dude from John Tucker Must Die. And he’s smiling. At me. And my first thought is—run.

I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the ability to speak as sweat starts to pool at the small of my back. I try to focus on Matt, but my eyes keep wandering to Nick, who is just as quiet as I am. Nick doesn’t seem like the silent type; he always has a crowd of people around him, and his picture is often plastered on the front page of the school newspaper. One week it was about the basketball game he starred in, the following week he was named the most spirited student. I think the editor makes up any reason to print his face on the cover, just so people will read the worthless periodical.

“Earth to Dani?” Matt waves his hand in front of my face. “Do you need a ride home?”

A ride? Home? Eureka isn’t my home. He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know anything about me. I’m a clean slate. I can be whoever I want to be. I don’t have to be the weird new girl or the stuck-up city bitch. I can be a new and improved version of me.

“Yeah, a ride would be great.” I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my khaki cargo pants.

Matt steps to the side and opens the door. I climb into the car and marvel at the size of the enormous leather backseat.

“Where do you live?” Matt asks as he closes the passenger door.

Before I have a chance to respond, the driver’s side door opens and Nick slides into the seat in front of me. Holy hell, this is Nick’s car. Nick Marino is the most popular boy at Eureka High School, and I am sitting in his car. He is driving me home. I bite my lower lip and look around to make sure this isn’t a dream. I find that pain keeps things real. It’s one emotion you can’t fake. You can laugh when you’re sad, and cry when you’re happy, but when you hurt, you feel it. You can’t fake the hurt. Matt is turned in his seat with a smile on his face. A smile so bright and friendly that I smile with him. How did I go from hiding in the bathroom from Heather King to sitting in Nick Marino’s car with Matt Augustine smiling at me with his perfect teeth and soulful eyes? This is not my life, but I’ll take it.

Matt clears his throat. “You do know where you live, don’t you?”

I suck at addresses and phone numbers. I know where the house is, but the actual address escapes me. I picture myself writing out Aunt Lucy’s address on the yearly Christmas and birthday cards we used to send her. “Uh, three-three-two-seven Pine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Matt asks, sensing the hesitation in my voice.

I give Matt an exasperated look. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Matt has one of those friendly smiles that make you feel welcome and less like a freak. I love Matt’s smile. Did I just use the L-word?

“I’m not a human GPS. Where is that exactly?” Matt teases.

“Don’t be a dick.” Nick gives Matt a friendly nudge in the shoulder. “I was raised in this shitty town, I’m sure I can find it.”

Matt’s grin fades at Nick’s remark. He turns away from me and looks out the window. I feel bad. Nick thinks Matt’s being mean, but it’s just our thing. Not that we have a thing. I mean, we talk in class about class stuff. Other than the occasional interrogation by Heather, Matt is the only other person I’ve ever had a conversation with. I wouldn’t call him a friend. A few more discussions about music or books, and I might say we know each other. Unlike Nick. He definitely doesn’t know me or anything about me. I sort of want to keep it that way.

“What’s the cross street?” Nick’s hazel eyes smile at mine in the rear view mirror—they are a kaleidoscope of yellow, brown, and green. I look at his reflection, which gives the impression that he’s further away than he is. He’s sitting in front of me. I could reach out and touch him—touch Nick Marino. Freaking insane.

My back breaks out in a full-blown sweat, the kind that leaves marks under your arms. Thankfully I’m wearing a thick hoodie, so any pit stains I may develop are well hidden. “West Harris,” I tell him, then sink into the seat out of his view. I can’t imagine what it’s like to date a guy like Nick. The pressure to look good, speak intelligently, breathe. An hour ago I couldn’t fathom the idea of Matt asking me out, now I’m fantasizing about dating Nick Marino. I need medication.

I look out the window and see Heather King, her mouth agape, as we drive by. My ego fist pumps the air, but my brain is telling me I will pay for this later. Nick joins the line waiting to leave the parking lot and I start to wonder if this is why Matt sent the message. Did he want to offer me a ride home, or was it a set-up so I could meet Nick? My heart sinks at the idea. Nick seems like a nice guy, but we have nothing in common. A rush of disappointment fills me. I really thought Matt might like me. I’m not great at reading people, but I thought we had a connection. I suck at boys, but I know guys don’t set up girls they like with their friends.

Matt turns up the volume on the stereo and Nick swats his hand away. He presses play on the CD and “Lucky Go Leah,” one of my favorite songs of all time, by one of my favorite bands of all time, blasts through the speakers.

“Dude, not this again,” Matt complains.

“My car, my music,” Nick tells him.

Nick likes Audiodub. We actually have something in common. Something that I think is really cool. Who knew a guy like Nick would like an indie band.

Suddenly, Nick’s hazel eyes pop into the rear view mirror and I stop breathing. “Do you have to go home now? Cause we’re going to the Rack Room. You want to come?” Nick looks to Matt for backup. Matt just shrugs and gives me a half-ass smile. I can’t tell if he really wants me to go. I don’t know if I want to go. I have an hour and a half to kill before my shift at the café. I can’t think of a more terrifying way to spend it.