I wake up alone. No one is home. Dad is at work. No telling where Mom is. Probably, she's as uncomfortable in this house as I am.

There isn't a peep on my phone. No telling where Miles is either.

I eat breakfast with the TV. Even with two hundred channels, there's nothing that can tear my attention away from him. Wherever he is. Whatever he's doing.

I fix a cup of coffee. A second. A third. My mouth goes dry. My fingers shake. It's a lot of caffeine, but it's a nice enough buzz—probably the most pleasant thing I'll feel all day.

I still remember last Thanksgiving. Shit was already bad with Rosie. She was already pretending, already on drugs. But the four-day weekend was a perfect respite. It was the four of us, but really the two of us. We watched movies all night, plowing through the pumpkin pie, the pecan pie, the chocolate pie. There was a lot of pie. We spent the entire day shopping, emptying our checking accounts. And, for the first time since she started dating that awful Jared, it felt like she was my sister and not my enemy. It felt like we were being honest.

She was probably high the whole time.

I push off the couch and inspect the mantel. There are tiny dents in the plaster in all the spots that used to house Rosie's trophies. I was so jealous of those trophies. Rosie had everything—perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect boyfriend. She was athletic, smart, fun.

But with the drugs, she was nothing anymore. All those parts of her disappeared.

The back door slides open.

"Can I skip breakfast and have you instead?" Miles shuts the door. He stands in front of the sleek glass windows, shirtless and dripping with sweat. His eyes meet mine. "You okay?"

"No. I hate it here. I hate everything about this house."

"It will get better."

"How? You don't stay at your uncle's place in Malibu alone. Tell me how it gets better."

"I stay there with you." He moves closer. "You want to join me in the shower?"

I shake my head. I can't handle that right now.

"Talk to me, Meg. I'm here because I want to help you."

"Which is it—do you want to help me or do you want to be alone? Do you care about me or is this strictly sexual?"

His brow furrows. "Suit yourself."

He storms up the stairs and slams the door behind him.

I want so badly to join him. I want so badly to have my body pressed against his, nothing between us but the running water.

I want to be his plaything. But I need to be his everything.

* * *

It's Black Friday. Might as well go shopping. I text Mom, suggesting we meet for dinner at the nearest mall, Fashion Island. We nail down a restaurant and a time. The organic place, seven o'clock.

Leaves most of the day for me and Miles.

He's sitting on the couch, scribbling something in a tiny notebook. Lyrics, probably. Does he have another itch he needs to scratch?

I sit next to him. "We're meeting my parents for dinner at seven at Fashion Island."

"Mhmm."

His eyes stay on the paper. His body is turned away from mine, locking me out.

Deep breath. "You want to go now? We can walk around. Watch the koi swim."

"Sure." He closes his notebook and slides it into his pocket. His eyes turn to me, studying me, picking me apart. "You eat breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"So you won't be cranky?"

"Shut up." I grab my purse and make my way to the door. "You coming or what?"

"Such threats from someone who doesn't have the keys to the car."

"I know how to drive. I choose not to."

"Why not?" He meets me at the door.

There's this tightness in my chest. "I shared a car with Rosie. She used it more, so, when she died, I brought it back here. I can get to work and school fine on foot."

"And it makes you think about her?"

"Yeah."

"That's why your parents put her stuff away." His eyes bore into mine. "It hurt them having it around."

"I know that." I hug my arms to my chest. "But that doesn't make me feel better, admitting I'm a hypocrite."

He leads me to the car.

I settle into the passenger seat. "I want to feel good for a while." I take a deep breath. "Can we not fight or talk about my sister?"

He nods and starts the car.

* * *

The mall isn't any more crowded than normal. It's expensive enough that the usual crowd ignores bargains.

After an hour of window shopping, another round of caffeine, and lunch at the food court, I feel a little better.

Miles insists we do more window shopping. He holds my hand, guiding me through the outdoor mall. It's a beautiful day. The sky is bright blue. The sun is shining high. There are barely any clouds.

I move a little closer to Miles. We aren't saying much but we aren't fighting either.

That's something.

I stop at an independent boutique. It was one of Rosie's favorite stores.

The mannequin is wearing a hot pink dress. It looks just like a dress Rosie used to wear. It's just long enough for work or school, just tight enough for clubs or dates. The neckline is wider, the waist is lower. Otherwise, it's a dead ringer for her favorite dress.

The rack of dresses is in the back of the store. It's in another color, black, something she never wore.

Miles wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and brings his mouth to my ear. "You're thinking something?"

"Just shopping."

He sucks on my earlobe. "You're not that good at hiding your feelings."

I step forward, breaking his hold. "Nothing important. Just thinking that if my sister was here, she would've made me buy that dress." I nod to the hot pink dress.

"It would look good on you."

"No. I can't wear bright colors."

"Why not?" He moves closer, wrapping his arms around me again.

I lean into him. "I'll stand out."

Miles laughs. "You stand out now. You're gorgeous."

My cheeks flush. "That's sweet of you to say, but it's not true. I'm too tall, too skinny, too flat-chested."

Miles takes my shoulders and turns me around so we're eye to eye. His expression gets mock serious. "One more negative word about your boobs, and I'm dragging you into that dressing room and forcing you to appreciate them."

This pang shoots straight to my sex. He's so good at making me forget everything but how much I want him.

"Maybe we should go to another store," I say.

He shakes his head. "Try on the dress."

"You want me to try on clothing?"

He presses his lips against mine. "I want to think about you naked in that tiny dressing room. Go." He steps away and plants on one of the boyfriend chairs just outside the dressing room.

He's not actually my boyfriend, but I guess the chair doesn't know that.

I take the dress in a few sizes and let myself into a fitting room. While I'm changing, I take in my reflection. I can almost see myself through his eyes, physically, at least. Tall and thin doesn't have to mean gawky. It can mean modelesque. And my boobs might be tiny, but they have a nice shape. He certainly seems to like them.

The dress is flattering. When I pull my hair behind my ears, the way my sister wore hers, I can see the resemblance. It's there in my dark features, my nose, the shape of my lips. She's gone from my parents' house, but she's still there in my face. I still look like her. Whatever they do, they can't take that away.

I step out of the dressing room to show off to Miles, but he's talking to someone else. A woman, around my age. She must be a fan. She has that starstruck look in her eyes.

"I love that song No Way in Hell," she says. "Is it really true it's about falling in love?"

Miles shrugs, effortlessly casual. "My lips are sealed."

My heart pounds. She thinks it's about love, too.

It's not just me.

I run through the lyrics in my head. Damn things are the only clue I have to what Miles feels and they're doing me no good.

His eyes turn to me. "I'm buying you that dress."

"That isn't necessary."

"Already picked out some things to go under it."

The fan blushes madly. She stares at us, dumbstruck, like she just caught Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie having sex.

I collect my clothes in the dressing room and make my way back to Miles. I like the dress. I'm staying in it. About time I wear something bright.

The fangirl is still watching us, but I don't care. I sit next to Miles, lean in close, and whisper in his ear.

"Is it about falling in love?" I ask.

He stares straight into my eyes, steel expression giving nothing away. "It's about whatever you want it to be about."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're going to get."