The first time I see him – drinking him in with my puppy love eyes – he makes me bleed.

“Ow!” Pulling my finger up from the staples I'd been pulling in daddy's office, I survey the damage.

Two neat little pinpricks. A worthwhile flesh wound for the long, secret peek I snuck through the tiny window leading out to the garage, where the hottest boy alive is working on a Mustang from the seventies, raised with its metal underbelly sticking out.

It's a one way spy job.

He hasn't spotted me in here. Even if he had, why would he take a second glance?

There's barely time to suck my finger before daddy bursts in, his booming voice ringing out behind me. “Peanut, I need you to finish up in here, get home for dinner, and get cracking on your homework. I'll pay you for the extra half hour you're missing on the clock, so don't worry.”

Swiveling around in his office chair, I smile with a quirk on my lips, quickly folding my arms to hide my injured finger. “I finished everything for school this morning before I came in. What's happening out there that makes you want to kick me out early?”

Daddy opens his mouth, but before he gets in a word, the loudest F-bomb I've ever heard shakes the whole building.

For a second, he's frozen, turning red and glaring through his open door. It's Mickey, one of his thirty-something full timers. He's sitting on a crate, massaging his knee, grinning up at his co-worker Jack, who just belted him in the arm.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” We hear him blubber.

“Man, I'm just doing you a favor. Worrying about the pain in your arm's gonna take your mind off that bum knee.”

With a heavy grunt of disapproval, daddy kicks his door shut behind him. We both share a look.

I put my hands out, lifting my eyebrows. “Don't worry about it. Really. I've heard worse in the halls at school and –“

“Kara, no. I promised your ma I'd bring you here to work, not learn to cuss like a sailor. You're only fourteen, for Christ's sake. Hey, what happened to your hand?”

I can't hide anything from him. Daddy grabs my wounded hand, holds it in between his thick calloused palms, and takes a good long look.

“Poked myself pulling staples. Nothing serious.”

“How did that happen?” His eyes search mine, as if they can't believe I'm less than perfect.

I shrug, refusing to tell him anything. Because that would involve confessing my crush on his newest, hottest employee. The boy who rarely smiles, and always makes up for it with a body that looks like it's been put on Earth to make every girl in a hundred miles break out their fans.

Daddy pushes past me, reaching into the cabinet overhead. He holds out a small Band-Aid and ruffles my hair a second later. “Put that on before you head out. I ought to make you cover your ears, too, but now I'm more worried about catching hell at home because I let you get hurt.”

“Please. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention.” I roll my eyes. “Daddy, you worry too much. I'm not a –“

“You're my little girl, peanut, and that's the way it's gonna stay. Now go. Save me a spot at the table for dinner.”

Defeated, I smile. There's no arguing with him, even if he can be as overprotective as a mother hen sometimes. “You know I will.”

Turning, I make my way out the office, fixing the little bandage to my hand. I take a second outside before I head for the back exit, listening to the banter between Jack and Mickey. They're still ribbing each other with a dozen expletives packed into half as many sentences.

Then I look past them, and see him. He's reaching up underneath the Mustang, a wrench in his hand, his jaw clenched tight as he goes to work, flexing muscles no boy under twenty should have.

What the hell did this town do to deserve Ryan Caspian?

Easily Split Harbor High's hottest eligible bachelor. The boy every girl in every class swoons over.

The walking question mark who showed up in town without a history. The one who aces every test and put the Greenthorne gang in their place his first day at school.

That's right. Everybody still talks about how Devon Greenthorne, the senior ringleader with the mohawk, got in Ryan's face and backed him into a corner with his goons. It lasted all of sixty seconds before Devon hit the ground, nursing a broken nose.

The bullies brought their heavy, sloppy strength to fight a lion. I only have to stop and stare to see Ryan's refined strength.

His oil spattered shirt clings tight while he's standing underneath the Mustang, his arms high over his head, biceps bulging like he's been lifting since he hit puberty. Only, no one at school has ever seen him in the weight room.

The very edge of his shirt rides up, exposing his abs. Until Ryan, I never knew what washboard meant.

Now, I understand. I see it in every rolling crease of his six pack, every time his skin ripples while he grunts, turning a bolt on the underside of the car, muscles bristling from head to toe. He's working, lost in his own world, completely oblivious to the older, rowdier men cursing and laughing like chimpanzees around him.

God. Eyeballing him too long starts to burn, no different than gazing at the sun. I have to get home before he sees me.

I'm about to move, when Ryan's wrench slips, and he brings it down against his thigh with a resounding slap. His face tilts toward me as he steadies himself. Then our eyes lock, and my heart forgets how to beat.

Eek. Holding my squeak in, I try to hide my blush and head for the exit, just as his voice rings out – deeper than it should be for a young man.

“Hold up, there's crap all over the –“

Too late. I'm practically running when I hit the oil slick. The world turns into black ice beneath my sneakers. I slide at least five feet before I hit the wall, spin around, and crash elbows first on the hard concrete.

As luck would have it, elbows first into the edge of the same grimy slick that took me down. The shame hits before I realize I'm already screaming.

The men around me aren't screwing around anymore. My voice echoes through Bart's Auto, alone and scared. Everything goes quiet in the garage except for Zeppelin banging away on the radio. Somebody grabs me under my arms, pulls me up, and tips my beet red face to theirs.

It's Ryan. I think I'm about to die on the spot.

Too many chemicals explode simultaneously in my brain to drink him in, up close and personal. I can't appreciate his eyes, as royal blue as Lake Superior's shores, or the little wave in his thick, dark hair. Not even the perfect dusting of stubble across his jawline – the kind that would surely make any girl lucky enough to kiss him burn for more.

I can't take in our resident Adonis because I'm too busy shaking, the hot, prickly shame overwhelming me in waves.

“Are you okay?” he asks, digging his fingers into my shoulders reassuringly.

“Okay?” It's a whine.

Are you kidding? That's what I think, but I can't form words, much less fire sarcasm his way.

It doesn't matter. Before I can say anything, he's got his arm around me, leading us to the little work bench in the back where the boys keep towels and rags to clean themselves up.

I'm still speechless when he starts cleaning me, very gently, slowly soaking up the oil splattered on my arms. I don't know whether to shut down or say thanks.

He probably thinks there's something wrong with me because I haven't said a word since I all but tumbled into his arms. There's just that worn towel in his hands gliding across my skin, him stealing concerned glances every time he brushes the grime away.

It's almost a brotherly look. Ugh.

The last look in the world I want from our local hottie. It's a cheap one, too. I can get big brother eyes anytime from Matt, when he isn't getting after me for taking too much time in the bathroom we share at home.

“What the hell's happening out here?” Daddy's booming voice rings out above us, and my anxious haze breaks.

“I fell,” I tell him, my eyes on the floor while heat lashes my cheeks. I'm about three seconds from going up in a puff of smoke once the shame hits combustion level. “I wasn't looking, and there was oil on the floor.”

“It's my fault, sir.” Ryan stands, stepping in front of me, almost like he's offering protection. “We should've had a sign up. I saw her at the last second, and yelled out a few seconds too late. There's no excuse. It's company policy to have the warning signs up, and I didn't do my job. Never thought anybody else would be walking through here on a Sunday.”

Daddy and me are just staring, listening to him talk.

Has he lost his mind? He's standing there, straight as a soldier, telling my crazy-eyed father that he's the reason his little peanut nearly broke her back.

For a second, daddy glares at him. I'm expecting his huge ex-Navy hands to reach out and wrap around Ryan's muscular throat.

“Kara, cover your ears,” he says, voice as deep as thunder.

I oblige, but I press so lightly I can still hear everything through it.

“Kid, you fucked up,” daddy says, stepping up to Ryan until there's barely an inch of space between them. “You put a co-worker in danger, and not just any worker, but my daughter. That said, you do good work. Damned good work for a sixteen year old. You don't complain, you punch the clock when you should, and you're more mature than you ought to be for somebody who's had it rough, going through who knows how many foster homes before you wound up here. If you want, you've got a bright future doing cars or just about anything else. That's why I'm going to cut you some slack, just this once.”

“It won't happen again,” Ryan says, bowing his head. “It's my mistake, and I own it. All I can do now is learn.”

“You're right,” daddy snaps, stabbing a finger into his chest. “You're also straight with me, I'll give you that. But I don't care if you're Honest Abe's long lost grandson, and you've got a magic ability to build me a Viper from the wheels up. We don't skimp on safety in this shop. Screw up again, cause anybody else to fall down on their ass, and you are fucking gone.”

“Got it,” Ryan says, holding his ground while daddy pulls his hand away.

He gives me a look over Ryan's shoulder that says it's okay to bring my hands down.

“You weren't the only one with no focus today. I'm having a talk with Jack and Mickey next. You've only been working for me six weeks. They've been here for twelve years, and they ought to know better. Here, do me a favor.” He pauses, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his keys. There's no warning before they're airborne, landing in Ryan's hand. “Drive my daughter home. It's only a couple miles, and she knows the way.”

I don't know who's more surprised – me, or Ryan.

Guess he wants to prove there's no hard feelings. But Ryan's had his license for about six months. Sure, it's such a small town, daddy's other employees do little favors like this all the time.

Still, my father's trusting him with me. Alone.

“No problem,” he says slowly.” I'll have her home, and be back here with your truck in five or ten.”

Daddy nods briskly, walking away without another word. I'm standing, but I'm barely processing the fact that Ryan freaking Caspian is taking me home.

It's going to be the longest two mile drive I've ever had in my life.

* * *

“You don't say much,” he tells me, as soon as he starts the engine, checking to make sure I'm buckled in.

“I'm just as surprised as you,” I say, eyeballing that unreadable expression on his face. It's so good at hiding whatever he's really thinking. “Why did he give you the keys after chewing you out?”

“Your old man believes in second chances. I screwed up, and owned up. Besides showing me there's no hard feelings, he saw how I jumped to help clean you up after the spill.”

His eyes flick over while we're stopped at a light. He's either gawking at the total mess I've become, or noticing the notebook sticking out the top of my backpack's broken zipper, clutched tightly in my hand for stability.

“What's in there? List of all your crushes?”

My head turns slowly. I'm tired, I'm dirty, and I'm mortified that the only crush I've ever had is driving me home like the world's handsomest babysitter. Worse, if he digs too far into crushes, it won't take much for him to realize there's only one on my non-existent list.

“It's math homework, Ryan. Miss Harper's Geometry class.”

“Oh, geometry. I did that like three years ago.”

I turn my head back toward the window, flicking my hair angrily. Like he has to remind me how incredibly smart and gifted he is. By now, everybody in school knows he's a freak.

The Samson body has a brain attached, and it's brilliant. He's been skipped so far ahead in math and science, he's taking advanced classes at the local community college. He only shows up at our school half-days for English, social studies, and a few other electives.

“Didn't mean anything about the list. Just giving you crap,” he says quietly, when we're just a couple streets away from mine. “Guess your parents don't let you date. It's cool, Kara, you're only a freshmen.”

Only? This ride home from hell isn't getting any better.

Then he looks at me, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. “I'm not here to pry. Just meant to say you're going to have your pick when you're old enough to make it count.”

“My pick? What're you talking about?”

He punches the accelerator, and we fly past the last few houses, before I motion to the little blue one on the right. He shifts the truck into park, pulling along the curb.

“Let's just see.” Before I can stop him, he reaches for my bag, pulling the notebook out and flipping through it.

“Hey!”

Ryan whistles to himself, sifting through my equations and formulas. If he's looking for boy talk, he won't find it there. My friends and me have perfected our system, passing secret notes back and forth.

Too bad I forgot about the drawings. He hits the back of the notebook, stops, and turns it around on its end. I've drawn the world's derpiest looking caribou on the page, practicing a sketch for last week's art project.

I don't know what I was thinking. I let my mind drag my hand across the page with the charcoal, giving my poor animal antlers bigger than his body. Deciding to roll with it, I drew his eyes squinted with his tongue sticking out, like he's struggling under his own weight, trying to hold up the branches growing out of his head.

He starts laughing. Then, he can't stop.

I'm officially mortified. “What's so damned funny?”

“Quite the little artist, aren't you, Kara-bou?” he says, shaking his head as he pushes the notebook back into my hands. “That's the funniest thing I've seen in weeks. Why'd you leave his tongue sticking out? And those horns!”

“Because he's mocking jerks like you!” I sputter, angrily unzipping my bag to stuff the shameful secret away. As soon as the final version is done, I'm going to burn my stupid caribou drawing in the nearest fire pit.

“Hey, hold on, I didn't mean any damage.” He reaches for my face.

The kid has the nerve to put his hand on my cheek, if only for a moment, stemming the flow of hot, angry tears fighting their way out. “I'm starting to see why everybody keeps their distance,” I tell him, clutching my bag. “You're a dick.”

Ryan's grin fades to a sly smile. It's like he has to think about the insult. I'm mad because that means it hasn't fazed him at all.

“You're cute– even if you're a little clumsy. Give it another year or two. You'll have guys falling all over themselves to take you out. You're gonna leave every boy in your class with their tongues hanging out.” He's looking at me intently, honestly, but I won't let my eyes meet his. I don't dare. “Take it easy, Kara. Watch what's in front of you next time we meet.”

I'm stuck. Fumbling for my seatbelt, I decide to overlook his last condescending, trademark Ryan Caspian remark and focus on the fact that he just called me – Kara Lilydale – cute.

His hand crosses the space between us, brushes mine, and pops the button for me. The belt rolls over my shoulder and snaps against the side. I'm halfway out the door, more relieved than I've ever been, before I stop myself and finally look back.

“Thanks for the ride home, Ryan. Keep staying on daddy's good side.”

I run toward the house, hoping I can make it past mom and Matt without any side questions about the dark oil residue drying on my shirt and skin. Sometime between my shower and pre-dinner nap, I decide Ryan's playing an elaborate game.

I don't know why. There's no other reason he'd compliment my looks...right?

Sure, I can see myself changing in the mirror. I'm growing up, heading for womanhood, doing my best not to screw it up.

But no one's called me cute. Ever.

Maybe daddy has something to do with the shyer boys keeping away. Everybody knows his take-no-prisoners reputation. His shop hands out some of the best paying jobs in town to the kids who are the least bit mechanically inclined.

That doesn't explain why Mister Mysterious, Untouchable, and Perfect thinks I'm something special, and has the guts to say it.

Whatever's happening, it won't be a one off. He's rattled my head, and left his mark. There are only a couple hundred kids at our school.

I can't walk away from what happened today. I can't pretend it's nothing.

It's a guarantee I'm going to see him again. Next time – he said it himself.

That night, I lay awake beneath the covers, pulling about a thousand imaginary daisy petals. It's not a question of whether he loves me, or loves me not.

I'm frustrated, trying to figure him out, and I have an ugly feeling it's hopeless. I'm going to either kill this boy or kiss him before he graduates.

* * *

No matter how many times I sit down to dinner with him at our table, I feel like hyperventilating.

Ryan looks up when I come downstairs to take the seat across from him. My older brother, Matt, is blabbing on about his latest antics in some shooter game.

“Dude, I flamed his ass hard,” my brother says with a grin. “He came at me as soon as he got a second chance, and I blasted him again.”

They're the same age, but the maturity level gap between them could fill the sky. I don't know why they're friends, being such opposites. I guess even Ryan needs to lighten up on the broody, aloof act sometimes.

Part of me hopes he does.

“Kara-bou.” He says my name and smiles, capturing my eyes in his stare, stark blue and deep as oceans. “Where you been hiding yourself all week? About time you showed up to join us.”

“Dance recital,” I say smartly, wondering why I have to spend my night off with homework and Ryan's barbs. It's like he expects the world to fall neatly to his feet, even when he's a guest in our house.

“Don't mind her,” Matt says, brushing me aside with the wave of his hand. “She's too good for us now, hanging out all the time with her boring ass friends. Kara-bou used to be fun back when she drew those silly pictures, but the herd's got its hooks in her now.”

The worst part about that pet name Ryan gave me a couple years ago? Everybody's using it.

My friends, my teachers, my dance coach. It's even turned up on daddy's lips a few times, as if it's a perfectly acceptable replacement for 'peanut' now that I'm getting older.

I give Matt a dirty look, but I don't reach across the table and push his soda into his lap, like I've done a few times before when he gives me crap. I don't want to catch hell from mom.

Besides, he isn't the one I want to punch. The boy who deserves it is next to him, staring smugly across the table at me with his freakishly handsome face.

Two years have only added to his good looks, like a master sculptor putting on the final touches. Ryan's filled out. His muscles are bigger, harder, and more natural looking after years of hard work in daddy's garage.

He's still killing it at school, too, and he's probably going to graduate Valedictorian in a few months. That really irks the smart kids who got their 4.0s outside the college courses. While they're busy living high school drama full time, with all the rules, Ryan's bringing headphones to the lab and doing advanced work in math and programming.

Of course, all this means is that his head's about the size of a hot air balloon. To think he laughed at my stupid caribou drawing years ago for being way too top heavy.

Mom comes in just then, pauses next to the table holding our bread basket, and smiles. “Glad you could join us for dinner again, Ryan. How're Greg and Sally?” Her face softens as she sets down our piping hot slices of bread with a bowl of honey butter, completing the delicious feast laid out in front of us.

Ryan's smirk disappears. “They're okay. Busy as usual. I like eating here better. Dinner smells delicious as usual, Mrs. Lilydale.”

Mom beams, but it doesn't completely erase the quiet concern on her face. We've heard the whispers.

Ryan's foster parents are the reason he's started coming around for dinner three, sometimes four times a week. They've been unemployed for awhile, several months after he moved in. Last year, CPS paid them a visit when too many teachers noticed him going empty handed at lunch, and Ryan slept over in Matt's room for the better part of a week.

Daddy calls them deadbeats. Losers. People hiding behind charity to enrich themselves, taking in older kids every so many years so they can use the extra stipend from the government to feed their drinking habits.

“You clean up so well, Ryan,” mom says, sliding a chair out to join us. “If only Bart could freshen up as fast after work. We wouldn't be sitting here with our stomachs growling up a storm.”

She taps her fingers impatiently on the table. Fortunately, we hear daddy's footsteps coming a second later. He walks into the kitchen and smiles, stopping to kiss my mother before he takes his seat at the head of the table.

Ryan might have brains, good looks, and an ego too big for our little town, but I feel like I'm the lucky one, watching him across the table while Matt whispers some crude joke in his ear. He cracks a smile, but it's different than the one he wore when he greeted me. It hasn't been the same on his beautiful face since mom asked about his folks.

I'm fortunate to have such a loving family. That's something Ryan's never had, if everything we know about him is right.

Of course, he always deflects. He never dwells on his problems, his past, or admits he has any issues. Nobody dares to tease him about his background after he established his willingness to throw fists at bullies asking for it. And my parent's questions about his family quickly fall away whenever he starts talking about school, or the latest haul he caught out on Lake Superior, fishing with Jack and Mickey.

I listen to the small talk after we've served ourselves, munching on garlic potatoes, asparagus, and meatloaf. A few minutes in, after we've given him our one-line answers about our day, daddy turns to Ryan.

“So, you got a better idea about how you're going to put those brains to use outside my garage?” he asks, a friendly interrogation that's been happening about once a month at our table since Ryan started his last semester at Split Harbor High.

“I've got a few big ideas, Mr. Lilydale. It'll take a lot more practice coding in my off hours when I'm not busy in your garage this summer. Hoping I can pick up another class or two in Marquette this summer to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.”

Daddy's fork slips and clatters on the plate. “What happened to Ann Arbor?”

I pull on my skirt nervously under the table. Everybody knows he was offered several full ride scholarships to the best schools in the state earlier this year.

Ryan looks up, and glances at me, before looking daddy in the eye. “Degrees don't get a man anywhere with what I'm trying to do.”

“Bull –“ Ever the gentleman when mom's around, my father catches himself. “Son, you've got three tracks in life when you live in Split Harbor. Go to school, join the service, or get stuck here forever.”

Matt nods across the table, silently agreeing. He's been talking to a recruiter with the Marines, eager for bootcamp later this year.

“You left out the fourth option. The one the Draytons did, and they've been riding high ever since.”

My father smiles, shaking his head. “Things change a lot in a hundred years. Nobody's becoming a railroad and mining baron in this town or anywhere else in the U.P. You're a century too late.”

He isn't wrong. Everybody knows the name of the most charitable, wealthy, and respected family in Split Harbor several counties over. Nelson Drayton, the seventy-something year old patriarch, just finished his last term as mayor. They're loved because they stay here and help us when they don't really need to.

The Draytons could move anywhere, taking vital money away from our town. They're the whole reason we aren't losing more people and hemorrhaging extra jobs. Sometimes, it feels like we're hanging by a thread tied to one family and a whole lot of history.

“It's never too late to see potential, just like they did a hundred years ago. Split Harbor needs jobs and new industries,” Ryan says firmly. “This town can't lean on fishing and mining forever. We need to innovate. If I can invent something new, create our own little tech boom here in the U.P., we'll do something incredible.”

I snort, unable to resist cutting in. “The Upper Peninsula isn't Silicon Valley, and you know it.”

My eyes turn away from a very surprised Ryan to daddy, who I expect to see looking on with approval. Instead, he looks sad, subdued, like he's too disappointed by what Ryan said to argue back.

He knows it's wishful thinking of the worst kind. We all do.

“Look, we can't keep leaning on the same old industries, or the decline is going to become a crash,” Ryan says matter-of-factly, before he turns to my father again. “I know you don't agree, Mr. Lilydale. I'm old enough to respect a difference of opinion without getting mad about it. But I'm not giving in without trying.”

“I just want you to have a good career, son. You've got a better chance at that than most, and it's a shame to throw it away without turning all those college credits you've already got into a proper degree. You're the only kid I've ever wanted to take off payroll for the right reasons.”

“Come on, guys. My man's going to prove us all wrong.” Matt cracks a smile, holding out a fist to his best friend. “He'll be making robots for me to chase down bad guys overseas in a couple years. Isn't that right?”

I roll my eyes. I'm scared my brother's played too many games to take the military seriously, and he's going to get himself killed hamming it up.

“Not in Split Harbor,” I say. “This town doesn't have the skill to run a factory with robots, much less make them.”

Ryan looks at me while he bangs my brother's hand with his. “If you're not going to scamper off after dessert, Kara-bou, I'd be more than happy to sit here and talk all about local economics.”

He's challenging me to a debate. I want to stick my tongue out, but I'm supposed to be older and better by now. Immune to his teasing.

“Sorry, Ryan. I need to brush up on French before I turn in. Big test tomorrow.”

There's been plenty of teasing lately, too. Little remarks behind the garage when I come out for some fresh air, finding him back there on his break. He doesn't smoke like the older men, just leans against the wall, playing with his phone, studying lines of code that look as impenetrable as Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Nobody knows it except the two of us, but we walked into dinner with tension guaranteed after what happened the last time I saw him.

It's just my luck that everybody thinks I'm the second smartest person in our school after the boy genius. His very presence doesn't make me flush anymore like the sad little freshmen I used to be. I'll tolerate him, up to a point, but I'll never be comfortable.

Last week, we got into it over the school's funding for extracurriculars. I held my own.

He said the levies they passed last year, giving them a funding hike, were supposed to go directly to classrooms. I told him what happens after school is just as important. We need to fund sports and art programs, giving us a chance to round ourselves out before we hit college.

Ryan said I had a point, if only it was distributed equally, and the dance team had more chances to flash their short skirts in front of half the boys at school.

Like yours, Kara-bou. I remember how the bastard said it. Especially yours.

I hadn't blushed so hard since the day he dropped me off, savaged my dumb sketch, and called me cute.

Almost two years ago. Where does the time go? And what will another two bring?

“You know, dear, Ryan isn't the only one whose future should be under the microscope,” mom says, spreading butter on another piece of her awesome artisan bread.

“Shit, ma, you want to hear about boot camp again?” Matt's face lightens up, gloriously oblivious to the glare daddy aims his way for cussing at the table.

“Not just yet,” mom says sweetly. She reaches over and pats his hand, turning her attention to me. “I'm talking about our Kara-bou.”

My freshly eaten food gurgles in my stomach when she says Ryan's nickname. “What, the immersion school?”

“You're going straight there if they let you in, and I don't care how much it costs,” daddy says, looking happier than he has all evening. He's proud of something that hasn't even happened.

“Immersion school?” It's Ryan's turn to look glum. His baby blue eyes darken a shade as he looks at me, catching the light from an odd angle. “You mean you're leaving Split Harbor?”

This isn't his usual tone. His words are sharper, angrier, almost...betrayed.

I blink, surprised. “I haven't decided anything yet, honestly. It's not like it's official.”

“You're being modest.” Mom wags her finger. “If you want it, the letter last week practically said you're a shoe-in. Somebody at this table is going to Ann Arbor.”

I sigh, picking at the last of my mashed potatoes. I wonder why the bar is always so much higher for me than Matt, not that he's letting anyone down by serving his country. It's almost like being sent away to study something intense and respectable has been in the stars since day one.

But ever since I applied on a whim and took their assessment, thinking maybe I could wind up a teacher or translator, my parents have been waiting with baited breath.

They don't get it. Yes, I want a good education. I'm just not sure I want to jump on the first ticket to Paris and a fast track Masters I'm offered.

“Well, I'm going to follow up next week, if that makes you feel better,” I tell my parents, still glancing at Ryan. He's staring at his plate, quietly clearing the food, refusing to even look at me.

What's the deal? Did I say something wrong?

“Always had a feeling you'd graduate early,” mom says, a constant smile on her lips now. “If you do this, Kara, you'll be out in another year. Right on the heels of our boys.”

Ryan finally looks up and manages a smile. I think the way she says our boys, plural, really touches him somewhere beneath that mysterious, handsome mask he calls a face.

“Speaking of French, I really need to run. Can I be excused from cleanup tonight?” I ask hopefully, plastering on my biggest fake smile.

Daddy frowns disapprovingly. No matter how well I do, he isn't one to soften up, or grant any special privileges.

“I'll take over clean up tonight. Let her study,” Ryan says, sitting up extra straight. “It's the least I can do to say thanks for another home cooked meal.”

My father lets out a low growl, buckling to the pressure. I narrow my eyes, staring at Ryan, knowing he's just made an offer my perfectly polite parents won't refuse.

What I don't know is why. He's always done favors before, but he knows full well what the usual expectations are. He never gets between daddy and me.

“Thank you, son. Very kind. Matthew, go help your buddy,” daddy says, reaching for the rest of his beer in the bottle next to him. “Kara!”

I'm standing, halfway to the stairs, before I freeze, wondering what I missed. “Say thank you to our guest. He's taking your chores tonight, after all.”

I turn, one hand on the banister, and try my best to imitate Ryan's mysterious smirk. It must work, at least a little bit, because his gorgeous eyes widen a second later.

“Thanks for the dishes, Ryan. I owe you one.”

I turn around in a hurry as soon as the last part is out, racing upstairs. I'm not giving him a chance to wave it away like it's no big deal, especially when he's acting so strange.

Besides, if there's one thing I've learned when this boy is in the house, it's to avoid feeding his huge ego.

* * *

I wake up with my French book slumped over my chest. It's the third time this week I crashed out early, my sleepy teenage brain getting the better of my over-study habits.

About a minute passes before I hear the noise. It's dark in my room, and someone is gently knocking. Except it isn't coming from the door – it's my window.

I slide out of bed, pad across the room, and pop the window open. “Ryan?”

He lifts himself up, swinging his legs over the sill, crossing into my room. Why is he here? He should have left after hanging out with Matt hours ago.

“Why didn't you tell me about the immersion school, Kara?” he asks.

Kara. Not Kara-Bou. His face is flat and serious beneath the dim shadows in my room.

I'm more surprised that he cares so much, rather than the fact that he's standing here when he shouldn't be, just after midnight.

“Why do you think it's any of your damned business?” Crossing my arms, I glare at him.

I'm tired of the guessing games. I'm also blushing because I'm standing in front of him in my nightgown. It's a silky princess pink, a little more revealing than I'd like near the top.

Ryan reaches out, grabs my hand, and brings it to his chest. “Because I don't want to lose you, Kara. You're practically family. You and Matt are the only true friends I've got in this town, and your old man took me under his wing like one of his own.”

I'm stunned. The man who never likes to reveal anything actually has a heart.

Deep down, maybe I'm also a little annoyed that he doesn't see me as anything except a surrogate little sister.

“Who knows,” I say, letting him twine his fingers through mine. “None of this is set in stone. There's a good chance I'm going to wiggle out of it. I don't know if I want to graduate early, miss my senior year, go away to Ann Arbor, and then the other side of the world. I –“

“Be serious. Your dad's right. Opportunity like this doesn't just fall into your lap every day. Not for people like us, here in these little towns nobody remembers except when it's time to go on a summer drive.”

“Well, it's my decision. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of the pressure coming from everyone.” I pull my hand away and turn, leaning into the fresh air spilling through the open window.

He's behind me, and I know his eyes are all over me. I've been disappointed too many times to think he might be studying my curves, looking at me differently, like more than his best friend's tag along.

The trouble with treating him like family means I'm just the annoying little sister. Never anything more.

“Kara-bou,” he whispers.

Why won't he let this go?

His hand lands on my shoulder, and squeezes hard. “You're going to do great, whatever you wind up doing. You're as smart as I am. You've got your shit together. I have big plans I'm going to chase – won't be able to live with myself if I don't – but there's no guarantee they'll go anywhere. You don't have to take my questionable risks to live a great life, and I'm happy for you.”

I do a slow turn. My jaw practically hangs open. He's never been known for modesty when it comes to his genius. His hand stays on me, and when we're face-to-face again, I realize how close he is. Just inches apart.

“Thanks. Means a lot coming from Mister Perfect.” I'm trying to sound sarcastic, but I actually mean it. “I wondered why you were acting so weird over dinner. You never cut in like that to cover for me.”

“You needed the break. Things keep changing for everyone, and they're exciting. I'm on your side, Kara-bou. I know you're tired of everybody else breathing down your neck, telling you what to do. Never doubt it.”

“Uh, I never did. Even before you came through my window.” Remembering how he got here reminds me to keep my voice down to a low whisper.

We live in a modest house. Matt's room is next to mine, and my parent's isn't much further down the hall. If daddy catches him here, in the middle of the night, I don't want to imagine the consequences.

“There's something else,” he says, loosening his grip, pulling his hand away.

It's back a second later. Both of them.

Heat spikes through my blood as his arms go around me. For a second, I'm wrapped in his muscle, bathed in his beautiful eyes. Anxious for what's coming next, even though I've never felt safer in my entire life.

“Fuck it. Kara-bou, I'm just going to come out and say it, because I'd be kicking myself if I let you jet off to Paris next year without telling the truth. I love Matt, your ma, and your dad more than I do my own family. You, though...you're more than that. You're all I think about after I've wrapped up for the day and I lay down on that crappy couch they give me to sleep on.”

“Ryan...”

This is either a terrible idea, or the best thing that's ever happened. I'm scared to find out which. Fireworks are blooming in my young brain, and it seems like every sense has been heightened, like there's a steady current humming through my skin.

“No, don't say anything,” he tells me, gently bringing one hand to my face. “Let me take you out. We missed prom a couple months ago. We've got the whole summer ahead, and I'm cashing in my savings for a car soon. I want you by my side. We'll go wherever you want, see if this works, or if it's just in my head.”

Scared or not, I'm smiling. It's even cuter that he's doubting himself because I haven't said anything yet.

“As long as you have a plan to keep yourself from getting killed when daddy and Matt find out, I'm game. They're going to know what's going on as soon as I'm asking permission to hang out. I like you, too, Ryan, by the way.” I bat my eyes, a giddy warmth spreading through my veins.

He grins. “We don't need to worry about them.”

“Huh?” Panic shoots through my chest for about the dozenth time that night.

“I spoke to your family after dinner. Told them my intentions, and assured them I'd be the best boyfriend you ever had. They made it clear I'd be a dead man walking if I ever let you down – and I'd expect nothing less – but they gave me the nod.”

I can't believe it. I'm lost for words, too, so I just wrap my hands around his broad neck and bring myself in closer, laying my forehead on his.

“You remember the day I called you cute? First time we really met, and I took you home, after you tumbled in that oil slick?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. Like I could ever forget.

“I've been biting my tongue the last two years so it doesn't happen again. Holding in all the things I want to say. Hell, let's be honest, you're not cute anymore, Kara-bou.” He pauses, moves his fingertips gently into my skin, tipping my face to his, forcing me to look at him. “You're beautiful. And you'd better believe I'm going to treat your beauty, your brains, and ever other part of you like gold.”

There's about one second to prepare for my first kiss before his lips are on mine. It's rainbows, lightning, and crackling fire racing through my blood. My heart goes mad, pounding in my chest like a drum the whole ten seconds our lips are locked, exploring each other for the very first time.

When he pulls away, I've learned what swooning means.

“I have to get out of here before we get really crazy,” he says, brushing his lips against mine one more time. “We're going to be dynamite. Try being patient, Kara. I know, it's not easy – you've been wanting a piece of this for years, every time I see you give me that look across the table.”

“Look?” What look is he talking about?

“Did not!” Smiling, I push him, trying not to laugh, knowing full well I'm lying through my teeth.

“I'll call tomorrow. Let's figure out where we want to go for our first date. I hear they're starting the summer tours at the Armitage Lighthouse next week. Awesome view up there. Perfect for a couple of history nerds.”

“Yeah, perfect for you.” I stick my tongue out. He laughs, and I blush, knowing I can't hide anything. “I'd love to check it out, Ryan. We'll talk after school.”

We share one more smile, and he's gone, crawling out my window. I hear him bounce into the bushes, and run off into the night. I always feel bad when he leaves, knowing he has to go back to his disgusting, lazy foster parents for the night.

Tonight, there's extra guilt, because he deserves better. I hope he finds it sometime in the next year, whatever happens with us, especially now that he's turning eighteen and he can finally move out.

I'm going to make him happy, any way I can.

It's the least I can do. He's just made me the happiest girl in Split Harbor High, and I'm excited to see what it's like when a dream comes true.