I wanted to bash Tate Sullivan’s head in with the bat my brother had gotten for his last birthday.

She was flirting with Channing, pushing the new boobies she’d just grown into his face and tugging her shorts down, helping him see her pink lacy underwear. I watched all this from the porch at our house. Dad was adding on to Manny’s, so a lot of my friends came over to hang out.

Free food and soda—it was quite the draw for sixth graders. Or actually, I was the only sixth grader here. Tate had always been a year older, and now Channing was a grade above me too.

Traitors.

Tate had talked last night about working at Manny’s one day.

One day, my ass.

I daydreamed about my attack—how her blood would splatter and I’d wipe it off with my shirt. I’d drop the bat. Channing would be dumbfounded, and I’d walk away without saying a word.

The wood behind me groaned from someone’s weight, and I straightened, the malice wiped clean from my face. I was the image of innocence and purity when I looked up to smile.

“Hey, Dad.”

His eyes narrowed on me, his mouth twitching. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, but only grunted. “Mmm-hmmm.” He stepped out and took the seat next to me. Looking toward the alley in front of us, he nodded. “I see.”

I groaned inwardly. He knew. I knew he knew, but I still played dumb. This was embarrassing.

“What?” I tried to flutter my eyelashes, but fuck—forget it. I couldn’t go the whole nine yards. Faking wasn’t in my repertoire. (And go me—I aced our last vocabulary quiz.)

“You know what?” He brought out some peanuts and started taking off their shells. He indicated Channing and Tate. “Ain’t that your boy and bestie?”

There he went, showing off that he knew the term bestie.

He tossed the shell and stuck the peanut into his mouth. “Hmm?”

I already knew where this was going.

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not my ‘boy,’ and she’s a friend. She’s not my best friend.”

“Weren’t you calling her your best friend last night?”

Oh. Right. We’d had a sleepover. And we’d sung “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen at the top of our lungs. That didn’t mean anything, except, well…maybe I’d thought she was. At the time.

I grumbled, scooting lower on my chair. “We were singing a song, Dad. Jeez.”

He laughed. “Ah. Yes. Still…” He chucked another shell and tapped my shoulder. “I’m going to just say, you got your mom’s looks—not her penchant for leaving, but you look as stunning as she did, and I know you’ll keep getting more beautiful. So if you decide you want that boy, I know you can get him.” He gestured to Channing before grabbing for another peanut. “And if you decide you want a different boy, I’ve no doubt you’ll get him instead. It ain’t even about your looks, Heather. It’s about what’s in here.” He pointed to his heart. “And here.” He moved to his head. “You’ve got both of those. Boys will be attracted to you because of what’s on the outside, but they’ll stick around and fall in love because of what’s inside. And that boy.” He nodded toward Channing again, popping the peanut into his mouth. “I can tell you that boy had been coming around here long before she got those.”

“Ew, Dad!”

Even he noticed Tate’s new boobs.

I groaned. “Do you have to point ’em out?”

He chuckled. “I’m trying to tell you that you don’t need those. Monroe can be a punk sometimes, but if you’re worried about how he feels about you, you don’t need to be.” His mouth pressed in a disapproving line after that, as if he tasted something foul. A second later, he huffed, “And if you ever want to move to a school in Fallen Crest, you say the word. I’ll have you transferred in half a day.”

I’d been going to Roussou all my life. Brandon had switched over a year ago, and he was loving Fallen Crest, but not me. My friends were in Roussou.

And with that last thought, my stomach dropped to my feet.

The jig was up. I had to admit I liked the guy—like, in the official crush way, and I hated it.

God.

Boys suck.

“Channing!” Tate squealed, grabbing his bike and pushing off on it, speeding away.

The girl wanted to be chased.

I glowered, just knowing he’d grab her bike and head after her, but he didn’t. He watched her go, chuckled, and turned to me.

“She’s gone. Finally,” he hollered. “Now we can hang out!”

Okay. Maybe not all boys sucked…not a hundred percent of the time.

I stood up to go, but my dad said, “Heather.”

I went still. He’d been slightly amused before, but this was a different dad. His gaze was solemn; his eyes had bags under them. His mouth turned down at the corners. He seemed to shrink in his seat.

Oh no.

“I came out to tell you something.”

I didn’t want to hear it. I turned away, locking eyes with Channing. He stepped toward me, seeing my distress. “Heather?”

I heard my dad sigh, and it sounded so sad, so tired, so beaten down.

“Your mother’s coming back home,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want to hear it. She left once. Who was she to come back? Without responding, I went down the porch steps. I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t see Channing as I walked to him, but I must’ve. He touched my arm and lowered his voice, “What’s wrong?”

Nothing.

Nothing was happening.

“Let’s play,” I grated out.