My parents are giving me the exact same look. The eyebrows raised, lips pursed, I’m serious look. It’s a phenomenon, really, how Dad, a crazy tall, tan-skinned man with a shaved head, and Mom, a short, red-haired and paled skinned woman, can make the exact same expression.

I’m talking exactly the same.

“I promise,” I say, because I know it’s what they want to hear. “I will stay inside this house all weekend and I will watch Jensen and I won’t let anything bad happen to us.”

“I’m serious,” Mom says for the millionth time. “Times have changed. These days you can’t just go wandering around by yourself. Bad things happen. Bad people are everywhere.” She glances at my dad, who nods along in agreement. With how in sync they are at being overprotective parents, you’d think they didn’t need marriage counseling at all.

Dad looks at me and says, “Honey, we need to dedicate one hundred percent of ourselves to this marriage retreat. That means we can’t be worried about you or your little brother. I know we sound like we’re being over cautious, but it’s very important.”

“I understand,” I say. I hold up my hand like I’m swearing on the Bible in front of a judge or something. “I will take very good care of Jensen while you’re gone, and we won’t go anywhere, and we won’t be kidnapped, and I won’t burn the house down, and any other terrible thing you might think of, I won’t let it happen.”

Dad smiles. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“I love you, Jess,” Mom says, standing from her chair and pulling me into a hug. “We’re so proud of you.”

It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. This is my life. Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts who married the second they turned eighteen, and then they promptly had me. Thirteen years later, they had my little brother, Jensen, and now they think they need marriage counseling to keep the spark alive, even though I’ve never seen them fight. So although my parents seem totally normal, I guess they want to make sure they stay normal. That means they get to go on a fun marriage retreat at the beach, and I’m stuck babysitting my brother for forty-eight hours while adhering to a huge list of safety rules to make sure we don’t die.

When they’re done lecturing me on how very important it is to be safe while we’re home alone, they turn to my brother. He’s sitting on the floor in the living room, a pile of Legos all around him as he scrunches up his face and tries to think of what to build next.

“Jensen,” Mom says, using her sweet voice. “While we’re gone, Jess is in charge. That means she is the boss. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen says. He actually does roll his eyes. Guess he hasn’t developed enough self-control like I have.

“Good,” she says, ignoring the eye roll. “You be a good boy and you don’t throw a fit when she tells you it’s time for bed. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, but he’s not even paying attention anymore. He grabs a handful of square Legos and starts snapping them together.

Mom sighs, then forces a smile. “This will be okay, right Jess?”

“Yes, Mom.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “You and Dad go do your thing and we’ll be fine. I’m sixteen. I’ve got this.”

Mom smiles and then glances at Dad. “I know you do. We are so lucky to have such great kids.”

Geez, my parents are weird.

My best friend, Abigail, texts me a few minutes later, asking if I want to join her in taking her dog for a walk.

YASSS I write back, then I rush to get dressed. This will be the last time I can leave the house for the next two days, so I need to make it count.

The dog park is basically an empty field of grass with a gravel trail wandering around it. A few years ago, someone dropped park benches here and there, but for the most part, the park is ugly as hell. But it does its job, I guess, because Abigail’s Golden Retriever loves it.

We take turns holding the dog’s leash as we walk around the trail. “This is going to be so unbelievably boring,” I say. “An entire weekend stuck at home with Jensen.”

“At least it’s only two days,” Abigail says, giving me this pitying expression. “But it sucks that you’re going to miss Chase’s party. I hear his older brother is going to be there with all his college friends.”

She makes goo-goo eyes at me and I laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“I’ll Snap you the whole night,” She promises. “It’ll be like you’re there with me.”

“Only I’ll be stuck at home, wearing pajamas instead of a cute outfit, drinking soda instead of whatever cheap liquor Chase can get, and flirting with absolutely zero guys.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry, Jess. But it’s almost summer. There will be more parties.”

“I suppose,” I say, even though I know she’s right.

A gust of wind sends a ripped piece of paper skittering across the gravel pathway. “Ugh,” I groan, bending down to pick it up. “Why do people have to litter all the time? How freaking hard is it to throw away your trash?”

“Ew, it looks like math homework,” Abigail says, taking the piece of paper. It’s been ripped in half, but sure enough, there are algebra equations on one side of it. She scrunches up her nose, because math is the worst subject ever, then turns it over.

“What do we have here…” she says curiously.

I look at the paper. The name Max is written in black pen, followed by the word party, and a phone number.

“Who is this Max that’s throwing parties?” Abigail says. “I wonder if he’s cute.”

“Oh my God, you are ridiculous,” I say with a laugh. “The most boy-crazy person ever.”

“No, I just keep my opportunities open,” she says, grinning. She shoves the paper in my hands. “You should text him.”

“What? No. I don’t even know him.”

She shrugs. “So? You have nothing to lose.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not texting some random number.”

“I dare you,” she says, giving me a sneaky grin. “I dare you to text him and say: Hey Max, what’s up?”

I snort. “That’s stupid.”

She shifts her dog’s leash to her other hand. “I know, but it’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. I take out my phone and type in the number, not because I care, but because I want to prove to Abigail that I’m not a total loser all the time.

I type: Hi Max, what’s up?

We both watch my phone screen as we continue to walk around the park. A few minutes go by, and nothing happens.

I shove the phone in my pocket. “Well, that was a waste of time.”