The truth is, I don’t know either. I know that his growing fame is what put him on her radar, but I also know that they have history, which involves feelings, which I know Danica must have, even if she doesn’t show them. I remember how nostalgic she got when she told me about the flowers he used to put in her locker in high school. And I saw how genuinely flustered she was when she was getting ready for their date tonight. But was that because she wanted to impress Mike? Or was that because she wanted to impress the rock star?

“I don’t know, Mike,” I confess. “I’m the last person in the world who should be giving out relationship advice.”

“Why?” he asks, and I can think of, oh, a thousand different reasons. “You’ve been in relationships, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends . . .” I say, and Mike picks up on the things I’m leaving unsaid.

“But?”

“But . . . I don’t spark.”

“You don’t what?”

“Spark,” I say as I think about banging my head against the desk. I stare at it and scratch my fingers through my bed-tangled curls. “I don’t spark.”

“What does that mean?”

This time, I actually do scoot my chair back to let my forehead thump against the desk. I squeeze my eyes shut against the dark as I reluctantly answer Mike. “You know, like the sparks you’re supposed to feel when you kiss someone.” I groan internally. I could drop dead right now and it would be better than continuing this conversation.

“Maybe you’ve just never been with a good kisser,” Mike says, and I’m surprised my burning face doesn’t light the damn desk on fire.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve been good.”

“You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”

“Can we go back to talking about your messed-up love life instead of mine?”

Mike chuckles, and I unglue my forehead from the desk. “You never answered my question,” he says, and I finally try to tell him why Danica would be with him.

“Probably because you’re smart and funny and sweet and talented and—I don’t know, Mike. Why wouldn’t she be with you?”

A long beat passes before a soft chuckle drifts through the phone.

“What?” I ask.

“I was just thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

“I should call you more often.”

Rolling my eyes at his reaction to the ego boost I just gave him, I pad toward my bed and crawl under the covers. “I’m going to bed now.”

“But I want to hear more about how awesome I am.”

“Goodnight, Mike.”

“Don’t you want to play Deadzone?”

“I’m already back in bed.”

“Play with me tomorrow then?” he asks, and I snuggle the covers up to my neck.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” I close my eyes at the smile in his voice. “Sweet dreams, Hailey.”

“Sweet dreams, Mike.”

That night, I dream the sweet dreams Mike wished me. I dream them in spite of broken three-hundred-dollar lamps and in spite of angry cousins sleeping down the hall. I dream them because Mike told me to, and because the last thing I think about before I fall asleep is the way he looks when he smiles.

Chapter 9

“It’s too risky,” I caution, my brows knit with concern.

Mike’s voice stays calm, collected. “We knew that going into this.”

“We’ll get caught.”

“Maybe.”

“What if they see us?”

“What if they don’t?”

My fingers fidget with nervous anticipation. “This is dangerous . . .”

“It could be worth it, Hailey.”

“Oh my God,” Luke groans through my headset. “Will you two stop being so dramatic? Are we raiding this place or not?”

Mike and I both laugh, and I switch out my Deadzone player’s weapon, opting for an M1014 semiautomatic shotgun instead of my trusty M16 assault rifle. My fingers flex before settling back against my keyboard. Alone in my room, I say, “Okay, but I’m pretty sure we’re all going to die.”

“I’ll protect you,” Mike offers, and I roll my eyes at my screen with a grin on my face.

“I’m a better shot than you.”

“Are not,” he argues, and I start to object, but my little brother beats me to it.

“Yeah, she is, dude.”

“Traitor,” Mike accuses, and at the sound of my brother’s laugh, I smile.

“Okay, are we really doing this?” I ask, and Luke starts the countdown.

“One . . . Two . . .”

“Shit!” Mike barks as a torrent of shots are fired. All hell breaks loose, and the three of us scramble in different directions, firing on the enemy team as we run for our lives. I race away from their hideout, through the streets of the post-apocalyptic city, and duck inside a decrepit building. Rats squeak through my surround-sound headphones.

“Where is everyone?” I ask into my mic as I find a good stakeout position and switch the gun in my hands to a Remington 870. Luke, Mike, and I are in team mode, so I know our enemies can’t hear me as I try to figure out our next plan.

“I’m with Luke,” Mike says, and my brother’s voice is in serious gamer mode when it sounds over the chat.

“Do you think we lost them?”