Finals fly by in a sticky mess of anxiety. After our last test, Kara and I crash on her couch and take turns picking movies to marathon. Some time around midnight, I turn my phone on.

It's been a week since I've seen anything but my school email.

The screen flashes on. Those little bars appear next to the connection icon. Notifications pop up—a dozen new text messages and one voicemail.

I check the texts. Mostly little things—one from my mom about vacation, one from Kara, a bunch from the people in my study group.

The voicemail is from Miles.

Kara can read the look on my face. "Put it on speaker?"

"Okay." I'm going to need someone to talk me down.

I tap the play button. There's a burst of static, then it's Miles.

"Hey, Meg. I know you asked me, well screamed at me as you were rushing out of the house, not to write any more songs about you. But I couldn't abide by those terms. This might not make it on the album, but the single is going live Tuesday. It will be everywhere. This is the acoustic version. Drew would cringe if he heard my attempt at his guitar solo, but you'll get the idea."

My heart collects in my throat. A song. He wrote another song about me.

It's what he does when he doesn't want to run away from his feelings.

There's the strum of a guitar. It's a pleasant melody, but it stirs up something inside of me. Something uncomfortable. I go to delete the message, but Kara grabs the phone.

"No chance." She climbs on top of the couch to hold the phone over my head.

It's all over.

I'm ga-ga out of my head,

one of those idiots

I always made fun of.

Everyone said, "boy can't you see

that girl is crazy about you."

Just shook my head.

"No way, not her, she's even

as the number two."

His voice is heavy, but there's something sweet about it, too.

It's all over.

That flutter in my chest.

Love, funny word,

what the hell does it mean?

Everyone said, "boy can't you see

that girl is crazy about you."

Just shook my head

"No way, not her, she's even

as the number two."

Air escapes my lungs. It's perfect.

It's all over.

I surrender.

First time I ever have.

"Holy shit." Kara's jaw drops. "I was waiting to show you this." She jumps to her computer and pulls up a gossip site. "In case you never wanted to hear another word about him."

She turns the screen so it's facing me. Sinful Serenade Singer Gets Hot New Tattoo. There's a picture of Miles beneath it, shirtless, of course, and right above his chest, opposite Be Brave, Live, reads Megara.

Holy shit.

I try a deep breath. Nothing is happening. My stomach flip-flops. I'm queasy. He got my name as a tattoo. He got my name as a tattoo. My name. Tattoo.

"There's more." Kara points to the middle of the article.

When reached for comment, Miles Webb had one of his trademark cheeky replies.

"I made a deal with this friend of mine that if I ever fell in love with someone, I'd get her name tattooed on my chest. What can I say? I'm a man of my word."

We asked how he felt this would affect his reputation for extracurricular activities (let's face it—the man is a slut!) and he laughed right in our faces, well, right into our cell phones.

"I doubt it will be any harder to take home women. I mean, look at me. But I don't care about other women. The only woman I want is Meg. If she won't have me, then I'll be alone. No one else could ever compare to her."

Kara grabs my shoulders, turning me so we're face to face. "You okay? You want me to beat him up and smash every computer that ever saw a fragment of the MP3 of that song?"

I shake my head.

"Talk to me, sweetie."

"He loves me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he does," she says.

"He's so… how the hell do I respond to this?"

She smiles. "I have an idea."