It’s the summer, when I’m supposed to have fun and hang out with my friends. But I feel like an oddball, as if my guy friends sense I got my period for the first time.

Mom calls me a late bloomer. I wish I’d never bloomed.

My brother Leo is proving to be a giant pain-in-the-ass jerk, because he keeps asking if I feel okay. I'm not some different species now. On the other hand, bleeding once a month is the grossest, most hateful curse of womankind.

It’s a rainy afternoon (soundtrack to my life) and Leo, Dane, Aidan, Gunner, and I have spent all afternoon playing video games. A torrential downpour outside keeps us indoors instead of swimming.

This doesn’t bother me in the least. I’d rather be lounging inside with the guys.

I sit on Leo’s bed beside Aiden. Dane lounges on the floor to my left, his long legs sprawled in front of him.

“Are you going to call Carrie?” Aiden asks.

My head jerks toward him. Carrie?

“Carrie who?” I mumble and focus on the game, shooting three rounds of ammo into the zombie blocking me in the alley.

“Carrie Miller,” Aiden mumbles, his duh-laced tone indicating I should know this. Did I miss something?

Why would I call Carrie Miller?

Just as I am going to say this aloud, Dane answers Aiden. “I don’t know.” He uses his whole body to aim the controller as he shoots several zombies on the television screen. A couple of bullets obliterate his character. Dane gives several grunts as if he is actually in the game.

“Why would you call Carrie?” My thumbs hurt as I pound the button. Slam-slam-slam as I shoot my way through a line of zombies.

When he doesn’t respond for a full minute, I kick his leg softly with my foot.

“He’s gonna ask her to meet for laser tag next Friday,” Aidan answers, even though I want Dane to give me the answer. He and I talk about everything. There are no secrets between best friends.

A strange feeling trickles through me. My chest tightens. “She’s an airhead. Really. Carrie?”

An onscreen zombie grabs me by the hair. How’d that deader get so close? Normally this would not happen. I’m distracted. “She’s like one of these zombie dudes—needs a brain.”

“I don’t think he's interested in her brains,” Gunner mutters from his position on a beanbag across the room.

“So you’re hoping to hook up with her and that’s it?” A lot of kids at school say they’re having sex, but I'm not sure which ones are actually doing much. Maybe they all are, but I suspect they’re lying.

The thought of Dane falling in love with Carrie forms a hard knot in my stomach. Does he really want somebody like her?

“You know there’s more to life than copping a feel with somebody who’s just using you for your football jacket.” My petty words strain as they leave my mouth. Where’d that come from?

I am so not the kind of person who undermines my buddy’s confidence, but he needs to know about her. I have to protect him.

Aidan chuckles under his breath.

I glare at him. “What's so funny about that?”

He ignores my question and continues to focus on the screen. Boys. So immature. Did they think about anything but boobs? “Don’t be a peckerhead,” I say.

A game zombie grabs me and sinks sharp teeth into my neck, causing a stream of spurting blood to cover those around me. It reminds me of my stupid period and that horrible device called a tampon.

My character’s life force dwindles to nothing. Now, I’m a deader. I toss my controller on the bed.

I’m done.

Maybe it’s too much time with these guys. I walk to my room with my head up, but my eyes prick with irritated tears when I picture Dane calling Carrie.

Leo’s bedroom is across the hall from mine and my legs feel jelly-like as I close the door softly and dive onto my bed.

The imaginary scene of Dane and Carrie kissing burns on my brain. Real zombies should invade my room and take care of me, eating my brain to ensure I didn’t have to conjure it up anymore. Ugh.

There’s a soft knock at my door. It has to be Leo. I’m sure he knows something is wrong or I wouldn't leave mid-game.

“Josie,” Dane calls through the door. “Can I come in?”

I jolt up in the bed. This is worse than Leo coming after me. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“With what?”

I heave a sigh and stand. Taking a deep breath, I go to the door and crack it open only a sliver, showing only my face. “I don't feel like playing video games anymore. I just wanna read.”

This will certainly end the conversation. I never see Dane with a book.

“What are you reading?” Dane places his palm against the door and gives an easy push.

I don’t want him to know that I have no intention of reading. There’s no way I can keep my brain on the words on a page. “I might reread one of my Harry Potter books,” I lie. I immediately regret saying that because now I feel like a kid.

“That’s cool.” He strolls across the room and drops onto the edge of my bed and lies back, totally comfortable in my room. He’s spent many hours in here in the past. But usually Leo’s in here too. I’ve also been alone with him a time or two if he needed help studying for a test.

“Did you get mad about Carrie?” Dane links his fingers behind his head and gazes at the ceiling.

My heart bangs louder and makes it hard to think. I sit on the bed beside him and lie back to study the ceiling. Dane likes somebody. My heart trembles in fear. Does a girlfriend mean he and I won’t hang out?

Does it mean there’ll be more secrets? Or will he only whisper them to her…

Does he think she’s pretty? Will Carrie steal him away?

My mind screeches to a halt. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend.

“Course not,” I answer his earlier question. “I’m not mad. Why would I be?”

“You left right after that conversation.”

Say something. Say anything. My hands grow sweaty. Do I tell him that I like him like that. What if he laughs? Or worse…what if he decides we can’t be friends because it would be too weird.

My brain screams abort-abort-abort. If he liked me, he’d let me know.

I take a deep breath and then exhale slowly. “No, not mad. I’m a little confused. What do you really even know about her?”

I turn my head to look at his profile. I’m not the only one who’s off-kilter this summer. Guys don't have periods, but he’s different. Quieter.

He’s silent for several beats. “She’s sweet.”

I cock an eyebrow without commenting.

Dane is obviously dissatisfied with my expression. “Has she done something that I need to know about? Come on, Butterfly. I trust you. You tell me something bad about her, I won’t ask her to laser tag. I know you want me to have a nice girlfriend. So what’s so bad about Carrie?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and let my foot rock back and forth hitting the edge of the bed. Tap tap tap. My throat is suddenly so tight. I don’t want him to hear it in my voice. Why am I being such a big baby about this? Diversion. I need a big diversion.

“Why do you call me Butterfly?” I ask.

“Huh?” The startled tone lets me know it’s the last thing he thought I would ask.

“Why Butterfly? Why not some other nickname?”

“Don't know.”

I roll to my side and face him, an arm extended underneath my cheek as a pillow. There’s a good two feet between us, but I can see that I’ve disconcerted him. “Why Butterfly?” I persist.

“I asked you about Carrie first.” Dane’s very still, and strangely, unable to meet my eyes.

“Forget it. You come in here demanding answers and then I ask you one question and you blow me off.”

He’s the only one who calls me this. Is it because I started wearing make-up this year? It’s only a little blush, lipgloss, and mascara, but I think it makes me look pretty. If this is why, I want to hear him say it. I want to know that he sees me as more than just one of the guys.

“It’s kinda stupid…It’s just that butterflies go from flower to flower and they pollinate. The only reason why we have more color in the world is because of…butterflies. You make people smile.”

People. Not him specifically, but everybody.

“Fine. Thanks. Carrie is okay. But she’s mean to other girls. You know that girl Debbie, Mr. Harvey’s daughter? The one in special ed? Carrie makes fun of her all the time in phys ed. It’s really mean.”

Dane nods. “Wow. I’ve never seen her act like that. Thanks. Really. I may ask somebody else to go instead.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” I frown and pretend to study my fingernails. “I think I’ll paint my nails now.” A giant lump in my throat prevents me from saying more.

“You’re the best, Butterfly.” Even though we are the same age, he ruffles my hair as if I’m a kid. Then, he’s gone.

Sometimes I really hate him.

And sometimes, I don’t.