I close my eyes and dip my hands into the milky white, glue-like substance in the bowl on the kitchen table in front of me.

It’s hot today. God, is it hot. Ninety-plus degrees hot, but thankfully, I have my hair up in big velcro curlers all over my head. It definitely helps to not have my long hair matted to my neck and back right now.

Opening my eyes, I puff a big gust of air out of my lungs and maneuver my lips to the straw sticking out of my glass of lemonade.

And I close my eyes again, thinking about what a magical night tonight is going to be.

Yeah, right.

It’s prom night, and of course the king and queen won’t be announced until the ceremony in the middle of the dance, but I’ve been told I’m a shoo-in for the crown. The theme of the prom is Las Vegas and everyone’s told me it’s going to be one of the most memorable nights of my whole life.

If that ends up being true, I’d be pretty disappointed. I don’t want the most magical, romantic, glittering and exciting night of my life to be when I’m just eighteen, before I’ve had a chance to actually see any of the world or even figure out who the hell I am.

Before I’ve actually seen anything beyond the walls of my school, beyond the perfect white picket fence around this house, beyond the big, clear bubble over this town.

The snap of the metal storm screen on the front door of my family’s home makes me open my eyes, and I quickly straighten up in my seat, relaxing my hands. I try to look like a chic lady in an exclusive salon instead of a clueless girl in her kitchen with homemade skincare products.

And a flurry of excitement bubbles up in my belly as Jason Anderson walks in.

Jason Anderson is my brother’s best friend. A permanent fixture in my house, like a couch or a piece in my mom’s antique bone-china set. Always around, but always in the background. Something you don’t really give a lot of thought to.

At least, that’s how I think the rest of my family sees him. But lately, he’s changed in my mind.

He’s been on my mind a lot. I’ve been thinking about him.

And I don’t even know what that means. All I know is that I don’t have to look over at him to know exactly what he looks like right now.

Even his name gets stuck in my head like a song on the radio. Something you don’t exactly know the words to, but you know the tune. You fill in the melody with your own words. Make it do what you want it to when you sing it out loud.

That’s what I’ve been doing to Jason Anderson in my own mind for a while now. Making him conform to my idea of what I think he should be. Because I know he will never see me the way I want him to.

I close my eyes again, pretending not to notice that he’s come into my house like he owns the place. And I see him as clear as day - his signature dark jeans, faded Metallica t-shirt. I picked up a Metallica CD at the mall with some of my babysitting money a couple of years ago so I could see what all the fuss was about. I didn’t like it at first, but I made myself listen so I’d have something more to talk to him about. When I brought it up, he just shrugged it off and didn’t seem interested, though. Funny enough, I ended up liking it after a few listens.

In my mind, I see Jason’s eyes. Dark, deep, wide-set eyes with a glimmer of danger in them. I don’t even know what it means for him to exude danger, but I know how it feels. I don’t know what’s dangerous about him, exactly. All I know is that he could get me into trouble if he ever looked into my eyes the way I want him to.

“Hey,” he says as I open my eyes and he slides into the chair across from me at the small kitchen table.

“Hey,” I reply, with as much nonchalance as I can gather. Seems funny to be putting effort into sounding like I don’t care, but that’s what I’m all about with him right now. Trying to pretend I don’t care. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He smirks at me and I close my eyes again, maneuvering to put my lips on the end of my straw.

“A little to the left,” he says. “No, not that far. A little to the right.” I can feel him teasing me. I open my eyes again and squint at him, a little smile spreading across my face.

“Thank you,” I say, successfully wrapping my lips around the end of the straw and taking a sip of the homemade lemonade. It’s so hot in here that all the ice has melted, and it’s less tart and sweet than it was fifteen minutes ago.

“What have you got there?” Jason asks, sitting back in his chair, sticking one leg out under the table. That’s his signature move. I don’t know why it makes me so crazy to watch him do something as simple as lean back in a chair and stick his damn leg out.

“It’s just a moisturizing thing,” I say. “My own secret recipe. Lavender and rose, plus some other ingredients I won’t tell you.”

Jason smiles and leans forward a little, peering down at the bowl.

“Smells good,” he says with a nod, raising an eyebrow. “You should bottle and sell that stuff.”

“Oh, it’s just something I whipped up for myself,” I say sheepishly. I don’t know why he has this effect on me. I don’t want him to smell me. I don’t even want him to look at me anymore, strangely. “I have to make sure my hands are soft for tonight. I’m gonna have to shake the principal’s hand. I want to make a good impression,” I joke.

Jason cocks his head to the side and looks at me with those dark, slightly-hooded eyes, his pouty pink lips pulling into a confused smirk.

“The prom is tonight,” I remind him.

“Right,” he says, pointing to my head, “that’s why you have the curlers.”

“Exactly,” I nod.

“And this stuff,” he replies, leaning forward slowly. He dips his middle finger into the bowl and pulls it away, smearing a dab of the moisturizer on the tip of my nose.

I nearly feel my heart stop when he touches me. I suck a deep breath in and look away from him.

“Mmh,” I mumble, swallowing hard.

“Mark around?” he asks. “I think we’re supposed to do something tonight.”

“I think he’s upstairs,” I say coolly, taking another sip of my lemonade, wiping the tip of my nose with the back of my forearm. I try to get myself to calm down, but the butterflies in my belly just won’t let me.

My brother’s best friend is not supposed to do this to me.

My brother’s best friend is not supposed to make me wet.

“Who’s taking you tonight, anyway?”

Jason pushes away from the table and gets up, shoving his hands into his back pockets.

“I’m going with this guy Shane,” I say, glancing up at Jason, “but we’re only going as friends. I mean, not as friends. I don’t know why I said that.” I shake my head. I’m an idiot. “We’re going together because it’s expected, or whatever.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Jason says with a little chuckle. “Why the hell would you go with someone you aren’t super fucking pumped about?”

I’d only be “super fucking pumped” if you were taking me, I want to say.

“They’re gonna crown us prom king and queen,” I say, “or at least that’s what everyone is saying. So we’re going together. It’s a stupid tradition. I don’t even care about it.”

Of course I do care, but my degree of caring about the prom is approximately one-fiftieth of how much I care about Jason thinking of me the way I think of him.

So that means pretending I don’t care about the prom at all.

“That’s cool,” he sighs, pushing a hand through the front of his long, messy hair. “So are you doing all this for this Shane guy? The curlers? The dress?” He tips his chin toward the arch separating the kitchen from the hallway leading to the stairs, where I have my big pink ball gown hanging inside a clear garment bag.

I look up at him as his eyes travel to me. When his gaze meets mine, he purses his lips in the positively most sexy way possible, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and smirking.

“No,” I reply shakily, “it’s not for him. It’s for me.”

“Okay,” he replies. I detect a hint of sarcasm, but with Jason Anderson, it’s hard to tell.

“It’s not for Shane,” I repeat, a little bit more forcefully.

I watch Jason’s eyes, and it looks like he’s about to say something.

Ever have that moment when you know exactly what you want to happen, but you have no idea what the hell you’d do if your wish actually came true?

But I watch shyly as Jason’s eyes pull away from mine, that sweet, sinful darkness behind his gaze being ripped away from me, making me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

“Hey,” I hear my brother say behind me as he comes into the kitchen.

Mark puts his hands on the back of my chair and I smile, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes.

“There’s the pretty, pretty princess,” he quips, quickly giving my shoulders a soft squeeze.

I turn slightly in my chair, watching as Mark and Jason slap hands and go in for one of those bro-type half-hugs, where their bodies don’t actually meet, just their hands on each other’s backs.

“Hi Mark,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you thought I was calling you the princess?” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, rocking back on his heels. “I meant Jason.”

Jason laughs and shakes his head, sneaking a small glance at me. I force myself to take another sip of my lemonade.

I don’t care what he thinks of me. I don’t care what he thinks of me.

“Aw, don’t be jealous,” Mark says to me. “I’m sure Shane will think you’re very pretty. I’m sure you and Shane will be very happy together.”

“Like I care about Shane,” I reply.

“So it is all for him then, huh?” Jason says, slipping his big, fat chrome lighter from his back pocket. I know he doesn’t smoke cigarettes. I hate the smell, and I know I’d be able to detect it from a mile away. He never smells like cigarettes. He smells like a warm, wet summer night and pure sexy man. He starts playing with the lighter, running his thumb along the ridged metal ignitor. Starting a fire from a pocket-sized bit of lighter fluid and a little strip of flint.

Driving me crazy.

I squirm in my seat as he pushes his pelvis forward slightly, sliding the lighter into his back pocket again.

“I guess I should start to get ready,” I say, pulling my hands out of the big bowl in front of me. I place them on the layer of two paper towels beside the bowl and then rub them together, allowing the cream to disappear into my skin like skywriting against a bright blue afternoon. But my body is telling a story right now that no one can hear. That I’ll never let anyone read.

Least of all Jason, and I’ll keep it that way.

Jason Anderson can get any girl he wants. I know it sounds like a cliche, and that’s because it is. Jason Anderson is a cliche, a walking, talking quintessential hot guy with the distant glint in his eye that says he could be anywhere but here, but wants to be right here with you. He makes everyone feel like they’re the person in the world who matters most, even when he’s not talking to them. Even when he’s just near them. Especially when he’s just near them. Especially when you’re the only two people in the room.

And that’s why I can never have Jason Anderson. Because he makes every girl feel like they’re the only girl in the world. He just has that effect on people. I don’t think he can help it. I don’t even know if he likes it.

Or maybe I’m just projecting my silly crush onto him.

All I know is that he can get any girl he wants, and if he wanted me, I’d already know it. And since I’ve seen him almost every day for years now, and I don’t know he wants me...well, he must not.

“You need help with anything?” my brother offers, nodding to the mess I’ve made on the table with my cream and assorted mixing bowls and towels.

“No, I’m good. You guys go. I need to get ready anyway.”

They say goodbye and turn to leave. I let out a big breath. I don’t even think I realized I was holding my breath.

And as I watch them walk away, my eyes follow Jason. My brother leaves first, pushing the old, rickety screen door framed with painted old metal. As Jason is leaving, he turns around and looks at me.

“I’m sure you’re going to look beautiful tonight, Cassie. Make sure you take lots of pictures.”

“Thanks. I will.”

My voice slips through my lips like glass, breaking and crackling against the floor as he leaves.

I take a sip of my lemonade and shut my eyes, wondering what the hell he meant. Trying to get the feeling of imaginary broken glass off my tongue. Wondering what it meant. It probably meant nothing. He was probably just being nice.

Yeah, I’m sure it meant nothing. If it meant something, he’d have made me certain of it.