I’m like ninety-nine-point nine percent positive my mother is judging me right now. It’s all over her face; etched into her blue eyes—ones identical to mine—and carved into a barely-there smile. I know the look all too well.

“Care to explain why you’re covered in ice cream?” she asks, looking up and down my ruined attire.

In all fairness, it’s mostly on my skin since I’m wearing shorts and a tank top. It’s too hot in this summer heat to wear jeans or leggings. It’s only the end of June, about three weeks since the semester ended, and it’s already hotter than hell.

And leggings are bae. Yeah, I said it.

“Will and I got into a heated debate,” I answer, going to the fridge and grabbing a can of Cola from it.

“Of course Will was involved,” she muses, crossing her arms on her chest. She gives me the all-knowing mother look. You know, the one where it’s like she sees right through you and every single thing you do.

It’s unnerving, like she can see past the steel barrier I built to protect the rest of my sanity from escaping—the same barrier holding my secrets in, ones that I tell myself would only hurt those around me.

“He’s my bestie,” is all I say.

“Uh-huh.”

I sip my soda. “Anyway, Will said Batman is stupid, so naturally I had to punish him. He took me out to get ice cream at Mr. Scoops and that’s where I got my sweet revenge.”

She gives me a once over again. “And you’re covered in ice cream because …”

“Will started flicking his ice cream at me when I smashed my vanilla cone in his face.”

She chuckles. “You two are something else, you know that?”

I grin. “We’re awesome.”

“Is that all you two are?”

I groan dramatically. “Not this again. Yes, Mom, we’re just awesome. We’re just friends. He’s the peanut butter to my jelly, but that’s all. A sandwich.”

She smirks. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich requires the two entities to be awfully close together, you know.”

I eye her. “Seriously, no.”

Because he’d never be interested.

I was never one who had much game in high school. I had a small group of friends, mostly all guys. Hell, most of them were Will’s friends. They saw me as one of the guys, somebody to treat like they would each other. I swore too much, rarely wore makeup, and barely showed off the figure I know I have. Not once did Will ever show interest, not even when I put effort into trying to get him to notice me. The short skirts and lipstick only got me skeptical glances, not exactly what I aimed for.

Dad walks in then and shakes my head when he sees me. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good,” Mom replies. “Because it involves Will.”

Dad is the one groaning now. “You spend far too much time with him, Tessa. I don’t like it.”

I set my soda down on the kitchen table. “Stop hating on Will. Just because he has a penis doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.”

He turns bright red, because apparently, I’m not supposed to have the word ‘penis’ in my vocabulary. You’d think at twenty years old, my dad would assume I’m old enough to say things like that. Nope. He gets all red and speechless instead.

Laughing, Mom pats him on the shoulder. “Stop being such a prude, babe. She’s grown up, she can say the word penis.”

I nod in agreement.

He shakes his head though. “Not my little girl.”

I snort. “I can’t even say vagina without you getting all weird on me. I have one, Mom has one. But heaven forbid I say the word.”

Mom is cracking up now. “Now you’re just trying to embarrass him.”

“Maybe,” I giggle. “But seriously, Dad. Will is a good guy and you know it. There’s no reason for you not to like him because he’s male.”

“I don’t like him because he gives you the eyes,” he grumbles.

I internally snort in disbelief. He always thinks guys give me the eyes, even if I know they’re not. Will? He can’t. Maybe high school Tessa held onto hope that one day he would, but I’m past that hope.

Of course, there’s a part of me that wraps around the possibility.

But I know better than to let myself believe it’s true.

I wouldn’t allow myself that kind of invasion.

I sip at my soda again. “A lot of guys give me the eyes, but it doesn’t always mean something. Stop being all dad-ish. You’ve known Will his whole life. Has he ever tried anything?”

Seeing I wasn’t backing down, he sighed. “No,” he admits.

“And even if he did, would it be so bad?” I press.

Now he goes stoic. “Yes. It certainly would.”

Mom clucks. “Oh, hush. There are worse people she could be with. What about the odd kid that used to live across the street? What was his name again? Derek? Dave?”

I make a disgusted sound. “Damian. He was the biggest asshole ever. He put spiders in my room knowing I was terrified of them!”

“Any boy would be bad,” he informed us, as if I’m meant to accept that.

Taking my soda, I back out of the room. “Like it or not, Dad, I’m going to date someday. Maybe not any time soon, but it’s going to happen. And quite frankly, you don’t have to be so threatened over Will. I’m not a virgin as is, it’s not like he can deflower me.”

Dad’s eyes widened and his face hardened. “Who is he?”

I laugh. “Like I’m going to tell you!” I blast.

Mom whispers something to him to calm him down.

I don’t mean to stir things up or upset him, but the double standard is sickening. My whole life, Doug got to say and do anything he wanted. But me? I was the youngest. The only girl. Apparently, it meant I’m limited to my freedoms.

“Why don’t you go clean up,” she suggests, eyeing me hard. She knows how overprotective Dad can get with me, so it’ll take some time for him to cool off.

So I shrug and head to my room, stripping out of my sticky clothes. Grabbing another pair of cut-off jean shorts and my favorite “Will Dance for Pizza” shirt, I head to the bathroom that’s connected to my room. I jump in the shower, scrubbing off all the access of chocolate and vanilla ice cream from my body. Most of it is in my hair, because Will knows how much I hate when stuff gets in my hair. It’s too thick to get clean in a decent amount of time. I’m tempted to chop it off at some point.

I take my time drying off and combing my tangled hair, but I have trouble reaching the back enough to straighten everything out. When I’m dressed, I hear rustling in my bedroom.

“Mom? Dad?”

I open the door to see Will lounging across my bed with his arms behind his head. He obviously cleaned up, too, because he’s in a new pair of faded blue-jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

“How’d you get in?”

He gestures toward the window, one that’s right next to the large willow tree in the yard. Apparently, it’s perfect climbing material. “You didn’t lock your window.”

“And that gives you permission to break in?”

Grinning, he sits up, his curly dirty-blond hair still wet from his shower. “How many hundreds of times have I done this since we were little? Like it honestly bothers you.”

I sit next to him and hand him my hair brush. “Okay, Mr. Cocky. Since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. I have knots thanks to you, so brush my hair.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started the food fight,” he points out, brushing the comb through my hair. “I just ended it.”

I lean against him so he still has room to get the knots out of the strands, but the shower made me tired. My body melts against the warmth of him, so I close my eyes and absorb how good it feels as he plays with my hair.

“You gonna fall asleep on me?” he muses.

“Mmm. Maybe.”

He chuckles and runs the brush through my hair a few more times, careful not to tug. Once I’m tangle free, he sets my neon pink brush down on my comforter and runs his fingers through it. I melt into the front of him then, snuggling into his chest. Putting his arm around my shoulders, he tugs me closer to him, resting his chin on the top of my head.

I soak up the moment, taking his warmth as my own. Our breathing and heartbeats are in sync, our contentment the same. This is what I love. Moments. But, like any time I get too comfortable, I remind myself that all moments have to end.

“It’s probably good that you came through the window anyway. My dad is in freak out mode because I told him I’m not a virgin.”

His body stiffens. “Why would you tell him that?”

I shrug. “He was getting all weird about me hanging out with you, and then things were said. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Wait,” he begins, pulling away from me, “how the hell does talking about me lead to your virginity?”

I watch as he pales.

“Fuck, Tess. Does he think I took your virginity?”

I laugh at his sudden panic. “Chill. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think that. He just doesn’t like the idea of me being around something with a penis. And that kind of means he just …”

“Hates me?”

“Well …” How do I put this nicely? “He probably wouldn’t mind castrating you if it meant you never having the chance to knock me up.”

Somehow, he got whiter.

I roll my eyes. “Breathe, Will. Deep breaths. In and out. My dad is all talk and no show. He’s really a big teddy bear, but you know how he is with me. I’m his only girl.”

Falling back on the bed, he covers his face with his hands.

Moment officially over.

He muffles a groan and says, “Your dad hates me because of my dick.”

That makes me giggle snort. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He wants to castrate me.”

“Technically, he didn’t say it out loud.”

He eyes me. “Tess, he wants to chop off my favorite appendage. That’s just … no. Nope. Why am I still here? I still have time to escape!”

“I’m afraid not,” Mom says from my doorway. Dad is glaring at Will from over her shoulder.

Will bolts upright, stumbling off my bed.

Mom laughs. “Relax, William. I won’t let any harm come to you, and I’m sure Tessa won’t either.”

“You and your favorite appendage will be safe with me,” I state, turning to him.

Dad chokes. “You are deliberately trying to give me a heart attack.”

I grin. “No, I’m just trying to make sure Will doesn’t pass out. He’s slightly terrified of you.”

“Good,” Dad mumbles. Mom smacks him.

“I was just checking on Tess,” Will explains quickly.

“Do you mind using the front door from now on?” Mom asks kindly.

Giving her a sheepish smile, he nods.

“One of these days you’re going to hurt yourself climbing up the siding,” she scolds him. “I have no interest in hearing your mother call me explaining why she needed to pay a hospital bill because of it.”

Will draws his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it. It’s a cute habit he’s had since he was little.

“So, what’re you guys up to?” I ask, glancing between the two of them.

Dad is watching Will with intense eyes.

“Dad, lay off,” I warn. “Will might pee his pants if you keep looking at him like that, and my carpet will be totally ruined.”

Will sighs. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your carpet?”

I just shrug.

“Your father,” Mom says, nudging Dad forward, “wanted to apologize for acting the way he did.”

“Debating on retracting said apology on account that he’s in your room,” Dad informs me.

“I knew he was up here,” Mom told him. “I watched him climb up the siding.”

“Should have thrown something at him,” Dad mumbles.

“Erik!”

“Fine, fine.” He sighs. “Tessa, I’m sorry I reacted badly earlier. But you’re my baby girl, and I want to protect you from any potential heartbreak. I know you’re growing up, and that means you’ll be doing … things, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

I smile at him. “I’ll always be your baby,” I promise him. “And if it makes you feel better, I can protect myself from any potential heartbreak. But can you maybe lay off Will? We’re not dating. He hasn’t done any wrong to me or anybody, so there’s no point in scaring him off.”

Mom looks between Will and me. “Sweetheart, even if your father tried to run Will off, there’s no way he’d budge.”

Will stares at her. “You’re right about that one,” he admits, giving her a loose shrug. He looks at my Dad. “Call a truce, sir? I understand why you don’t like me, but I want to protect Tessa just as much as you. She won’t get hurt.”

He holds out his hand. He’s a brave one, that Will Harding. But that’s why I love him. Platonically, of course. Or else this whole situation would get really awkward.

Sighing heavily, Dad shakes Will’s hand. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. If she has you, or anybody for that matter, she won’t need me anymore.”

My heart quivers at the thought. “Daddy, that’s not true. I’ll always need you. Just not for certain stuff. If it makes you feel better, I’ll always need you to fix my car when somethings wrong, or when I need you to kill a spider, or when I have one of those stupid build-it-yourself projects, or—”

“I got it.” He laughs. “And I’m going to hold you to those, okay? I need to feel at least partially useful while you’re still around.”

I get up and give him a big hug. “I don’t go back to college for another month. There’s plenty of time for you to protect me from evil spiders and build random shelves for me.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I love you, baby.”

I smile into his chest. “Love you, too, Dad.”

I jump up and down impatiently, waiting for Will to catch up, but he’s walking so slowly that I’m pretty sure an eighty-year-old woman on a walker passed him. Twice.

Needless to say, he isn’t as excited about this as I am.

“Hurry up,” I whine, gripping my bag. It’s extra heavy today because it has all my camera supplies in it, so my shoulder hurts from the extra weight. Will offered to carry it for me, but I told him I was perfectly capable of carrying my own stuff. Mostly, I just don’t trust anyone with my camera.

Selfish, but true.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I press, glancing up at the cloudy sky. Rain isn’t in the forecast for the day, but you can never trust New York weather. It’s more bipolar than my psycho cat Ollie, and that says something.

Will is finally in front of me, looking like he’s here only because I threatened his entire family’s lives. He always claims that I’m dramatic, but his expression ever since he met me outside my house says plenty.

“You didn’t have to come if you were going to be miserable,” I point out, looking both ways before walking across the street.

The building we need to go to is a little run down, abandoned warehouse. Well, usually it’s abandoned. Today there’s a huge gathering in it from a local band that made it big a year ago, and I’m photographing it for the paper.

Really, I’m photographing it to get close to band members. I may not have known the members of Relentless that well when they were in school, but I do love their music.

As does half of the female population.

What most of the people here don’t have is memories with the band pre-fame. Relentless started out as a garage band with big dreams. An indie-rock sound that worked for them, even when they switched from doing covers to their own music. I may not have been there every step of the way, but I admired them from afar, even before they signed with a label and got a deal.

“How can I leave you alone when you have access to the band I know you’re obsessed with?” Will questions, following me into the building. “You’ll probably be restrained from fangirling and make a total fool of yourself.”

I sigh. “I can’t deny that I won’t fangirl,” I say casually. “However, I will not make a fool of myself. I am a lot of things, William. A fool is not one of them.”

He snorts. “That’s debatable.”

“Shut your face.” I smack his arm. “You’re just jealous it isn’t your favorite band playing. If some hot chick was playing, you’d be drooling in the crowd with the rest of your species.”

I know Will is on my case about my love for Relentless because of the front man Ian Wells. Also known as Will’s ex friend from high school. Things went downhill my senior year. They were both already out of school, but their friendship was festering. Ian was focused on his music, and Will was focused on his family’s farm. They used to play music together, Will being on the guitar during their first practices. He never talked about wanting to be part of a band, but he stuck around to play a few songs when he could.

Whatever happened to them, it wasn’t good. One day they talked, and the next … nothing.

“So you’re saying that you’re just here for the guys?” His voice is clipped.

I put my hands on my hips. “I am offended you think so little of me!”

“Coming from the girl who just referred to the male population as a ‘species’,” he retorts dryly.

I pass him my bag to hold as I get my camera out. Putting the strap around my neck, I shoot him a playful wink. “I’m just simply stating that you’d be the same way if, say, Selena Gomez was here.”

He grins, seriousness easing and playfulness taking its place. “She is hot.”

“I’d go gay for her.”

“I call dibs,” he informs me.

I sigh dramatically. “She’d probably go for you anyway. I don’t think she’d go gay for me. I hardly think she knows I exist. It’s almost too bad for her.”

Will shakes his head, setting my bag down on the table behind us. “Your ego is too much sometimes, Tess.”

“Oh please,” I reply. “You love my ego. Why else would you be here? It isn’t to keep me in line, Will. I mean, it isn’t exactly a secret that you’re not a fan of Relentless.” Or Ian. “You just can’t get enough of me. Admit it. You think I’m amazeballs.”

“Amazeballs isn’t a word.” He totally ignores my throw about the band. Typical.

“It is now.”

“You can’t just make up your own word,” he disagrees, looking around the crowded venue. It’s staggering to see the turnout; the warehouse is packed tightly with bodies here to support the former townies.

“I just did,” I answer simply.

“You’re impossible.”

My snarky response is cut short by the band walking out.

I squeal when I see Ian come on the stage with the rest of the band following. My lips stretch into a huge smile, seeing how their confidence illuminates the room. The crowd buzzes and cheers, most girls scream, and then there’s Will. He rubs his ear like his eardrum is damaged, giving me a skeptical look. Ignoring him, I snap a few photos.

Part of me thinks that the three-year split between them is plenty of time to get over their feud, but the expression on his face tells me he’s still not over it. The dude looks like someone just kicked his puppy, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed.

“He’s just a dude,” he grumbles.

I gape at him. “Ian Wells is not ‘just a dude.’ Ian Wells made it big. They’ve got an album out! They had a headlining tour!”

It isn’t like he doesn’t already know this. Sure, he avoids everything Relentless related when he can, but I don’t give him the opportunity. It isn’t like I rub it in his face that I’m a fan, but I can’t contain my excitement when I read about something they accomplished online.

And yeah, I watch most interviews with them. I follow them on Instagram, Twitter, and I stalk their Facebook page. Honestly, they could use help when it comes to their online presence. Especially on Facebook, based on the scattered postings.

Either way, I know pretty much everything there is to know about them since their name made it last year. Their song “Relentless” made the top ten best-sellers lists, and made the top one hundred on the billboard charts. Overall, their album sold over 100,000 copies on iTunes in the first three months, a good feat for a band considered only B-listers.

He doesn’t seem impressed. “Tessa, these guys were at our school less than three years ago. They’re just a garage band who hit some luck.”

I turn back to the band, shaking my head and snapping some more pictures as they get ready to play.

Clearly, Will doesn’t understand how impressive Relentless is. It’s like telling him their stats goes in one ear and out the other. Nobody ever leaves this middle-of-nowhere town of Clinton and becomes as successful as they have. Barely anyone leaves at all, except for heading off to college. And even then, just like Will and me, we’re only forty-five minutes away. The likelihood of us staying away from our families? From the only town we’ve ever known? It’s not likely. The familiarity and comfort zone of your hometown makes you settles, just like the dust in the town.

I can’t picture leaving, even if I tried. Too much has happened that has made me realize the only true safe place I have is near my parents and Will. Where they are, I am.

Maybe that’s why I love Ian and his band so much. They’re all older than me, Ian and Will having graduated two years before me. The rest of the guys, Dylan Hilton, Sebastian Everly, and Ben Darling, all graduating a year before me. It wasn’t until Dylan, Bash, and Ben graduated when Ian started getting calls about gigs outside of town. They would perform in different locations in the town limits—The Triangle Pub in town, the gazebo in the park, the school talent shows, and community events. Slowly, their name spread. People came from outside of town to figure out what the buzz was, and liked what they saw. Videos went up online, a YouTube channel was made just for Relentless’s performances, and the views racked up.

Eventually, Relentless grew into exactly what Ian and the guys hoped it would.

I envy the fact that they knew what they wanted to do. It seemed like everybody around me had a plan. My brother always knew he wanted to go into farming, same with my father and Will. My mother always knew she wanted to work in medicine, either as a vet or nurse. Meanwhile, I’m almost done with my four years of college with no idea what to do with my liberal arts degree. My focus is in communication, with a minor in English. Creatively, I love a lot of mediums. Photography being my favorite, with writing coming in a close second. Figuring out what to do with that? A different story.

Will’s grumbles are tuned out by the music starting to play. I instantly know the beat as one of their first songs called “Heart Attack”. I used to listen to them play it when they practiced at Ian’s parents’ house, which is only down the street from mine.

I get closer to the stage, elbowing my way through the girls squeezed together. Most of them are wearing skimpy shorts and tank tops, anything to show off their bodies. I momentarily feel out of place in my destroyed black skinny jeans and pale blue T-shirt, which has a cartoon cat on it with the saying “If you met my family, you’d understand.” The outfit isn’t something I hate, but I momentarily think about what I could have worn instead. When I opted to come home from the summer, I didn’t pack many clothes. There’s a blue dress that goes mid-thigh that I got online on sale, which probably would have been better for this.

I tell myself to let it go, because I’m not like the girls here. Showing off my body isn’t something I’m comfortable with. Not because I hate my body, not really. But seeing my body reminds me of what it’d been through.

Not here. Not now.

I can feel the heavy weight of panic crush my chest, a panic attack coming on as memories resurface. I force them back down, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. I’m here for pictures of the band, and to listen to good music. That’s what I need to focus on.

Will is close behind me, keeping one hand on my waist as we weave through the crowd. His hand tightens when I get pushed by a rabid fan, who gives me the finger before turning back to admire Ian on stage. I roll my eyes and raise my camera up to get a picture of Ian mid-song.

He looks in my direction and gives me a wink. I capture the moment on camera, smiling to myself. I look down at the screen, grinning at the way the light hits his tan face. It darkens the right half of his face, giving him the perfect split expression—showcasing the two sides I know he has. The rabid girl in front of me starts screeching and jumping up and down.

“He totally just winked at me!” she tells her friends, squeezing their arms.

I could be wrong as to who the wink was cast toward, yet I can’t help but think it was at me. Although, Ian and I were never that close as friends. We had out moments, moments I wouldn’t forget, but they were nothing special. Plus, compared to the other girls, I didn’t have much to offer.

Maybe Psycho Barbie is right.

I turn my camera toward the rest of the band to get individual pictures of them. Bash is strumming along to the song, a huge grin on his face. His head is moving to the main beat of the drum that Ben is creating. Ben’s eyes are closed, focused on the way the song flows. My eyes travel toward Dylan, the bass guitarist. He’s got a sexed-up grin on his face as he stares at half-naked girls in the crowd. Besides Ian, Dylan became a friend my junior and senior year of high school. It helped that they all hung out with Will. They practically adopted me into their group, even though I was younger than all of them. They constantly teased me about being the baby of the group, something I hated. But their company isn’t something that I had often, because I didn’t like high jacking Will’s time with them.

Ian is at the microphone front and center of the stage. His hand is resting on the stand, one in the air making gestures as he sings the lyrics. He’s scanning the crowd with a cocky expression carved into his features. Even from here, I can see the aqua tone of his eyes, how they shine with a confidence that he’s always had.

It doesn’t take a lot to see how much he loves what he does. He moves his lean body to the rhythm of the song, and every time his eyes flash through the crowd they light up with passion. He takes the mic off the stand and walks past it, kneeling to touch the audience’s hands. The dark blue jeans he wears are tight against his obvious muscular legs, the tears in them like mine. Even after all this time, he’s kept the same image. Same jeans and T-shirt, same basic Converse, and the same assorted bracelet bands on his wrists that only he could pull off.

His tousled brown hair is a styled mess, the fluorescent lights making the gel in it evident. He runs his hand through his hair, raking it into a messier do. Somehow, it works for him.

Psycho Barbie pushes past a few other girls in front of her to get close. He quickly pulls back his hand and shakes his head at her, clearly not impressed with her actions. The look of rejection on her face is priceless, and I can’t help but take a picture of it because it’s amusing.

Usually, he eats that stuff up. Any fan is a good one to have. I guess the pushy ones aren’t his thing.

When Ian sees me, he gestures for me to come closer. At first, I doubt he’s even pointing at me. Until I point toward my chest and he smiles. He lets Bash’s guitar solo take over as I walk over to him. He offers me his hand and I take it, squealing in surprise when he pulls me up on the make-shift stage.

I glance over wide-eyed at Will, whose jaw is clenched tight and eyes are narrowed. I give him a shrug and turn to Ian, who is grinning at me, showing off white teeth and dimples. His eyes seem like a deeper shade of blue from here, filled with a friendly look as he rakes over my body. It isn’t sexual. There’s no lust. It’s just a quick look, like he’s looking me over since we haven’t seen each other in years.

I return the smile and take a picture of the crowd from my perspective. The adrenaline of being in front of so many people—there must be at least two hundred people packed in here—gives me goosebumps.

Ian starts singing again, making my attention turn back to him. I can’t help but find myself singing along to myself, lips moving but no sound coming out. I don’t want to be in the way, so I try pulling back, but he shakes his head. He wraps an arm around my wrist and tugs me toward him. Some of the crowd gets louder, while others are protesting.

The protesters seem to be primarily female.

I see Bash cracking up at us when I look in his direction. Clearly, he’s amused by Ian’s moves. I don’t remember him doing this at any of the concerts I read about online. There are usually always pictures, and no fans—beside the whacko ones who jump on stage—are ever photographed.

When the song finishes he gives me another wink and gestures toward my camera. I pick it up and go to take his picture but he shakes his head. His lips are moving, but the noise of the cheering crowd drown out his words.

He pulls me in by hooking one of his arms around my waist, and leans toward me so our cheeks are pressed together. That’s when I realize he wants a selfie. It makes me uneasy, heart racing in my chest, because I don’t usually get my picture taken. The girl in the pictures seems so lost whenever I look at her. She isn’t me, not anymore.

But I don’t want to keep them waiting, because I know the music fading means they’re going to need to move to the next song. So, I pick up the camera and snap a picture of us, forcing myself to smile like I’m excited over it. The corners of my lips hurt from the pressure of the lie behind the gesture.

Two years ago, I used to get picked on for the number of selfies I took. People called me vain, but it was never about vanity. It was about confidence. Loving myself. Loving my image.

Things change in two years.

Sometimes, things happen that you can’t get past. Can’t move past. You tell yourself that you’re fine, that you’ve moved on. But it’s never the truth, because there’s always an inkling of memory in the back of your head reminding you about what you’re hiding from.

A simple picture can immortalize the flaws you see every day. It’s why I stand behind the camera instead of in front of it. My flaws are mental scars etched into the smile I paint on my face. I say I’m okay … but I’m not.

It’s easier to pretend then to explain why I feel the way I do.

I pull back and mouth ‘thanks’ to him, walking toward the edge of the stage. Will is there to greet me, helping me down. Something dark is etched into his features, and I can’t help but think he’s glaring at Ian when I look back at him.

There is no doubt that Psycho Barbie is plotting my murder based on the glare she’s giving me. While I consider myself a fan, I don’t act like half the females here. She’s probably the type of fan that doodles hearts of her and Ian’s names on her notebooks. Maybe even has a blog all about their fantasy relationship.

Gag me.

Will’s hand is on my waist as he guides us through the crowd. I try to stop him, but he’s too pushy. When we’re back toward the door, I dig my heels into the ground, jerking us to a halt.

“Will! What’s wrong?”

He leans close so I can hear him. “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

I stare at him for a second before laughing, which doesn’t earn me an amused expression in return. “Will, he probably gave me the charm so I’ll get a good picture of him. I know him and the band, and their image is really important to them.”

You can’t go from zero to hero without marketing your image. It’s easy to see they’ve got the heartthrob look going down. Ian and Dylan the playboys, Bash the go-with-it guy, and Ben the quiet one. It’s how it’s always been, but now it’s like that’s their cemented lives.

“I know that look, Tess.”

“How?” I demand. I want him to tell me, “Because it’s the same way I look at you” but I he doesn’t. Because this isn’t one of those cheesy romance movies that I love watching. He’s just Will, and while he has some heroic qualities to him, he isn’t going to be the one who saves me from falling headfirst into the blackhole I’ve been sinking in a little more each day.

I won’t let him go down with me.

So, instead, I ignore my subconscious train of thoughts. “Stop playing the jealous boyfriend card, Will. It doesn’t look good on you. Ian is just being his charming self. It’s part of the life I imagine.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Ian …”

I wait, my hands on my hips, foot tapping.

“Ian always had a thing for you.”

My jaw drops. I don’t mean it to, but … no. Ian and I, we were never like that. We barely even qualified as friends, and the vibes he gave off were platonic more times than not.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Tess. You look … well, you look like you. And guys like that.”

I pick my jaw up from the floor. “Of course I’m surprised! Ian and I never really spoke that much.” It isn’t entirely a lie. “I think I told him I liked his socks once, because they were Harry Potter themed with Hufflepuff colors. I’m pretty sure that was one of our, like, five conversations. Maybe I even told him I liked one of his songs. That’s it. Hardly any conversation that leads to liking me.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, because I can’t have him thinking there’s anything more going on.

“Plus, Ian has plenty of other girls after him. It isn’t like he’s still interested, if he was even interested to begin with. He’s made it.”

“So what if he was?”

I cock my head to the side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Interested, I mean,” he adds in a low tone, strained like he’s afraid of my answer.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Ian is … Ian.”

“And you’re Tessa.”

I glance at Ian, who is introducing their next song. He really hasn’t changed in looks much since he left. He’s more defined now, like he works out every day. His arms fill out his T-shirt sleeves, his waist tapering in based on the tight T-shirt framing his torso. He looks good, there’s no denying that. The slight baby fat around his chin is gone, now taken over by a sharp jawline, and coated with dark stubble like he hasn’t had time to shave yet today.

“You’re interested,” he grumbles, assuming my stare is more than it is.

“I am not,” I snap back at him. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s just drop it.”

I take one last picture before I put my camera back into my bag. Will stands silently beside me, brooding for some ungodly reason. When I look at him from the corner of my eyes, he’s glaring at toward the stage.

I love Will, but he’s a Katy Perry song. Hot and cold.

I try to brush it off. “Want to go?”

“Please.”

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I follow him out the door. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as we make our way outside. The silence between us is thick and unnerving, raising a thousand assumptions that I try to reason with. None I want to dwell on.

It isn’t until we’re down the road when I feel raindrops on my head.

“Will—”

I don’t even get a sentence out before it’s pouring. I scream and duck for cover, attempting to hide my camera bag from the rain. Even though it’s supposed to be waterproof, I have no intention of finding out if it really works.

I lean my damp head against the brick wall behind me. The alley we’re standing in has a small awning protecting us from the rain.

Will is standing across from me with a grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” I snarl, droplets of the cool rain running down my cheeks.

“You look like a wet dog.”

I narrow my eyes. “Right back at ya.”

His hair is straight now, unlike the usual curl it has to it. The weight of the water drenching it makes it go down half his face. If I wasn’t mad at his weird mood, I’d laugh. Will with long hair doesn’t exactly suit him.

He takes notes of my sudden attitude and decides not to say anything else. Smart boy. He knows how I get when things like this happen.

“We should go back,” I tell him.

“No.”

“What’s your deal?”

“Nothing!”

I groan loudly. “You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, Will. Whatever crawled up your ass and died needs to be removed. At least the warehouse is dry.”

He averts his gaze.

“This is about Ian, isn’t it?” I question. “I told you I’m not interested. And even if I was, it isn’t like Ian is a bad guy. Weren’t you two friends at one point?”

I’m determined to figure out what happened between them. We usually tell each other everything, but he refuses to talk about this. I give him space—time to admit what’s wrong. But it never happens. Not in all the time that has passed.

His expression darkens, and lips press into a thin line. “Things change.”

I noticed the lack of conversations between them my junior year. At first, I thought it was because Ian focused more on his music than hanging out. But that didn’t seem like it was the reason. Not long before Ian left for tour, they weren’t on speaking terms at all.

I don’t push Will, because he doesn’t push things I don’t want to talk about.

Maybe that makes us even.

Yet it doesn’t stop me from wondering.

“Someday, you’re going to tell me what happened to that bromance,” I inform him matter-of-factly.

He snorts. “No, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

He presses his lips together again, like the truth is forever sealed.

I hide my disappointed frown. “You’re impossible,” I mutter. “I will find out … whether you like it or not. Mark my words, William.”

He shakes his head when I say his full name. I know it irritates him, but he never really complains. He loves me too much.

I return my focus to the rain, which is now flooding the streets in trails of water that isn’t being drained properly. I sigh heavily, wishing I drove here. Dad insisted I wait because it was supposed to rain, but did I listen? That’s a big ol’ nope. Here’s to you, Dad.

“If you really want to go back …” Will relents, somewhat defeated.

I can’t help but smile and give him a hug. “Maybe it’s a good thing Ian’s back,” I articulate, grabbing his hand.

He entwines our fingers. “Why’s that?”

I shrug. “Maybe you guys can make up for whatever happened. I mean, time has a way of fixing things sometimes.”

He looks at me with a ‘I doubt that’ expression on his face, but doesn’t say anything. I’m glad, and selfishly so, that I have Will all to myself, but our dynamic never fully recovered. I tell myself I don’t know the reason, but my gut tells me otherwise. Either way, I want to fix his friendship with Ian—get them back to where they were before, where they could both smile without Will looking like he contemplated murder.

You can’t even fix yourself, a pesky voice chides in my head.

Sometimes, the broken ones are the best successors at mending other people’s wounds—because ours are so deep they can’t be healed, but they can be felt. A constant reminder that they’re there, and painful in so many more ways than just physical. They’re threaded into our conscious, taking pieces of our sanity every time they resurface.

I may not be able to fix me, but I can fix them.

At least some of us will be truly happy again.