It's the kind of thing that interests me, but I don't want Jake to think I'm interested, so I swallow the million questions fighting their way up my throat until I can't.

We're pretty close to my house at that point.

"So do you forgive him?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Jake says. "I mean, he's sorry."

"Do you forgive your mom?"

"I didn't think I needed to."

"She should talk to you. You're her son."

"Yeah, but it's more a case of her having to forgive me, isn't it?"

"But are you sorry?"

He pauses. He looks sad. "No."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because..." He shrugs. "I don't know. Because I want you to know we've all got something?"

"Oh, Jake. You're so melodramatic and angsty."

"Yeah, we have a lot in common." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Did you mean what you said before?"

"What did I say before?"

"The more I know about you, the less interesting I am..."

"I guess not," I say. "Lucky you."

"Lucky me," he repeats. "I'm going to kiss you."

So he does.

FIFTEEN

Something's not right.

I set my book bag down and listen. There are the usual sounds coming from the kitchen; Mom puttering around, getting dinner ready maybe. That's normal, almost welcome. But something's missing. Not right.

I round the corner. My perfect test is stuck to the face of the fridge, the way my childhood drawings used to be. Mom's gearing up to do the dishes, but Dad's not at his usual spot at the table.

And Bailey didn't run to greet me when I stepped through the door.

"Where's Bailey?" I ask.

Mom looks up.

"Your father had to take him to the vet."

"What happened?"

"He got into a fight with another dog at the park."

"Is he hurt?"

She nods. "He might need stitches."

"He's not--" I swallow. "He's not going to die, is he?" She gets all hopeful around the eyes.

"Are you worried?"

Why do people do that? Turn nothing into something?

"I couldn't care less either way."

She flinches and turns back to the sink. As soon as I leave the room, she might cry about how much she doesn't understand me anymore, how much she wants her old daughter back, but she's not coming back. I went too far, but sometimes you have to.

"He's not going to die," I say.

But she doesn't look at me and Bailey comes home with stitches on his hip and a lampshade around his neck so he won't gnaw at them. I take pity on him and I let him sleep in my room.

"Are you going to the dance?"

I slam my locker shut.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know..." Chris wiggles his hips in a poor imitation of dancing. "The dance this weekend. You going?"

"I'm not following."

He rolls his eyes, grabs me by the hand and drags me down the hall to the entrance corridor. There, on the wall, is a bright pink poster advertising the semi-formal this weekend. Be there or be square.

"There are only, like, a half a million of these all over the school," he says.

"Semi-formal already," I say, staring at the poster. "How about that."

"So are you going or what?"

"Well, I would, but no one's asked me." I jut my lower lip out, but his eyes light up, so I drop the expression and snort. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'm not."

"I have it on good authority that Jake's going to ask you, though." "Why does Jake insist on breaking his own heart?"

"Just go," Chris says, groaning. "I'm taking Becky. We'll all go together, leave together. It'll be fun times. Supervised fun times. How can you resist?"

"Easily. Contrary to popular belief, Chris, I don't like spending time with you, Becky or Jake. Especially Becky. In case you've forgotten, she annoys the fuck out of me. She's not a good argument for my going to the dance."

"So show her up!"

"What?"

"Wear that really nice black dress you've got, fix your hair up all nice and show her up. She'd hate that."

I can't help but laugh. "She hated that."

"There, see? I just gave you a reason to go."

"If Becky knew you said that, I don't think she'd like you very much."

"You won't tell her," he says. "And I think you should go."

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm still in love with you, of course. What else could it possibly be?" Before I can say something snide, he laughs. "Haven't you done the whole Alienate Everyone thing long enough? I mean, how much longer are you gonna keep at it?"

"Uh, I don't know--until it works?"

"You used to like going to dances," he reminds me. The bell rings and we head for homeroom. "Bet you still do."

"I can't take this anymore."

"Can't take what?" I ask, even though I know.

Jake and I are so done with the sketching part of our landscape, but because we haven't figured out what to do next we spend most of the period taking turns tracing the same set of rocks. I don't know why he's so freaked out about it. It sure beats working.

He gestures to the paper.

"Unity and disparity. We need a plan."

I rest my head on the desk. "Why?"

"Because that's the project!"

"Head up, Fadley!" Norton yells. "Nap time's not for another fifteen minutes!"

Everyone snickers. I raise my head.

"So-o-o...," Jake says, and I can tell by the way he protracts the o he's getting ready to ask me to the semi-formal. Sure enough: "What are semi-formals like at St. Peter's?"

Why are guys so predictable?

"And what's a semi-formal, anyway?" he asks quickly, before I can answer his first question. "Does that mean dress nice from the waist down?"

"Something like that, yeah," I answer.

"Are you going?"

"I'm probably not allowed." "That's convenient."

He stops tracing the rocks and I pick up where he left off.

"No, really," I say. "I'm not sure if I'd be allowed. I'm not even allowed off grounds for lunch, remember? Grey and Henley would probably have to okay it, not to mention my parents. It's not as simple as me putting on my best dress and going to the dance, you know?"

"And if it was?"

"It's not."

"Would you go to the semi-formal with me, Parker?"

I look up from my rocks. Chris is watching us from across the room. He winks and turns back to the landscape he's working on with his partner.

I hate him for enjoying this.

"Uhm." I focus on the rocks. "I guess."

"I'm twenty dollars richer, thanks to you!"

I shut the door to Grey's office and try to figure out what she's talking about. And then I roll my eyes. She just grins.

"The math test?" I guess.

"Principal Henley didn't think you'd pass, but I knew you would."

I lean against the door. I should be sitting so we can have our weekly session where I pick the lint off my skirt and determinedly maintain my silence while she stares at me, except today I have to break that silence. And all for a boy, too. How degrading.

"I want to go to the semi-formal tomorrow," I announce.

Grey blinks.

"What do your parents think about that?"

"They think it's a great idea."

She raises both eyebrows. "Really?"

"Call them and ask."

It's sort of true. Mom and Dad think going to the semi-formal with Jake and the gang is a great idea, but only because I've already told them it was okay with the school. I wait until Friday to spring it on Grey because I don't want to give her or Henley all the time they need to think up the reasons why it's probably not a good idea.

And they would, too, since the last dance I showed at was a disaster.

"Jake Gardner asked me," I continue. "They think it would be good for me."

"You don't have any plans to spike the punch again, do you?"

She gestures to the seat across from her and I sit.

"No. I'll just be there to look pretty and dance."

"I'll have to check with Principal Henley. This is very short notice, Parker--"

"But if you tell her you're okay with it, there shouldn't be a problem. Henley--Principal Henley's too busy to take a long look at a Pros and Cons list for my attending one semi-formal. You only have to give her the word." "But I'm not too busy for that list." Grey smiles in a way that doesn't thrill me. "And we have thirty minutes of this session left. So how about you talk to me, really talk to me, and maybe you can attend the semi-formal."

"Ms. Grey!" My eyes widen. "That's dirty pool."

And it's really not worth spending an evening with Jake in an auditorium decked out to look like something special with a bunch of people I can't even stand being around on a good day.

But my parents think I'm going.

"Fine," I say, opening my arms. "Ask me anything."

She puts her best Movie Guidance Counselor face on and leans forward.

"How are you?" she asks after a beat. Oh my God. "How are you really?"

When I wake up, I'm still drunk.

I'll remember this as the longest, most miserable night of my life. Chris's living room is empty, no trace of anyone having been here, but the party is still going strong outside the door because it isn't that late, I just got smashed that early.