His girlfriend. His girlfriend.

Danica.

My cousin.

I vowed then and there to keep my distance from Mike Madden. No more gaming. No more texting. No more late-night phone calls. No more phone calls ever.

“Come on,” Luke whines over the phone four days after the pond, and I brush my teeth in front of my bathroom sink as I listen to him.

“I can’t,” I tell him with a mouth full of toothpaste, and he whines some more.

“Come ooon.”

“I’m not playing games tonight,” I argue after spitting into the sink. I feel guilty about disappointing my little brother, but he’s obsessed with Deadzone Five, and I’m obsessed with avoiding Mike.

I can do it. I can get over him. I have to.

Even if it hurts more than I thought it would—more than it should. It hurts more than losing a friend, and that’s exactly why I need to stay away from Deadzone. At least until this aching in my chest goes away. At least until I can sleep at night.

“And you should be in bed,” I lecture my twelve-year-old brother. “It’s a school night.”

“I’m skipping,” Luke announces, and I wipe my thumb over the pasty corners of my mouth.

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate it.”

I wash my face with a cleanser wipe with one hand while holding my phone with the other. “Is this because of that punk Grayson?”

Luke’s silence is answer enough, and I sigh as I toss the wipe in the trash.

“You need to stand up for yourself, Luke.”

“How? I’m the skinniest kid in my grade.”

“I don’t know . . . Can’t you make friends with some bigger kids?”

Luke scoffs. “He’s the king of the big kids. They all do what he says.”

“Well . . . then can’t you get Mom to talk to the principal or something?”

With a very adult sigh, my brother says, “Hailey, are you seriously that old that you don’t remember what seventh grade is like? I can’t just tell my mom.”

“You also can’t skip school.”

“I should just drop out and be a farmer.”

“A very dumb farmer,” I counter, and when that isn’t enough to make Luke change his mind, I say, “Look, Luke, you can’t just run away from your problems. If you don’t stand up for yourself, this kid’s never going to stop.”

“You let Danica bully you,” Luke points out, and I frown as I enter my room.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Well, for one, I deserve it. I developed a crush on her boyfriend, which means I deserve the very worst she can give me. And for two—“We’re family,” I say, and my brother scoffs.

“That’s crap, and you know it.”

“Yeah well . . .” With lack of a better argument, I simply order, “You’re still going to school tomorrow.”

“Can’t you just play for a little while with me?” Luke pleads, and I stare at my computer. I can’t play Deadzone with him because if Mike logs on, I know he’ll play with us. Which will involve talking. Which will resurrect those damn butterflies in my stomach.

I rub the ache in my chest and say, “What about that dragon game we played before?”

“I want to play Deadzone.”

“Why? I feel like being a princess tonight.”

“Because I miss playing with you and Mike, but he’s not on yet.”

My throat dries, and I croak, “You’re logged on right now?”

“Yeah.”

“But Mike isn’t on?”

“Not yet.”

I sit down at my desk, worrying my lip. Mike texted me to ask me to play Sunday night, but I ignored him. He sent me a couple more messages as I sat at my desk frowning at my black computer screen, and then just one: Sweet dreams, Hailey.

It was the same Monday night. But last night, he didn’t bother asking. I was lying in bed, wondering what he was doing, when my phone dinged. He wished me sweet dreams. Nothing else—just sweet dreams.

I didn’t respond.

He’s an addiction that I need to stop fueling, for my sake and his. He told me I’m one of his best friends, and I’m trying to be a good one by not letting these feelings grow. He has a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t, my feelings for him would only end in hurt feelings. For me: because I’m not Mike’s type—I’m no Danica—and I’d eventually have to hear that from his own mouth. And for him: because he lost a friend he thought he could trust to not fall for him like every other girl who’s ever seen him bang on the drums.

We can be friends again. Someday soon, I hope. I just have to smother these damn sparks inside of me first.

“Alright,” I tell Luke as I boot up my computer. “Half an hour, but then you’re going to bed and going to school tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Luke says before I can change my mind, and we hang up the phone to start chatting in the game. For twenty-three minutes, I almost forget about Mike—right up until his username appears on the right side of my screen.

“Luke, I’ve got to go.”

“But Mike just signed on!”

“Sorry,” I rush to say. “My stomach is hurting.”

“But you promised you’d play for half an hour . . .”