“You’ll never guess who was there,” I say, stopping by the bike racks.

  “You mean other than James Odera and Tanner Slade and the rest of the lucky ones, right?”

  “Yes. Other than them.”

  She leans against a tree, trying to guess. But I know she won’t be able to. “I don’t know! Who?”

  “Cale Blackburn.”

  The air feels thinner when I say his name, like I have to inhale extra deep to get it all out. I look to either side of us as if he’s lurking nearby, listening in on our conversation.

  I wish.

  It takes Aly a minute to register his name, and then her eyes widen and crease at the edges, her smile breaking loose. “No way! Cale Blackburn’s a lucky one? Where does he even live?”

  “Up there with the rest of them. But he’s definitely not a lucky one, not like them at least.” I want to keep talking about Cale, like doing so will bring him out of the shadows, straight to me. It feels like he’s already mine and I’m his bragging girlfriend.

  “Did you talk to him or were you too chicken as usual? Tell me you at least had enough guts to offer him an appetizer.”

  “Relax. I wasn’t a total failure. We talked a little,” I say, wishing I could tell her everything—about his crooked tooth and his pancakes, about the way he mows his own lawn and has an art studio. About how he has a thing for throwing cartooned notes at me in the middle of class. About our kiss.

  Instead I skip over all that because it hurts too much to remember, and I don’t want to be sad right now. Not with Aly.

  I laugh. “I was too busy being mortified by my black bow tie and pleated pants. You should’ve seen the looks everyone gave me.”

  Aly bursts out laughing. “You didn’t take any pictures, did you?”

  I shake my head, regretting not documenting my mortifying outfit for posterity.

  “Oh man! You disappoint me, Kenzie.”

  At the sound of the first bell, we join a rush of kids all trying to push through the entrance. I can’t help but look for Cale’s ski-capped head bobbing up above the rest of the crowd. Where would he be right now?

  Just before reaching my own wall of lockers, I stop and pull Aly’s arm backward. “What?” she says, giving me a look.

  They are over there, surrounding my locker. Brecke’s locker. I can hear James’s distinctive voice much too clearly, as if he were right here beside me, whispering in my ear. Katie is next to him, her arm somewhere on his body, as usual. He leans in and whispers something to her, twirling her dark hair in his fingers, drawing her closer to him. Jared and Tanner are high-fiving each other and laughing. Liv protests something someone said, the whole time talking with her hands like she always does, her metal bracelets clanking against each other in their own Livlike melody. Brecke stands in the middle of everyone all poised and perfect in an attempt to keep her life in order.

  “What’s the problem?” Aly says, tugging my arm.

  “It’s just . . . ” I don’t know what to say or how to explain my hesitation. It isn’t that I’m afraid or intimidated, or even jealous.

  Just displaced.

  I feel out of sorts, not quite sure how to act. Almost like a voyeur.

  I know everything there is to know about these people. Their deepest secrets . . . Brecke’s pills, Jared’s insecurity, Katie’s craving for attention, and James. I know everything about James Odera, the “man of my dreams.”

  But it seems that the longer I stare at each of them, I can see bits of plaster starting to crumble off their faces. A little piece here, a little piece there, slowly revealing the truth inside.

  “Did something happen last night with them? Why are you acting all cagey?”

  “I’m not. Nothing happened.” But that’s a lie. A lot had happened.

  Only not just last night.

  “Look at him, Kenzie. He’s such a babe. Why can’t all guys be as perfect as that?” she says, her eyes lost in a trance at James’s every move.

  Look at him.

  There’s still a part of me that wilts inside at the memory of those lips grazing my ear, at the way he would say my name and catch my eyes in his, even when he was angry. I can feel it, even now. And I can’t explain it, either. Maybe there’s something in all of us craving attention no matter where it comes from . . . even if it is twisted.

  But when I think of Cale . . .

  Something blooms in my heart like it’s spring. Like a swirl of wind is snaking through me, plucking away my breath. He invigorates me rather than striking me numb. He makes me smile. He makes me want to shout out loud instead of hide under his wings for protection.

  “Kenzie.”

  “Huh?” I look up. Aly is standing in front of me, staring at me funny.

  “You still in there?” she says, passing her hand in front of my eyes.

  “Yes.” I smile. “I’m still in here.”

  Call me a stalker, but when fourth period rolls around, I leave five minutes early and wander down to the other end of the school—the artsy side—stopping outside Mr. Tabish’s classroom. The door is closed, so I wait in the hallway until the bell rings, looking like an idiot leaning against the wall by myself for no reason.

  The door bursts open, spilling out into the hallway the first string of students. I squeeze in closer as the hall begins to fill up, keeping my eye on every head as it exits the classroom, determined not to miss a single person. But as more and more kids barrel out the door, my hopes for catching Cale begin to waste away . . .

  Wait.

  That head.

  There it is. Second to last one out of the classroom, buried as usual in a black Raiders ski cap and a shirt I’ve seen before. WE GIVE GOOD FEELING. One of my favorites.

  I am rooted in place.

  Now that he’s right in front of me, I don’t know what to do or say.

  What kind of idiot have I become?

  Dry cotton sticks to the roof of my mouth, refusing to let me speak.

  Help me, please.

  He passes by me, not even noticing.

  His scent! I can smell his subtle essence, even from here. I want to reach for his hand and pull him to me. Instead, I only watch the back of that tall, muscular body merging into the crowd, walking away from me.

  Don’t leave.

  I can’t let him leave.

  I have to say something. Anything.

  I charge forward, grabbing a random arm to propel myself ahead of Cale, and then stop and spin around to face him.

  He halts, his eyes lifted in surprise. I so miss that look—that mischievous expression that means he’s about to start teasing me. Those long eyelashes.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to get my erratic breaths somewhat under control.

  Somebody bumps into me and another tells me to watch it. I know, I know.

  “Interesting place to stop,” Cale says as crowds of hungry students on their way to lunch stream around us like we’re our own little island.

  Where are my thoughts? My words? I stand there dumb, not saying a thing. “Um . . . ”

  His eyes settle briefly on mine as if looking for a reason to trust me, and then a smile attacks his face and his eyebrows lift everything upward. “Mackenzie Love. I thought I’d never see you again. How’d you enjoy the Ball?”

  An exhale the size of Texas whooshes out of me. He remembers my name. He still knows who I am.

  Breathe.

  “It was a lot of work,” I say, dumbly. Why did I say that?

  “Yeah. Not just for you, either. I’d skip the whole thing if it were up to me.”

  I can’t believe Cale is right here. Right in front of me. It feels so strange, talking to him like we are meeting for the first time. I want to punch him in the shoulder to wake him up, and slide my arms around his torso to get him closer to me. My eyes are stuck staring at his mouth . . . his lips, knowing what they feel like . . .

  “So, I’ll see you around?” he says, trying to get past me. Already.

  No. Cale, you can’t leave me. Don’t you know what it’s like when we kiss?

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, losing my nerve.

  Melting into the tile beneath my feet.

  three

  When I walk into work after school, Tony yells at me for being late and then disappears into the studio without saying another word. Talk about anticlimactic. My whole life today has been an entire string of one anticlimactic moment after another because nobody knows anything is different—except for me. Yet, for some reason, I still keep expecting everyone to be as excited to see me again as I am to see them. Even Tony.

  It’s like that moment when you wave at someone but they don’t see you and you drop your hand to the side, hoping nobody noticed. Mortified you ever lifted your hand to wave in the first place.

  “Hey.” A voice right above me.

  I look up from my chemistry homework and my face explodes in warmth. Cale. He is standing by the door, looking down at me. His stance is hesitant and nervous, as if unsure whether or not he should have come.

  Even then, he’s smiling.

  A glint of surprise ripples through me, striking my emotions raw. Why is he here?

  Before I move or say anything, he takes two steps and sits on the edge of my desk, swinging one of his legs back and forth like he’s not planning on leaving any time soon.

  Don’t leave anytime soon.

  “So I was thinking about making a trade,” he says with a wily smile, pulling out the Love and Rockets record from behind his back and handing it to me.

  “You were?” I stand up, taking the record from him. But something feels off inside my heart. Last week I would’ve been ecstatic about getting this record back; now it feels just sorta eh.

  Probably because I want Cale now, not the record.

  My eyes fall on the white squares on the front of the album, pulling my thoughts backward to our joint art project now buried somewhere in the corridors of my mind.

  “Lost your inspiration?” I say at last, trying to be witty. Failing. My comebacks sound so much better when I’m not emotionally invested in the dude standing in front of me, looking impossibly irresistible. Now, ever since I fell head over heels for this guy, I’ve turned into some weird, noodley wimp with probably zero chance of him noticing me.

  “Nope. My partner wasn’t too excited about the record, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling a pang of jealousy shoot through me, at the same time curious who his art partner is since it isn’t me anymore.

  “Yeah. He’s more into literal stuff. He’s crappy at art too, but don’t tell anyone I said that,” he says, lowering his voice and glancing around the store for eavesdroppers. “So how about something else?” He stands up and sidles past me to the first shelf. “Maybe something a little more literal . . . you know, with actual people or something on the cover?”

  “I don’t know.” I join him and start flipping through records too. But I can’t focus; all I can do is listen to the silence stifling the air around us.

  “What about something like this?” he says, trying to temper a laugh. I lean over, wondering what he found. “I’m sort of into this kind of thing,” he adds, pointing at two girls holding guitars, wearing only red heels and bikinis.

  I snatch the record out of his hand and punch him in the arm. “You’re banned for life now, you know,” I say, not even close to meaning it. “I warned you. Now you’re going to have to find your inspiration at another establishment. Good luck.”

  His laugh eases into a smile, the creases in his face swallowing up a handful of freckles. “Awww, come on. That other record’s just a bunch of squares. This one’s so much better. And see how empowering it is to women? Red is a power color, you know.”

  “Mr. Tabish hates that kind of thing, anyway. So you’re asking to fail.”

  “You have Tabish, too?”

  “Uhhhh . . . no. I just heard about him. He’s tough.”

  “Oh, great then. Now I’m going to leave here empty-handed. And not only is my partner going to hate me, but Tabish is going to fail me too. Thanks a lot.”

  “I have a feeling you already have something amazing in the works. You’re probably halfway done with your poster already. I wouldn’t sweat it.”

  “How do you know I make posters?”

  Oh, shoot. I keep forgetting which me knows what.

  Let’s see . . . how to get myself out of this. “Just a feeling, that’s all. A good feeling, like your shirt.” I chuckle, trying to change focus by pointing to the words covering the front of his T-shirt—WE GIVE GOOD FEELING. “Who’s we, anyway?”

  He takes a peek at his shirt. “Whoever you want.”

  I inch closer to him by making it look like I’m organizing the cassette table behind him. “Well, that’s ambiguous.”

  “That’s the whole point. At first glance these random sayings may appear to be nonsense, but in reality their vagueness is a personalized message to the reader. Get it?”

  I’m still trying to digest what he just said.

  He clarifies. “So the sayings end up meaning whatever you think they mean. Or want them to mean.”

  “Or you’re just really gifted at making anything look appealing,” I say, thinking less about his shirt and more about who’s in it. “You should be a lawyer. Or a salesman. Oh, wait—I think they’re the same thing.” I smirk.

  “Hey, you’re funny,” he says, mocking me as he slides a row of cassettes out of the way and sits atop the cassette table, his legs only a couple of inches from my arms. Whoa. I have to take a deep breath at his familiar sandalwood scent . . . so good. And he’s only inches from me . . . so close.

  I can feel the heat of his skin.

  Why is it so difficult to gather up my courage to get closer to him, yet so easy to banter back and forth with him like this all day long?

  “You still don’t remember me, do you?” he asks with a deadserious look on his face.

  What is he talking about? Of course I remember him! He’s practically all I remember (or want to remember) from my Struck life.

  Oh, wait. Cale doesn’t know about my Struck life.

  He’s not talking about that at all. Then . . . what’s he talking about?

  His eyes continue to hold me hostage, staring me down like I’m his prisoner.

  “What are you—” I start, but he cuts me off with one word. “Baggins.”

  “Baggins . . . ” I repeat, wondering why it sounds so familiar . . . and then it all comes into focus—middle school! Except back then, Cale was way shorter, way stockier, and had a huge head of hair that was always a mess, sort of like a hobbit. Everyone called him Baggins. It didn’t help that he liked The Lord of the Rings either.

  My eyes go wide. “That’s right! You were Baggins?” I can’t believe it. “Wow. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’m not.” He chuckles. “You not recognizing me was the best compliment of my life.”

  “Are you sure that was you?” I say, scrutinizing him, looking for any sign of his old self. Talk about being reinvented.

  “If it wasn’t, then I went through three years of torture for nothing.”

  “Did I—?”

  “Relax. Everyone did. You teasing me wasn’t any different from anyone else.”

  Still, why couldn’t I have been the one nice kid? The one who stood up for him? Even in this life as the old Mackenzie Love, without the baggage of being a lucky one, I would have hoped to have been the nice kid.

  I guess nobody’s immune from turning into a jerk when everything’s going your way.

  “So, tell me this,” Cale says, clasping his hands together, squaring his jaw and drawing his eyebrows together, like he is a lawyer about to offer me a plea deal. “How am I supposed to come see you again if I’m banned from the store?”

  Flip.

  He’s looking directly in my eyes now, and I’m so aware of it that all I can do is think about how he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him, which makes it impossible for me to say something coherent on top of that. “I—I think I can make an exception. Just this once,” I manage to say.

  His eyes, still penetrating mine. “Sounds good, Love.”

  Love. He called me Love.

  He stands up, finally breaking eye contact. I exhale for some reason, the tension in me somehow thinking I was holding my breath. Believe me, it was just as intense.

  “Okay, I appreciate your help today,” he says, walking to the door. “Now I guess I’m off to find inspiration somewhere else, since you don’t approve of my tactics.”

  I lose my train of thought as he edges past me, feeling my lips tingling as he opens the door.

  “Bye,” I say, wishing he would come back already. Willing to give him a whole stack of bikini-clad women just for him to stay.

  He waves, the door shutting behind him.

  Me, standing there, watching him leave, not willing to let him go.

  Not willing to wait for him to come back to me.

  Now knowing what I have to do.

  Go to him.

  four

  Nate’s car is in the driveway, still warm. I race up the walkway and burst through the front door, straight into the arms of my oldest brother. He tries to release me sooner than I’m ready, then pulls me closer once he must have realized how serious I am about this hugging business.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he says when I finally let go.

  His thick hair stands up in a million directions, thanks to my attack. He is shorter and broader than Spencer or Dad, and always reminded me of a teddy bear with his dark hair and darker eyes and sweet disposition. Being six years older than me means we have less in common, but I’ve always looked up to him like another dad or an uncle. Just knowing Nate isn’t three thousand miles away anymore is enough to make me eternally happy.

  “Did you have a good trip?” I ask.

  “You know I’m only an hour away, right?” he says, setting plates around the table for dinner.

  I grab a pile of napkins to help him. “But that’s still too far.”