Prologue

PROLOGUE

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

W hy did he have to be so cute?

I didn’t get it.

I didn’t like it.

All that dark hair flopping over his forehead? It was ridiculous. My Zac Efron loving heart found the other Zach—Zachary Stone—too much to look at. Sometimes when I stared at him, I could swear I felt my heart get bigger.

Did that mean I was going to die? Not to be dramatic or anything, but I could be theatrical with the best of them. Rachel McAdams had nothing on me. Those tears she cried in The Notebook ? Yeah, I could do them better. I knew every word to that movie, every sigh. Every smile warmed me to the tips of my toes. Sure, as I got older—I was a mature fifteen now after all—I’d started figuring out that threatening to kill himself because he wanted a date with the heroine was not the best way to go for the hero.

They were still swoony. Sadly, my mother thought I spent far too much time being swooned. Wait … is that a word? Can one be swooned? I know someone can swoon, but I’m not sure on the other part. I’m making it a word, though. I’m swooned.

Zach, my brother’s best friend, was making me swoon.

I, Olivia Carter, was the queen of swoon.

Unfortunately, the object of my affection didn’t seem to realize I was alive.

“Earth to Olivia,” a loud voice blared in my ear, causing my green eyes to swing to my brother Rex. He had an impish look on his face.

“You’re in the way,” Rex said when I didn’t respond to him.

As older brothers went, for the record, he was the absolute worst. Just this morning he woke me up by farting in my face. He thought it was hilarious. Me? Not so much. What seventeen-year-old still did that? I was certain Zach didn’t do that. He was far too mature.

“What did you say?” I asked dumbly, tucking a strand of my dark hair behind my ear as I hoped beyond hope that I didn’t have anything stuck in my braces that might draw Zach’s attention. I was sitting in the corner of the basement writing my innermost thoughts in my journal, minding my own business. The karma gods had to smile on me today. I was being an angel. Fine, I was doodling Zach’s name over and over again. It’s the same thing, though.

“I said that you need to go,” Rex replied, his eyes—so much like my own, were full of annoyance. “Mom said we could have the basement today. That means you need to vamoose.”

It took me a moment to register his words, and when I did, I was annoyed. “You don’t own the basement,” I fired back. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“No.” Rex wasn’t having it as he gestured toward the pool table on the far side of the space. There, Zach was perusing the pool cues—a hodgepodge of sticks that my father had collected over the years that have seen better days—and he briefly glanced up when he saw I was yet to leave.

“No girls allowed,” Zach teased, his smile spreading across his entire face.

I couldn’t help but smile in return, showing off my ridiculous braces with the bright green rubber bands I’d gotten to match my eyes because Zach once mentioned it was a pretty color. Sure, he was making fun of me—he seemed to like doing that—but he was still smiling. When one person smiles at another, the correct response is to smile back.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said when Rex poked me again. He really was being the king of the tools today. “I’m just … working on a poem.” I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t like reading poetry, let alone writing it, but it seemed like something a mature individual would do. Zach would surely notice me if he thought I was more mature.

“You’re writing a poem?” Rex made a face and reached for my notebook.

I expected the move and slapped his hand away before he could grab it. I would be mortified—like die on the spot embarrassed—if he saw my doodles. What was worse was that he would show them to Zach, and then they would laugh at me in tandem.

Then, of course, I really would be the first person to die of embarrassment even though my mother said that wasn’t possible. It would be such a shock to the world that they’d actually engrave it on my tombstone.

See, I am dramatic.

“Mind your own business,” I warned him, my eyes narrowing. “You’re already on thin ice.”

“How am I on thin ice?” Rex planted his hands on his hips. “I’m your favorite brother and you know it.”

“You’re my only brother,” I reminded him.

“I stand by what I said.”

“Just … mind your own business.” He was starting to bother me. Worse than that, he was starting to draw too much attention from Zach. I knew from past experience that if Zach and Rex ganged up on me together, I would spend the rest of my day pouting in my room. Then, when my mother checked on me, I would inevitably tell her why I was pouting. She would proceed to punish my brother, he would call me a narc and ice me out of all future hangout sessions with Zach, and the whole cycle would start all over again.

He called me a tattletale, and maybe I was when I was small. There’s no way I was now, though. I’d matured. I never tattled on my brother. Not even when he and Zach snuck out in the middle of the night to watch the showgirls strut their stuff between casinos on the strip.

Living close to downtown Las Vegas was both a blessing and a curse according to my mother. We were close enough to get anywhere—run to any grocery store or pharmacy—in five minutes. Other sorts of temptations were out there, too, though. Since Zach’s parents owned one of the casinos, that meant he had access to the sort of stuff that my parents frowned upon. Showgirls were the least offensive thing he’d introduced my brother to. I still remember the night Rex first came home drunk. My parents lost it. Weirdly, they didn’t seem to hold it against Zach. They weren’t happy by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t ban him from the house or anything. They did ground Rex for a month. That had been a great time to be alive because it meant Zach had to visit our house multiple times a week if he wanted to see my brother.

Yup. It had been glorious.

I let loose a deep sigh of relief when I was alone in my room later that night. I could hear my parents talking in measured tones in their bedroom. I couldn’t make out all their words, but I could make out enough to get a clear picture.

Lonely kid.

Parents don’t spend enough time with him.

He’s been shown money, not love.

I understood what all of that meant, but I couldn’t wrap my head around what it had to do with Zach. He seemed to have the best life in the world. His parents had more money than God. He got to travel to exotic locations at every turn. He never had to buy back-to-school clothes from Target or Kohl’s. Even his loafers were really expensive.

How could that be a bad thing?

Still, my parents started monitoring Rex more closely after that. Time spent with Zach was spent at our house, not on the strip. Rex had complained that it was embarrassing, but Zach hadn’t seemed to mind. He even got excited for family dinner.

I’d never been to a casino—I wasn’t old enough—but I’d heard that the food was to die for. There weren’t buckets of chicken being hastily scattered across a table. No, they were getting lobster … and prime rib … and lamb chops. Yet Zach seemed perfectly happy to fight over biscuits when Dad brought home Popeye’s. It was all so weird.

Thankfully, Zach was hot because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to put up with how weird he was. He spent all his time flicking my ear when I walked past him and telling weird jokes with my brother. I knew Zach had three sisters of his own, but I’d never met them. The way Zach talked about them, they were the worst people on earth.

Thankfully, I wasn’t that sort of sister. I was fun, and when it was just Rex and me, we got along fine. It was only when he had friends over that he wanted me to get lost.

“I’ll be quiet,” I said to Rex when he continued to stare.

“No.” Rex shook his head. “You need to go far, far away. Mom said we could have the basement. That means you have to go that way.” He pointed toward the stairs.

I frowned at the finger he’d so easily thrown out there. It was my father’s finger. They pointed the same way. They bossed me around the same way, too.

“I’m good,” I said as I readjusted on the chair. “I’m not in your way. I don’t even want to play the winner.”

Rex snorted. “That’s good, because you’re not invited to play.”

“Girls can’t play pool anyway,” Zach said as he chalked up the cue.

“I can play pool,” I argued. I was actually quite good. Rex had taught me … on a day when he had no friends to hang out with so he lowered himself to spend time with his little sister.

“Sure you can, Shortstuff.” Zach winked.

I hated— absolutely loathed —it when he called me Shortstuff. I hated it when he called me Shorty too. Don’t even get me started on Little Miss Shortcakes. Or Squirt. That was the worst. It wasn’t my fault that Rex had gotten all the height in the family. I was only two years younger than him, but most people thought he was at least four years older than me because of my height.

I’d asked my mother if she thought it was possible that I would still hit a growth spurt. She’d been quiet for a long time, then smiled in a way that told me she was about to drop a whopper of a lie on me.

“It’s totally possible,” she said brightly. “I don’t see why you would want to be taller, though. Everybody knows that short girls have it better. Men prefer short women to tall.”

“Then why are models all tall?” I’d challenged.

“Because they prefer romancing clothes rather than men.” She said it in such a way that warned me not to argue with her. She seemed to believe it. I was still unsure.

“Whatever.” That was my response to everything when I didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t that I was afraid to fight—I could give it as good as I received it when fighting with Rex—but sometimes I took the path of least resistance because I was trying to ascertain if the fight was worth it. I spent more time wondering if it was worth fighting than I actually did fighting.

“Go upstairs!” Rex exploded, jerking me out of the momentary reverie I’d lost myself in. “You can’t stay here. I won’t allow it.”

That was enough to raise my hackles, and I gripped my notebook in my left hand as I stood. “You won’t allow it? Since when are you king of the house?”

“Just go, Livvie,” Rex complained. “Nobody wants you here. You’re annoying.” He looked to Zach for support. “Tell her that sisters are the worst.”

“Sisters are the worst,” Zach readily agreed, causing my heart to plummet. “You should go upstairs, Shortypants,” he continued. “We’re not going to be doing anything down here worthy of poetry anyway.”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. It was obvious he didn’t want me down here any more than Rex wanted me hanging around. And wasn’t that a kick in the sternum?

Before I could muster a response, my mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She looked tired, as if she’d already worked a double shift at the restaurant she owned. It was just off the strip and cheaper than some of the other restaurants. That meant she got good foot traffic and made a decent living. It was a lot of work, though, and when somebody called in sick, she had to cover. That’s why she’d worked back-to-back shifts today.

“What’s going on down here?” she asked, glancing between faces.

“Nothing,” Zach automatically replied. “You look lovely today, Mrs. Carter. You could be a model.”

Mom rolled her eyes, but a small smile played at the corners of her lips. “Has anybody ever told you that sometimes less is more, Zach?” she asked.

Zach seemed confused. “I don’t believe I’m following.”

“You’re a charming kid,” Mom said to him. “You have the world at your fingertips. There’s a fine line between charming and smarmy though.”

Rather than be offended, Zach seemed to take it all in. “Would you call my father smarmy?” he asked finally.

Mom looked caught. “Your father loves you,” was what she said finally.

Nobody commented on the fact that Zach had asked an entirely different question.

“Why are you guys fighting down here?” Mom asked, swinging the conversation back to where it had started.

“Your daughter won’t leave us alone,” Rex replied. “She’s sitting in the corner writing poetry like a big old loser.”

“Poetry?” Mom’s forehead creased in confusion, and she darted a look at me. Then she took in the notebook I was clutching, and understanding dawned on her. She knew I had a crush on Zach. I’d denied it multiple times, but she didn’t believe me. “I see.” Her smile popped the dimple I’d inherited from her in her left cheek. “Well, is there any reason she can’t write her poetry down here while you guys play?”

“Because you said we could have the basement to ourselves today,” Rex replied. “That was the trade-off for us not being able to go to that show Rex’s father got us the tickets for.”

“Oh, right.” Mom’s smile disappeared. “The burlesque show.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue, glanced over at me, and sighed. I knew the second her eyes turned pleading that I’d lost. “Can you please go upstairs? I did give your brother the basement for today.”

There was no sense in fighting. I knew it. If asking nicely didn’t work, Mom would simply put her foot down. I was too much of a good girl to fight with my mother when she put her foot down. “Fine.” I was sullen as I stepped around her to head up the stairs. “Whatever.”

Mom made an exasperated sound behind me. She hated it when I said “whatever” over and over again. She said it was a defeatist word and I had to learn how to argue with strength and perseverance. What had I said to that? Yeah. Whatever.

“Oh, don’t be so sad, Shorty,” Zach called to my back. “If you’d stayed down here with us, we would’ve made you recite your poetry.”

I didn’t meet his gaze. There was no point. He saw me as the annoying little sister who never let Rex get his way. I would never be anything but that to him.

My feet were heavy as I trudged up the stairs. When we reached the top, Mom put a hand on my arm. “Poetry?” she asked on an arched eyebrow.

All I could do was shrug.

“I know you have a crush on Zach,” she started.

“I don’t have a crush on him,” I lied, my cheeks catching fire. “Why would you say that?”

Mom held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry. Obviously, I was mistaken.” She glanced back down the stairs, then settled her gaze on me. “He’s not the one for you.”

“Who said anything about ‘the one’?” I was appalled.

“You’ve been crushing on him for two years.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What did I say?”

To my surprise, Mom laughed. “Zach has hard lessons in front of him. I know you can’t see that now, but his life isn’t going to be easy.”

Was she saying my life was going to be easy? I couldn’t follow.

“You guys are from two different worlds,” Mom continued. “His friendship with Rex isn’t going to last either, even though it would be the best thing for Zach. Your brother will be crushed when he realizes Zach will be moving on, but our lifestyles just don’t mesh. You’re better off letting him go now.”

I was pained at the prospect. “I think you don’t see who he really is,” I said finally.

“I see a charming boy who never had a chance in this world,” Mom replied. “I see exactly who he is, and I feel bad for him. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s going in a different direction from your brother.” She playfully poked my side. “And you. It’s best if you find someone else to crush on.”

Oh, if only it were that easy. Still, something she’d said stuck with me. “Do you really think Zach and Rex won’t be friends forever?”

“I think that when Zach graduates and he’s expected to help with the casino, that he’ll be plunged into a different world. We don’t belong in that world.”

“Why not?” I was genuinely curious.

“Because that world is too glitzy. It’s not real. We like real things, don’t we?”

“Sure.” I nodded. It was expected, so I did it. “I think Zach is real, though.”

“It would be nice if he was, but this world—the world his parents have set up for him—will suck any realness out of him. Just let your brother and Zach hang out. They graduate in four months. After that, they’re both going to be drawn in different directions. This is sort of their last hurrah.”

I opened my mouth, but there was nothing I could say. So, as always, I shrugged. “Whatever.” With that, I carried my notebook toward my bedroom. I didn’t believe what my mother was saying. I had no cause to argue with it, though.

Zach didn’t want me around. I had to accept it and move on.

Even if that floppy hair would most certainly haunt my nightmares forever.