Chapter 18

"Ew, stop!" Waylon shrieks, running across our backyard.

Izzy's chasing him, cackling like the hyenas from that Disney movie we watched last week.

I plop down in the dirt to watch them as they run circles around the yard.

Izzy finally reaches him when he trips over a rock and falls on his knees. She tackles him, and plants a wet, loud kiss on his cheek.

I giggle as he slaps at her and tries to crawl away.

"Isobel!" Mommy calls out from where she's been reading a book in her lounge chair. The sun is hot today, and my skin is all slimy with sunblock. It smells good though. "Stop trying to kiss him."

"But he's my husband," Izzy says, pouting.

Mommy laughs, shaking her head. "Did he get any say in this?"

Waylon huffs. "No," he says at the same time Izzy says, "Yes."

They all look to me and I duck my head, hiding a smile.

"JJ was the priest!" Izzy yells cheerfully.

I push up and run over to Mommy. Music's playing from her little radio, and she's reading a book with a half-naked man on the front who looks like Tarzan.

"Hey, sweet boy," she says, ruffling my hair.

"Hi," I whisper.

"What did those two rope you into now?"

I shrug, and she laughs. I like her laugh. It's pretty.

"Now we need to find Jeremy a wife!" Izzy says, racing over to us.

I make a face, shaking my head.

"But JJ," she says, grabbing my hands, making me jump around with her in a circle. Waylon's laying in the grass still, like a starfish, staring up at the sky. "We have to get married at the same time, so we can still live together."

Mom laughs at that.

And Izzy's spinning me, and spinning me, and spinning me…

AGE 14, AUGUST

"This is so lame,"Waylon says, scowling at the empty Coke bottle laid out on the rug, currently pointing between me and the girl on my right.

Her name is Sarah. And on her left, there's Dana. And on my left, between me and Waylon, is Kasey. Three of Izzy's friends—girl friends—something our parents have insisted on Izzy making more time for. They're sleeping over tonight. An end of summer slumber party before we all start high school next week. Me included.

So long homeschooling, hello Hell.

And to think it was my idea…

One I'm already beginning to regret if it's things like this I'll be subject to.

"It'll be fun," Kasey says, her cheeks turning pink. Waylon side-eyes her and quickly looks down, his own face heating.

I quickly divert my gaze, focusing on a loose thread curling up from my jeans.

Izzy and Dana are talking logistics and rules and whatnot, their voices mingling with the Creed song playing from the stereo.

According to Izzy, Dana's the only one she genuinely likes—apparently she plays violin, so I'm not surprised they've bonded over music.

I still remember the fight I overheard a couple weeks ago. Izzy was all angry because our parents said they were worried she didn't have any other friends outside of Waylon, who's basically our brother, and Mason, her boyfriend for almost two years now.

Yeah, that's still a thing. So much for hoping they'd get bored of it after a couple weeks.

I remember Mom trying to reason with her. "Your whole world can't revolve around?—"

And my sister all but screamed before she could even get the words out, "Why not?"

I still wonder if Mom was going to say piano or the boys. Could go either way. Could be both.

Probably both.

"The girls at school only care about makeup and being popular, and I don't care about that."

"How do you know if you don't try?" Mom had pressed gently.

Izzy sniffed and replied, "Why do you want me to be someone I'm not?"

At that my dad had stepped in. "Honey, it's not that. We just want you to be open to new experiences and people. You're a teenager. You don't have to have your whole life figured out this young."

"But I do…I do have it figured out. I know what I want…"

And I remember feeling a sort of sinking pit taking form inside me, when I realized my parents never give me crap about my lack of friends, or the fact I don't really do anything outside of obsessing over comics and fandoms, and sketching. I barely leave the house enough as it is, unless it's with them, though I've gotten a lot better in the last year and a half.

After the whole ulcer ordeal in elementary school, I started seeing a new therapist. Taking meds. It's far from cured me, but at least I can bear to be around strangers again—my peers in particular. I'm here, hanging out, joining in on this stupid game after all.

Would you if it was boys from school instead?

Grimacing at the thought, I visualize balling it up and chucking it away, remembering what Dr. Stevens and I have been working on the last three months since I decided to try public school again.

If I go in expecting to fail, I will fail.

Again, I think of my parents, and how different they are with me. How less pushy they are about things like making friends and doing school sports and whatnot.

Is it because I'm a boy and my only friends are boys?

Are they really your friends though?

Is it because Mom and Dad know no one else would want to be my friend, because I'm…different, because they know I'd be no good at anything else outside of drawing?

You know what you are…

You know why…

My palms grow sweaty, and I curl my fingers into fists, focusing on breathing.

A familiar laugh has me pulling free of my troubling thoughts before I can spiral my way into an anxiety attack. I lift my head, finding the person that laugh belongs to sitting directly across from me in our makeshift circle on the floor.

I don't know how I ended up over here, separated from all of them. But then again, where there's a wall, there's a Jeremy. Just call it the thirteenth law of the universe.

If I moved now, it would just draw unnecessary attention to me.

Mason's turned toward Waylon, seated to his right. "Aw, are you afraid of cooties?" he says, and not for the first time, I'm shocked by how deep his voice has gotten, despite how it still cracks and squeaks at times.

He—we are only fourteen, but he seems so much older than me these days.

Of course, he hates it when his voice betrays him like that. He gets all red-faced and clears his throat a bunch of times, like he's pretending something got caught there.

Lucky for him, it's been doing that a lot less lately. Far less than mine, especially when I get really going about something. Which means it usually only happens when I'm with him, talking about the newest superhero movie or comic book I've read, and I'm too excited to worry about how lame I'm being.

Not that he finds it lame…

He's probably the only one who is as lame as me about this stuff. And hopefully he always will be, even though we're getting older, and loving comics and superheroes are even less cool in high school than they were when we were younger.

So I keep waiting for the day that changes too. When he grows out of superheroes and Pearl Jam and we no longer have anything left in common.

And when that happens…

I'm not really sure why I've kept track of our differences as we get older, other than the fact it feels like I'm losing something, but I don't know what. I just know that every time I see him, every time we talk, I wait for his voice to crack—to show me the Mason I know is still in there—the one who'll sneak away from Izzy and Waylon to come hang out with me; the one who saved me from bullies all those years ago; the one who feels like a secret that is mine and only mine…

I wait for that reassuring glimpse, even if everything else about him continues to change. Like his voice and his body and his laugh and his hair. Like the way he's started looking at my sister, when he doesn't think anyone else notices.

It's a weird thought to have, so I keep it to myself like most things.

Like the way I sometimes focus on how long his hair has gotten, curling around his ears in wavy, ashy brown tufts.

He has to push it back a lot, but sometimes it falls over his eyes when we're looking at comic books, or burning CDs, and I'll feel this weird, twisting sensation low in my belly, that has me clenching my hands and feeling hot in the face, unable to tear my eyes away. Not until he catches me and asks what's wrong, if he has something on his face, and I have to lie or make up some excuse about zoning out.

He's taller now too. Tall and lanky in a way that should be awkward, and yet he carries himself like he's always carried himself. Comfortable and easygoing, like he doesn't have a care in the world.

I know that's not true though. But unlike me, he's a lot better at hiding it from the others.

Between his gangly build, and floppy hair, the dark wash jeans he loves to wear, over-sized band tees, and black Vans… He's got this grungy sort of skater boy vibe going on, despite the fact he can't skateboard for shit.

He tried last summer and fell flat on his face. He ended up needing six stitches under his chin. If he tilts his head back, like he is now, mid-laugh, you can still see a faint pink scar.

"Okay, okay," Izzy says, clapping to get everyone's attention. She crosses her legs, and leans forward, reaches toward the center of our makeshift circle and grabs the bottle.

She's only wearing a tank top, and leaning over like that puts her cleavage on full display.

Gross.

I quickly look away, but not before catching Mason as his face reddens and he does the same thing. Only I know he's not disgusted like me.

She's my sister. Of course I find it gross.

But when I glance to my left, catching Casey dressed similarly, before quickly darting my gaze away, I can't help but wonder if it's more than that.

Why does Mason get all weird about boobs, and I don't? Is that another thing I'm behind in? Will I get what all the fuss is once my voice fully drops too?

Izzy says, "I'll go first. It has to be a real kiss, okay? On the lips."

"With tongue?" Mason says, snickering.

In my lap, I twist my fingers together, rubbing furiously at each knuckle.

My sister smacks his arm with her free hand. "No, not unless you want to." Her face turns pink and she pointedly stares at the bottle. Her brow furrows and she twists her hand, letting the bottle spiral like a top.

Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wiggle my ankle, nerves eating at me as I watch it slow, then stop.

On Waylon.

Waylon makes a grossed out face, and Mason falls back against the couch laughing.

"No tongue, asshole," he says without any heat.

Waylon shoots him a glare, but leans over him at the same time Izzy does the same. Over their heads, Mason's gaze finds mine and he wags his brows.

My foot's restless jiggling slows, and I roll my eyes and look away, fighting a smile, just as a loud, dramatic smack of lips fills the room.

"Ugh!" Waylon exclaims, wiping the back of his hand over his lips.

"You're such a little baby," Izzy teases. "As if we've never touched lips before. Did you forget we're married?"

Mason gasps as if he didn't already know this story. I just shake my head at their ridiculousness, vaguely remembering their "wedding." I officiated it. We were five. As far as I know, that was the first and only kiss they shared. Well, until just now.

Waylon settles back against the other side of the couch and shakes his head at her, but there's no denying the smile he's trying to hold in. Like always, his dimples give him away. "Shut up. We divorced the second you cheated on me with him."

"Oh whatever, it's your turn."

Waylon scrunches his nose and reaches for the bottle. His fingers twitch over it, and I look up just in time to catch him glancing my way. He quickly ducks his head, averting his gaze, jaw pulsing with how tightly he clenches it.

A funny feeling builds in my chest, and I curl myself into an even tighter ball, telling myself it's just in my head. It's just Waylon being Waylon. It's not personal.

It's not like he and I were ever super close, not like him and Izzy are, especially after Mason entered the picture. But we were closer than whatever we are now, which isn't much of anything.

But when he gets like this, all darting looks and ticking jaws…

Well, it's impossible not to wonder what's going through his head.

If it weren't for Izzy and Mason, and the fact we were raised together like brothers…

Would he just be like everyone else who bullied me when I was younger?

I hate that the thought even crosses my mind. Over and over again, I tell myself he's better than that—he's not them. But it's impossible not to consider it when he can barely stand to look at me sometimes.

Not to mention, his dad can't stand me. I don't see Chief McAllister often, especially now that we're older and Waylon will either just walk or ride his bike over, or catch rides with my parents or Mason's mom. But when he used to come around…

I didn't miss the looks he'd give me, especially as I got older, and became hyper-attuned to that sort of thing.

Can't help but wonder what he said about me when I wasn't around.

What he might've filled Waylon's head with over the years.

It's no secret his dad's a drunk piece of shit who hangs with Shiloh's worst of the worst. Only reason Mom and Dad haven't cut all ties with the man, is because of their love for his son—or rather, Gemma's son. But they stopped inviting him to things years ago. Stopped hoping the man they once knew would come back.

It was never outright said, but I know they too took notice of how Chief McAllister looked at me—that disdain he couldn't even bother to mask.

Sucking in my cheeks, I refocus on the scene before me, and watch the bottle spin and spin and spin, silently praying it doesn't land on me. While I doubt we'd actually have to kiss, I really don't want all that awkwardness.

Most of all, I don't want him to confirm my suspicions.

Izzy wouldn't take too kindly to that. Mason either. And despite what Waylon might think about me deep down, I know just how important they are to him. How important my parents are to him. He can't lose us.

The bottle stops, and it's as if the whole room sighs in relief. But that's probably just in my head.

Waylon smirks as he pushes up to his knees. Next to me, Sarah giggles, and meets him on all fours in the center of the circle.

When they kiss, there's definitely tongue.

I quickly look away as Mason whistles and the girls cheer.

Shoulders hunched up by my ears, I will myself to turn into a puddle and disappear into the floor. Or fade into the wall behind me.

I knew I should've escaped while I still could…

But every time I tried to disappear upstairs, either Izzy or Mason would catch me and call me over.

They're just being nice. I know that. They want me to feel included, especially since I'll be back in school with them next week, and currently have no other friends.

I don't know these girls, not really, even if I do vaguely remember them from before I started getting homeschooled. And it won't matter come next week anyway, when they're no longer obligated to be kind.

They haven't really said anything to me today, but I've caught a couple looks, and didn't miss them whispering to each other. I told myself it wasn't about me, but it's a lot harder to convince that annoying voice in my head.

Waylon and Sarah separate, returning to their places. Sarah grabs the bottle, and takes her turn. It lands on the girl next to her, and everyone goes crazy.

I feel like I'm dying.

This is the moment I think someone will throw in a rule about this sort of thing. It should've been established from the start. But Izzy's quick to snuff that idea out by saying, "The only exception is me and JJ. Don't be weird, guys." Her gaze flits to me, then away, and I want to kill her.

Waylon tries to object—something I don't know if I'm grateful for or not—but the girls all giggle and seem totally on board. Mason says nothing, but if I'm not mistaken, he's watching me. I don't dare look up and confirm it. Instead, I clench my fists against my shins, digging my nails into my palms.

I suddenly get the feeling this is more than just a game, and my chest tightens all too familiarly.

A roar fills my ears, and I'm vaguely aware of the girls turning toward each other and sharing a couple pecking kisses, giggling like it's nothing at all.

Gritting my teeth, I hold myself rigid, focus on breathing so I don't send myself into a panic attack.

I should just tell them I have to use the bathroom. Make my escape.

I can do this.

I can get out of this.

But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. I'm frozen. Paralyzed.

They'll know.

They'll suspect.

…They already do.

My eyes burn, and I dig my nails in harder, until the pain momentarily replaces my focus.

This isn't fair. I suddenly hate my sister. Mason too, because he has to know what she's up to, as stupid of a plan as this is. I'm so angry, I feel like I could explode.

Around and around we go, and the more nauseous I feel with each spin. The anticipation is becoming painful, knotting my stomach all up, with only brief moments of reprieve every time the bottle lands on someone who isn't me.

How has it not landed on me yet?

Are they doing it on purpose?

I should be grateful if they are.

But if anything, it just makes me feel more pathetic.

There's no winning here.

"Are we done yet?" Waylon grumbles after he has to kiss Sarah for the second time. It keeps landing on him for some reason—every time one of the girls spins, it's either on another girl or on him. At one point Dana got Mason, and I hoped that would be the moment Izzy stopped this.

But nope, she just said the same thing Mason did: "No tongue."

It's Izzy's turn again soon enough, and this time she gets Mason. I look away, staring unseeingly at some spot across the room until my vision blurs.

Their kiss goes on for longer than it should be, by the sounds of everyone around us giving them crap and telling them to get a room.

I barely hold back an eye roll.

Chewing my lip, I curl my toes inside my sneakers, holding the rest of me very still as I wait for Mason to take his turn. Peeking through the corners of my eyes, I watch as he reaches forward, grips the bottle, and gives it a hard spin.

My tongue is in my throat, and my heart somewhere in my stomach, but once again, it skips over me—barely. And like every time he's been the one to take a turn, I feel a little less relieved when it doesn't land on me.

And just a whole lot more confused.

Mason and Kasey share a quick peck on the lips, and then it's her turn.

Another spin. Another kiss.

It's Kasey's turn to spin again.

And then it happens.

"Ohhhhh," one of the girls—I don't know who—intones, just as Izzy squeals.

No…

I tense, and my wide gaze snaps to the bottle.

It's pointed directly at me.

Kasey flashes me a small smile as she pushes up on her knees and scoots toward me.

I gulp and dart a panicked look to the side, seeking out Mason before I can stop myself.

But he's paying me no attention. He's leaning toward Izzy, whispering something in her ear. My sister shakes her head, her face reddening. Jaw set.

I know that look.

She's being stubborn about something. Defensive.

And Mason… He looks annoyed. His jaw is set too, but his only does that when he's biting something back. Restraining himself.

"It's okay."

I meet Kasey's soft blue gaze. She shrugs, and leans forward pecking me on the lips. There and gone so fast, it doesn't even occur to me until she's already sitting back down that I just had my first kiss.

My mouth fumbles for something—words, air, a magic spell that will turn me into a bird so I could fly out of here. I feel her kiss more now after the fact than I did when it happened.

Soft.

Light.

Not bad, but not good. Not like how they make it look in movies, all epic and heart-stopping.

Not like the kisses I sometimes dream about with faceless, bodiless figures distorted by shadows and starlight. The ones I wake up from clutching at my chest and staring up at the ceiling with a lump in my throat when I realize it wasn't real.

That feeling…so vivid, so certain in my dreams. So solid…

This kiss was nothing compared to that.

Because this girl is nothing to you.

"JJ, it's your turn."

Tugged from my thoughts, I meet my sister's gaze across the circle, my eyes and throat burning. If the way the wounded sort of realization flickering across her face is anything to go by, it's more than obvious how upset I am. Disappointed and enraged and hurt.

She can be pushy and selfish at times, sure. But she's never been outright cruel. Does she even realize how messed up this?

Something tells me she doesn't.

Or, at least, she didn't.

Too late now, I think bitterly as I lean forward and grab the bottle, just as she's about to say something. I spin it so hard it's a wonder it doesn't go flying across the room like a frisbee.

I kind of wish it did, if only to distract everyone so I can get out of here.

Feeling numb inside, I watch as the spinning slows, drawing to a stop…

Right along with my heart.

The world…

Time…

Everything grinds to a halt.

My gaze slowly lifts from the red-capped bottle to the body it points at, skating up the black jeans, band tee, clenched jaw, and then finally landing on Mason's too-wide eyes.

Someone cheers, another laughs, someone claps their hands, and another scoffs.

"Come on, Iz," the source of that scoff grumbles. "This is so ga-stupid."

At Waylon's voice—his near slip-up, that I can't even be sure I heard, or just imagined—I stiffen, flinching inward, my throat swelling with something foul-tasting that makes me want to literally claw at my skin and crawl out of it.

Get out. Get out of here.

But when I try to get my body to move—to bolt for the stairs—nothing happens. I'm as frozen now as I was moments ago.

Across the circle, Mason's shoving Waylon and telling him to not be such a dick. Then, pushing up on his knees, he walks himself across the circle, and my eyes widen, finding his.

With a determined sort of scowl etched across his face, Mason tells me, "Ignore him. He forgot what it's like to have fun."

I feel myself give a small nod.

Next to me, I sense more than see as Sarah moves away from us. I try not to squirm, and draw further attention to myself.

Mason draws as close as possible to where I stay balled up against the wall. It feels like there's an earthquake moving through my body. Can he tell? Can they all tell? I hope not.

I don't want to do this.

I should've never come down here in the first place.

Mason's pale blue eyes meet mine as he falls back on his heels, knees brushing my shins, denim scratching over denim.

It's so quiet, leaving only the music still playing—a mix CD Izzy made.

And of course it has to be something romantic playing right now. "I Knew I Loved You" by Savage Garden.

Could this be anymore humiliating?

"If we don't…" Mason whispers, his voice trailing off pointedly.

I don't need to hear what he was going to say. His pinched, worried eyes say it all. All the things I keep hidden from myself.

If we don't follow through, it'll be obvious why.

If I make this any bigger of a deal than the kiss I shared with Kasey, there and gone and meaningless, it'll confirm what so many already suspect about me.

All the taunts and name calling…

Never mattered what I did, how I spoke.

It's like everyone knew a secret about me, before I even knew there was something to try and keep hidden.

I never had a chance…

"Just close your eyes," he mutters quietly.

My eyes dart to my right, where Sarah was sitting moments ago, confirming she did in fact leave.

Where did she go?

"Jeremy."

A glance over Mason's shoulder shows that she's scooted closer to Izzy. They're watching us. My sister's gaze meets mine and she nods, giving me an encouraging smile.

I frown, my eyes hard on hers.

It's okay, she mouths.

No…

No it's not.

"Jeremy."

This time when Mason says my name, low and rough and in a way I've never heard it uttered before, my gaze snaps to his, widening at the unfamiliar intensity in not only the way he just said my name, but at the way he's looking at me.

Like he only has eyes for me.

Like there's no one else here in this room but us.

Like it's just me and him and this strange, unknown planet we've suddenly been dropped on.

Does he feel it too? I wonder.

Is he scared too?

"Close your eyes," he rasps again, his voice feather-light.

I gulp, and do as he says.

He's only inches away, but it feels like an entire galaxy is spread out between us as I wait for him to close the distance.

It's likely only been seconds since he crawled over here—less than a whole minute since I spun the bottle and landed on him. Yet it feels like a whole lifetime has passed—like this moment's being stretched out to infinity—and I wonder if anyone else notices how slowed down everything is.

Perhaps it's all in my head.

Perhaps it's just me who's fallen into some sort of weird time-lapse, stuck but not.

The music still playing fades away, replaced by the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. My hands are squeezed so tight in my lap, my blunt nails dig into my palms, no doubt leaving tiny little red crescent marks.

Just as he presses forward, my lips part with an inhale I didn't realize I was holding.

It's his breath I feel on me first, hot against my face. He smells like pizza and Root Beer, and it should probably be gross, but if anything, it has my heart racing even faster.

He doesn't smell like flowers and lip gloss.

He doesn't smell like flowers and lip gloss.

I don't know why that fact feels so important.

I don't know why I feel relieved.

And then I feel it—feel him—and my brain empties of every thought but him.

Masonmasonmason—

His lips touch mine, soft, dry, even a little chapped.

And everything else just…ceases to exist.

Mason Wyatt is kissing me.

If anyone asks me how long it goes on for, I won't have an answer that makes sense. Realistically, probably no more than a couple seconds. But in our universe, the one we carved out just for us, just for this moment…

Time no longer exists.

No one else exists.

I don't even think I exist anymore.

When he pulls back, my eyes fly open before I can stop them.

But I can't find it in me to regret it—to wish I had savored it more—not when I find Mason's eyes still closed, lips parted, like maybe he too felt timeless for a moment, just as I had.

It's an image I just know that I'll carry with me until the day I die, and maybe even after that. For all I know, this will be the moment that will play on repeat for billions of years—just another star in the sky to be wished upon.

I wish…

Mason's eyes open far more gently, slowly than mine, like he's waking up from a long sleep. Our eyes connect for one heavy, yet soft beat, and try as I might to catch and dissect the emotion gleaming back at me from those nearly translucent blue eyes of his…

I can't.

It's gone.

It might've never even been there to begin with.

He drops his gaze, light brown hair curling over his brow, hiding his eyes. His cheeks are red, but something tells me it's not for the same reason I feel all hot and tingly and out of breath, like I might faint.

Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to where Izzy's rolling the Coke bottle between her hands, looking a combination of impatient and nervous as she darts glances between me and the back of Mason's head.

She smiles when I catch her, and I'm grateful, suddenly, that she's not facing him. That no one but me got to see that look on his face, whatever it meant.

It's a secret for me and me only, one I'll take to the grave. Even if I did only imagine it—even if it was only my own hopes reflected back at me, fragile that they've always been, buried so deep, I never let myself really acknowledge them until now.

Tears sting my eyes as all at once reality rushes forward, time picking up again, and I find myself throwing myself back into the drywall with a dull, reverberating thud.

I hang my head, letting my hair fall around my boiling hot face.

The music seems louder now, no longer muffled by the blood roaring in my ears. Though I still feel it—my thrashing heart. It beats against my ribcage, like it's seconds away from bursting out, and exposing all my secrets to be feasted upon.

Fingers rubbing over my sternum, I try to soothe it. Like maybe I could reassure it enough to stay put. I don't want anyone else to see what hides inside.

It was just a meaningless kiss.

Just like the first one I had with Kasey.

Was that really only minutes ago?

I'm distantly aware of Mason returning to his spot next to Izzy, and when I peek up, I'm not at all surprised to find his face devoid of the color that was there a moment ago.

His jaw ticks when he bows his head toward Izzy and says something in her ear that has her rolling her eyes. She then leans forward to set the bottle on the carpet once more.

"No way. Fuck this, I'm done."

It's Waylon who says this, and it's met with boos from the girls.

He's scowling, and his face is all red, and I suddenly feel very, very self-conscious as it hits me—really hits me—what I just did. As if the shock of what just happened had been somehow keeping my anxiety at bay.

I kissed a boy.

In front of a room full of people.

I might as well have just stripped naked and cut open my veins and stood here for people to gawk at.

The giggles and whispers amongst the girls seem louder suddenly, and when I glance up, I find Dana staring at me. It feels like everyone is. Though there's one person I can't bring myself to look at.

Not now, not when I blew that all up in my head, and created something out of literally nothing.

That's why he looked away.

Why his cheeks were red.

He's embarrassed.

He pities me.

Fortunately, this time, Izzy doesn't try to change Waylon's mind, or insist we all keep playing. They decide to watch a movie instead, and as if finally freed of the chains that were keeping me here throughout the game, nothing holds me back from making my escape.

Without a word to anyone, I keep my head low, gaze to the floor as I push to a stand and make for the door leading into the studio so I can go upstairs—my only exit. My path is clear, until a black pair of Converse appear out of nowhere, blocking my way.

I lift my gaze to find my sister standing there, watching me with a nervous sort of hopefulness that baffles me as much as it infuriates me.

"Where are you going? We're gonna watch Pirates of the Caribbean."

"Already seen it." With Mason, actually. In theaters back in May. Assuming it's the most recent one. She must've found it online somewhere—burned it onto a disc—because it's not yet out on DVD.

She waves her hand. "Well, yeah, but?—"

"I'm out," I mutter, and go to step around her, when she jumps in my path again.

"What?" I explode harshly, and much too loudly.

Her eyes go big and round, mouth parting.

My chest heaves, lungs on fire, nostrils flaring.

She frowns, searching my face. "JJ, I… Are you…are you mad?"

I stare at her, right into those brown eyes, the twins to mine, and wonder how someone who claims to always know what I'm feeling and what I need can be so clueless.

"I kind of really hate you right now," I tell her.

A hurt look overcomes her face, and she starts shaking her head, eyes reddening as they fill with tears. "J–"

"Izzy," a voice barks.

My sister's wet, wounded gaze darts just past me. I didn't hear him approach.

"Let him go," Mason says stiffly, and my own body tenses. It feels like everyone is staring, and I don't dare look around to confirm it.

Now would be the perfect time for the earth to open up and swallow me.

Izzy looks from Mason to me, and says, "O-okay."

Shaking my head, I shove past her, knocking her shoulder with mine, not bothering to be gentle about it either. I feel more than see her flinch, and can't find it in me to feel bad.

She doesn't call after me or try to stop me this time, and somehow I just know it's because of Mason. I don't know whether to be grateful or hurt by his dismissal.

Let him go.

Was he doing that for me…

Or for him, so he didn't have to face me after that?

Did we just ruin everything?

Did I?

Everything that just went down replays in my head on a loop, growing more twisted and damning with each passing second. More than one set of eyes drills into my back as I rush out of the family room, but I don't look back.

If I could, I'd make like the Flash and race around the planet as many times as I needed to, to go back to before this party even started.

Even if it means never knowing what it's like to kiss a boy…

To kiss Mason.

I'd take not knowing over this.