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science and art and politics, and there’s so much witty banter it makes me want to throw something. They were talking about the possibility of an HIV vaccine, and I was sick of just sitting there like a slug, so I said I’d be scared to get the AIDS vaccine because I heard it had weak versions of the AIDS virus in it and I’d be worried about getting AIDS. And everyone stopped talking and they all looked at me funny like they were trying not to laugh, and finally my brother was like, ‘Megan, you know all vaccines have weak and dead versions of viruses in them, right? That’s how vaccines work.’” Her eyes tear up and she presses the heels of her hands against them. “I’m notstupid. I just don’t know everything about everything the way they do. I’m not going back in there.”
    I’m trying to decide whether to pat her on the back when there’s a faint beeping from inside the house.
    â€œCrap. My soufflé!” She grimaces. “I guess I am going back in there.”
    She darts into the kitchen, not even bothering to close the door behind her. A minute later she’s back with two spoons, a tiny pitcher, and a round white dish bulging with what looks like a very puffy chocolate cake sprinkled with powdered sugar.
    â€œIt’s my best soufflé yet,” she says. Her eyes are still red, but at least she’s smiling now.
    She sits back down beside me and places the dish between us on a pot holder. Handing one spoon to me, she breaks the top of the soufflé with another and pours on a chocolaty-looking sauce.
    â€œWell, go on. Try it.”
    I start to dip my spoon in, but hesitate. “Isn’t this the dessert for your parents’ brunch?”
    â€œIt’s okay. There are three more inside. They’ll only stay puffy like that for a few more minutes, and after they fall, they don’t look as cool, but people who think I’m dumb don’t deserve the splendor of a perfect soufflé.”
    I spoon up a bite. Holy unbelievable goodness. If clouds were made out of chocolate, this is what they would taste like.
    â€œOh my gosh. It’s amazing. Did you really make this?”
    She grins. “Yep.”
    â€œWow. I had no idea you did stuff like that.” Oops. That came out harsher than it was supposed to.
    â€œYou mean stuff that’s not cheerleading?”
    I nod.
    â€œIt’s okay. Most people don’t.”
    Megan digs in too, and we eat until we’re scraping the bottom of the ramekin.
    â€œSo, we should do stuff like this more often.”
    â€œSteal food from your parents’ social events?”
    â€œHa-ha. I mean, hang out.”
    Before today, if you had told me Megan McQueen would want to hang out with me and I would want to say yes, I’d have said you were crazy. But to my surprise, I actually find myself saying, “I’d like that.”

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Chapter
4
    A n image of Megan inviting Luke to the football game flickers in my head as I run at a soccer ball.
Thwack!
My foot connects with the ball, and it veers wildly toward the left, completely outside the goal. Sam watches it sail by from where he’s playing goalie.
    â€œI can’t believe this is happening again. We always end up liking the same guy,” I say, as I line up to kick the next ball.
    Four soccer balls span out in a row across the happy green grass in front of me.
    â€œWhat are the odds?!”
    Thwack!
This time the ball pings against the goalpost and bounces away. I’m not giving Sam much to do besides talk to me. He’s pretty great at it, though, because he doesn’t freak outover feelings like most boys do (i.e., he doesn’t back away in fear like you’re carrying the Ebola virus). And he never tries to tell you solutions to your problems when all you want