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steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.
    “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, eyes straight ahead on
    the road.
    Shit. This was going to make me look bad. I could lie but
    that really wasn’t my thing.
    “Yeah, at the moment, I do.”
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    “At the moment?” She laughed and muttered, “Unreal.”
    “It’s not what it sounds like,” I retorted, pissed off that she’d managed to piss me off minutes into our non- date.
    “I’m sure it’s not.”
    “Look, I don’t know what your story is and I really don’t care.
    In case you forgot, it was your grandmother who arranged this
    little whatever the hell it is, not me. So get over yourself.”
    “Whatever,” she muttered.
    “Besides,” I continued, feeling a wave of heat rush through
    me, one that was full of anger. “You’re right about one thing.”
    She slowed down as we approached the city limits. “Oh yeah,
    Romeo, what’s that?”
    “I do have a type, and you’re not it.”
    “Ouch,” she replied sarcastically, eyes on the road ahead.
    “I can’t imagine with that attitude you’d be anyone’s type.”
    She had no comeback for that one, and I exhaled, sinking
    into my seat as I stared out the window. I thought that maybe it
    was going to be the longest afternoon of my life.
    We reached the festival grounds about five minutes later.
    After Monroe refused to take money off me for parking, we
    headed into the Peach Festival, one that I hadn’t attended since
    I was, like, twelve.
    As we headed into the main area, I remembered why. It was
    for kids. I looked around and sighed. Old people and kids. Lots of old people and kids.
    There was a midway near the back. I could see the Ferris
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    Juliana Ston e
    wheel from where we stood, and game alley was set up just in
    front. Between us and the midway was a huge number of arts
    and craft booths, and beyond that were food stands.
    “You want something to eat?” I grumbled, wanting nothing
    more than to end this thing as quickly as I could. I figured if I shoved some food into her and toured the grounds quickly, we
    could call it a night and be done with it.
    “Sure,” she said. “In a bit. I want to look at the craft booths,
    if that’s all right?”
    I glanced down at her sharply, but she stared straight ahead.
    It was then that I realized a few things. She was small next to
    me, probably five- four, while I was a couple of inches over six
    feet and still growing. With her pale skin, pale eyes, and dark
    hair, she really was the opposite of Rachel or any other girl I’d ever dated.
    There was something about her though. I couldn’t put my
    finger on it, but I thought that maybe if I wasn’t so screwed up
    and she wasn’t such a bitch, she could be someone I’d be inter-
    ested in.
    Maybe.
    “Oh, look,” she pointed toward a booth. “Rag dolls.”
    I groaned and followed her into the craft center.
    Maybe not.
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Chapter Seven
Monroe
    “You’re right about one thing. I do have a type, and you’re not it.”
    Ouchie.
    Or at least it would be an ouchie if I cared. Which I didn’t.
    Not really. I was used to people backing away from me. It was
    usually in response to me opening my mouth and saying some-
    thing nasty, which was easy enough to do when your parents
    were just grateful that you spoke at all.
    I knew I’d been a bitch in the past, just as I’d been right now.
    I just couldn’t seem to help myself.
    And sure, my therapist told me it was my way of keeping my
    distance— of avoiding contact, but whatever. For the most part,
    I preferred to be alone, which was why this whole festival thing
    was stupid.
    I grabbed my peach sundae and chose a seat as far away
    from anyone as I could. I didn’t do crowds real well, so for the
    hundredth time, I asked myself why I had let Gram manipulate
    me into this evening with