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anymore. I storm out of the house, seeking refuge in his crappy white truck.
    Why did he have to meet Mom? Why did she have to give him poop?
    This was the cherry topping of my humiliation. I knew I’d get a call from Marissa asking how I let Mom give Justin poop. How does anyone explain that?
    Justin opens the door, chuckling.
    “Well,” Justin begins as he turns the ignition. “That was fun. When my uncle called and told me who I was picking up, I was thrilled. After your little show Saturday night, I knew I needed to meet your Mom. She’s famous, ya’ know?” He tosses me a poop bag. “And that! What a great welcome gift.” He laughs as the truck clanks down the driveway.
    I refuse to look at him. I act more interested in the crack in the windshield.
    Justin turns on the radio and, to my surprise, he stops bothering me. We listen to JSTP’s morning show. A woman calls in and complains about having a fat bridesmaid. I hate listening to any talking on the radio. Isn’t the radio for music? But I endure it. At least it makes him stop bothering me.
    Justin pulls into the driveway of a small rambler house. I breathe a sigh of relief. One story—I won’t be dying today. Part of the house is a dirty, pale yellow while the other part is a rich grey. I hope the new color is the grey. The yellow looks like pee. Five guys sit on buckets in the driveway, all my age and relatively attractive.
    Justin stops the car and touches my arm. My instincts yank it away. “Sorry.” He seems offended. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll help you out today.”
    “Why?” My voice is a bit too harsh.
    He replies, meeting my tone. “Well, I assume you know nothing about painting and you’ll need my help.”
    “I don’t want your help.”
    “Fine.” He climbs out, leaving me alone in the truck. Not wanting to look lame, I force myself to follow. I trail him toward the group of guys. They all stand as I approach.
    “This is Lucy,” Justin begins. I wait for him to provide further introductions. He doesn’t. Instead he ditches me, grabbing paint and a bag of brushes before walking away and setting up at the front door. I stand alone in front of a group of cute guys. Marissa’s dream. My nightmare. They eye me and I know I’m being judged. But I don’t have to be. I have Zach. I stand up straight, meet each gaze without a smile, and their eyes dart away. Message sent—I’m taken.
    “Hi,” I say as they examine the asphalt. The tallest guy is the first to recover from being caught in total ass essment mode.
    “Hey.” He walks forward, extending his hand. “I’m Troy, project manager.” Got it. My boss. He points to each of the other guys. “That’s Luke, Emmanuel, Jake, and Alex.” Jake shoves Alex off balance. After the brief introduction, Troy tells them to get started. They all gather supplies from the truck and go separate ways. Troy walks right past me.
    Am I supposed to grab stuff to start or wait for instruction?
    “Um, Troy?” I ask, forcing myself to follow him like a helpless puppy.
    “Right, sorry. You’re working with Alex.” He scans the yard. “I think he’s in the back. You’ll be his protégé.” A sigh of relief slips from my lips. A protégé’. I can handle that. I'll be like Alex’s assistant or something. Troy grabs a ladder from the truck bed and easily tosses it over his shoulder. “I’ll bring your ladder down for you.” I eye him as he tosses the clunky metal over his shoulder. Is he going to help me move it all summer?
    When we reach the backyard, Troy drops my ladder, waving Alex down. Alex hops off his ladder from much too high, keeping his ear buds in as Troy gives an instruction in whispered tones. He nods, still bouncing to the music, until Troy leaves.
    With Troy gone, he bounds over to me, taking out his ear buds. “I’m Alex. I’ve never gotten a protégé’ before.” He’s upbeat, holding up his hand for a high five. I give him a hesitant slap back. “I