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o-shaped mouths, and slanted smiles. It was amusing to them. I was amusing. Suddenly, I knew the pain of a carnival side-show freak.
    My eyes welled up with humiliation, though the idea of crying in front of all these people after what just happened was just too much to take. I threw the wet napkins on the table and bolted for the nearest exit.
     
    The wind bit at my cheeks as I pushed through the doors and started down the empty street, leaving All Saints and all of its unsaintliness behind me. The crowd from earlier had all but disappeared with most of the people already inside now, probably having just bore witness to one of the worst nights of my life.
    A tear trickled down my cheek as I walked, and then a dozen more fell, and before I knew it my cheeks were soaked with the hurt and frustration of a really bad couple of months. The loss of my father, the hospital, the move, the new school—the new enemies —it was just too much to take. Something had to give.
    I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and crossed over to the other side of the street, desperate to find a main road or boulevard I could call a taxi from. I needed to put this place in a rear-view mirror. Shivering in my damp clothes, I searched up and down the stretch of barren avenue for some kind of street sign or saving grace amidst all the darkened buildings and empty warehouses. And then I saw him again.
    A faceless figure in the distance, leaning against a building with his foot kicked up behind him—nearly unrecognizable if it weren’t for that familiar blond hair and that familiar lean. There was something about him that called to me, something enigmatic, and tempting. 
    Before I could work out the equation, my legs were moving themselves toward him, walking with what seemed like a mind of their own. My stride weary but considerable, each small step taking me closer and closer to him. I could feel my heart begin to pound as Trace’s warnings replayed in my head, and yet, I knew none of that mattered now. I had already made the decision to ignore all of it the moment I saw him standing there, without even making the choice.
    What did Trace know anyway? Anyone who could date someone as vile as Nikki Parker—stupid, psycho Nikki Parker—obviously didn’t have the sense of a green apple.
    Screw him. No . Screw them both.
    I walked on undeterred and resolved to meet him when a metallic blue Mustang with two white racer stripes pulled up next to me, decelerating to a steady crawl as it kept pace beside me. The sound of its powerful engine growling obscenely as it sliced through the stillness of the night.
    I stepped away cautiously as the tinted passenger-side window rolled down. His oceanic eyes were the first thing I saw.
     
    5. THE GOOD SON
     
     
    “Need a ride?” asked Trace, leaning over the passenger seat.
    That was the last thing I needed from him. “No thanks,” I said icily and continued walking.
    He released some pressure from the brake and let the car move forward slowly, following alongside me.
    “Come on, it’s late,” he pushed. “It’s not safe out here.”
    “I’ll take my chances.”
    “Please, just get in the car.”
    “I said no thanks!” My voice was laced with the frosty bite of a cold December night.
    “Fine. Suit yourself.”
    I walked another dozen or so steps and waited for him to drive away, but he didn’t. When I looked back at him, he was still leaning over the driver seat with his forearm relaxed over the steering wheel—watching me.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Driving.”
    “I mean, why are you still here?”
    His dimples pinched, though he wasn’t smiling. “I’m seeing you home.”
    “Okay…could you not?” I said, making a face. “I’d prefer not to get run over by your girlfriend when she happens to drive by and see us.” And with my luck, no doubt that scene will be unfolding any minute now.
    “So get in the car then,” he said impatiently, looking at his watch. “She’ll be