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not ready for this. I don’t know if I ever will be, but I don’t want to hide from myself anymore. Lying next to you feels so comfortable and right. The moonlight is bringing out the violet in your eyes, and I feel like my heart is going to come out of my chest. It would be so easy to give in without another thought.”
    “Then why don’t you?”
    “I need to do this right. If we ever do surrender to it, I want you to know how much you’re respected. You're not just some girl; you’re someone to be treasured. New Year’s Eve, okay?”

Chapter 7
    Finally, the big night is here. I was beginning to think Father Time had been run over by Santa’s sled and would never snap out of his coma. After spending the morning baking brownies for the party at Gina’s, the bulk of my afternoon was spent with Sally doing each other’s hair and nails. Now I truly feel like I’m Elizabeth Taylor.
    I came dangerously close to bursting while talking to Sally. Fibbing about a crush on Jim Douglas, who will be at the party, and the hope for some New Year’s Eve magic seemed to work as damage control.
    It’s a bummer that Sally can’t be at this bash. Though I’ll have Donovan with me, and we won’t be there long, it would be nice to have her around. Her familiar presence would make him feel less out of place among a bunch of underclassmen.
    With an hour and a half to go before our charade begins, Mom is abuzz with commentaries at dinner about how I’m spending my evening. She’s almost begging for an invitation to my teenage party so she won’t be stuck with Dad’s stogy friends. Dad seems grumpy. He probably doesn’t want to be with his friends either. How sad is that?
    “Oh, and there was this one party where the boy I was dating had a fake ID and had bought a keg—”
    “Lana!”
    “Well, Edward, do you really think kids today are any different? We’ve raised ours to do the right things. It’s not like their friends aren’t like the kids we grew up with.”
    I expect to exchange a snicker with Donovan, but he’s lost in his own thoughts. The Human Eating Machine barely took any food and hasn’t devoured a bite. All he has done is create little mounds with it—only to then separate each morsel, making his plate look like a puzzle of atoms. He continuously repeats the process of building up and tearing down. His expression brands the sight as metaphorical.
    As Mom and I clear the table, Donovan lags behind, taking in the destruction. He then brings his carnage into the kitchen, dodging past me with his head low. Reaching the wastebasket, he tilts the vessel and looks as if he’s watching his life’s fortune flush down the drain. After setting his plate in the dishwasher, he heads off.
    My gut churns over the display. Donovan gets a little despondent when Dad reams him for something lame, but I feel this upset has little to do with Dad’s ideals.
    A few minutes later as I have my hands in dishwater, Donovan reenters the kitchen and speaks to me from the other side of the room. “I’m taking off now. Mom and Dad are going to drop you at Gina’s. I need to get to Joe’s early and help him set up. Happy New Year.”
    What? This isn’t the plan. We’re not supposed to leave for almost an hour. Maybe he feels the scheme is a little too obvious, and it brought on the doldrums during dinner. I’m sure he will meet me at Gina’s later. He’ll probably send a text message.
    The hour passes and my transformation into a princess is complete. For as dolled up and mature as I look in my deep violet dress, stilettos, and updo, feelings of toddlerhood grip me upon exiting the backseat of my parent’s pumpkin mobile. As they drive off I sneak over to the side of Gina’s house and ring Donovan’s cell. The call goes straight to voicemail, likely meaning that his phone is off. I leave him a message anyway, asking what the new plan is, before heading inside.
    Mountains of coats, gloves, and purses almost cause me to