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cock-blocking,” Pat pointed out to me.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, and looked at Noah. “I’m sure there will be plenty of skirt-dropping women in your future.”
    He shook his head with disappointment. “You didn’t see Christine.”
    I raised my eyebrows and was about to point out that he hadn’t actually
seen
her either when three girls came around the corner and interrupted us. We all turned as they approached and one of the girls waved. She was short and stocky and her platinum-blond hair was frizzy with tight curls.
    “Hey, you still want to come to the party?” she asked, and Noah’s forehead creased.
    “Do I know you?” he asked. She walked closer, and in the dim streetlight she wasn’t unattractive but she definitely wasn’t model material. She and her friends had a style my mom and I called
overcooked,
which is where everything is overdone: the hair, the makeup, the clothes. It ruins whatever is naturally there.
    “I’m Christine,” she reminded him. “I’m a little shorter in real life,” she added with a grin, and judging from Noah’s alarmed expression, I could see that wasn’t the only thing about her appearance that was different.
    One of the other girls checked out Pat and Justin. “You’re all invited,” she said.
    I watched Noah and could practically hear his thoughts:
I think we’ll pass.
Before he could comment, Clare spoke up. “He’s dying to go. It’s all he’s been talking about.”
    Noah shot a look of hate at his sister. “Um—”
    “We were actually saving this shuttle for you,” Clare added.
    “Excellent! We can all go together,” Christine insisted, and she and her friends climbed inside. Pat started to argue, but Clare pushed him toward the door.
    “You still made the party,” I said to Pat. “I guess this is a truce, right?” I added with a peace sign.
    “You’re dead to me,” Pat said, but there was a grin on his face that made me laugh.
    Clare followed behind him. “This I have to see.”
    I grabbed her arm before she stepped on the shuttle track. “You don’t have to go,” I said.
    She lowered her eyebrows at me. “I think you two could use some alone time,” she whispered and looked over my shoulder at Justin. “Have fun tonight,” she said. She winked at me and climbed in the shuttle after Pat. The doors beeped closed behind them. The shuttle sped down the street and left Justin and me alone on the sidewalk. Distant techno music drifted through the air. A familiar electricity hummed around us. I turned to see Justin watching me.
    He tugged my hand. “Let’s walk,” he said. The streets were empty except for an occasional train. A mural of billboard lights surrounded us. There were so many constant advertisements and flashes of color it made the streetlights obsolete. I missed Eden, where the world was quiet and reachable and my mind was clear.
    “How are you?” Justin asked me.
    Three simple words that most people answer with
Fine
or
Good
or
Great
or
Fantastic,
and then the conversation moves on to movies or food or shows or anything else easy to talk about. But I could never answer Justin’s questions with simple one-word replies, and they didn’t lead to easy conversations; he always saw through me and pulled me out of anywhere I tried to hide.
    I wanted to tell him life was perfect, that a city of twenty million people was the most fulfilling place to be. I wanted to tell him living in L.A. was a constant stimulus, a high, a current of lights that pumped energy into the air like an electric charge. I didn’t want to tell him I missed him and that I saw his face everywhere, on strangers and wall screens and even on the tiles in my shower.
    He watched me and waited for a response like he could see my thoughts twisting together and breaking and pulling apart.
    “You told me once that missing people is a waste of time,” I said. “So, I don’t miss you at all and I don’t miss Eden and everything in my life is fabulous and if