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absolutely
gorgeous!"
    "Yes, well, looks aren't everything." Her
tone was curt, almost cold.
    "Of course, they aren't! You know me better
than that."
    She sighed. "You're right. So, what
else?"
    "He's nice, easy to be around and a real
gentleman. And I think he likes me."
    "You don't need to like someone just because
they like you, Alexis. What about Owen? He's a sweetie."
    "Mother, will you stop it? You're being
condescending." I glared at her.
    She crossed her arms. Her voice hardened.
"I'm just looking out for your best interests, Alexis."
    "And you think Owen is in my best
interest?" It came out as almost a sneer.
    "Owen or just about anyone other than this
Tristan!"
    "So, you want me to date, but I can only like
the guy as long as it's someone you pick."
    "I just don't want you to get hurt!"
    "And how do you know Owen or whoever you choose wouldn't hurt me?" I nearly shouted
    "And how do you know Tristan isn't
just like James ?"
    Ouch. That hurt and she knew it. She
probably figured likening Tristan to him would be all it took to
change my mind. It only made me angrier.
    "And I guess it's impossible for Owen
to be anything like James, since you know him soooo well."
    She narrowed her eyes and kept her voice low
but hard. "Owen is nothing like James. You can trust me on
that one."
    "But you can't trust me with Tristan?"
    " No, I can't! "
    I flinched. She dropped her head, pinching
the bridge of her nose. After a long moment, she finally looked at
me, concern filling her eyes.
    "It's not you whom I don't trust, honey," she
said, her voice now soft. "How well do you even know Tristan?"
    "Better than you do," I spat. I groaned in
frustration, though, because she had a point—I really didn't know
Tristan at all.
    "I'm just worried about you." The concern in
her voice wiped my anger away.
    I sighed. "Do you want me to date or
not?"
    "I think it'd be good for you to date. You
need to come out of your shell. But I want you to date a nice boy. Tristan…" She hesitated.
    "What?"
    She didn't answer, but her meaning was
obvious.
    "I just don't want you to get hurt," she said
again. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I laid my head
against her for a minute and then looked at her face, into her
warm, brown eyes.
    "I'm willing to take the chance with
Tristan," I admitted and she frowned. "Mom, you know me. I don't
make friends easily because I don't trust people—for very good
reasons. James, for one. But I'm trusting my sense with Tristan and
I feel that he's different. I want to spend time with him…as
long as he wants to spend time with me."
    She stared at me for a long moment, pressing
her lips into a hard line. Then she abruptly spun around and
marched down the hall.
    "Even if he's not like James, he will hurt you," she said over her shoulder. Just before she ducked into
her room, she added, "Just remember who you are, Alexis."
    What the hell was that supposed to mean?
    "Why don't you tell me who I am?" I yelled. I
stared down the empty hallway, I guess expecting her to come back
and explain. Or for the answer to magically appear. Of course,
neither happened.
    I stomped to my own room and threw my bag on
the floor. A notebook slid out and several loose papers scattered
across the floor, including my research notes. I picked them up and
glared at them for a long moment, wanting to blame them for
everything—not them specifically, but the mystery of who I was. It
seemed to be at the heart of everything wrong with my life.
    I finally balled up the stupid papers and
stuffed them in my desk drawer. I didn't need them anymore. The
ideas were absurd and a waste of time. The research was only useful
for my writing.
    And now I had another mystery: Tristan. Who
was he and what was Mom's problem with him?

Chapter 4

    I couldn't sleep. Mom and I didn't argue
frequently and I hated it when we did. She was my best friend, the
only person in the world I could trust. I stopped trying to make
friends in middle school, when everyone