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scowled at me during morning break. Maybe she was feeling the vibes he sent out. Maybe—
    “So,” Jared said, rudely changing the subject. “Are you going to fill me in on the check and the bank deposit, or what?”
    Check. Bank. Ugh.
    Couldn't we talk more about Rascal being jealous?
    But as much as I didn't want to tell him, I figured Jared deserved some kind of explanation for being forced to drive to Ventura. Even if he was getting paid for it. So I spilled.
    “My mom hasn't closed on a house in months,” I blurted out. “She hasn't made any commissions. And it turns out she's fallen behind on the mortgage.”
    There—I'd said it. I snuck a look his way. Nope, no arrogant smirk. In fact, his brow was heavy, as if in deep thought.
    “So she sent you to your dad for money?”
    “No, no!” I slipped my ring back and forth over my knuckle. “She'd
kill
me if she knew. That's why all this is top secret. I'm going to make the payment first, then tell her I paid it with the last of my inheritance money from my grandmother.”
    “Which actually went to …”
    “Oh, clothes and volleyball shoes and movies,” I said, leaving out the chunks I'd dropped on hairdressers who'd promised to make my hair straight and silky. “The rest to the prom dress. And to you.”
    “Why didn't you return the dress and get your money back?”
    “Final sale,” I said automatically.
    “At a vintage clothing store? Aren't they all about resales?”
    Smart boy. The truth was, once I'd zipped myself inside its silkiness, had watched in the mirror as myboyish figure transformed into the body I'd always dreamed of… well, there was no going back. Date or no date. Returnable or not. That baby was
mine
.
    “Yeah, well,” I said, “I just like it, okay?”
    He nodded, as if he'd fully processed the data. Then shrugged. “Sorry about your mom. I'd hate to see her lose the house, for you guys to have to move somewhere.”
    “Thanks,” I said, a little flattered, and a little embarrassed, too. My heart sped up, almost in sync with the rhythmical ka-thump of our wheels rolling over the uneven seams in the pavement.
    “I mean,” he said, “if Alison didn't have
you
to whine to all the time, she'd turn on me. And then I'd have no choice but to grab early admission at any college that would take me and get the hell out of here.”
    He laughed, and I joined in. Not because what he'd said was particularly funny, but because I wanted to stop feeling miserable. Or at least to pretend.
    “But before you try to put one over on your mother, do yourself a favor, and think it all through.” He shot me a serious look. “Don't do anything stupid.”
    Ah, yes. And there was Jared—my big brother.

S itting in geometry the next morning, I made a startling discovery about my life. About life in general. (Besides the obvious that learning geometry was a waste of perfectly good brain cells.)
    I decided that life was like that Chutes and Ladders game you played when you were little. You spin the wheel and move your Mini-Me in a slow and steady progress toward Ultimate Happiness. Unless you land on a ladder that sends you racing to new heights. Or on a slide that tumbles you down, down, down …
    It seemed that for nine days last June, I was close tothe finish line. Then came the News that sent The Dress to the Back of the Door. My butt had hit that super-long slide, the one that ran almost the full length of the board. And now here I sat, a million miles from victory.
    Overly dramatic? Probably. But with the echoes of Dad's voice, my sobbing, and Jared's warning still ringing from last night in my ears, it was getting increasingly hard to have a glass-is-half-full attitude.
    Plus, Kylie—whose cinnamon-apple body spray managed to choke me, even though she sat two rows behind and one over—had given me another dirty look this morning. I mean, eye to eye, with a very clear
Die, Loser
written all over it.
    When the end-of-class bell finally rang, I