I glanced at my face in the grease-streaked mirror. I looked tired, but it was probably just the thick layer of dirt. On the mirror, not on me. “I think you’l have to eat without me tonight. And tomorrow. And maybe for the rest of the summer.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“My dad’s mad ’cause I didn’t invite my family to graduation. He threatened to yank my funds unless I spend the summer at home.”

Andrew laughed. “So the mysterious Faythe Sanders does have a family. And where is home?”

I hesitated long enough that anyone else would have commented on my reluctance to answer. Not Andrew. He never acknowledged an uncomfortable situation, unlike Marc, who wal owed in tension like pigs roll in the mud. “A ranch near the Louisiana border,” I said final y.

For years, I’d careful y avoided any conversation that might have led to questions about my childhood, because it had always been easier for me to pretend I hadn’t had one than to try to explain the Sanders family dynamic. From a human perspective, we didn’t make sense, and struggling to explain it only made things worse.

As children, humans learned to compromise, share and make friends. I learned to identify animals by scent and to stalk them without betraying my presence. While normal parents discussed political elections and spiking interest rates, mine discussed expanding territorial boundary lines and how harshly to deal with trespassers. Humans just didn’t understand my childhood, so I general y avoided the subject altogether.

Andrew coughed, but the sound was muffled, like he’d covered the mouthpiece. “So you withdrew from school?”

“Not yet.” I cringed at the very idea of withdrawing, as if my absence from school wasn’t real as long as I was stil enrol ed in a class. “I’l do it over the phone tomorrow, but it’s only for the summer. I’l be back in September. Maybe earlier. It depends on how long it takes me to talk some sense into my father.” Yeah, right.

Like my father and I had ever had a sensible discussion. Or even a calm one.

“No problem. I’l come see you during the break between summer sessions.”

My stomach lurched at the thought of introducing Andrew to my parents. And to Marc. “Um, let me talk to my dad first, okay?”

“Sure. But don’t worry, parents always like me.”

Not my parents, I thought, leaning against a sink jutting from the wal like a porcelain ledge. Not unless you’re hiding fur and claws beneath your Abercrombie khakis. But he wasn’t. I didn’t know every cat in the country personal y, but I’d know one if I met one, and Andrew was one hundred percent certifiably human. Which, of course, was the attraction.

“I have to go now, but I’l talk to you later, okay?” I glanced in regret at the bathroom door. If the facilities had been nicer, I might have considered staging a sit-in, in protest of being taken home against my wil . But one glance at the filthy floor drove that thought right out of my head.

“Sure. I’ll give you a wake-up cal before my first class,” he said. “Or do you farm girls get up with the roosters?”

“Not this farm girl,” I said. “We don’t have roosters.” Or any other livestock, for that matter.

“Good to know,” Andrew said. “I’m going to go eat now, al by myself. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I said goodbye, and my stomach growled as I hung up. I thought of Andrew’s pizza with envy. Maybe I could talk Marc into swinging by a drive-thru on the way back to the highway. But I’d probably have to say please.

Suddenly I wasn’t that hungry.

Back at the car, Marc was nowhere in sight. I was searching the glove box for a spare key when I noticed him walking toward me from the burger joint next door.

He carried a grease-stained paper bag in one hand and a cardboard tray of drinks in the other.

Damn. Now I’d have to say thank-you.

“Four double cheeseburgers, extra pickles,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat with a creak of leather. “But two of them are mine.” He dropped the bag in my lap and settled a drink into each of the cup holders in the center console.

I opened the bag and stuck my nose inside. Warm, fragrant steam engulfed my face, and my mouth watered. The meat was gril ed, my preferred way to have a burger. Marc had probably chosen this particular gas station just so I could have my favorite fast food.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush with guilt. Maybe he’d think it was the steam.

He almost smiled. Not quite, but almost. And his eyes practical y glowed when they met mine. “So how do you manage to eat enough at school without looking like a pig?”

“The same way I did in high school.” I tore into the first cheeseburger, barely bothering to chew before I swal owed. “Carry snacks, eat on the way, then again when I get to the cafeteria. And tel everyone I’m bulimic.” I snorted, doing an uncanny impersonation of a pig, if I do say so myself.

His eyes widened for an instant. Then he laughed. The sound of pure amusement caught me off guard, and I smiled, leaning back against the headrest as I watched him. For a moment, that old familiarity crept in, like the comfort of my favorite wel -worn T-shirt. Then I remembered I didn’t want to be comfortable with him, and my smile died on my lips, even as his laughter faded from my ears.

Marc watched the change in my expression with mounting disappointment. He knew what it meant. Jaw tight with tension, he slammed the car into gear, reversing in a tight arc across the empty parking lot.