Only sixteen, but damn close to seventeen, I think, longing for the day when I turn eighteen, graduate, and head off on my own so I can be alone with my weird creepy secrets and Sabine can get back to her regularly scheduled life. Having no idea how I'll ever repay her for her kindness, and now adding a pair of overpriced jeans to the tab.

"I was done growing by fifteen, but it looks like you're going to end up a lot taller than me." She smiles, handing me a fistful of spoons.

I smile weakly, wondering just how tall I'll get and hoping I don't turn into some kind of giantess freak, some Ripley's Believe it or Not! cover girl. Knowing that growing three niches in the course of one day is no ordinary growth spurt—not by a long shot. But now that she mentions it, I've also noticed that my nails are starting to grow so fast I have to clip them nearly every day, and that my bangs are now past my chin even though I've only been growing them for the past few weeks. Not to mention how the blue of my eyes seems to be deepening, while my slightly crooked front teeth have righted themselves. And no matter how much I abuse it, how irregularly I cleanse it, my complexion remains clear, poreless, and completely blemish-free. And now I've grown three inches since breakfast?

Obviously, it can only be due to one thing—the immortal juice I've been drinking. I mean, even though I've been immortal for the better half of ayear, nothing really changed (well, other than my instantaneous healing abilities) until I started drinking it. But now that I have, it's like all my better physical traits are suddenly magnified and enhanced, while the more mediocre ones are fully improved. And while part of me feels excited by the prospect and curious to see what else is in store, the other part can't help but notice how I'm developing toward full immortal capacity just in time to spend the rest of eternity alone.

"Must be that juice you're always guzzling." Sabine laughs. "Maybe I should try it. I wouldn't mind breaking the five-foot-four barrier without the aid of high heels!"

"No!" I say, the words spilling from my lips before I can stop them, knowing that answering like that will only pique her interest.

She looks at me, brows merged, damp sponge in hand.

"I mean, I'm sure you won't like it. In fact, you'll most likely hate it. Seriously, it's got kind of a weird taste." I nod, attempting a light breezy expression, not wanting her to know how her statement has left me totally freaked.

"Well, I won't know until I try, right?" she says, her eyes still on mine. "Where do you get it anyway? I don't remember ever seeing it in stores. And I've never seen a label on it either. What's it even called?"

"I get it from Damen," I say, enjoying the feel of his name on my lips, even though it does nothing to fill up the void his absence has left.

"Well, ask him to get me some too, will you?" And the moment she says it, I know this is no longer just about the juice. She's trying to get me to open up, to explain his absence at our Saturday night dinner, and every day since.

I close the dishwasher and turn away. Pretending to wipe down a counter that's already clean and avoiding her eyes when I say, "Well, I can't actually do that. Mostly because... we're um... we're sort of taking a break," I say, my voice cracking in the most embarrassing way.

She reaches for me, wanting to hug me, comfort me, tell me it will all be okay. And even though my back is turned so that I can't see her in the physical sense, I can still see it in my head, so I step to the side and move out of her way. "Oh Ever—I'm so sorry—I didn't know—" she says, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides, unsure what to do with them now that I've moved. I nod, feeling guilty for being my usual cold distant self. Wishing I could somehow explain that I can't risk the physical contact because I can't risk knowing her secrets. That it will only distract me and provide images I don't need to see. I mean, I'm barely handling my own secrets, so it's not like I'm eager to add hers to the mix.

"It—it was kind of sudden," I say, knowing she's not willing to let the case rest until she's gotten a little more out of me. "I mean, it just sort of happened—and—well, I don't really know what to say."

"I'm here if you need to talk."

"I'm not ready to talk about it yet. It's—it's too new still and I'm trying to sort it all out. Maybe later..." I shrug, hoping that by the time later arrives, Damen and I will be back together again, and the whole issue resolved.

Chapter Twenty

When I get to Miles's, I'm a little nervous, having no idea what to expect. But when I see him outside, waiting on his front stoop, I heave a small sigh of relief, knowing things aren't nearly as bad as I thought. I pull up to his drive, lower my window, and call, "Hey Miles, hop in!"

Then I watch as he glances up from his phone, shaking his head as he says, "Sorry, I thought I told you, I'm getting a ride from Craig."

I gape, my smile frozen in place as I replay his words in my head. Craig? As in Honor's boyfriend Craig? The sexually confused Cro-Magnon jock whose true preferences I learned by eavesdropping on his thoughts? The one who practically lives to make fun of Miles because it makes him feel "safe"—like he's not one of "them". That Craig?

"Since when are you friends with Craig?" I ask, shaking my head and squinting at him. Miles reluctantly rises and comes around to my side.