I pass by my room, drop my bag on the floor, then make my way into my mom's room, leaning against the archway that separates the bedroom from the bathroom and watching as she puts on her make up, remembering how I used to love to do this back whenI was little and thought my mom was the most glamorous woman on the planet. But when I look ather now, I mean, look at her objectively, I realize she actually is kind of glamorous, at least in a suburban mom kind of way.

"How was school?" she asks, turning her head from side to side, making sure her foundation is blended and seamless.

"Fine." I shrug. "We had a test in science, which I probably failed," I tell her, even though I don't really believe it went all that bad, but not knowing how to express what I really want to say—that everything feels strange, and uncertain, like it's off balance, lacking—and hoping for any reaction I can get out of her.

But she just sighs and moves on to her eyes, sweeping her small make up brush over her lids and across the crease as she says, "I'm sure you didn't fail." She glances at me through the mirror. "I'm sure you did just fine."

I trace my hand over a smudge on the wall, thinking I should leave, go to my room and chill out for a while, listen to some music, read a good book, anything to take my mind off of me.

"Sorry this is so last minute," she says, pumping her mascara wand in and out of its tube. "I know you probably had plans."

I shrug, twisting my wrist back and forth, watching the way the crystals in my bracelet flicker and flare, glinting in the fluorescent light and trying to remember where it came from. "That's all right," I tell her. "There'll be plenty of other Friday nights."

My mom squints, mascara in hand, pausing in midstroke as she says, "Ever? Is that you?" She laughs. "Is something going on that I should know about? Because that hardly sounds like my daughter."

I take a deep breath and lift my shoulders, wishing I could tell her how something is most definitely going on, something I can't quite place, something that leaves me feeling so—unlike me. But I don't. I mean, I can barely explain it to myself, much less her. All I know is that yesterday I felt fine—and today—pretty much the opposite of fine. Alien even—like I no longer fit—like I'm a round girl in a square world.

"You know I'm okay with you inviting a few friends over," she says, moving on to her lips, coating them with a swipe of lipstick before enhancing the color with a touch of gloss. "As long as you keep it to a minimum, no more than three, and as long as you don't ignore your sister."

"Thanks." I nod, forcing a smile so she'll think I'm okay. "But I'm kind of looking forward to having a night off from all that."

I head to my room and plop down on my bed, fully content to just stare at the ceiling, until I realize how pathetic that is and I reach for the book on my nightstand instead. Immersed in the story of a guy and girl so entwined, so perfectly made for each other, their love transcends time. Wishing I could climb inside those pages and live there forever, preferring their story to mine.

"Hey, Ev." My dad pokes his head into my room. "I've come to say both hello and good-bye. We're running late, so we gotta leave soon." I toss my book aside and race toward him, hugging him so tight he laughs and shakes his head. "Nice to know you're not too grown up to hug your old man." He smiles, as I pull away, horrified to find that there are actual tears in my eyes, and busying myself with some books on a shelf until I'm sure the threat is long past. "Make sure you and your sister are packed and ready to leave. I want to be on the road nice and early tomorrow."

I nod, disturbed by the strange hollow feeling invading my gut as he leaves. Wondering, not for the first time, just what the heck is going on with me.

Chapter Forty-Six

"Forget it. You're not the boss of me, Ever!" Riley shouts, arms folded, face scowling, refusing to budge. I mean, who would've guessed that a ninety-pound twelve-year-old could be such a force of nature? But no way am I giving in. Because the second my parents left and Riley was watered and fed, I sent Brandon a text, telling him to come by around ten, which is any minute now so it's imperative I get her to bed. I shake my head and sigh, wishing she didn't have to be so dang stubborn, but fully prepared to do battle.

"Um, I hate to break it to you," I say. "But you're wrong. I am the boss of you. From the moment Mom and Dad left until the time they return, I am one hundred percent the boss of you. And you can argue all you want, but it won't change a thing."

"This is so unfair!" She glares. "I swear, the second I turn thirteen there's going to be some equality around here."

But I just shrug, as eager for that moment as she. "Good, then I won't have to babysit you anymore and I can get my life back," I say, watching as she rolls her eyes and taps her foot against the carpeted floor.

"Please. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know Brandon's coming over?" She shakes her head. "Big deal. Who even cares? All I want to do is watch TV—that's it. And the only reason you won't let me is because you want to hog the den with your boyfriend so you can make out on the couch. And that's exactly what I'm gonna tell Mom and Dad if you don't let me watch my show."

"Big deal. Who even cares?" I say, delivering a pitch-perfect imitation of her. "Mom said I could have friends over, so there." But the moment it's out, I can't help but cringe, wondering who's the child here, her or me? I shake my head, knowing it's just another empty threat, but not willing to take any chances, I say, "Dad wants to leave early, which means you need to get some sleep so you're not all grumpy and cranky in the morning. And for your information, Brandon's not coming over." I smirk, hoping it'll mask the fact that I'm a horrible liar.