One corner of his mouth curves up. “Maybe. Is it going to work?”

I don’t bother hiding my smile, which is why I’m grinning like an idiot when someone calls my name, and I turn around to find my parents staring at me.

I blink, and when Mom’s eyes flick to my hand on Silas’s arm, I drop it to my side.

“Dad. I thought you were out of town.”

“My meeting got pushed until next week, so your mother and I decided to attend the party after all.”

“Oh.” That’s all I say. Oh.

It’s Dad who walks over to introduce himself to Silas because I’m hearing this roaring in my ears, like something about to crash and burn because this was never supposed to happen. That was my one rule. I’ve let Silas bend and break every other one in my life, but these two worlds were supposed to stay separate.

“Richard Brenner,” my father says, holding his hand out to shake.

I don’t know if Silas is freaked-out by this. I can’t bring myself to look at him. But he returns my father’s handshake and says, “Silas Moore.”

I see Mom looking at Silas’s jeans, and I can just imagine what condescending thoughts are going through her head. She thinks I’m supposed to be with Henry. That we’re a perfect couple, and I should just wait for him to come back around.

I should set her straight, but not like this. Not with Silas there to take half the fall. We’re temporary. We’re simple.

We’re a series of wants and desires, and nothing else.

He is not the meet-the-parents type. That’s pretty much asking for him to get spooked and run.

“Silas,” my mother says. “How do you know our daughter?”

I answer for him. “We’ve met once or twice at school.”

I hope they’ll leave it at that. But Dad has a freakishly good memory.

“Your name sounds familiar,” my father says. “Do you have any family members on the board? Maybe alumni?”

I hear Silas laugh, one of those laughs that clearly aren’t about something funny. But I still can’t look at him.

“No, sir. I’m on the football team. Maybe that’s it.”

Dad’s eyebrows rise. “The Rusk football team?”

“Yes, sir. Running back.”

Now Dad’s eyebrows slam down and his lips purse together. “Right. Silas Moore. Now I remember.” And from the steely look on his face, he’s heard about Silas’s suspension. I try not to let the panic show on my face. Of course Dad would have heard about that. He always knows everything that’s going on at Rusk. Everything that impacts the school’s reputation, and thus their ability to bring in money.

This isn’t just going downhill. If I don’t end this now, it will be akin to tumbling down the side of a mountain. Dad will poke and pry and pin Silas to the spot until he gets whatever answers he wants. That’s how he works.

And knowing Silas, he’ll fight back rather than lie down.

“Well, we were just chatting about classes, but now that you guys are here . . .” I step closer to my parents, and meet Silas’s gaze for the first time. His expression is blank, almost stony. And I can’t read anything in his eyes. “I’ll see you around, Silas.” I offer a smile and hope that he can read the apology through my eyes. I’ll hang with my parents for a little while, and then feign a stomachache and come find him.

My parents turn to walk away, and I follow, but not before mouthing be right back at him.

I follow behind my mom, and we stand off to the side while Dad shakes hands with a few of his friends. Mom smiles and follows his lead. I just give a little wave. When Dad is fully immersed in conversation, Mom turns to me.

“Have you seen Henry?”

God, she’s stubborn.

“No, Mom. I haven’t.”

“Really? I spoke to his mother, and she mentioned something about the two of you running into each other at that construction project you’ve been doing.”

Crap. I wonder how much Henry told his mother. Did he mention Silas?

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that. We didn’t really talk.”

“Gloria says Henry is under the impression that you’re already dating someone else.”

Crap. So. Much. Crap.

I press my lips together and hum. “Hmm . . . nope. No new boyfriend.”

She doesn’t look back in the direction of Silas, but she does slant her body ever so slightly in that direction.

“You’re sure?” she says.

“Pretty sure I’d know if I was dating someone, but who knows.”

Her eyes narrow, and I know I’m being a smart mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever been anything less than 110 percent respectful. I can see the moment where she decides what must have caused my bit of rebellion, and she looks back at the wall where Silas is standing.

Was standing.

He’s not there anymore, and my stomach sinks.

Mom looks back at me, studying.

“I don’t have time for a boyfriend,” I tell her. “Classes start tomorrow, and I’m still trying to get support to keep the homeless shelter downtown open. I’m busy. Too busy for a guy.”

“I thought the shelter was a done deal.”

I shrug. “Done deal or not, doesn’t mean I just have to accept it. I refuse to accept it.”

“Darling, sometimes you have to be realistic and admit when you’ve lost.”

“When we’ve lost is when it’s the most important to make sure our voices are heard. So that maybe we don’t lose next time.”

There’s a truth you learn early on in the activism scene . . . most protests are lost before they even start. We hope for change. Beg for it. But even when we know it won’t come, still we stand with our signs and say our chants. Still we show up. Because to lie down and say nothing means the cause dies with us, and a little piece of us with it. So we chant. And we chant. And we say the same words again and again and again. Louder and louder. We do it to put words to the ache we feel in our hearts. And there’s this small, innocent hope somewhere in the back of our minds that even if there’s no point, even if it’s a done deal . . . we hope that if we say something enough times, people will listen. Or that if we say it enough, it will finally make sense.

And what doesn’t make sense to me in this moment? The fact that I’m standing here with my parents, pretending for them all over again, instead of finding Silas.