Old Betsy sputters to life. Quinn and Annie throw their hands up in a cheer.

“To the library!” Annie cries. “Space Dad calls to us!”

No, no he does not, but I’d rather not fan the flames, so I crank up the stereo—the only part of my car that has never once failed me—and we sing our way to the library where my dad works. It’s about a ten-minute ride from the high school, down the main road on the other side of town.

For the record, everything in this town is no more than ten minutes away.

I’ve lived in this small town for my entire life. It isn’t tiny—we have a movie theater and a (slightly dilapidated) shopping mall and a few big-chain grocery stores and a Walmart. It sits on the side of a lake, along with three other towns, so it attracts an array of millionaires to the area looking for a quiet, reserved place to plant their roots. Before I was born, Dad and Mom moved here, and he stayed at home with me while Mom went to work at a nuclear site about an hour away. She was smart in ways I can never be. She could spin numbers as if they were magic, but what she loved most of all were words. She loved reading them, collecting them, coveting them. When she died a year ago, the medical and funeral costs ate up most of our savings. We had to sell the house on the lake, and Dad’s favorite Fender guitar, and finally—tragically—the collection of Starfield novels she loved so much.

After that, Dad and I hopped from apartment to apartment. He took a job at the county library as the head Youth Services coordinator. He’s been there ever since, and Quinn, Annie, and I have spent more time in the library than anywhere else in the world. We know every nook and cranny, and almost all of the patrons—most of whom are older and walk from the retirement facility across the street—know our names.

Dad’s sitting on the edge of the Youth Services desk when we come in, flipping through a new picture book for the stacks. He glances up over his Harry Potter–esque glasses and smiles at us.

“There are my troublemakers!” he announces, standing up. “Annie, you won’t believe your luck!”

She gasps. “It came in?!”

He rustles around under the counter and then triumphantly holds up a golden tome. “It came in!”

“Yes!” she crows, throwing her hands into the air. She’s been waiting for the last book in that trashy fantasy series for the better half of two months, and honestly both Quinn and I are happy that she can stop bugging us about “evading spoilers” now. “You are the greatest gift to mankind, Space Dad.”

“I try,” Dad replies, playing along, because God forbid he puts a stop to this madness. Then he snaps his fingers and points to Quinn. “Speaking of which! I think I found a book for you, too.”

“Spare me the agony,” they deadpan in reply.

He laughs, pushing his chair over toward the computer, and rustles around under a stack of papers. He pulls out a book. “It’s about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist. I know you like stuff like that.”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You are amazing.”

“I try,” he replies pleasantly.

Annie opens her golden tome and inhales heavily. “Ah, the sweet, sweet smell of germs and page rot and smut. But I cannot be derailed!” She closes her book and shoves it under her arm. “Space Dad, we have a question.”

“A few questions,” Quinn agrees.

“Too many questions—you don’t have to answer them all,” I add, pleading, as Annie presents him with the plan and the now notorious list. He reads through it, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

When he gets to number ten, he hands the list back and says, “I think it’s doable.”

“Do you think you can help us?” Quinn asks.

I try to give Dad the please say no glare. I’m not sure if he just doesn’t notice it, or if he knowingly avoids it, but he nods solemnly. “I think I can show you the light, young Padawans. Win Homecoming, you will. Obtain crown, you must.”

“Boo-yah!” Annie and Quinn high-five each other.

I lean away from them, glancing up at the clock. It’s 3:30 p.m., and it’ll only take a few minutes to get over to the castle-house, but I don’t see myself being of any more use here. I inch away from my best friends. “I think I’m going to get a head start to my new, um, work.”

Dad gives me a somewhat nervous look. “You know, you really don’t have to—”

“I know,” I interrupt. “It’ll be fine, Dad.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind…”

“I love you over nine thousand.” I kiss him on the cheek, grab one of the candies off his desk, and leave my best friends to start planning with my dad. If anyone can help them win Homecoming, it’s quite possibly the coolest guy I know.

I’ll never admit it to his face, though.

I BITE MY THUMBNAIL, lying sprawled out on my bed, as I consider my choices.

  You are torn between going to the hot tub with Maverick or seeing if Tiffany is okay. Tiffany looked very distraught, but you know this is probably the only alone time you’ll get with Maverick…

→ Tiffany’s fine, I need to talk with Maverick about the selection coming up!

→ I’ll find alone time with Maverick later, I need to be there for Tiffany.

Honestly, Tiffany has been a total asshole to me this entire game, so why should I go see if she’s okay? Sure, her father’s been in the hospital and she was just called to the producer’s room, but it can’t be anything that bad. And even if it is, do I really want to sacrifice my one chance to be alone with Maverick?

Hell no.

I’m about to select Maverick when my phone vibrates and cancels out of the app. I read the caller ID and quickly silence the call.

Not her.

Not today.

I throw my phone to the other side of my bed. A minute later, the house phone rings.

Don’t answer, I pray to Elias, don’t answer—

“Ah, good afternoon, Elsa. Vance? Oh, no, he’s sleeping right now,” I hear Elias say from downstairs. “I’ll have him call you as soon as he wakes up. Yes, of course. Hope you’re doing—oh, right. Goodbye.”

Then, as if on cue, my phone rings again.

I silence it and put it in airplane mode, then roll off my bed and slip on my sneakers. The easiest way to avoid her is to not be here altogether, because I know she’s just going to keep calling until Elias finally wakes me up, or I cave and answer, and I don’t want to deal with that right now. I grab my earbuds from the desk and make my way down the stairs to the ground floor. There’s a thunderstorm flickering in the distant purple clouds, but they won’t stop me.

Elias is stretched out over one of the couches, watching previously recorded episodes of Days of Our Lives. He glances over as I hurry down the steps. “Your mother’s calling—”

“I’ll call her later.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’ll say it again tomorrow.”

Elias sighs. “She won’t stop, you know. And where are you going? Rosie will be here in a few minutes for you both to start on that library.”

I bark a laugh. “You really think I’m going to help with that library?”

“Natalia said—”

“Leave me alone,” I snap a little sharper than I anticipated, and quickly shove my earbuds into my ears. An apology tinges the edge of my tongue, but I swallow it. It’s not as if an apology will do anything, anyway. “C’mon, Sansa,” I say instead, clicking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

My dog looks up from her perch on the edge of the couch and perks up as soon as I call her name. She bounds over to me, and I grab her lead from the kitchen key hook as we leave.

At least Sansa is on my side.

The afternoon is warm, almost sticky, as if to remind me that I’m no longer in dry, balmy California but a nightmarish nowhere town. I abhor it here. Everything about it. Even the dirt road the house sits on. The gravel crunches under my feet as I jog down the lane. The pine trees are tall, and the sky is slowly fading to pinkish red as the storm clouds roll in.

What does it matter if I answer when my mother rings? I can’t escape her even if I want to. I am the son of Elsa and Gregory Reigns, heir to Kolossal Pictures. I know where I’m going to end up. I know what my life is going to look like.

And I hate it all.

That’s also why I hate Darien Freeman. Because he’s good at everything—because he doesn’t have to act, but he chooses to, and he loves it. I hate him, but I never wanted to ruin him, or the good things he had.

Like Elle.

But it doesn’t matter; I did anyway. I ruin everything that I touch.

As I lead Sansa to the edge of the driveway, a disgusting hatchback pulls up to the curb and that girl gets out. Exactly on time. She makes a movement to wave at me, but I’m already turning down the road with my dog.

There isn’t a single universe where I would willingly arrange a library with anyone, least of all her. It’s a waste of time, and I have better things to do.

Actually, I don’t have better things to do—I have nothing to do, I’m so bored out of my mind I’m trying to unlock every ending in the dating sim Dream Daddy—but she doesn’t have to know that. I’m just biding my time, waiting until my birthday, when I can leave this insufferably small town and go back to my life. And there’s nothing my stepfather can say or do that could stop me.