She raises her chin defiantly. "What are you talking about?"

"I was a better cheerleader; I was a better cheerleading captain; I was a better student; Jessie liked me better; Chris liked me better; hell, Chris likes me better. How must that feel? How does it feel to know that even at my worst, you're still not enough?"

"Fuck you." She turns this hideous shade of red and her hands start shaking because the truth hurts. "Parker, I could make your life seriously miserable from where I'm standing."

"Becky, you're only standing there because I decided I didn't want to."

"Holy shit," the same basketball player repeats behind me. I clear my throat.

"Parker," Evan says nervously. He runs a hand over his prickly black hair and holds out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. "Uh--shot?"

Jenny Morse flees from the room. I take the bottle and the glass.

"Wow," I say. "This is so interesting."

I move to the kitchen counter, pour my first shot and knock it back. It burns going down and I have to make a concentrated effort not to choke. Chris says it's pathetic that after three years of high school I haven't mastered the taste of alcohol. Chris says I should loosen up.

"You and Jessie made it up yet? Because she feels terrible about what happened at practice and she wants to make it up with you."

The words tumble out of Evan's mouth and I can't tell if he's lying. I pour my second shot, which is really stupid because it's not even dark out yet and it's the kind of thing I wouldn't let Chris get away with.

Evan watches. Hesitates.

"You're not going to tell her, are you?"

I shrug. He takes the vodka from me and pours himself a shot. Knocks it back. Then another. And another.

"I can't believe you," I say, reclaiming the bottle. I don't even bother to pour a shot this time, just drink it straight. It's gross, but Chris says I should loosen the fuck up. "I thought you loved her."

"Oh my God, I do," he says desperately. "Seriously, look, Jenny doesn't mean anything to me; she's just--"

"She's just a lay, right?" He doesn't say anything. "I knew it. I totally knew it. I had a feeling and I was right. I'm always right."

He's sweating now. "You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"I haven't decided yet."

I leave him there. When I step into the foyer more and more people are arriving and Chris has the music going proper, really loud. It's in my feet, up my legs, in my lungs, my heart.

The party has begun.

"Do you want to go to the mall with me?"

Jake glances over his shoulder. "Are you talking to me?"

He's such a dork.

"Yes, Jake, I'm talking to you."

"Me? Go to the mall with you?" He frowns. "Why?"

I don't have the patience for this.

"Because it's fun! I don't know, why do people go to the mall? I just thought since I was going to the mall after school and you're practically stalking me all the time, you'd probably wonder why I didn't get on the bus and spend all night obsessing over it, and I don't want to be responsible if you don't get a good night's sleep."

"You're having a rough day, aren't you?" he asks. "Everyone's talking about what happened at lunch."

I inhale slowly through my teeth.

"Look, do you want to go to the mall with me after school or not?"

"Uh, yeah!" Finally. He forces a smile. "Sure."

"Meet me outside after the bell."

There.

I've decided to kill as many hours as I can at the mall because I don't want to go home and face my devastated parents right away and I know the phone call from Grey will devastate them. Maybe they'll send me to an actual therapist or something; I don't know. I just don't want to go home until I absolutely have to, even if it does make everything worse, and I figure toying with Jake will be a good distraction from that eventuality, because I need that, too. A distraction.

"So why'd you ask me to come with you?"

The outside light and fresh air is immediately swallowed behind us as we step through the doors of the Corby Shopping Center. It's crowded, but I can stand being around this many people. It's not like school, where everyone knows me.

"Why not ask you?" I shrug. "Where do you want to go first?"

"I don't know. This is my first time at your local mall. Give me the grand tour."

"Well, we simply must start with the food court. Does international cuisine interest you? The first slice of pizza is on me."

"Just a sec." Jake reaches out and feels my forehead. "Temperature's normal. Invasion of the body snatchers, maybe? Have you been possessed? Remember, like, two days ago when you told me I didn't have a chance with you?"

I brush his hand away. "First slice of pizza is on you."

We don't have pizza, we have Chinese food and Coke on Jake at my insistence, but I think he's the type of guy who would pay anyway. The food court is really packed, so we have to eat at the fountain. We sit on the edge of the pale pink tiles while water gushes out of the mouth of the large metal fish behind us. Loose change scattered over the bottom of the fountain catches the weak light overhead and glints at us. Annoying elevator Muzak is piped in from God knows where, but hey, it's a mall.

We're quiet at first and then I start thinking about my parents again, which I don't want to do, so I try for a conversation. A nice one.

"Tell me about you," I say.

Jake takes a sip of his Coke and stares at the shoppers passing by.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Tell me about your family and life at your old school and--I don't know--what's the worst thing you've ever done?"

He laughs at that last bit.

"Uh, my dad is Earl, my stepmom is Wanda and my stepsister is Carrie. Carrie's in her first year of college, so she's not around." He thinks about it. "My dad works in tech support and Wanda does voice- overs for commercials. Pretty neat, huh? She's good, too. My mom's a zoologist. She lives way on the other side of the country."

"How come you don't live with her?"

He shrugs. "I had to choose. I don't have a problem with my mom; I just have more in common with my dad. No big deal."

That probably means it's a big deal.

I take a bite of a chicken ball. It tastes like paste.

"So what's the worst thing you've ever done?"

"I don't know."

"That must mean you're a good person."

"Define `worst.' Are we talking academically, socially? I cheated on every single history test I had in the ninth grade. Socially--being popular is pretty bad, isn't it?" He cracks a smile. "I let my friends get away with things I couldn't live with if I'd been the one that did them. Or maybe I shouldn't be able to live with the fact I let them get away with that stuff, who knows?" "What kind of things?"

"I don't know. What's with this question, anyway? What's the worst thing you've ever done? That's why you asked me, isn't it? So I'd ask you. I'm getting a handle on you, Parker."

"Why do you like me? I know you like me or you wouldn't put up with me or bother me as much as you do."

That shuts him up. But not for long.

"If I knew exactly why, I'm pretty sure I'd talk myself out of it." He clears his throat and looks away. "I don't know if you know this, but you're not the most personable... person."

"And you like me."

"Is this going to end with you telling me I'm never getting into your pants?"

"Even after what you saw in the gym today?"

He forces himself to look at me and he's totally embarrassed. I can tell this is really hard for him and I feel sorry for him because it's really complicated and stupid when you can't even figure out why you like a person--especially a person like me--but everything inside you is telling you that you do. It's not like I ever gave him a reason.

I just wouldn't want to be him right now.

"Maybe you like trying to figure me out," I suggest. "So maybe I should tell you what my deal is. Get it out of your system."

"Maybe I like trying to figure you out because I like you against my better judgment." He pauses. "Or maybe if I figured you out, I'd like you more."

"I don't think so."

We stare at each other. I sense the kiss coming before he actually leans in, and because I'm anticipating it, I get all anxious and I start pulling at the tips of my fingers because I don't know what else to do. His face gets closer and closer and then I lose grip of my index finger and my elbow rams into his Coke and spills all over the floor. The kiss never happens. I scramble for napkins and sop up the golden- brown liquid even though a janitor will clean it up.

"Were you raped?"

I stare at him. "What? Is that some kind of come-on?"

He's really uncomfortable now. "I've been trying to figure out why you're as fucked up as you claim you are. Is that what it is?"

"No." I bend down and grab the empty cup. "No, I wasn't raped."

The city bus drops me off two blocks from home. It's dark and cold out and I make it a slow walk, even though I'm tired and want to sleep. When I pass Chris's house, I notice a small sign on the lawn that wasn't there before. It's planted in front of the walk and has an air of authority despite its size. I crouch down and read it.

PROTECTED BY LETHAM'S HOME

SURVELLIANCE AND ALARM SYSTEMS

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I can't see the cameras from here or the little strips of laser light that sound the alarm as soon as you trip over them, but I know they're there and just like that, I can't go into the woods anymore.