There’d been other times, like when Willow wanted me to ask for a treadmill. They didn’t see her on it during the day, only me. She ran in the park during the day and then used the treadmill at night. I did the normal thirty minutes Coach Ellerson required from us during the off-season for soccer. I should’ve done more, but Cheetos and being lazy were a lot more fun.

“So . . .” Ryan pulled me from my thoughts.

I almost sagged with relief. No more memories.

He tugged at one of his sleeves. “Do you, uh, want me to stay with you? Or, I mean, do you want to sleep alone?” He rushed out, “I can do either, that’s cool. You just let me know.”

“What?” Someone knocked on the door. One quick, hard tap.

He groaned. “My mom said it’s fine, but she’s going to put the nanny cam on us. So, you know, no messing around.” His head shot up. “Not that that’s what I have in mind. I mean, you’re hot, but you’re grieving. You lost your sister, so . . . you know . . .” He flinched, cursing under his breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that last part. I—sorry. I’m shutting up before I say any more shit.”

“What?” I asked, hoping the upward curl of my lips resembled a grin, or better yet, something cool and maybe even seductive. “You mean you’ve never been asked to pretend you’re a grief counselor?”

He barked out a laugh. Then his eyes darkened. “I lost a friend almost two years ago, so I kinda know what you’re going through. Kinda. Not really. I mean, he wasn’t my brother or my twin or anything, so it isn’t the same. But . . .” He stopped himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

Loss was loss, as far as I was concerned. Yeah, there could be different degrees of it, but it was the same emotion. The only thing that differentiated was whether it came suddenly or slowly. But I kept that to myself because honestly, who the hell wanted to talk about that?

I pointed to his television and video console. “You have Warcraft?”

“Yeah.” He brightened up. “You play?”

“Got a sudden urge to learn.”

“All right.” He grabbed a controller from his desk, found the other next to the bed, then climbed up next to me. Leaning back against the wall, his leg next to mine, he taught me how to play. His arm and hand brushed against mine randomly, and every time they did, I felt a small but warm tingle.

We played Warcraft most of the night. Robbie played with us too, until I convinced him to go to bed. Ryan and I only turned out the light when his mom stuck her head around the door.

“It’s after two,” she told us. “Time to sleep.” She gave me a soft smile. “I hope you can sleep okay, Mackenzie.”

Me too.

She gave Ryan a pointed look, jerking her eyes to a stuffed rhino on his desk. A red light blinked in its nose.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, Mom.”

“Good night, both of you.”

The next morning, I ventured to the kitchen for the first time and found it filled with an uncomfortable tension. They could have been sitting in silence before I showed up, but I doubted it. I didn’t need Robbie to decipher who’d been the subject of conversation two seconds before my arrival. It was one of those scenes where you walk in and know they were talking about you.

Mrs. Jensen was at the counter, making coffee. Peach sat at the table, and a middle-aged lady—I assumed their maid or something—placed Cheerios in front of her. I had to stop and take that in. A maid. And she was wearing a blue dress with a white apron over the top of it.

These people didn’t just have house staff; they had house staff in uniform. That was, like, a whole other level. Wealthy rich. That was what Willow would’ve said, and she was right. She was always right.

“Mackenzie.” Mrs. Jensen sounded breathless. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she smoothed a hand down her hair. “How are you? You slept well?”

I had, and I glanced over at Ryan, who was coming in from outside. A warm breeze came with him. Seeing me, he paused with his hand still on the door’s handle. His mouth formed an O, and he gripped a basketball in his other hand.

“Hey!”

Peach made a sound. I registered it in the back of my mind, but I ignored it. I could hear the disapproval in her voice, and I already knew who Peach’s friends would be at school. She’d run with the snooty girls—mean, catty, and looking down their noses at peeps beneath them. Those types of girls. And in other words, most definitely not my type.