I stretch my lab project to the very end, and by one, Cass is texting me, demanding my drink order for the pizza place at the other end of campus. She’s also sent a picture of the greasiest pizza I’ve ever seen. I type that I’m on my way and have no intention of eating that insult for food.

Good, because it’s already halfway gone. Oh, and Houston’s here ;-)

As unappetizing as the pizza was to me, it’s the second part of her text that has my stomach in knots. It’s going to be pretty hard to talk about him when he’s actually there. Not to mention, he’s only there because of his stupid text fuck up.

With every step closer I take to the restaurant, the less I want to be there. I can see my sister’s smile through the window; she’s laughing at something Houston said. He’s funny; of course she’s laughing. And Rowe is gazing between the two of them. Bonding is happening inside—they’re bonding. Houston is being charming, and my sister is going to like him, and she’s going to want there to be a me and him.

There is a me and him. But I also think maybe it only works if we keep it a secret. Otherwise, it becomes a me and him and a whole lot of other people.

“So lots of cold showers, huh?” Cass says through laughter as I step up to the booth. What the fuck? Cold showers?

“You wouldn’t believe how many,” Houston says, startling when I drop myself into the booth next to him. His leg slides toward mine a second later. I kick it.

“Who’s taking cold showers?” I ask, lips pursed, my face ready to accuse Houston of sharing too much.

“Houston is,” Cass says, pulling off a piece of crust and eating it like a carrot. My face feels hot, and Houston suddenly looks guilty.

“And he’ll be taking more,” I say, my lips pursed. I glance up to the counter to wave the waitress over, and when I glance back, Houston’s eyes are wider.

“You’re planning on taking even longer showers to drain the hot water tank?” he says, the words coming out slowly, his eyes signaling mine that I got that wrong—so fucking wrong.

“I am,” I say curtly, turning to the waitress and keeping up my persona. Frankly, it’s not unlike me to be a bitch just because I heard someone complaining about me. “Diet Coke, with a slice of lime, please.”

“She’s high maintenance,” Cass says, her mouth still full with her crust bite. “But I think you’ll find she grows on you.”

I smile into my lap and glance to the side at Cass, who winks. It’s been a while since she’s said something nice about me. It feels good.

“What do you study, Houston?” Rowe asks from the corner seat. Rowe always sits in a corner, her back to the wall. There was a shooting at her high school a couple years ago, and some of her friends didn’t survive. She’s only talked to me about it once. It strikes me how much she and Houston have in common.

“I’m in the Computer Science program. I’m a geek,” he shrugs.

“Oh, well that’s good,” Cass laughs, winking at me again. It doesn’t feel good this time. “My sister only falls for meathead athletes. You should be safe.”

I can’t stop the instant sour face I make at her statement, but I catch it quickly, before she notices. Not before Rowe, though.

“There’s nothing wrong with meatheads,” Rowe says through nervous laughter. She doesn’t like confrontation, and I think she might be changing the subject for me.

“Oh, no…I didn’t mean Nate,” Cass continues, putting her hand on Houston’s arm as she shifts her body to face him more. My eyes lock on that small touch, and I know the sour face is back. When I look at Rowe, she’s looking at me still. Double shit. “You see, Paige had a thing for Nate when school first started, but he was into Rowe. It was a little awkward, because we were all living together then. But turns out Nate wasn’t really her type anyway, wouldn’t you say Paige?”

I nod in agreement, reluctantly, my stomach sick. I’m too worried about where this conversation is going to be insulted by it.

“And what’s her type?” Houston asks. I kick him again under the table, and I don’t care that both Cass and Rowe see it.

“Well…” Cass smirks.

“Be nice,” I point at her, relieved when the waitress drops my drink off at the table. At least I can busy myself with the straw.

“Paige needs someone who has a spotlight,” Cass starts. I feel Houston shift, and I keep my eyes at my drink. I should argue with her, be offended or defend myself. But the old me, the girl I was before, wouldn’t. She’d agree. “Paige has always been a leader. Ever since grade school. I think maybe it started when the principal let her cut the ribbon to unveil the new playground equipment. Do you remember that?”