Chapter 1

Zoe

I bit my lip, holding my breath and watching the wall as I lay in bed. Shadows of tree branches, created by a streetlight beyond my window, danced across the paint. Where was he? I could hardly stand this waiting. It was excruciating. He worked 'til ten and it was ten-thirty. The Starbucks was only three blocks away. Did he have to walk home? If I only had my phone.

But it was sitting on my dad's dresser. Confiscated.

The tyranny around here is driving me crazy.

And all for some smartass comment I made to Dani, my new stepmom. I'd been a smartass all my life. This was the first time it cost me a phone. Okay, not the first time, but....

I flopped on my side and worried a loose thread on the tattered end of the quilt my grandma had sewn for me. It made me miss her.

At first, I was happy about the marriage. Ecstatic, really. And I was glad my dad had found somebody to spend the rest of his life with. And Dani was pretty awesome. But still... it was weird having some other woman take care of him when it had been me for so many years. I couldn't say I was jealous, because that would be ridiculous. But I was... territorial.

Wait.

My gaze darted to the wall. I thought I'd caught a quick sizzle of light. Did I imagine it? I stared a hole into the plaster.

A few seconds later, my eyes widened. A fairy ball zipped in from out of nowhere, cutting through my sheer curtains, and dancing around like a firefly jacked up on Mountain Dew. I'd never been so glad to lay eyes on the beacon before. My heart sprung like a pole vaulter seeking the state record, and air rushed into my lungs, expanding them to normal proportions. I suppressed a squeal and threw back the quilt.

Zack! All luscious six-foot-one, one hundred and seventy-three pounds of him.

I sighed. Unfortunately, he'd never be mine, so I needed to stop looking at him that way. But, really, who could help it? Blond hair with a hint of wave in it, Golden Boy, captain of the football team, fabulous body....

And here I was, his neighbor since childhood, forever caught in the friend zone.

Ehh. It could be worse. I did get to spend time with him.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed my denim shorts off the floor, and hopped around on one foot, trying to slide them on. I put a hand on the bed to steady myself. I couldn't be too loud or the Nighttime Nazis/my dad and stepmom, would be on my case.

Oh. I needed to signal back. I snatched my flashlight off the bedside table and crossed to the window. I flipped it on and off in the code we set up when we were eight. But the appropriate signal didn't flash back. Strange.

I moved to the window, skirting my desk so I could get close enough to peer down to the base of the big tree between our houses. Hmm. No Zack. Then I spotted his light bobbing around in the backyard, headed for our "clubhouse." He usually waited for me. Was this a good sign? Or a bad sign? I would find out shortly. Impatient, I jerked on the window. It always stuck because of a bad paint job. It made a loud creak, and I cringed, waiting to be found out. After several seconds passed with no feet pounding along the hall, I moved the window up as far as it would go, with only a little more squeaking. They must have thought I was getting air. It was one of those "dog days" they talked about. Late September and eighty-five degrees during the day. It had cooled off a bit since the sun set, though.

The breeze wafted in, and I inhaled deeply. There it was. The sweet smell of freedom. Grinning, I carefully popped the latches on the sides of the screen and pushed it out of the frame. Tilted at an angle, it was narrow enough to haul into my room. I put it on the floor, leaning it up against the side of my desk. With a total lack of grace and coordination, I climbed onto the rolling office chair in front of the desk, then stepped up on my math homework.

This part always scared the crap out of me. I moved into a sitting position and stuck my legs out the window opening, scootching my backside along the desk until I was poised on the sill. The wind played with my hair.

Don't do it. Don't—

Shit. I did it. Looked down. I always told myself not to, but did it anyway. The grass and bushes beneath me swayed and blurred in my vision, and I put a hand over my stomach which was trying to make a quick escape of its own. Or at least the contents thereof. It wasn't that far, really. But it sure seemed like a long way when nothing was holding me up but a four-inch-wide window sill.

Do it for Zack.

This, too, I always did. It was part of the ritual. Tell myself to not look down, do it anyway. Feel like I would hurl, then motivate myself with the thought of Zack. I reached out to what I called the perfect branch. It was about as thick as a softball and ran nearly to the house, right above my window. I was in a corner room, and the branch was slanted in such a way that it barely cleared the end of the house. It was as if the Fates were lining the way for me. The bark was rough, though. Apparently the Fates never wanted to make things easy. I'd wear gloves except Zack would call me a sissy. Although he probably couldn't see me from the clubhouse....

Adjusting my grip, I closed my eyes, then sent my legs into space. Once free from the window, I actually felt safer. The branch gave me something solid to trust in. I monkeyed my way along the branch for the few feet to the trunk. Once I was close enough, my feet caught a lower branch and I was able to take the weight off my arms. From there, my descent was a cinch.

I dropped to the ground in a position similar to a sprinter, knees bent, hands touching the ground. The dirt I scared up swirled around me and got into my mouth. I sputtered and spit the taste of it out, straightening my back to stand. I looked at my hands. No blood, but they were red with a series of white lines running across them. I wiped the hot sting away on my shorts, and the smile that snuck across my face was totally natural, and totally Zack's.

I moved quickly across the lawn, staring at the top of the slide attached to our swing set the whole time, trying to make out his form in the dark. As it became clearer, I realized he was hanging his head. The smile crumbled from my face and my queasiness returned.

Shit.

I picked up my pace, jogging to the ladder, and then scrambling up. He turned away from me when I reached the top. We stood under a canopy of sorts, made from a green canvas tarp, on a square platform supporting the top of the slide. There wasn't much room inside—it seemed bigger when we were eight—but it was ours.

He didn't say anything, and my anxiety increased. I reached a trembling hand out to his shoulder. "Zach. Don't worry. You can take it again. You can keep taking it until you pass. Brian Wilson from the Beach Boys had to take it five times."

He shrugged me away and it hurt. Physically hurt. Like a punch to the gut.

"Why would I do that?" His voice was disgruntled. He slowly turned to face me, the light from my patio giving us some illumination. "When I've got this."

He held out a plastic card with the state of Nebraska emblazoned on it.

I went from anxious to elated in a nanosecond. "You got it. You got it!" I jumped up and down clapping my hands. Then, with a noise somewhere between a squeal and a hum, I launched myself into his arms, still jumping, though encumbered by his nearness. His arms wrapped around me, and we melted together. It was easy to believe a romance could blossom between us, but totally incorrect. I pulled back and beat my fists against his shoulders. "You lied to me. You tricked me!"

"I know. I know." He drew me closer. "I wanted to surprise you." He leaned his head back, looking into my face. "Wanna go for a ride?"

We broke apart, and I swatted him one more time on the chest. "Heck, yeah." I gave him a playful shove, forgetting he was on the edge of a slide. Zack's arms began to rotate like he was doing arm circles in gym, fanning the air desperately in an attempt not to fall.

"Oh." I lunged to try to save him, but the movement threw me off-balance, too. As we toppled, I latched onto his shirt and we went down together. A crack accompanied the sound of the air leaving our lungs when we hit the yellow plastic of the slide. At the last second, I started to spill over the side, but Zack muscled me back on top of him.

"Are you okay?" we both asked at once. We laughed and nodded.

Zack rubbed his head. "Damn."

I stopped mid-laugh. "Did you hit your head? You said you were okay. Are you hurt?"

He circled his hands around my biceps. "I'm fine, Zo."

I rolled off the side clumsily. "Well, you would deserve it if you weren't."

"Oh, yeah?" He curled into a sitting position and made a play to grab me, which I easily dodged. He grinned and struggled to his feet. The slide, relieved of his weight, creaked.

"Shit. Did we break the slide?" I ran my hands along it, searching for a crack, my heartbeat accelerating. "Tabby loves this slide."

Zack felt around from the other side and ran his hand under it. "I think it's okay. It may not take another blow like that, but it's okay." He came around and looped a hand over my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go for that ride." After a few strides, he twisted his head to look at me, chuckling. "You're a doofus."

I poked him in the ribcage. "You're a bigger doofus."

He looked straight ahead, the corner of his mouth I could see turned up in that shit-eating grin of his that I loved and hated at the same time. "Keep that up and I won't take you on a ride."

"Oh, yeah?" I countered. "Then I'll tell people you swam naked in my pool."

He stopped and turned to me. "I was two years old, and it was a plastic baby pool."

I continued walking. "I might accidentally leave that information out."

"Why, you...."

I took off running but he caught me before I reached the car, locking his arms around my waist and hoisting me into the air. I squealed.

"Shh-shh-shh," he whispered near my ear, and heat shimmered through me, sliding deep into my core. "Your parents will hear us."

I was kicking and fighting him but he drew me tighter against his chest and I stilled.

"Good girl." His voice was seductive. Deep and warm. One of my favorite traits of his. "Now. If I let you go, will you behave?"

I turned my head a little. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He growled, tightening his hold.

"Okay. Okay. Put me down."

He hesitated, then slowly lowered me to my feet. The warmth and security of being in his arms was one of the best feelings I'd ever had in my life, even if it was only as friends. We both turned to look at the big, white farmhouse I lived in. The top floor was dark, but lights glowed from the front invitingly. A dark figure, probably my dad by the size of it, stirred the curtains.

"Oh, shit!" Zack murmured. "He'll see us. Get in. Get in!"

I giggled, but my heart beat against my ribs as I ran around to the passenger side of the car. When the door was locked, I ducked. "It's locked!"

"Okay, just a second." He slid behind the wheel and I heard the clunk of the locks opening.

I squeezed in and bent my head to the dashboard, my pulse racing. Zack had rolled up the sleeves of the button-down shirt he had worn to work, and seeing his arms didn't help the situation. He had been a beanpole until freshman year when he joined the football team and began working out. Now, as a junior, he was ripped. Those well-defined indents and swirling swells of muscle, bulging veins, and that "V" thing I knew was under his shirt, tapering down into his waistband.... I closed my eyes and swallowed. I couldn't let him catch me drooling over him.

Zack turned the ignition key and his 1993 Mustang Cobra roared to life. He'd been saving up since he was ten to buy the muscle car off his uncle, and it was his pride and joy. The only reason I knew the make and model was Zack hadn't been able to stop talking about it for months. Now, with the deep rumble of the engine, I understood why. Adrenaline seemed to pump from the car into me. Or maybe it was the thought of getting caught. Or maybe it was simply being with Zack. In any case, I loved the silver cobra emblem on the side. It made him seem bad assed, even if he wasn't.

Zack pulled away from the curb, gunning the engine and giving everyone in the neighborhood a taste of the distinctive throaty vroom the muffler made.

I straightened. "You are so going to get a speeding ticket."

He glanced at me. "No, I'm not. I'm a good boy." He pointed at the speedometer. "Barely five miles over."

"Cops are looking for a car like this to speed. Better keep it at the speed limit, mister."

He frowned, checking the side-view mirror. "Okay, Mom."

I ran my hand along the dash. It was clear Zack had cleaned it with something as I felt no residue and smelled chemicals. Moving my fingers from knob to knob I came to the stereo buttons.

"This thing work?"

The corner of his lip twitched. "Check it and find out."

I pushed the button and Panic! At The Disco blared through the speakers. I laughed as Zack raced to adjust the volume. "Sorry."

"Wow." I bopped my head to the music. "That's quite a sound system."

"Pioneer stereo, woofer, sub-woofer, and two tweeters."

I whistled. "That must've set you back. How much are you making at that Starbuck's?"

"It took all my birthday money. But I had to have the best for my gal, Zoe."

My gal. I wished he'd quit saying things like that. He reached over and ruffled my hair affectionately, like a kid sister, emphasizing he didn't see me as anything other than the girl next door. My gaze roamed over the interior of the car, taking it all in. The back seat was large and looked comfortable. I let my thoughts drift to me and Zack locked in a heavy make-out session cradled in the vinyl. Then the image turned to one of him with other girls and my heart dropped. That was a more realistic picture. I sighed and looked out my window, becoming lost in thought. After a bit, I could feel Zack's gaze on me. I forced a smile and turned to him.

"I hate to break it to you, Brendon Urie," I referred to the lead singer of Panic! At The Disco as their "Crazy = Genius" song played, "'cause you may be attractive, and a star and all that, but that doesn't make you inflammable or even flame retardant."

He nodded. "Yes. If you set yourself on fire, Brendon, you will burn, burn, burn. I don't recommend it." He gave my knee a squeeze, then returned both hands to the wheel.

He was the best. Simply the best. His music analysis skills were almost as good as my Uncle Kyle and Aunt Sam's. They weren't really my aunt and uncle, just my stepmom's best friend and her fiancé, but they may as well be. Music with them, and my dad and stepmom, was one big game. They raced each other to name the group or singer first, then analyzed the most outrageous lyrics for their entertainment. Zack and I had been doing it for months. I'd pull it out, every once in a while, with the adults, to surprise them and make them laugh, but I kept it mostly for Zack. It was our "thing," and I loved that.

I wish it could be like that forever.

As the night blurred past us, creating silver streaks in my peripheral vision, the light and warmth blanketing me morphed. Like weights added to a scale one at a time, my heart became heavier and heavier. Things would change; I could feel it. It was only a matter of time. He'd find some girl, then....

Then no more Zoe and Zack.