That afternoon at Seth's left me a mixed up jumble of emotions. As soon as I got home, I stomped into our front door, yelled, "I'm never drinking again!" and locked myself into my room, leaving my parents free to pat each other on the back for the great job they were doing raising me for the rest of the evening.

Seth kept his word and never hit on me again, just went back to flirting with everyone but me. Which was totally fine! It was what I wanted, after all. After about a month of  reminding myself this every time he wandered off in chemistry to talk to girls instead of helping with our work, I hardly even felt like breaking flasks or setting stuff on fire anymore.

Good thing, too. Suppressing the urge to destroy other people's property turned out to be a life-saving skill. Lately, we'd been partying with Adamson kids in their home turf almost nightly and if I broke even one teacup at those houses, my parents would probably have to sell our house to pay for it.

I had thought that after the events  at the riverbank, the guys would have nothing to do with Adamson kids and vice-versa but the opposite proved to be true. Off-Kilter was more popular than ever, and if any word of the fight or girlfriend-stealing did come out, it just made their presence more sought-after.

It boggled the mind what some people found desirable.

Off-Kilter was just schmoozing, and not playing at tonight's party. These days they were showing up to more of these things not as entertainment but as guests-of-honor and half the time didn't bring their equipment with them anymore. Mostly, they just stood around, letting people take pictures and videos with them.

I wasn't sure how that worked. Did they get paid? Was it just for free publicity? Asking the guys the guys didn't make things any clearer. Either they had no idea or were keeping it a secret from us outsiders.

Didn't matter. Adamson kids knew how to have a good time and at the drop of a hat threw epic, out of control, end-of-the-world kind of parties (sometimes several of them, all in the same night) that would normally get broken up by cops in any other neighborhood. Even though there was no live performance, this party was still one for the books.

I, however, wasn't much of a party girl even when I was drinking, and after having endured basically the same thing several times in a few short weeks, the effect these events had on me had greatly diminished.

I would've stopped tagging along ages ago if not for one saving grace:

Anyone who thought that a non-drinker at an Adamson house party was missing out in any way had obviously never tried the food.

"Holy crap, a sushi boat!" I squealed, and made a beeline for the refreshments.

It was a magnificent sight: three feet long, right at the center of the buffet table, by the pool, outside a huge mansion owned that was supposed to be owned by some big deal software developer. I quickly grabbed a set of disposable chopsticks, a plastic container of prepared dipping sauce, and a plate, which I loaded with at least one of every kind, popping some pieces in my mouth every so often.

"Hey Adrian. That any good?"

It was Ethan, coming up to the table. I handed him the clear tongs I was using to fill my plate so he could see for himself. "Try it and then tell me that's not the best sushi you've ever tasted."

"And only," he pointed out. "So . . . there's no basis for comparison."

"How have you never had sushi? I know it doesn't feel like it most of the time, but this is California . . ." I gave him a bewildered stare, which he returned.

Because as I realized a split-second later, I was being a jerk.

"Not a lot of sushi places take food stamps, Adrian."

"C'mon . . . "

I always felt uncomfortable when Ethan joked about his circumstances even though I knew it was a defense mechanism. Beating everyone to the punchline ruined the joke, made it less funny. Or less hurtful.

Before I could say anything else, two girls came bounding toward us. I quickly stepped aside to give them access to the buffet and also to avoid a collision, but this turned out to be unnecessary. They didn't even spare the feast before them a passing glance—how rich must they be?

On the other hand, seeing as the two lost no time positioning themselves on either side of Ethan, telling him he looked like he could use some company, they could just be in the mood for a different kind of treat altogether.

One of the girls, who was tall and ginger-haired, then proceeded to whisper in a low, suggestive, if slurring, tone about a private party—emphasis on private. A gagging sound escaped my throat. This caught the attention of all three, who turned to look at me and I had to mumble some excuse about too much wasabi so as not to look like I'd been eavesdropping.

Ethan leaned in to whisper something in one of the girls' ear, which left said girl a whimpering mess. The duo left shortly after reminding Ethan to come find them later.

The ginger seemed so reluctant to leave Ethan's orbit that she was walking backwards, in slow-motion. She stumbled a little, but the other girl, who had dark hair and was about a foot shorter, caught and steadied her. Sort of.

"Offer expires in ten minutes," the first girl called out, laughing.

"Ha, no, it doesn't," Ethan said, just loud enough so I could hear. Outwardly, he was still smiling at those girls. As soon as they were out of sight, I shook my head and pretended to give him a scornful look.

"You and Alex really are two of a kind," I said, alluding to the fact that my so-called bestie also got hit on almost immediately after our arrival, consequently leaving me to my own devices. Not counting the guys, it was just me and her at this party tonight. Beth and Erin had better things to do. Wink. "I can't understand why the two of you didn't work out."

"You know about that?"

He looked slightly uneasy about this, which made me think maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Even Alex had withheld that information from me until recently. And that girl could talk.

I scanned the crowd, half expecting Alex to be glaring at me from afar, mouthing the words shut up.

When I finally spotted her sharing across the pool on lounge chair with some guy looking blissfully unperturbed, I exhaled out of relief.

"Only recently. It just came up. I'm not gonna tell anyone, so don't worry."

Instead of answering, Ethan shrugged and returned to filling his plate. I did the same.

When our plates were at capacity, we left the table and moved somewhere a little less crowded, away from the pool and closer to the main house. With our backs to the wall, we stood side by side, facing but not really participating in the festivities. Music was playing at an ear-splitting volume around us, and the occasional joyful shriek rose above the constant noise, but Ethan seemed unaware of everything that existed outside of his plate.

There were three big eaters among my group of friends: Seth, Ethan, and me—although technically I didn't eat that much, just liked to try a lot of different stuff in small portions. None of our other friends could keep up. Tristan had all those allergies and the girls just didn't care about food as much as the rest of us.

Eating was a pastime for me and Seth, but it was different for Ethan. He was just always hungry. We shared with him as much as we could, but he wouldn't always accept, and even when he did, he never seemed to have his fill.

Parties were a different matter, though. He always helped himself.

A moment later, he turned to me, all casual-like.

"So, how often does my name come up when you and Alex talk?"

I snorted and jerked my thumb in the direction the two girls had gone. "That wasn't enough of an ego boost for you?" I asked. "Should I call them back?"

He smirked."Got a better offer?"

"Ugh."

"Kidding,'" he quickly amended, and then eyed my plate. "Raw fish, right?"

"Not always," I said, and enumerated other ingredients that could be used, pointing them out with my chopsticks when I could.

"Can I try it?"

Before I could do anything, Ethan grabbed the hand I used to hold my chopsticks by the wrist, and popped the entire spicy tuna roll I'd been poised to eat in his mouth. His hand felt so steady and warm.

After that, he made a face, like he didn't enjoy it but kept chewing. It was kind of cute.

"It's an acquired taste." Laughing, I broke free from his grip. "I didn't like it that much either, at first, but my sister took it upon herself to convert me."

"It's not that . . . you know I'll eat anything, right? I'm just surprised someone like you can eat something like this and not freak the hell out."

The comment, as well as the way he said it, made me huff. The truth was, it did at first. Which only made Summer that much more determined to make me eat it.

"Well, we can't all be as adventurous as you when it comes to food," I said, frowning at his plate loaded with some greasy, battered, deep-fried things. "What even are those?"

"This—" he held one up and waved it in my face—" is a jalapeño popper."

"Are you sure? How can you tell with all that batter?" I asked, in complete seriousness. All deep-fried food looked the same to me.

"Try it, it's freaking delicious."

"If you try to shove that thing down my throat, I will kick you in the nuts." I scrunched up my nose at the thing in his hand. "Do you know how many times people reuse the oil in a deep-fryer? Do you know how bad that is for you?"

"Is it as bad as starvation?"

"Dammit, Ethan . . ." I scolded, getting flustered. He simply grinned, like he enjoyed putting me in my place, and then offered his plate again. Not wanting to be a dick, I took a jalapeno popper from his plate with my chopsticks—quietly rationalizing that it was, after all, good enough to be served at an Adamson party—and with a brave sigh, took a small bite.

"Whoa."

It didn't look like much on the outside but when I bit into, the combination of crunch and heat and cream cheese (which I didn't expect) blew my mind. I ate the whole thing on the second bite and also may have teared up a little.

"Well?" Ethan asked, although the smirk on his face said he already knew what I thought. This only made me more unwilling to admit that his food opinions were legit.

"I don't usually like spicy food."

"Oh right. That sweet tooth of yours," he said, rolling his eyes. "'Cause sugar's so good for you and definitely doesn't cause any health problems—"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Can you blame me?"

"I just meant, I probably need another taste to make up my mind about it."

"Trade you for it," he said, glancing at my plate with a grin.

"Help yourself," I said, readily handing him the entire thing. There was too much of my own food left. I got greedy, plus after jalapeño poppers, sushi just tasted bland.

Maybe without my sister around, I didn't like sushi that much, after all. At the moment, it just seemed like a super-complicated thing that required too much work and gave very little payoff. The jalapeño poppers were more satisfying: Simple, hot, and with a lot of flavor. Instant gratification.

Ethan took the whole plate from my hand, replacing it with his own, and then, using his hands, popped a whole dragon roll in his mouth.

"You actually like it?" I asked, surprised.

"I think I'm acquiring a taste for the finer things in life."

"Yeah, I can see that,"

"Can you?" he asked, sounding doubtful.

I answered his question by giving him a blatant once-over. He wore nice clothes all the time now, and even his hair looked like it was getting some TLC for the first time ever.

Ethan had always been good-looking in a rough diamond kind of way, with his sun-bleached mop of wavy hair and amber-colored eyes, and that body, of course. But the fancy new packaging took what the Lord gave him to a whole new level. If this was my first time meeting him, I'd probably be checking him out.

Whoops. The weird way Ethan was staring back told me I was doing just that, anyway. I broke eye-contact and turned away, affixing my gaze on the scene in front of us.

There were far less people around than when we arrived; this party was already dead.

Thank God, 'cause I was ready to call it a night. I seemed to be coming down with something: All of a sudden the air felt overly warm, and making simple, non-awkward conversation was a struggle.

I used to think this feeling was exclusively a drunk thing.

"We should, um . . . " I said, just to break the silence, but had no idea how to proceed. Looking at the plate I was holding, I saw that two jalapeño poppers were left. "We should get more of this for the ride home."

"Change of heart, huh?" Ethan asked, chuckling. "I was hoping you'd come around, eventually."

Unable to think of a response, I went without saying a word, and had only walked a few feet when I stopped abruptly, then made a left, muttering, "Food's over that way."