So this is what being in a Tesla is like.

Everything is glazing in dark and expensive. My back is a millimeter away from the backrest and I think someone has cast Wingardium Leviosa on me because I swear my butt is hovering off the passenger seat. I'm scared to ruin this driving piece of gold. If anything happens I'd rather give up my arm and leg than have Mom and Eamon squander their savings.

As Derek straps his seatbelt on I remember to do the same. My eyes scan the lustrous dashboard, pristine glass screen, and inky lavished upholstery. Okay, Maddie, let's not touch anything.

Derek slips a sleek mouse-key onto the back of the matching center console and I watch in awe as he naturally taps away at the touchscreen dashboard.

"Lockmauve street, right?" He pops the question and his head up.

"Yeah." I twiddle my thumbs to resist the urge of running my fingers down the outlines of the plush car.

He begins to single-handedly type the address into the GPS. "Of course, how could I ever forget you-extra cheesy cheese."

I attempt to laugh, but feeling very conscious of the fact that old mop water is wafting off me, it comes out as an uncomfortable wheeze.

"Hey," Derek faces me and there's a soft impression to his strong features. "Don't be afraid to get comfortable. I know the car looks fancy and new and everything," he gestures his head around, "but it wasn't even that expensive."

Wasn't even that expensive? Says the wealthiest kid in school.

I'm a little scared to ask, but I make myself. "How much was it?"

"Uh, around 130K." He throws the cost out there like it's a chewed up dog toy. My eyebrows almost raise off my forehead.

"130K," I squeak while floating even higher above the surface of the chair. Of course, though. This is LA, I remind myself. In Boulder City, the best thing was a new tomato red Chevy that my neighbors owned. Tons of people have expensive cars. Even Eamon has a pretty nice silver Porsche Boxster, but his car cost barely even a third as much as this one.

Derek's blue eyes twinkle in amusement and he places a hand on my shoulder. Oh my god, please don't get closer. "Don't sweat it, I'm a poor little rich boy remember? I could crash a hundred new cars and still have enough cash to buy a thousand more."

I nod, relaxing in my seat and letting myself succumb to ease.

"Wait!" I snap up again in realization. "You could crash cars? You're considering crashing as a viable option?"

That's it, I have to get out. When he threw his keys at me, I should've whipped them back at him and then ran all the way home without looking back. Just as I start to undo my buckle, Derek places his hand on mine to stop me.

The sudden contact makes me whisk to meet his gaze. Even after getting worn out by football practice with sweat pressing his chestnut locks to his head, he was beyond attractive. It really isn't fair how some people pull it off no matter what.

"It was a joke, c'mon, don't be so uptight."

"I'm not uptight," I say defensively. I slip my hand out from under his and glance out the window. I could just bolt for a sweet home-run right now. I glance back at Derek and his blue eyes hold that same puppiness to them as Olivia's brown ones. The identical and undeniable innocence that pleads without fail. Rejecting this would be like depriving a baby of candy. How could I say no?

Humphing, I disembark all my apprehensions and slump into the car seat. It hugs my body so comfortably now that that spell has been lifted. If he was gonna get us killed, I might as well die feeling cozy.

"How long have you had your license?" I interrogate as Derek begins to reverse out the lot. It's practically empty with just a few other vehicles and students getting out of practice.

He drives backward with his eyes on the dashboard. The camera displays the pavement outside and I watch, mesmerized. I feel like we're in a video game.

"Six months." His reply is fast as if he's been counting every day.

I nod with my eyes wide. "Okay."

Derek laughs. "Look, I promise not to get us on the news for some crazy accident." He holds his pinky out and looks at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" We're out of the parking lot and driving on a common street that could easily get busy.

His gaze doesn't break. "Not until you help me promise." His arm extends even further and those blue eyes that I called blameless must've been hiding a perilous storm.

I stick my hand out and wildly hook our fingers together. "There, I promise! Now keep your eyes on the damn road!"

"Okay, okay. Wow, I've never heard you swear." He turns to me briefly.

"Yeah, well, we've never really talked before or anything."

"Hm, I wonder why," he states dreamily.

I could name a hundred reasons why. He's the hot and popular guy that everyone in school adores. I'm the girl with a number of friends I could count with one hand who sits in the back of class and gets good grades. We're from completely different sections of the social hierarchy, and in high school, that means we're water and oil that never mix.

We sit the ride in easy silence. The windows are rolled down and I'm enjoying the warm breeze that gently ruffles our hair. I savor the way the palm trees with lean otter trunks and olive leaves reach for the light sky. Like fingers wanting to grab a hold of something, perhaps the beauty or the warmth.

It's these little things that make me fall in love with Los Angeles; miss Boulder City. The skies are clear, the air is arid, everywhere smells like asphalt. The major difference is how everything is bigger and louder and filled up. I never realized how small 15,000 was until we moved here-the city of people and dreams. So many dreams, yet I can't even figure out my own. And to think that just two years ago, Nevada was my home, my friends, and most of all-it was Dad.

It still is.

Tears prick my eyes as I see we're entering the neighborhood and I blink to diffuse them. The unmistakable magenta house that marks the street always gives it away. There's an old woman that lives there alone, Mrs. Rossal, and she changes the paint job every year. The first time it was buttercup yellow and last year it was ocean green.

"Damn, that house is huge," Derek exclaims as we pass by where Jason just moved in. "Who lives there?"

He stops the car in front of my porch with the engine still revving. "Oh, uh, I think..." Should I tell him? I mean of course, why shouldn't I? It's not like him existing was top secret information. "...Jason just moved in."

"Jason Lee?" he quirks a strong brow. "New guy must be pretty well off, huh? I think it's almost as big as mine."

I've seen the outside of Derek's place before, around the time when we'd just moved and were exploring the area. Eamon had been out in Hollywood working on a big project that ended up going bust. It was just Mom, Natalie, and I driving around in the white Volvo and pretending we were Conquistadors scouting for high-end land. To even say it was a house was a massive understatement. We couldn't get any closer than the gates, but from my rolled windows in the back seat, my eyes bugged at the white and pale gold... palace. Surrounded by leafy hills and exotic green landscape it was fit for a king and definitely bigger than Jason's house in this suburb.

I wonder if living lavishly his whole life has blinded Derek.

I collect my bloated bag off the speckless night floor and thank him for the ride.

"See you at school, Maddie." He nods as I climb out of the car and then drives away.

A huge sigh of relief pools out my body. I've managed to make it through this awful and confusing day and survive a car ride Derek Walters. Thankfully, he's a good driver and didn't embarrass me with any inquiries about my smelliness. His rating on my jerk-meter has been falling in the past two days. From a ninety out of one-hundred, he's come to a solid eighty-seven.

As soon as I lock the front door to the once again empty house, I bolt upstairs to my shower. Relief and a tinge of sadness edge into me while I tear off Jason's shorts and t-shirt and step into the lukewarm jets of water. My usual hop in hop out has morphed into a half-hour resort stay. Showers were always great, but showers when your soul craved one-those are high heaven. I exit the tub, wet and glowing in sweet vanilla with the rise of sleep dawning me. But I can't l curl into bed at 4:40 with loads of homework daunting my heavy backpack.

I run to the kitchen for a chocolate chip cookie-we have a whole box from the bakery downtown but I swear I'm the only one who touches them. Mom and Eamon are practically allergic to sweets and Natalie's too far away in New Jersey to cat-fight over them with me. Returning back to my room, I heave a heavy sigh and submerge myself into the bundles of papers.

Three hours later I come up for air. My butt hurts from the cushioned desk that has flattened into a stone slab beneath me. I stand up and let out a pinched groan as my limbs stretch their maximum. It's eight o'clock and my stomach is storming me with complaints.

"Alright, alright."

I make a chicken sandwich with mayo, tomatoes, and cheese. The front door opens as I'm about to slap the two halves together and in walks Eamon with a leather satchel draped over his shoulder. His blonde hair is all mussy like he's spent the day stressfully raking his hands through it.

"Hey, Eamon."

His sky eyes are worn and red and he pushes a smile onto his face.

"Evening, Maddie. How was work?"

Eamon throws his bag onto the sofa in the living room and I giggle while tying the honey-wheat bread.

"Do you mean school?"

He pauses and looks at me, puzzled. "Why? What did I say?"

"You asked me how work was."

He tilts his head to the ceiling. "Ahh. Yes, I would mean school." He paces to the fridge.

"Mm, yeah it was good," I lie. Taking a savory bite of chicken, I'm trying to push away the blunder on stage from my memory. People have told me I was great and I don't doubt their sincerity-I'm cynical on whether great was enough. Great isn't marvelous or remarkable, it's simply a step above good, and just good isn't good enough.

Just good doesn't satisfy college expenses. Just good means I'm just another cup in a landfill of Joe's. Just good isn't Natalie or Dad.

It's failing.

Running my hands through my hair and sharply exhaling, I carry my bite-chipped sandwich.

"Maddie."

I stop at the foot of the stairs, one leg up, and the other flat on the floor. Eamon is looking at me with an odd expression and he has a bottle of water in hand. His light brows are knitted and his face is kinda scrunched. For such a fun-loving guy, what has him so dark and serious?

"Yeah?" I ask softly.

He opens his mouth only to shut it then irk his head as if it was something fighting his conscious which he couldn't get out.

Oh my god. Is it something really horrible? Like a death in the family-I know his parents are pretty old. Or, or...oh... is he being unfaithful to Mom? Has he been secretly having a lover due to some dissatisfaction in his marriage and he only feels hindered with guilt now because they just had their anniversary?

He runs his hand under his stubbled jaw and sighs.

Dread of the worst is rising in me.

"What is it?" I take a breath to prepare myself. "Are-are you... and Mom not..."

He snaps his head up and widens his eyes in complete disagreement. "No." His declaration is honest, but I still feel like I have to make sure.

"So you're not..."

Eamon sets the water bottle on the counter behind and raises a flat palm to me. "No, I promise you it's not that."

I nod relieved and the twisting in my stomach calms only to soar space high again.

"Did someone...?"

He shakes his head before I finish the sentence-Eamon understands me like that.

I drop my head down. There couldn't be anything worse than that... could there?

Eamon scratches his chin as if itching something away. "Forget it, Maddie. I'll tell you later." He turns to sip his water.

"Are you sure it's not important? I can hear it out now." My eyebrows are climbing in curiosity, yet a deeper part of me wants to burrow back into my schoolwork to finish everything-or even better, eat this sandwich.

After a brief pause, he nods firmly. "Yeah, yeah, you probably need to wrap up some homework or," he points a finger, "get busy on that sandwich. We'll talk later."

"Okay." I dip my head on our deal and then scamper up to my desk.

I settle down on the once again cushioned seat and dive into my sandwich. As I inscribe responses onto the grainy white sheets of paper, I feel the time and my energy tick away. I don't even notice when my head drops to the table and my hands stop scrawling against the pages.

With a jolt, I wake up. My head swivels around the dimness, a clock reads 11:45, and lands on the lamp-litten desk before me. Dazily, I remember making a stack of "done" and "to do". The "done" was wall high and the "to do" was nothing but a single flyer. I flip the thinness in my hand, examining it until I was satisfied it was complete.

With groggy movements, I haul everything into my backpack, careful not to wrinkle the sheets, and my eyes land on Jason's window. My rosy curtains are parted enough for my eyes to peek through, I don't know why I was lured to look in the first place. Through the clear glass, I have a direct view of Jason's room and he's there...

He's there standing in nothing but his boxers and I gulp as my eyes trail over his long and muscled body. Those biceps coursing his arms... the strength ripping his calves... his pert and tight-

Ahh!

I internally scream at myself and swish the drapes together faster than my mind can think "butt". My cheeks are pumping with heat from guilt and... hunger- but not the kind where my belly growls.

I frantically shake my head. What was I doing- ogling him like some candy-deprived pervert!

But he's partly to blame, I mean, what innocent person stands practically buck-naked in plain sight? It's like he was throwing invitations for spectators to gaze to their hearts galore.

But at the same time-why did I feel so driven to stare into his room. I think a subconscious part of me was grasping for a piece of him. And ultimately, out of the two of us, I was undoubtedly far guiltier.

"Oh!" Stop, stop, stop. I push my hands against my temple and command the lurking thoughts to jump off a cliff into bottomless waters and never resurface.

Then, suddenly remembering his clothes on my bed, I creep past Mom and Eamon's dozing door to the basement where I toss them into the laundry. The lights are faint and I slip in and out of fits of sleep. When everything stops spinning, I bundle the steamy and lavender garments into a disposable white bag, trudge to my room and toss the bag in the corner behind my door.

I can give them to him...

After an odd night of on and off dosing, the thought of Jason's clothes has evanesced to the other side of my door and my awareness.

。。。。。

I wake up twenty minutes early to avoid him-hate that I'm somewhat allured to him and the fact that I'm keeping his strange secret. At school, whenever I see him strolling the halls (which is all he seems to do), I bolt in the other direction. Classes are the usual tedious and long, lunch with Allie and Ryan seems normal (maybe the Monday incident was a fluke, I can't say for sure, but I'm definitely more tuned in on their interactions), and volleyball is tiring but enjoyable.

Come Friday, I'm more than ready for the school week to be over. It's ten minutes before seventh period lets out, and I can taste the freedom inching forward.

BEEP! The intercom goes off and we're washing dishes in Home Ec.

"Madison Callahan to the Principal's office, Madison Callahan."

My hands freeze on the frothing sponge in my hand. If I was holding a plate, I'm sure it would be lying in pieces in the sink right now.

"Um..." I search for Mr.Bronson and he nods my way.

Scrubbing the slipperiness from my hands, I then grab my things and head towards the room of doom at the end of the first floor.

The only time I hear my name on the speakers is for good things, like placing first in the grade on exams or making it to States during Basketball season. I have never been announced without knowing the reason nor ever summoned to Mr.Hutchens' office.

Have I broken a rule?

Am I being expelled?

。。。。。

Hey, this chapter took me a little longer to write than other ones

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