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  The future, she snorted. The future was years and years away! Who cared about that stuff when they were seventeen? She pressed her lips together and sighed at her jeans. They were hopelessly stained. Gran would know some laundry trick that would work. Maybe she should call Gran and pretend she was way more upset than she really was just to get out of spending the rest of the afternoon in these jeans. That was as far into the future as Bailey ever dared to look. She much preferred the present.

  Bailey’s lips twitched. If Chase were part of her present, what would Meg think? If Chase liked her, would Meg mind? Would she even notice? Meg would never admit it, never talk about it, but she had a competitive streak in her as wide as Simon’s shoulders. Yeah, yeah, it was devious. A little competition might be just what Meg needed to make her appreciate the things she took for granted, things that were right under the nose that was always buried in a textbook or smeared with paint.

  Besides—and now Bailey smiled—if Meg was all wrapped up in her own love life, maybe she’d finally butt the hell out of hers.

  Her mind made up, Bailey considered various ways she could get Chase Gallagher to pay her some attention. She and Meg looked nothing alike. Meg was athletic and brunette, while Bailey was blond and soft, so changing her appearance wouldn’t help. And she couldn’t produce a decent painting if it came in a Crayola package, so art was out. Bailey’s mind discarded various ideas until she remembered Chase’s brothers. She could help them with something, obviously not homework because Meg helped Bailey with hers. But maybe…wait! She smacked her forehead. She wouldn’t need his brothers. Chase was a game geek just like she was. Plus, he was also into computer programming. Maybe she could convince him to help her build her video game.

  She grabbed her phone to text him, even though it was against school rules, and he probably had his on vibrate anyway, but she didn’t want to waste another moment. Bailey was totally committed to getting this game built, even though Meg thought it was dumb. She hated video games, though she frequently bounced ideas off her and even sketched some characters. But Bailey always felt like Meg would rather be doing a hundred other things instead of game design.

  Bailey deleted her half-typed text message. Maybe she should just forget the stupid video game. It’s not like it was going to be her career or anything. Wait. Why couldn’t game design be her career? With her eyes rolling, she scolded herself for thinking like Meg. Okay, so she didn’t know anything about computers or programming or graphics, but she could learn. She was smart.

  Sort of.

  When Meg forced her to be.

  Bailey locked herself in a graffiti-marked stall that reeked of old cigarettes, sat on one of the toilets, and put her head in her hands. She didn’t know—that was the entire problem! She didn’t know what she wanted to do, what she wanted to be. Hell, she wasn’t even sure of who she was. Just some kid without a dad. The result of another teenage pregnancy. Thankfully, her mother had Gran and Gramps. Bailey wasn’t all that sure Nicole would have even kept her if her grandparents hadn’t been there. Some days, she wished she had just one answer—just one—instead of nothing but big hairy question marks. She tried. Oh, people could say whatever they wanted, but nobody could say Bailey Grant did not try. She’d tried gymnastics for a while…and horseback riding. She’d even tried to like football (and still wasn’t completely sure why anyone actually did).

  But none of it made her happy.

  And now she had the video game. Meg was always yelling at her for not sticking with things, so this time, she would. She would learn how to create a video game. There had to be something on Google, an app she could buy. Chase would know.

  Maybe she wouldn’t tell Meg she was working with Chase—if he even said yes.

  She tapped out a new message to Chase asking if he’d meet her later and clicked Send. With a happy smile, she looked down at her jeans, which were still stained and now very wet, and decided she’d had enough school for the day.

  “Hi, Gran. Can you pick me up? I had a little accident.”

  It took Bailey five full minutes to assure Gran she wasn’t hurt, sick, or in the principal’s office. But Gran was on her way. She zipped her bag, left the stall, gave her hair a flip in front of the mirror, and spun around at the sound of a slow clap.

  “Oh, you’re good. I thought you’d have to pull out the fake tears.”

  Caitlyn. Wasn’t that just perfect? With narrowed eyes, Bailey sneered. “Caitlyn, don’t you have a class or maybe someone’s boyfriend to steal?”

  “Been there, done that. This was a lot more fun.” She waved a hand over Bailey’s ruined jeans and turned to the mirror to reapply a slick of lip gloss over the dozen or so coats she was already wearing.

  Bailey shrugged. “If the stains don’t come out, I get to go shopping. It’s a win-win.”

  Caitlyn paused, the gloss wand hovering over full lips. “They won’t. Gatorade never does. That was my idea.”

  Bailey’s heart gave a little flutter at that. She knew Simon wouldn’t have thought to do it on his own. Even though he’d hurt her, she knew he wasn’t cruel. But there was no way she’d let Caitlyn know that. “Then I owe you one.” She straightened her spine and bared her teeth.

  Caitlyn took a step closer and pinned on a plastic smile. “Isn’t Simon just the hottest thing ever? His hands—oh, and the things he can do with his lips.” She looked carefully from side to side and lowered her voice. “Well, I don’t have to tell you he’s got some mad skills seeing as how you were with him.” She smoothed her sleek hair in place. “You were with him, right?”

  She never gave Bailey a chance to answer. With a flip to the ends of her long blond hair, she headed for the door.

  “Oh, well. Just means there’s more for me. Bye!”

  Bailey watched the door close after Caitlyn and unfisted her hands. What a total bitch. She stared at the crescent impressions in her palms and wondered why she was upset. It wasn’t like Simon had dumped her. She’d dumped him. That was it, wasn’t it? That Bailey used to have something Caitlyn now had. It was the way Caitlyn operated, making you second-guess yourself for every little decision. She’d always been that way. Back in first grade, Bailey traded folders with Kimmie Li. Kimmie had My Little Pony, while she’d been stuck with Hello Kitty. Hello—who wouldn’t have made that trade? But Caitlyn put her arm around Kimmie and ooh’d and aah’d over Hello Kitty. Wasn’t it so cute? Look how it matched her notebook. Did she also have the pajamas and sheets for her bed too? And the whole time—the entire time—her eyes stayed pinned on Bailey’s.

  Bailey never traded anybody anything after that.

  If Caitlyn wanted Simon, fine. They could have each other.

  She took one last glance at her jeans and sighed.

  They really were trashed.

  Chapter 3

  Meg

  Meg strode to the mailbox at the curb. Empty again. She cursed and hurried inside.

  “Meg? That you?”

  “Hi, Mom. Did you get the mail?” Meg dropped her backpack near the front door and headed for the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it’s on the table. I have class. I’ll see you later.” Pauline Farrell hurried past, wet hair ruthlessly scraped back in a ponytail, and patted Meg’s cheek on the way by.

  Meg rifled through the envelopes piled on the old oak table and froze.

  “Mom, wait.” Her voice squeaked. “My scores. They’re here.” She pulled out a chair and slowly sank into it.

  Pauline joined her at the secondhand kitchen table, a smile brightening her tired eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? Open it.”

  Meg put her hands on the table and drew in a deep breath. For three weeks, she’d been waiting for these scores, and now they were here—the numbers that would determine her future. With her blood pounding in her ears, Meg opened the envelope while Pauline twisted her hands.

  She scanned
the numbers.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  She moved her hand to her chest and tried to shove in more air, but it didn’t work.

  “Honey, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”

  Meg let the slip of paper fall from her hands and shut her eyes. Pauline took the sheet and gasped.

  “Meg, these are good.”

  Meg thought about The Plan. “Not good enough.”

  Pauline took a chair beside Meg and pulled her hands away from her face. “Megan. A 1950 is a really great score.”

  Slowly, mechanically, Meg shook her head. “No, Mom, it’s average. I needed to do so much better than average.” Average didn’t get the scholarship money. She’d been counting on it. She’d based her entire plan on it. No scholarship meant no degree. No degree meant no career. No career meant no financial independence.

  Her dad would be so ashamed.

  Pauline laughed once. “What were you expecting, honey? A perfect 2400?”

  Meg gulped back a sob. Pauline didn’t get it. The Plan was never anything more than just something Meg and her dad did together. It was never real to Pauline.

  And now it would never be real at all.

  Pauline’s smile slipped. “Megan, look at me.” She lifted Meg’s chin with a calloused hand. “You’re working so hard. But you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. And that’s my fault.” Her tired eyes teared up. “A 1950 is an excellent score. It says here that’s the ninetieth percentile. That’s much better than I did, and I went to a good school.”

  “You’re right, Mom.” But in her mind, she was saying, Yeah, such a great school and still no degree.

  “Crap, I’m late.” Her mother glanced at the clock. “I’ll see you later. Sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Meg managed a tight smile and even a wave. Only after she heard the front door slam and her mother’s car start did she head upstairs to her room and give in to the tears that choked her. She cried until it sapped her energy, until she had nothing left to feed the sobs. It was obvious a really good school wasn’t in her future. Her scores were good enough to get in but not good enough for a full ride. She’d need a whole new plan. She’d have to readjust and find one of the local colleges where her pathetic score might get her more financial aid. The degree is what’s important, not the school. She just had to get her degree so she could get a high-paying job and never have to—

  A light went on in the window across the yard. Her belly flipped and for a second—just for a second—she thought about calling Chase to cry or vent or whatever.

  No.

  She wiped her eyes, straightened her clothes, and picked up her paintbrush.

  She would not do that to him.

  Instead, she opened oil paints and mixed Prussian blue with Flanders yellow. As a rule, she hoarded these paints. Artist-grade paint was expensive but so much better than working with student-grade materials. Plus, they took forever to dry. But she had to find the right green.

  She needed to paint Chase. It was the closest she could ever allow herself to get to him. The rest of her plan may be shot to hell, but this—oh, this she would master.

  She grabbed one of the small canvases she’d already underpainted and started layering colors. She began with a foundation color. A faint gray. On top of that, she added a circle of the green she’d mixed and then stepped back to critically examine it. Maybe…just maybe. She noted the color mix formula. She added a subtle rim of the black around the green iris and then dabbed on a pupil in the center. She mixed a few more colors—a soft brown for contrast, a warm gold for highlight. She switched to a fine brush and worked from the center out, blending and pulling, stepping back often to examine her results.

  She glanced at her bedside clock and cursed. Where had the time gone? She was on the schedule to work tonight, so she quickly capped paint tubes, cleaned brushes, and found her uniform, doing her best to ignore the echo of her dad’s voice.

  What are you going to do with the rest of your life?

  She shoved the thought away. Right now, she was due at the theater, so she fastened her name tag to her uniform, tucked her phone into her pocket, and wondered about what candy to take home for Bailey. Mondays at the theater were usually slow, which meant the time would drag. She should bring her backpack because she hadn’t yet done any homework. One good thing about Monday was that it was payday. She needed a few tubes of acrylic paint. At four bucks a tube, she could easily spend her whole paycheck, so she would have to settle for the basics—red, blue, yellow, and white.

  She also needed to eat. She frowned at the pathetic contents of the refrigerator. Still no groceries. Her mother hadn’t stopped on her way home from work and was off to her class. Pauline worked full time during the day, went to night classes twice a week, and every other night worked as a waitress at the diner on Main Street.

  Meg rinsed the coffee cup her mother had left on the counter and then searched for something to eat later. She sighed and smeared peanut butter and jelly on the two heels of the bread loaf left in the bag and then hunted for plastic wrap in the kitchen drawer.

  Instead, she found a photograph, creased and stained, stuffed at the bottom of the drawer.

  For a long moment, she stared at the picture, sandwiches and plastic wrap forgotten, her hands clenched into fists, her breaths coming in heaving sobs. She grabbed the knife, still smeared with peanut butter and jelly, and drove it through the face in the picture—again and again and again—until the snapshot was shredded, pieces of it glued to the knife. She raised the knife one more time, but a flash of movement caught her eye. She whipped her eyes to the back door.

  Chase. Oh, God, Chase.

  The knife clattered to the floor.

  She shoved the door open and stood in the frame. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was raw.

  He swallowed and brought his arms up but never touched her. “Um. I messed up. Big time. Brothers all hate me. Parents disappointed. My only hope for redemption is Happy Meals. Do you need a lift to the theater? I thought we could grab a burger or…you know…” He trailed off.

  She wanted to say no. It was better to say no. But she looked at the sandwich on the counter and her stomach rumbled. Finally, she sighed. “Yeah,” she said and blinked. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Chase made a strange choking sound, stepped over the threshold, and tugged her close to his chest. For a moment, she melted and allowed him to hold her. She even raised her arms and thought about hugging back. But her dad’s words replayed in her mind. Instead, she stepped back, set her face in her toughest expression, and bent to clean up the pieces of paper from the floor.

  Chase knelt to help and gasped. “Jesus, Megan. What the hell?” he asked with wide eyes, and just like that, she knew he knew about her dad.

  He knew.

  She shot up like an arrow and stalked from the room. He didn’t follow. She heard him moving around in the kitchen, the slide of the doors, the click of the lock, the slam of a cabinet door, and she was grateful for a few moments to settle herself down. She was tying on the black tennis shoes that were required with her uniform when he joined her.

  “Um. I wrapped up your sandwich. You ready?”

  Meg took the wrapped sandwich without looking at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He shrugged. “Why are you so mad at your dad?”

  She scowled and rolled her eyes as if the answer was so obvious. “Because he left.”

  Chase shook his head and reached for her again. “Megan, he died. I know you miss him, but—”

  She slapped his hand away. “I’m fine. Look, I’m just gonna walk. Thanks for—just thanks.” She jerked open the front door and bolted out into the evening chill.

  She heard her front door slam and cursed under her breath. She’d forgotten to shut it.

  “Megan! Megan, wait,” he called
.

  Meg’s long legs ate up the street. She never slowed. Chase broke into a jog, caught up to her, and with an arm on her elbow, spun her around to face him. “Damn it, Megan. I said wait.”

  She couldn’t look at him. She’d lose it if she did. “I’m gonna be late.”

  “Talk to me, Megan. We’re friends. You can trust me.”

  “Trust you?” She laughed once, a “yeah right” laugh. “You’re a guy.” The last time she’d trusted him, she’d gotten a C- on a project! It was her lowest grade ever. A C- would never get the scholarships or the high-paying jobs. All a C- would get her is locked into the life she was trying so hard to escape.

  He took half a step back, like she’d slapped him. “Megan, come on. You’ve known me how many years now? When have I ever let you down? Just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She looked up at him, and for a second, she wished she could just unload and tell him everything. Tell him about her dad, about her plan, about the feelings she really did have for him but pretended not to. He reached out and—

  “Meg! Chase! Hey, guys!”

  Chase spun around to watch Bailey jogging over to them and groaned. Meg caught her eye for a second—less than a second—and took the opportunity to run.

  Chapter 4

  Bailey

  Bailey bounced down the porch steps and hurried down the street to Meg’s house just in time to see the fireworks.

  “Megan! Megan, wait!” Chase was…well, chasing Meg from her house down the street. She ignored him and kept stalking. Uh-oh. Bailey had seen that walk before—a lot. She called it the Meg March. It rattled the dishes in Gran’s cabinets. It could mean only one thing.