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Chapter 1 Can we talk about Daniel Adams? He’s your typical jock; loved by all but generally a very shitty person. Now girls in my school love him. He’s got that eight pack thing going on, that brown just-got-out-of-bed hair thing too and oh, he’s dating the lead cheerleader. I honest to God don’t see the appeal. I mean to me he’s still that whiny little tweep that just refused to grow up. He’s still that monster that would wake up first, pick his nose and stick those green booger monsters in my hair. And not to mention I distinctively remember him having the tiniest pee pee at fourteen. My pinkie was a baseball bat compared to that thing. And so you can imagine my surprise when the girls he brings home shout and scream his name as he fucks them. Eye Roll. How fake can they be? A pinkie? C’mon. I just don’t like him. Now loving him is a totally different story, yes he scares most guys away from me, gets all the attention from our parents but he’s still my older brother. That bastard got out 2 seconds before me and he never lets me live it down. Anyway, this whole rant started because I walked past the gym five minutes ago and saw Taylor McKenney pinning Emily Wors to the bleachers like it was a scene out of The Notebook—only with more tongue and way fewer brain cells. And okay, maybe I fantasize about him just once—okay, fine, a lot—saying my name like he means it, looking at me like I’m not some extension of Daniel’s DNA. The worst part? Being Daniel Adams’ twin sister means I’m automatically off-limits to every decent guy in school. Especially the lacrosse team. Those hot sweaty gods walk around like they own the place, and they do basically, but none of them would even look at me twice. I’m just “Daniel’s little sister” – yeah, little by two fucking seconds – and that apparently makes me some kind of nun or something. Take Taylor McKenney for instance. Captain of the lacrosse team, Daniel’s best friend, and the guy I’ve been drooling over since sophomore year. He’s got these green eyes that look like they’re undressing you, and arms that could probably bench press a car. But does he notice me? Hell no. I'm just the annoying sister who hangs around sometimes when he comes over to play video games with Daniel. And it’s not like Taylor’s some saint either. The guy sleeps with anything that has a pulse and boobs. I’ve seen him with at least five different girls this month alone. But me? I might as well be invisible. Daniel actually encourages this shit too. Last week I was talking to Jake Morrison from the team – just talking, nothing major – and Daniel swooped in like some demented superhero and ruffled my hair so hard I probably looked like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. “My sister’s got homework to do,” he said, giving Jake this look that basically screamed ‘touch her and die.’ Jake practically ran away. I wanted to murder him. But then later when Jessica Zeng – that’s the lead cheerleader, Miss Perfect Blonde Bitch – was giving Amy a hard time about her glasses, Daniel told her to back off. Just like that. One word from him and she actually shut up for once. That’s the thing about having a hot brother. You can get away with murder if you want to. Like yesterday when Jessica made some comment about Amy’s nose being big enough to land a plane on, I told her that at least Amy’s nose was natural and not courtesy of daddy’s plastic surgeon. Any other girl would’ve been socially executed for that, but Jessica just glared and walked away. Because I’m Daniel Adams’ sister and even queen bee bitches don’t mess with the lacrosse captain’s family. Amy thinks this is all hilarious, by the way. She sits there with her thick glasses and her awful curly brown-red hair that never does what it’s supposed to do, wearing those long pleated skirts that went out of style in like 1955, and she laughs about how Jessica can’t touch us. But I know she’s got her own problems with this whole situation. Like the fact that she’s been in love with my brother since we were kids. It’s so obvious it’s painful. The way she stares at him when he’s not looking, how she always finds excuses to come over when she knows he’ll be home, how she practically melts when he’s nice to her. Which isn’t often because Daniel calls her “nosy” behind her back – his oh-so-clever nickname for her because of her, well, nose situation. I keep telling Amy she needs to get over it. Daniel would never date her. Not because she’s not smart – she’s literally the smartest girl in school – but because she’s not his type. His type is apparently blonde, fake-boobed, and mean to people who don’t deserve it. His type is Jessica Zeng, unfortunately. Though honestly? I kind of hope he dumps Jessica soon. Not because I care about his happiness or anything, but because watching Jessica get knocked down a peg would be the highlight of my year. Plus maybe then Taylor would stop coming around so much and I could finally get over this stupid crush and find someone who actually notices I exist. Fat chance of that happening though. This is Daniel Adams we’re talking about. He always gets what he wants, and apparently what he wants is to make my life as complicated as possible just by existing. I swear, when we were born, he took all the good looks, the charm, and the social life—and left me with sarcasm and a front-row seat to my own humiliation. “—Yo! Twerp! Taylor’s staying for dinner.” Of course he is. God hates me. $Chapter Chapter 2 The pounding on the bathroom door starts at exactly 6:47 AM. I know because I’m staring at my phone, trying to work up the energy to actually get out of bed, when Daniel’s fist connects with the wood like he’s trying to break it down. “Maizie! Move your ass! I need to shower!” I roll my eyes and pull my pillow over my head. “I’m not even in there yet, dipshit!” “Well get in there and get out! I have practice before school!” Of course he does. God forbid Daniel Adams shows up to school without his precious morning workout. I drag myself out of bed, my oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and shuffle toward the bathroom. But Daniel’s already there, standing in the hallway in nothing but his boxers, that stupid eight-pack on full display like he’s posing for a magazine or something. “Finally,” he says, trying to push past me. “Excuse me?” I shove him back. “I was here first.” “By like two seconds.” “Story of our lives.” I slip under his arm and slam the bathroom door in his face, turning the lock with a satisfying click. The pounding starts again immediately. “Maizie! Come on!” “Take a cold shower downstairs!” I yell back, turning on the water as loud as possible. “Maybe it’ll shrink your ego!” “That’s not funny!” Actually, it kind of is. I take my sweet time in the shower, letting the hot water run over my skin until I know the downstairs bathroom is probably out of hot water too. When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel, Daniel’s sitting on the floor outside the door like some kind of guard dog. “About fucking time,” he mutters, jumping to his feet. “Language, Daniel.” Mom’s voice drifts up from downstairs. She’s got ears like a hawk, that woman. “She took forever on purpose!” he shouts back. “Did not!” “Did too!” “Children!” Dad’s voice booms from the kitchen. “It’s seven-thirty in the morning!” Daniel pushes past me into the bathroom, but not before messing up my hair with his wet hand. “Thanks for nothing, sis.” I flip him off through the closing door. Back in my room, I stare at my closet like it’s personally offended me. Which, let’s be honest, it kind of has. Thanks to Daniel’s overprotective bullshit, half my clothes are baggy jeans and oversized hoodies. The other half are cute tops and dresses that I’m apparently not allowed to wear because they “show too much” or “give guys ideas” or whatever other prehistoric reasoning my brother comes up with. I pull out a pair of jeans that actually fit – not tight, just normal human-sized – and a sweater that’s only slightly too big. In the mirror, I look like I’m drowning in fabric. But at least I won’t have to deal with Daniel’s commentary about my outfit choices. The thing is, I know I look good. I’ve got curves in all the right places thanks to Mom’s genes, and skin that’s this perfect caramel color from Dad’s side. Amy always says I look like I could be in a music video or something. But what’s the point of looking good when your brother follows you around like a bodyguard and scares off anyone who might actually notice? Downstairs, the kitchen is already a battlefield. Daniel’s sitting at the island, shoveling cereal into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days, while Mom fusses around him with orange juice and vitamins. Dad’s at the stove, making what looks like actual breakfast, and the smell of bacon makes my stomach growl. “Morning, sunshine,” Dad says, glancing over at me. “Sleep well?” “Until someone decided to assault the bathroom door,” I mutter, shooting Daniel a look. He grins at me with his mouth full of cereal. Charming. “Daniel has practice,” Mom says, like this explains everything. “He needs to shower.” “So do I. And I got there first.” “By two seconds,” Daniel repeats, because apparently this is his favorite phrase. “Those two seconds matter,” I snap back. “Not really,” Mom says, refilling Daniel’s orange juice. “You could shower at night.” I stare at her. “So could he.” “Daniel’s schedule is more demanding.” And there it is. The golden boy treatment in all its glory. Dad catches my eye and shakes his head slightly, like he’s telling me to let it go. But I’m not in the mood to let anything go this morning. “Right, because God forbid the lacrosse team sees Daniel with dirty hair. The world might end.” “Don’t be dramatic, Maizie,” Mom says. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” Daniel reaches over and ruffles my hair again. “Chill out, sis. It’s just a bathroom.” I duck away from his hand. “Stop touching my hair!” “It’s just hair.” “It’s my hair!” “Okay, okay.” Dad sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “Let’s all take a deep breath. Maizie, eat your breakfast. Daniel, finish your cereal and get ready for school.” “I am ready,” Daniel says, even though he’s still in his pajama pants. “You’re not even dressed.” “I’ll throw on some clothes. Takes me like five minutes.” Of course it does. Because Daniel Adams can roll out of bed looking like he stepped off a magazine cover, while I spend forty-five minutes trying to make my hair look presentable. Life is so fair. “Maizie takes forever to get ready,” Mom says, like I’m not sitting right here. “Daniel’s more efficient.” “I take a normal amount of time,” I protest. “You took an hour yesterday,” Daniel points out. “I did not!” “Did too.” “Did not!” “Enough!” Dad’s voice cuts through our argument. “Both of you, finish eating. You’re giving me a headache.” I stab my eggs with probably more force than necessary. Across from me, Daniel’s smirking like he’s won some kind of victory. Which, knowing our parents, he probably has. The car ride to school is its own special form of torture. Daniel’s got his music blasting some rap song that’s mostly just the same four words repeated over and over, and he’s drumming on the steering wheel like he’s performing at Madison Square Garden. I’m slumped in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way his cologne fills the entire car. “You know,” he says, glancing over at me, “you could try being nicer to me.” “I could try a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I will.” “I’m a good brother.” I snort. “You’re an annoying brother.” “I protect you.” “You suffocate me.” “Same thing.” “It’s really not.” He pulls into the school parking lot, and I can already see people starting to stare. Daniel Adams has arrived, which means the social hierarchy of Jefferson High is about to snap into place. The lacrosse guys will gravitate toward our car, the cheerleaders will start fixing their hair and adjusting their boobs, and I’ll become invisible again. “Ready for another day in paradise?” Daniel asks, grinning at me. “Ready to get away from you,” I mutter. He laughs like I’ve said something hilarious instead of completely serious. “Love you too, sis.” Before I can respond, he’s out of the car and immediately surrounded by his usual crowd. Tyler McKenney appears out of nowhere, doing that weird bro-hug thing that guys do. Jessica Zeng saunters over in her perfect cheerleader uniform, and I watch through the windshield as she kisses Daniel like she’s marking her territory. I grab my backpack and get out of the car, but Daniel’s already there, throwing his arm around my shoulders like he always does. It’s supposed to be protective, I guess, but it feels more like a leash. “Morning, Maizie,” Taylor says, giving me that casual nod that makes my stomach do stupid things. “Hey,” I manage, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. “Ready for the history test?” he asks. Wait. Taylor McKenney knows I’m in his history class? And he’s asking me about the test? “Yeah, I think so,” I say, probably too quickly. “Good. Mr. Peterson’s tests are brutal.” He’s about to say something else when Jessica appears at Daniel’s other side, shooting me a look that could freeze hell over. “Daniel,” she says in that voice that sounds like she’s been inhaling helium. “We need to talk about the party this weekend.” And just like that, Taylor’s attention is gone. He’s back to talking to Daniel about lacrosse stuff, and I’m back to being the invisible sister. Daniel’s arm is still around my shoulders, and I can feel other guys in the hallway glancing over, then looking away when they see his protective stance. “I’m gonna go find Amy,” I say, trying to duck out from under his arm. “I’ll walk you,” he says automatically. “I can walk myself.” “I know, but—” “Daniel.” I stop walking and turn to face him. “I can handle walking twenty feet to my locker without a bodyguard.” He grins. “I’m not a bodyguard. I’m your loving older brother.” “By two seconds.” “Those two seconds matter.” I want to scream. Instead, I force a smile and say, “I’ll see you later,” in the sweetest voice I can manage. He finally lets me go, but I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. And sure enough, when I glance back, he’s still watching, making sure I get to my locker safely like I’m five years old instead of seventeen. $Chapter Chapter 3 Amy’s already at her locker, struggling with her combination lock while balancing a stack of books that looks like it weighs more than she does. Her curly red-brown hair is even more chaotic than usual, and her glasses are sliding down her nose. “Need help?” I ask, reaching for half of her books. “Thanks,” she says, finally getting her locker open. “I swear this thing is possessed.” “Or maybe you’re just not awake yet.” “That too.” She shoves her books inside and pulls out the ones she needs for first period. “How was your morning?” “The usual. Daniel hogged the bathroom, Mom took his side, and Dad tried to keep the peace.” “Sounds about right.” Amy adjusts her glasses and smooths down her skirt. She’s wearing another one of those long pleated things that make her look like she’s going to a private school in the 1950s. “Ready for another day of academic excellence?” “Ready for another day of social invisibility, you mean.” “Hey, at least you’re invisible by choice. I’m invisible because I look like a librarian.” “You don’t look like a librarian.” “I look exactly like a librarian. A really young librarian with bad hair and unfortunate facial features.” I want to tell her she’s being too hard on herself, but honestly? Amy’s not wrong. She’s got this whole awkward thing going on that she can’t seem to shake, and the thick glasses and conservative clothes don’t help. But she’s also the smartest person I know, and funny in a way that most people don’t bother to notice. “At least you don’t have a brother who scares away every guy who might be interested,” I say. “Every guy who might be interested in you is an idiot anyway.” “That’s not the point.” “It kind of is, though.” Before I can argue, the warning bell rings and we have to split up for first period. I’m heading toward English when I spot Daniel and Taylor at the other end of the hallway, and my stomach does that stupid fluttering thing again. Taylor’s laughing at something Daniel said, and the sound carries over all the other hallway noise. Mrs. Cruz’s English class is in the same building as Amy’s AP Chemistry, so I usually see her between classes. But today when I’m walking out, I spot her by the water fountain, surrounded by Jessica Zeng and her cheerleader minions. “I think your glasses are crooked,” Jessica is saying, but her voice has that fake sweet tone that means she’s about to go for the kill. “They’re not crooked,” Amy says quietly, adjusting them anyway. “Are you sure? Because they make your nose look even bigger than usual.” One of Jessica’s friends giggles. “Maybe she needs a smaller pair.” “Or maybe the glasses aren’t the problem,” another one says. I can see Amy’s face turning red, and something hot and angry starts building in my chest. These bitches think they can pick on my best friend just because she’s an easy target? “Hey Jessica,” I say, walking over. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your routine? I heard you were off-beat yesterday.” Jessica turns toward me, and I can see her calculating whether or not she wants to start something with Daniel Adams’ sister. “I wasn’t off-beat.” “That’s not what I heard. Someone said you looked like you were dancing to a completely different song.” “Who said that?” I shrug. “Just someone on the team.” It’s a complete lie, but Jessica doesn’t know that. She glances around at her friends, probably wondering if one of them has been talking behind her back. “Come on, Amy,” I say. “We’re gonna be late.” Amy follows me down the hallway, and I can feel Jessica’s eyes burning into my back. But she doesn’t say anything else. Because even queen bee bitches know better than to mess with the lacrosse captain’s family. “Thanks,” Amy says quietly when we’re out of earshot. “Don’t mention it. Jessica’s a bitch.” “Yeah, but she’s Daniel’s girlfriend.” “That doesn’t mean she gets to be a bitch to you.” “It kind of does, though. I mean, she’s popular and pretty and—” “And fake as hell. You’re worth ten of her.” Amy gives me a look like she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t argue. Which is probably for the best, because we’re both terrible at taking compliments. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of classes and homework assignments. By the time lunch rolls around, I’m ready to hide in the library and avoid all human contact. But Amy insists we sit in the cafeteria like normal people, so we grab our usual table in the corner, away from the popular kids but close enough to observe the social dynamics. Daniel’s table is right in the center of the room, of course. He’s surrounded by the lacrosse team, and Jessica’s practically sitting in his lap. Taylor’s across from them, and even from here I can see the way his green eyes crinkle when he laughs. “You’re staring,” Amy says, following my gaze. “I’m not staring. I’m observing.” “You’re staring at Taylor McKenney.” “I’m observing Taylor McKenney.” “Same thing.” I’m about to argue when someone clears their throat behind me. I turn around to find Mike Thompson standing there with his lunch tray, looking nervous as hell. Mike’s in my calculus class, and he’s… nice. That’s about the best word I can come up with for him. He’s got brown hair and brown eyes and he’s tall enough to be cute but not so tall that I’d get a crick in my neck looking at him. He’s not lacrosse team material, but he’s not a complete loser either. “Hey Maizie,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Hey Mike.” “Um, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?” Amy raises her eyebrows at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Sure,” I say, standing up. “What’s up?” “Actually, could we talk somewhere more private?” Now I’m curious. Mike Thompson has never wanted to talk to me privately about anything. We’ve never even talked, period, except for that one time he asked to borrow a pencil. “Okay,” I say, glancing back at Amy. “I’ll be right back.” He leads me over to the windows on the far side of the cafeteria, away from most of the tables. From here, I can still see Daniel and his crew, but they’re far enough away that they probably can’t hear us. “So,” Mike says, running a hand through his hair. “This is kind of awkward.” “What’s awkward?” “Well, I’ve been thinking about asking you something for a while now, and I finally worked up the courage to do it.” Oh. Oh no. This is not happening. “Mike—” “I know you probably have better things to do,” he continues quickly, “but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out with me this weekend? Like, on a date?” And there it is. The first guy to ask me out in literally months, and of course it has to happen in the middle of the cafeteria where everyone can see. I glance around nervously, hoping Daniel hasn’t noticed, but he’s still deep in conversation with his teammates. “I…” I start, not sure what to say. Mike takes my hesitation as encouragement. “We could go to a movie, or dinner, or whatever you want. I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together outside of calculus class.” He’s being sweet. Really sweet. And he seems genuinely interested, which is more than I can say for most guys at this school. But before I can even process how I feel about this, I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Hey there, Mike.” I turn around to find Taylor McKenney standing there, and he does not look happy. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen, and there’s something protective in his posture that makes my stomach sink. “Oh, hey Taylor,” Mike says, and I can hear the nervousness in his voice. “What’s going on over here?” Taylor asks, but he’s looking at me, not Mike. “We were just talking,” I say quickly. “About what?” “Nothing important,” Mike says, which is probably the worst thing he could have said. Taylor’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t look like nothing.” “It’s really none of your business,” I say, but my voice comes out sharper than I intended. “Actually, it kind of is my business,” Taylor says, and now he’s using that voice that guys use when they’re about to get territorial. “You’re Daniel’s sister.” “So?” “So I look out for you.” “I don’t need you to look out for me.” “Maybe not, but I do it anyway.” Mike’s looking back and forth between us like he’s watching a tennis match. “Look, I should probably go,” he says. “Yeah, you should,” Taylor agrees. “No, you shouldn’t,” I say, but Mike’s already backing away. “I’ll talk to you later, Maizie,” he says, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of students. I turn on Taylor, and I’m so angry I can barely see straight. “What the hell was that?” He takes a step. When he steps closer, the air feels tight, like the room shrank and forgot to tell us. “That was me keeping you from making a mistake.” “What mistake? Mike’s a nice guy.” “Mike’s a guy. That’s enough.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it? Because I know what guys think about when they look at you.” The way he says it makes my cheeks burn. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re…” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “Look, you’re Daniel’s sister. You’re off-limits. End of story.” “Off-limits to who?” “To everyone.” “Says who?” “Says me. Says Daniel. Says anyone with half a brain.” I want to scream. I want to throw my lunch tray at his stupidly perfect face. Instead, I just stare at him, trying to figure out why the guy I’ve been crushing on for two years is currently ruining my life. “You don’t get to make decisions for me,” I say finally. “Someone has to.” “Why?” “Because you’re…” He stops again, and for a second, something flickers across his face that I can’t quite read. “Because you’re important.” “Important to who?” “To Daniel. To your family. To—” He shakes his head. “Just trust me on this, okay?” And then he’s walking away, leaving me standing by the windows, furious and confused and completely humiliated. I watch him go back to Daniel’s table, and I can see them talking. Daniel glances over at me, then back at Taylor, and then Taylor says something that makes Daniel grin. They high-five. They actually high-five. Over ruining my first chance at a date in months. I want to scream. Or cry. Or both. But mostly I want to know why it hurts so damn much. I storm out of the cafeteria, not caring who sees me go. In the hallway, I find Amy waiting by my locker, looking concerned. “What happened?” she asks. “Mike came back to the table looking like someone had kicked his puppy.” “Taylor happened,” I say, slamming my locker shut harder than necessary. “Taylor McKenney? What did he do?” “He scared off Mike. Told him I was off-limits because I’m Daniel’s sister.” Amy’s eyes widen. “He said that?” “He said a lot of things. All of them stupid.” “But why would Taylor care if Mike asked you out?” “Because he’s Daniel’s best friend, and apparently that means he gets to police my dating life too.” “That’s…” Amy pauses, looking thoughtful. “That’s actually kind of weird.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, why would Taylor care that much? Unless…” She trails off, her eyes getting that look they get when she’s working through a complicated math problem. “Unless what?” “Nothing. Never mind.” But I can tell she’s thinking something, and when Amy gets that look, it usually means she’s figured out something the rest of us are too stupid to see. “Amy.” “It’s probably nothing.” “What’s probably nothing?” She adjusts her glasses and gives me a look that’s half pity, half something else. “Maybe Taylor wasn’t just protecting you for Daniel’s sake.” “What do you mean?” “Maybe he was protecting you for his own sake too.” The idea hits me like a physical blow. “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it?” “Yes. Taylor McKenney does not have feelings for me. He barely knows I exist.” “He knows you exist enough to scare off other guys.” “Because I’m Daniel’s sister.” “Maybe. Or maybe because you’re you.” I stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. The idea that Taylor might actually notice me, might actually care about me as more than just his best friend’s sister, is too much to hope for. And too dangerous to believe. “You’re overthinking this,” I say finally. “Maybe. But you’re under-thinking it.” The bell rings before I can respond, and we have to split up for afternoon classes. But Amy’s words follow me through the rest of the day, bouncing around in my head like a song I can’t get rid of. Maybe Taylor wasn’t just protecting me for Daniel’s sake. Maybe he was protecting me for his own sake too. It’s a nice thought. A dangerous thought. And probably a completely wrong thought. But as I sit in my last class of the day, barely paying attention to Mr. Rodriguez’s lecture about the Revolutionary War, I can’t shake the feeling that Amy might be onto something. And that scares me more than anything else that’s happened today. $Chapter Chapter 4 The lacrosse field is my second home, whether I like it or not. Every day after school, I’m here on these metal bleachers, backpack full of homework – mine and Daniel’s – watching sweaty boys run around with sticks like they’re saving the world or something. Today I’ve got my calculus book open, but I keep getting distracted by the way Taylor’s hair sticks to his forehead when he’s concentrating. He’s practicing penalty shots with Daniel, and every time he scores, he gets this cocky grin that makes my stomach do stupid things. I force myself to look back at my notebook, where I’ve already finished my own math homework and started on Daniel’s. It’s pathetic, really. I’m doing my brother’s homework like some kind of academic slave. But here’s the thing nobody knows – I actually don’t mind it. See, Daniel’s not stupid. He’s just lazy. And if he fails calculus, he won’t graduate. And if he doesn’t graduate, he won’t go to college. And if he doesn’t go to college, he’ll be stuck here forever, making my life miserable for the rest of eternity. So yeah, I do his homework. Sue me. “Looking good out there, Adams!” Coach Williams shouts, and I glance up to see Daniel sprinting down the field like his life depends on it. He’s good at lacrosse. Really good. Good enough to get a scholarship to State, which is exactly what I’m counting on. I flip to a fresh page and start on Daniel’s history essay about the Boston Tea Party. Mr. Peterson assigned it last week, and knowing Daniel, he’s probably forgotten all about it. But I was in that class too, taking notes while Daniel was probably thinking about Jessica’s boobs or his next workout or whatever else occupies that pea-sized brain of his. The thing is, I’m actually pretty good at writing in Daniel’s voice. I’ve been doing it since middle school. He writes like he talks – casual, confident, with just enough charm to make teachers forget that he turned it in two days late. I can mimic that easy swagger on paper, make it sound like Daniel actually cares about historical events instead of just wanting to pass the class. It's a skill I'm not particularly proud of, but it’s useful. “Time!” Coach Williams blows his whistle, and the team starts jogging toward the locker room. Practice is over, which means I have maybe twenty minutes before Daniel emerges, showered and ready to grace me with his presence. I finish the last paragraph of his essay and close the notebook. Around me, other siblings and girlfriends are packing up their stuff, getting ready to leave. Some of them have cars of their own. Some of them get to drive themselves home. Not me, though. Daniel won’t let me drive our car. It’s technically both of ours – a silver Honda Civic that our parents bought us for our sixteenth birthday. “For the twins,” Dad had said, handing us each a key. But somehow Daniel decided that being older by two seconds made him the primary driver, and I became the permanent passenger princess. I don’t really mind, though. The house is empty when we get home anyway. Mom’s usually at her book club or yoga class or whatever other activity she uses to avoid actually parenting, and Dad doesn’t get home from the law firm until after six. So it’s just me and Daniel most afternoons, and at least in the car I don’t have to make conversation. Plus, there’s something kind of nice about having someone else deal with traffic while I can just sit there and think. Or do homework. Or stare out the window and pretend I’m somewhere else entirely. “Maizie!” Daniel’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see him jogging over, hair still damp from his shower. Taylor’s right behind him, and Jessica’s trailing after them both like a lost puppy. “Ready to go?” Daniel asks, shouldering his gear bag. “Been ready for twenty minutes,” I say, standing up and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Jessica immediately moves toward the front passenger seat of our car, but Daniel frowns at her like she’s just suggested we drive off a cliff. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Getting in the car?” Jessica says, but her voice has that uncertain quality that means she knows she’s made some kind of mistake. “Maizie sits in the front,” Daniel says, like this should be obvious. “But I’m your girlfriend.” “And she’s my sister.” Jessica looks between us, clearly trying to figure out the hierarchy here. But Daniel’s already opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in, so she doesn’t really have a choice. I slide into the front seat, trying not to look too smug about it. Behind me, I can hear Jessica climbing into the back, her cheerleader uniform rustling as she tries to get comfortable. Taylor gets in next to her, and suddenly our car feels very small. “Taylor, you want us to drop you off first?” Daniel asks, starting the engine. “Yeah, that’d be great,” Taylor says, but there’s something in his voice that sounds weird. Hesitant. Daniel pulls out of the parking lot, and I can see him glancing at Taylor in the rearview mirror. There’s some kind of silent conversation happening between them, the kind that best friends have where they can communicate without actually talking. “Actually,” Daniel says after a minute, “you should come to dinner.” “I don’t know,” Taylor says. “I don’t want to impose.” “You’re not imposing. Mom always makes too much food anyway.” “Your mom’s not expecting me.” “She’s expecting you. She always is.” This is true. Mom has this weird thing where she automatically sets an extra place at the table, just in case Taylor shows up. Which he does, like, three times a week. I think she likes him better than she likes me sometimes. “Come on,” Daniel says, turning onto Taylor’s street. “When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” Taylor’s quiet for a second, and I can see him looking out the window at his house. It’s smaller than ours, with a yard that needs mowing and paint that’s starting to peel. His dad’s car isn’t in the driveway, which probably means he’s working late again. Or at the bar. It’s hard to tell with Mr. McKenney. “Okay,” Taylor says finally. “But I’m not staying the night.” “We’ll see,” Daniel says, grinning at him in the mirror. Again, that weird look passes between them. Like they’re sharing some kind of secret that the rest of us aren’t supposed to know about. Jessica clears her throat from the back seat. “I should probably get home too. My mom’s making dinner.” “Cool,” Daniel says, but he doesn’t sound particularly disappointed. We drop Jessica off at her house, which is in the fancy part of town where all the lawns look like golf courses and the houses look like they belong in magazines. She kisses Daniel goodbye through the car window, and I catch Taylor watching them in the side mirror, his expression unreadable. “See you tomorrow, babe,” Jessica says. “Yeah, see you,” Daniel replies, but he’s already pulling away before she’s even made it to her front door. By the time we get home, I’m starting to feel nervous about dinner. Which is stupid, because Taylor’s eaten at our house a million times. But for some reason, tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because of what happened at lunch. Maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about what Amy said about Taylor protecting me for his own sake. Or maybe it’s because I suddenly care way too much about what I look like. “I’m gonna shower,” I announce as soon as we walk through the front door. “You showered this morning,” Daniel says, dumping his gear bag by the stairs. “So? I can shower twice in one day.” “Why would you shower twice in one day?” “Because I want to.” Daniel gives me a weird look, but he doesn’t argue. Taylor’s already making himself comfortable on the couch, grabbing the remote like he owns the place. Upstairs, I stand in front of my closet for way too long, trying to figure out what to wear. It’s just dinner. With my family. And Taylor. Who’s basically family too, except for the part where he’s not actually related to me and he’s gorgeous and I’ve been in love with him since sophomore year. I finally settle on a pair of jeans that actually fit me properly and a sweater that’s not completely shapeless. In the bathroom, I take the longest shower of my life, washing my hair twice and using the expensive conditioner that I usually save for special occasions. When I get out, I spend forever trying to make my hair look casual but perfect. Like I just naturally wake up with smooth, shiny waves instead of the frizzy mess I actually have to deal with every morning. And then, because I’m apparently having some kind of mental breakdown, I put on lip gloss. Just a little bit. Just enough to make my lips look softer, more kissable. Downstairs, I can hear Daniel and Taylor laughing about something, probably some inside joke from lacrosse practice. The sound of Taylor’s laugh makes my stomach flutter in a way that’s both exciting and terrifying. “Maizie!” Mom’s voice carries up the stairs. “Come help me set the table!” I take one last look in the mirror, checking to make sure the lip gloss isn’t too obvious. It’s not. It’s actually pretty subtle. Just a little shine, a little color. I’m halfway down the stairs when Daniel spots me. “Whoa,” he says, grinning. “Someone’s all dressed up.” “I’m not dressed up,” I say, but I can feel my cheeks burning. “You’re wearing lip gloss.” “So?” “So you never wear lip gloss.” “I wear lip gloss sometimes.” “Name one time.” I can’t, because he’s right. I never wear lip gloss. I never wear makeup at all, actually, because Daniel always makes fun of me when I do. “Is that for Taylor?” Daniel asks, and his grin gets even wider. “What? No. God, no. I just felt like wearing lip gloss.” “Right.” Taylor looks up from the couch, and I can see him taking in my appearance. His eyes linger on my lips for just a second before he looks away, and I feel that flutter in my stomach again. “You look nice,” he says quietly. “Thanks,” I manage. “She looks like she’s trying too hard,” Daniel says, because apparently he can’t let me have one nice moment. “I do not.” “You do a little bit.” “Shut up, Daniel.” “I’m just saying, the lip gloss is a bit much for a Tuesday night.” And now I’m mortified. Because he’s right. It is too much. I’m trying too hard, and it’s obvious, and Taylor probably thinks I’m pathetic. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, heading for the bathroom. I scrub the lip gloss off with a washcloth, rubbing until my lips are red and raw. In the mirror, I look like myself again. Plain, ordinary Maizie who doesn’t wear makeup and doesn’t try to impress anyone. It’s better this way. Safer. Dinner is Mom’s usual masterpiece – some kind of chicken casserole that actually tastes amazing, even though she acts like cooking is the biggest inconvenience in the world. Dad’s in a good mood, asking Taylor about school and college applications and all the stuff that adults think teenagers want to talk about. I’m sitting across from Taylor, trying not to stare at him while he answers Dad’s questions about his plans after graduation. He wants to study business, maybe go into sports management. He’s got this way of talking that makes everything sound interesting, even boring stuff like college majors. “What about you, Maizie?” Dad asks. “Any thoughts about college yet?” “I’ve got time,” I say, stabbing at my chicken. “Not that much time. Senior year will be here before you know it.” “I know, Dad.” “You should think about what you want to study.” “I will.” “Maybe something in writing? You’re good at that.” If only he knew how good I am at writing. Like, Daniel’s-entire-academic-career good. “Maybe,” I say. The conversation moves on to other topics – Mom’s book club, Dad’s latest case, Daniel’s chances of getting a scholarship. I’m only half-listening, too focused on the way Taylor’s hands look when he’s cutting his food, the way he laughs at Dad’s terrible jokes. “So Taylor,” Mom says, refilling his water glass, “how are things at home?” “Fine,” Taylor says, but there’s that hesitation again. “Dad’s been working a lot.” “That’s good,” Mom says, even though we all know it’s not really good. Mr. McKenney works construction, and “working a lot” usually means he’s trying to make up for lost time after one of his drinking binges. “You know you’re always welcome here,” Dad says, and I can see Taylor’s jaw clench slightly. “Thanks, Mr. Adams. I appreciate that.” There’s an awkward silence, and I can tell everyone’s thinking about the same thing – the fact that Taylor’s home life is basically a disaster, and our house is probably the only place he feels safe. “Actually,” Daniel says, breaking the silence, “I was wondering if Taylor could stay over tonight. We’ve got that big history test tomorrow, and we need to study.” This is a lie. Daniel hasn’t studied for anything in his entire life. But our parents don’t know that, and they both nod like it’s the most reasonable request in the world. “Of course,” Mom says. “You know you don’t have to ask.” “Thanks, Mrs. Adams,” Taylor says, and I can see the relief in his eyes. But there’s something else there too. Something that passes between him and Daniel, like they’ve planned this somehow. Like staying over wasn’t Taylor’s idea at all. “I should probably call my dad,” Taylor says, pulling out his phone. “Use the landline in the kitchen,” Mom says. “Better reception.” Taylor gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and I can hear him talking in low tones. From what I can make out, he’s leaving a message. His dad’s not answering, which isn’t exactly surprising. “Poor kid,” Dad says quietly, and Mom nods. Daniel’s just sitting there, looking satisfied about something. Like he’s accomplished some kind of mission. When Taylor comes back, he looks more relaxed. “All set,” he says, sitting back down. “Great,” Daniel says. “We can study after dinner.” Again, that look passes between them. And suddenly I’m wondering if there’s more to this sleepover than just avoiding Taylor’s empty house. The rest of dinner passes without incident, until Dad’s phone starts ringing. He glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this,” he says, standing up. “Client emergency.” “On a Tuesday night?” Mom asks. “Crime doesn’t keep regular hours,” Dad says, already heading for his office. Which leaves the rest of us to clean up. Mom immediately assigns Daniel to help her with the laundry, which is her way of getting him alone so she can ask about his grades and his love life and all the other stuff she thinks she needs to know. “Maizie, you and Taylor can handle the dishes,” she says, like this is no big deal. But it is a big deal. Because suddenly I’m going to be alone in the kitchen with Taylor McKenney, and I have no idea what to say to him. “I’ll wash, you dry?” Taylor asks, already rolling up his sleeves. “Sure,” I say, even though my voice sounds weird and squeaky. We work in silence for a few minutes, and I’m hyperaware of everything – the way his hands move as he scrubs the plates, the way he hums under his breath, the way he smells like soap and something else that’s just distinctly Taylor. “Thanks,” he says suddenly. “For what?” “For letting me stay. I know it’s not really up to you, but… thanks.” “You don’t have to thank me. You’re here all the time anyway.” “I know, but…” He stops, looking down at the soapy water. “Things have been weird at home lately.” “Weird how?” “Just weird. My dad’s been drinking more, and when he drinks, he gets…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. I’ve heard the rumors about Mr. McKenney. About the shouting matches that the neighbors complain about. About the times Taylor’s shown up to school with bruises he claims are from lacrosse practice. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. “It’s not your fault.” “I know, but still.” He hands me a plate to dry, and our fingers brush for just a second. It’s probably an accident, but it sends electricity shooting up my arm anyway. “Can I ask you something?” he says. “Sure.” “What happened with Mike Thompson today?” The plate almost slips out of my hands. “What do you mean?” “I mean, what was he saying to you before I came over?” I can feel my cheeks burning again. “He asked me out.” “On a date?” “Yeah.” Taylor’s hands still in the water, and he’s staring at me with an expression I can’t read. “What did you tell him?” “I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything. You scared him off, remember?” “Right.” He goes back to scrubbing, but there’s something different in his posture now. Something tense. “Are you mad at me?” “Should I be?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” “Why did you do it?” The question hangs in the air between us, and for a second I think he’s not going to answer. Then he sighs. “Because Mike Thompson is an idiot.” “That’s not a reason.” “It is to me.” “Why?” “Because you deserve better than some guy who’s only asking you out because he thinks you’re easy.” “What makes you think that’s why he asked me out?” “Because that’s what guys think when they see you.” “See me how?” He turns to look at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my breath catch. “You know how.” I don’t know how. I have no idea what he’s talking about. But before I can ask, Daniel’s voice carries in from the living room. “Yo, Taylor! You done playing housewife? I found that history stuff we need to study!” The moment breaks, and Taylor turns back to the dishes. “We should probably go,” he says. “Yeah,” I agree, but I don’t move. “Maizie?” “Yeah?” “Mike Thompson really is an idiot.” And then he’s gone, leaving me standing in the kitchen with a dish towel in my hands and a million questions I don’t know how to ask. From the living room, I can hear Daniel and Taylor talking, their voices low and serious. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but something about the tone makes me think they’re not actually talking about history. I finish drying the dishes and put them away, trying to make sense of what just happened. Taylor’s words keep echoing in my head: “You deserve better than some guy who’s only asking you out because he thinks you’re easy.” What did that mean? And why did he look at me like that when he said it? I’m still thinking about it when I hear Daniel’s voice from the living room, louder now. “Dude, you should have seen Mike’s face when I found out what happened. He looked like he was going to piss himself.” Wait. What? I creep closer to the doorway, staying just out of sight. “You told Daniel?” Taylor’s voice sounds surprised. “Of course I told him. He’s her brother.” “But you already handled it.” “Yeah, but he needed to know. In case Mike tries again.” “He won’t try again.” “Good. Because if he does, I’ll handle it differently next time.” The threat in Taylor’s voice makes my stomach clench. But there’s something else there too. Something that sounds almost… possessive. “You know,” Daniel says, and I can hear the grin in his voice, “for someone who’s supposed to be looking out for my sister, you get pretty worked up about her dating life.” “I’m just being a good friend.” “To who? Me or her?” There’s a pause, and I hold my breath. “To you,” Taylor says finally, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Right,” Daniel says. “Just remember that.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means she’s my sister. And some things are more important than friendship.” Another pause. Longer this time. “I know,” Taylor says quietly. “Do you?” “Yes.” “Good. Because I’d hate for things to get complicated between us.” “They won’t.” “Promise?” “Promise.” But even from here, I can hear the uncertainty in Taylor’s voice. And I have a feeling that no matter what he’s promising Daniel, things are about to get very complicated indeed. $Chapter Chapter 5 I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds coming from Daniel’s room next door. He and Taylor are talking in those low voices guys use when they think they’re being secretive, but our walls are thin and I can hear the rumble of their conversation even if I can’t make out the words. Every few minutes one of them laughs, and I find myself straining to identify which laugh belongs to Taylor. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. Lying here in my pajamas that don’t even match, obsessing over a guy who’s probably forgotten I even exist. But I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the kitchen. The way Taylor looked at me when he said I deserved better. The way his voice got all rough when he talked about what guys think when they see me. What did that even mean? And then there’s what I overheard afterward. That whole conversation about things getting complicated, about promises and friendship and Daniel warning Taylor about something. What was that about? I roll over and punch my pillow, trying to get comfortable. The clock on my nightstand glows 11:43 PM in obnoxious red numbers. I have to be up in less than seven hours, and I’m lying here like some lovesick idiot, analyzing every word and look and gesture from dinner. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe Taylor wasn’t just protecting me for Daniel’s sake. But then again, maybe I’m reading way too much into everything. Maybe he really was just being a good friend to my brother, and I’m creating some fantasy romance in my head because I’m desperate and pathetic and have nothing better to think about. The voices next door get quieter, and I hear Daniel’s door open. Footsteps in the hallway – Taylor going to the bathroom, probably. I hold my breath like he might somehow sense that I’m awake and thinking about him, which is completely ridiculous but I do it anyway. When he comes back, I hear Daniel’s door close again, and then there’s silence. Finally. But I still can’t sleep. Because now I’m thinking about Taylor lying in the spare sleeping bag on Daniel’s floor, and wondering what he’s thinking about. Is he thinking about me? About what happened in the kitchen? Or is he thinking about lacrosse practice tomorrow, or college applications, or literally anything else that doesn’t involve his best friend’s sister? Probably the last one. I must finally fall asleep at some point, because the next thing I know, my alarm is going off and I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My eyes are gritty and my head is pounding, and when I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I look like something that crawled out of a swamp. Great. Just great. Downstairs, I can hear the usual morning chaos – Mom bustling around the kitchen, Dad reading the news on his phone, Daniel probably shoving cereal into his mouth like he’s training for an eating contest. And Taylor. Taylor’s down there too, having breakfast with my family like he belongs here. I take the world’s fastest shower and throw on the first clothes I can find – jeans and a hoodie that’s probably Daniel’s but I don’t care. My hair is still damp when I trudge downstairs, and I’m really hoping I can grab a piece of toast and escape before anyone notices how awful I look. No such luck. “Well, well, well,” Daniel says the second I walk into the kitchen. “Look who finally decided to join us.” “Shut up,” I mutter, heading straight for the coffee pot. “Someone’s grumpy this morning.” “Someone didn’t sleep well.” “Aw, poor Maizie couldn’t sleep. I wonder why.” There’s something in his voice that makes me turn around. He’s grinning at me with that evil big brother smile that means he’s about to make my life miserable. “What?” I ask, even though I probably don’t want to know. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about your new boyfriend.” “What boyfriend?” “Mike Thompson, of course. Your boyfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “Maizie has a boyfriend,” Daniel sings, like he’s five years old instead of seventeen. “Maizie has a boyfriend.” “Daniel, stop,” I say, but my cheeks are already burning. “Maizie and Mike, sitting in a tree,” he continues, and now Mom and Dad are looking over from the table. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” “Daniel Adams, what are you going on about?” Mom asks. “Maizie’s got herself a boyfriend,” Daniel announces proudly. “Mike Thompson asked her out yesterday.” “He did not ask me out,” I say quickly. “I mean, he did, but I didn’t say yes.” “Because Taylor scared him off,” Daniel says, and now he’s looking at Taylor, who’s suddenly very interested in his orange juice. “What do you mean, scared him off?” Dad asks, and there’s that lawyer tone in his voice that means someone’s in trouble. “Well,” Daniel says, settling in like he’s about to tell the greatest story ever told, “apparently Mike made a bet with some of the guys that he’d be the first one to date Daniel Adams’ untouchable sister.” The kitchen goes completely silent. I can feel everyone staring at me, and I want to disappear into the floor. “A bet?” Mom asks. “Yeah. Jake Morrison told me about it. Mike bet twenty bucks that he could get Maizie to go out with him. Said it would be easy because she’s probably desperate for attention.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I knew Mike asking me out was too good to be true. I knew it. But hearing it spelled out like that, hearing that he thought I was desperate, that he made a bet about me like I’m some kind of game… “That’s enough, Daniel,” Dad says sharply. “I’m just saying, it’s a good thing Taylor was there to—” “I said that’s enough.” But the damage is already done. I can feel tears burning behind my eyes, and there’s no way I’m going to cry in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Taylor, who’s sitting there looking uncomfortable and probably thinking about how pathetic I am. “I’m gonna wait in the car,” I mumble, grabbing my backpack and heading for the door. “Maizie, wait—” Dad starts, but I’m already gone. Outside, I lean against the car and try to breathe. It shouldn’t hurt this much. I barely even know Mike Thompson. But it does hurt, because for about five minutes yesterday, I thought maybe someone actually liked me for me. Not because I’m Daniel Adams’ sister, not because they want to get close to the lacrosse team, but because they genuinely thought I was worth asking out. I should have known better. The front door opens and Daniel comes jogging out, looking sheepish. “Maizie, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to—” “Yes, you did,” I say, not looking at him. “You meant to embarrass me in front of everyone.” “I was just trying to protect you.” “By humiliating me?” “By making sure you knew the truth about Mike.” “I already knew the truth about Mike. Taylor made that pretty clear yesterday.” Daniel’s quiet for a second, and when I glance over at him, he’s got that guilty expression he gets when he knows he’s messed up. “Look,” he says finally, “I really am sorry. I know I went too far.” “You think?” “Here.” He pulls the car keys out of his pocket and holds them out to me. “You can drive today.” I stare at him. Daniel never lets me drive. Never. Not to school, not to the store, not anywhere. “Are you serious?” “Dead serious. You’re a good driver, and I… I was being a dick.” It’s probably the closest thing to a real apology I’m ever going to get from Daniel Adams. I take the keys, and some of the anger starts to fade. “Thanks,” I say. “Just don’t crash us into a tree or anything.” “I’ll try my best.”