We sit in silence for a while, and I don't mind. It's weirdly comfortable, not awkward, and now that he's not driving like he's trying to set a speed record, the lull of the car's motion is relaxing.

A new song plays, and I eye the dashboard to figure out how I can change the station. As I wonder if that constitutes "touching everything," the boy beside me groans and selects a different station before I can.

He shoots me a glance. "I hate that song."

"Me too. I don't mind Siren of the Heart, but I can't stand that one song."

"'Always Be There'? It's their biggest song."

He's right, it is their biggest song, which means it's on the radio the most. It was the song that was playing years ago in the car when Mom dropped us off at Aunt Julie's and never came back. Ironic how a song about always being there for the person you love was playing as my mother decided she was tired of being there for her kids. I've hated it ever since; it always brings me back to that moment in the backseat of Mom's broken-down ten-year-old Mustang, knowing deep down that she was deserting us but not brave enough to call her out on it.

I'm not going to tell the boy in the driver's seat that, though, so instead I nod and say, "Yeah, that's why I hate it, it's way too overplayed."

He chuckles. "Tell me about it. My oldest brother's girlfriend used to play this song all day every day, it drove me insane. Plus, Thea can't sing for shit, so that was extra fun. Now I can't hear this song without cringing."

"That sounds . . . sweet though." I wish my memory of this song was cute like that.

"Sweet? Wait until you hear it on repeat 24/7 with what sounds like a screeching chalkboard singing, then get back to me on how sweet it is."

I laugh. "Well, you're being awfully harsh when you probably aren't the greatest singer out there either."

There's a challenge in his smirk. "As a matter of fact, I'm the best singer around. Could probably get a record deal if I really wanted."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

I shift in my seat to face him better. We have a long drive ahead of us; I might as well be entertained. "All right, now I need to hear this angel voice you apparently have."

"Your words, not mine," he says.

"Come on, let's hear it," I say, more for the principle of it than actually caring about his singing voice. I turn up the volume on the radio as high as it can go. It's playing Taylor Swift's "Lover." He gives me an eye roll despite the quirk in his lip, and just to be extra annoying, I sing at the top of my lungs.

He says something but I can't hear over the music and my own singing. It helps that the stereo in the car is so loud I can barely hear my own voice. I roll down the window more, letting wind whip into the car, and feel a settling in my chest. Maybe it's because I can't remember the last time I let loose singing like this, or maybe it's because the wind is freeing, or maybe it's because there's a stranger sitting beside me who can't possibly judge me any more than he already has after today's events, but I feel good.

When he doesn't sing, I go even louder, and finally, finally, he relents and joins in, barely hitting the notes.

When the song ends, he lowers the radio to a reasonable volume and clears his throat. "Remember how I told you Thea sounds like a screeching chalkboard? I think you're a close second."

"I do not sound like that!" I exclaim, but I can't do it with a straight face, because he has a point. "And you're no better. Record deal my ass."

"I don't know all the words! Plus, I have a deep voice, I can't hit those high notes."

A trill of a phone cuts off my response, but he doesn't move to get it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" he asks me.

"Why would I answer your phone?" I ask, before realizing that the sound is coming from under me. It's my phone! I didn't think it would still work. I lift from the seat enough to grab my phone from my back pocket and rub off any remaining mud on my jean shorts. I missed the call, but the screen shows I have a few missed calls, one from Zia Stella, and two from Lily, as well as some unopened texts.

Did I miss dinner? My stomach growls in answer. I most definitely missed dinner.

"What time is it?" I ask.

He points to the dash where I read the time. 10:00 p.m. Wow, where did the time go?

I open the text from Zia Stella first: The pizza is here. Will you be home soon?

I wonder how long she waited for me. I send Zia Stella a quick text back, apologizing for missing dinner and telling her I'll be there soon.

I open the texts from Lily next: I'm outside.

Then five minutes later: Gia told me you're not coming. There's another party Sunday, you're coming to that! Nonnegotiable!

I feel bad making Lily wait for me, but I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge my relief at not having to go to a party. Plus, I never actually agreed to go.

Another text comes in from Lily: Gia is here, I think alone, and she's completely hammered.

What?! Gia went to a party and is drunk? She's never been drunk before! She's only fifteen! Was she looking for me?

I call Gia, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try to call Lily, but the rings sound weird, and I can't tell if she answers.

I shake my phone and groan. I'm not sure if the phone is ruined because of the rain and mud, or if I have no signal, because the top of the screen is black and that's where the signal bars are located.

"Use mine," a voice says, making me jump in my seat. I forgot the boy was here—I even forgot I was in the car with him.

"Thanks," I say as I take the phone he's holding out. He has signal. I copy Lily's number and dial it into his phone.

"Hello?" she answers curiously, yelling over the music and sounds of people talking and squealing.

"Hi, it's Siena," I say.

"Whose phone are you calling me from?"

I open my mouth to answer, then realize I don't know the name of the guy sitting beside me, the guy whose sweatshirt I'm wearing and whose calming scent I'm breathing in.

"Where's Gia?" I ask instead. "Are you sure it was her?"

"Yes, I'm sure it was her. When I knocked on your door she answered. We were making small talk, and she asked me where the party was."

Gia's not a partier. Did she think I had gone instead of hanging out with her my first day back?

"Are you with her now?" I ask.

"No. I don't know who she's here with," Lily replies. "But she's plastered. She can barely walk straight. She was doing a keg stand. Considering her size, I'm surprised she's not hurling already."

What the hell is she thinking? Gia hates beer—she says it tastes like puke and old man sweat and hurts her stomach. So why would she think drinking a shit-ton of it upside down was a good idea?

"Do you know if she left with anyone?" I ask, panic squeezing my throat.

Lily hesitates. "I don't know, I'm sorry, but I think you should come and look for her."

That's my little sister. I'm supposed to protect her, take care of her, keep her away from older kids who are getting her drunk and who knows what else. I'm failing. What if she gets in a car with someone?

Something is wrong, I know it is. This is not like Gia. This is the same girl that not even two months ago would lock herself in our room anytime there was a party going on in the apartment. But I can't do anything, not from here. I hate this feeling of helplessness, just like I did when I was locked away, leaving Gia to figure everything out by herself.

"Can you see if you can find her?" I ask Lily, but there's no response. The loudness from the party is gone too. "Hello? Lily? Hello?" I pull away from the phone to see the call failed and the signal lines are gone. Shit.

"You okay?" The boy asks, making me jump again.

His eyes bore into mine, still so intense, still so damn calm while my stomach is in knots.

"What's your name?" I ask, handing his phone back.

"Jason."

I don't want to rope him into helping me, but I don't have a working phone so I can't call an Uber. And I'm already in his car. And I'm desperate. I wasn't there for the last three weeks for Gia, but I'm here now.

"No, Jason. I'm not okay. Do you know where Warren lives? He's throwing a party tonight."

His eyebrows draw together. "Yes, I do."

"Great," I say. "I'm going to need you to drive me there. How far are we?"

His eyes rake over me. "You want to go to a party now?"

I realize I'm a mess. I realize I'll be making my debut in front of my classmates looking like a swamp monster and that's not exactly the impression I want to make, but I don't care.

"I moved to King today, and my fifteen-year-old sister decided to go to Warren's party by herself after hearing our neighbor talking about it, and said neighbor just informed me that Gia is so drunk she can't even walk. So yeah, I need to go to that party."

Jason nods once and makes a sudden left turn. "We'll be there in ten. Five if there's no one on the road."

The car speeds up, and for the first time tonight, I'm glad I'm sitting in the car with a dude who drag races for fun and is apparently good at it. I even want him to go faster. If we weren't nearing town, I'd tell him to pull whatever damn stunt he needs to to get me there in record time.

"Can you just . . . not get pulled over?" I ask.

"I didn't avoid arrest just to get a speeding ticket," he says. "We'll be fine."

His reassurances should make me feel better, but he can't control a speed trap. Maybe I should tell him to slow down. My leg bounces in the seat, and I only just stop myself from biting my nails because of how dirty they are.

Jason eyes my bouncing leg and the hand precariously close to my mouth.

"Put it in rice," he says.

"Huh?" I look back at him. He has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the stick shift.

"Your phone," he says, pointing to the useless piece of glass and plastic on my lap. "It might work fine and it was just the shit signal, but if it is water damage, submerging it in rice usually works. It's worth a shot."

"Right. Guess I'll have to try that."

I don't want to talk. I want to focus on Gia. On what she's doing, on where she is, on who she's with. I curl my fingers into my palms so I don't bite my mud-stained nails.

"What's your name?" Jason asks suddenly, clearly not taking the hint that I don't want to talk.

"Siena."

He speeds up at a yellow light and makes it before it turns red. "Are you starting at King City High on Monday?"

Why is he asking me this now?

"Yes. I'm a senior."

"Me too," he says, making a quick turn. We enter a neighborhood with mansions lining the streets and perfectly landscaped yards. They remind me of the ones in Malibu and Beverly Hills that Gia and I would bike around and make up stories about as if we lived there. Except these houses are surrounded by pine trees, not palm, that look like they've been here for hundreds of years. "Bit of advice?" He continues, "Maybe don't make lying down in strange places a habit. The halls are packed, you can't just lie there."

I stare at him incredulously. Here I was, thinking we were getting along after that Taylor Swift singing fest. "I don't do that!"

He's unconvinced. "Right . . ." He eyes my leg again.

"I don't! I was having a shit day, and I went on a hike and got lost and slipped and decided to just . . . lie there. I thought it was an abandoned road. I didn't know you would come speeding down it!"

"I was going the speed limit," he deadpans.

"You were not!"

"I was. You don't speed on a gravel road. It'll kick up rocks and scratch your paint. Besides, I told you, I already had a lead. I could've done the speed limit all the way into town and wouldn't have seen a single cop."

For some reason I believe him. I don't want to, but there's no way he could've avoided hitting me if he was going as fast as he was while I was in the car.

"For the record," I start, "playing in the rain is fun. Do you even know what fun is?"

"My definition of fun and your definition of fun are very different."

"Right. You get your kicks from doing illegal shit," I huff. Sure, he's handsome and muscular and I can't stop sniffing his hoodie, but he's into stuff like street racing. I'm steering clear of trouble. I'm distancing myself from what happened in LA and the Florence Bowen legacy.

He scoffs. "Yeah, well, what do you do for fun? Other than lying in the rain? I bet you do homework and organize your pens by color."

I don't know how to answer his question. I can't remember the last time I had fun. Between work and home and Gia and school and Mom, I never had spare time for myself. These last three weeks were the first instance in years that I've had nothing but spare time for myself. But all I did was stare at the cement ceiling, talk to officials and lawyers and therapists, and worry about Gia, which isn't exactly a hobby.

"What do you do for fun?" I shoot back. "I bet you hotwire cars or break into buildings."

"I don't hotwire cars for fun."

I stare at him. "You can actually hotwire a car?"

"Of course," he says blandly. "My brother Aiden taught me when I was thirteen."

He's joking, right? Except he's not. He's completely serious. This boy really is trouble and I had to find him as soon as I landed. "What need could you possibly have for knowing how to hotwire a car at thirteen?"

He shrugs. "What need could you possibly have to lie in the rain?"

I want to reach out and shake him. He is so infuriating! Is he never going to let that go?

"We're here," Jason says, pulling through open metal gates and speeding up a long driveway to a grand entrance. This house is huge, with modern dark-gray bricks and a front door that's easily twice as tall as me. All the lights are on outside, with spotlights moving around the front of the house in presentation mode. There are cars parked all over the place, even on the grass. We drive around a large bubbling water fountain, and I briefly wonder if Warren put soap in the fountain or if someone else did.

Gia's here, somewhere, drunk off her face. She has no one to look out for her, no one who cares if something happens to her. But I care. I'll look after her; it's what I've always done.

We come to a stop, and I hop out. Jason comes around to meet me. "What does she look like? I'll help you search."

My heart stutters, and it takes me a second to recover. "You don't have to—"

"It'll be faster if we're both looking. I'm helping, so we're wasting time," he says, gesturing for me to hurry up with the description.

"Gia's about five-foot-two, brown eyes, brown hair in a short pixie cut . . ."

"Jason!" someone calls out. The guy is coming from the backyard, where the party seems to be. I guess it wasn't raining here or the party went on rain or shine.

"Hey Warren," Jason answers.

Warren closes the distance between us. He's only a bit taller than me but has wide shoulders and smooth dark skin. His head is shaved, and he does a double take when his brown eyes land on me.

"Hey Warren, great party," I say, skirting right past him to enter the heart of the party. Technically I'm not crashing since Lily invited me, but he doesn't know that.

"Jason?" I hear Warren ask.

"Yeah, she's with me . . . I guess," Jason answers. I can't hear anything else over the noise.

The backyard is large and beautifully landscaped. It's perfectly set up for entertaining, with different conversational areas like fire pits, couches, hammocks, and tables, and there are tons of kids. There are kids swimming in the pool while others are playing beer pong on a row of tables. Near a large tree is a keg, where some guys are chanting, "Chug chug chug," as they hold another guy upside down over it, a tube in his mouth as he sucks up the alcohol. The backyard is lit from the house, but also from white string lights wrapped around all the trees. There's an outdoor kitchen area with a large granite counter, covered with food. On the neat interlocking patio near the back door, a guy with large headphones stands behind DJ equipment set up on a table. Some people are dancing in front of him, but there are speakers throughout the backyard, making the music equally loud everywhere.

I'm almost in sensory overload from how much is going on. Though I don't go to many parties, I've never been to one this extravagant. I've never even heard of anyone throwing a party like this.

"Siena?"

I turn and find Lily. She's just as beautiful as before, and she's standing with a pretty girl a little shorter than her. Lily notices me eyeing them.

"This is Nyah." She gestures to her friend. Nyah's dark hair is twisted in braids that hang down her back, and her makeup is beautiful, perfectly suiting her deep-brown skin.

"What happened to you?" Lily asks, trading glances with Nyah.

Nyah says, "And was that Jason you drove here with? He and his brother are so hot. They're best friends with my boyfriend."

"Yeah, that's Jason," I reply. "Have you found Gia?"

They shake their heads. "We saw her leaving the pool house," Lily says, pointing at a building that looks like a mini house and is bigger than our old apartment.

"But then we lost her," Nyah finishes.

I try to focus. Where would Gia be? This party, this house, this backyard, is huge. But the music throbs directly into my brain, making my temples pound. "How can you guys think over all this music? How have the cops not been called? Where are Warren's parents?"

"My boyfriend told me Warren's parents are in Nigeria visiting family, but they usually don't care if he throws parties anyway," Nyah says.

Lily nods. "And the neighbors are pretty spaced out. But see that house?" She points to a house in the distance. It's obscured by the heavy trees and only discernible by the glowing lights. "That's Principal Anderson's."

"The principal of King City High?" I ask as they lead me through the party, scanning groups of kids for Gia. People give me weird looks, probably wondering why someone as well put together as Lily is hanging out with me.

"Yup," Lily answers. "You never really see her though, except at assemblies."

Does that mean Warren knows the principal personally? I barely even knew what the principal at my old school looked like, never mind where he lived. Our school was so big we were relegated to a series of vice principals that you only saw if you were in trouble. I was never in trouble.

I only met our VP once when Gia was caught cheating on a test. She was suspended, but he wouldn't let her go unless it was with a parent. She texted me from the office where she was forced to wait, and the VP wouldn't let me sign her out and take her home. We sat in the office together for six hours, knowing full well Aunt Julie wasn't coming even though she had been notified about the situation. Two hours after the final bell, the VP gruffly handed me Gia's suspension paperwork and ordered us out of his office. To this day, I don't know what Gia was more pissed about: getting caught cheating, getting suspended, or Aunt Julie not bothering to come pick her up.

"Sorry guys, this is my mom," Nyah says, gesturing at her ringing phone, "I'll be back." She disappears to answer the call, and Lily leads me deeper into the party.

There's a girl puking into a flowerpot beside us and we sidestep, only to have to dodge a practically naked couple snorting something off each other's bodies. Everywhere I look, there's something going on, something Gia shouldn't be around, something she shouldn't be doing, something she hated seeing in LA.

"Why would Gia come here?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around it.

Lily shrugs. "I told her to come."

I stop in my tracks, and she walks for a bit before noticing that I'm not beside her.

"What?" I ask.

She frowns. "I told her to come. Is that a problem?"

"Well, yeah! She's drunk and alone and probably scared and who knows where! She could be passed out somewhere!"

Lily closes the distance between us. "I didn't force her to come here. She asked and I told her to come. But with the way she acts, I'm surprised you're surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Lily rolls her eyes. "Come on, Gia's not some delicate little flower who's never touched alcohol before."

Gia's taken one shot of tequila in her life, and she spat it out immediately after. "She doesn't like it. She's not a partier."

Lily huffs a sarcastic laugh. "Are we talking about the same Gia?"

I cross my arms tight against my chest despite my body temperature starting to rise. "I think I know my sister better than you."

She raises a condescending eyebrow. "Do you though?"

A big guy with a mullet and his friend in a jersey accidentally bump into me and give me a weird look, which I can't fault them for because I must look like a sewer rat. The tension between me and Lily is palpable, and the guy with the mullet asks, "There a problem here, Lily?"

She doesn't break eye contact from our stare-off when she says, "It's fine, thanks, Thompson."

Thompson and his friend give us one last questioning look before shrugging and walking away.

"Whatever," I say, dropping my gaze. "I don't have time to argue with you about this when I need to find Gia. If you don't want to help, fine."

She looks at something behind me, her eyes going wide, before walking past me without another word. I don't know who or what she was looking at because all I see is a crowd and her retreating back.

If she doesn't want to help, fine. At least Jason is helping, so I'm not completely on my own here. For some reason, despite having only just met him, the thought of him helping reassures me. He's always calm, always seems like he has his shit together—even when he's running from the cops. I don't know him, but he seems to have a handle on everything. That quiet confidence . . . that must be what gives me that impression.

I spend the next ten minutes combing through the party. There are so many people here, too many. There can't possibly be this many seniors at King City High. I get a lot of strange looks, but I don't care.

After no sign of Gia, I stop at the side of the house to check my phone for any messages from her, and that's when I hear arguing.

I peek around one of the large pine trees and spot Lily with her arms crossed defensively, and a guy I haven't seen before. She doesn't look like the confident, large-and-in-charge future model with her shit together that I met today. She looks . . . small.

"Just drop it, Brandon," Lily says, trying to push past him, but he grabs her arm.

"No," the guy, Brandon, says. "You need to stop running away from me."

"I don't owe you anything." Lily tries to pull away, but Brandon's hand won't budge.

Despite our little argument, I like Lily, so I move closer to them through the trees. Brandon is bigger than me and looks like he works out; I doubt I could wrap both hands around his bicep. I've never been in a fight before, but maybe if I'm here, Brandon will see he's not alone with Lily and let her go.

"Yes, you do," he says, and Lily struggles harder.

"You're hurting me," she tells him, slapping at his chest, but he doesn't release her.

"Stop being such a stubborn bitch!"

I know men like Brandon. I have years of unwanted experience dealing with entitled men like him. I know how he'll react if I jump in there, guns blazing; I got a black eye when I was twelve to prove it. So instead, I take a deep breath for confidence and stagger between the trees.

"Nyah! Where'd you go? I fell into the mud and totally embarrassed myself in front of Connor!"

Lily and Brandon freeze.

"Oh, hey guys!" I continue, pretending I don't notice the obvious tension. "Thank God I found you, Lily. Look at me! I'm a disaster and fell into the mud in front of Connor!" I don't even know if there's a Connor here. Brandon drops Lily's arm, and she takes a step away, rubbing the spot he had been holding. "This is a level nine emergency, I need help."

"Level nine, huh?" she says, hurrying toward me, not looking back at him once. I force myself to nod along, to not give away how creeped out Brandon is making me feel, how no one would hear our screams unless they wandered away from the party.

Lily, like she went to acting camp along with modeling camp, doesn't miss a beat as she says, "That's serious. But don't worry, we can still fix it."

I pretend to be relieved, and a part of me is since Brandon's letting her go without a fight. "Really?"

"Yes. Come on, Siena." She grabs my hand, and just before I'm turned around, I catch the glare Brandon sends me. It makes shivers run up my spine, and I mentally note to steer clear of him at school.

"You're such a lifesaver," I say, keeping up the charade as we walk. Lily is shorter than me and still in those red heels, but I'm the one being forced to keep up with her pace. "I can't believe I did that!"

"I'm sure Connor doesn't think any less of you," Lily says, her voice confident, like none of that stuff with Brandon just happened.

We round the house and enter the large backyard. Brandon hasn't followed us, and I'm about to drop the act when Lily quietly says, "Thanks, Siena."

Despite knowing I was faking it, Lily still pulls me to the pool house. The door opens just as a group of girls are leaving, and Lily ushers me in and toward the bathroom, closing the door behind us. Only then does she drop my hand, and I realize how hard she was clutching it.

She places her hands against the sink and hangs her head. I stand there for a few moments, unsure of whether to go comfort her or give her space.

Lily sniffles. "God, he sucks."

"He does. I'm sorry that happened."

Lily wipes her face with a shaky hand, and I can't believe how well she masked her fear in front of Brandon, how she must have felt in the moment. "I really thought he was going to—" She cuts herself off and gives me a nervous look, like she forgot who she was talking to. "Never mind."

She turns to the mirror, dabbing at her eyes until it's almost impossible to tell she was crying. "Anyway, sorry to bring you into all this," she says, fixing her hair and straightening her shoulders. The Lily Liu everyone sees is back in place, and the vulnerable one I just witnessed has vanished.

"It's all right, I don't mind," I say.

She reaches for the door but pauses. "Thanks for out there, Siena. But please don't tell anyone."

I don't know why she doesn't want anyone to know what a huge dick that guy Brandon is, but I find myself nodding anyway.

"Thanks," she says. "And I know you're starting at King on Monday, so just be careful."

"Careful?"

"Yeah. Careful. Especially around some of the guys," she says.

I study her. That's a generic warning. We always have to be careful around guys, especially if they're anything like Brandon.

"Okay," I say.

"No." Lily steps closer to me, her gaze boring into me. "I mean it."

She's starting to creep me out, so I just nod at her again. Seemingly satisfied, she straightens her faux fur jacket. "Have you found Gia?" I shake my head, and she sighs. "Maybe she's gone home. I think I'm going to head out anyway. I'll check at your house to see if Gia's there and keep you posted if she shows up."

I don't blame her for wanting to leave, and seeing if Gia's already there is a smart idea too. It's one less person to look for Gia, but at least Jason's helping. He seems to know people; I'm sure he's making more progress than I have. Maybe he even knows if she left with someone.

"Thanks, Lily, I appreciate it."

We exit the pool house, and Lily smiles at a girl who comes up to her. I watch as she works the crowd like she wasn't just crying through an emotional breakdown. I wonder what's worse: feeling alone but not needing to put on a happy face for everyone or having all these friends and people who adore you but feeling the pressure to always be perfect around them.

A sound draws me back into the pool house. I'm standing behind a couch that's in front of a mounted TV that for some reason is turned onto the fish tank channel. This is a pretty big pool house; maybe Gia is passed out in one of the rooms here.

There's a couple making out on the couch, so I ignore them and walk around. There's a kitchen, bathroom, changing area, and room full of pool equipment, but all of them are empty. I head up the stairs; this place clearly doubles as a guesthouse. I knock on the closed doors, and when there are no gross sounds or answers, I poke my head in. There are two bedrooms, and Gia isn't passed out in either of them. This was the last place I could've looked. No one is allowed inside Warren's house, so she can't be there, and she isn't anywhere in the yard. I check my phone to see if she's answered any of my texts or called me back. She hasn't.

Downstairs, the couple is still on the couch, and I'm about to slip past them unnoticed when something makes me pause. I stare at the guy, anger burning in my chest, growing like an unchecked fire.

Jason doesn't owe me anything. He's not my friend. And yet, the betrayal of seeing him here with his tongue down a girl's throat instead of helping me look for Gia like he said he would infuriates me.

"That's just great," I seethe, causing the couple to jump apart. "This is how you help me?" I ask, almost blinded by my indignation. "You could've just dropped me off, I wouldn't have blamed you. But you volunteered to help me! You made me think other people were out here helping me! You made me think you cared."

Jason stares at me with wide eyes. The girl looks back and forth between us. Did he even bother looking for Gia? Did he jump right in here to have his fun and forget all about me?

Jason exchanges glances with the girl. "Um, do I know you?"

Now I'm seeing red. I knew he was infuriating, but this . . . this is next level.

"You are such an asshole," I snap. Jason is nothing to me, just a guy who I spent the last few hours with by chance, but still, I can't help the raw hurt that punches me in the gut. The weight on my chest that seemed to disappear during the time we spent together reappears tenfold, almost suffocating me.

I'm still wearing his stupid hoodie, the one that means nothing to him but brought me so much comfort, and I can't stand it. I can't stand it touching me, bringing me warm memories that I have no right to. With uncoordinated haste, I shove my arms through it and attempt to pull it off. It takes longer than normal, but no one says anything. Once it's off, I throw it at Jason. "Thanks for nothing."

Before he can say anything, I march back out to the party. I have no right to be as upset as I am, I know that, but I don't care. He said he'd help me look for Gia. I felt better knowing he would, and he decided to try to get lucky instead. I'm only upset because he's not helping me, not because he's with a girl. It doesn't matter what he was doing instead of looking. I don't care. It doesn't bother me. Not one bit. He could kiss all the girls he wanted after we found Gia. There's a sting in my heart and I ignore it, pushing down the hurt and instead focusing on anger.

The phone in my back pocket rings, and I fish it out, surprised it's still working. I groan when I see the number. This is not the time, but I can't ignore her calls.

"Hello?"

"Hi Siena," a calm woman's voice replies. Dr. Anusha Khan has been my social worker and assigned counselor through it all. She's nice enough, but she likes talking about my mother, and I hate talking about my mother, so she makes it hard for me to like our chats.

"Hi Anusha," I greet. Dr. Khan is my father. Call me Anusha, she'd said at our first meeting. I think it's to get me to think of her as more of a friend and less of a shrink, a little trick to get her patients to open up.

"I'm just calling to see how you're settling in. I tried earlier but my calls weren't going through." Her voice is a little warped from the speaker, but her words are clear.

"Yeah, sorry, I had no signal."

"Why didn't . . . Siena, what is that noise?"

I silently curse and clutch the phone. "Oh nothing. I'm just out."

"Are you at a party?" The disapproval is clear in her voice, and I silently curse again. I need her to like me. I need her to decide I'm okay and move on to checking in on other people. I need her to decide I'm good at Dario's and can stay with Gia.

I contemplate lying to her, but someone runs by me, yelling, "Dude, toss me a beer!" and now I can't tell her the loud music is from a gym or something.

"It's just a small get-together."

I hear her scribbling notes down as she calmly says, "Why are you at a party? I thought you'd be settling in with your dad? Reconnecting."

It's hard to tell what Anusha's thinking. She usually only has a few tones, and they're all slightly different from her normal calm, analyzing one. She has her neutral-interested tone, her neutral-disapproving tone, and her regular neutral tone. It makes it hard to read her and give her the answer I think she wants.

"He wasn't home. I haven't met him yet," I admit, and it sounds pathetic even to me, so I rush to add, "But I met Zia Stella, and she encouraged me to come and make friends, just like you did."

"And is that something you're interested in? Making friends? Only a few days after being acquitted of manslaughter? I thought you wanted a quiet evening?"

I did tell her that. I promised her I'd stay out of trouble. "It's a bonding experience for me and Gia," I lie. "Plus, you're the one who encouraged me to make friends, and that's what I'm doing."

"Hmm," she replies, and I can't tell which neutral-adjacent tone she's using.

"Everything's fine, Anusha. I'm settling in here. I'm going to like King City." I hate King City. I've only been here a few hours and everything's falling to shit and I can't find Gia. But she needs to believe everything's perfect.

A guy holding a red Solo cup saunters up to me and ignores my hand gestures to shoo him away. He looks me up and down, and I try turning away from him for some privacy, but he moves to stay directly in front of me. "I didn't know there was muddy bikini wrestling!" he says, his eyes raking over me, landing on my chest where the pink bra is still clearly outlined. "You definitely won. Can't believe I missed you, I bet it was hot."

"What did he just say?" Anusha's voice is neutral-interested, and I pull the phone away from my ear and plant my hand over the speaker.

"Fuck off," I hiss to the guy, who scowls.

"I was giving you a compliment," he grumbles, and I flip him off as I move away from him, successfully this time.

I place the phone back to my ear. "Maybe I can call you back tomorrow morning, Anusha, you know, after I've actually met my dad." After I've found Gia and gotten her home safely and can make Anusha believe I'm a perfectly well-adjusted kid recently released from prison.

"Hold on a minute, Siena," she says, and I have to keep in my frustrated groan. "Have you decided what you're going to do if people find out what happened? And that you're Florence's daughter? Your aunt told me that she's quite infamous in her hometown."

None of this is new information. All small towns know about the semifamous person that made it out, especially when she's always in the headlines for screwing up.

"No one is going to find out," I tell her, making the promise to myself and the universe. If they find out, I can leave when I turn eighteen. Gia's stuck here for years with Dario, and I don't want to subject her to the looks, stares, and harassment we've gotten elsewhere when people have found out.

"You can't control that, Siena," Anusha says. "But speaking of, has your mother contacted you since I last asked?"

She always ends our sessions with this question, and she never believes me when I give her the same answer. "Like I said before, I haven't heard from Mom since she dropped Gia and me off with Aunt Julie. It's been years."

"Hmm," It's the neutral-disapproving tone. She scribbles something else down as I sidestep a flying football.

"She's not going to contact me, Anusha."

"You'd tell me if she did, right?" Another question she always asks.

"Yes," I say, falling into our script. It's pointless. Florence wants less to do with us than our dad apparently does.

"All right then, I'll check in on you tomorrow," Anusha says as a group of boys near me start chanting, "Chug, chug, chug!"

"All right, bye, Anusha!" I hang up and groan, tapping the corner of my phone on my forehead a few times. I hope tonight didn't cause a red mark to be put next to my name in Anusha's books.

***

Gia isn't here. At the front of the house, I sit on the wide steps leading to the huge door. Jason's car is right in front of me, still haphazardly parked in the middle of the drive, like he doesn't care about people's ability to get around it, like he's too important. Like he was in a rush to help me.

I pull my phone out, and by some miracle, it works enough for me to order an Uber. It's a good thing too, because there's no way I could've asked Jason for a ride home, or called Zia Stella, or Dario.

I stare out at the yard. I can't see the front gates from here. The bubbles are almost out of control, completely engulfing the fountain and the grass around it. If possible, there are more cars parked around the property than the last time I was out here.

I don't know what to do. I hope Gia's at home already.

A car pulls up and I double-check my phone to see if it's my Uber, but a bunch of kids pile out of it—more kids than there are seat belts.

The last person to get out of the car is laughing at whatever someone is saying, until she looks up and meets my eyes.

"Gia!" I yell, marching up to her.

For a second, she looks guilty before her face morphs into a scowl. Her makeup is smudged, and she wobbles as she stands. She reeks of alcohol.

Her phone is in her hand; she's been deliberately ignoring my calls! "What the hell, Gia! You can't just ignore me!"

"Do you know this homeless girl, G?" one of the girls from the car asks.

G? Gia hates being called G.

"Her name is Gia," I say to the girl.

She raises an eyebrow at me and stands beside Gia. She appears to be around Gia's age and is taller than Gia but not as tan and has shoulder-length brown hair.

"It's fine," Gia blurts out, darting toward me unsteadily. "You're embarrassing me!" she slurs at me.

I realize that I probably look even worse than her. I'm covered in mud, disheveled, and wearing one shoe, but I don't care.

"Me! Embarrassing you? Gia, you're fifteen, and you're absolutely smashed! Keg stands? Seriously?"

Her jaw clenches as she looks away from me. Her "friends" look on from a short distance, leaning on the car. The driver pulls out a cigarette and lights it, and the smell makes it immediately obvious that it's not tobacco. Gia trusted this kid to drive. She's better than that. I taught her better than that.

"We're leaving," I tell her, holding on to her arm when she stumbles. She can barely even stand straight. "And you," I say to the driver who is clearly not sober, "give me your keys."

"Huh?" he asks, his eyelids heavy.

My anger is so palpable I'm practically shaking. This whole night has been absolute shit, and this is the shit-cherry on the shit–ice cream. "I said give me your car keys."

He looks at his friends in confusion. Gia pushes my steadying hand away and wobbles over to a tree before bending over in the shadows and puking.

I storm up to the boy and hold my hand out expectantly. He's lucky he got here in one piece and didn't hurt anyone in his car or another one. Up close he stinks of beer and smoke.

Tentatively, he reaches into his pocket and drops a cluster of keys into my hand.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," I lecture him as I attempt to undo the car key from the other keys in case one of them is for his house. "You don't drive while high and drunk! And you can't fit seven kids in the back of your Camry!"

He says nothing, just stares at me like he's struggling to keep up with the words coming out of my mouth, and that only frustrates me more.

"Is there a problem here?" a voice asks, and I turn to see Jason and Warren walking over to us. Yeah, now Jason pretends to care. His presence only pisses me off more.

"No," all the kids from the car answer. Gia's still puking by the tree. I want to go help her, but I need to deal with this first.

"Yes, there is," I tell them, my spine straight, my hands still fiddling with the stupid key ring. This kid must have twenty additional keys on it. Who needs that many keys? How many doors could he possibly need to open? To Warren, I say, "You let these kids come to your party and drive around drunk and high? And if they get in an accident or hit an innocent person, then what?"

Shadows pass over Warren's face. "No, I do not condone this type of behavior. What the hell, Chris?" he asks, then turns to the girl who called Gia "G." "And Brianna, what do you think your brother's going to say when he hears about this?"

She mutters something under her breath and looks down. I'm glad Warren seems responsible enough to scold them, but I still can't believe Gia got in the car with them. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely even grip the keys.

A hand closes over mine, a hand belonging to the boy I've been trying not to look at this entire time.

"It's all right," he says softly, taking the bundle from me and undoing the car key from the ring in one attempt. He tosses the cluster back to Chris, and it bounces off his chest before he even moves to try to catch it. My hands clench.

Jason turns his attention to the kids, and I can't see his face, but it must be scary because they practically shrink into themselves. "You'll get this back tomorrow morning," he states.

Now that they're being handled and can't hurt anyone, I rush over to help Gia. She's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when I get there and shoves me away when I reach for her.

"I heard all of that! You're so fucking embarrassing!"

"Embarrassing? Gia, you could have died or hurt other people! What's gotten into you? Don't you remember when—"

"God!" She cuts me off. "You're not my mom! Did you really have to go narc to your boyfriend?"

My head rears back. What's happened to Gia? She's never talked to me like this before, never defended an incapacitated driver before, and she's certainly never gotten in their car before. Is this what she's been like these past few weeks? Is this how she's been coping since Stan?

"My life has sucked since moving here!" she continues, refusing to budge. "And now you're trying to make it worse by ruining my social status. You weren't here, Siena!"

Her words are a kick in the gut. "I know, Gia. But I'm here now."

"Too little, too late." She shoves me and almost falls on her face. She might as well have stabbed me. She's going through a lot, I know. I shouldn't have expected her to just pick up and go on her merry way like nothing happened, the way I hoped she would. Just because I was acquitted and wanted everything pushed behind me doesn't mean she does. I wish I was there for her. I wish I could've given her someone to talk to.

She goes to another tree and bends over to finish emptying her stomach. I try to help her, but she weakly gestures me away, so I stand back a few feet, my heart breaking. I take a deep breath and push down the hurt that's rising inside me and threatening to make me spill tears. I can't cry in front of Gia. Right now, we need to get out of here, and then I can lock myself in my room and cry as much as I want.

"Hey," Jason says, and I immediately tense up.

"You don't have to pretend to care now, Jason," I say.

His brows draw together like he doesn't remember what happened fifteen minutes ago. "What?"

"I meant what I said in the pool house," I say, crossing my arms over my chest as if to shield myself from him. He's so achingly handsome, it almost hurts to look at him.

"Pool house? I didn't . . ." He trails off, but then a smile tugs at his lips. It's the first kind of smile I've seen him direct at me, and that small action transforms his whole face. I didn't think I could be any more attracted to him. I was wrong. And I hate it.

"Why are you smiling at me? I'm being serious."

He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head in amusement.

"You are an asshole. You know, guys like you think you can do whatever you want and not get called out on it with your perfect hair and your blue eyes and your black shirt and . . ." Wait, wasn't he wearing green in the pool house? I thought he had changed because he was soaked, but he's still wearing the black shirt, and it's still damp.

I turn to look around, and then freeze, because walking around the house from the backyard is Jason. I swivel to look at the Jason behind me, my Jason, who's not even trying to hide his grin anymore, then back to the imposter walking toward us.

The Jason who's not Jason pauses when he sees me. His eyes go from me, to Jason, back to me. Realization registers in his eyes, and now he's full-out laughing.

"Wh—" I look back and forth between Jason and not-Jason. Now that I think of it, compared to not-Jason, Jason's hair is a bit shorter, less messy; his eyes are a bit deeper, a bit more intense.

It finally clicks in my mind, and I remember something Nyah said earlier. I turn to Jason. "That's your brother."

"Yeah. Jackson. We're twins."

"So, in the pool house . . ."

"Did you call my brother an asshole?" He's immensely amused, and I can literally feel the blood draining from my face. Of course, it's Jason's twin. I should've known something was off right away. He holds himself differently from Jason, and he's dressed completely differently.

Jackson finally reaches us. He stands beside his brother, and I want to facepalm. The difference between them is minute, but to me it's so clear it's almost laughable that I mixed them up before. It is laughable according to Jason and Jackson.

I thought Jason was intimidating, but two of them, standing beside each other like a tall, unfairly good-looking brick wall, makes me take a step back.

Jackson hands me the black hoodie, and my fingers curl around its familiar softness. "I think you meant to throw this in Jason's face."

I'm saved from my mortification when a car pulls up and my phone dings. I use the distraction to check it, and see that it's my Uber.

"Sorry for calling you an asshole," I tell Jackson, and then don't wait for a reply as I stride over to Gia. She's leaning on a tree, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"We're leaving," I tell her. She can hate me all she wants, but there's no way I'm leaving her here to continue puking and probably unable to get home.

"I'm not ready to leave," she slurs, and this time I catch her before she stumbles.

"You're getting in the Uber."

I lead her to the car and open the door, where the driver greets me and confirms my name. I settle Gia into the seat and buckle her in, all while she weakly protests. As I shut her door and round the car, I make eye contact with Jason. His eyes bore into mine. I've only seen him look at me this intensely when he thought I'd been thrown out of a moving vehicle earlier this evening. Something stirs in my chest, but I ignore it. I get into my side of the car and confirm the address to the driver.

"Uh . . ." he starts, looking from me to Gia, who's groaning with her head against the seat rest. "You know if she throws up in my car it's a hundred dollars extra, right?"

"She'll be fine," I say, and need it to be true. I don't have that kind of money readily available, and I doubt I can ask Dario for it—I still haven't even met the man.

"All right," he says, then starts driving.

I couldn't wait to see Gia, it's all I thought about in our time apart. I thought she was doing better than me, hoped she was thriving away from Aunt Julie and LA. Now the moment is here and I've discovered my worst nightmare is coming true: Gia's not coping with it, not at all, and there's nothing I can do to make it better.

I grip something warm and soft, and only just realize I have Jason's hoodie, and I'm clutching it like a lifeline.

After a few moments of stewing in silence, I can't take it anymore. I know she's going through it, but getting in a car with a drunk driver after what happened to us with Mom's creepy stalker? She should know better.

"I can't believe you," I scold her. "Don't you remember what happened with Alice?" I point at my arm, where the scar is still visible from the crash. She's got one on her leg.

Gia scoffs. "Alice was arrested for that, I saw it, just like I saw you get arrested." Her head rolls against the headrest to look at me. "But she didn't get arrested for murder."

She doesn't mean that, I know she doesn't. She's drunk and upset and goading me. I take deep breaths like Anusha showed me during our mandatory five-minute meditations before each session, forcing myself not to take the bait.

Instead of answering her, I grit out, "It was so irresponsible of you."

Gia laughs. She actually laughs. It's a drunken, lazy laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because I'm about to get real fucking irresponsible," she slurs, then leans over, and pukes all over the Uber's floor mats.