I don't tell Sam or Claire about the mystery guy, even though he's literally all I can think about. It's been over seven hours since he walked out of the shop, and he's somehow still affecting me. My fingers are still tingling, and I'm beginning to wonder if they're going to tingle forever. My heart feels like a hummingbird in my chest. I think about him throughout the entire movie, too. Honestly, if I was given a test on it I probably would fail. Hardcore. Like, big red F stamped on the paper kind of fail. But I bet I could tell you every tiny detail about the guy, from his sweaty hair to his long eyelashes. Everything about him is tattooed across my brain. Except his name. Ugh, I can't stop kicking myself for that. Why had I not thought to ask him his name? Am I really that dense of a human being?

"You're so quiet tonight, Lor," Sam says, and I jump at being addressed directly. We're walking out of the movie theater. I'm still carrying the half empty large tub of popcorn we were all sharing. And I have no idea what happened to my empty pop cup. "Are you okay?" she asks, a small frown forming in the lines of her mocha-colored skin. "Did you not like the movie?"

"Of course she didn't," Claire replies before I can even open my mouth. "You know she's not big into these superhero movies."

I shake my head. "No. It's not that." They both look at me expectantly, and I take a deep breath. "Sorry. I guess I just have a lot on my mind tonight."

Sam smiles and nods. "Oh, I know. You're excited about Juilliard, right?" The knot, which has been lying dormant in my stomach since this afternoon, reawakens. I just nod my head. "I still can't get over the fact you're moving to New York. It's weird to think next year we're all going to be apart." They intertwine their arms with mine and put their heads on my shoulders. Sam sighs and says, "I'm going to miss these nights with the three of us together."

"Yeah, me too," I say. The knot moves up into my throat, and I'm not sure if I want to cry or be sick. "But I'll be back, and so will you. I'm planning on coming back whenever I get a break."

"You better," Claire says, and I can hear how thick her voice sounds. Oh my God, she's about to cry. No, no, no! If she starts, then I'll start. But she just takes a breath, and in an instant the shakiness is gone, and its replaced by Claire's snarkiness. "And I don't want to hear we're going to stay in touch and then never talk to each other. I want daily messages from you bitches."

Sam and I laugh, and Claire does, too. Ahh, that's so much better. The knot is starting to loosen now. Laughter is the best medicine for fear. "I will, at least. I promise I will. And we'll video chat every night, right? Three-way."

"So nothing will change?" Sam says with an eye roll. More laughter. They both lift their heads off my shoulders, but their arms stay intertwined with mine. Sam pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks the time. "It's getting late. My parents will skin me alive if I don't get home soon."

I check the time on my own phone. It's only ten o'clock. I suppress an eye roll. Sam's parents are so strict. They always have been. She's eighteen and still has a bedtime. So dumb. My parents haven't given me a bedtime since I was ten, and Claire has never had a bedtime. And she's so passive that she won't fight them about it. That's one of the things we love about Sam. She almost never fights with us. It's hard to upset her, too, although Claire can be pretty good at pushing her buttons sometimes.

"It's only ten o'clock," Claire says, jutting out her bottom lip in a typical Claire-pout. "Sam, you should really protest for a later curfew. I mean, you're an adult now. It's time they started treating you like one, right?"

Sam shrugs her shoulders, but she doesn't say anything. For all intents and purposes, Claire and Sam are polar opposites. Where Sam is passive and kind of quiet, Claire is feisty and loud. She doesn't take anyone's crap, and she will dominate any argument. She can be kind of bitchy sometimes, especially when she doesn't like something we're doing. Claire is gifted in the art of pushing, something that drives me crazy at times. I don't like to argue. Usually, I just go with whatever they want to do. But Claire can bring out the worst in Sam sometimes. Sam may be passive, but that only goes so far. If you push her hard enough, well... things can get ugly. And since they're polar opposites, sometimes they clash in a way that can be totally disastrous.

I've known Sam and Claire since preschool, so we're really close. They're kind of like the sisters I never had, which is nice when you've grown up in a house with three older brothers. My mom and their moms are decently close, and every so often they go out and have a little bit of fun together. They call these nights their "No Kids Nights." We are not allowed to call them unless something is really wrong. Suzie joins sometimes, since she and my mom are like best friends. We call them The Four Musketeers when they're together. These are the only times my mom comes home drunk. And not even really drunk. Just really, really tipsy. And giggly. But do I ever ask where she's been all night? No. Not even once. Even though I'm pretty sure if I didn't tell my mom where I'd been all night, she would freak out. Parents have such double standards sometimes.

It's nice to have my mom be so close to their moms though, even if it has made it hard for us to get away with anything. Seriously, the level of communication they have between them is absurd. Growing up, if I was staying at Sam's, you bet our moms would be in contact, checking to make sure no funny business was going on. If plans changed, well... the cycle would continue. That's not to say we haven't ever gotten away with anything. It just means we had to try harder to do it. But Sam's parents were so overprotective they made it virtually impossible. It's been frustrating working around them over the years, but we still managed to find a few loopholes in the rules.

Sam doesn't talk about her curfew again, and Claire drops the subject. But it's a normal topic of discussion, so I know it'll be brought up again at least a dozen more times before the summer ends. The three of us make our way out of the theater and toward the parking lot. Sam and Claire came together because I was working, so I'll be driving home separately from them. Which is a good thing tonight. It gives me time to think—really think—about him. The mystery guy. My heart flutters at the mere thought of him. I bite my lip as I listen silently to Sam and Claire's conversation about the movie. Despite the fact that Claire insists she hates superhero movies, I think she actually likes them. She always has these deep conversations with Sam after the movies end, and one time I caught her reading something that looked an awful lot like fanfiction on her computer.

We say our goodbyes, which always take about ten minutes, and I get in my car. I don't move at first. I just watch them walk to Claire's car. Sam throws her head back and starts laughing at something Claire says, and I'm reminded of the mystery guy doing the same thing with me earlier in the day. I sigh and turn my car on, then slowly pull out of the parking space, checking to make sure no one is behind me before driving out of the parking lot and heading back to my house. Usually, I listen to the radio when I'm alone in the car, but today it's like I can barely hear the songs playing. My mind's too full. I just keep seeing his face. His crooked smile. His long fingers with the stubby chewed off nails. His bare chest. The whole scene is playing over and over in my head, and I keep imagining how it could have gone a different way. How I could've been smoother in our conversation. Showed more interest rather than looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

This is insane. I reach for my radio dial and turn the volume up, hoping that the music will force my mind to stay on track. I can't spend my whole life thinking about some guy I've never met, and how deliciously hot he was. There are more pressing things to be concerned about. Like my problem with my music, my fears about my future, and my neverending quest to find the perfect piece for the recital. I tap the steering wheel absentmindedly and flick on my blinker, turning onto the main highway. A song comes on the radio that piques my interest, but it's still not the one. I sigh in frustration, resisting the urge to slam my head against my backrest.

My stomach growls, and so I pull into a drive-thru and buy a double cheeseburger, a large fry, a diet pop, and an apple pie. While I'm waiting for the people at the window to hand me my food, I check my phone. Three missed calls and four new texts. The missed calls are from my mom and dad (two from mom, one from dad), and the texts are from Claire, Sam, and Suzie. I curse silently, realizing that I forgot to let my parents know I was going to a movie after work. They give me a lot of leeway now that I'm a legal adult, but they still kind of like to know what's going on. I can't call my mom while I'm driving, so I shoot her a quick text while I'm waiting to let her know where I am and to say I'm sorry. Then I reply to Sam and Claire, who are asking me if I work tomorrow. Then I read Suzie's text, but I don't reply. She wants to know what my set piece is going to be. I throw my phone on the floor, collect my food, and drive away.

As I'm driving, I hear my phone bing. Probably another message from Sam or Claire. I wait until I'm at a stoplight before I reach down and pick my phone back up. Yup, it's Claire. She wants to know if I'll go with her to a bonfire tomorrow night. She says Kev's going to be there. I groan. I hate parties, especially when Kev is one of the guests. He's such a cocky jerk. I still don't know what I ever saw in him. Honestly, I have no idea what Claire and Sam see in him now. You know, other than the fact he's gorgeous. But I text her yes anyway, because this is going to be our last summer together, and I want to spend it together. She writes me back instantly with a thumbs up and a heart-eyed emoji, and I smile despite my frustration. Then I place my phone on the passenger seat and head on home, trying not to think about the amount of drinking and socializing I'm going to have to deal with tomorrow night.

My stomach is an angry, growling monster, and I do one of the things my mom tells me never to do. I eat and drive, stuffing the apple pie in my mouth almost whole. Yup, I'm eating my dessert first. That's how I do things. My mom would kill me if she could see me right now. Apparently, it's as dangerous as texting and driving, something I also do if I'm in a pinch. And of course, my phone lights up again. Suzie. Again. I sigh and try to ignore her, taking my mother's advice. But Suzie doesn't like to be ignored, and before I know it, she's calling me. Mozart's Violin Concerto Number 3 begins to play, and I grit my teeth as I reach over and answer the phone, putting her on speaker.

"Lauren?" Suzie says, her voice soft and warm as always.

"Hey, Suzie," I reply, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. "I'm driving right now, so I really shouldn't be talking." She doesn't have to know she's on speaker and it's really no different than having someone else in the front seat with me.

"Oh," she says, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. She knows I've been ignoring her. I cringe, feeling like a total jerk. "Well, I was just wondering if you've chosen your piece for the recital yet?"

My entire body goes cold, and I shake my head. As if she can see me. "No," I answer. There's a pause on the other end, and for a second, I wonder if I've lost her. Then I hear a small sigh on her end. "I know. I've been trying to find something. I've just been really busy, and nothing has jumped out at me. But I'll call you as soon as something hits me."

"Okay," she says. Another silence. Ugh, it's so painful. Then she speaks again. "So, don't be mad at me. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now. But there's this competition in Spokane coming up." Oh my God. I know where this conversation is going, and I am not liking it at all. "The prize is ten thousand dollars, and I just thought... well, you know. It might be nice to have some money to buy things before you move to New York, right? Especially ten grand? I know you have the scholarship, but a little extra never hurts."

It's like someone just dumped a bucket of ice over my head. "I don't know, Suzie. I do have a lot going on. Preparing for a competition seems like a lot of hard work. When is it, anyway?" I can practically feel her wilting. She thinks I'm going to say no. I want to say no. I've barely been playing at all lately, and every time I think about playing, I start to feel that knot in my stomach.

"It's not for about six weeks." I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off. "Lauren, I know. Listen, if you don't want to do it, then I understand. I'm just really good friends with the host of the competition, and I was telling her about you. Then I showed her the video from your Juilliard audition your mom sent me, and her jaw hit the floor, honey. She wants to meet you. She says she has some connections with Juilliard, and I know you already got in, but it never hurts to make those kind of friends, you know?"

"It's just...." How do I tell her? How can I possibly begin to explain how scared I am of everything? She would never understand. She's told me about so much of her life from when she was my age, and she's always just radiated this confidence. She's perfect at everything, and I doubt she's ever failed at anything in her entire life. She just wouldn't get it.

"Just think about it for a couple nights, honey," she says. Again, I nod my head, even though I already have an answer in mind. "The deadline is coming up quickly though, so don't take too long. My friend says she'll be looking for your entry." I grit my teeth again. She already had this decided before she'd even talked to me about it. "It's a lot of money, Lauren. You could do some great things, and it could open doors for you in the future."

"Okay," I say. I squeeze the steering wheel so tightly that I feel like my fingers are becoming one with the rubber. "I'll do it."

She smiles. I can feel her smiling, and I smile, too, despite myself. "Honey, how wonderful! You'll do great! I'll email you all the information tonight. If you want to fill it all out when you get home, that would be perfect! I'll call my friend tomorrow morning to let her know."

"Awesome," I whisper, but I don't feel very awesome at all. I flick on my blinker and turn onto my street. "All right, well... I'm getting home now. I should get going."

"All right, sweetheart," she says sweetly. "I'll let you go. Fill out that information for me tonight, okay?" I nod my head again, and again I remember she can't see me. But she seems to take my silence for confirmation. "Okay, honey. I love you. I'll talk to you later."

"Right," I respond. "Love you, too." She hangs up the phone just as I turn into my driveway, parking my car beside my mom's blue SUV. I look up and see the lights are all off in my family's light blue house. My parents must've gotten my text and went to bed. I know I should probably go inside. I know my mom probably isn't asleep yet, and she's most likely in bed listening for me to walk through the door. But the knot in my stomach has moved up into my chest, and I'm having a really hard time breathing. I lay my head against the steering wheel and close my eyes, trying my best not to cry. What is wrong with me? I've been in a million competitions, and I've done so well in all of them. But this one... I don't know. I just don't want to do it. But I don't know how to say no. And even if I had said no, would she have even listened?

I stay in the car a few extra minutes. Then I see the kitchen light come on, and I know my guess was right and my mother is still awake. I turn off my ignition, open my car door, and make my way inside the house, taking deep, soothing breaths as I do. I don't want her to know I'm about to break. I don't want anyone to know. I'm not sure why. Maybe I just feel like if I don't say anything then it'll all go away. Or maybe it'll get better. But it's already been a couple months, and things are not getting better at all. And now I'm starting to wonder if they're going to, or if they're just going to get worse. I shake my head as I shove my house key into the keyhole, and then push the front door open, planting a fake smile on my face so my mother won't know what's going on inside my head.