MY MOM TRIED TOO HARD to convince us boys that she wasn't a cool mom.

But come the weekend, also known as our seventeenth birthday celebration, she was totally cool. She let Jamie and I occupy the house and gave us permission to throw a party — with alcohol and no parental supervision — something that she'd never have done ten years ago.

Vallen, our older brother, got the stricter version of Mom as he was growing up, but she'd mellowed right out after dealing with us twins' competitive antics when we were younger. Broken PlayStations, stained wallpaper, fractured limbs, nearly passing out trying to win breath-holding competitions — we did it all.

Now, she was wholly done with cleaning up with our messes. She didn't want any responsibility or knowledge of the shit we got up to, because it would just give her heart palpitations. Saturday morning Jamie and I went out for a birthday brunch with our big, extended family: our grandparents, Vallen and his husband, Aunty Rina, Sophie and Luke were in attendance.

Then the teenagers plus Luke spent the day at home chilling and watching movies before we had to start preparing for the party later tonight. Mom and Dad decided to spend the night at the Olsens' place with Aunty Rina. They were just about to depart, taking Luke with them, but not before laying down very detailed ground rules. This was the first party being hosted at our house, after all, at least since Vallen was in high school.

"Dad and I are going to open the front door at ten tomorrow morning. Exactly ten o'clock, atomic time," Mom explained. "We'll literally arrive slightly before and wait in the car until ten before we knock, so you can pretend it's like the movies where there's a very precise countdown till when you're busted," she continued, in a voice that brooked no misunderstanding. "Enjoy yourselves tonight, but I expect to see no rubbish, no bottles, no cups, no stomped-in food, no odd smells, no naked ladies in your beds, and certainly no grandchildren in the making."

Jamie laughed and rolled his eyes, but Mom snapped, "I mean it, Jamie. Franny's a lovely girl, but until you move out, you're a child. Children can't have children. Look at me. Yes?"

Jamie reluctantly stared her down and nodded, "Yes."

"Good," she smiled. Her gaze slid to Sophie, reading a book on the living room couch. "Sophie's going to be the one to bring the cake out and do the candles and everything. I've also told her to call me if anything gets broken, or too loud, or too pregnant. Won't you, love?"

"Yes," Sophie replied sweetly. Goody-two-shoes.

"Perfect," Mom smiled. "Happy birthday, boys. Love you."

"Love you, Mom. Love you, Dad," Jamie and I replied in unison. Satisfied that we were adequately incentivised to behave, Mom opened the door and slipped out. Before Dad followed her, joining her and Luke in the car, he gave us a wink.

"Have fun, sons." Jamie and I grinned at Dad. What a good sport.

Then the front door clicked shut, an engine sputtered to life and the house became occupied only by juniors.

"Alright." Jamie clapped his hands together loudly. "Party-proofing."

He and I sprang into action. I ran upstairs to get the cardboard boxes I'd taken from the supermarket. When I came down the stairs, Jamie had stripped the walls of all the framed photos. He placed them into the box in my left arm, and took the one in my right.

Sophie asked pointedly, "What are you doing?"

"Mom said you're going to nark if anything gets broken or pregnant, so we're preparing," I responded.

All the photo frames went into the box. So did the glass figurines on the fireplace mantle. The clock on the wall. The lamp in the corner of the living room went into the linen closet upstairs — we couldn't trust people to stay out of the boys' rooms, so the laptops, PlayStation, and consoles were also going to spend the evening in the boxes.

Jamie duct-taped all the cabinets and cupboard shut. We'd bought wooden cutlery and paper cups and napkins for everyone. No-one had any reason to be foraging through them, so keeping them closed via some heavy adhesive strength was the safest bet.

I closed up the boxes and stored them under the bed in the master bedroom, which we'd hoped people would be polite enough to stay out of. "Final touches," Jamie said proudly.

My final touch was a huge birthday card, placed on the credenza in the entry hallway. I wanted everyone who came to write a short message. Yes, for memories, but also to check if my hater had attended the party. They might have even signed off their message with a name.

Jamie's final touch was a bowl full of condoms, slid onto the coffee table.

"That's revolting," Sophie grimaced.

I rolled my eyes. "That's safe sex."

Jamie chirped, "Not relevant to you, Soph, because no guy would ever go near you—"

"—you may have party-proofed the house, but I've still got my phone," she interjected smoothly. "Also, I've got Aunt Kate's trust so if you get on my nerves again, the party will be over before it's started. Got it?"

"Got it," we echoed. Man, when Sophie's angry, she's almost as bad as Nova.

I'd hate to ever be the one standing in her way.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Thanks to the party-proofing endeavours Jamie and I embarked on in the afternoon, I was enjoying my birthday with an utterly peaceful demeanour.

I didn't have to worry about broken or stolen valuables, teen pregnancy, or even entertaining my ex — who, to the disappointment of every single football player — was uninvited. Sorry, no hard feelings towards Ursula, but I didn't want to get stuck comforting her on my birthday. Or get bitch-slapped again.

Kay got his older brother to provide two kegs of beer as his birthday gift to us twins. That very nearly made me declare him my best friend out of everyone including Jamie, but I refrained because, after all, it was Jamie's birthday, too. Everyone took from the kegs at their own discretion, and red solo cups soon dotted the throng of students inside the house like Christmas lights.

Jamie and I invited everyone we could think of. We told the football team to invite whoever they liked, we told Sophie to invite whoever she liked and to tell whoever they invited to invite whoever they liked. I mean, we only turned seventeen once. Depending on how this party went, we might never get to throw another house party — we'd see what happened with Mom tomorrow morning — so we had to go all out tonight.

Sophie drank, like, one cup and called it a night. I think she thought she was the chaperone tonight, but both Jamie and I had a tacit agreement to keep watch over our baby cousin. Sure, she was nerdy and uptight as hell, but there were a lot of people around tonight — most familiar, a few not.

Part of the reason she got no male attention whatsoever was because of us, actually. If we had anything to say about it, she'd die a virgin in Bishop because, as far as we were concerned, no guy here was good enough for her.

When I saw that Sophie, Gray and Nova were chatting on the stairs, and Jamie was entertaining Franny and the football team around the beer pong table, I drifted to the backyard. I was a hyperactive drunk, so now my head was swimming and every part of me drenched in sweat.

Gosh, it's hot in here.

The cool night air was incredibly refreshing as soon as I slid open the patio door. In the backyard, I saw blonde tangles and a flash of smooth, tanned legs.

Avalon was sitting with her back to me on the hammock, pushing herself slowly back and forth. She held a plate of the birthday cake that Sophie had dished out for everyone and a red solo cup in the other. A simple white dress under an olive green cardigan. When I sat down next to her, the hammock dipped and we fell closer to the center.

"Happy birthday, Jake," she drawled lazily. She raised the cup to her lips and drank a long sip. In the thin, yellow-ish light of the porch light, I noticed her cheeks were flaming red. It was a nice contrast; red skin, and blue eyes.

Avalon and I drank in silence, till I glanced down her bare legs and a thought struck me. "Are you cold?" I mean, it was the dead of night, and we were outside. I was being a gentleman.

But she was not impressed. Her full, peachy lips fell open as if I'd just asked her if she wanted to have sex with me. "You did not just ask that."

"I'm pretty sure I did." Part of being a good party host was making sure no-one caught a cold, right?

"It's seventy-five degrees," she deadpanned. Then she shot a string of derisive comments my way, the sarcasm absolutely dripping from her tongue. The icing from the cake had turned it slightly blue, I noted absentmindedly. "So, yes, I'm freezing. Please, Jake, shed your clothes and protect this damsel in distress from hypothermia."

"Hypothermia's possible!" I retorted indignantly, my brain buzzing as it tried to catch up with Avalon's quick speech. To prove my point, I said, "I'm feeling a little chilly myself right now," even though I was burning up.

Avalon's eyes rolled and then softened into two amused sapphires. "Oh, poor thing." She shed her green cardigan, draping it over my shoulders. Her voice was inflated with pomp and arrogance as she said, "Here you go, bub."

I guffawed at the masculine dignity in her voice. Was that what I sounded like when I did that?

"Thank you," I giggled coyly.

That made Avalon dissolve into laughter herself, hiding her angelic face into her chest. "You're welcome."

With her cardigan around me, her scent easily danced its way into my head. She smelt fresh and clean, like cucumber, or lime without the sourness, or vanilla without the sweetness. Just unassuming, subtle traces of flavours that had me wanting to press her clothing to my nose and take a deep inhale, chasing them all the more.

"Want to head back in?" To my bedroom?

Woah. Where had that come from? This was Avalon Taylor I was sitting next to. Honker of loud brass instruments, straight-A student, Europe-bound Avalon Taylor. If someone made a Venn diagram of the things we had in common, it'd look like a pair of boobs. Two separate orbs.

"Not really," she yawned, shoving another forkful of cake into her mouth.

I nodded, swinging my legs up onto the edge of the hammock. Avalon wordlessly caught on, adjusting and scooting herself around until we were both lying against the fabric, face to feet. Well, except she was so short compared to me that her shoes only met my forearm.

Before she got fully comfortable, Avalon wriggled her butt around her side of the hammock. Her bare calf brushed against my arm, and a jolt of warm electricity shot to my centre. Her skin was so supple, completely soft to the touch. Wow. By all accounts, I thought I was a hyperactive drunk, but maybe I had to change that to horny drunk.

I removed her cardigan from my shoulders and draped it over my crotch, hiding my growing erection. Make conversation. Take your mind off those full lips, those silky legs—

"I'm not a bad person, am I?" I blurted.

Aw, man. Was that the best thing I could have come up with? I was usually the first person to avoid deep introspection, as evidenced by my meeting with Mrs. Ackerman earlier in the year.

Avalon shrugged, sipping her beer. "No, you're not."

"Aren't you going to ask me why I asked that?"

"I already know. You're still stuck on that anonymous hater you have." Her dark blonde eyebrow arched, gauging the accuracy of her statement. When I didn't object, she continued, "Since this is the first person in your entire life that didn't fall for your jockish charm, you can't get them out of your head."

My jaw dropped. Had she picked up all these emotions from that one time she drove Jamie and me home? Or had I always been that transparent, since the day we met?

"It's a classic ego play. Very predictable, but you can vent about it if you want. I'm all ears."

"No," I pouted.

I was hurt now. Who was she to slice through me like that? Without a beat of uncertainty either. I felt entirely stereotypical, and completely boring — if the composed, vaguely interested expression on Avalon's face had anything to say about it.

Maybe I was also a sensitive drunk, though I also had never been that before tonight. Was it being seventeen? Was it Avalon?

"Come on," she chuckled. "I'm sorry."

"No," I repeated petulantly.

She widened her soulful eyes and I nearly fell into them, acquiescing to her demands. "Please?"

"No," I sniffed. "You made me feel babyish."

Avalon blinked, stunned. I guess it looked a bit odd, a six-foot wide receiver pouting about being considered childish. She threw her head back and laughed blatantly at me, fighting away the cackles to remark, "You're a little babyish, you have to admit."

Her full-throated laughter made a smile blossom on my face, which I fought to quell. No. I had to stay mad at her. If I let myself get swept away by her ugly laughing and pretty face, I'd get turned on again—

"Fine, I'm babyish," I continued determinedly. "I want everyone to love me, and I need external validation to feel good about myself. Happy?"

"Can't complain," she deadpanned. Took another bite of cake. "This cake is very tasty. Compliments to your mom."

Crap. Every second thing she said made me want to smile or laugh. Good thing her cardigan covered the evidence. "Your turn. Talk."

"Worüber?"

I blinked. An incredulous laugh shot out of me. "I can't believe I have to specify, but please talk in English."

"Okay," she hummed thoughtfully. She said self-explanatorily, "I'm learning German." Another pensive silence. She recalled that conversation we'd had at the start of the year: "I'm going all-in for college in Europe, so it's about time I start picking up some language skills. Even though every German speaks English these days."

"Impressive," I remarked. Then, for egotistical purposes, "How do you say: I love Jake?"

"Ich liebe Jake," Avalon returned evenly.

"Ick leeber Jake," I repeated. Her eyes crinkled humourously and she shook her head, tossing her tangles around her beautiful face. I thought my German was a pretty close approximation, but clearly not.

"Ich," she corrected, chortling all the while.

"Ick," I said. What? I was totally getting it right.

"Ich," she stressed, still overcome by mirth. I heard it that time, what she was trying to demonstrate, the guttural rasping at the back of her throat.

"Ichhhh," I echoed, emulating what I heard. This time Avalon just gave up, unable to speak while she laughed at poor foreign language skills. Welp. I tried. I brought my cup to my lips, hiding my grin.

She shrugged. "Yeah, good enough."

"Ich liebe Jake," I hummed proudly. Avalon turned her head to the side, watching the night sky. I admired the curve of her cheekbones, her elegant profile — for completely objective purposes — before turning to behold what she was staring so enchantedly at.

Another thing I appreciated about Bishop. It was too small to light-pollute, so there was always a fairly clear view of the stars, given that it was a cloudless night. Which, today, it was. The stars winked and shimmered above, completely like every other night I'd seen them, but somehow tinted warmer than before.

A meteor streaked across the sky, slow but kind of fast. Every Bishop resident had seen countless of those over the years, and I still had no better way to describe them than slow but kind of fast. Burning bright, too. "Did you see that?"

Avalon nodded. "Yes."

"Make a wish," I prompted.

She shut her eyes, then blinked them open lazily. I didn't know how much she'd had to drink, but she was coherent enough to speak and joke and psychoanalyse me, so I figured she was doing alright. I shut my eyes, too, rattled off a quick wish, and when I opened my eyes Avalon was directing her shrewd gaze at me.

She let me know when she'd made her wish. "Okay."

"Tell me."

"That jinxes the wish."

"Wishes don't really work," I scoffed. "Duh."

Avalon exclaimed mock-angrily, with a smile, "Then why'd you tell me to make one?"

"Because it's what people do when you see a shooting star. But what you do after that, well, that determines whether your wish comes true or not." Never leave things up to fate.

She rolled her eyes but I thought she agreed with my logic. At any rate, she told me her wish. "I want to see the world. You?"

I wish you're not the one who hates me.

I replied, "I want to see the world, too."

Avalon nodded knowingly, extending her graceful arm towards me. The rims of our paper cups met with a dull tap. Then we downed the rest of our drinks and went inside.

By the time two a.m. rolled around, the house was pretty much vacated. Avalon had sobered enough to drive herself and Sophie home. All the football players offered to take a cheerleader home, and Killian was crashing in the guest room — Vallen's old room before he moved out. Jamie and I decided to clean the house and replace all the fragile items we'd stowed away before going to bed, rather than in the morning.

Then Mom could do her dramatic coming-home scene only to find the house perfectly clean, nothing broken, and her twins soundly sleeping their hangovers off. The condom bowl was now empty — whether people actually used them tonight, or stashed them for later, I'd never know — and I took the card from the credenza.

It was slightly sticky, but in perfectly good shape. I ran my eyes through the birthday wishes.

By this time, I'd stared at the hate note that I'd memorised both its look and its meaning. I could list all ten things off the top of my head, and I could pick the handwriting out of a lineup at first glance. On the inside of the card I saw nothing of note — other than well-wishes from all my loved ones, of course, which I dearly appreciated — and fell victim to a wave of disappointment.

Then on the back side of the card, in the bottom right corner by the spine, a sentence immediately caught my eye. Neat cursive. Smoothly-rounded. Perfectly circular Os. Two simple words.

Stop looking.

It should have pissed me off that someone who clearly disliked me had infiltrated my party — drunk Kay's beer for free, even — and slipped away without being caught. It should also have pissed me off that they knew I was looking for them and decided to leave a taunting mockery of that, but it didn't.

I felt alive. Excited. Fucking burning to find out who it was and squeeze the truth of their hatred out of them.

Had I made their crush fall for me? Did I cheat off their answers in the past? Why didn't they like my sense of humour, for fuck's sake?

I was most certainly not going to stop looking.

No, now that I knew my secret detractor had made themself a player, the game was on.