One week after Macy went missing, I woke up alone.

Sitting up, I ran my hand over my face, frozen from sleep, and tried not to flinch when I noticed my reflection in the mirror on my closet door. It was probably a good thing Lucca hadn't spent the night like he'd asked yesterday. I looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to my soul. My eyes were deep-set, sunken, bleary and red. My cheeks were still wet, and my lips were chapped.

I could only vaguely remember my dream, one that starred Macy Stinson, a massive body of water and the soft whistling of my best friend. I must've been harboring some serious resentment toward Lucca if I was having nightmares where he was involved in Macy's disappearance.

My phone beeped from my nightstand and I picked it up. It was a text from my mother, informing me that breakfast was ready if I wanted to get my butt out of bed.

Knowing I couldn't hide in my room all morning, I rolled off my bed and trudged into the bathroom. After washing my face, I pulled a sweatshirt on and left my room.

Still not totally awake, I padded down the stairs. I ran my hands through my hair in hopes of making it a little more presentable. Lucca said my morning hair was sexy, but I disagreed. Personally, I felt like I looked as if I had just gone through a wind storm.

In the dining room, I found what I'd been expecting—Mom carrying food in while Lucca set the table. I wasn't surprised to see him; my best friend hadn't missed a Saturday morning breakfast since we were fourteen. What I hadn't been expecting, of course, was Lucca's younger brother to show up as well.

"Nicky," I said, surprised.

Even though I'd grown up with both Nicky and Lucca, it was just surprising to have the younger Davenport in my kitchen again. Nicky used to enjoy hanging out with Lucca and me, but for the past few months, he'd been distant.

In the week since Macy had disappeared, I'd seen Nicky even less than usual. I only caught the rarest of glimpses of him as he went around a corner, avoiding any form of human interaction.

He was almost like the Yeti, but tanner and blonder and not as hairy.

Despite all this, it was a pleasant surprise to see Nicky's adorable face. He was pretty much a carbon copy of Lucca; the only things different were his startlingly green eyes and his Mohawk.

While they might've looked alike, the Davenport brothers couldn't have been any different when it came to their personalities. Where Lucca was a party-boy with an aversion to school, Nicky was practically a genius, taking college level classes in his sophomore year.

Lucca cleared his throat as I sat next to his brother. "We were just talking about Nicky's obsession with Mrs. Stinson."

I looked at Nicky in surprise as I drew my legs up to my chest. "What?"

"It's not like that," Nicky said, glaring at his brother. "I've been helping her around the house since Macy disappeared. I wouldn't call that obsessive. I'd call that polite."

Lucca gave me a pointed look.

Nicky liked to pretend that because we weren't as smart as he was, we hadn't figured out his little "secret." Nicky was brilliant in a lot of ways, but when it came to hiding secrets about his love life, he was pretty dense.

We all knew that Nicky and Macy had something going on. Nicky had begun "tutoring" Macy in the middle of our junior year—which made no sense for a myriad of reasons. While Macy wasn't a genius, she was on the honor roll. I'd also never actually seen them studying. And who needed a tutor during summer?

We'd let that lie slide for a while. We weren't going to pester Nicky about what he did in his free time, even if his choice in company was questionable.

But with Macy's disappearance, it was a lot harder for Nicky to pretend that he was just Macy's tutor. If that were the case, why would he be so upset? Why would Mrs. Stinson keep calling him, as Lucca has reported? And why would he be avoiding his brother and me like we had the plague?

"She's just really stressed out. The police aren't doing anything to find Macy." Nicky sighed. He looked up from the table and turned his head to stare at me. "You two talked the night she disappeared, right? What did you talk about?"

Lucca said, "Seriously, Nickolas?"

Nicky's eyes pleaded with me to understand. "I thought that maybe if we knew what you guys talked about, we could—"

"Just stop." Lucca interrupted his younger brother with a disgusted shake of his head. "We talked about this before. She has no clue what happened to Macy."

Except that's what everyone thought. The whole town knew Macy and I had fought at the party. It had recently come to light that after I'd left, Macy had told everyone at the party she was going to talk to me—and that was the last time anyone had seen her.

The look on Nicky's face promised this conversation wasn't over. I stared back, refusing to be the first to look away. After a long moment, in which Lucca cleared his throat loudly, Nicky finally sighed and dropped his gaze.

"What are you guys talking about?" Mom asked as she came swishing through the kitchen door again, this time with orange juice tucked under her arm.

"Macy Stinson," Nicky said, without looking at Lucca or me.

At the very mention of Macy, her entire face drained of color.

Macy's disappearance had been a shock to every parent. My mom, in particular, didn't know how to handle it. At first, her anger at the police thinking I'd had something to do with the disappearance had kept her from thinking too hard about what was happening.

For the most part, the police had backed off (the "for now" was implied). They had no evidence, so they decided to pursue other leads. This gave Mom a lot more time to think about what Macy's disappearance meant.

Mom had grown up in Hanover and had decided to stay here to start a family with Dad because she thought small towns were safer. In the past week, she'd spent a lot of time checking and rechecking and then triple checking the locks, the alarm system, and my room. I'd woken up from more nightmares to my mother standing in the doorway, looking at me, than I did to my alarm clock.

"The conversation is over," Lucca said, giving Nicky the stink eye before he smiled at Mom. "It's nothing, really, Mrs. Buchanan."

While Mom typically would've corrected Lucca and told him to call her Laura, she just looked at her hands, as if she didn't know what to do with them.

"Has there been anything new?" Mom asked, looking at Nicky like she knew neither Lucca nor I wanted to participate in this conversation.

"Nope," Nicky said, popping the p. "Pretty sure they've just about given up. I heard Mrs. Stinson yelling at some officers the other day. They think that maybe Macy ran away." Nicky rolled his eyes to prove the validity of that theory.

Lucca sighed. "Nicky," he said, "I think we should talk about how much time you've been spending with Mrs. Stinson."

Nicky crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin petulantly. "I promise not to overstay my welcome, Mom."

Even though Lucca didn't seem to notice the jab, I winced for him.

Ever since Anna Davenport ran out on her family, Lucca had been the one taking care of Nicky. Mr. Davenport's version of parenting involved a lot of business trips, nannies and sleepovers at my house.

Lucca, being the oldest, had always acted like Nicky's parent. I could tell that in the past week, the responsibility was weighing on him. He wanted to take care of Nicky, but he also wanted to take care of me and he couldn't seem to figure out who needed him more, especially when both of us were pushing him away.

"Well," Mom said, drawing the attention back to her as she set juice on the table, her face still pale. I had a feeling she wanted to bow out of this conversation. "I think it's very sweet of you, Nicky, to care so much about Mrs. Stinson."

Nicky's cheeks flushed. "Thanks, Mrs. Buchanan."

Still not quite herself, Mom ruffled Nicky's spiky hair and said, "You guys should start eating. I'm going to go into the kitchen for a moment."

Once my mom was out of the room, Lucca sat at the kitchen table. "So, what's the game plan for today, troops?"

"Mrs. Stinson asked me to come to the press conference today."

I looked at Nicky.

"Damnit, Nicky!" Lucca slammed his hand on the table, and I jumped in surprise. "I thought we talked about this already. You need to put some distance between you and Mrs. Stinson."

"This press conference is important, Lucca."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked, glancing between the two brothers.

"If someone took Macy, they need to see that there are people here who care about her. And if she left on her own, the police said that if she sees us on TV, asking her to come home, she might."

"That's a horrible idea, Nickolas." Red crept up Lucca's neck and spread across his face. I could see the anger building but wasn't sure I knew how to curb it. "I know you think you like Macy, but—"

"Think I like her?" Nicky echoed, his eyes wide. He didn't look angry, exactly, but perhaps surprised that his brother would say something like that. Even I was a little stunned. "Lucca, I don't think I like Macy. I know I love her."

Oh, man.

Silence descended over the table.

Lucca looked like he was about to blow a gasket while Nicky looked close to tears. I couldn't tell which one I wanted to be dealing with less: the livid older brother or the destroyed baby of the family.

If I had the choice, I would've hightailed my ass right out of there.

The moment stretched out until the tension was pulled taut across the table. Lucca, seeming to catch his composure, spoke in a scarily calm voice. "You're not going."

Nicky's gaze sharpened. "Yes, I am, and you can't stop me."

"Like hell I can't," Lucca seethed. Yup, so much for remaining calm.

"Guys, come on." I tried to sound soothing, but based on the looks the Davenport boys were giving each other, I wasn't succeeding. "Maybe we should talk about this later, after everyone has had time to think things through—"

"No," Lucca interrupted me. "He isn't going."

"Shut up, Lucca!" Nicky blew up, standing and shoving the chair back. It clattered loudly behind him as it fell. He pointed at his brother, his hand shaking. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Really?" Lucca stood up, too. His chair skidded across the dining room. "I've been doing it for years since you can't do shit by yourself."

"Fuck you," Nicky snarled. "You don't get to decide everything for me!"

"Come on." I shook my head at them. "You guys are acting like children."

"Just shut up," Nicky snapped at me.

"Hey," Lucca said sharply. "Don't be a dick to her. It's not her fault."

"No, it's yours. And your inability to let other people make their decisions," Nicky replied. "I know you like to pretend you are, but you aren't my parent, Lucca."

It was in moments like this that the boys reminded me of their father. Large, loud, intimidating, cruel—they radiated power and arrogance and said whatever they wanted.

"Yeah, thank God," my best friend scoffed, "I'm not surprised that both of ours ditched you."

"Oh my God," I said and stood up. "Lucca—Nicky—"

"No." Nicky held up a hand. "I get it. You don't have to make excuses for him. I know how my brother is." He spun around. "I'll be with Mrs. Stinson if anyone needs me."

A few seconds later, the front door slammed so hard the whole house shook. I stared at the kitchen table. About ten seconds passed before Lucca, slowly, turned and picked up his chair.

"I should go after him," Lucca said flatly.

I glanced up. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Lucca stared toward the front door. "I don't know, but I can't just let him walk away from me after I said something like that. Shit." He scraped his hand down his face. "I can't believe I said that."

My heart stumbled in my chest when Lucca met my gaze. His eyes were slick with emotion. "Lucca, you didn't mean it. Nicky knows that."

He just sighed. "I have to go. I wanted to stick around today, but I need to talk to Nicky."

I inhaled sharply. "I get it. It's okay. You can go."

Lucca rolled his eyes as he left the dining room. "I don't know why I expected you to put up a fight."

"That's not fair," I said. I followed him into the hallway. "I don't want you to go, but you have to take care of Nicky right now. He's your brother."

Lucca's eyes flickered over my face. "And you're my best friend."

I felt my body soften. "I know—and I appreciate that, but Nicky needs you more right now. I'll still be here when you're done."

Lucca seemed to relax immediately. He pulled me against his chest for a hug.

"I love you, Ozzy," Lucca murmured against the side of my head as he planted a kiss on my temple. "I know things have been weird, but I love you, no matter what." He squeezed me one last time before he left.

I stared blankly at the front door.

"Hey. Are you okay?" I jumped at the sound of my mom's voice and turned around. She stood in the doorway to the dining room.

"Did you hear all that?" I asked.

She smiled thinly. "How could I not?"

I sighed loudly. "This whole situation is just so messed up. I don't know what to do."

Mom tilted her head, her blonde curls falling over her shoulder. I was, once again, struck by how different we looked. Even though I had grown up knowing I was adopted, it occasionally took me by surprise whenever I remembered we weren't blood.

Sometimes, I couldn't help but think that my life wasn't fair. I got these dedicated, great parents and they weren't even technically mine, while kids like Lucca and Nicky got abandoned by their blood.

"I know now isn't the best time, but I have to go into town and run some errands. Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"No. I'm good." I forced a smile.

"Alright. I'll be back in a bit." Mom disappeared back through the kitchen, but I didn't move quite yet. After a few minutes, I heard the garage door open and shut.

I was still standing at the base of the stairs when I heard my cell phone start ringing upstairs.

My first thought, stupidly, was Macy.

It made no sense that it would be her, but...I took the stairs two at a time anyway.

In my room, I found my phone sitting in the middle of my bed. I snatched it up and managed to answer on the last ring. I barely noticed that it was a blocked number.

"Hello?" I blurted out.

"Oz."

The familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Oz," Macy said again. "I need your help."