The next evening, Clay called to ask me over to his house for dinner. "Meeting the parents, huh? Isn't that kinda serious?"

Clay gave one of his carefree laughs that melted my cold, dead heart. "I thought it was time. Besides, my sister invited her boyfriend over, and she's freaking out that our parents are going to scare him away."

"Okay, you found my weakness. I'm a sucker for young love."

"You are the best."

I went through three pairs of pants and five shirts before I settled on an outfit. I didn't want to be too casual, but I also didn't want to look like I was trying to impress them. It was stupid to care so much about meeting my friend's parents.

But Clay wasn't just an ordinary friend. If this were Carrie, I'd throw on some jogging shorts and a random t-shirt from my drawer. I certainly wouldn't have put on my best cologne.

Nor would I be bothering to gel my stupid fucking hair that would not comply with my wishes. No matter how much I fussed with it, my hair never seemed to go just how I wanted. That always seemed to be the case. On a regular day, it would look like it had just been freshly styled by a professional. Tonight, it flipped and flopped and stuck up in all the wrong places.

I finally gave up trying to perfect it after ten minutes. My efforts were only making it worse.

"You look spiffy," Mom said as I got to the bottom of the stairs. "Got a hot date?"

I shook my head and explained where I was going.

"You must really like him to meet his family. I didn't know it was serious between you two."

"We're just friends."

"If you say so." She raised her hands in surrender.

"He's straight!"

"If that's the case, then why are you dressed like you're about to go on a date?"

I looked down at my outfit—a basic maroon shirt and navy shorts with my gray lace-up Vans. I thought it was simple, but respectable. I didn't expect to get called out on it. "I just like to look nice sometimes."

"Mm-hmm." Mom walked over and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Sweetheart, don't make the same mistake you made with Alfie."

"This isn't even remotely the same thing. Alfie was my boyfriend. Clay is just my friend. I know the difference."

"Alright." She brushed her hands over my shoulders. "Go on. Have fun."

"It's dinner with his family. I doubt it'll be fun."

She frowned. "Not with that attitude."

"You wouldn't want to let me borrow the car to drive over there, would you?"

"Not after you backed into the mailbox the other day."

"Because you kept yelling at me."

"Because you were headed straight for the mailbox!" She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"Could you at least give me a ride?" I asked. "It's so hot and I don't want to get sweaty riding my bike."

"That I can do." She grabbed her keys and phone off the counter and followed me out the door.

On the way out, we spotted Dr. Herrera getting out of her car across the street. We all exchanged waves.

"Hot date tonight, Em?" Dr. Herrera yelled.

"He says he's just a friend," Mom shouted back before I could answer.

Dr. Herrera pointed her index finger to the sky, her keys clutched in her other fingers. "That's how the best love stories start."

"Seriously!" I glared at my mother, then at the woman whom I thought of—and referred to—as my second mother. "Why is everyone ganging up on me?"

"Have a good time, mijo!" Dr. Herrera waved again before going inside her house.

At Clay's house, I quickly escaped the car. I waved at my mother, hoping she'd just drive away, but she rolled down her window instead. "Maybe I should come meet them."

"You will not!" I was horrified at the suggestion. And not just because she was wearing yoga pants.

"I'm sorry, mister." Mom raised a single brow, pointedly. "Since when do I take orders from you?"

"Please, Mom." I clasped my hands together. "If you love me, you will leave."

"Fine. Call me if you need a ride home." With that, she left.

Knowing that it was a bad idea, I pulled out my phone and turned on the godawful front facing camera. I pushed a hand through my hair, hoping the extra attention would finally get it right. The humidity was doing me no favors. I thought it was better, but I wasn't sure. My eyes shifted to focus on how puffy the camera made my face look. Did I have a double chin or was that just the angle? I turned the camera off, unable to look at the distorted image of my face, refusing to believe I actually looked like that. Whoever invented that fucking thing should never be allowed to use another camera for the rest of their life, only that abomination.

Giving up hope for my hair, I went to the front door. The mat had the name "Miller" printed on it rather than "Welcome." It suddenly occurred to me I'd never actually asked for Clay's last name.

Almost immediately after I knocked, a teenage girl flung open the door. Her bright smile instantly faded to a scowl. She was very pretty, with the same light brown hair as Clay, though hers had pink streaks through it. Her eyes were crystal blue instead of that rich chocolate brown shade of Clay's that I adored.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked in a high, squeaky voice. She seemed distraught.

Clay walked up to stand behind the girl. The top of her head barely reached to his shoulder. "Don't be rude, Rachel. I invited him to take the pressure off you and Zack."

Rachel eyed me and pursed her lips. She spun around, her long hair swinging around to smack Clay's arm. "Where is he?" she groaned, lifting her phone to type something.

Clay turned to me and looked me over, a smile on his lips. "You look great, but you didn't have to get all fancy for us." Clay waved a hand down to his plain gray shorts and a faded Captain America t-shirt. He was even barefoot.

I tried not to let the compliment go to my head. I simply shrugged. "I've been wearing this all day. I had stuff to do."

Clay waved for me to enter. After closing the door behind me, Clay asked, "Like what?"

I was not expecting a follow-up question. "Um, I was just... you know. Out. Doing stuff. With Carrie."

Clay suddenly became very smiley. "That's really weird. Because Jackson was also out with Carrie all day. He didn't mention seeing you."

I sucked in a breath as my heart dropped into my stomach. Why did I ever bother lying? I was so terrible at it. But I couldn't give up now. "Well, I was with her before him. We must've just missed each other."

"Uh-huh." Clay nodded, still highly amused.

"Then I had other stuff to do. My friend Makenzie. She wanted to go shopping." That part was true. Makenzie asked me to go shopping, but I turned her down. Under the right circumstances, she could be very fun. She could also be kind of grating sometimes without someone else to act as a buffer. Don't get me wrong, I loved her dearly. If not for Carrie, she'd probably be my best friend. She just had a tendency to drone on about herself and her problems endlessly.

"Okay." Clay gestured for me to follow him. "You're a bit early, so we can just hang out in my room until the food's done."

"Sure." The thought of being in Clay's room gave me heart palpitations.

Clay bypassed the stairs Rachel had gone up and headed toward the archway at the back of the living room that led into a large kitchen. Everything was immaculate and white, except for a few yellow decor items—the ruffled valance over the window, the hand towels and a glass jar on the counter filled with lemons which were a bit too shiny and perfect to be real. Clay stopped to introduce me to a woman with his beautiful eyes and serene smile. Her hair was lighter than his or his sister's, much closer to blonde. "It's nice to finally meet you, Emmett. Clay hasn't stopped talking about you for a week."

"Mom!" Clay squeaked.

Mrs. Miller placed a hand against the side of her face. "Oh, I'm wrong. He hasn't said a word about you. He hasn't even spoken to me since last Tuesday."

"Oh my God." Clay murmured, rubbing a hand against his face.

I laughed and glanced at Clay, who looked mortified, his cheeks a bright shade of pink. He grabbed my forearm and dragged me through a door off to the side of the room, closing it behind us.

I first thought it might be a den. Carrie's house had one of those. All the furniture was extra plush for nights spent vegging out and watching movies or our recent obsession with the international versions of Drag Race.

Actually, it was Clay's bedroom. Which I should have known, since that's where Clay said we were going. So, yes, I was a moron.

He wasn't kidding when he told me his room was basic. It was so bland, in varying degrees of beige. The walls were beige, as were the carpet and the drapes, even the furniture, which was clearly a set from some chain store. The red and black bedspread was just about the only pop of color in the entire room. He had a small black bookshelf, mostly filled with movies, video games, and knickknacks. The few books on it were all classics: The Scarlet Letter, Romeo and Juliet, The Outsiders, and A Tale of Two Cities.

"I never pictured you as a fan of the classics."

"What?"

I pointed to the bookshelf.

"Oh." Clay gave a dismissive wave toward the shelf. "Those are all books I had to read for school. I don't really read much for myself. Or, like, at all."

A distressed sound escaped my mouth without consent. I couldn't fathom that. "I love reading."

Clay smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. "I noticed. You've got like a thousand books in your room. I was a little intimidated by you that first day I came over."

"Me?" I found it hard to believe I could ever intimidate anyone.

"Uh, yeah." Clay nodded, taking a seat on the corner of his bed. A lot of thoughts flashed through my mind involving Clay and that bed and me. "I have friends who read a lot, but they read stuff like Hunger Games or Percy Jackson. Rachel was obsessed with those Vampire Academy books. But you had like serious books. I saw stuff on your shelf I've never even heard of that were thicker than textbooks."

"That was probably one of my Russians. Some of them took me forever to get through. I had so much trouble with all those names. I had to look up pronunciations practically every time a new character popped up."

"It's not just the books. That poster thing Carrie made you. I took a photo of it when you weren't looking, and I googled some of those titles when I got home. Nearly a third of them aren't even in English."

I shrugged, still making my way around the room, checking everything out. "Hollywood isn't the be-all end-all of filmmaking. Foreign films are amazing, too. Most people are just too lazy to read subtitles."

"You like being different from everyone else around here, don't you?"

I folded my arms behind my back, viewing his collection of sports paraphernalia displayed on a shelf above his dresser, including a few trophies for peewee football and Little League. "It's not so much a matter of me liking it, as it is a fact. I don't really fit in well in this town. I'm sure if you looked in places like New York, Seattle, LA you'd find a ton of guys just like me."

"I disagree," Clay said. The way he said that made me blush, but I didn't know why.

I looked back at him. He almost seemed in awe of me. I didn't think I deserved the admiration. Sure, I liked to read, but so did lots of people. There was nothing special about me.

I faced the wall, wandering around to keep Clay from seeing the effect he elicited.

I paused when I reached his desk. A framed photo—the only one in the room that wasn't of his family—sat between an autographed football encased in glass and a small metal lockbox with a combination dial and a slot for coins in the top. I couldn't help myself. I picked up the photo to examine a gorgeous black girl staring back. She had thick black curls flowing over her shoulder and piercing gray eyes. Her smile was sweet, with a slight sultriness. She was sitting on Clay's bed. It had a different comforter, but I recognized the boring sand-colored wood headboard and the black and white print of the London skyline hanging above it.

I turned around to double check it was the same skyline, but I knew it would be before I saw it.

"That's Summer." Clay walked over to take the picture away. He opened the desk drawer and shoved it inside, shutting the drawer back. "I didn't even notice I still had that out."

"Are you sure you didn't have feelings for her? You seem kinda broken up."

Clay raised his eyes to meet mine. "I told you I cared about her. I didn't want to hurt her. But I did. And it sucks. She hasn't even talked to me since then."

"I'm sorry."

Clay shook his head. "I also told you that you were right about me and her. She deserved better than me."

I laid a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short. You're a great guy, Clay. I doubt there's a better one in this town."

Clay examined my face for a long time. He was so close that I could smell whatever soap or deodorant or aftershave he used. It definitely wasn't that intoxicating icy cologne that I loved. Of course, he wouldn't put on cologne to have dinner at his own house.

Clay's eyes seemed to get stuck on my lips for a second. They jumped up to meet my eyes. His chin lifted a fraction of an inch and his lips parted, like he was about to say something. Then the door opened. Clay jolted back from me like he'd just been electrocuted.

Clay's mother stuck her head inside. "Dinner's ready, boys."

"Did Zack show up?" Clay threw a sidelong glance my way as he walked toward the door, putting more distance between us.

Mrs. Miller's face turned dreary. That was all the confirmation needed.

"Where is she?" Clay asked.

"She won't come out of her room."

"Let me try." Clay passed his mother, leaving me alone.

I wondered if I should wait for Clay, but his mother signaled for me to follow her.

She went to the pale wood table on the opposite side of the kitchen from Clay's room, where a toddler with dark curls sat in a high chair. The back wall had three sets of French windows that looked out onto a patio surrounded by a lush, colorful garden. The table was set nicely, all the food in matching dinnerware in the center. I had never seen actual meals presented this way. It was straight out of a movie. I wondered if this was an everyday occurrence or if they set this up for Rachel's boyfriend.

Mrs. Miller sat beside the baby and gestured for me to take the chair next to her.

I sat, tucking my hands in my lap. I wasn't sure how to act. The only parent I ever interacted with besides my own was Dr. Herrera.

She propped her elbows on the table, interlocking her hands. "Clay tells me you go to Heron Prep."

I nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Do you like it?"

"It's hard, but I appreciate the challenge."

She seemed to admire that answer. She leaned toward me and lowered her voice to say, "Don't tell Clay I said so, but I think you're going to be a wonderful influence on him. Most of his friends are... shall we say lax when it comes to school."

I wondered if she'd still feel that way about me, if she knew all the salacious thoughts I had about her son. Would she still invite me to dinner?

A man appeared from behind me and took a seat opposite Clay's mother. He was not at all how I would've pictured Clay's father to look. I expected an older version of Clay. This man didn't look like Clay at all. He had a rounder, slightly stout build and a long face. The closest resemblance was his brown hair, thinning a bit at the temples, though it was much darker.

"You must be Zack." The man smiled at me.

I opened my mouth to make the correction, but Clay's mother beat me to it. "This is Clay's friend."

"The prep school boy!"

How often did Clay actually talk about me? I worried I might blush.

"Also known as Emmett." I quipped to relieve the tension only I was aware of.

They both laughed at my weak joke.

The man extended his hand across the table for a handshake. "Mike Miller."

I shook his hand, trying not to wince at his overly firm grip. "Emmett Noble."

Mr. Miller looked at his wife. "Where are the kids?"

Mrs. Miller gave a quick rundown of events.

He looked disappointed. "Poor Bean. She's probably crushed."

"Bean?" I asked, confused.

"That's what we call Clay's sister." Mrs. Miller said. "She was a skinny thing when she was little, and their dad called her beanpole. Eventually, it just became Bean. I think she still lets us call her that because it reminds her of him."

Mrs. Miller was talking about him like he wasn't sitting four feet away from her. I looked over at the man across from me.

Mr. Miller shook his head. "She means their biological father."

"Oh."

Mrs. Miller laid a hand on my arm. "Their father passed away when they were very young. Clay was only nine. Mike adopted them when we got married. That's why their last name is Lennox-Miller. I guess Clay didn't tell you."

"No." I didn't even know Clay's actual last name until this very moment. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Miller patted my shoulder. "It's okay."

Rachel's voice carried from the next room. "I'm going to strangle him the second I see him at school next week."

I turned in my chair to see Rachel and Clay enter the room. Her eyes were puffy and pink around the edges, but she looked more angry than sad. Clay had his arm around her, his face alight with amusement. "Maybe wait till school lets out and do it across the street so they can't suspend you for violence on school grounds." Clay's smile widened when he locked eyes with me.

"Clayton!" Mrs. Miller snapped.

Clayton? I never considered that Clay wasn't his given name. Clay fit him better than Clayton. That's for sure.

"I was only kidding, Mom," Clay said.

Clay sat next to me. Rachel took the chair between Mr. Miller and the baby—Teddy.

"Alright," Mrs. Miller said. "Dig in."

Everyone grabbed the nearest dish and started shoveling food onto their plate. I copied them, offering my dish to Mrs. Miller, as Clay passed a dish on to me, until everyone had some of everything they wanted.

"Rachel, I know it's none of my business," I said, "but I think you should ignore him. Unless he has a genuine excuse, just act like he doesn't exist."

"That's better than throttling the boy," Mr. Miller chimed in with a hearty chuckle.

"Does that actually work, though?" Rachel asked, poking her fork into her peas.

"It always drove me crazy when my ex-boyfriend did it." I stiffened, my blood running cold, realizing what I'd just said. I was so accustomed to being open about myself that I sometimes forgot I couldn't be that candid in every situation. I didn't know these people. Just because Clay was cool with it didn't mean his family shared his ideals.

No one seemed to be reaching for holy water or a crucifix to cast out the homosexual demon, so I suspected I was alright.

"Was he a total douchebag, like Zack?" Rachel asked.

"Rachel! Language!" Mrs. Miller barked, throwing a glance at the baby.