I'm sitting in an oversized T-shirt and shorts on Allison's brown, fake suede sofa, trying not to cry.

"I'm sure he didn't intend to be mean. I mean, Joolz, think about it. Why would he want a seventeen-year-old at his party? Come on, be reasonable."

I sniffle. "It was the way he said it, all serious." I scrunch up my nose and affect a deep voice. "No. No way. My parties aren't for you. As if he was my dad."

Allison rolls her eyes and walks from the kitchen to the sofa with a pint of ice cream. "Well, maybe they're not for you. Maybe they're orgies or something."

Tucking my legs underneath me, I pull a blanket over my lap. "I just felt like, I dunno, we had a connection. We danced for hours and he took me to this really exclusive restaurant at The Carlisle. I think I even saw that actress on that HBO show, the one about the women's prison."

Allison licks the spoon and glances at me thoughtfully. "I did think the two of you looked kind of cozy at the club. Especially when the two of you were basically dry humping on the dance floor."

"Shut up. We were not. We had to dance close because it was so crowded. Our arms brushed against one another."

She cackles. "If the new word for genital region is arm, sure. And the way he held your hand. That was weird, I thought. But sweet-weird."

"He was just being gentlemanly." I shiver, thinking about how his touch spread heat through my body.

"What does he do, anyway? He has an incredible car. What is he, twenty-five?"

"He's the same age as Ashton, so about that, yeah. And he told me that he's into imports and exports. And he's investing some money in some chain restaurant franchises."

"Hm. I dunno. I mean, he's hot as hell and I totally wouldn't have blamed you if you'd gone home with him tonight. Or if you'd brought him here."

I pull the blanket up to my neck, cocooning myself. "I actually thought about it, but he sounded so harsh about the party that I started stuttering."

"God, imagine losing your virginity to a guy like that. He'd know exactly what to do."

Allison lets her eyes roll back for dramatic effect and I toss a throw pillow at her. She knows I'm a virgin.

"It was so awkward when I got out of his car because it was so low to the ground. I kind of rolled out of it and felt like an elephant. Like one of those videos of the baby elephants rolling around the mud. Griffin came around front to open my door for me and I almost rolled out onto his feet."

"He opened your door for you?" Her voice is a squeal, and then she lowers it. "I'm sure you didn't look like an elephant. You looked gorgeous tonight. Griffin couldn't take his eyes off your body."

"He couldn't?"

"No. Even Lucas noticed. And in speaking of my boyfriend, I should get back to bed. Try to get some sleep. Maybe your handsome prince will call you."

"I didn't give him my number. He didn't ask. Go on with your boyfriend." I motion with my hand toward her room. "Good night."

Allison pads out.

My stomach, and my mood, plummet even more. Ugh. I'd been so awkward with Griffin there at the end. Just remembering how his eyes hardened when I'd asked him about the party makes me feel ashamed. I flick off the light and scoot down on the sofa.

My mind's filled with the pulsing lights of the club and my ears ring with the thump of bass. I feel restless. Edgy. Like my skin's too tight, and I'm itching to claw my way out. As if tonight was the first night I'd ever really lived, and now that I'm back in my bubble-wrapped suburbs, the muted world is unbearable.

A little part of me wishes we'd never run into Griffin. In some ways, I wish we'd just spent hours in line at the club and never got in. Before tonight, I had an idea of all the things I was missing in life, but now that I've actually experienced them — and probably won't, ever again — it's crushing.

I hear a fain moan. Oh God, Allison and Lucas are screwing. I pull the blanket over my head, wishing I could go home. But my mom would be totally suspicious.

What would it be like to be Griffin's girlfriend and to live life with him? To dress up every night, eat at fancy restaurants, pull up to clubs in his expensive car. To have him look at me with those intense, honey-colored eyes. To hear him say my name in that dusky voice of his.

To kiss him.

He'd walked me to Allison's door, his big hand splayed on my mid back. I replay those last few moments with him. How we stopped at Allison's door, how he'd looked down at me, serious. How he'd licked his lips, as if he was nervous. I thought that was adorable.

I'd leaned up and given him a soft kiss on his cheek. I try to conjure his scent — he smelled like a beach in summer, clean and blue —and touch my fingers to my cheek, the one that was next to his. Probably only an inch of my face had been against his, and hot pleasure flooded my body. Had he felt it, too?

It's the boldest thing I've ever done, that kiss. But I had to. Had to feel his skin against my lips. He was smooth, and warm, and for a quick second, I heard him inhale sharply as if taken by surprise.

I half expected him to turn his head and capture my mouth with his, but he didn't. Which means only one thing: he's not interested in me.

* * *

"Did you get any studying done at Allison's?"

"Lots," I holler back to my mom.

Its the next day and I'm back home, on my laptop at my desk, clicking through an old CD of photos I'd unearthed in box wedged way back in the hall closet. The CD had the year and the word ASH written on it, in my mom's handwriting. I'm doing a deeper dive on Griffin, beyond the few printed photos in our family albums.

This CD is from when Ash was a teenager. My brother was so goofy back then. Now he's more serious. It's as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, everything from politics to the environment to women's rights. I admire him for his passion, but I also think he should get a job and help with bills. Like I do. I don't make much, but it's enough for all my stuff Mom can't afford. Which is pretty much everything.

There's a photo of Ash behind a lectern, on the school debate team. One of him at a table with a handful of other kids. I scowl and look at one pixie-haired girl. Is that Zoe, Griffin's sister? I was nine and Ash would have been about sixteen in this photo. Why do I have a vague memory of Ash and Zoe being together a lot?

I think they were on the school magazine together. Yes, that's it.

Me? The only extracurricular I'm active in is book club, which has been the best part of school. Not only do we read two books a month, but we do charity book drives for local daycares, homeless shelters and migrant farmworkers. I'm actually the president this year, which reminds me, I need to organize our final meeting, a pizza party. Even though the party hasn't happened, I'm already comparing it with my night with Griffin, and everything in my life seems colorless and bland.

There. I click and enlarge a photo. This is what I'm looking for. It from my brother's freshman year, before he became politically active. Back when he was on the soccer team. I scan the team's photo, searching each face. All of the boys are thin and gangly, and it's hard to tell them apart.

Until I reach the back row. There's Griffin. He was taller than most of the boys back then, and I smile at his lanky frame. I click slowly through the next photos—he's in many of them, usually running or working a play with my brother on the field—and then I reach one and suck in a breath.

It's of Ash and Griffin after a game. I'm not sure who took it. Probably my mom. Their arms are slung around each other and they're grinning wide. Maybe they just scored a goal.

The image is crisp and clear and I can see Griffin's tawny eyes. His hair is a little lighter in the photo, probably from all the sunshine on the soccer field. Still, this is the first where he looks more like the man he is now. But there's a big difference, because he's got an innocence in his eyes that was absent last night.

"What are you doing?"

My brother's voice startles me. I spin around in my desk chair to face him. "Nothing. Looking at photos. Procrastinating from my biology homework."

Everyone says Ashton and I could be twins, despite the seven-year-age difference. He's got the same dark hair, same pale skin and same green eyes I do. Girls go wild over him. My mom dotes on him. He's clearly her favorite and always has been, probably because he'd been sick as a kid and almost died. That was before I was born.

"I thought you were going to Tallahassee this weekend for some demonstration." I turn back to the computer and click to the next photo, hoping Ash doesn't notic that I'm perusing the years-old images.

He sits on the edge of my bed, and I click through three more photos of Griffin. He looks more and more handsome in each, and my heart speeds up. I finally get to one of my mom and Ash at the Miami zoo.

"I just got back. What are you looking at those photos for?"

I shrug. "Dunno. Just curious. Found the CD in a box."

"Feeling nostalgic because you're graduating?" Ash flops back on my bed.

I take this as an invitation to talk about the past, and I'm so insanely curious about Griffin that I decide to risk asking a few questions. "Yeah, maybe a little. I was looking for some photos of me as a freshman and found your CD instead. You were a good soccer player, weren't you?"

Ash mumbles something and shrugs, staring at my ceiling.

"Who's that kid with you?" I click back to a photo of him and Griffin eating pizza. They're both all arms and legs, and I point at the screen.

Ash sits up. His face doesn't betray any emotion. "That's Griffin Davis. Don't you remember him? I used to date his sister, Zoe."

"Ohh, right. Yeah. Kind of. Not really." I'm hoping my voice isn't too high or fake-sounding. "You dated her?"

"Yeah, she was a grade younger than me." His voice is flat.

"Don't fall asleep on my bed. You used to spend a lot of time with Griffin, right? I mean, Griffin and Zoe."

"Your memory is shit. You don't recall? His mom went to visit family in Argentina the summer before our junior year. Griffin and Zoe stayed here with their dad. And his mother got into a car crash and died while she was away. Griffin and his sister came to stay with us for a couple of weeks. You don't remember?"

I frown, while I feel a pang of sadness. Poor Griffin. "Vaguely. I was only nine or ten."

"Yeah, true. And you were at summer camp that year, so maybe you were gone."

He's right. That was the year that our grandparents had paid for me to go to an equine sleepaway camp in Palm Beach County. Probably the best summer of my life, because I spent a solid month riding horses. I nod thoughtfully.

"Do you remember when Griffin's dad went to prison not long after his mom died?"

"I guess. How awful for him. What did his dad go to prison for? Where did he go to live after his dad went away? And why did you two stop hanging out? I remember you were inseparable."

Ash snorts. "What's with all the questions? You've never been interested in my friends. It's a long story, about Griffin."

I don't dare ask about the story, not yet. Maybe because I don't want to know. "Didn't you also hang out with that girl with the red hair, Victoria? Did she date Griffin?"

He shrugs. "Nah, they were just friends. We were all tight. I thought Zoe was my forever girl, though. I was really into her. Until..."

"Until what?" I'm beyond curious now, because my brother almost never talks about his love life and has never seemed so wistful. I stretch my legs out so my feet rest on the bed. I cross my ankles and look at him expectantly.

Ash eyes me and sits up. "Why are you asking all this about Griffin, anyway?"

I shrug.

"Did you see him somewhere? Are you not telling me something?"

I rear back, because my brother isn't usually this demanding. I hate lying, and feel like I've already concealed the truth. So I don't respond to his question. Instead, I roll my eyes.

"So help me God. If I find out you've been hanging out with him, you're going to be in a world of shit. I'll make your life a living hell, and mom won't let you leave this house until you're thirty."

Now it's my turn to snort, because he's making me angry. "You can't tell me who to hang out with. I'm almost eighteen, and I'll be able to do what I want in less than a month."

My brother stands up and shoves my legs off the bed so he can get by. "Griffin Davis is a predator, Juliette. To use a metaphor of all those romance fairytales you read, Griffin is a wolf and you're Little Red Riding Hood. No, worse. You're a minnow. He's a shark. Men like him eat girls like you for breakfast." He pauses at my door and his tone softens. "I can't force you to tell me if you've seen him. But I can beg you to not see him again, and to never be alone with him. He's not a good person, and you are. A guy like that would suck that goodness out of you."

I slowly turn, my heart hammering at his words, and click back to Griffin's photo. My brother has to be wrong. There's no way Griffin, the beautiful, kind, and funny person that I spent hours with last night, is so evil. It's just not possible.

____