I back away from Allison and scream in mock terror.

"I am not wearing pink mouse ears," I yelp.

"Come on," she whines, waving the headband with the attached ears in my direction. "Please? Just for the photos. Okay, some photos. One or two. Because I know you want your Instagram image to be sophisticated and sexy for a special someone."

I roll my eyes and snatch them out of her hand. "Fine. I'll wear the ears. And I am not doing anything special on Instagram for anyone."

Allison and two of our friends from school are all packed into a cheap hotel room in Orlando. It's our senior trip, a less-expensive, mid-week vacation at Orlando's theme parks. We're three days away from graduating, and while our classmates are drinking themselves silly in a room down the hall, we're goofing around and acting like kids. We'd spent all day at the theme park, and I'm a little sunburned and exhausted. We all are.

Wearing pajamas and slathering green goo on our faces. Doing each other's nails and watching Nickelodeon. As I slide the headband with the ears onto the crown of my head, my gaze sweeps around the messy room. It's an explosion of makeup, hair products and clothes, a rainbow of girls.

There are two beds, and Allison and I have claimed one. The other two — Maria and Jackie, who were both in the school book club — are sleeping in the other.

This is probably the last time we'll all be together like this. Everyone but me is going away to college, and who knows when we'll see each other again. I watch Allison walk around the room wearing her college sweatshirt, while the other two are flopped on the bed on their stomachs, watching TV and checking their phones.

It's a bittersweet moment.

Today's also my birthday. Eighteen. The day I can call Griffin, if I want.

I don't think my heart has stopped pounding for the last forty-eight hours. I didn't want to be too eager and text him the second I woke. But he's been in my thoughts non-stop over this past month.

"Okay, you sit here." Allison grabs my arm and pulls me to the table in the corner of the room. She points at the chair. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Just follow directions, okay?"

"You're so bossy." Grinning, I shut my eyes. I hear the laughter of our friends, and what sounds like the mini-fridge opening and closing.

Then, the song.

Happy Birthday to you...

My eyelids snap open, and Allison's coming toward me with an oversized cupcake. The top is decorated with a mountain of chocolate frosting, with a single, delicate candy rose and a small red candle on top.

She sets it in front of me.

"Photos," she cries! "You're eighteen!"

I pose, grinning. Everyone tells me to close my eyes, make a wish, blow out the candle.

"Get my phone," I say, pointing at the nightstand. "Take this with my camera."

Allison gets into position and I pull off the ears. I pull the ponytail out of my hair.

"Don't set your hair on fire," Allison says. "Hurry up."

I sweep my long hair over one shoulder, close my eyes and pucker my lips.

I wish for Griffin to be mine...

I blow gently and open my eyes. The flame is gone, and I laugh as the others clap.

"Beautiful!" Allison hands me my phone then whisks the cupcake away.

"Hey, where are you going with that?"

"I'll take off the wrapper for you. I bought four, so we can all have one."

I'm almost teary-eyed, thinking about how my friends planned this simple gesture without me knowing. I'm going to miss them. Will I find other girlfriends at college? Or will I be so busy commuting and studying and working that I'll be lonely?

I push the thoughts out of my mind as we inhale the cupcakes and discuss whether to go out. Ivy and Jackie decide they want to, and they slip on little dresses and heels and kiss my cheek, leaving behind a cloud of lily-scented perfume.

I yawn, secretly happy that Allison and I get time alone. "Want to watch a movie?"

She flips to a classic princess cartoon movie, and we lounge in bed.

About halfway through the film, she sits up and sits cross-legged, looking at me. "You going to call him?" her voice is serious.

"Who?" I pretend not to know what she's talking about, and sit up.

She rolls her eyes. "You know who. Griffin."

Just hearing his name aloud makes me grin.

"You are, aren't you?"

I shrug.

"You need to be careful, Juliette."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?"

"Because you said yourself that he didn't want to tell you what he does for a living for your own good. Do you need a bigger red flag, or should I buy a flashing neon sign to send the message?"

I glance at the TV.

"He. Is. Sketchy. That's what the banner would say." She's opening and closing her fingers. "Sketchy. Stay. Away."

"I don't think I can stay away."

She sighs loudly. "You're going to meet so many guys in school, it won't even be funny. Guys you have things in common with."

"Griffin and I have things in common."

"Yeah? Like what?" Allison leans against the headboard, which is a giant padded panel tacked to the wall.

"We both like the same books, and music and ..." my voice drifts off. I don't even know what he likes, really. "I make him laugh."

She folds her arms and stares at me.

"He's an amazing kisser."

"If you could keep it to purely sex, I'd say go for it. But I seriously doubt if you can do that."

I shiver, thinking about being naked with him.

"I don't want you getting hurt. You're my best friend."

"I know. But I might have to make my own mistakes on this one."

She licks her lips and looks sad, while I sit next to her, my back against the headboard. We watch the rest of the movie in silence, and my attention drifts. I pick up my phone and tap to Instagram.

I've posted a lot over the last month. At first I tried to tell myself that the shoe photo was the only one for Griffin, but who am I kidding? They've all been for him. And I think he's been following me. Actually, I know he's been following me. Otherwise a guy named TheManFromBabylon is extremely interested in my photos.

Everytime I get a notification from him my face feels hot.

I crop and tweak the one of me blowing out my birthday candle.

Something dawns in me. I'm eighteen. If I want to call him, I can. No one can stop me from anything now. Not my mother, not my brother, not Allison. And I don't need to play coy games with him anymore.

I erase the post and tap over to his contact entry. Flopping on my back and holding my phone over my face, I create a message and upload the photo of me blowing out the candle.

It feels like my heart's going to pound out of my chest. Can Allison see my hands shake? No, she's on her side, her back to me, probably on her phone with Lucas.

My mouth is dry as I type a message with my thumbs. At one point, I'm trembling so hard that I lose my grip and the phone falls square on my nose.

"Ow, crap."

"Hit yourself in the face with your phone again?"

Allison's seen me do this a million times. "Yep."

Oh God, what if that accidentally sent halfway through the message? Or if the speech-to-text function activated and he gets a recording of me saying oh crap?

A pulse of doom goes through me when I take the phone off my face. Then I exhale when it's obivous that nothing went through.

I erase what I'd written and hold the phone at my side. Does he even still want me? He's probably hooked up with someone over the last month. Or more than one someone.That thought is too unsettling, and I've been trying to push it aside all month.

Should I do this? What will happen if I do?

I want to do dirty things to you...I'll make the next move. And you're a smart enough girl to know exactly what that means.

Those words have sent shivers through me for the past thirty days. I've turned them over and over in my mind, replaying the way he'd said them, the intensity in his amber-colored eyes, the low rasp of his voice.

I pick up my phone and resume typing.

Will you make my birthday wish come true?

I include the photo and press send. Hold my breath. Who am I? When did I become this bold? Allison's right. He might be sketchy. Or worse. But I don't care.

The word delivered follows my text in small letters. Then the word read. I see three pulsing grey dots on the screen, indicating that he's typing.

I cannot breathe. The seconds tick by. Can someone die from holding their breath?

A message pops up and my heart skids to a halt. It's as if this is my defining moment, as if everything that happened before was the story of one girl, and everything from this point forward will be the life of someone totally different.

I'll make all of your wishes come true, Juliette.

* * *

A date.

I am going on a date.

I've never been on a date.

Okay, it's a weekend long date. I wanted to impress Juliette with something more than dinner and a movie, so I'm going big. But what if this is a disaster?

Rubbing my lips together, I kick the Porsche into high gear.

What the fuck has happened to me?

I'm on my way to Kendall to pick up Juliette. She doesn't know what I have planned, doesn't know that a buddy is letting me use his Florida Keys house for the weekend. Doesn't know that my buddy's a cocaine dealer. Doesn't know that I've bought her a gold necklace for her birthday, or that I have a single sunflower waiting for her.

All I've told her is to pack a bag for the weekend. Bring a bathing suit. A casual dress for dinner. Although I suspect she'll spend more time out of her clothes than in them. At least I hope so.

What the fuck am I doing?

Usually time with a woman involves picking her up and going to a club. Making out in the VIP, taking her back to my house and fucking her, then gently sending her on her way in the morning. Sometimes I've taken women on my buddy's yacht, but that was more of a group party thing. I always tell girls up front: I'm not into relationships and I'm not interested in supporting anyone.

I've never bought any woman a gift, other than Zoe.

I downshift as I take the exit ramp. Juliette's address is burned in my mind, and not just because of her. It's where I spent weeks of my life with Ashton. Years, even. I've been thinking back to those days lately, how we'd hang out and play video games, how his mom would leave us frozen pizzas, how my sister and I practically lived there that summer Mom died.

Ashton's house, even though it was a small, three-bedroom apartment, was more comfortable than my own house, a sterile suburban McMansion.

Juliette had always been in my memories, of course, but not in a creepy pedophile way. She was like a little sprite, flitting in and out of our teenage world. Most of the time, she'd read in her room, and Ashton was half-embarrassed and half-proud of his bookworm sister.

I pull up to the apartment building and all these memories wash over me. What if Ashton's there? She'd assured me that he wasn't, that he was in New York for some social justice summit. I slow the Porsche to a crawl, passing the complex pool and the row of palm trees and the dumpsters. A bunch of kids at the basketball court stop playing and gawk at my car — just like Ash and I would have done.

This place is exactly the same as it was ten years ago.

Only now, I'm here for Juliette. My stomach twists into a knot. What is going on? I'm never nervous like this.

I park in front of her building and grab the sunflower. Wait. Maybe I should give that to her when she gets in the car? Shit, I'm normally not this nervous. I set the flower on the dashboard. It's seven-thirty, almost sunset.

It's a slow run up the stairs to the second floor apartment — sixteen stairs, two sets of eight, ones that Ashton and I used to leap down when we were twelve — and I straighten my spine at the dark grey door.

I knock and she opens immediately.

Her wide grin, her big eyes, her long, beautiful hair. Jesus Christ.

"Hi," she says softly.

I don't say anything, just step inside and cup her face. I'd planned on playing it cool, keeping my hands and my mouth to myself, at least until we got to the beach house.

But I have to kiss her softly on her mouth. And kiss her. And kiss her. She smells like vanilla and tastes like cinnamon and maybe I should just take her into her bedroom and undress her slowly. I love the little smile of astonishment right before our mouths meet, the softness of her lips, her whisper-like sighs. All of it. Every gesture and glance.

Pulling away is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I see her flowered duffel bag on the floor and pick it up. I hold out my hand and she takes it, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

We're silent as I lead her to the car, opening the door for her. She's wearing a light pink tank top-like dress and when I sneak a glance at her tanned, curvy legs, my mouth waters.

I slip behind the wheel and hand her the flower. She shifts to look at me and her dress rides up her thighs. How am I going to drive two hours with her sitting next to me, her beautiful hair loose and her legs bare?

"Happy birthday."

She laughs, and it's like pure sunlight after an eclipse. I grin, then freeze when she leans over and presses her lips to mine.

For the first time ever, I have no control over anything. Not my body, not my mind and not my heart.

____