“Yeah.” I flick my eyes to him and then back to the floor. “I was going to say cool and then realized that’s not an answer to how my day was.”

Sam chuckles. “Are you headed home? I can drive you if you want.”

My mouth goes dry, and I look at Farisha. We were going to walk home together and I’m not blowing her off.

“Mom wants to drive me home today,” she says without missing a beat. “I’ve got to go hang out in the nurse’s office for a bit now. I’ll talk to you later,” she tells me, and I do my best to nonverbally thank her. “Bye, Sam.”

“See ya,” he tells her, and as soon as she’s a few paces away, I get nervous. I’ve always been myself around Sam, but now that we’re in school together, I’m aware of everything. Of the way everyone looks at him. How well-liked he is by the students and the teachers. He’s an all-around good guy, even if he does go through girlfriends faster than I can binge read the Harry Potter series on a rainy weekend.

“I have to pick up Jacob and Mason,” he tells me as we walk out into the parking lot. It’s mid-August and still super hot outside. “So we have like twenty minutes to kill before going to the middle school. We can go by the lake.”

“Sure,” I say, ready to agree with just about anything Sam suggests. His birthday was only two weeks ago, and I know he rushed out and got his license as soon as possible. I’m not positive he’s supposed to be driving me, or even his siblings for that matter, but I’m sure as hell not going to question it.

I relax as soon as I’m in his Jeep. The top is off but when the door shuts, it’s like I’m shutting out school and I can be myself again. I tip my head up, feeling the wind in my hair as Sam speeds out of the school parking lot, heading to the lake Silver Ridge was built around. Neither of us talk as we get out, climbing down a rocky hill to the shore. We only have about seven minutes until we need to go and pick up Sam’s brothers, but I’ll take whatever I can get.

“So what was really going on today?” Sam asks as I take my shoes off and dip my feet in the water. There’s no way I’m making it back up past those rocks in these heels without breaking an ankle.

“Nothing.”

“Really?” He picks up a rock and throws it into the lake. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

“Fine,” I huff. “You know I was dating Derek over the summer, right?”

“Was? Did that asshole do something to you?”

I press my lips together. “If he did, I’d handle it.”

“I have no doubt you would,” Sam laughs.

I step deeper into the water, gathering the hem of my black dress up to my thighs. “He said I was too weird to be with,” I admit, shaking my head. “And I let his words get to me. Maybe I am too weird. Maybe I will be alone forever because I’d rather stay home and write fan fiction than go see Derek’s brother’s band play in Missy Spencer’s garage. It smells like soup in there. Always.”

Sam laughs and runs his hand through his hair. “It does. Tomato soup. I’ve been in there before watching said band. You didn’t miss anything.”

“Well, good.” I bend over to pick up a rock, not thinking that with my dress gathered up, I just flashed Sam my butt. At least I have cute undies on today.

“And Chloe,” Sam starts when I straighten up, looking at the smooth rock in my hands. “You’re not going to be alone forever. You are weird, but that’s what I like about you.”

My heart swells in my chest. “I hope you’re right about that.”

“Hey. I’ll make you a deal. If you’re still alone when you turn thirty—and if I am too—let’s run away to Vegas and get married.”

“Sure,” I agree with a giggle, knowing there’s no way Sam will still be single by the time he turns twenty, let alone thirty.

“I mean it!”

“Well, then we better start planning our wedding,” I tease. “I’m undatable.”

“Oh please,” he waves his hand in the air. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

My heart flutters again and hope bubbles up inside of me. Maybe I do have a chance with Sam. Maybe he looks at me the way I look at him and we—

“Shit,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“I was supposed to meet Tiffany after school. Fuck, she’s going to be pissed.” He shrugs. “I’ll just make it up to her later.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me and laughs. My heart sinks, and I let the rock fall out of my hands, splashing into the water and washing away the little hope I had.

Sam’s just being nice. Saying things to make me feel better. But he’ll never see me the way I want him to. Who I am kidding? I’m Creepy Chloe, the weird girl who wears too much black, brings tarot cards to school, and wrote a fifty-five-page Harry Potter-meets-Charmed fanfic for her eighth-grade creative writing assignment.

And Sam is, well, Sam. Smart. Good-looking. Athletic. Normal.

As much as I want to believe fate will intervene and Sam and I could end up together, I know the only way it would happen is if everything falls apart and he has to resort to me—his backup plan.

Chapter Two

Chloe

Present day…

Spiraling.

It’s what’s happening to me…I think. And the fact that I’m not sure only proves just how fast I’m spiraling. Falling down at a dizzying rate. The world spins so fast I can’t make out anything around me. I’m a big fat fucking fake and it’s only a matter of time before they expose me, and what better way than to do it on live TV, broadcasted nationally to several million viewers.

Fuck.

What was the question? Sweat drips between my breasts, thankfully out of sight from the live audience’s prying eyes. I’m regretting turning down that pre-show glass of wine, going instead for some gross concoction of kale, green tea, and some nasty shit that was probably scraped out of a dirty fish tank with a fancy name slapped on it.

I swallow hard and force a smile, flicking my eyes from the show host to the audience.

“Fight like a girl,” I say, not recognizing my own voice leaving my lips. It’s not an answer to the question I was asked, I know, yet the audience erupts in cheers nonetheless when they hear the catchy tagline to my series. I take their enthusiasm in stride, stealing a few seconds to close my eyes and try and find my center—which I’ve never been able to fucking do, even after overpaying for private yoga session for the last five years.

“You’ve started a feminist movement,” Helen, the show host goes on, fanning the flames of my rabid fans. “Was that always your intention?”

My smile turns genuine, and I push myself back into the game. I’ve got this.

“Honestly,” I say slowly, leaning forward. It’s one little word, but three killer syllables. Because honesty and Hollywood aren’t things you say simultaneously. “I had these voices in my head that demanded I tell their stories. And it just transpired from there.”

The crowd breaks out into cheers again, and my heart swells in my chest, sucking it all in. The fame. The love from perfect strangers. Knowing my words have touched so many people. It’s surreal, even after all this time. I may have twenty novels under my belt, had my name appear on the New York Times bestseller list multiple times, have an insanely supportive fanbase, and a super popular paranormal romance series that got made into a TV series—and season one won two fucking Emmy awards—but I still feel like the same outcast I did the day I moved to LA.