I give him a look, but he doesn't seem at all apologetic about it.

“It's more about my friends,” I start, and then pause before I can add and my boyfriend. “My girlfriend, Monica.” I stop again because for some reason, it feels hard to lie with Ranger staring at me like that, as if he can see straight into my soul and isn't a fan of what he's found there. “Plus, you know, it's not cold enough to freeze my”—don't say tits, don't say tits—“balls off.”

“Well, if you like forest fires and tsunamis, then cool.” He gives what looks like the briefest of smiles, making me think that's supposed to be a joke or something. I smile back, but by the time I do, whatever remnant was on his face is gone. “I'm going to start on an assignment that's due tomorrow. You've got time until the cake’s finished baking, and then it has to cool before we can frost it. Basically, you have some time to yourself for a while.”

He moves away from the counter and takes up the chair in the corner. I sit in the one opposite him and then we just wait together in companionable silence, filling out different assignments on our laptops.

It's … actually kind of nice.

Like, maybe in a different place, a different universe, Ranger and I could be friends.

Maybe.

Too bad it's not that time or that place.

I've never been so excited as I am that first day of winter break, gathering my things up, and sprinting up the hill toward my dad's place. On the way, I run into Spencer, sitting on one of the log benches that line the path, tapping his fingers on the edge of the armrest and watching me with those miraculous eyes of his.

“Off to see your girlfriend, huh?” he asks, sounding pretty damn salty about the whole thing. I pause next to him, still irritated about the whole cake baking fiasco, and cross my arms over my chest.

“Yeah, so?”

Spencer shoves up to his feet, his blazer all rumpled, tie loose and crooked, and gets right up close and personal with me, running his knuckles down the side of my face.

“Don't pretend you don't fucking feel it, too, this tension between us.” My heart is pounding, and I'm suddenly all sweaty and tongue-tied. I feel it; of course I do. But that doesn't matter. I'm going home to Cody today. I may never come back here again, never see Spencer Hargrove again.

“What about it?” I ask, and he growls at me, slamming his palm into the tree trunk on my left. My eyes narrow as I look up into his.

“What about it?” he repeats, clearly pissed off. “What about it?! I'm questioning everything I know about myself, about my sexuality. You're the only guy I've ever been attracted to.” Part of me feels almost sorry for Spencer, but I can't help it if … he likes me. Oh god, he likes me?! How, why?! Why is he such a freaking bully then? “And you told me you were gay, and then suddenly I find out you have a girlfriend?”

“I'm bisexual,” I blurt, feeling guilty for taking on an identity that doesn't belong to me. At that moment, however, I feel like it's my only way out of this.

Not that it matters … right? Since I’m leaving?

I bite my lower lip, and exhale sharply when Spencer steps away from me, raking his fingers through his silver-ash hair. He's got dark roots, but I think they're intentional, and I love the layered, charcoal look of it.

“Jesus, Chuck,” Spencer snarls, sighing and rubbing his palms down his face. He shakes his head, curses, and stands up straight, letting his head fall back, so he can look up at the blue, blue sky above. It's freezing ass cold out here, but there's not a cloud in the sky. “Just go. Have fun in California.” He drops his arms to his sides and looks over at me, and I wonder if he can tell how hard I'm breathing, or how many beads of sweat are tracing their way down my spine.

Spencer steps closer again, and I back up against the tree, giving him a chance to lord over me.

“Or maybe we should have one last, kiss, so you've got something to compare Monica to? What do you think, Chuck?” He reaches up and pulls my lower lip down with his thumb, leaning in toward me and breathing against my mouth. My eyes go half-lidded, and my heart rate picks up speed. I should push him away, but … I'm really struggling here.

Spencer closes the distance between us, and crushes his mouth against mine, kissing me with so much passion that I nearly stumble. A strong arm wrapped around my waist is the only thing holding me up, and I find my breath knocked away, my head spinning, stars bursting behind my closed lids.

It's the sort of kiss you only ever read about it, the kind you can never forget, not when a dozen years pass, not when a century does.

Pushing away from Spencer, I take off up the hill, throw my stuff in Dad's trunk, and then put my earbuds in to drown out the emotions that are so desperately calling out for my attention.

After two layovers, and god only knows how many hours shoved in the crowded economy seats on some budget airplane, Dad and I arrive at the San Jose International Airport. Even though it's winter here, too, it's about a million times warmer than back in stupid Nutmeg, Connecticut.

The drive into Santa Cruz is excruciating, especially when Monica and Cody stop answering messages. I'm on pins and freaking needles, but I sit quietly in the passenger seat of our rental car, and say nothing. This road we're driving—State Route 17—is considered to be one of the most dangerous in the entire state.

Once we get into Santa Cruz proper, my heart nearly explodes in my chest. I'm practically bouncing up and down as I curl my hands on the edges of the seat and wait for Dad to take me straight to Monica's mansion on the beach.

“What are you doing after you drop me off?” I ask, and Dad sighs heavily.

“Heading back to the hotel to work. This trip is for you, Charlotte, not for me. I left everything behind when we moved, and I'm happy to keep it that way.” I scowl at him when he isn't looking. How can he talk about Mom so casually like that? Like she's some broken vase to be discarded? It just pisses me off.

“Whatever,” I mumble, but my irritation quickly fades when we pull up to the huge front steps, a fountain on our left, and Monica's brand-new silver Beemer on the right.

I'm out of the car and taking off before Dad even has a chance to come to a complete stop. Not only is today special because it's a break from the academy and its stupid Student Council, but I'm back home, and it just so happens to be my seventeenth birthday.

The front door opens before I even get to it, and there she is, dark hair shorn short, makeup on point, mouth curled up at the edges in a big grin.

“Welcome home, babe!” she calls out as I throw my arms around her neck in a huge hug. Laughing, Monica pushes me back a step and holds me by the shoulders so she can look me over. “You're as pale as a ghost.” She reaches up and plays with my hair. “And this hair, girl, we need to get you into my mom's stylist.”

A small sliver of hurt cuts through me, but I ignore it. Actually … I'm just looking for Cody now. He said he'd meet me here.

“Hey, cutie!” Cody calls out, sauntering in from the next room. He's as handsome as ever with his golden tan, sun-bleached hair, and shiny white smile. I ready myself for butterflies, ones that are a thousand times more intense than the ones I felt while kissing Spencer.