The twins both pause to look at me. Hell, even Church glances my way. Ranger just turns away, dressed in a frilly white and blue gingham apron that makes him look like Dorothy from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

“She was cheating with Cody.” And that's the truth right there. They both cheated on me in a way. And I did friend-breakup with Monica, so technically I'm not lying. “Anything else that happened was irrelevant.”

Spencer slams his palms on the counter and makes me jump, smirking at me like a wolf that's just scented prey.

“Bullshit. If you didn't like the way I kissed, you'd tell me. You're a too honest for his own good sort of dickhead, Chuck Carson.” He comes around the counter, handsome as all hell in his blue blazer, champagne colored tie, and slacks. But also … a little bit scary.

Scary because I want him to touch me so bad that I know if he does, I'm in trouble. He'll touch me, and I'll forget to keep my secret, and he'll keep touching me until he finds out.

I back away and use the island as leverage while Church watches on in bemusement, and the twins share a pair of matching frowns.

“Leave me alone, Spencer,” I warn, but he must sense something in my demeanor because he hops the island and grabs me around the waist, yanking my back to his front.

Spencer pulls me close, putting his mouth up against my ear. “I never knew I liked boys before—until I met you.”

I shiver in his arms. If he only knew … I imagine if he ever does find out, he'll be pissed. Now that my plan of sinking into the shadows and hiding until my trip to California has gone down in miraculous, angry flames, what am I supposed to do? I could barely hide my secret from the twins for a handful of months. And now I have to survive the rest of this year and all of next?

“Let go of me, Spencer,” I growl, because even if he does believe I'm a guy, he has no more right to touch me without permission than if I were a girl. Somehow, I imagine he'd treat this situation a lot more differently if he knew the truth. Then again, he is a rich, entitled asshole, so I'm not entirely sure about that. But fuck, he smells good, like cedar and hyssop.

“Why? So you can keep running away? Let's talk about this.” I go to elbow him in the stomach, and he catches my arm. “You're really starting to piss me off.” My voice and body are shaking now. I like him touching me. Too much. But I also don't like being grabbed and held against my will.

Spencer thrusts me forward, and I stumble a bit, turning around to find him watching me with a mix of frustration and want. He shoves his fingers through his silver hair, revealing the dark roots as he turns away with a scowl.

An awkward sort of tension settles over us as I swipe my palms down the front of my jacket, and head back to my stool. Nobody says a word until Ranger turns and gives me a dark, evil sort of glare. Ugh, those silent brooding types are so annoying.

“If you leave the souffle in the oven too long, it'll collapse. Don't fuck this up, Carson.” He hands me a whisk and a mixing bowl, and I spend the rest of the afternoon ruining not one, not two, but three souffles, until the Student Council finally kicks me out of the room … but not before pulling back my shirt and cracking a raw egg on my neck.

“If you think that'll get me to like you, you've got another thing coming!” I shout as Spencer takes off down the hall with his hands tucked into his pockets. He turns around and grins, still walking backward.

“I'm not trying to get you to like me, Carson. I'm just trying to get you to suck my dick.” He shrugs again, and spins away while I stand there with my face burning.

“You'd only be so lucky,” Ross simpers, sneering at me as he elbows me aside and disappears down the hallway after his master. I bet if Spencer asked him, he'd drop to his knees in a heartbeat.

“Gross.”

I head back to the dorm with the twins as escorts, and settle into my room with a sigh. For months, I resisted putting any sort of personal touch on this place because I just assumed I'd be moving back to the West Coast. Now though … I've got five and a half months until graduation, and then an entire new year to survive.

Better get used to the place.

As I unpack some of my trinkets, I pull out a crystal suncatcher that my mom gave me, fingering the purple and blue jewels with a smile. Apparently, the amethyst and angelite stones help with anxiety, depression, and sadness. Giving it to me for my sixteenth birthday was a sweet gesture—I got nothing for my seventeenth from her—but it just goes to show how little she knows me. I don't struggle so much with anxiety or depression, those are her issues. Me, I have problems with self-worth, self-love, and fitting in.

Still, I stand up and go to hang the suncatcher in the window (despite the fact that there's definitely no sun, bleh) when the fishing line that holds it all together catches on the button of my blazer. One of the tiny crystals on the bottom snaps off and goes bouncing across the old wood floors before falling into a crack.

“Shit.”

I put the rest of the suncatcher safely aside on my bed, and get down on my hands and knees to see if I can't somehow dig it out. But it's way down there, beneath these huge old wood planks that are warped and distorted with age. Giant square-topped iron nails give away the age of the place, and it's quite clear it's been a while since it was sanded or polished.

Biting my lip in thought, I get up and dig around in my stuff until I find a big, metal nail file. This I wedge into the crack and jiggle around, and sure enough, it seems the floorboard's a tad loose. I pick and pry at it, but the nail file breaks long before the board ever comes up. It might be loose, but it's not about to magically pop off and reveal a secret, hidden chamber.

Sitting back on my heels, I try to tell myself it's just one crystal of many, and that it's no big deal. Only … it kind of is to me because my mom gave that suncatcher to me as a gift, and now … she's in rehab and too ashamed of what her life's become to even let me see her.

“I'm getting that damn crystal back,” I grumble, heading downstairs to the janitor's closet. It's supposed to be locked, but there's been a day or two here and there where Eddie the Janitor’s left the giant bolt hanging loose. I pray today's one of those days and give a huge fist pump like a total dork when I see it's open.

As I pass by the community corkboard however, another note catches my attention, and I'm suddenly reminded that there's not only an asshole on this campus who's willing to use a knife to intimidate me, but also knows my real gender.

I snatch the piece of paper from the tack and read it carefully.

Dear Eve,

You should have stayed in California.

Keep your head down and stay quiet.

I don't like nosy bitches.

Love, Adam

Chills shoot through my body as I clutch the piece of paper with its menacing words scrawled in purple ink. Whoever this 'Adam' guy is, his note has severely escalated its aggression.

“Jesus,” I groan, pulling the note against my chest. I go to the janitor's closet anyway, and dig out a crowbar and a hammer. Best case scenario, I get the floorboard up. Worst case scenario … I can use both items as a weapon.

I hurry back up to my room as fast as I can, and I promise myself that the feeling of eyes following me is just my imagination.