Hey Neighbor: Surprise! I Like You, #1

By Shandra David

When Veera Montague comes home for the holidays for the first time in three years, she doesn't expect to have romantic feelings for the kid she bullied throughout middle and high school. What's worse? He doesn't seem to reciprocate. With too many bad memories of her playing pranks on him, Jyles Pritchard keeps telling Veera to keep her distance. But in a town with only one bar, it's hard not to walk home with your next door neighbor. Can her wacky personality break through his hatred, or is this sudden crush of hers doomed to fail? Hey Neighbor is a classic boy-next-door, enemies-to-lovers story with upbeat dialogue, awkward situations, and some casual steam. Find them playing pool, fighting over their friends, and falling in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shandra David
• Release date: Dec 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215558287

Shandra David

Shandra David is a passionate storyteller and hopeless romantic. When not dreaming up her next novel, she can be found binging romcoms at three in the morning, sipping cocktails and eating way too many pastries. Follow Shandra on Instagram @shandradavidauthor

Book preview

Chapter 1

We grew up next door to each other. I made fun of him while he read books. I always hated reading. It’s not that I thought books were for dumb people, but I thought books were dumb. Cartoons? Yes. Spooky movies that scared me till I peed a little? Yes. Reading? Hell no.

I did some of my homework. I got grades—anything that wasn’t an order to repeat the class was good enough for me, which was way below my parents’ standards. They thought Harvard and Yale. I thought, college? More of this shit? You’re joking.

I barely passed English, even cheating on my papers. I would have failed French, but I stole Jyles’ (yeah, that’s what they named him, Jyles, with a J and a Y) meticulous notes and watched three French horror films with subtitles. Somehow that got me enough information to scrape a C on the final. It was the proudest I was of anything.

The thing is, Jyles was quiet. He sat in the back of class, even though he always got good grades. I used to crane to copy him—so he’d sit across the room from me. Still, if the seat was empty, I took it; if it wasn’t empty, sometimes I still took it. I wasn’t the hot chick or the cheerleader. I was a weirdo. But I had friends, I guess; no one who wanted to watch Dracula over Mr. Darcy. It was a small town. Friend options were limited.

I was the first one to kiss a boy—at least in front of anyone. I ended up dating that kid for three weeks. We had sex behind a dumpster, and no slashers attacked us. It was consensual—I might have initiated—I definitely wasn’t saying no. I had hormones, and I wanted him. But then he didn’t like my taste in movies, so I dumped him. I think they called me a slut, but I was always kind of oblivious.

I felt like I had friends, but when they all made plans for in-town or out-of-state school I told my mom I got into the Renaissance Program at Utah State Summit School. Before she could figure out it was a complete lie, I had my dad’s old pickup, all my clothes, and a tank of gas.

Jyles flipped me off as I drove away—still mad I had managed to scrape a diploma. I grinned at that, thinking the perfect little prince wasn’t so perfect. I honestly don’t remember him ever speaking directly to me in high school. Even when we were little kids, and I’d run through his backyard to steal his dog—my dog was old and boring; his was a puppy—I just remember him crying while I escaped to my own yard. When we were ten, I scared him so bad he peed himself. I was never more proud—but shouldn’t have told everyone at school.

He was a button up shirt guy. A my-mom-picks-my-clothes guy. His dad was quiet, like him, but with a twinkle in his eyes. Mr. Pritchard was a doctor, and once in a while he’d wink at me, so I knew they weren’t too mad. I could hang with Jyles’ dad, but Jyles was always a clingy mamma’s boy.

After the peeing incident, I started doing elaborate pranks on their house at Halloween, setting up lights and ghosts. His mom hated my Halloweening. But I wanted to hear Jyles scream. He was the easiest person to prank, because they actually got to him. Mrs. Lowis, on the other side of the street, called me creative when I tried it on her house and gave me brownies—delicious, yes, but I wanted to see her jump out of her skin.

I ended up in Arizona instead of Utah, working/living at a bed-and-breakfast. It was awful until I managed to find a roommate who was only bad in that he dribbled potato chips everywhere. He was chill, overweight, but not in an unattractive way, and he loved horror. We met on a hinge date, and, at the end of the night, he called it—we were too similar—but he said he had a room I could rent. He swore he was a nice person, so I moved in. I’d had enough sexual vibes to know we weren’t vibing that way, which was sad, because he actually liked my taste in movies.

We watched thriller, horror and violence until we were shaking as the sun rose. He was as happy and as miserable as I was—except he was more content. He liked gaming—all kinds: board, online, D&D—but I never got into it. It was too much like fitting jigsaw puzzles or figuring out school punctuation rules. The only puzzle I wanted to solve was how to project ghosts on our wall at Halloween. Thross—I know, I made fun of Jyles, so sue me—was an electrician.

I got moved to the kitchen at the bed-and-breakfast when they expanded it into a brunch joint for the whole area, not just sleepers. Pretty sure my customer service face was intimidating, and I tended to lose track of details and numbers.

They fired me eventually, after a little drama over one of the bartenders fucking up drink orders and no one wanting to yell at him. It wasn’t my job to yell—I wasn’t a manager—but goddamn he sucked. Ironically, the next job I got was at a bar, which suited me way better. I talked trash with drunkards, and they tipped me gloriously for it.

I could’ve worked there for the rest of my life, except I was starting to feel anxious. Something in me was whispering to move on, create something, do something worthwhile. Thross was ready to move on as well. He met a girl online—one he actually felt like kissing. I didn’t even notice until I saw her sneaking out one night, when I came home from a late shift. They’d been fucking for a month.

I don’t know why he didn’t tell me, but I gave up my room and flew to Sydney with a group of activists. I left my car parked at his place.

After six months, I was running low on money, and there was some asshole company trying to shut our organization down. I was forced to fly home. I found myself in protests after that. Somehow injustice had gotten on my radar.

I crashed on Thross’s couch for a month, then drove the truck to Boston, and every time I heard they were protesting police brutality or anti-gay regime, I showed up, ready to flash my tits and shout to the world.

It made me feel like my life was worthwhile. Also, there was something exciting about standing up to authority—and something exciting about being scared shitless the police would show up. I’d gotten arrested once in Arizona. The first time they showed in Boston, I fled through the streets. Next time, I lingered, too enthused to run, and got arrested again. When I didn’t show up for work—another shitty bar—they replaced me.

They wouldn’t renew the lease on my apartment without employment, so I found a sublet through a friend and sent out job applications. New management, that was all. New management had come in and told them to make cuts. A no-show was all it took to lose the job I’d been doing for the past year. Wrong day to get arrested, I guess.

I listened to my voicemails and made a plan to drive to upstate New York for the thanksgiving holiday. My parents had asked for Christmas, but I needed to get away now. Because, oh yeah, my co-worker from the bar I’d just been fired from, not only got promoted, but, as soon as I was fired, started spamming me with dick pics.

He had always oozed a real scum from the cellars slime, but I didn’t fight for my lease in the end because he was suddenly appearing outside my place. I lived in a studio, and, much as I love scaring myself, that was next level. He was our biggest bouncer, and, while I can swing a fist, he had muscle like the Hulk.

I talked to the girl with the sublet on the phone, then casually texted one of my old co-workers to make sure slime-puke Ethan was working before heading over to check it out in the pickup I still drove. She seemed nice, so I dropped money. I got my bed and a few pieces of furniture—movie-watching armchair, dresser—into the girl’s place, even though, technically, my lease wasn’t over until the end of December, and she wasn’t wanting me until the first of January, but, after hearing about Ethan and watching me drop a couple bonus hundreds from my precious tips, she let me crowd the space. The rest of my shit I shoved in the pickup or put on the street for the neighbors, then I went home for the first time in three years.

The drive was long—I left too late and got stuck in all the damn traffic of Boston when school starts letting out. I had a duffle on my passenger seat and a bunch of random studio apartment crap strapped under a tarp in the bed. I told my landlord I was moved out, even though there was still a month left. I had five hundred dollars in my console in cash tips and my last paycheck getting direct deposited sometime later that month—maybe with some severance, fingers crossed. I couldn’t remember the paperwork.

I’m not great at keeping my parents updated on my real life. They didn’t realize I didn’t call for six months, only emailed, because I was in Australia. They couldn’t possibly have known about my latest flirting with the police. My dad called once a week, like clockwork, and got me on the phone about once a month, due to my erratic schedule. I didn’t tell him I worked in a bar—he’d think I was an alcoholic. I had told them about the bed-and-breakfast. For all I knew, they still thought I was in Arizona.

Though I talked often to my dad, we talked about films and special effects, sometimes headlining news. With my mom, she asked about my love life—nothing going on in Boston unless you counted my stalker. I was on tinder and hinge, but it didn’t work well for me. I don’t like first dates, so after a few shit experiences, I started blowing everyone off. It was better just meeting people in bars.

I like driving. I honestly didn’t mind being alone. I spent a lot of alone time as a teenager, watching movies, waiting for my parents to not be boring, lying on my bed procrastinating on homework, running down the train tracks in the backyard to get the crazy out of my skin. Honestly, being alone is something I need to keep me sane, so an alone apartment was kind of nice; until Ethan started lurking.

At some point on the drive, I started feeling bad I had lived in Boston for over a year and hadn’t even dropped by my parents’ town on my road-trip. I guess I was kind of a shit daughter. Somehow it didn’t hit me until I put the address in the gps how close I really was to my home town. So, yeah, turns out Massachusetts and New York are close to each other. How was I supposed to remember of that? Good thing they weren’t on instagram, or they’d have seen something they recognized—or, like, my entire post about moving.

It didn’t feel like it could possibly have been that long. It felt even less like it could have been so long when I drove into my neighborhood and every blade of grass looked the same. I looked at the fence. Dad had said he’d painted it. I could kind of tell; there was a bit of a sheen to it.

I parked on the street, glancing to make sure none of my crap had escaped from my tie down. My dad lumbered out of the house with a huge grin, and my mom gave me her critical-but-I-love-you look. And then I realized she was starting to tear up, so I grinned and hugged them both.

My eyes traveled to the neighbor’s house, wondering what had happened to Jyles Prim-pants Pritchard for the first time in three years. A flash of his baby crying face popped up in my mind, then I launched to escape the hugging and chased my parents indoors to catch up on the last three years.

They had, at some point, realized I wasn’t at that fake school, but they didn’t realize I’d moved to Boston. I did my best to imply it was a recent move—which was easy with all the crap in my truck. It was clear my mom had worried a lot more about me than she’d let on over the phone.

After a solid hour, I escaped to my old bedroom—which now had a full-size mattress and a flowery guest quilt. I hoped she’d put all my old stuff in a free box, but, knowing her, it was sitting in some hidden closet or the garage. I dragged my duffel up, showered, changed clothes. My hair was shorter even than it had been in high school, and I had like five tattoos. I’m not ashamed of them, and I didn’t see why my parents should care.

I ate dinner with my parents, and then we watched a movie.

It was no wonder I ran from that place. The night life consists of one tavern, and I had a feeling they wouldn’t admit I was old enough to drink, even after seeing my ID. Or maybe, being home, it just felt like I was back in high school.

I’ll be here through Christmas, I reminded them as a hotel went up in flames on the screen. My lease starts in January.

We were worried you wouldn’t ever come home, my mom said.

It was silent, then I said, Well, you know, I’ve never been good at time management. It was a lame excuse, even if it was true. I could feel the judgment, so I went up to my room to lie on the new bed and stare at the ceiling. It felt like I’d always been there. I scrolled through my phone to see if anyone interesting was going to be in town over the holidays. Then I watched people accidentally startling animals until I fell asleep.

Chapter 2

I didn’t hate that town or those people. But it always felt like nothing was happening. I wanted so much to be alive—I think that’s why I scared myself, why I needed to fly to Australia.

As the next few days passed, I was plagued with thoughts of why I was sticking it out in Boston. The horrible truth: I didn’t see another place to go. Sure, I could drive to another random city, but I knew I’d just get a job in a bar and have the exact same life. I dropped my resume on a few openings near my new place. At least dipshit pond scum didn’t have my new address.

I told my parents I was going out for coffee at the Pantytort cafe—yeah, why have ‘panty’ in your name if you don’t want the world to crack up?—and my mom said she’d go with me. Weird. It was a place I used to go on weekends with friends, but of course my mom drank coffee and must have gone there a million times with her friends. My dad decided to stay in his armchair—a lot like my armchair, but his had the kick up footrest. My mom was more relaxed as we strolled. She probably heard my sigh of relief—I just hope she didn’t realize it was about her.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and my mom had already told me, but told me again, that they now go to Mr. and Mrs. Delower’s house for the meal itself—apparently they started a tradition of having all the parents congregate whose kids had—pause—moved away. I glanced at her, wondering, then realized. Oh, ‘gone to college’ was the original part of that. And it was probably only for the parents of the ones inconsiderate enough not to come home for the holiday. Then she told me many students save their trip home for Christmas, which, since I hadn’t come home in three years, didn’t make me feel better.

We were right outside the cafe when I felt that prickle of being followed that I picked up in the city. I scanned down the street and over my shoulder. My mom was stepping inside when my phone started buzzing. I shook my head to clear it. I’m in a tiny upstate town full of people I’ve known my whole life, I’m safe. I answered my phone. My mom mimed she would order for me, but I barely noticed.

Holy shit! the voice of my ex-coworker said. The police showed up to arrest Ethan last night!

What?! Good, I said. She was the only one I’d messaged about his fucking creepy ass—anyone else I felt would need to know had also gotten fired or quit. My heart sank with relief, and I leaned against the side of the building with a smile coming over my face. What for? I didn’t report his stalking.

God, he was pissed when you blocked him.

What did he expect? It takes more than an unasked for nine inch erection to get a girl in bed. What did they want him for?

Not sure. They came around asking after him with a warrant, but didn’t give details about why. I wanted to call last night, but my shift wasn’t out until after three, of course.

The chill of being about to get pounced on suddenly swamped my brain. I knew that feeling. I watched movies to second hand feel that feeling.

So they couldn’t find him? my voice said, sounding as if it was outside my head, speaking in my own ear.

No. And I think Liam might have tipped him off about it.

My eyes dove to a sleek, overpriced car parked down the street—it could’ve driven past my truck. I swallowed, and I sprinted—I knew that feeling, and I knew when Ethan was about to ‘accidentally’ touch me with some lame excuse he’d made up, but he’d never been angry at me. Somehow, at the bar, he knew to take sarcasm as a no. I was looking over my shoulder as he charged into view, my name coming from his lips.

My eyes darted to my mom, still ordering coffee and talking pies and thanksgiving or whatever. Suddenly, different hands were grabbing me, as someone who was too slight to be Ethan tried to steady me and himself. His feet shifted about five times to compensate for my forward momentum, and my eyes still sought Ethan, not running, not suspicious, but walking toward me with his hideous smirk.

I suddenly realized Sara was yelling from my hand, and—for some reason—prioritized her, bringing the speaker to my ear, while the grey pants and casual hoody that had managed to catch his balance, developed a voice.

"Harmony!" he said, and I looked up into Jyles Pritchard’s face. Oh yeah, for some reason, my parents named me Harmony, but no one had called me that in three years; even my parents adapted, and my insta friends at least respected it enough to not online insult me. I use my middle, Veera.

Glancing into Jyles’ eyes, something clicked into place; that moment a girl realizes the boy she liked to tease about reading and stole notes from to pass classes, was actually, maybe, truly, smart... I blinked again, and then Sara’s voice came through, and I launched the phone to my ear, to hear her demanding an explanation for my sudden silence. Then I remembered douche-face, still coming towards us.

Hey, Ethan said, and waved a hand, casual-like. For some reason there was a gun in his pants. But I knew he wanted to fuck me, not kill me. Jyles let go of me. Who’s this? Ethan asked.

It was like my chest had climbed up to strangle me. All I could see was the bulge of the gun, and all I could think was, how do I keep this fucker from killing Jyles?

I hung up on Sara and glanced to the screen, looking for the ‘emergency call’ button. My back was to Jyles now. I met Ethan’s eyes. I hated cops, but that town was small and whoever showed up probably knew my parents—my dad did a lot to make friends with everyone in that tiny town. I felt Jyles’ hand suddenly tilting the screen of my phone, looking at my outgoing call to the police.

What are you doing here, asshole? I said to Ethan.

You know, he said—and nothing else. The phone just kept ringing, so I hung up. I hated cops anyway, and it was no wonder emergency services weren’t good at being on hand—the place had like twenty residents, nothing moved fast. Something in my stomach tightened. My eyes raked over him. I felt my gaze going to the coffee shop where my mom was.

How did you know I would be here? I asked. I mean, seriously?

He smirked. Nothing else. Then, Thought we might go back to Boston together.

I shook my head. I live here now, I lied. I don’t know why I lie. I guess the same reason I lied as a kid when I stole candy—the truth was much scarier. And there’s this insane risk to a lie, like wondering if they’ll catch me. To be clear, I never lie to my friends except as a prank—I’ll let on after a minute—but parents and pond scum and police, are different. Not only is there a thrill, but there’s this power, like, now I know something they don’t know. I watched his eyes go to Jyles, and I said:

Yeah. I’m seeing this guy. It was an even bigger lie, but for a second I remembered Ethan ignoring Cassy the moment she showed up with a boyfriend. He never respected me, but he might a boyfriend. I glared at him. Yeah, since high school. He was my first fuck. Put a ring on it, and he’ll be my last. I stared into Ethan’s eyes. For some reason—I can’t help but fight—I stepped closer to him, still meeting his eyes, adrenalin taking effect with all the lies I was telling. My heart was racing, and I almost loved it. But I hated that my mom was so close. So get the fuck out of town, I said. I reached out and wrapped my hand around the bulge of his gun under his jacket. He had no surprises for me. Sara tells me the cops are looking for you. Wouldn’t want them to find you with this. Here. Now, would you?

Fuck you, Veera.

Get the fuck out of town. Boston PD might hate me, but here, my dad plays poker with the cops. They’ve seen me in fake pigtails and button up shirts. Maybe not that princessy, but what the hell.

He was looking at Jyles now. I still had my hand on the gun, tempted to snatch it and shoot the motherfucker, but he was fast and muscled like a demon—I’d seen him break up bar fights and catch bottles flung across the room. Everything in me knotted up as I saw the bakery door opening, and my mom looking around for me.

Girlfriend? Ethan said, staring over my head at Jyles, voice quiet, thank God—but asking fucking Jyles because he was a guy, and for no other reason—like, bitch, hear my fucking voice.

Sure, Jyles said. Sounds like we’re putting labels on our relationship. It’s like I recognized his voice from hearing him say things in class, in high school, but, at the same time, it was so utterly unfamiliar.

Ethan started walking away; I don’t know if it was the boyfriend claim or the cop threat, but I sighed with relief. My mom came over to us with two cups of coffee.

Is that the boy you broke up with? she asked. He’s... built.

No, I said. He was just asking for directions. I said that loudly—I don’t know why... I hated him, is why. I watched his step falter. Let’s get out of here, I said. But I didn't move. I had to see him get in his car. I smiled at my mom, reassuring; though she didn’t need reassuring, I did.

Your mother was telling me you would be here for Thanksgiving, Jyles, my mom said, smiling at him.

I do try to come home every now and then, he said. I wanted to glare at him, but, for once, I was adult enough to know I needed to be grateful, and my heart was still racing. I was glad my mom’s attention had shifted, so I could stare at Ethan in peace. Jyles and my mom said a few more abstract things, then my mom asked:

Is your girlfriend coming down?

Ethan was out of hearing, getting in his car; my gaze still glued to his back. I felt something then though and glanced at my sleeve in surprise. Jyles was running his middle finger—not blatantly flipping me off, but definitely flipping me off a little—over and over on my sleeve.

The engine of the sleek too-expensive car started as Jyles said, I heard rumor, but who can say if she’ll actually make an appearance? He leaned closer to me. "She’s sometimes a bit of a liar."

I met his eyes, wishing my mom was anywhere else—wishing I was anywhere else. I swallowed and glanced back at Ethan’s car. It was gone. I felt relief. I shook off Jyles’ finger and stepped away from him. I smiled at my mom.

I thought we might sit inside, I said. I didn’t mean to be so long—I guess everyone in town wants to catch up with me. I tossed my head, but I didn’t meet Jyles’ eyes. I wasn’t sure I could at that point. He wasn’t how I remembered him, and it freaked me out, especially while my heart was still coming down from the adrenalin rush Ethan had brought on. I heard a subtle snort from him.

"Good to see you, Harmony," he said, and started to walk away.

My eyes snapped up. I felt bad. I glanced at my mom’s face, and I saw her about to say what she always said, I don’t understand why you two can’t be friends.

My stomach sank—because, for the first time, I felt like she was right. Jyles! I called out. He glanced back, and his eyebrows went up like he was smarter than me. I glared at the ground with a theatrical air. My mom says I have to apologize. I stamped my foot to emphasize, thinking it was funny—thinking it was far too familiar, as I’d insincerely apologized to him just like that a hundred times a year before we got out of middle school—once high school hit, my mom couldn’t make me apologize for anything.

I looked up. He lifted his brows—I wanted him to laugh, but he didn’t. My phone started buzzing. I knew it would be Sara, but I didn’t answer.

Thanks, Jyles said, in a bland, bland voice. He was probably being passive aggressive, but I was never good at picking up on that.

Perhaps because it was ingrained in me since grade school to want to intimidate Jyles—I mean, once you make a boy pee himself, you can’t rest until you’ve gotten every reaction out of him possible—I ran over to him, about ten feet, after all the shifting away he’d done.

"No. Thank you," I said, and leaned up on my toes and kissed him. His lips were less papery than I thought they would be. I guess reading doesn’t dry out your mouth as much as I expected it to. It was a brief kiss, a peck of the lips, and when I fell back on my heels and looked at him, he gave me no response. His hand shifted, but his eyes stayed blank. He twisted my hair, not out of my face—which is a move that has been tried on me before—but delicately, with only his middle finger, adjusted it into my eyes before running the finger over my nose, almost jabbing me in the eye with it.

Careful, he said.

I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but I remembered something else all of a sudden. Shit. Sara, I said. I redialed her as Jyles gave me a slightly fed up or confused look. I met his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. Then my mom’s voice echoed in my head, and I said, You don’t really have a girlfriend, do you? I found the idea hard to believe for some reason. I guess I was so used to picking on him and belittling him, the idea of someone wanting to date him sounded ridiculous.

Jyles closed his eyes, courteously opened them, and, in a clipped voice, said, Not one who is coming to thanksgiving.

While Sara, in my ear, said, Who are you talking to? Is Ethan there?

I turned away from Jyles. He left.

Good. Shit. So, who are you talking to?

No one. I glanced at Jyles. Just this kid I— once made pee himself. I blinked, trying to think of any other way to introduce him, but my mind was programmed. I saw something in Jyles’ face—I was betting on rage or amusement at our past selves. Truth: no idea.

You what? Sara said. Dated? Lost your virginity with? What? What?

No! I— No, he was just someone I... stole homework from. I think that was better. At least it showed he was smarter than me.

Oh. She sounded disappointed.

"Lived next door to," Jyles’ voice whispered in my ear. His hands came to my upper arms, as if to shake me. I could practically feel his eyes rolling back in his head at how idiotic or awful I was.

I lived next door to him, I said, then wished I hadn’t. Nothing. He’s no one, I added when Sara started asking more questions—I liked her, but she talked way too much. Look, I have to go. I just— No. Bye. Thanks for calling about Ethan. Terrifying. I hung up on her. I doubted she would call again unless Ethan did something else; other than work, we had almost nothing in common.

So that was your ex-boyfriend? Jyles said, frowning now.

I shook my head. No. He was a bouncer at this club I used to work at. I don’t know how he tracked me here.

Is that the only reason you came back? To avoid him? There was disgust on his face.

No, I lied.

His teeth dug together briefly, then he said, And you’re just going to use me and pretend you didn’t torture me for the first eighteen years of my life?

I felt my eyes flicker back and forth, as I processed that. No, I said, thinking it was the right answer—though I had no concept of what he was exactly wanting from me. No. I guess... I met his eyes. Oh, you’re angry, I realized. His brows rose, and I felt myself with a familiar triumph and laughed—then felt bad about laughing. Then touched his arm, and said, But you’re smart.

And I study psychology. What about it? His lips pressed tightly together again.

I’ll make it up to you, I said. Or something. Or avoid you. I promise, I won’t project ghosts in your bedroom. But the idea had me smirking, because that was so much fun.

It’s not Halloween. I wasn’t worried about that.

I glanced to his eyes again, and my heart stopped for a second. I leaned up and briefly kissed his lips again. They still didn’t taste like homework, but they also didn’t respond.

I have to go drink coffee with my mom, I said, blinking with thoughts. It’s fine, I told myself as I walked off. Everything will work out... Because it has up until now? I rolled my eyes, then smiled at my mom and suggested we go home. It wasn’t until we were in the living room, and she could rant at my father, that I realized casually kissing Jyles Pritchard in a public area might get noticed.

Are you seeing him? my mother demanded.

No, I said.

Then why did you kiss him?

To bother him. That was mostly true. Either that or to apologize—I