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the idea.
    “ Liv, are you ready for dinner? ” my dad calls out to me from the base of the stairs, bringing me out of my current daydream. I quickly check to make sure he can ’ t see the painting from where he stands. I take off the black paint-splotched dress first–then the real smock that actually protects my clothing.
    “ Yeah, ” I mumble just loud enough for him to hear. “ I told Mom I ’ d be up in a second. ” After he goes back upstairs, I carefully pick up the wet painting and put it in the storage closet that no one ever goes into. I know the portrait of Nate will be safe in there.

CHAPTER 3

    “ Since Jackson doesn ’ t have t-ball on Saturday, I thought you and I could drive upstate to see your grandparents, Liv, and get in some practice. ” My dad ’ s expression is hopeful. I shrug my shoulders at his offer.
    “ Livvy, you were begging me for some time to practice driving, ” Mom says.
    “ I want you to teach me. ”
    “ Well, that ’ s not gonna happen, ” she says. “ When have you known me to drive? ”
    “ You do sometimes– ”
    “ Not often. Certainly not often enough to teach you. You need an expert. That ’ s where your dad comes in. ” My parents exchange a look across the table, and then my dad looks back at me.
    “ What do you say, Tessa? We can even listen to your music. Maybe not with the volume as high as you ’ d like, but you can bring your iPod and I won ’ t complain. Deal? ”
    “ Is he going? ” I ask as I nod to my little brother.
    “ No, he ’ s got a birthday party to go to. It ’ ll just be me and you. ”
    “ You don ’ t trust me enough as a driver to have him as a passenger, huh? ” I ask him sarcastically.
    “ Well, honey, this would only be your fourth time to drive, ” he reasons with me.
    “ That ’ s not true. Uncle Chris has taken me twice– ”
    “ When was this? ” he asks Mom.
    “ I don ’ t know, Jacks, a week or two ago. You were at your sister ’ s, I think. ”
    “ Can he take me again? ” I interrupt. “ He ’ s a good driver. ”
    My dad drops his fork loudly on his plate and gets up to get something from the refrigerator. He refreshes my brother ’ s cup with some more milk. “ Did you need any more water? ” he asks me.
    “ No. ”
    “ Okay, ” he says, returning the carton to the refrigerator and sitting back down at the table. We all eat silently, the tension only amplified by the ticking clock on the wall behind me.
    “ Livvy painted a man today, ” my brother says as I shoot a glance at him.
    “ A man? What man? ” Mom asks.
    “ No one, ” I tell her. “ It ’ s just a portrait I made up. It ’ s not any good. I ’ ll probably paint over it tomorrow. ”
    “ She said he was handsome, ” Trey adds.
    “ He lies, ” I rattle off. “ I never said that. I was just practicing some shading I learned in class the other day. ”
    “ I ’ d love to see it, ” Dad tries to step into the conversation again.
    “ Like I said, ” I tell him sharply, “ I ’ ll probably paint over it tomorrow. ”
    “ I could take a look tonight, ” he counters.
    “ I ’ d rather you didn ’ t. It ’ s not any good. ”
    “ I doubt that, Livvy, ” my mom says. “ But we ’ ll respect your privacy. I know you ’ ll let us see when you ’ re ready. ” Again I catch my dad glaring at Mom.
    He doesn ’ t speak to either of us anymore at dinner, instead engaging my brother in conversation about a movie he took him to see last weekend. It ’ s obvious who his favorite child is. After all, I ’ m not even really related to him, and Trey is the son he always wanted to have. Jackson Andrew Holland III. Trey . The miracle baby.
    After Trey and I do the dishes, I hurry back downstairs to my room and shut the door. The painting was still on my mind, as was the mysterious man in it. I carefully take it back out of the closet and return it to the easel. Lying on the bed facing it, I look at his friendly eyes. Nate