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go to college first.
    That sort of jealousy was actually a first for me. See, Kristin and I are so different that even being a mere year apart (usually a recipe for disaster with teenage daughters, I’m told), we never really fought, because, well . . . what were we going to fight over?
    I didn’t want to borrow her lip gloss. She wasn’t exactly fighting for my spot on the debate team.
    So high school was fine. I mean, it was . . . whatever.
    But I was jealous when she went to college, because I knew college was going to be my thing.
    Even though I knew we’d likely end up at the same school (I’d always had my eye on Davis, as had Kristin. As had every Bellamy since the history of Bellamys), but even knowing my big sister would be there, I’d had every intention of thriving.
    And I have.
    So far it’s been as great as I imagined, from the first day freshman year to last year’s kick-ass internship.
    I prayed my little heart out that I’d get hooked up with an awesome roommate, and the big guy came through for me. Tessa is this tiny redheaded bundle of awesome. Next year will be the fourth (and last, sniff!) year that we’re roomies, but it won’t be the last that we’re best friends.
    The rest came pretty easily, too.
    I’ve got a rock-solid group of friends. I love both the econ and bio departments and all the faculty there.
    I even met a couple cute boys who kinda sorta seemed to dig my quirkiness, dated them awhile, traded in my V-card on principle to one, and then ultimately dumped them both, because, well, I’ve been sort of hung up on you-know-who.
    And it’s that you-know-who that brings me to the flip side of college life: the bittersweet phase known as summer break.
    See, Cedar Grove has the not-so-great nickname as the Silver Spoon of Dallas.
    The town is about twenty-five minutes away from the city: close enough for the residents to fool themselves into thinking they’re urban when it suits them, far enough away to be elite when it suits them.
    And the latter suits them pretty much all of the time.
    Anyway, the point is . . . us “kids” of Cedar Grove? Unless it’s a cushy internship, not many of us go the summer-job route during our college years.
    Most of our parents do the token “It’ll be good for you to get a real job,” and in response we do the token application to the movie theaters and the lone ice cream shop, but they have only so much room for the June–September workforce, and most of the jobs are snatched up early by people who need them.
    People like Michael St. Claire who don’t have rich parents to float them.
    Anyway, summers here in Cedar Grove consist of hanging out at various people’s pool parties (in Kristin’s case), finding ways to avoid your mom’s insistence on dress shopping “just for fun” (my case), and a whole lot of Devon Patterson coming over for dinners.
    So it’s like I said.
    Summers are bittersweet.
    Bitter, because I have to watch my sister and Devon make up for a school year’s worth of missed make-out sessions.
    Sweet, because summer’s the only time I get to remind Devon that I’m even alive.
    Tonight, however, is especially bitter. It’s the first night since Kristin and I got home that Devon has made the time to come over, and Kristin is alternating between pouting because he’s been busy, and letting her hand slide way too far up his leg, considering my parents are, like, right there.
    I manage to get a couple of questions in around mouthfuls of chicken while Kristin picks at the green beans on her plate, but my parents mostly dominate the conversation, asking Devon what was next now that he’d graduated, and does he like Kristin’s new haircut?
    Normally I love it when my parents give him the third degree after not seeing him for a while because it lets me get the updates without having to seem overly interested myself.
    But tonight I can’t stop noticing that Devon seems . . . off.
    I’ve known him since the fourth grade, and