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doesn’t look up as I approach. I begin to wonder if this was such a good idea.
    â€œHey, Justin,” I say.
    â€œOh, hey!” he says, looking up from his phone and shooting me a big smile. I start to relax.
    â€œHey,” I say again.
    He opens his mouth and is about to say something when Bethanne runs up and practically tackles me from behind. She grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me around the corner of the house. Justin gives me a confused little wave goodbye. I wave back at him.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I ask Bethanne.
    â€œYour mom is here,” she says.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI just saw her through the window. She’s in the kitchen, talking to Terry’s mom. They’ll be out here any second.”
    My mouth drops open. “Oh. My. God.”
    Then I hear her, calling out into the backyard.
    â€œAndrea!”
    She sounds 50 percent angry, 50 percent frantic and 100 percent mind-numbingly embarrassing.
    â€œShit,” I say. “What do I do?”
    â€œJust hit the road,” says Bethanne. “You’re going to catch hell anyway. This is embarrassing enough without your mom dragging you out of the party in handcuffs.”
    I hesitate, and Bethanne snaps her fingers right in front of my face.
    â€œAndrea! In five seconds you will either be the victim of the most embarrassing moment of your life or the hero of the most badass moment of your life. Now move it!”
    She’s right. I hurry through the front yard to the sidewalk. Then I start to run.
    Sticking to the back streets, I move away from Terry’s house and the school. Finally, several blocks later, I slow down to catch my breath. I try to think of someplace to go, somewhere my mother won’t come looking for me.
    Then I turn a corner and find myself face to face with her. She’s wearing her best business suit and her hair is perfectly coiffed. I stop in my tracks and stare at the big fake smile that beams out at me from the side of the bus shelter.
    Dinah Wants You to Get Home Now! says the life-size poster of my mother. Let Dinah Feingold of Feingold Realty Help You Find Your Dream Home!
    â€œReally?” I ask out loud. Then I hustle past the bus stop, leaving my mother behind to boss around the commuters of Granite Ridge.

PAUL
    I’m about to jump into Dad’s truck when someone yells at me from across the street.
    â€œPaul!”
    I step back from the truck and slam the door. Andrea’s mom is waving at me from in front of their house. I wave back before I realize she isn’t smiling. She’s not really waving, either. It’s more like she’s beckoning me to come over.
    I cross the street. She looks impatient. I’ve never really liked Andrea’s mom; she’s strict and not very friendly.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Feingold,” I say.
    â€œAre you going to the prom?” she asks.
    â€œUh, no. I’m feeling kind of—”
    She cuts me off. “Is someone having a party beforehand?” she asks. “Do you know where it is?” She sounds irritated, as if I’ve done something wrong.
    â€œUh, I think Terry Polish is having people over to his house.” I wonder immediately if I should have kept my mouth shut, since this probably has something to do with Andrea jumping out her window.
    â€œOkay,” she says, turning away abruptly and getting into her car. She backs quickly out of the driveway and zooms away toward Terry’s house. Now I’ve probably gone and gotten Andrea in trouble. Nice one, Paul .
    I get in the truck and drive toward the main strip. I plug my iPod into the stereo jack and scroll through to a playlist I only ever listen to by myself. For one thing, Lannie only listens to divas like Beyoncé and Adele. For another thing, Penner looked through my iPod one day, and he’s made fun of me ever since for listening to trip-hop and techno and dance music. He called me a Eurofag, which I guess is his