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it was completely not the same thing, I figured it didn’t apply. I mean, why would it? It was pretty much just like having Jamie or Willow over.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked as the latch clicked shut.
    He shrugged and gave me an amused smile. “Picking up a CD? You didn’t like it? You want to give it back?”
    I actually loved the CD he’d made me. Tristan was a huge classic rock fan. That should be obvious to anyone if they paid any attention to his attire. I used to mercilessly tease him about listening to such old school music. Then one day last summer he handed over a CD with all of his favorites.
    His point was proven and I never teased him again.
    “No,” I told him. “You can’t have your CD back. I was just trying to avoid a conversation with my mom.”
    “I figured,” he said. But he looked relieved. “I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind about it.”
    “No,” I assured him. “I still listen to it all the time.”
    He smiled at my response.
    “Soooo,” I asked again, dragging out the question. “Why are you here?”
    “Oh,” he said. He looked like he just remembered the answer to that. “These.” He dug around in his front pocket and pulled out my keys. He held them out to me. “I found them on the way home. They were on the side of the road. I stepped on them, actually. But I think they’re just fine. I knew they were yours. I thought maybe you’d need them in the morning or something.”
    He handed over the big clump of keys with its multiple key rings. Definitely mine, no mistaking it. One of the key rings was a giant, purple “B”.
    “Oh, th anks! That was so lucky! It’s supposed to snow tonight. They would’ve been buried and I never would’ve found them then,” I said as I took them. “They must’ve fallen out when I pulled my hand out of my pocket. You didn’t have to walk them all the way back here, though. I could’ve gotten them from Jamie.”
    He just shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Like I said, I thought you might need them.”
    He was still leaning up against my door. His eyes began wandering around my room. He’d been to my house probably hundreds of times before. Dad used to be famous around here for his grilling capabilities. He was the master of neighborhood barbeques. Our family had hosted them monthly during the summer. Sometimes more often, as in, whenever the urge struck him. I couldn’t remember a single time though, where Tristan had actually been up to my room. I glanced around. I was glad I’d made my bed and that the only clothing I’d left out was a dirty pair of jeans I’d tossed aside. Mom had placed my shopping bags on my bed so I could sort through them myself. No dirty bras or underwear scattered about, though, thank goodness. I hadn’t thought of that while I was dragging him up the stairs.
    I found myself checking my room over, just like Tristan was doing. My walls were a pale pink. An embarrassing remnant of my princess phase that had lasted…well, longer than I cared to admit. And while I’d thought about painting the walls, I’d never gotten around to it. Mostly because I couldn’t decide on a color I did want. My comforter was a simple cream color and my furniture a deep cherry. Other than the pink, the room wasn’t anything too embarrassing. No posters or movie memorabilia hung from my walls. They’d come down last year. Now I just had a few family pictures and several big collages of my friends and me.
    Luckily, m y pictures of Corey had all been ripped off of my mirror. I wasn’t sure why but I was glad I’d done that. Not that Tristan ever would’ve said anything. But considering I’d just insisted I was over Corey, I was glad there weren’t any pictures lingering to refute me.
    “Things looked kind of intense with you and your mom,” Tristan noted. His eyes finally settled back on me. So far, he’d made no move to come any further into my room.
    I shrugged. “They weren’t yet but the