Copyright © 2012 by Stacy Kramer and Valerie Thomas
All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.
ISBN 978-1-4231-5948-3
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Acknowledgments
To David and Henry... for everything
What time is it? Where am I?
Disoriented, I attempt to open my eyes. The light is stabbing. My head is throbbing, my throat is raw, and my stomach is roiling. Is this what a hangover feels like?
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one. Until now.
I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and lie still, trying to get my bearings. Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. I think. But then again, it could have turned into one of the worst. I don’t remember much past a certain point.
I can hear kids’ voices a few rooms away. The smell of bacon wafts into the room, a distinct reminder that I’m not home, in my bed, where I should be. My mother grew up in a kosher, Jewish home. Even though she’s more agnostic than Jewish these days, old habits die hard; she’d never cook bacon.
I give it another go, allowing my eyes another peek at the world. Slowly, gradually, without making any sudden moves, I glance around, taking in my surroundings. A partial view of an unfamiliar bedroom comes into focus. There’s a dresser in the corner, where a mess of snow globes, stuffed animals, and Barbie dolls fight for space. A poster of a fuzzy white kitten with a huge purple bow around its neck is taped to the wall, between two windows. One window has a shade pulled halfway down, the other has no shade at all. Light pours in mercilessly. Is it always this sunny in the morning?
I turn my head to avert my eyes, and that’s when I see him. The gorgeous, half-naked boy lying next to me. Asleep.
Oh. My. God. Max.
I am now wide awake, and it’s all rushing back at me.
I’m in Ensenada. Mexico. With Max Langston. At Manuel’s house.
I’m not at all sure how I got here last night. And I’m not at all where I should be, at home, in my bed, preparing for my valedictorian speech, this afternoon. This is so not the ideal scenario for the morning of graduation.
The final throes of last night appear in spiky flashes. Glimpses of scenes flicker in and out, staccato and in no particular order. It’s like watching a movie trailer, except, instead of Kate Hudson or Kristen Stewart, I’m the star. Swimming in the ocean with Max. Drinking (lots of drinking) on the dock.
And kissing (lots of kissing). Then…the screen goes black.
I try to sit up, but the effort makes me woozy, and I lie back down. Why on earth would anyone drink if this is what it feels like the morning after? Maybe because the night before felt pretty damn great. That much I remember.
To say I’m not the kind of girl who normally finds herself in a situation like this is an enormous understatement. I play by the rules even when there aren’t any. I listen. I do as I’m told. In four years of high school, I haven’t dated, drank, or partied—though I seem to have done all three with wild abandon last night. To prove the point, I’m lying here, next to a boy I barely know, in a strange house, in a foreign city. I’m pretty sure this kind of thing doesn’t end well. At least not for girls like me.
Oh God, what was I thinking? I suppose I wasn’t. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to unplug. Utterly and totally. I went way off the rails. It was exhilarating. Addictive. But not the best idea on the day before graduation.
I look at my watch. It’s nearly seven o’clock. Graduation is in five hours, in La Jolla, California, which is a good two hours away. And that’s without border traffic. Think, I tell myself. But my brain isn’t cooperating. I’m getting very little except the low, dull sounds of static. Much of the blame for this mess falls squarely on my shoulders. If only I hadn’t chased after the guy on the bike, or climbed into that truck, or lost Will, or drank so damn much tequila…
I am interrupted from my free fall by Max’s firm, bronzed arm reaching across my waist. My breath catches in my throat. Beautiful, sexy Max Langston—whose green eyes are lethal weapons, whose lopsided smile is impossible to resist, whose charm is legendary, and whom I’ve barely spoken to in six years of school until three days ago—is lying next to me. If I knew anything about statistics, I’d say the chances of this actually happening are improbably low, and yet here we are, against all odds, our bodies grazing each other, my face flushing with heat.
Max is wearing only boxers, sliding down so low on his hips I can see his V-line. He moves closer. All my senses are on high alert as our limbs intertwine, finding their comfort zone. His body fits perfectly into mine. His fingers inch their way under my T-shirt and gently stroke my stomach. He makes circles around my belly button. His touch is tender and yet totally electrifying. It’s almost too much to bear. His soft, full lips brush my neck. He doesn’t even have morning breath, as I’m sure I do.
“Hey, you,” Max says, smiling lazily. “We got pretty messed up last night.”
“Yeah,” I say, hoping he’ll offer more, giving me a better picture of what exactly happened toward the end of the evening, when my disk got erased.
“I hope we didn’t do anything stupid,” I say, fishing for information.
“Yeah, pretty sure we did.” Max laughs softly, and then his eyes close again.