“After all the work and lies—and lotion—it took to get me into this parking lot, I’m not going home without more success to add to my list.”

“As awkward as this moment is, I'm intrigued with the possibilities of what this could mean. Gray Porter holding up my bangs while I memorize the depth of his chin divot ranks at the top of my things-that-have-overly-surprised me list! I don't really have such a list. But when I get home, I'm making one.”

“Is this a habit of yours?” he asks. “What?” “Dropping stuff whenever you first see me? It's kind of cute. Flattering,” he adds, straightening while easily holding all of my stuff in his giant arms. I've recovered enough to roll my eyes. “Maybe the habit is connected to your urge to rifle through my private things every time you see me?” “It's possible. Your stuff is so randomly interesting.” He eyes my science kit and then scans through the pile of papers in his hands. “You got any other lists that need checking off? College tuition aside, I'm also trying to save for a new car.” He laughs.”

“Without another word, I turn my back and start for my Jeep, wondering if he can hear how loudly he's made my heart pound. “Okay then, see you after school, Jess. It's a date. We'll have some fun! Good luck on your afternoon final!” He sounds like a stupid megaphone. When I don't answer and hunch my shoulders, his low laugh adds a trail of goose bumps coursing down my neck.”

“I’m talking head over heels, down on myknees, from the bottom of my heart, IN love,with you, Vere. That kiss blew me away. Iknow you felt something too—somethingmore for me. Don’t you?”

“So…you're not going to tell me what they mean? C'mon. What's the Hob? Why Forks?” When I stand, I switch to my blatantly rude, you're-an-idiot tone. This is the one that always pisses off my mom. To be sure he's not missing my insult this time, I also cross my arms and speak very slowly like I'm speaking to a toddler. “The Hob is from The Hunger Games books. It's the underground market where the characters trade food and information. Forks would be the town in Twilight. The setting. In boy-speak, Forks equals the planet Tatooine for Star Wars. You know—Anakin Skywalker's childhood home? Or are you not familiar with any global blockbusters? I suppose I could use Sesame Street or Pokémon for a reference—if it would help you understand better?” Bam. That should seal it. I couldn't have sounded more like a total bitch. He nods. “No, I've got it. My bedroom was Tatooine for all of third and fourth grade. Boy-speak…that's funny.” He laughs again, and it sounds warm and—and—not at all offended!”

“I pass off a few more résumés and jet away from her and that cinnamon smell, reserving the last paper in my hand so I can finish reading it. “Whoa—hello. What's this?” I mumble, staring at the paper. “Jess Jordan's How to be Normal Checklist, by Kika Jordan? Who's Kika?” I laugh. The way her face has turned whiter than the ice at the sports complex, I think this paper is no joke. “Kika's my little sister. Hand that over!” Do the right thing. Like she said, this is private information. None of my business. Only, it could possibly be my business. Indirectly. Not her fault…not mine… Jess's eyes have turned wild, exposed. “She made the list for me—as a joke. It's revenge. Last week I made her one on personal hygiene called: How NOT to Repel All Mankind.”