“Well, if it doesn’t pass, remember to share with your best friend.”

I nodded solemnly. “Understood. I promise to share with you the wealth of boys who throw themselves at my irresistible feet.”

Irresistible. Right. I already had a theory about why Stephen had kissed me, not that I wanted to share it with anyone, Carly included. I’d decided it had been a dare from his friends to go kiss a weird high school girl who had a thing for zombie movies—not that they’d know that little detail about me.

My stomach growled.

Correction: the weird high school girl who liked zombie movies and was suddenly ready to eat her way through the city. Then again, I’d always been too skinny. “A” didn’t only describe the grades I was striving for, but my bra size, as well. Eating eight thousand calories a day would definitely solve that little problem. Pun intended.

Something smelled delicious. My skin tingled and my mouth watered. I closed my eyes and inhaled, seeking the new scent past the salty, greasy odor of popcorn that surrounded us.

Carly groaned. “I can’t deal with him right now. I’ll just wait over here, okay?”

“What?” I opened my eyes as she wandered toward a movie magazine rack near the concession stand. In her rush to get away, she banged against the island that held the napkins and plastic straws.

“Hope she didn’t leave because of me,” a familiar voice said.

Oh.

“How did you guess?” I turned my head to see Colin Richards, Carly’s ex-boyfriend, standing a few feet away.

Colin sat behind me in English and we’d forged a bit of a friendship since the semester started last month, which was awkward considering how much Carly hated his guts. He’d cheated on her at a pool party this summer and, understandably, she’d been crushed by the betrayal. Colin tended to do crazy stuff when he was drunk. One of the crazy things he’d done was Julie Travis, who’d allegedly had her eye on Colin’s broad shoulders, cropped sandy-blond hair and wicked sense of humor since they’d been in elementary school together. However, once he’d sobered up, Colin had realized his mistake, tried to make up with Carly and failed spectacularly. Carly was a lot like me in that way—she didn’t get over being hurt easily. She put on a good front, but I knew she was still heartbroken.

“New haircut?” Colin asked.

I touched my dark hair, twisting a long piece around my index finger. “Not lately.”

“It looks nice.” When he smiled, my gaze was drawn to his mouth. I’d never noticed what nice lips Colin had. Carly had told me many times that he was an amazing kisser. As far as I knew—and, believe me, I would have been told otherwise—that’s as far as they’d ever gone together.

I moved a little closer to him. “Are you wearing a new cologne?”

He shrugged. “Just soap.”

I pulled myself out of my sudden daze to glance over my shoulder at Carly, who was currently out of earshot. However, she was still giving me the eye. The eye that asked, Why are you smelling my ex-boyfriend?

I cleared my throat. “I need to go. Uh, I’ll see you in class tomorrow, okay?”

He nodded. “Bright and early.”

I turned and walked over to Carly. She put down the magazine she’d been pretending to read. Her cheeks were flushed, which told me she was upset but trying to control her emotions.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be sorry.” She sent a sneer in the direction of Colin, who’d rejoined his friends on the other side of the theater. “The fact that he’s still breathing isn’t your fault.”

“He really wants you to forgive him.”

“Did he say that?”

“Well, not just now, but it’s implied.”

Her lips thinned. “When he dies, I promise to put flowers on his grave. How’s that?”

“It’s a start.”

I wasn’t certain if Carly was still upset because she really loved Colin or if it was something else. Personally I think what had happened stung so much because he was the first guy to pursue a relationship with her. She tended to hide a bit, feeling fat—which she totally wasn’t—and not thinking she was good enough to catch a hot guy. I knew at least two other guys who’d be happy to ask her out if she’d give them half a chance. Instead, she wallowed. Which was fine, since I was a bit of a wallower myself.

Carly grimaced, her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. “Brace yourself for impact. Jordan’s on her way over here and she looks pissed.”

I tensed up.

Jordan Fitzpatrick and I had been friends for three whole weeks in ninth grade drama class, until we’d started to like the same boy—one who hadn’t liked me in return and had proven this by laughing in my face when he learned about my feelings. He hadn’t liked Jordan, either, so she blamed me for the rejection. She’d then decided that she hated me. Because that made sense.

She’d just exited a neighboring theater with some of her equally unpleasant friends and was headed our way.

Nearly six feet tall with flame-red hair and a few scattered freckles on her nose, Jordan was easily the most beautiful girl in school. I knew from our short friendship that she wanted to be a model. A top model, of course, following in her mother’s footsteps. Her mom currently starred in a soap opera down in Los Angeles, and Jordan had stayed here in Trinity with her father to finish school.

She’d been pursuing the modeling goal every waking moment that she wasn’t at school, and so far she’d failed miserably at it. Just because you were gorgeous and tall didn’t mean you were also photogenic.