I take in the room. Microscopes, burners, vials, glass cases, petri dishes. The science department. The man—a TA maybe?—says, “I hear you might be interested in studying science.”

My lungs feel close to bursting. “Yes.”

He goes on about all the different careers a degree in science can lead to. Medical, crime-scene investigation, research analysis, and on and on. Almost every one he mentions sounds interesting to me.

“Follow me,” he says, and leads me to a microscope. “I was just getting ready to analyze this blood sample. What I’m looking for is to see how many white blood cells per square unit there are. If you’ll just look through the scope and count for me I’ll see if my number matches yours.”

I do as he asked and relay my number. He writes it in a box on the paper next to the microscope. Then he goes to a glass case and pulls out a vial. He lets me inject a needle into it and drop a different drop of blood onto a slide and analyze that one as well. Next he shows me some different bacteria they were growing in dishes and tells me what each was taken from and the results. He also shows me some old police files that the students were working on to assess DNA and cause of death.

I know I must have an awestruck look on my face because when I glance over at Xander he has the biggest smile I have ever seen.

“Are you majoring in science, Lucas?” I ask.

“No. I’m an architecture major. This is just one of my classes. And Rick here is my roommate. He’s the TA for Dr. Fenderman.”

“Has Dr. Fenderman lured us here for future use as test subjects?”

“Yes, the next stop on the tour is the cage.”

“Cool. Does he happen to be testing any vaccinations? These boys need to catch some debilitating illness to get out of going to a benefit.”

“My sympathies,” Rick says. Has everyone in the world gone to a benefit besides me? Rick clips another slide in place and I peer through the microscope. Lucas and Rick start talking, and as I’m studying the slide I feel a tickle on the back of my neck.

“Are you having fun yet?” Xander asks. I feel him now, close behind me, the heat from his body sending a chill up my spine.

“Yes. This is amazing.”

“I’ve never seen you so happy.”

I’ve never felt so happy. I’m still looking through the lens at the slide, but I’m not seeing anything because Xander’s breath lightly touches the back of my neck. My body reacts to him, almost involuntarily, leaning back against his chest.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders. “You should major in science. Not necessarily here, but the field suits you. I could see you looking all cute in a white lab coat.”

I smile. “It’s a good idea. Maybe in a year.” I’m definitely taking at least a year off to help my mom.

“Caymen.” His voice is disapproving, like he knows what I am thinking. “That’s a mistake.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have many options, Xander.”

“You have as many options as you give yourself.”

I laugh a little. He has as many options as he gives himself. The rest of us are stuck with what’s given to us. “Why do you care?” I whisper.

For a second I think he didn’t hear me because I’m facing away from him, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders, but then he says, “Because I care about you.” I close my eyes for one second and let myself feel those words, feel him.

I want to let this happen, but something is still holding me back. I thought it was his girlfriend. But that’s obviously not an issue anymore. It’s my mother. I haven’t told her. And I feel terrible for that. I didn’t want to be his dirty little secret, but I have made him mine. I’m glad my back is to him because I can feel the disgust for myself written all over my face. I wiggle my arms, forcing him to drop his, and look at the clock on the wall. “Is it really eight already? We better go, Xander.”

“Before we leave, there’s this little Mexican joint on The Strip that I have to take you to. It’s not far. Amazing food.”

Chapter 30

“So he took you on a plane and flew you to a science department to give you a taste of college life and your rebuttal is . . . ?” Skye is trying to make me do something over the top for our next career day, but how am I supposed to top that?

“Um, actually, he’s coming over tomorrow night because my mom has this business associations meeting. . . .” I don’t know how to finish that thought and grab a small jewelry box off a shelf. It has fake jewels glued all over the wooden lid and is a perfect example of why I call this place Obvious Garbage.

Skye is busy arranging old books on a shelf, her back to me. “I don’t get it. How is that a career day? Are you going to take him to the meeting? Let him see how small business owners argue?”

“No.” I put the jewelry box down. “No, actually, I think my mom isn’t going to the meeting. I think she’s going out with some guy. A behind-my-back date.”

She turns around now, hands on her hips. “Wait. Are you saying that you and your mom are both dating people behind each other’s backs?” She laughs.

“No. I’m not dating Xander.” Yet. Not until I work up the courage to tell my mom. I’ve given myself one week to do that.

She rolls her eyes. “You two are the most in-love not-dating people I’ve met. Hold on.” She walks toward the back of the store and calls to Lydia, the owner. “The books are in order and the sign is flipped. Do you need me to do anything else?”

“No. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Skye hooks her arm around my elbow and leads me out the back door, cutting across the alley to the back of the doll store. “Where’s your mom?” she asks, pointing to the empty space where our car is normally parked.

“She ran to the store after we closed.”

“So anyway, back to career day. I don’t get what you’re going to do with Xander.”

“Neither do I. I was planning on spying on my mom. But I can see it’s a bad idea.”

She laughs.

“I had one other idea for a career day.”

We walk up the stairs to my apartment.

“I talked to Eddie last week and he said he’d teach us how to make his famous muffins.”

Skye makes a face. “Why?”

“Because Xander likes them. He likes all food, really. Everywhere we go we end up at his favorite restaurant. I thought maybe he could talk to Eddie, see if owning his own restaurant is something he’d enjoy.”

“Aww,” Skye says. “Now that’s thoughtful. And sweet.” She walks to the fridge once we’re inside. “And you pretend not to love the guy.”

I smile as she digs through the contents of the fridge. The light on the answering machine is blinking. I hit the button. “One new message,” the robotic voice says, followed by a lady. “Hi, Ms. Meyers, this is Tina from Dr. Saunders’s office. We went ahead and scheduled that ultrasound for you on the fifteenth. Please show up half an hour early and make sure you drink all the water we talked about. If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to call.”

I hear the fridge close behind me.

“I didn’t know your mom was pregnant,” Skye says.

“Pregnant? What?”

“Ultrasound. That’s what they do for pregnant people.”

My brain is just barely registering the words she said. “No, she’s not.”

“Oh, then why is she getting an ultrasound?”

There have to be other reasons people get ultrasounds. “I don’t know.”

“Has she been nauseous? Tired?”

I think back. She hadn’t been eating very well lately. Maybe it’s because she’s been sick to her stomach. And she has definitely been tired. I nod.

“So she’s probably pregnant.” She nods her head toward the answering machine. “Plus they asked her to drink all that water. That’s what they tell pregnant people to do so they can get measurements.”

I shake my head back and forth over and over.

“It’s kind of exciting, though, don’t you think? You’re going to have a little brother or sister.”

“Exciting? Yeah, right. No. She’s not pregnant. That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even have a . . .” I realize I was about to say “boyfriend.” It’s very possible that she does have a boyfriend. “She’s not pregnant.” But if she’s not pregnant then what is she? Anxiety washes over me. Is something wrong with her? People don’t get ultrasounds just because. . . . Do they? Maybe once you’re older that’s a standard procedure.

Skye moves in front of me and pets my shoulders. I must’ve gone completely catatonic. “It’s probably not a big deal. Even if she is pregnant it’s not a big deal.”

“She’s not pregnant,” I insist. “She’s too old to be pregnant.”

Skye laughs. “She’s only thirty-five.” Her phone chimes and she pulls it out and smiles after reading the text. “It’s Henry. The band is hanging out at Scream Shout. You want to go?”

I look at the now-solid light on the answering machine. Then I glance at the door. I can’t catch my breath. When will my mom be home? I need to ask her about this. But will she tell me? She’s been refusing to tell me anything for weeks now.

It’s nothing. My mom is fine. Standard procedure. “Yes. I’ll be right down. Give me one minute.”

She hesitates but then leaves. I scribble a note about spending the night at Skye’s and leave it on the counter. I pack a few things in my backpack and lock the door behind me.

We walk into Scream Shout and it’s practically deserted. The bartender points to the door off to the side of the stage when Skye gives him the questioning shoulder raise. Then she marches across the club and straight to the door. Music from a back room seeps down the dim hall. We follow the sound. The band is sitting on couches in a small back room and look up when we enter.

Henry greets Skye by singing a soft “There’s my beautiful girl,” accompanied by a few strums of his guitar.

She smiles and slides into the small space between him and the arm of the couch.

Mason winks at me. “Hey, Caymen.”

“Hi.” I throw my backpack against the wall, find some floor space, and settle in. I just want to melt into the floor and fade from existence for a while. It seems to work as the guys start goofing around with lyrics and music. I let the blended melodies bounce around inside me.

Derrick, the drummer, randomly sings about his day. How he drove in his car and listened to the radio. How he went to the store and picked up some milk and on and on. I stop listening until he asks, “What rhymes with ‘fire hydrant’?”

Mason gets serious and I think he’s going to say something like “Don’t be an idiot. Why are you singing about a fire hydrant?” But instead he says, “I don’t know, ‘wire tyrant’?”

“What’s a wire tyrant?” Henry asks.

“You know, someone who hoards all the wire. It’s a rising epidemic.”

I give a small laugh.

“How about ‘tired rant’?” Skye says. “If you draw it out, it rhymes good enough.”

“This is our tired rant about a useless fire hydrant,” Henry sings.

Mason laughs. “This is our tired rant about Henry the wire tyrant.”

“How can a rant be tired?” I ask. “Aren’t rants by nature lively?”

Henry strums a chord, looks up at the ceiling for a minute while playing several more chords, then sings, “I’m so tired of the same old rant when what I really need is a second chance.”