Cassidy Sloane was not a pretender. She made no effort to hide her red-rimmed eyes or puffy cheeks, only glared at Zach suspiciously like I didn't invite you to my pity party.

"So you're not gonna let me in?"

Gray eyes rolled. The redhead opened the Sloanes' mahogany door about an inch wider, creating a space that Zach could just barely squeeze through.

The Sloanes had a really nice house, big and overly decorated with gigantic paper leaves and plastic pumpkins for the start of fall. It made Zach's mother sputter with envy every time she saw it, with repetitions of the words Concord heritage and pretty money and unworthy Califorian bohemians. Most families in Concord were middle-class and the Nortons were certainly not poor. But as in most small suburbs, everyone in Concord was constantly aware of who had more and who had less.

"Oh, I lost your jacket," Cassidy said unceremoniously as she led him to the living room.

She was definitely trying to provoke him, since she knew how much he loved his navy blue jacket. But Zach was still feeling so horribly guilty about losing Cassidy's baseball mitt a few weeks ago, the one that had been given to Cassidy by her dad, that he didn't mind this payback.

"You suck," he said now, without much feeling. Cassidy's eyes flashed as she flopped down and unfolded her long legs to take up an entire couch.

"So," she gritted, "what do you want?"

"Your hockey chicks? Ring a bell?"

It did. Zach watched Cassidy's facial expression changed from irritation to guilt as she remembered that she had invited him over.

"Oh, man. Um, can we reschedule?"

"Their first tournament is in two weeks," he reminded her.

Cassidy bit her lip. "I know, but…" She trailed off.

Zach felt a pang of annoyance. He was offering up his own spare time to be the manager of the Chicks with Sticks, and Cassidy never seemed the least bit grateful. "What? Do you have some hot date you have to get to?"

Cassidy flinched, and then stood up. "No, not anymore. Tell you what, let me get my stuff and then we can head out."

Not anymore. Zach speculated. He had heard from Becca that Tristan Berkeley was in town, but hadn't thought that much of it until now.

"Lovers' spat?" he said, following Cassidy upstairs.

Cassidy stopped and frowned. "None of your business."

Zach couldn't stop his mouth from moving. "Did Berkeley stand you up or something?"

"No, actually, you just missed him storming out ten minutes ago," Cassidy said coolly, "which was much less dramatic than when Becca threw a champagne glass at you."

Zach winced. "Shut up."

"Definitely most memorable moment of Emma's birthday party." Cassidy ducked as Zach reached out to shove her.

"Shut it, carrothead."

They had reached Cassidy's room by now, which smelled a little funny. Zach tried not to laugh when he saw a mostly empty box of pizza, which had one moldy, half-eaten slice hanging out. How on earth had Cassidy hidden that from her OCD mom? His eyes moved to the slew of clothes: a colorful variety of socks, sweatshirts, and bras…

He averted his eyes. He didn't dare offer to help Cassidy look through the mess, for fear the girl would chop his arms off for touching something he wasn't supposed to.

"Honestly, why would you date Becca in the first place?" Cassidy was saying.

"Uh," Zach said. "'Cause she's hot?"

Cassidy turned her face toward him and exaggerated a gag. "If you're into low-cut tops and slutty mini-skirts."

"Hey," Zach protested. He wasn't sure whether to defend his girlfriend, since it was true that she tended to wear, uh, more revealing clothing—not that Zach was complaining.

"Didn't you guys break up?" Cassidy threw a clipboard into her bag.

Zach shrugged. "We're on and off."

Cassidy scoffed. "'Kay, you stay here, I'm going to go into my sister's room to get a sweatshirt."

"What happened to all of yours?"

"All my clothes smell kind of funny. I think it might be because of the—" She cut herself off.

Zach grinned. "Don't stop there. I think I want to hear this."

After a moment, Cassidy returned the grin. "Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"That bad?"

"Well, I think it's funny," Cassidy said. "But the other girls are really embarrassed, so you have to promise."

"I promise," Zach said immediately.

"So we were going to Jess' house and she showed us her new pet skunk…"

Zach laughed so hard that he snorted. "Don't tell me. That skunk was so scared by your hair that it let out a huge, stinkin' cloud of gas."

"Dude, your ex-girlfriend was the one who scared it with her shrieking," Cassidy informed him.

He winced. "Why didn't you get your mom to wash your clothes?"

"She's on an promo tour for her show," Cassidy reminded him. "And my dad likes doing housework less than I do, so it's been take-out food and dirty laundry for this past week. It's been great."

"I wish my mom would get a show," Zach said enviously.

"Yeah, well, the only show your mom would host is Homebuilding with Harriet or Harriet the Helpful Homemaker or, get this, Homebuilding with Helpful Homemaker Harriet."

"My mom's name is Rachel, you loser," Zach said, but he was laughing.

Cassidy smirked. "Be right back. Don't touch my stuff."

She came back shrugging into a navy UCLA crewneck and they set off for the rink, their mouths running over football teams and exercising in good-natured ribbing. It was a typical fall day, with a chilly breeze that made you want to go jogging or throw a ball in the park or do something,to warm up. Or maybe that was just Zach.

Cassidy suddenly stopped in the middle of an insult when they reached the rink. Her face went pale.

"Crap."

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Zach teased. He followed her line of sight to a boy with dark hair who landed soundly on the ice from a wicked spin. The boy straightened up when he saw them—Cassidy's hair was no miss from a mile away—and even though Zach couldn't see his facial expression too clearly, the guy didn't seem too happy.

"I should've known he'd come here," Cassidy muttered.

"Is that—"

"Quick, are you still with Becca?"

"No, but—"

"Good, because I'm thinking about kissing you right now."

Zach's mouth fell open. "Wha—"

"Joking," Cassidy said. "Mostly."

Zach stared.

"The expression on Tristan's face would have been worth it," she added regretfully as they walked up.

"Cassidy," said Tristan Berkeley, his accent crisp. There was an edge in his voice that matched the tension in his face as he looked at Zach. "And Zach, if I remember correctly?"

Zach raised his chin and met the other boy's stare directly. "Hey, man."

"Zach is the manager of Chicks with Sticks," Cassidy said. "He's helping me coach the girls today."

"Of course, I'll let you two get on with that," Tristan said, his voice razor sharp. "I know how busy your schedule is, Cassidy."

Zach saw Cassidy step back as if she had been struck. He swung his arm around her shoulders, half-expecting her to resist, but she didn't.

Tristan's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, but Zach beat him to it.

"You can help if you want," he said. "Cassidy told me you were pretty good at skating, and those girls need all the help they can get for their game."

"I'm not sure if Cassidy would want that," Tristan said quietly.

"Suit yourself," Zach said after a pause. "I'm going to put on my skates."

As he left, he heard Tristan say angrily, "I know what you're doing."

Zach turned around, but the other boy's gaze was focused on his girlfriend.

"Oh, all-knowing one, tell me what I'm doing." Cassidy's voice was sharper than Zach had ever heard it.

"If you're trying to make me jealous, don't bother."

"It's always about you, isn't it?"

Zach quickly hurried away to let them talk it out. Unfortunately, when he came back, they were still arguing. A few young girls decked out in heavy hockey splendor crowded around, but neither Tristan nor Cassidy seemed to have noticed.

"It was supposed to be a surprise, so if you could at least try to act grateful—"

"Oh, because acting is all you ever do. Forget about skating, Tristan, you should become an actor."

"I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"Well, don't bother next time."

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson."

"Oh, dear," a mother dropping off her daughter said to Zach. "They should go in for couple therapy."

"If they're still a couple by the end of this," Zach pointed out.

"Oh, don't worry," the mother said confidently. "Just you wait, they'll get married one day. I've seen enough of this to know opposite types attract. This is love at its purest form."

Zach was unimpressed.

"Uh, Cassidy?" he called out. Both Cassidy and Tristan turned to glare at him. "Hate to interrupt, but maybe we should start warm-ups?"

Cassidy let out a breath, blowing up a flyaway strand of hair. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I'm going to change into skates."

"You ok?" he muttered to her as she moved toward him.

"Yeah." Cassidy sighed again. "We haven't had a fight in a while, so I think part of the reason why this one is so bad is because we're both letting out steam."

She quickly swiped a hand across her eyes, but Zach didn't miss the gesture. He remembered her red-rimmed eyes when he had first stopped by her house. "Want me to…"

"Nah." Cassidy smiled and bumped his shoulder before moving past. "But thanks."

He was glad she cut him off because he didn't know how he would've finished that sentence. Want me to punch him for you? That made him sound like a possessive ex, which he was definitely not. Ever since they were thirteen, when Cassidy gave him a black eye for kissing her, Zach hadn't tried to make any advances. It made him wonder what was so special about Tristan Berkeley that he had gotten her to relax her defenses.

The other boy had been staring at their exchange, but Zach ignored him and hustled up the hockey girls. By the time Cassidy came back, they were passing around some pucks.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, with Tristan deciding to sit out and watch them coach. Or watch Cassidy, more specifically. Near the end, one of the girls, Katie, started crying because she was so nervous for the upcoming tournament, leading two more girls to unleash the waterworks. As Cassidy sat with them, Zach averted his eyes—hysterical girls were not his territory—and saw that on the bleachers, Tristan Berkeley had gone very still.

After all the girls had left, Tristan made his way over to Cassidy. His walk was slow, hesitant, and his confident posture had gone. Zach turned away and untied his skates.

He gave them one last glance before he left. One last glance told him that he didn't even need to say bye because they wouldn't miss his presence. After all, they were making out.

Gross, he thought as he jogged home, alone and jacketless in the return of the autumn wind.