Chapter One: Lacey Arrives at PCA

"Dad, you really don't have to worry about all this," I assured my father, on what must've been the thirtieth time as I drove along Pacific Coast Highway. "I know it was your alma mater... I know that very well."

"I know you know, sweetheart," my father replies on the Bluetooth. "And you would have gone to the school when you were thirteen—that's when they first allowed girls there. But with us in France..."

"Dad, you don't have to explain your job to me," I told him gently. "I understand you're being a diplomat was very important. Besides, now I can cook, and I speak French fluently. And I'm going to PCA for my senior year. I don't see a problem with how the timeline lined up."

He chuckles over the phone. "I just wish I didn't have to jet off to Tokyo," he says, disappointment in his voice. "And then there's Beijing and Berlin and I don't know if I'll be back before Christmas." He sighs. "If only your mom was still here, I know that things would be easier..."

"Dad, don't," I say. "I don't want to lose control of the car. It's Friday morning and I start my senior year on Monday."

"Sorry, honey," he says quickly. "How far out are you?"

"I should be at the school in twenty minutes," I reply. "Malibu isn't that far from the highway, but I'm sure you know that."

"I was born in California, you know, sweetheart," he says. "I'm going to miss you Leticia, I hope you know that."

"Thanks, Dad," I reply. "I'm going to miss you, too. But I should probably get off the phone and focus on my driving."

"Of course," he replies, laid-back as usual. "But you have your room assignment and key and map to the school?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And you remembered to pack all your books?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And the written waver to go home on the weekends?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And the parking permit for your car?"

I smile at the fine leather interior of the sweet, convertible ride; it was a 2009 red convertible Chrysler Sebring, and it had barely made a dent in my father's immense wealth. I hadn't even asked for it—it had just shown up in our garage with that oversized ribbon you see in all the movies. It was my baby, and I'd gotten it for my last birthday—a late present, but still—just a week before; it had replaced my silver 2007 Mazda MX-5 Miata. "Yes, Dad—I've got it all, don't worry. Parking permit—one copy on my mirror, the second faxed over to Dean Rivers this morning."

"You didn't forget your laptop?"

"You mean my brand-new Pear one?" I ask him, laughing. "No, Dad. I wouldn't forget that—I'm sure I have some essays coming up."

"Just tell me one more time, because I forgot—what room did they put you in? I want to make sure your care packages come to the right place."

"You mean the ones Stephanie will send me? Dad, she's been your secretary since I was fourteen. I think she knows how to get in touch with me by phone or email if she has any questions."

"Just tell me, sweetheart. Please."

"Room 101," I reply. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all. I love you, Leticia."

"I love you, too, Dad," I reply, hanging up.

I arrived on campus at the projected twenty-minute mark and pulled into my assigned parking lot. I found my space and drove into it, before pressing the button for my convertible top to go up. I hopped out of my car and reached in the back for my backpack—which held a few outfits and my toiletries—and my laptop case before I opened the trunk to get my roller suitcase and my duffel bag. I locked up my car then and made my way towards the many buildings, using my new PCA Map app for further instructions.

It directed me through the quad and onwards, where a large sign read FULTON HALL, my destination. I headed inside, onto the first floor, and walked all the way down the main hall before seeing my dorm room number. It had a white board on it, but was free of any ink or words or pictures as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. There were two single beds there, and one girl was organizing something by the single bed closest to the door.

"Hi," I said, setting down my things. "You must be my roommate."

The girl turned around and promptly smiled at me. "Hi!" she called, clearly happy to have someone to talk to. "I'm Lola Martinez," she said, putting out her hand. "I am so happy you're here."

I return her smile. "Leticia Spencer," I reply, shaking her hand.

"Awesome name!" Lola comments.

I shrug. "No need to call me that—it's what my dad calls me. It was my grandma's dying wish that I be named that." I let out a small laugh and shrug. "She wasn't a very nice person."

"Sorry to hear that," Lola replies. "My grandmother was a bit high and mighty herself, so I can relate. So, what should I call you?"

"Oh, call me Lacey, please," I say. I pick up my things as Lola resumes organizing her various belongings. "Do you mind if I take this other bed?"

"Unless you want to sleep on the floor," Lola joked.

"I thought you were supposed to have two roommates," I reply. "Not that I'm complaining—you seem really nice."

Lola smiles. "Well, that was policy, but then too many students complained to their big doner parents about overcrowding, so they changed it to two roommates per one room."

"I'm sorry if I got your other roommate kicked out."

She shakes her head. "You didn't. She and her boyfriend moved into a condo with another couple close by."

"You can live off campus?" I demand.

"Yeah, but only if you're less than two miles from the school," Lola explains, and I am tempted to roll my eyes at the practicality of this rule. "If you're under seventeen, you have to live with a parent or guardian. If you're eighteen, you can live wherever you want, but the two-mile radius rule still applies to you."

I nod. "Oh, I see—the big one-eight magic number," I say sarcastically.

Lola grins. "'Fraid so."

I smirk, going into my duffel bag for my bedding. "I live three point four miles from here, but I'm seventeen. I don't turn eighteen until the end of the month, unfortunately..."

"Looks like you just missed the cutoff," Lola says, trying to get a poster to stay in place. "Do you live by yourself?"

"Mostly, because of my dad's job."

"What does he do? Your dad?"

"What doesn't he do?" I reply, shaking out my sheet. "My dad's a diplomat so he travels all over the world. He didn't start leaving me alone for long periods until I was sixteen."

"Did he and your mom divorce, then?" Lola asks, as I haven't mentioned her, as she seems finally satisfied with the way the poster was hanging.

"No, they didn't divorce," I reply, tucking a corner into the mattress. "She passed away when I was twelve-years-old."

Lola promptly turns around and stares at me; I can tell because of her last name and coloring that she must have some Puerto Rican in her. Her eyes are large and dark and full of sympathy as she lets out a small sigh. "I'm sorry, Lacey," she tells me quickly. "That really does suck."

I smile at her. "Hey, it is what it is," I reply, finishing with my sheet. "I think my dad and his secretary have a thing for each other, so that's something. She's been working with him, and us, since I was fourteen."

"You like her?" Lola asks.

I sigh. "I like that she makes my dad happy," I tell her. "She seems nice enough—kind of mousy, but nice. We have these extensive background checks on everyone who encounter us, so it's not like we'd ever willingly get someone bad or criminal into our circle."

"Did your dad have one done on me?" Lola asks.

Promptly, I shake my head. "No. He and Dean Rivers are old friends."

"So...?" Lola asks.

"So, he trusts Dean Rivers' judgement," I reply. "If Dean Rivers accepted you into PCA, then that's good enough for him."

Lola sighs, relief apparently flowing through her. "Cool."

I proceed to put on the top layer sheet onto my bed. "So, tell me, Lola, what were your former roommates like?"

"Well, they actually moved in with their boyfriends off campus," Lola tells me, as she hangs a picture of flowers in the corner. "Zoey had to have been my best friend in the world—she's amazing, and totally into fashion. There was this guy, Chase, that was into her forever, when they were in the eighth grade—I didn't start here until freshman year—and he followed her to London where she started at a boarding school there."

I raise my eyebrows, briefly looking up at Lola. "That's commitment and a big wad of cash right there," I say.

Lola laughs. "Yeah," she says, getting out her comforter from her bag. "So, Chase follows Zoey to London, but Zoey had heard via webcam that Chase was in love with her, so she came back to tell him how she felt."

"But he was already in London?"

Lola nods. "Exactly!" she cries, her hair bouncing ever so slightly in her eagerness to tell me the story about her best friend. "So, they couldn't be together, and Zoey started dating this guy named James, who moved into Chase's old room. Then Zoey and James broke up right before prom, and Zoey knew that the reason why she broke up with James was because she loved Chase the whole time. But Zoey didn't count on Chase randomly showing up after a year for prom and then he and Zoey got together."

"After three years?"

Lola nodded. "Yeah. Three years."

"And what about your other roommate?" I ask her, finishing with my upper sheet and moving on to my comforter.

"That would be Quinn Pensky," Lola replied. "She's really into science and was one of the smartest people I know—and the weirdest. She started dating the narcissistic and resident heartthrob of PCA, Logan Reese."

I nearly drop my comforter in my shock at Lola mentioning that name. "He wouldn't happen to be Malcolm Reese's son, would he?"

Lola nods. "Yeah."

"Oh, my god," I say, rolling my eyes, managing to get a better grip upon my comforter and proceeding to straighten it out. "Malcolm Reese, Dean Rivers, and my dad were all roommates in college. Let's just say that if anything ever happened to my dad..."

Lola's eyes widened. "What?"

I sighed. "Malcolm Reese is named as my legal guardian on my father's will. Of course, he needs to update it now that I'm almost eighteen, but still..."

"So, you know Logan?"

"Know Logan?" I say, snickering. "Before PCA welcomed girls, I lived at home with my dad and went to Delphi Academy of Santa Monica. Logan would always brag about his all-boys school. After graduating fifth grade, I moved to France with my dad while he was on assignment, and learned French and how to cook, all while going to middle school. I graduated and continued my education at Lycée Fénelon in Paris and then my dad finished his assignment six weeks before my school ended." I shrug then, feeling uncomfortable at monologuing in front of a virtual stranger. "Then, we came here, and my dad enrolled me at PCA and things went back to normal for the summer."

"Is your dad home?" Lola asked.

"No," I reply, straightening what's left to be fixed of my comforter, just looking to prolong the inevitable, actually. "He had to go to Tokyo this morning," I say as I begin putting my pillows into their correct cases and smacking them into shape. "Then he goes to Beijing and to Berlin and just said he might not be back for Christmas."

"Whoa," Lola whispers.

I turn around, just as I've gotten what's last of my pillows in place. "What?" I ask her, seeing her face glued to her phone.

"You said he was a diplomat?"

I nod. "Yeah—Isaac Spencer. Why?"

Lola immediately looked up at me, grinning in excitement. "He's, like, loaded!" she cried. "A personal ambassador to our country, and a friend Barack Obama..." She looks up. "You going to vote for him?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," she replies. "But diplomats make an insane amount of money..."

I shrug; it didn't really matter to me—I'd grown up this way, so the fact that I was used to it didn't even seem to cover the half of it. "Yeah, I guess so," I reply, leaning up against the base board of my bed. "I mean, we do have a waterfront house on Malibu..."

"Sicker than Logan's?" she asks.

I laughed at her. "I think so. I mean, he's so full of it, it just makes him less attractive as a person, you know?"

"I'm so glad I'm not the only one who doesn't like Logan—personality-wise, anyway," says a voice from the doorway. My eyes snap to the voice, and I see that it comes from a girl who seems to have a fashionista written all over her; she had below-the-shoulder length dark blonde hair with black highlights, and big brown eyes.

"Zoey!" Lola squeals, immediately ceasing her work and dancing across the room, throwing her arms around our visitor.

"Hey, Lola!" Zoey says happily. "Quinn was working on an experiment and Chase and Logan went to meet up with Michael for some guy time, so I thought I'd swing by here and see what was happening." Zoey and Lola stop hugging after a moment and she turns to me. "You must be Lola's new roomie," she says, walking over to me and putting out her hand. "Zoey Brooks," she says. "Nice to meet you."

I find I actually love her outfit, and I was never a clothes person. Today, Zoey sported a jean mini-skirt, paired with a pink camisole, white zip-up hoodie sweater, and white, open-toed sandal wedges with a two-inch heel. "Hi, I'm Lacey Spencer," I reply, shaking her hand. "Good to meet you, too. I was actually just telling Lola that Malcolm Reese was, at one time, my legal guardian."

"At one time?" Zoey asks, looking from me to Lola and back again. "Why isn't he anymore? Did he piss your dad off or something?"

I laugh at that. "No, I'm almost eighteen," I reply. "But, compared with moving back here from France, things got sort of lost in translation..."

Zoey looked concerned. "Did you have a party before you left?"

I shake my head, shrugging at her. "Not really—all my friends still live in Paris. Sure, my dad could have called and asked them to come, but I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I did get a new car, though."

"Wait. Not that beautiful red number in the parking lot with a convertible top?" she asks in a rush, immediately reaching out and gripping my hands in glee. "The Chrysler Sebring?" she says, obviously very excited.

I nod, laughing at her excitement—I'd never seen anyone so hyped up about a car before. "Yeah, that's the one."

"I should've guessed," she says, tossing her hair and not letting go of my hands in her excitement in this line of conversation. "The personalized name plate is adorable—I loved it."

"What is it?" Lola asked.

"Oh," I said when Zoey looked at me to answer, which I thought was sweet, although my cheeks heated when I said it out loud. "It says BBY GRL," I reply. "My dad customized it," I say, hunching my shoulders ever so slightly. "Plus, that's what it says right here," I say, rolling up the sleeve of my own hooded sweater and revealing my wrist. "My dad said that once I hit eighteen, I could get one—but with my last report card being what it was, he changed his mind and let me get one earlier than we expected. He picked the designer, though, but I could get any color ink and any phrase I wanted—just no profanity," I explain.

"Sounds reasonable," Lola says, peering at the words. "Are you an artist?"

I smiled at that—finally, something interesting. "While I bear great respect for people who can do stuff like this, I don't have the patience. I'm not talented that way..."

"How are you talented?" Zoey asks.

I smile. "I can act and sing," I reply.

"What?!" Lola cried out happily.

I nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I finally found something I'm good at. And I got dance lessons from the time I was a child. I just came back last week from double auditions at Julliard and NYU for next year and... Well, fingers crossed," I say.

"Of course! Fingers crossed!" Lola said.

"Lola's an actress, too," Zoey puts in, turning to look at Lola. "And anyone who's anyone is signing up for the Senior Tuneful."

My eyebrows knit together at that. "Senior Tuneful?" I ask them both. "What does that mean?" I want to know.

"It's our musical," Lola replies. "Anyone can go see it, but only seniors are eligible to be in the cast. There's a whole secret ritual about casting that everyone gossips about, but nobody knows what it is."

"When are the auditions?" I want to know.

"They send you the email before midnight tonight," Zoey says.

"Yeah, anyone who has acting credentials and is signed up for an acting course on campus gets the automatic E-Vite," Lola explains in a patient manner to me. "You're all signed up, aren't you?" she wants to know.

"Yeah," I reply. "Calculus, Physics, U.S. Government, Film Production, Business Law, Works of Shakespeare, AP Drama, and AP Latin," I reply.

"We have math, science, government, and drama together," Zoey says.

"I have every class with you," Lola says, immediately clapping her hands. "Looks like we'll be worthy adversaries to one another."

It is a brief shock for us all when our phones all buzz at the exact same time and we immediately take them out of our respective pockets. I head on over to the email icon and click it, waiting for the page to load. When it does, I see I have an email from PCA Drama Club, with the subject line Senior Tuneful. It reads...

Dear Miss Spencer,

Hello and welcome to a new year at Pacific Coast Academy!

If you are a new student, profound congratulations on being accepted onto the AP Drama team. Your audition was accepted as of two weeks ago, either in person or by video, and you should have received an email confirmation of your acceptance into the class.

Since you've been accepted into AP Drama, you must have a strong acting resume to back you up, which was of course used in your consideration for being added to the class. As such, you have been formally invited to audition for the annual Senior Tuneful!

Round one of auditions will take place in the PCA Theatre on Saturday afternoon and all who receive this email are welcome to participate. The auditions will be held from 9:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. We will have a half an hour break from 12:00 p.m. until 12:30 p.m. for lunch.

From 9:00 a.m. until 12:00 p.m., we will see people individually and those of you who have passed that first round will be asked to do a duo, trio, or other form of group scene from 12:30 p.m. until 3:00 p.m. As soon as you and your partner or group have performed the scene, you are permitted to leave, but are encouraged to stay, as the clue for the second rehearsal will be given at the end of all the group auditions. However, if you don't have time, an email will be sent out afterwards confirming the second audition time, if you've made it that far.

We thank you very much for getting into AP Drama! If you would like to reserve an audition spot—and we encourage that you do—simply reply with your first name, last name, age, room number and dorm name, your favorite playwright, and why you think you should be given the opportunity to audition.

Thank you very much!

Sincerely,

Barry Andrews, AP Drama professor

and

Joan Mayhew, AP Drama Chair

I quickly write my reply. Leticia Spencer; 18; 101, Fulton Hall; Tennessee Williams; and, as for the reason to be in this play, I opt for honesty. I say how much I love acting and even quote the great Laurence Olivier for inspiration. As he said, 'Without acting, I cannot breathe', and firmly state my opinion on the matter, as well as my passion about the subject itself.

"I guess you got the email, too?" I ask, looking up and finding that Lola and Zoey have just finished writing their replies.

"Yeah," Zoey says with a smile. "These auditions sound really fun. I can't wait to try real hard to get a part."

"Good thing they have your resumes constantly on file," Lola puts in, turning back to me. "If you ever have an update to your resume, all you have to do is send them a fresh copy and they'll add it to your file."

"Thanks for the tip," I reply.

"So, where are you from, Lacey?" Zoey asks.

"Originally?" I ask her, smiling at discussing something normal. "Malibu. I was born here but moved to France when I was eleven."

"Can you speak French?"

I nod. "Yeah—it's my second language. I can also speak Spanish and I learned Italian one summer when my dad had an assignment in Rome."

"So, why are you taking Latin?" Lola asks, curious, staring at me askance. "If you have the required documentation stating that you've taken two or three years of a foreign language, you don't have to take another one."

"Lola's right," Zoey says. "Two years is the minimum, three is the maximum. And you're taking AP Latin..."

"I know," I reply. "I took a first-year Latin course to get on board with some of the plays by Shakespeare," I explain. "But, I did so well that my instructor in France wrote to the PCA professor of Latin, Dominique Cordero, and I got a spot."

"That's really amazing," Zoey says.

"Thanks," I reply, not wanting to sound too fully of myself as I discuss my education. "I guess that the one positive thing about my dad working so much is that I've been able to see and learn about so many different cultures through the years. I mean in addition to learning languages, I've managed to help in so many charity projects. Last summer, I went to Africa to help with the orphans in need of schools. I helped build a school in Somalia for the entire summer."

"That's unbelievable!" Lola cried, amazed. "All I did last summer was tutor a bunch of stupid kids... Zoey had a cool summer, though."

"Yeah," Zoey said, smiling. "I was a cabana girl at this really expensive resort hotel and I brought my boyfriend, Chase, with me," Zoey replies.

"Oh, Lola told me all about Chase," I inform her. "I'm so happy you guys finally got together after so long."

Zoey smiles, her eyes appearing dreamy for a moment. "Well, let's just say that I predicted it in this whole time capsule project we did..."

"Time capsule project?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Forget it—it's not important. I said I'd tell Chase what I said in ten years, even though it'll be buried for twenty. So, there's eight more years on the clock. Not that I don't trust either of you, but I think that Chase should be the first to know, you know?"

Lola nods. "Totally."

"I can understand that," I reply.

"So, what about you?" Zoey wants to know, grinning at me. "Did you leave behind a guy in France or something?"

I blink. "A guy in France?"

"You know," Lola says.

"Like a boyfriend or something," Zoey says.

I shake my head, ending on a disbelieving laugh. "No, I mean, not really. I went out with a couple of guys, but it never went anywhere. Maybe French guys aren't really my thing. They constantly told me I was pronouncing their language wrong, so I got a French tutor, and nobody asked me out again. Go figure..."

"Boys can be so stupid," Lola said, shaking her head.

"This coming from the girl who is dating the Vince Blake," Zoey puts in. "He was kind of a jerk at first, but after he was suspended and stuff, and when he came back, he was a better person. He bought us Gummy Bears," Zoey tells me.

"Sounds like a real charmer," I say.

"He is," Lola says. "We've been going out for almost a year."

"You two seem to have this whole PCA thing figured out," I say. "I mean, it sounds like you don't have any enemies."

"Zoey had one," Lola assures me.

"You did?" I ask.

Zoey nods at that. "Yeah, I did, actually. Chase brought back this girl at the beginning of junior year who was starting here. Their moms were co-workers or something. Anyhow, on the day we all got back, Lola and Quinn tried to tell me that Chase was in love with me, but I totally didn't get it and was shocked. So, I went to Chase's dorm and found him making out with Rebecca and he may have introduced her as his girlfriend..."

"May have?" I ask.

Lola crossed her arms. "He did."

"Awkward much?" I say.

"Tell me about it," Zoey says, rolling her eyes at the memory. "So, I brushed off the shock and tried not to think about Chase being with someone else. To be honest with you, I was hiding my jealousy the whole time. I pretended to everyone that I wasn't royally cheesed off when Rebecca came and told me point blank to stay away from Chase. I was afraid he was going to pick Rebecca over me, but he broke up with her. All I thought of when I was hurling grapes at him was focusing on the strength of my arm, and wondering if he would see my fruit assault as a clue-in that I had feelings for him..."

"Fruit assault?" Lola asks, making a face.

"Anyhow," Zoey says, "I didn't say anything after that because I was convinced that Chase was over me because he dated Rebecca. And then when he broke up with her, I just figured it was because she was being controlling. So, I dropped the whole thing and then when I heard him fighting about me leaving with Logan and Michael, I guess everything just snapped. I flew home on the first flight I could get, but he was already gone. And then James started here, and I'd heard a rumor that Chase was dating my former roommate, Tabitha, so I just decided to forget about it and went out with James..."

"But?" I ask.

"But then he told me that he loved me, and I couldn't say it back," Zoey replied, shrugging her shoulders, her brown eyes filled with regret. "Of course, I couldn't—I couldn't because it hit me then that I still loved Chase."

"And then Chase surprised her on prom night," Lola says. "Of course, I had to tell Vince that I, as the prom organizer, had to arrive fashionably late. He picked our favorite restaurant to go to beforehand, but then our taxi driver went crazy and just left us in the middle of the road. Vince found a guitar in some bushes with a rodent inside it and then we just walked through the woods for almost an hour to get back to campus. Let me tell you—heels and dark and scary forests don't really mix."

"Sounds like I missed a lot," I say, rolling on the balls of my feet. "Sounds like we could've had a lot of fun, had I started here at thirteen when PCA opened its doors to girls."

Zoey smiles. "Hey, we've got nine months. We've got plenty of time to make some new adventures, all of us." She checks her watch then and smiles. "And its lunchtime already!" she says, looking up. "Should we go get some lunch?"

"Sushi Rox?" Lola asks.

Zoey sighs. "Can't go."

"Why?" Lola asks, hurt.

"Well, because Kazu sold the place," she replies. "They opened a pizza and pasta place over there called Zanaro's Trattoria."

"How do the restaurants work?" I ask Zoey.

"You know your ID badge?" she asks.

I nod, going to my purse and retrieving it. "Yeah."

"Here, let me," she says, taking my lanyard and putting it over my head. "Make sure you have it on you at all times, and your regular ID. If you look on the back, there's a barcode and a colored circular sticker. The red means you just get school meals; the blue means you get school meals and a few trips off campus; the yellow means you get school meals, a few trips off campus and one restaurant meal per month; and green means unlimited everything."

Turning over my badge, I see a green sticker. "Great!" I say. "Now what?"

"Come over here," Lola says, and walks over to her open laptop on her desk. "It's a touch screen," she explains, logging out of something. "All you have to do is scan it against this box here, and your account will pop up."

I scan it, and immediately see that it's all connected to my credit card and feel relieved that my father put in a couple thousand every month for living and food expenses, as well as a few treats here and there. "Oh!" I cry out, immediately pleased. "So, I just go to any restaurant I want, and they'll scan it, and I don't have to handle money?"

"That's right," Zoey says. She peers at my lanyard. "You know, I could fix that for you, if you want. Kind of boring..."

"She fixed mine," Lola says, showing off her lanyard, all done up in beautiful, glass beads. "This way, it's pretty, a fashion piece, and you can still see the PCA logo underneath it."

"I have some beads in my bag," Zoey says. "If you like, I can work on it during lunch while we're waiting for our food."

"I could pay you—I mean, I should pay you," I say, admiring the intricate work she's done on Lola's piece. "I mean, it's so beautiful. Anyone who's anyone should be paying for something as awesome as what you can do with lanyards."

Zoey laughs at that, shaking her head. "Come on, Lacey—you're my friend. I wouldn't ask you to pay me."

I smile. "All right," I say as Lola and I follow her out into the hall. "If you're sure," I say as Lola locks the door behind us.

"So sure," Zoey assures me.

We walk down the hall and exit the building, crossing the quad and a coffee cart, and making our way towards what appears to be a restaurant. It is a lovely place, with classic and gorgeous Sicilian architecture, which sets me at ease as we walk along. Just as we're about to head inside, a quick set of footsteps happens behind us.

"Hey, Zo!" says a voice.

"Dustin! There you are!" Zoey says.

"Hey, hey, not cool!" he says, stepping away from her. "I'm in high school now, Zo. I can't have you hugging me—it's uncool."

"Sorry, sorry," Zoey says.

The Dustin kid turns and grins at Lola. "Hey, Lola," he says, but his eyes widen when he gets a good look at me. "Hey. I'm Dustin Brooks."

"Ah. A brother," I say to Zoey. "Nice to meet you."

"Younger brother," Zoey puts in.

I nod. "I can see that," I reply. "I'm Lacey. Nice to meet you, Dustin."

Dustin clearly sees that I'm not interested and looks disappointed for a moment before turning back to his sister. "Chase has been trying to call you."

"Call me?" Zoey asks, whipping out her phone. "Wow... Three missed calls," she says, shaking her head and turning back to us. "If you two want to get a table inside..."

"No," Lola says.

I shake my head. "It's cool—we can wait."

Zoey smiles and presses the green phone icon. "Chase," she says after a moment, obviously not convinced that it's a real emergency. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll there. Logan did what while you were what?!" she demands, her voice hinging somewhere between anger and complete rage. "So, let me get this straight-you were all jet skiing, and not one of you thought to keep your phones on the beach?! Yes, I know insurance will cover for them... Where's Quinn? With you? Great. Did she get ahold of Mr. Reese? No?"

"I got it," I say, and Zoey nods her assent.

"Oh, that's our new friend, Lacey Spencer," Zoey says as I dial Malcolm Reese's cell phone number. "Calm down! She has history with the Reese family, Chase. It's fine."

"Mr. Reese," I say when he picks up.

"Lacey!" he says, obviously pleased to hear from me. "Good to hear from you! Did you get to campus yet today?"

"Yes, got here just fine. Standing here with my new friends—Zoey Brooks and her brother Dustin, and Lola Martinez."

"Ah, you're fitting right in," he compliments. "Have you been to—"

"Mr. Reese, I'm sorry, but there's been an accident," I say before I can stop myself from being gentle with him.

"Logan's being treated at Mercy Hospital," Zoey states as we walk. "Can we take your car? I walked over here..."

"Sure, no problem," I tell her.

"What kind of accident?!" Mr. Reese demands.

"Jet ski," I reply. "Chase and Michael were with Logan when it happened. They're at Mercy Hospital in Santa Monica," I say as we all reach the parking lot and pile into my car, me and Zoey in the front. "We'll meet you there," I say breathlessly as I pull out of the parking lot and onto Pacific Coast Highway.