"Tori, you look like crap."

I lift my soggy head, narrowing my eyes across the table at my sister. She's her usual cheerful self, face glowing brightly as she twirls a spoon along the rim of her cereal bowl. Her lips are split in a wide smile, white blocks of teeth beaming, as if she had just paid me some great tribute simply by being in the same kitchen as me. I glare at her, trying to make my eyes as angry as possible, but my lack of sleep for the past two days has done very little in the way of making any expression I make the least bit convincing.

It's not that she's lying, I just hate that she has to point it out – and so cheerfully, too, with that photogenic smile of hers. I sigh into my oatmeal, frowning at the mushy flakes while I prop my chin into the open palm of my hand. Since Saturday night, I've maybe slept a total of four or five hours, and not consecutively. Every time I close my eyes and try to slip into that once peaceful dreamland, I'm assaulted with a thousand reminders, a million sensations that hurtle me straight back to consciousness – her blotted, black eyelashes fluttering like wet butterfly wings against the high arcs of her cheekbones, the smell of her perfume (something fruity, like peaches and oranges all mixed) drowned in the rain, the sound of her breath catching just before I, before I – and the way her lips felt soft and smooth when I kissed –

A loud clatter of metal against glass erupts as I drop my spoon into my bowl, fingers threading into my hair. I groan, my eyes screwing shut like that will muffle out the memory so thick and vibrant projected on my eyelids like a movie on loop.

"What's the matter with you? Hungover?" Trina's teeth click against her spoon. Milk seeps into the line between her lips before she swallows, the sculptured curves of her eyebrows jerking over her nose. "That's not very classy, Tori."

"Trina. I was here all night. You were here all night."

She gives a shrug. "So? How do I know you're not a closet alcoholic?"

The word 'closet' makes my stomach lurch. I shove my bowl across the table and stand, clawing my hand through my hair again like I'm trying to wring the fog of fatigue out of my skull. Upstairs, I scrub my teeth with vigor, attempting to avoid my reflection. Trina was right. I really do look like crap. Dark crescents are smudged under my eyes like bruises, my skin lacking its usual tan glow. I look washed out, almost sickly, and as I attempt to bring my eyes back to life with streaks of mascara, I meet my gaze in the mirror with a blink of shock.

I just look so tired.

My fingers entwine as I bow over the sink, resting my forehead on the hump of my thumb knuckles. This is stupid. Not sleeping, having no appetite – you'd think I had gone off and killed someone. I groan into the cup of my hands. It was just a kiss. A silly, late-night kiss. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't make me gay or bisexual or curious or anything. Girls kiss girls all the time, right?

I lift my head, hesitantly meeting my own eyes again. It's like looking straight on into the gaze of a stranger, someone afraid of themselves, and I realize I am. I'm terrified.

Because girls might kiss other girls all the time, but they don't always like it.

And I did.

I shake my head, burying it into my palms again. Cat's called me about ten times since Prome. She wanted to hang out yesterday – her bubbly voicemail was as cheerful and innocent as ever as she suggested a movie and a smoothie, but I didn't bother to call her back. I couldn't. Even hearing her voice ring through the phone was enough to make me gasp, paralyzed – I remembered with painful detail the soft choking of her barely muffled cry in the passenger seat of my car as she said she wanted a special Prome night.

Swallowing, I lift my head with a deep, long breath. I hold it as I march out of the bathroom and down the stairs, releasing it only when my feet sink into the carpet of my living room. Trina's frowning at her reflection in the door's side windows, her nose pulled up at a hardly gorgeous angle with the tip of her finger.

"…What are you doing?"

Trina doesn't even move. "Checking for bats in the cave. God forbid one come dangling out for a peek when I'm talking to some sweet thing this afternoon." Apparently satisfied, she steps back, grinning as she twirls toward me. "Let's go!"

My stomach rolls again as I follow her out the door, eying my parked car like it's some friend that betrayed me. Trina lost her driving privileges not too long ago after she hit her third dog. This past one did happen to live, but my parents are just about done being threatened with lawsuits. That, and having a bad driver for a daughter isn't exactly good reputation for our dad, the police officer. Personally, I wouldn't trust Trina behind the handles of a Big Wheel on grass, but I wonder for a minute if I should stay home and let her drive herself. The idea is more than tempting, especially as I shoot a glance over my shoulder. My house promises a day of comfort and solitude and, most importantly, a Cat-less day.

"Hello? Chauffer?"

I frown, my keys clinking as they roll over my knuckles. "I feel like crap."

"Matches your appearance." She leans against the hood of my car with an annoyed expression. "Drop me off, then. Mom and Dad will murder me if they see me driving your car and death is not in my repertoire."

I chew my lip for a minute. I'm sure the conflict is more than visible on my face, but Trina's blissfully ignorant to anything that doesn't directly involve her in some way. The only thing she notices that concerns me is what I look like because she's forced to walk in with me at school and share the Vega name. I decide as I climb into the car that I'm going to save her the embarrassment of being associated with me today because 1) I really do look like crap and 2) I don't think I can handle seeing her yet.

I drop into the driver's side of my car, my breath catching in my throat. It's like the memory was preserved here, locked in a time capsule and with the lingering smell of damp seats and my lavender car freshener it's all thrown at me once again – her cheek smooth and warm under my trembling fingertips and the gap between her lips and the heaviness of my eyes and the way she tasted –

"Tori, you drunk, drive."

I flick my eyes at Trina's profile, watching her thick jaw muscles smack together as she yacks on her gum. She's nothing like Cat. She's not soft, she's not supple, she's not bubbly, she's beige and brunette and not that passionate scarlet and white skin and –

Oh my God.

I push the speed limit as I drive, clenching the steering wheel as hard as my knuckles will allow. Again I remind myself just how stupid I'm being, how out of proportion I'm blowing all of this. It was just a kiss. It was just Cat. It meant nothing. Nothing.

My tongue lodges itself between my teeth. But she seemed so happy and my heart felt so light and fluttery and – okay, stop it. A loud breath rustles through my lips as I turn into the parking lot, the school breathing people. I'm all set to just pull up to the front doors and drop her off, but Trina will have none of it, her fist landing squarely into my shoulder.

"Oh no, no, Tori, come on, you'll look like my mom or something. No, go park. Go! Before someone sees!" Her hands fly like shields over her head.

I roll my eyes, twisting the steering wheel and gliding toward the back of the parking lot. And I almost think it's a flag or a kite or something in my peripheral, a flash of red in the wind, and my foot seems to work of its own accord, slamming hard on the brake. The car screeches, Trina slapping the dashboard with both hands.

"What the hell, Tori!"

But I'm staring past her, through the window and at the delicate slope of Cat's back, her purple tank-top frayed along the waistband of her shorts and I never noticed before what great legs she has or what a pretty shade of red her hair is or how fascinating the lines of muscle over her winged shoulders are and –

"Drive!"

I hit the gas, simultaneously sucking in a hard breath as I swing into the nearest parking space. Luckily, no one seemed to be staring too much; in fact, the only one making any kind of noise was Trina, who as going on and on about how I nearly killed her or something.

"Shut up," I mutter, grabbing my purse and hurling myself out of the car.

Trina pokes above the top, glaring at me, hair wild and twisting like a lion's mane. "I thought you were going home, you loon."

"Changed my mind." I hook my purse over my shoulder and break into a jog, abandoning Trina at the car. Cat's back is still to me, a slight bounce in her step as she makes her way toward the school. A pull is tugging me toward her, like some invisible string connects my sternum to her vertebrae, and I follow it on a burst of courage until my feet fall into step with her. My bare shoulder meets hers and the flame of her hot skin startles me for a moment, the tip of my flat catching on the blacktop. I nearly fall, a gasp squeaking out of me, but then Cat's turning to brace herself and I fall against her arm, her elbow just above my bellybutton.

Jerking my gaze up, I try to ignore my simmering cheeks as my eyes lock into hers. Her eyes are bright, brimming with delight as they register me. Her fingers are locked on my arms, steadying me, lips blasting into the biggest smile, Broadway lights, like seeing me is the highlight of her year.

"Tori!"

I don't have time to respond. Her arms are locked around me like cages, crushing me to her chest. A breath is literally smashed out of me at the force of the embrace and I'm incredibly aware of her laughter brushing against the cave beneath my ear.

"I tried calling you this weekend! Did my calls not go through?" She yanks back, hands hot on my arms.

My mouth struggles to remember its function as my brow twitches – it's like nothing had happened, like Saturday night was a distant dream. She doesn't seem off at all. She looks rested and well, a rosy bubble floating through life, just like she was before Prome.

Something in me drops. It feels heavy, like a lead ball plunging into my stomach. I stare at her for several long moments, not sure what I expected. I guess I wanted her to be as affected as I was – some part of me wanted to see her sleepless and pent up and confused. But she's not. She's just as easy going as she was before Saturday night, if not more so. Her hands are on my arms without the slightest blip of worry in her eyes, and suddenly my earlier chanting of it meant nothing feels painful, the edges of the words scraping my chest like swallowed razor blades.

And I hope she's as great an actress as everyone says she is, as I've seen her to be, because if this is real, if this is her, the same girl that trembled under my lips in my car -

"I – guess not," I stutter. Cat's arm loops through mine, her elbow clinching around mine.

"Oh, well, that's okay. We can always hang out today after school if you want. I'll buy us smoothies!"

The school is cool and loud as we step inside. I watch Cat from the side, her cheeks soft and round, eyes flicking around the interior with their usual brightness. She doesn't care that we're walking so close, that I'm staring at her, that Saturday night happened at all.

It meant nothing.

Nothing happened.

The first bell rings and Cat leaves in flurry of waves and cheerful banter. I watch her go, a thousand questions dying on my lips and sinking like dead bodies to the pits of my toes.

Nothing.

A/N: Sorry this update took so long. I went to visit family where they have no Internet. They're cavemen, I swear.

Anyway, I'm back, and updates should be more regular now. Reviews would be sweet!