A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading this story thus far. Sorry this chapter took a little longer than the last one, but hopefully, it'll be worth the wait. Anyway, happy reading!


The next few days at the mall passed without much excitement. In-between waiting for customers to show up (which only happened every once in a great while), I spent the majority of my time working on homework and trying to understand exactly why so many Greek letters are used in mathematics. When I tired of pi and theta, there was biochemistry and physics to keep my mind engaged. The homework was so intense; I'd gotten into the habit of simply putting the pencil behind my ear whenever someone showed up thirsty at the Slush Shop counter. That way, I could just resume working on the impossible equations and whatnot whenever the customer left.

Luckily, Wyatt usually stopped by whenever he was on a coffee break. I was shocked to learn he had such an acute caffeine addiction; it would've worried me if I hadn't been so utterly consumed by countless other worries. Nevertheless, his visits were a great reprieve from the world of trigonometry and chemical reactions. His friend Caitlin was pretty cool, too; she checked up on me every once in a while, usually when she was midway through one of her shopping sprees. Luckily, his friend Jonesy hadn't pressed me about our alleged "date," so I'd been able to forget about cute guys for a while.

That is, until he showed up. That boy who'd nearly ran me over outside the Big Squeeze—I still didn't know his name—passed by the Slush Shop every once in a while on his skateboard, and it was all I could do not to keep my eyes glued to him. It's not that he was particularly interesting—I mean, he was good and everything, but my knowledge of skating was fairly limited. I couldn't tell you what tricks he'd performed, and I barely knew the difference between the tail and the nose of the actual board. However, he rode pretty fast, and he didn't fall all that much, so I figured that must've counted for something.

Nonetheless, it was probably my lack of knowledge that had me so interested. I still hadn't worked up the guts to ask Wyatt what the guy's name was—I mean, I wasn't going to just ask right out of the blue or anything—nor had I said a single word to the mystery skater since he'd plowed into my face. All I knew was he had amazing eyes, and that was enough of an excuse for me to watch him skate off benches and around annoyed adult shoppers. My own eyes are a dark brown, and everyone else in my family has a similar shade. Sure, I've seen blue eyes before, but . . . I don't know, I guess his were just, different. So different, I honestly couldn't stop myself from staring every time he skated by—secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes if he happened to look in my direction.

I'd run over the scenario a thousand times in my head. He'd skate over, all laid-back and cool, and stand at the counter, his eyes glistening like he truly held Puerto Rico's waters in them. My hair would be perfect (not the frizzy mess it usually was), and a breathtakingly beautiful outfit—like a slinky, deep red, strapless dress and an elegant gold bracelet on my wrist—would suddenly replace my florescent apron. I'd bat my long lashes and turn my lips into a pout while his heart fluttered. Then, he'd jump over the counter and confess his love for me, and we'd . . . you know, make out and stuff.

Anyway . . . yeah, I realize this whole idea isn't exactly . . . well, possible in any way, but hey, it's hard not to daydream when your only other choice involves a graphing calculator and angles of depression.


However, as luck would have it, he did visit me one day. Of course, luck would also have it that I was completely unprepared. Halfway through one of my usual staring sessions, he began to make his way over to the counter. I quickly hid my face behind my hair as I pretended to work on a math problem involving angular velocity. Not that such an action stopped him—he continued to skate his way over, his eyes in their normally lazy, half-open manner—and so my cheeks began to burn hotter than coals.

"Hey, dudette. What's up?"

My tongue rolled up and lodged its way into the back of my throat. So much for acting smooth and sultry. It took a moment, but I was eventually able to respond. "Uh . . . nothing, really."

"So, you serve drinks here?"

"Yep. That's why it's called 'The Slush Shop' . . . we specialize in flavored ice slush . . . we have over fifty flavors, actually . . . oh, and we serve soft pretzels and corn dogs, too . . ." I sighed and angled my eyes away from his. "Sorry, I'm sure you didn't come over here to listen to me ramble."

"'s okay, bra." He kept his eyes locked with mine for a few moments, and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. He looked down to the counter, obviously trying to decipher my hodgepodge of math notes and bored little doodles. "Wow, that looks . . . really complicated. Isn't school out for everyone by now?"

"Oh, this isn't schoolwork . . . well, I guess it sort of is, but not that kind, anyway." I nervously began stacking my papers into a neat pile and shoving them off to the side. "It's not really important, either . . . just something I do to keep me busy between customers."

"You do that for fun?" His jaw dropped. "Bra, you have seriously got to get out more."

"Are you kidding me? Math is my worst subject—that's why I have to focus on it so much. Ask me to write you an essay, and I'd be finished in no time. But pre-calculus . . . that wouldn't be fun, ever."

He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Then . . . why are you doing it?"

I rubbed the back of my neck out of embarrassment. Hopefully, I wouldn't sound like too much of a nerd once the truth got out. "Well, I'm enrolled in this summer study program. I'm only working here because my brother thinks I need to be more responsible . . . look, I'm really sorry. Instead of telling you my life story, why don't I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, riiiight." He squinted his eyes as he examined the list of drinks displayed above and behind me. "Uh . . . how about an Orange Fizz?"

"Sure thing." I waited until I turned my back to let loose a toothy grin. This talking thing . . . it wasn't so bad.

I quickly recomposed myself as I handed the skater his drink. Now was the perfect chance to find out his name, too. "You're one of Wyatt's friends, right?"

"Yep. We've known each other since, like, kindergarten." He took a sip of his slush and let out a goofy laugh. "Yeah . . . that's good stuff."

Before I could reply, Wyatt rushed over to the counter in a huff, his hands bare of his signature coffee cup. "Hey guys. Marisol, I need something cold—and quick."

"Sure." I turned around to start on our Iced Green Tea Special. "What's the rush?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . this one guy has really been bugging me lately. He comes into Burger McFlipster's practically every day, acting all cool in his leather jacket and dark glasses. Then, whenever I'm in the middle of charming the customers, he upstages me by singing some epic love ballad." He rested his head in his hands as he took a deep breath. "I just need to cool off."

The blonde skater still looked a bit lost. "So, this dude's been stealing your spotlight with the chicks?"

Wyatt lifted his head from his hands and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jude. That's exactly what he's been doing."

Jude! Of course . . . why couldn't I remember an easy name like that? I wondered as I turned back around and handed Wyatt his ice-slush substitute for a chill pill. "This should help you calm down. Even though green tea has caffeine in it, it's actually really soothing."

"Thanks." Just as I was handing Wyatt his change, his shoulders tensed and brow creased. "Ugh! Here that guy comes. I swear, I feel like he's stalking me sometimes."

One glance at the alleged blockhead, and my stomach plummeted to my toes. "Oh, no."

Wyatt jerked his head back around to look at me, fear written plainly in his eyes. "What?"

"Your mystery jerk . . . is my older brother." I tried ducking down behind the register before Zac could notice me, but my plan failed miserably.


"Marisol, what are you doing?"

I slowly lifted my eyes back up to see Zac peering over the counter, his trademark leather jacket in place. His vintage 1974 Fender Stratocaster—or his "baby," as he liked to call it—was slung over his shoulder, and his aviator glasses were in place, keeping his dark brown eyes out of sight behind their dark lenses. His black bangs were messy in a fashionable way—my brother was gifted in that he could just roll out of bed in the morning and have great hair. I, on the other hand, have never been so fortunate.

"Oh . . . hey, Zac." I straightened myself into a standing position and smoothed out the imaginary creases in my apron. "What are you doing here?"

"It gets kind of boring hanging around home after work," he answered in a dismissive tone before turning to Wyatt and Jude with narrowed eyes. "So, who are your friends?"

Just as I thought. He only came over here to check up on meand to make sure I didn't make too many guy friends, I thought with a mental sigh. "This is Jude, and I think you and Wyatt have already met."

"Hey." He gave them each a quick once-over. He conversed shortly with Wyatt, asking him on such topics as musical interests and book genres. He gave Wyatt a small nod—in obscenely-overly-protective-brother speak, that simply meant he approved. Then, he turned his attention to Jude.

"So, what about you?" Zac asked casually, though experience told me he was as serious as ever.

"Um . . . I don't really read that much. Well, I read this manual once, but that's about it." Jude stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, and the Mighty Weasels are awesome."

"Yes, well, that's a given." Zac leaned against the counter. I bit my lip in anticipation. "Look, there's no use beating around the bush. How do you feel about my baby sister?"

"Uh . . . sorry, dude. Never met her."

"He means me," I clarified before giving Zac a harsh glare. "And I'm not a baby, Zac. I'm a fully capable, independent young woman with a mind of her own and adult responsibilities."

"Yeah, yeah." Zac lowered his aviators and focused back on Jude. "Answer the question."

Jude fidgeted and bit his lip. I couldn't stand it anymore. "Zac, stop interrogating my friends. Now, unless you're going to order something off the menu, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Don't take it personally—it's just Slush Shop policy."

Zac slowly backed away from the counter, his squinted eyes transfixed on Jude's apprehensive frame. "Okay . . ." he gestured to Jude, ". . . but I'm not done with you yet."

When Zac turned the corner as was safely out of hearing range, I let out a sigh. "Sorry about that. My brother can be a bit intimidating sometimes, but he's really a good guy."

"It's all right," Wyatt assured me with an easy smile and a swig of his slush. "I've gotta go, though. Talk to you later."

I looked to Jude, who was still just standing there, drink in hand. He seemed to be staring off into space, so it took him a minute before he realized I was watching him. He smiled and shrugged. "I don't have anything to do. Guess I'll go hit the skate park for a while."

I had no idea how to ask without sounding desperate, so I just forgot about logic for a short moment and asked, anyway. "Actually, my shift's just about over, so . . . would it be all right if I came with you? I love watching skateboarding on TV, so it'd be even better to see it live. I promise not to get in your way or anything. . . ."

A huge smile stretched across his lips, and his eyes lit up with all the sunlight of Puerto Rico's summers. "Sure! I've always wanted an audience."

I waited for Shirley to show up, packed my atrociously pink apron away, and embarked on my journey with Jude (all while trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest). Hopefully, my knees wouldn't give out until we at least reached the skate park . . . boy, would that be embarrassing.