I shouldn't have come. Mom's going to kill me--or rather, Mom's going to go make inroads on yet another bottle of merlot, which is worse. And Dad will bitch and moan and find excuses to go to the office on Sunday, and Marion, our maid, will quit again, and this party is simply not worth the amount of trouble it's going to cause me later.

I just don't learn, that's my problem.

Andy isn't even here to keep me company. I mean, we never really hung out much before, but of the whole Breakfast Club, he's the one who's in my group, and I really wanted to see him...

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I just couldn't stand another night of silent warfare. I don't know why it bothers me so much all of a sudden--they've been doing it since I was nine, at least--but tonight, I just couldn't deal with it.

I don't even know anyone here other than Stubby and a few of his friends. Looks like mostly college students. That's a feather in Stubby's cap and he's going to be lording it over the whole school on Monday--assuming he remembers any of it, which might be assuming a lot--but it means that I don't have anyone to talk to.

I take a sip from my wine cooler and grimace. I hate the taste of alcohol. The only way I can stand it is if it's mixed with something sweet, and even then it tastes gross.

"Hey Claire!"

Some college girl. Skintight jeans, bangles, big hoop earrings and blonde hair teased within an inch of its life. She looks like a high-class hooker. And I have no idea how she knows my name.

"What?"

She lays a hand on my arm. Her fingernails are red, and about half again the length of her fingers. Now that's classy.

Snob... whispers a voice in the back of my mind. My conscience, I'm amused to discover, sounds remarkably like John Bender.

The girl's talking.

"...you probably don't remember me, Cheryl introduced us at her birthday bash last month--I'm Tiffany." She smiles, showing very white teeth. "Anyway, we're having a poker game out by the pool. You should come out. It's too hot in here anyway, and the guys are being assholes."

That's true, at least. I glance around the room and realize that there are almost no girls left inside. A gaggle of frat boys and sports huddles around the keg, and from the sounds of things, a fight's about to break out. Tiffany follows my gaze and grimaces.

"Come on. Let's get out of here before the shit hits the fan."

Finally, I smile at her.

"Okay, but I don't really know how to play poker."

Oh, that's fine," she says airily. "None of us does, except for John. He's teaching us girls."

John? Not Bender, he'd never show up at one of these parties...

I snort. Of course it isn't Bender--there are plenty of guy named John, after all...

But then I push the screen door open and step out onto the deck and there he is, lounging next to the pool with four or five girls, trenchcoat wrapped around his broad shoulders, looking more at ease than he has any right to. And before I can do or say anything, he glances up.

Our eyes meet, and he gives me one of those little grins.

"Why hello, princess. Fancy meeting you here."