A/N: I hope all of you like this story so far! It's definitely longer than I ever imagined it could be, but I'm having so much fun developing the story and coming up with subplots that's it's becoming harder to stop writing! With each chapter we're getting closer to finding out more about these characters, so I'm glad that all of you are just as invested in them as I am! Thank you!

The songs that inspired this chapter are:

"Island In The Sun" by Weezer

"Still Into You" by Paramore

I really like "Island In The Sun" for the opening scene, because it's one of those songs that seem very upbeat and lighthearted, but I always suspected it has a darkness about it. It's like one of those smiles that hide sadness; there's something very beautifully haunting about the song when you look at it like that. It also happens to be one of my favorite Weezer songs.

And I chose "Still Into You" for the mall scene for the second half of the chapter. It has a fun energy to it, which suits the tone during that montage. Also the lyrics could very well be applicable to the characters.

Please review and share your thoughts! I'll even give you an exclusive snippet of next chapter! Enjoy!

I feel the sun. It's bright and radiant. It warms my face and entire body, with a gentle breeze briefly cutting through the warm summer air. The seemingly endless pool sparkles and glistens brilliantly, as if small diamonds were embedded into the water's surface. It's dazzling… but not more dazzling than the beautiful blonde climbing out of the pool. I gasp upon seeing his beauty. His long torso stretches and flexes. He shakes the excess water from his gorgeous dirty blonde locks. He's a vision of perfection. He smiles at me, flashing pearly white teeth and those distinctive dimples. I feel my heart race as he moves closer to me—but he's moving too slowly. I want to reach out and touch him. He finally approaches and sits in front of me, blocking most of the vibrant sun with his body. I can only see the outline of his silhouette. He leans in, presses his lips against mine, but suddenly the light is gone…

I awake to a darkened room, but the sensation on my lips from the dream is still there. His lips are still upon mine. As my eyes fully open, I see Kendall leaning back, examining my face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes.

"It's okay," I give him a sleepy smile.

Wow is it that he looks as beautiful as he did in my dream.

"Were you dreaming?"

I nod.

"Was I in your dream?"

I nod again, this time with a blush. He smiles upon hearing this and strokes his finger softly against my cheek. My now focused eyes gather enough detail that I now realize I'm in my room—and that it's late; how late I'm not sure.

"How did I get in here?" I ask.

"I carried you in," he informs me.

I try to picture me sleeping in Kendall's arms as he generously takes me to my room. It's definitely a beautiful image, but one that I'm not entirely ready to be comfortable with.

"You fell asleep on the couch," he says.

"In your arms," I add embarrassedly.

"I didn't mind," he reassures, giving me a tender smile.

It's just a smile, but his smile is enough to make angels weep.

"I guess that wine really took its toll on me, huh?" I chuckle lightly.

"I figured I should let you sleep it off," he says as his fingers move down and lightly rake my neck.

"Is Mom…?" I begin.

"Yeah, she's home," he tells me.

"Did she see you?" I panic, feeling incredibly guilty and careless for falling asleep.

He hushes me and looks at the door for a brief moment before returning his attention to me.

"No, she didn't. I carried you in here and stayed hidden in the closet until I heard her go to bed. She came in and checked on you earlier," he says quietly.

"She did?"

Mom never comes into my room. She must have found it strange that I went to bed so early.

"She loves you, you know," he says.

"I know," I nod.

I wonder why he continually feels the need to remind me this all the time. Does he think I doubt that my mom loves me? Does he think I don't love her? It's strange that he's concerned about my relationship with my mother, especially given that he's never formally met her.

"I know you said your relationship with her isn't perfect, but don't take her for granted," he advises, sounding more sagacious and wiser than I've ever heard him.

I can't help but read between the lines; is he speaking from personal experience?

"What's your mother like?" I ask courageous.

He flinches, but looks at me as he decides what to say.

"She's lovely. She's everything you could want in a mom. She's attentive, she's caring, she's selfless… she's kindhearted. You remind me a lot of her," he laughs nervously. "Is that weird to say?"

"A little," I confess with a teasing smile. "But thank you."

He gets quiet, like he's lost in thought. It's another one of the many moments I desperately wish I could read his mind. He's unafraid of so much, yet he seems most scared to open up about his past to me. I guess we're similar in that aspect. I've kept a lot of my life from him, so it's unfair for me to expect him to be an open book, especially when he clearly has a dark past. I realize that if I want to earn his trust, I have to show him that he's earned mine.

"Do you want to know about my dad?" I ask.

I already know his answer to my question, because I see the burning curiosity in his eyes.

"Only if you want to talk about him," he replies.

"I was eight when he left," I state. "I didn't really know the severity of it at the time, I suppose. But I guess I was old enough to know that things would be different for us."

"I'm sorry," he says.

And he means it. He means it more than anyone else who has said those words to me. Other people just give me pitiful looks. But Kendall doesn't. He sees me. He sees my pain, even when I can't seem to see it after all these years of burying it.

"It's okay. In all honesty, I don't remember my time with him anyway."

"What do you remember about him, then?"

"I remember him being busy—a lot. And even when he wasn't working, he was rarely around. He wasn't necessarily a negligent father, because we still have pictures of him with me during birthdays and award ceremonies at school. And he wasn't a bad husband either. He never mistreated Mom."

Kendall listens to me in silence with an intense curiosity and urge to know.

"Do you remember what he looks like?" Kendall finally asks.

"Yeah, somewhat—mostly from pictures, to be honest."

He wears a solemn look on his face and his eyes become distant.

"Sometimes I'm sure you wish you could forget his face, don't you?" he asks with an almost ghostly stare, as if he's staring right through me.

"I suppose…" I reply doubtfully. "I guess there's no use though, since I look like him. Well, that's what everyone else tells me at least. I don't quite see it. Maybe it's because I don't want to see it."

"You don't want to be reminded or associated with him," Kendall observes.

It's not a question. He says it like he understands. I wonder if he shares a similar feeling about his dad as I do mine.

"Right. But, it's hard to avoid the association, because from time to time Mom tells me how much I look like him."

"He must have been a handsome devil," Kendall comments, obviously complimenting me.

I blush with modesty, but smile at the flattery. I'm also glad that life has returned back into his eyes. He doesn't have that ghostly look in his eyes anymore.

"I suppose I do look like him more than I like to admit. He's taller than me, though—probably about, hmm, your height. I can tell Mom misses him. She doesn't ever say it, but I can tell."

"Do you miss him?"

I don't know how to reply to his question, because no one has ever asked me that before.

"I miss the idea of knowing what it's like to be in a normal family," I reply.

"His loss, right?" Kendall says, clearly in attempt to cheer me up.

"I guess," I frown.

"Hey," he says lifting up my chin. "You're amazing, you know that right? He's a fool for walking out on you."

And then he plants a kiss on lips. His kiss catches my small gasp of breath. The taste of him on my lips makes everything else seem trite and unimportant. When he touches me, all I can think of is him…

My eyes close as I get lost in the bliss. He doesn't know the things he does to me…

"You didn't fall asleep on me again did you?" he jokes.

"No," I moan almost breathlessly.

I look into his eyes and I have to remind myself he's real.

"Kendall?" I say almost in yearning kind of whine.

His face perks up. I can tell that he likes it when I call him by his name. It probably makes him feel like he's seen as a person, not a fugitive.

"What is it?"

I don't know how to ask what it is that I want. So instead, I pull him back down until his lips fall upon mine. His mouth immediately gets to work, as does mine. The rational voice inside my mind no longer seems to chime in any longer. I'm falling for him hard—it's both terrifying and exciting.

Our tongues meet and tangle. I feel my breathing become heavier and more labored, as my body temperature rises. I can feel my desire for him growing within me. My skin feels as if an electric current has passed through, which causes all the hairs on my body to stiffen. And another part of me stiffens, as well…

Oh, no… it's becoming too overwhelming… I can feel myself getting hot. I can feel his heat radiate, too. He must want it, too. This is it… This is the when it happens. I didn't mentally prepare myself for this moment. I didn't think this would happen, and certainly not with a stranger who literally fell in from my bedroom window. But it's happening. I'm about to go to a level of intimacy that I've never experienced before…

But as soon as I'm ready to remove my clothes, he pulls away. I'm taken by surprise, because I'm not sure if he's getting into position. My nerves have never been higher than they are now. Maybe he wants to undress me, I think.

"It's late," he whispers into my ear. "You should sleep."

I look at him dumbstruck, and even scoff quietly to myself. Did I miss something? I thought we were on the same page. I thought we were going to… Take it to the next step. Instead, I'm being denied. I suddenly feel stupid for jumping to conclusions. He must not desire me the way I suspected.

"We can still kiss if you want," I offer up pathetically.

I can't believe I'm reduced myself to practically begging a stranger to kiss me. I really am debasing myself.

"We really should sleep," he sighs.

His eyes don't meet mine. What the hell? Seriously, did I miss something? Just moments ago we were getting hot and heavy. I'm humiliated for putting myself out there so foolishly, but I simply nod. He rolls to his side, with his back towards me. The embarrassment is too much… He doesn't want me. Not like that. I turn to my side, with my back facing his, feeling more insecure than I've felt in a while. We lie in silence, but I swear at one point I hear him let out a sigh. As for what he may be sighing about, I'm not sure.

I finally fall asleep, feeling rejected and humiliated.

Morning comes sooner than I'm prepared. I wake up, feeling weird about what transpired—or didn't transpire—last night. I get dressed and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Before I head out, I take another look at Kendall. I marvel at his beauty, and I realize that of course he could never fall for someone as commonplace as me. I'm ordinary. I'm plain. I'm not nearly as fascinating and as intriguing as him. My self-esteem is already off to a bad start for the day. Terrific.

I head to school feeling uneasy about everything with Kendall. I wasn't even supposed to fall for him—he's a fugitive after all. But, as ridiculous and crazy as it is, I did. I fell for him hard. But now what? Does he even desire me the same way I desire him? I thought he did, but after last night I'm just not sure. But then I recall all the times he flirted with me and made sexual innuendoes. What the hell were they for if he didn't want me? My embarrassment turns to anger. It's his fault. He led me on and now he's playing with my head and heart. I wonder if even cares about turning me down. Am I simply another pawn to him? I imagine again all the hearts he must have broken back home.

I try and forget about the whole thing. There's no point in worrying about it now, because it will just plague my mind all day at school. I head for class, but it's hard to shake my incessant thoughts of Kendall.

The first few periods are especially brutal because the word that I threw up in Mr. Rocque's class yesterday has already spread like wildfire. Some people snicker when they see me, some actually found it oddly cool, but either way I can't do anything else but wait until something embarrassing happens to someone else so I'll be off everyone's radar.

By fourth period, I feel like I've gone over all the potential reasons as to why he rejected me—simply because I have nothing better to do. I've narrowed it down to either him never having been with another guy, him being afraid of being intimate with his hostage, or that he's just not being attracted to me. I hope it's not the last one, but if it is, I want him to tell me the truth. He doesn't need to keep up a façade and continue flirting with me if there are no mutual feelings there.

By last period, I'm ready to run out the door as soon as the bell rings. I tap my pencil impatiently, annoying one of the Jennifers that is sitting next to me. I bite my lower lip, because the anticipation is killing me. I think of what I'll say to Kendall.

Should I bring up what happened—or in this case, didn't happen—to him casually in conversation? Or should I just be forthright and blunt about it? I wonder to myself. Will he even give me an honest answer? Maybe he doesn't have the heart to tell me he's not attracted to me. Oh god, I feel myself flushing red from just the thought of potential humiliation.

I know! I'll kiss him. Yes, that's it. I'll kiss him and touch him and maybe he'll get the hint this time. Maybe he just wasn't picking up on the subtext of my body language last night. I'll make sure there's nothing ambiguous about my desire for him this time. That's my plan. Now I just have to follow through with it. I blush at the silly thought of me trying to seduce Kendall. On what planet could the idea of me taking advantage of Kendall even be remotely plausible? I know I'm in over my head. I know I'll never actually be able to go through with it. Before I have time to think of an alternate plan, the bell rings humming loudly through my ear.

Immediately, I get up and bolt for the door. Before I can even exit the classroom though, Camille stands in front of me, stopping me from my swift exit.

"Hey, prom date!" she coos. "I was thinking we could stop by the mall and look at prom dresses for me!"

"Uhh, wow, Camille as… fun as that sounds, I have to get home," I blink.

"Why? Is your mom home?"

"No," I answer too stupidly and honestly.

"Then why do you have to rush home? You always say you hate being alone. Just come with me and you won't have to go home to empty house," she suggests.

I'd probably agree with her if she said this before Kendall came into my life, but now all I want to do is spend my days—and nights—with him. There's no one that lifts my mood as easily as he does.

I realize I've been standing there gazing off thinking about Kendall for who knows how long. Camille gives me a worried look. I don't have an excuse or a good enough reason to say no to her—not without her knowing about the fugitive hiding in my house, at least. I could attempt a lie, but I know how badly that will end. Anyway, Camille is too good of a lie detector, especially when it comes to me. It will be a futile attempt.

"Okay, I'll join you," I roll my eyes in defeat.

"Fabulous! This is going to be so much fun!"

"Right… fun…" I chuckle nervously as she wraps her arm around mine.

We get into the car that Camille borrowed from her dad. I'm surprised she was able to convince him to let her take it to school, given Camille's track record with her dad's car. Let's just say that her driving doesn't necessarily put me at ease.

"Are you sure you'll be able to drive this thing all the way to the mall… and back?" I ask doubtfully.

"Uhh, yeah!" she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

When we get in, I immediately buckle myself in. Camille puts the car in reverse without looking in the rearview mirror, and instantly we hear a car screech and honk at us from the behind.

"Yo, watch where the fuck you're going, Roberts!" we hear Wayne-Wayne yell from his roaring Mustang.

"Put a pipe in it, Wally!" Camille yells back.

We hear more honking as she continues holding up traffic. This only encourages her even more.

"Hey, shut up!" she yells at someone. "Oh yeah! I got a horn, too, asshole!" she curses and honks her horn at another driver.

At this point, I'm mortified. I've sunken in my seat and am praying that no one recognizes me.

She moves the gear shift to drive and slams on the accelerator. The car peels and screeches out of the parking lot, flying over speed bumps! My beating heart feels like it may pop out of my chest!

"Uhh, Camille? Don't you think you should slow down a bit?" I suggest through a shaky voice as I brace myself against the side of the car.

"What for? We'll never make it back in time," she scoffs as she pushes the car pass seventy, when the speed limit is only fifty.

I hold on for dear life the entire time. When we finally make it to the mall, Camille cuts a car off and steals the parking space from the driver. I mouth 'I'm sorry' to the driver when I get out. I'm just grateful that we made it in one piece.

We go to the juniors section of a department store and see all the proms dresses crammed into the racks. Camille's eyes immediately light up as she takes in all the colors, patterns, sequins, and embellishments. It's like the equivalent of a candy store for her. She runs over to the racks and touches all the dresses and begins pulling a bunch of different ones to try on. Naturally, she pulls a couple of gaudy and flashy dresses—typical of Camille.

She takes them into the fitting room as I sit on a bench, waiting for her to show me each one. I'm too bored and too tired to give too much of a vocal feedback, so I grimace at the ones that I don't like, and smile at the ones that are half-decent.

One point, she comes out wear some taffeta mess of a dress. It looks like some bad parody of a 80s prom dress. I shake my head and give her two thumbs down. Next she comes out wearing a pretty pale purple dress, but it's distracted by weird frilly sleeves. Later, she comes out in a flamenco-inspired dress, which gives us a good laugh. Even the sales associate looks over at us and can't help but snicker, too.

But even after trying on a dozen or so dresses, Camille's not completely satisfied with any of them, so she goes and grabs more to try on.

"Camille… can you just pick one already?" I whine.

"Logan Mitchell! I've been waiting for this moment for eighteen years, and I'm not going to simply settle on any dress!"

I can only imagine how diva-like she'll act when she's engaged to be married.

"Fine," I groan in defeat. "But let me call my mom."

I take my cell and walk over to a corner of the store as Camille piles on more dresses to try on. I call my mom's cell and leave her a voicemail. She rarely checks her cell, but I figured I should just cover my bases. I'm about to put my phone my back into my pocket when I decide to call the house phone.

It rings and no one answers, which I don't expect anyone to; it goes to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me," I say to the machine. "I'm at the mall with Camille. I just want to let you know that I'm okay, in case you were worried. Not assuming that you were worried, but anyway… I, uh… I thought I would let you know. I'll be home soon."

There's silence, which of course is the case when you're recording a voicemail, but a part of me wishes that I'm actually talking to someone. I always feel weird for sounding so personal in a voicemail, but before I hang up, I spontaneously add, "I miss you. Bye."

"Logan," Camille calls to me. "What are you doing over there? Tell me what you think of this dress," she says gesturing to the beautiful, fitted, aqua dress she has on.

"You look beautiful," I compliment as I shove my phone back into my pocket.

I smile because she really does look beautiful. But I smile mostly because I think of Kendall sitting at home, listening to the voicemail I left for him. I can only hope that he misses me as much as I miss him.

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