Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Bianca. She had spent the first seventeen years of her life in a small village, bordered on one side by the Pacific Ocean, on the other side by a narrow, winding road that led down the coast. Each person living there had their noses in everyone else's business, and Bianca thrived in that environment. She loved running into friends and neighbors at the market, or at the local café as she was getting her morning cappuccino, or in the park on her walk home from school. She never minded when a young couple shoved a wallet-full of pictures of the little ones in her face or when a middle-aged man or woman launched into a discussion about the business. She even managed to hold a smile on her face when the women tried to needle information from her about the cute boy she had been seen talking to yesterday. "Oh, no one special," she would reply with a shrug, and the women would laugh and tease her, saying that every adolescent boy in the town was pining for her.

"You're so thin!" one would say admirably. "And so pretty. It's no wonder they all chase after you!"

"It's that perfect skin," another would chime in. "Darling, you don't know how lucky you are – when I was your age my face was an absolute mess."

She would smile humbly as they raved over her. They all loved her sweet disposition and her immense beauty. She was their star. The boys who followed her around never managed to catch her attention; she dreamed of someday marrying a rich doctor or lawyer, and these spineless drones would never be enough for her. But the adults she loved. Despite the show she put on, she didn't really mind having the women of the town fawn over her. In fact, she rather enjoyed it.

Bianca headed down the main street, took a left, and admired the building at the end of the tree-lined street ever growing nearer. Made out of gray stone, it stood somber and majestic, conjuring in Bianca's mind an image of the man who had made it all happen, the love of her life: her father. He had designed the house and watched it be built long before Bianca was born, when her mother and father were just newly married. After Bianca's mother died in childbirth, her father had brought her back to the house and raised her, giving her all the love she needed, treating her like a princess. Tall and quiet, her father gave in during every argument because he cherished peace and despised conflict – and, as he told Bianca, he just liked to see her smile. Three years after Bianca's birth, he remarried, bringing a woman into the house who, though she could sometimes be as cold as the stones which housed the family, generally treated Bianca with respect. Bianca was kind to her, but it was her father who really made the home a place where Bianca felt happy and loved. "Daddy's girl," all of the other town residents called her. In that house, in that town, in that family, Bianca felt invincible. She grew up thinking that nothing could harm her there in her little world. But she was too young to understand that the people who hurt us most aren't always our enemies. All too often, they are the ones we trust.

When Bianca unlocked and entered her home that day, she called out through the house and received no answer. She made her way through the front hallway, pausing in front of the enormous mirror hanging on the wall. It was old and dark and bordered by a highly ornamented gold frame. Her stepmother had an eye for fascinating antiques, resulting in the presence of quirky and sometimes ostentatious furniture and decorations throughout the house. This was the most intriguing to Bianca. The mirror seemed to have a story behind it, as if in its earlier years, it had witnessed some dark or secretive events. Chills ran down her spine if she caught her reflection in it while walking around the moonlit house late at night; it seemed as if more than just mere reflections gave life to the mirror.

This afternoon, she stopped for a long moment and surveyed her own big dark eyes, her full crimson lips, and her smooth ivory skin with great admiration. She ran her fingers through her long, silky black hair. Pleased, she noted how well the untamed curls of her youth had been conquered by her hand (with the help of a hot straightening iron) and forced into submission. No matter how long it took, every morning she styled her hair, brushed a light pink powder over her cheekbones, smoothed a line of deep red over her lips, and stroked a black liquid through her eyelashes to enhance her natural beauty, giving her an unearthly, almost angelic glow. The older she grew, the less she would tolerate playing outside in the dirt and the more she cared about the outfits she assembled and the appearance she kept. To the outside observers, those who did not know her well, she seemed to grow more beautiful each day. Thanks to her tendency to keep everyone around her at arm's length, virtually everyone in her world viewed her as an innocent, charming creature.

She scanned her body, critically observing its slimness and slight curves, cursing herself for eating that second cookie during lunch. Thinking she saw a spot on her shirt, she tilted her head down and used her manicured fingernail to scrape the bit of chalk off of her clothes. When she lifted her head back up to glance in the mirror one last time, she gave a start and shrieked. There was another face in the mirror, right beside hers.

Whirling around, she came face to face with the woman. The tension in her body was released with a sigh and a relieved chuckle. "Oh, it's just you, Regina. You startled me!" She put her hand on her heart as it slowed back to a normal rate and sheepishly added, "I didn't realize you were getting your hair done today! You look really different."

"Well, I have to remain looking young and pretty so your father will still want me, don't I?" Her stepmother smiled, but hidden within this seemingly offhand remark, Bianca was sure that she detected an icy edge of bitterness, as if Regina wasn't as okay with aging as she led the world to believe. Bianca had noticed than Regina's insecurities about her appearance had been cropping up quite often lately. Regina now changed her hair color and various makeup styles nearly weekly, as if she hoped that somewhere out there was a style that would make her more beautiful than anyone in the world, if she could only find it. The result of Regina's obsession, Bianca noted, was damaged hair that was getting frizzier with each dyeing, and a layer of makeup that was consistently growing more severe. Bianca was almost sure, though, that Regina thought she was positively bewitching.

Bianca was saved from having to conjure an elaborate false compliment when the door swung open and her father stepped into the foyer. "How's my favorite girl?" He put down his briefcase and gave Bianca a jovial smile.

For a moment, a flame of hope had flickered in Regina's cold heart – until she realized that once again, John was referring to the other woman in his life as his favorite. She watched that silken curtain of black hair swing back and forth as Bianca leapt into the arms of her father. Everything about that girl was perfect. Regina frowned as jealousy crept through her brain, devouring every thought and overcoming common sense.

She had once been his favorite, she thought. When John had dated her, proposed to her, and married her, she had felt like the most special woman in the world, and had decided to overlook the small mistake he had made in creating a child. However, as Bianca grew older, it became harder for Regina to ignore the fact that marrying John had been the mistake. The child stole not only John's attention, but whole town's. Regina, who loved to be center of attention herself, could not stand for this. But she didn't know how to stop this calamity. A divorce would mar her perfect social record – and besides, she couldn't possibly be made to get a job. Only common people could stoop that low, and she was certainly an extraordinary woman worthy of so much more than this.

Regina stared in the mirror on the wall. Time seemed to stop. In her mind she saw her face next to Bianca's. After years of lying to herself and ignoring the truth, Regina finally saw things clearly. Bianca was simply more beautiful. And she could not allow that to continue.

Conversation was sparse at dinner that night. John made a few feeble attempts at conversation, but trailed off each time, giving up altogether when he was unable to break down the inexplicable icy silence between his daughter and wife. Bianca pretended not to notice Regina staring daggers at her. She awkwardly pushed her steamed broccoli around the plate with her fork, avoiding conflict for the sake of her father and silently wondering what she had done to offend her stepmother this time. Regina was prone to letting her temper fly at Bianca for no apparent reason, and Bianca was in no mood to provoke her.

Untrue to Regina's typical fashion, she managed to remain calm for days, which only increased Bianca's nervous anticipation of the impending fight. It happened days later, when the two women were alone in the house. John had left for a business trip shortly after Bianca got home. He had given her a kiss on the cheek, told her he loved her, and requested, with a wink, for her to "hold down the fort" until he got home. Bianca had given him a similarly warm farewell and then had wandered into the den with Grimm's Fairy Tales, which she had been assigned to read for her German class. She settled into the overstuffed easy chair, turned on the television for background noise, curled up under a blanket, and began to read. Her eyelids grew heavy as the room grew darker.

A couple of hours after sunset, Regina came home late from work to find the house dark and silent but for the faint drone of a television. She found Bianca asleep in the chair. As the jealous Regina stared at this spectacular sleeping beauty, envy rose in her throat. Wanting to interrupt Bianca's peace, she snapped off the TV, stood directly beside her, and cleared her throat very loudly.

Bianca's eyelids slowly fluttered open, and her mouth stretched wide open in a tremendous yawn. "What-"

Regina cut her off, speaking sharply and coldly. "Why are you lying here, sleeping, when I'm sure you have homework to be doing? Why isn't your father making you work? Where is he, anyway?"

"He went on a business trip, remember? He's gone," Bianca informed her in a sleepy voice, slowly sitting up straight.

"Gone? Gone? He told me he would wait to say goodbye to me before he left!" Regina looked more furious than Bianca had ever seen her.

"Well, I guess he wanted to get a start before dark." Bianca shrugged casually, trying to alleviate some of the building tension.

"And I suppose he said goodbye to you?" Her voice grew more shrill.

Bianca nodded. She got up and walked toward the kitchen. "I guess he likes me better," she joked.

Regina apparently did not think that it was very funny. She grabbed Bianca's arm and wrenched the girl around to face her. "He does NOT like you better, you little brat!" Regina shouted. It was the breaking point. She couldn't take any more of Bianca's flippant remarks or insults disguised as jokes. She couldn't take Bianca's smug smile when she looked at her stepmother, as if she knew she was more beautiful and desirable and wanted to make sure Regina knew it too. She couldn't take Bianca's perfect, thin body and the attention it commanded. She couldn't live one more day wondering whether John secretly loved his daughter more. She knew. Bianca was number one in John's life, and that was never going to change. Rage boiled through her veins as she slammed Bianca's back into the refrigerator.

Tears spilled out of Bianca's bright, perfect eyes. "What is wrong with you? What did I do to deserve this?" she exclaimed.

"You were born!" Regina howled. "Everyone wants to be you, everyone loves you. Well I DON'T!" she yelled, slamming her back up against the refrigerator, then dropping her hands.

Bianca was positively shell-shocked by Regina's show of physical violence, but she did not cower. Something stronger than fear rose up and she placed her hands against the taller woman's shoulders and pushed her backwards with all her might. "How dare you touch me!" she shouted back, letting her own temper fly.

Regina gasped as she stumbled backwards into the kitchen counter. "Oh no. You're going to be sorry," she shook her head once she gathered her bearings. Bianca hesitated. In one quick motion, Regina's hand swooped down and plucked a kitchen knife out of the block. She planted her other hand against Bianca's chest in a blind fury, pinned her against the refrigerator, and held the knife up to her throat.

Both women froze, sweating and panting from passionate fury and physical exertion. For one lingering moment, their eyes locked, Biancas' holding a faltering courage and Regina's emanating a wrathful hatred. Bianca let out a strangled, pleading cry as Regina pressed the knife blade against her skin.

Regina couldn't do it. Though her heart told her hand what to do, she couldn't move one millimeter. She collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Bianca's heart and mind were racing. Not fully aware of what she was doing, guided by the basic human instinct to survive, she scooped her keys off of the counter and raced towards the front door, slamming it behind her as she fled. With a wildly shaking hand, she unlocked her car door as fast as she could, turned the key in the ignition, threw the car into reverse, sped out of the driveway, and squealed down the street as fast as she could, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake.

It wasn't until much later that Bianca's mind settled back down into her body and she began to become consciously aware of her surroundings. She was driving north on the rugged highway leading from her town, faster, she noted after a quick glance at her speedometer, than she had ever driven, even on an empty open highway.

Bianca buckled her seatbelt in and turned down the volume of the angry punk-rock band belting through her stereo system. She wiped the sweat off of her face and squinted, trying to see in the dark where she was going. The drive up the coast to San Francisco was familiar to Bianca, but she had never driven very far along the road in the opposite direction. It only led to more small towns and state parks and she never had any reason to go that way, except for that gut instinct that was guiding her tonight. The same feeling told her to drive as fast as she could; she had no way of knowing what her crazed stepmother would do once she collected herself and realized Bianca was missing. Her foot pressed the gas pedal down even closer to the floor. Her little car sped around the curves, dangerously wavering on the edge of cliffs several times.

What had happened back at the house? Regina had snapped, and though Bianca wasn't sure why, she had a pretty good guess. After all of those times of catching Regina's face in the mirror beside hers, after all of those envious glances and bitter glares, Bianca had a good guess as to why-

Bianca screamed. As her mind had wandered, so had her car – into the path of oncoming traffic. Headlights blinded her. Bianca's white-knuckled hands jerked the wheel to the right and her car rocketed off of the road, through some gravel, then began tumbling down a large ravine. As her car slammed into a tree, Bianca's head hit the side of the car and everything went black.

When Bianca awoke, she found herself in the middle of a forest, in what used to be her car, with a deflated airbag lying in her lap. It must have been day, for she could see beams of light filtering through leaves and stretching to the forest floor through the broken windshield. The car was wedged up against the trunk of a tree, and the side was scrunched in, preventing her from opening the door to escape the twisted mess of metal. Faintly, the events of the previous night that had led her to this point started to come back to her.

She had no idea where she was, and in her frantic departure she hadn't had time to grab her cell phone. She started to panic, rapidly scanning the trees for anyone or anything that could come to her rescue. A short distance away, she spotted a house. Ignoring a pounding headache, Bianca wriggled out of her seat, over the gear stick, and out the passenger's side door, which mercifully opened without too much difficulty. She stepped out of the car, putting her weight on her left leg… and crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. It must have broken in the crash, she realized, noticing a puffy swollen area on the bottom half of her leg. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she pushed up off of the ground and stood on her right foot. By a combination of hopping on her right foot, gingerly dragging her left leg, and supporting herself against trees, she made her way to the house, stopping often to lean on a tree and catch her breath. It was exhausting work, but she finally reached the house and rang the doorbell.

No answer. She banged on the door again and again, but to no avail. After some time, she gave up and slumped down on the porch, knowing she could go on no further.

It was Brian who saw her first. When the guys pulled up and unloaded themselves from the van, Brian noticed an oddly shaped mass by the front door. As he approached, he saw that it was a small, pretty, dark-haired woman. She appeared to have suffered some great physical trauma. Her very pale arms had little cuts all over them, and a large purple bruise colored her left forehead.

The other guys drifted to the doorway and one by one crowded behind him, making a ruckus. "Who the hell is that?" Dave asked, kneeling down next to Brian beside her.

"See if she's breathing!" Corey, a tall redhead, suggested.

Dave pressed two fingers to her neck and felt a pulse. "She's alive. I wonder what she's doing here," he mused, standing up.

Trevor nudged him. "That may have something to do with it," he said, pointing into the woods. The others followed his gaze to what apparently had once been a car but now resembled a smashed tin can.

"Holy shit," Dave exclaimed. "Let's get her inside!" The strongest of the men, he put his arms under her and scooped her up, carrying her into the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. He placed her motionless body gently on his rumpled, unmade sheets. They all stood around her in amazement, staring at the beautiful creature lying on Dave's bed.

When Bianca awoke, she noticed the faint odor of dirty sweat socks and a flock of adolescent males all staring down at her. "Good Lord, where am I?" she moaned, stretching out and rolling onto her back.

"Monterey," a pale blonde male with a long nose answered.

"Actually, in the woods, pretty far south of Monterey," a stocky muscular guy chimed in. "And you're in my room."

"That explains the smell," she muttered under her breath, eliciting smirks from a couple of them.

"Are you okay?" asked a thin brown-haired guy who sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. "Because you don't look so good."

"Oh, now that's a great thing to say to the girl," scoffed a redhead who had a mischievous look about him. He gave her a wink. "I think she looks great."

Bianca laughed in spite of herself. "No, no, I got what he meant. I'm sure I don't look good. And I think I've got a broken leg. Can somebody take me to a doctor?" she requested sleepily.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I can take care of you," the first guy to speak said. He sat down next to her.

"That's Matthew," the brunette gestured. "He's studying to be a doctor. He'll fix you right up."

"Whoa. He's going to cast my leg? You're not going to take me to someone who knows what he's doing?" Bianca sat up straight, then moaned when she remembered how much it hurt to sit up and sunk back onto the soft gray bed sheets.

"Just lay down," Matt spoke in a calm voice. "I've done this a million times - these clowns break limbs all the time." He nodded his head towards the pack of men. One of them lifted up a bandaged wrist in confirmation.

"We can call an ambulance to come and get you, if that's what you want," Dave offered, "but the nearest hospital is pretty damn far from here."

Bianca had a vision of a nice clean hospital - then she remembered that she was running away from home, and decided not to risk going to the hospital and giving out all her personal information. There was probably a search going on, and God knows what her stepmother, having proven herself capable of hideous things, would do if she found here there helpless. "No, no, I trust you," she said hastily to Matt.

"Alright, I'll go get some supplies." Matt left the room, and the others all crowded around her, throwing hands in her direction, introducing themselves. She weakly shook their hands and heard a lot of names that she knew she wouldn't remember.

Matt reentered, arms full of bandages and various supplies. Upon inspecting it, he told her it was probably just a very severe bruise, but that he would treat it as if it was broken just in case. When he started to wrap her leg up against a split, Bianca grabbed the hand nearest to her, which happened to belong to Brian, the brown-haired boy sitting with her. She clutched his hand tightly and squeezed her eyes closed. When the leg was done, Matt cleaned and bandaged her many cuts, removing bits of broken glass from some, and gave her some pain medicine to swallow. As Matt was finishing, Bianca realized she was still holding Brian's hand in a death grip and looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry if I held it too hard."

"Oh, I don't think you broke too many bones," he joked, smiling warmly and then introducing himself again. This time, the name stuck in Bianca's mind.

"You're all done, kid," Matt told her.

"Thanks." All of a sudden, Bianca realized that she was ravenously hungry. "If it's not too much trouble… can I have something to eat?"

"Oh, sure. You want us to bring something up to you?"

"Actually, I'm feeling alright. I'll come down to the kitchen with you," Bianca said. Brian and Dave each offered her a hand. They helped her stand, then let her drape her arms over their shoulders as she hobbled down the stairs. Bianca couldn't help but smile as they descended the curved staircase. The small wooden house was warm, bright, and a little worn. It seemed as tall as it was wide. Unlike the formulaic nature of her home, there seemed to be rooms floating in the most random places as the staircase branched off in various directions.

They eventually made their way into the kitchen, a sun-bathed and slightly untidy room with a few empty coffee cups and stacks of papers here and there, and a small pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. Bianca plopped down at the large round kitchen table and stared out the window at trees soaked in the light of the setting sun. All of the boys, who had gradually scattered during Bianca's medical treatment, slowly filtered into the room. Most of them began to cook, one chopping vegetables, one frying ground beef in a skillet, another boiling an enormous pot of spaghetti. Dave popped a CD in the player sitting on the counter and funky classic rock music wove its way through the other noises of the room. A few of the guys took swigs from bottles of beer and someone offered one to Bianca, which she hastily turned down in favor of water. Those who weren't cooking sat close to Bianca and asked her questions – who was she? Where was she from? How did she get to be so hot? This was her personal favorite, asked by none other than the self-assured redhead named Codey. Bianca was amazed that unlike stares from the boys back home, which made her roll her eyes in annoyance, Codey's frequent and overexaggerated flirtation just made her laugh. By the time a vat of spaghetti and meat sauce, a large bowl of salad accompanied by a bottle of Ranch dressing, and eight plates, forks, and knives were on the table, they had gotten to asking how she came to crash her car in the forest. They filled their plates as she narrated, gaping at her when she got to certain dramatic moments, transfixed by the sound of her honey-sweet voice.

"God, that's awful!" Brian shook his head when she finished. "How could your own stepmom do that?"

"I don't know," Bianca shrugged. "I guess… she must have been really jealous of me for a long time. I sort of realized it, I just didn't know it would get this far." She shivered. After a pause, she looked around the table. "Thank you so much for helping me out, though." The boys all assured her that it was no trouble at all.

"Would it be alright if I spent the night here? I don't know where else to go." Bianca pleaded.

"Sure. In fact, if you need a place to stay for a while…" Jake, a confident Latino boy sitting across from her spoke, looking at the others for approval, "I'm sure we could make some space here for you." They nodded and agreed.

The young men were either extremely easygoing, lustful, or, for all she knew, serial killers looking for their next victim. Bianca decided to take a gamble; at this point, she really couldn't afford to turn down these seemingly generous people. Once Bianca thanked them and accepted their offer, Dave, who seemed to be the leader, began to lay down the rules of the house. "We all help pay for the bills, and we all pitch in when it comes to housework. If you want to stay here, you'll have to help cook, clean, garden, and everything. Is that cool?"

Bianca nodded. "Yeah – sure. That's cool."

"Then welcome to our house, sister," Trevor smiled, giving her a pat on the back.

Midway through the meal, at Bianca's request, they launched into a lengthy discussion about their unusual way of living that lasted far past the emptying of their plates. After Matt and a short, younger guy named Eddie took their turn washing the dishes, the group proceeded into the great room, Dave hoisting Bianca up and carrying her over to a worn, comfortable couch. Together they relayed their life story to her:

Dave and Eddie were brothers. Their father had built the house when the brothers were small children, and when their parents had been killed in a car accident a few years ago, they had kept their home. It was too big for just the two of them, so when Dave started attending a local college, he decided to take in some friends he made there. Many of the seven of them came from broken or neglectful homes and various tragic situations, but found refuge in this group. They became a family, Dave explained. Bianca smiled. She loved their solidarity, and she enjoyed hearing others' stories. She realized that was strangely refreshing to be in a situation that wasn't all about her.

Eventually the order of the group broke down. More beers were opened. Trevor pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket, and he, Dave, Corey, and Eddie gathered around a coffee table, brought cheap plastic chips out of the closet, and started a game of poker. Matt retreated to his room and returned with a biology textbook and a thick stack of notes and began to study. Jake pulled a worn copy of Hamlet off of the bookshelf and settled into an easy chair to read. Brian grabbed an acoustic guitar out of the corner of the room and sat in front of the glowing fireplace, casually strumming. Bianca just lay on the couch taking it all in, beneath a warm blanket Trevor had tossed her way, sipping a mug of hot chocolate Eddie had cooked up for her, until she drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Bianca was awoken the next morning by the clanking of pans and the slow but noisy commotion of seven drowsy young men in the kitchen. Always a morning person, she immediately dragged herself off of the couch and into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as she stepped into the bright, crowded room.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Corey greeted her.

"Help yourself to some coffee," Dave gestured towards a half-full coffee pot on the counter next to the sink.

Thanking him, Bianca shuffled to the coffeemaker, edging her way past Brian and Jake, who were busily cooking. She grabbed a clean mug and filled it with coffee. "What are you guys making?" she asked the two, wrapping her fingers around the mug and leisurely leaning back against the counter.

"Bacon and eggs. Want to lend us a hand?" Brian asked.

"Um… sure." Bianca had never cooked before, but thought, how hard could it be to fry an egg?

"You might want to get this out of the way," Brian teased, yanking gently on her nearly waist-length hair that, after two mornings without a shower or straightening iron, was beginning to adopt an unruly appearance, chunks of it sticking out every which way. Embarrased about her unsightly mane, she swept it behind her and scrunched it into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. "I'm ready now," she informed him.

"Alright, grab a spatula and start flipping the eggs," Brian spoke nonchalantly, turning sizzling bacon over in a nearby pan.

"Spatula… spatula…" Bianca muttered under her breath, staring at the can of kitchen utensils, utterly lost.

Brian noticed the blank look on her face. Incredulously, he said, "You don't know what a spatula is? Where have you been living, under a rock?"

Bianca could feel color creeping into her cheeks. She wasn't used to not knowing things. "My stepmother did all of the cooking back home," she answered flippantly.

Brian raised an eyebrow quizzically, then chuckled. "Alright, we'll start from the beginning. The spatula's that flat one."

Bianca grabbed it and held the handle so that the spatula was upside down, then looked up at Brian, ready for instruction.

Clenching his jaw shut so that he didn't burst out laughing, he turned the spatula over in her hand.

"Oh, right," Bianca spluttered. Flustered, she hastily tried to make herself seem very busy. She glared at the four eggs in the skillet, as if with sheer intensity of her gaze she could move them. Brian stared at her, an amused half-smile lingering on his face.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Right. Now, the eggs have been in the skillet for a while, and they're ready to be flipped over. Just slide the spatula under an egg, lift it up, turn it over, and let it drop back into the pan upside-down." He demonstrated the motions as he spoke, then he let her give it a try.

Bianca mutilated the first egg that she tried to flip, possibly worse than anyone has ever mutilated an egg. She broke the yoke and managed to fold the egg over on itself. Brian stood patiently by her side as she turned three perfectly good eggs into congealed, defeated lumps. Bianca gave a frustrated sigh. "I can't even make eggs right. I'm a failure!" she huffed.

"Don't worry about it. The first time I tried to use this stove, I ended up in the hospital."

"You did not!" she laughed.

"He did," Jake confirmed with a nod. "He put his hand down on a burner. It was really ugly."

"Oh my God!"

"I thought I had turned on the back burner, but I had actually turned on the front one. I leaned on the front burner. Not a very smart thing to do," he reflected, showing her some faint scars on the palm of his hand.

"That's terrible!" Bianca commiserated, her big eyes filling with pity.

"It's nothing," Brian waved carelessly. "Now why don't you sit down and let us fix you some breakfast. I'll teach you how to cook some other time." Bianca followed his suggestion, somewhat ashamed of herself. She hated looking foolish.

Since it was a warm, sunny Saturday, many of the guys headed outside to do gardening mid-morning. Bianca wandered after them, more out of curiosity than a willingness to work. Her family hired a landscaping service, so she had never actually seen gardening up close before. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure what gardening entailed. The weather was sunny and beautiful, though, so Bianca was glad to be outdoors. She smiled as the sun hit her face, stripping off her long-sleeved shirt, letting the sun heat her bare arms and shoulders and upper back exposed by the tank she had on underneath.

She instantly regretted her decision to follow them outdoors when Dave placed a funny-looking object in her hand, politely urged her to work on the vegetable garden, and walked off. It consisted of a handle and a long metal rod that was sort of forked at the end.

"What on earth is this?" she turned and demanded of the nearby Brian, brandishing the tool in the air.

"You use it to pull weeds out," he answered. "How much experience do you have with gardening?"

"About as much as cooking," Bianca sighed.

Brian laughed. "You're going to need some help. Follow me, I'll show you what to do. And stop waving that thing around before you stab me with it."

"Right," Bianca blushed, dropping her arm to her side. She followed Brian as he knelt down at the edge of the garden. She watched intently as he wedged the pointed end of a similar tool into the dirt at the base of a weed, forcing the weed to pop up above the surface. Brian then paused, to watch her try.

Bianca slowly lowered herself to the ground, so as not to upset her injured leg. She wrinkled her nose as the knees of her favorite jeans squished into the muddy ground. She shoved the tool into the ground, and worked it around fervently, effectively mangling the weed.

"You'll get it," he assured her. He stood and watched as she poked the rod into the ground again, then after a bit of work, gave up and yanked the weed out using her hand. Suddenly she let out a blood-curdling scream and jumped back, throwing the tool up into the air.

"What's wrong?" he shouted, rushing to her side. She pointed down in the small hole, where a fat white insect was wiggling around.

Brian started laughing. "That's just a grub," he informed her. "It won't hurt you." He retrieved the tool from halfway across the garden, placed it back in her hand, and told her to keep digging. Shaken from her terrifying encounter with the revolting little creature, Bianca sat down on a grassy patch near the garden for a few moments to collect herself. She watched as Brian disappeared into the shed and emerged minutes later with a lawnmower. Pulling his shirt off and throwing it on the porch, he then began to mow in horizontal swipes across the lawn. Bianca let her brain take a vacation for a few minutes and watched him work, noting that she didn't much mind looking at Brian without his shirt. It wasn't until he caught her gaze and waved at her that she came back down to earth and realized, with a frown, that she herself had work to do.

Two hours later, the garden was free of weeds, and Bianca was sweaty, red-faced, and on the verge of tears. Her arms were sore from the exertion, and she noticed that her previously pure white skin was marked with pink patches.

Corey sauntered over to her. "Good job, princess," he congratulated her with a sincere smile. He gave her a hearty pat on the back.

Bianca winced. "Ouch!" she yelped.

Seeing the white print his hand had made on her severely sunburnt skin, he immediately apologized. Eyeing her upper half critically, he commented, "Wow, you are really sunburnt. Let me take you inside; I've got some aloe you can use. I have pale skin too, so I get burnt all the time," he explained. Placing his hand on her lower back, he gently led her into the house.

Once inside, they ran into Eddie, who, since he was closest to her in size, offered her an old T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts to change into. He then showed Bianca to the bathroom. Gratefully, she closed the door, removed her sweaty, dirty clothing, and let a torrent of cool water cascade over her head. Disheartened, she realized that staying with these boys would be no walk in the park. She already missed living in her parents' house. She wasn't ready to live on her own like this; she had too much to learn. Later, as she rubbed aloe lotion into her hot pink arms, mourning the loss of her delicate, milky complexion, she wondered what on earth she had gotten herself into.