"I knew you would change your mind," Wes says.

"Come over and we'll talk," I tell him. "No one's here. I'm all alone."

"Okay," Wes says. "Give me about fifteen minutes."

"I'll be waiting."

I hang up the phone with a shaking hand. Maybe I'm making a mistake. And then maybe I've made so many already that another doesn't count. I am alone and no one wants me. No one except Wes. How can I push that aside? The end is nearing, the real end, and Lindsey's right. I should hang on to Wes as long as I can. He loves me. He can't just stop loving me. When the real end comes and the truth is known, that I will deal with then.

I hurry around the room, shoving my textbooks into drawers, making sure every piece of my uniform is out of sight. I rip my SDS pennant off the wall and toss it into the closet. Then I strip off my jeans and shirt and cram them into the hamper. I dab jasmine perfume behind my ears and on my wrists and between my breasts. I slip into my gray skirt and a v-neck blouse with tiny pearl buttons. I brush my hair, parting it neatly on the side. I look much better. I look like the Shannon I used to be. Now I am only altered on the inside.

I wait for Wes on the front porch, sitting on the highest step, knees folded to my chest. The sun is lowering, the street growing darker, although it's not so late. Next door the Korman kids play in their front yard with a group of kids from down the street. Across the street, Abby's house is dark as always. I wonder if we're still really friends. I wonder if Anna and I are still really friends, too.

I've lost a lot since October.

And I haven't gained much in return.

There is Wes. The red Volvo pulls into the drive and Wes jumps out. He has a bouquet of pink roses tinged with yellow at the center.

"They didn't have any orchids," he says, handing me the flowers.

I laugh. It sounds strange escaping from me. "Thank you. They're lovely, Wes. Come in." I lead him up the steps onto the porch. As I open the front door, I glance over my shoulder and down the street. Kristy's bedroom window is dark.

"I'm so happy you called, Shannon," Wes tells me, following me through the foyer into the kitchen, where I search for a vase. "I knew you weren't serious. I knew," he says.

I don't say anything, but as I search the cabinet beneath the sink, I bite my lip very hard. I almost feel better because of it.

"They really are lovely, Wes," I say, arranging the roses in a spiral-cut crystal vase. I set the vase on the table, then take Wes' hand and pull him out of the kitchen and into the living room. I consider leading him upstairs to my bedroom. That's where I planned for us to talk, but what is the point? There is no one here. There is never anyone here. The house is mine.

Wes and I sink down onto the couch and he catches my hands in his, stroking his thumbs along my palms. "Thank you for reconsidering, Shannon. Thank you for giving me another chance. I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong to upset you."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Wes," I reply.

"No, no. I must have done something to upset you. Am I suffocating you? That's what my last girlfriend, Chelsea, accused me of. She said I called too often. But I think that was her way of justifying sleeping with all of Stoneybrook General. I guess that's why I worried about you cheating on me. I'm sorry, Shannon. I know you aren't like Chelsea." Wes raises my right hand and kisses my wrist.

"I would never cheat on you, Wes," I promise him. I would do a lot of dishonest, underhanded things and I have, but I would never cheat on him. "But I didn't break up with you for anything you did. It was me, all me. I'm not who you think I am. I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," Wes says, softly, and drops my hands. He brushes a lock of hair away from my eye and caresses my face.

I close my eyes, his hand warm against my cheek. "I have a lot of problems. There's so much you don't know. I'm falling apart."

"You can tell me anything, Shannon."

"You won't love me anymore."

"Yes, I will."

"Promise?"

Wes hesitates, but his thumb continues stroking my cheek. "I promise," he finally says. "What do you need to tell me?"

I open my eyes. I gaze into his and sigh, slightly, and smile. "Nothing. It's not important." I take his hand and kiss his fingertips.

Wes looks at me a bit unsurely.

"I'm sorry for breaking up with you," I tell him. "Especially how I did it. It was wrong. I was just upset about something else. Forgive me?"

"Of course. You know I want you back. I really want this to work, Shannon. We can work out our problems. I promise I won't suffocate you, if you promise to not freak out at me again. You're my girlfriend. You should tell me your problems."

"I know," I reply. But what do I tell him? Speaking things makes them real, sends them out into the world, existence admitted. And it means they are not within my control. Is anything in my control anymore? "My little sisters left," I tell Wes. "They're angry with me."

"How do little girls leave?" Wes asks.

I chuckle. "Wes, they aren't little girls. They're fifteen and twelve. Maria wants to live with our housekeeper. Tiffany – I don't know what she wants. But she sold her virginity for two hundred dollars."

Wes' eyes nearly pop out of his head. "I hope she's the fifteen year old!" he cries.

"That makes it okay?" I exclaim.

"No, but it's better than twelve," Wes replies and he blushes slightly. "Okay, maybe nothing makes it better. Why would she sell her virginity?"

"Because someone offered to buy it."

"That's sick."

I stare down at my hands, resting in my lap. "I know," I say. "But it's not really Tiffany's fault. She's very angry. Everyone disappoints her." Including me.

"You should make her come home. Where are your parents? Why don't they make her come home?"

I shrug. "They don't know she's gone. If they knew, they wouldn't care. I've told you before, they don't want to be parents anymore. Why do you think my littlest sister wants to live with our housekeeper? She wants to live anywhere but here."

"Your family's…odd," Wes says, which I suppose is the nicest possible thing to say. We're a lot worse than odd. Wes takes my hands in his. "You should take your wall down more often. You shouldn't hold everything in."

I nod. "I know," I reply and scoot over, closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder.

"We could go find your sisters."

I shake my head. "They need some space. They need some time to quit being angry with me," I say and lift my head to kiss Wes' lips. I've missed this. I've missed feeling so close to him. To someone. "Come on," I say, rising from the couch. I hold out my hands, taking his in mine, pulling him to his feet. "I've missed you. I'll show you my bedroom."

Wes allows me to lead him up the stairs. We pass Tiffany and Maria's darkened bedrooms. The upstairs is still eerie in its silence, but at least I am not alone. I shut the door behind Wes and I. Wes begins walking around the room, examining the books on their shelves, picking up things on the desk and dresser, checking out my photos.

"I didn't imagine you as a peach and yellow girl," Wes says, looking at the curtains.

I shrug. "My mom and I chose the colors a long time ago when I was in middle school. I was much different then. So was my mom."

Wes stops beside a large peach colored photo frame on the wall. Kristy put it together for me for my fifteenth birthday. The frame has twelve different photo slots and Kristy filled each with funny pictures of me, me as the girl I used to be.

"Hey, this blonde girl looks familiar," Wes comments, tapping a photo.

"Oh, that's just some club I used to belong to."

Wes turns away from the frame and moves across the room to where I stand. "Your room isn't like I expected," he says. "I don't know what I expected."

"At least there's no Star Wars," I point out.

Wes groans.

I smile, feeling much less doubtful than before. This is right. This is the best possible choice I could make at the moment. I need Wes. No one else wants to be with me. I unbutton my blouse and let it fall to the floor. Wes comes to me and wraps his arms around my waist. He leans down and kisses me. I pull him onto the bed. He kisses my neck, my shoulders, my stomach.

"I'm so glad you changed your mind," he whispers.

"It was a terrible mistake," I tell him. "I'll make it up to you." I reach behind my back and struggle to unhook my bra. I toss it onto the floor, then unzip the side of my skirt and wriggle it passed my hips and thighs, finally kicking it to the end of the bed.

"You don't have to make anything up to me," Wes says and pulls his polo shirt over his head.

Oh, yes, I do.

I kiss him again and again. I kiss him until my lips ache. I feel so much better. My mind grows foggy, but it's free of worries or doubts. And that's all I want. I just want to feel good.

"Did you bring a condom?" I ask Wes, breathlessly.

He removes his lips from my collarbone. "Uh…no. I didn't realize you'd want to have sex tonight…in your parents' house."

"Oh…" I reply, disappointed. "That's all right. You can just pull out."

"I don't think that's a very reliable form of birth control."

"I trust you."

"We don't have to have sex."

"But – "

A door slams downstairs. I sit up bolt-right. My breath catches and my stomach tightens. I listen. Footsteps on the stairs. Loud and heavy. Not Tiffany. Not Maria.

"It's my dad," I hiss.

Wes' eyes widen in panic.

"Don't worry," I tell him. "He never bothers me."

And as soon as the words leave my mouth, Dad calls out, "Hey! Whose Volvo's blocking the driveway! I can't get in the garage!"

"Dear Lord," I mutter, jumping off the bed. The one time Dad actually wishes to acknowledge my existence. I open the closet and grab a robe, slipping my arms into it and tying it tight around my middle. Dad's footsteps approach down the hallway. Behind me, Wes pulls his shirt over his head.

Dad knocks on my door. "Shanny?" he shouts. "Are you in there?"

I crack the door and peer out at him. I know my hair is a mess and my make-up likely smudged. "What?" I demand, sharply.

"Someone's car is blocking the driveway."

"The driveway is enormous!"

"But I can't pull into my spot in the garage."

"I'm busy. You can move your car later."

"Who do you have in there?" Dad asks, trying to push his head through the crack.

I push back. "No one!"

Dad's stronger and forces the door open enough to stick his head in. He sees Wes sitting on the bed, red-faced and disheveled. Dad chuckles. "Oh. Sorry," he says and chuckles again.

"Could you leave now?" I ask him.

"Yeah, sure. Hey, is this the same guy from New York?"

Wes stands up. "I'm Wesley – "

I cut Wes off. "Yes, it's the same guy," I snap at Dad. What does he think, I leap from man to man? I'm not Tiffany. "Is that okay with you?" I ask, sarcastically.

The sarcasm doesn't register for Dad. "Sure, sure. You're an adult. I'll just be downstairs doing some work. Pretend I'm not here," Dad says, then turns and leaves.

I shut the door and lock it.

I roll my eyes at Wes. "My dad's such a jerk."

"You could have introduced us," Wes tells me.

"Oh…well, it was awkward enough already," I reply and drop my robe. I walk back to the bed.

"I think I should go," Wes says and picks up one of his shoes.

"Because I didn't introduce you to my dad?" I exclaim.

Wes shakes his head. "No, no. I understand that. It's just…your dad being home and knowing we're up here…it's kind of weird. I don't think I feel very comfortable. Maybe if I was fifteen or something."

I pick my robe up again. "You don't have to leave. I mean, my dad doesn't care. We can just hold each other and talk. Stay with me," I plead, slipping on the robe.

Wes hesitates, torn. "No…I should leave. Let's stick to having sex at my apartment," Wes says, tying his shoelace. He stands up. "Do you want to go out tomorrow night? As in actually go out?"

I tighten the belt on my robe and nod. I shouldn't feel rejected. I should understand. I fake a smile. "Yes! Let's go out! We can celebrate our reconciliation. We'll eat at our restaurant, then catch a movie," I suggest. And we'll do it all in Stamford. Stamford, the safe city.

Wes grins. "Good idea!" he agrees.

I walk him downstairs to the front door. We pass Dad in his study. He's closed the French doors, but I see him through the glass, bent over a large book, completely unbothered by what I may be doing upstairs. Anger swells inside me, anger I do not expect or understand.

Wes kisses me at the front door. "I'm glad we're back together," he says.

"Me too."

"Things will be better this time."

"Yes."

I wave to him as he goes down the front steps, then shut the door. I turn the deadbolt. I stand in the foyer a minute before deciding to enter the study. I open the French doors without knocking.

"Your boyfriend didn't have to leave," Dad says without looking up.

"He felt uncomfortable," I reply and lean back against the doorway. "He's older, you know. I know Elizabeth Brewer told you."

"Yeah, she told me," Dad replies. He still doesn't look at me. "You're a big girl. You can make your own decisions. I told Elizabeth that."

"I'm so pleased," I say, breezily.

"I thought you would be," Dad answers. He uncaps a pen and circles something in his book. "Did I ever tell you about my high school girlfriend? Fay McCracken. What a frigid bitch she was. Probably still is. She was a knockout though. Killer legs and the personality of an arctic glacier. She dumped me on prom night. After she almost bit off my ear and kicked me so hard you and your sisters are lucky to be here. Her little sister though – " Dad chuckles. "We used to call her Whackin' McCracken because – " Dad chuckles again. "Well, there's a story for another time."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. What does this have to do with anything? "Maybe you should give Whackin' a call," I suggest, sarcastically.

Dad chuckles, like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard. "Nah. She blew her brains out after high school."

"That's a charming story. Thanks for sharing it, Dad," I say, then turn and leave the study. I'm uncertain if Dad even notices. I know he doesn't care.

I hope that when my reputation is ruined, I won't want to blow my brains out like Whackin'.

The phone rings in the kitchen. It rings in Dad's study, too. I listen as it rings four times, then finally hurry into the kitchen to answer it. Dad can't even bother to answer the telephone.

"Hello?" I say, flatly when I answer.

"Hello? Is this Maria?" asks a girl's voice.

"No. This is Shannon."

"Oh. Hey Shannon. This is Frannie. Can I talk to Tiffany? I have a question about the oceanography homework."

My grip on the phone tightens. So does my stomach. "What?" I ask, voice strangled. "Tiffany's staying the night at your house."

There's a short pause. "No," Frannie says. "I haven't seen Tiffany since sixth period."

I grit my teeth so hard I'm shocked they don't shatter.