"I hope you're okay with the ride. I didn't pick it out. It came with the tickets."

Melanie snuggled deeper into the thick upholstery and took a deep breath, filling up with the smells of leather and polish. "No complaints."

Bobby shifted in the seat beside her. "I mean, I don't want you to think I'm… trying to impress you by throwing money around."

"Never fear." She looked straight ahead, avoiding his eyes. "If I seem awestruck at being treated like a rock star, I'm not. I'm just very, very comfortable."

He huffed, and she was pleased to see she'd gotten a brief smile out of him. He was even dreamier close up than her first look at him yesterday in commons. He'd shown up for their "date" dressed just as Kat had said he would, in jeans and flannel and no jewelry but a plain watch, but with a fresh shave and every hair in place. And in a black Mercedes limo, which she hadn't warned her about; a crowd had gathered before it came to a stop in the driveway. "I'm not. Fancy cars make me uncomfortable. But I'm glad you're tripping on it."

"This is going to be a lot better than fighting traffic in and out of the Civic Theatre, believe me. How did you score this?"

He huffed again. "By trying to be a smartass. My father gets an urge to play Santa once in a while. Typical divorced-parent stuff, I'm told. He told me to let my imagination run free. I thought I was calling his bluff by asking for concert tickets for a band he'd never heard of, sold out for months, and just two days away. He dropped them in my hand the next afternoon. And whatever he paid, I'm sure he thought it was worth it to see my jaw hit my chest. So, for tonight, I guess we party like rock stars." He gave her an appraising look. "I've got coke, if you want any." Her heart leaped into her throat before he leaned forward to pull open the tiny refrigerator. "Regular or diet? I'm guessing diet."

Relief flooded her. Maybe he isn't too good to be true. "I look like I'm on a diet?"

He nodded seriously. "And it's working."

That produced a tingle in her belly; she didn't think jeans and flannel had ever looked so good on anybody. "Give me the diet, smartass." They popped tops and swigged, ignoring the crystal goblets in the rack. "So, do you and your dad get along?"

"Get along… I guess. That's about it. He wasn't around when I was a kid. I guess I've got some acceptance issues."

"What about your mom?"

"Dead." He sipped his drink. "How bout your folks?"

"Working all the time. Dad travels to L.A. about one weekend a month. Mom pulls fifty-hour weeks at a bank. It's been like this since we moved here." She looked out the dark-tinted windows at the early-evening traffic. Cars on either side were jockeying around, their occupants trying to peer inside the limo.

"Kat likes your brother. Not like likes. She doesn't collect boyfriends. Doesn't do the boyfriend thing at all, actually. But she's having fun touching foreheads with him over schoolwork, I can tell."

She thought about quizzing him about his connection to Kat, but refrained. She was now sure that she wasn't his girlfriend; ex-girlfriend, maybe, but if so, that was best not talked about.

-0-

"It was nice of Lori and Alex to stick around for a while, don't you think?"

Sitting at the kitchen table, Joel watched Kat's fingers fluttering over the keyboard of her laptop. "We didn't get a thing done while they were here. They only wanted to jerk my chain. They were teasing me about having a girl over before you showed up."

"Why does Lori call you 'Reed'?"

"Just a stupid joke. Reed Richards is-"

"The clueless genius from the Fantastic Four." She smiled without looking up. "I'll bet Alex teases you a lot."

"Yeah, she's a total pain in the ass." He concentrated on sketching a graph of predicted results for the third series.

"Cute, though."

"If you like the type."

The smile got a little wider. "Do you like the type?"

"What?"

She stopped and looked at him. "You can't be that clueless."

"Phuh. If I ever came on to her, she'd never come to the house again." He turned his notebook around for her to see. "Prelims for series three."

She studied it and nodded, then turned her laptop around to show him a data table. "Possible deviations in series two due to atmospheric temperature and humidity. The building's air-conditioned, of course, so all we have to do is take measurements when we start. Bet this'll bring our MOE below one percent."

He glanced at the dataset, then at the URL displayed across the top: it appeared she'd gotten her data from a DOD website, and not a public-relations one. The girl knew how to surf.

He spent an extra moment looking over her computer. It was state-of-the-art, no surprise. Then he looked again at the wall phone jack, and the lighter-sized gadget she'd plugged into it when she'd removed the phone. Whatever it was, it let her access the Web without plugging in a cable, carrying her laptop all over the kitchen, and the data rate was higher than he'd thought you could wring out of a phone line. "Where'd you get that gadget?"

"Um, you can't buy it here yet. Our sponsor travels all over the world, and he picked it up for me."

He gave a mental shrug and turned the screen back around. "The work you did already is worth an A, before we ever run an experiment. You're a genius."

"No slouch yourself. You took my idea and ran with it. Want a printout?"

"Ah, my printer's in my room. Got a stick?"

"No need." She tapped a few keys, studied the results, and tapped a few more. "Should be coming out now."

"You're shitting me."

She gave him an odd smile. "Bet?" She pulled a slice of pizza from one of the boxes and took a bite. "If it's not there, I pay for the pizza."

"Already paid for."

"Fine then. Name it." She took a second bite, chewing lustily.

He'd never understand why he said it. "Picture of you in a bikini."

She spit out a wad of cheese and looked at him with eyes that shone like car headlights. "Seriously? What would you do with it?"

He gave her a pinkie-tip to the corner of his mouth and a Doctor Evil simper. "The possibilities are endless." He grinned at her. "What's wrong? Don't want to put your money where your mouth is?"

Her eyes narrowed. "And what if it's there? Name it?"

He swallowed. "Name it."

She tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and jotted a quick note. Then she folded it and put it in his hand. "Deal. If it's not there, you hand that back unread and you've got your picture. You can take it yourself, even. But if it is, you do what the note says."

He shuffled down the hallway with the note burning his hand. He opened his bedroom door and flipped on the light. The report lay in the out tray of his printer.

He rubbed the notepaper between his fingers. Then he stepped in front of his printer, to hide it from the door. "Kat," he called. "Do you own a bikini?"

"No." He heard her zip down the hall. "I mean yes, but…" She came into his room and shoved him aside. Big girl or not, her strength was a surprise. She looked at the tray and glared at him, but it was good-natured, he could tell. "Twerp." She pointed at the note in his hand. He opened it and read.

Within the next ten days, take Alex on a date.

He raised his eyes from the note. Kat was staring back, expectant. He shook his head. "Impossible. You don't know what you're asking."

"Did I try to back out when you wanted to see me out of my clothes?"

He huffed. "I'll try. But I'm not good with girls. I can't promise anything."

"Yes you can." She smiled wide. "Like I said, guys who look like you should be charming."

"This from the girl who's got no time for guys."

"Joel?" His mother's voice, from the hall. She poked her head into his open door, eyes wide.

He was mildly embarrassed at his mother catching him in his room alone with a girl. Then he replayed the conversation she must have overheard, and enough heat rose to his face to singe his eyebrows. One glance at Kat told him her mind had been sprinting down the same path. "Uh, hi, Mom." He pulled the sheets from the printer. "We're just working on a school project." She was staring at Kat, who had trouble meeting her eyes. "This is my lab partner, Kat. Kat, my mom."

"How do you do, Mrs. Richards." Kat stepped towards the door and offered a hand. "I don't suppose you find strange girls in your son's room every day, but we were just running some copies off the printer."

Mom had recovered from her little surprise, enough to take Kat's hand, at least. "Well, one could hope," she said cryptically. "Have you known my son long, Kat?"

"Met him today, actually. But he makes a very good first impression."

"Does he," she said, and Kat flushed again.