"What do you want to do now?" asked Owen.

"Why would I want to do anything else with you?" I asked.

"Oh, and I thought we were getting along. Look, it's only seven. Most dates last longer than that." Owen made it back to the highway, but turned the wrong way, toward Bardell territory.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're going to see a movie," said Owen. "There's a great new action flick I've want to catch."

"I have to be home by ten," I said.

"And you will be home by ten, alright? Not a moment late. Don't you worry your pretty little head," laughed Owen. I tossed his jacket into the middle seat and started out of the window. The stars were occluded by thick, dark clouds. It looked like it was about to rain.

I had never been to the theater in Bardell territory, but Alli and Jenna said it was nice. When we got into town, Owen took his Degrassi parking permit out of the window. "I don't want my car getting egged. We're going to cream Bardell in our first hockey match," he said.

"I'm not so sure. I heard they had a strong team this year," I said. Jenna told me. She was texting one of the players on the team. She quit when she found out he had a girlfriend, which was a surprise to me.

"They do," said Owen. "But we're better." Normally, I would find that kind of blind confidence annoying, but it fit Owen. If he wasn't that way, he wouldn't be Owen.

Owen threw his jacket back on when we got to the theater. "I know one of those new vampire movies is out, but we're not going to see it," said Owen. "We're seeing Flash Voltage, and that's final. No arguments."

"Oh, and I really wanted to argue with you," I said.

"Here," said Owen. He stopped to wait in line at the box office, which was outside. Owen handed me a red credit card. "Go get some snacks. I'll wait out here."

"We just ate," I said. I didn't like Owen telling me what to do. Actually, I didn't like anyone telling me what to do.

"Go get some snacks. If we wait, the line will be too long." He had a point. The ticket line was already too long, and the ones inside at the concession stands weren't any smaller.

"Fine," I said. I took the card and went to wait in line. I was getting what I wanted. I looked down to the card to see which of his parents he had stolen it from. Seeing Owen Milligan etched in capital letters across the bottom of the card surprised me. Maybe he wasn't such a deadbeat after all? Well, he was still a jerk. I flipped his card over. A jerk with a nice signature.

When it was my turn in line, I waited for the pimply kid manning the counter to get done bagging a sack of popcorn for someone who dropped theirs. I noticed the Bardell colors of his jacket, maroon and white, and decided to make myself scarce. "Can I have two medium Cokes, a medium bag of popcorn, and some Twizzlers, please?"

"That's ten fifteen, please," he said. I handed him the card. "Owen Milligan? Boyfriend?" he asked. I disgusted myself by nodding. If I didn't, he would think I was dumb enough to try and pay with a stolen card.

"Yeah, he's getting our tickets," I said.

"I can't blame him. Line's long tonight," he said. "But it's movie night for Bardell."

"Movie night?" I asked.

"Yeah. Everyone who made the honor roll for the first half of the year gets half priced movie tickets tonight. I would be taking advantage of it too, if I didn't have to work," said the boy as he got my popcorn and filled my drinks. He tossed a package of Twizzlers on the counter, and handed the card back. I put Owen's card and the Twizzlers in my coat pocket. I carried a drink in each hand, and the wax paper bag between my fingers. I didn't worry about dropping it, since I'm sure the human pizza behind the counter would have bumped me to the front of the line to get me another one.

Owen was waiting on me with two paper tickets in his hand. He grabbed the popcorn and a drink from me and we went through the line to have our ticket torn. The ticket taker was a pretty blonde girl. I didn't like the way she looked at Owen when she was tearing his ticket in half. I took Owen's arm when we left, as if to mark my territory. I may not have wanted him to be, but Owen was my date.

"I didn't know you were that aggressive," said Owen. He leaned closer to me. "You know, I have a pair of handcuffs in my glovebox-"

"I'm not aggressive," I said. "I just didn't like her."

"Well, that was hot," said Owen. I dropped his arm.

"Shut up," I said. I followed Owen to the right showroom, and he held the door for me.

"We're sitting in the back," he said.

"I don't like sitting in the back," I said. We turned the corner and started walking back up the stairs.

"Fine. Sit by yourself," said Owen. I almost did, but I saw that most of the people here were scraggly Bardell boys, and I would rather take my chances with Owen than with him. At least I knew Owen's license plate number. He sat against the back wall, and I sat next to him.

We missed all the previews except for the last one- and it was for some Angelina Jolie movie.

"Oh, look, she's a spy in that one," said Owen, looking interested. "She's covered in leather."

"She's a spy in all of her movies," I said. I didn't like her.

"True," said Owen. He pretty much took the popcorn over by the time the movie started. No skin off my teeth. I took to my Twizzlers and my thoughts. My soda was flat, the theater was cold, and I was tired. On top of that, the movie sucked, but Owen seemed to like it, so I didn't say anything. I hated it when people complained about movies I liked. When the main character 'died' and the movie lulled a little, Owen did the old yawn and stretch deal. I planned on pushing his arm away when it came down, but he was really warm. What could it hurt? I wouldn't ever go on a date with Owen again.

I kept a scrap of my pride when I resisted leaning into him. He held my shoulder in his hand gently. When Owen wasn't talking, he wasn't such a jerk. But, I wasn't really prepared when he started playing with my hair. How did he know I liked that? Or that I liked chocolate pudding, or seat warmers, or having my door opened?

There were only two logical ways of him knowing those things. One- he had asked my ex-boyfriends. Or, two- he had been stalking me. Or, Owen was actually a gentleman which was completely illogical. I placed my bet on him stalking me, because there was no way in Hell that Owen knew how to treat a woman.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly.

"Your hair is soft," he whispered dreamily. Slowly, and I felt like a total tramp for not stopping him, he leaned closer to smell it. "What is that? Triple Nutrition or Pure Clean?" he asked.

"Triple Nutrition," I muttered, shocked that he could pinpoint my hair care products. "You've got a great nose," I said. Was he gay, or was he just a wack job? I doubted he was gay. Even though I thought homophobia sometimes resulted from a person's repressed homosexual urges, Owen didn't come off as gay to me. "How do you-"

"Oh, no reason!" Owen's voice broke. "It's . . . um, what my Mom uses." He turned his head away from me and moved his arm. Was he embarrassed? Even in the dim light from the silver screen, I could see that his cheeks were flushed. It was . . . sickeningly cute, and kind of sad. I hated to see people embarrassed. And, no matter how many times I told myself that Owen wasn't a person, I still felt bad.

I sighed. I knew I would hate myself for this when I was alone. I shifted over and put my head on Owen's shoulder. He seemed surprised, but went along with me all the same. He wrapped his arm around me again and played with my curls until the movie was almost over. Sensing the end, I leaned away from Owen and gathered my trash. When I looked back to him, I realized he had lost interest in the movie altogether. How long had he been staring at me?

"What?" I asked. He didn't say anything. He just kissed me.

It took me a second and a half to get over the shock. I pushed Owen away. I was not kissing Owen.

"Clare, I . . . I'm sorry," he said. "I just . . . I thought," he turned away from me. "You were just being nice. I'm sorry," he said. Owen stared down at his feet. I felt my heart drop. There was something about those big, sad blue eyes- I couldn't leave him feeling like that.

"Owen," I stalled. I wracked my brain for something to say, but I couldn't think of anything. How do I usually solve my problems with boys?

I reached around and touched Owen's cheek. My fingers drifted down his neck to his collar, and I rubbed the cotton in between my fingers. Hm, he was wearing blue? When I looked back up, Owen was staring again. I always hated it when people stared at me, but his eyes weren't Eli's eyes trying to look through me, or Jake's trying to look inside me, to see what I was thinking. Owen was just trying to look at me. I liked that.

How did I solve problems with boys? I kiss them. Whatever happens after that usually resolves any problems.

Here goes my last scrap of pride.

So, following my normal pattern, I leaned closer and kissed Owen. He didn't move for a moment, but then he kissed back. It was so soft, and so gentle. I didn't think anyone could be so feather-light, and still make me feel like he was in control. He threated his fingers in the hair at the back of my head. He tasted like sweet soda. His must not have been flat like mine. Or maybe he liked it flat?

We didn't break until a loud crash in the movie made us both jump, because we knew we were doing something wrong. Then, the screen went black, and the credits rolled. Owen and I left the showroom like everyone else. He held my hand and led me to the car.

"We've got to get you home," he said. "To make your curfew."

I laughed. "I lied," I said, still high from the make-out session. "I don't have a curfew. I just didn't want to be out too late with you," I said.

"Wow," Owen laughed. I was happy he wasn't mad. I couldn't think about how much I was supposed to hate him. My head was too fuzzy. I liked to kiss boys. Anyone who knew me at all knew that. Owen opened my door. "I didn't know I was that bad a date," said Owen jokingly.

"I didn't know you were that good of a date," I replied. I regretted it the second I said it. He smiled and closed my door.

"So," he said when he sat back in the driver's seat. "Does that mean I get a second date?"

That brought me back to reality. I looked down at my shoes. "Owen, I don't think that's a good idea," I said.

"Why not?" he asked. "We're having fun," he said.

"I know, but I don't think my friends would like it," I said.

"Oh, you mean Eli?"

"And Alli and Adam," I said.

"Well, my friends wouldn't exactly approve of you either," said Owen. "Sure, you're cute, but you're a liberal bitch," I didn't take offense at the chauvinist slur.

"I'm not that liberal," I said.

"And you're short. I'm way out of your league," said Owen. Playing cocky, are we?

"I beg to differ," I said. "At least I have a decent personality. And I'm not that short."

"You're a rude little girl," said Owen.

"And you're a big bully!" I said. "You know what? I think you're afraid."

Owen scoffed. "Afraid of what?"

"Showing people who you really are," I said. "I think you're putting on a tough, manly front to hide that you're not really a meathead."

"I am tough and manly," said Owen. "But I'm not about to go around expressing my feelings like your queer little ex." He was referring to Eli, I'm sure.

"Eli isn't queer," I said. "He's just . . . deep, that's all."

"Isn't he like, insane with a side of crazy?" asked Owen.

"No. He's just," I couldn't admit that he actually was insane with a side of crazy. He was doing alright at the moment. I didn't want to jinx him. "He's just emotional."

"He's flamboyant," said Owen. "Who would want to date a guy like that?"

"A girl who was tired of guys like you," I said. "Guys who bottle whatever emotion they have until they have to punch something."

"Really?" said Owen. "Then why did you date Jake? He's a man's man."

"Jake isn't walled off, he's simple. It doesn't take a psychologist to understand him. I liked the simplicity," I said. And, I was on the rebound. I had to do something about it, didn't I? Okay, maybe not.

"True," said Owen. "But I'm not walled off, or bottled up, or anything like that. I'm perfectly normal. Some people just take my jokes to hard."

"I don't think throwing someone through a door is a joke," I said. Owen was silent for a moment. "But you're right. Adam took it hard."

"That was a mistake," he said. "But, she just-"

"He," I corrected.

"What?" asked Owen.

"Adam is a he," I said.

"Gracie," Owen said. "Is a girl."

"Adam is a boy," I said.

"She's just . . . confused," said Owen. "People aren't born that way."

"Do you really think Adam would take all the abuse he does if he wasn't sure of what he was?" I asked. Owen knitted his eyebrows together in thought. I wanted to say I saw smoke coming out of his ears, but I bit my tongue. For once, I cared what Owen had to say.

Owen's face relaxed. He didn't say anything for a long time. "Well, I still think they're all just confused," he said. "Just confused," he repeated, more to himself than to me.

"What about your brother?" I asked softly. I didn't want to bait him into an argument.

"Tristan is not gay," said Owen firmly. "He just doesn't know what he is."

I didn't push him any further. I recognized that he didn't hate gay people, and he didn't hate transgender people. He just didn't understand them, and most people are afraid of what they don't understand. I couldn't give Owen a wake-up call, or a lecture. He didn't like to be told what to do or what to think. And he wasn't laid back like Jake, or a great listener like Eli. He was Owen. Owen, who was filled with cute pseudo-confidence and interesting false bravado. He used it to get by.

And, even though it made me feel like I was betraying my friends by thinking it, I liked Owen. I mean, I didn't like Owen, but I thought we could maybe have some kind of crack friendship, behind our real friend's backs, of course. Oh, Hell, I was making up a sanitized, plutonic version of Romeo and Juliet in my head. This was bad. Really bad.

Owen drove back towards Degrassi. We didn't talk much on the way home. The radio was on, and the heat made me feel sleepy.

"Since you don't really have a curfew," Owen said, "Do you want to find something else to do for a little bit?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," said Owen. "You can help me with my English homework. I'm still tanking that class," he said.

"Why would I help you with anything?" I asked playfully.

"I should have guessed. You want me to fail, so you can spend another year with me."

"Oh, Hell no!" I laughed. "I'll do anything if I can get rid of you. What kind of homework is it?"

"An essay," said Owen. He started to say something else, but my phone rang. "You know-

"Hold up on that," I said. I saw it was my mom, and I almost didn't pick up. "What's up?" I asked her.

"I need you to come home," she said.