It was 8:45 by the time Owen got me home. My entire family was lounging in the front yard, in imported lawn chairs, like the upper class white trash we were. We were the most blended, dramatic, and problematic family in our neighborhood. All our neighbors hated us.

Jake knew Owen's truck. I was screwed.

Think quick, Clare. I wasn't screwed, I was helping Tristan and his friend with an English project, and Owen was nice enough to drive me home. I didn't even believe that, but I was sure Jake would take it at face value. Mom and Dad wouldn't care much what I was doing, and Darcy finds fault with everything I do anyway.

When Owen turned the engine off and went for his door handle, I tried to stop him. "You don't have to get out," I said.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" he laughed. "I'll just help you with the bags and be on my way." Why did he want to help me with the bags now? He didn't at the grocery store. "I'm sure you're smart enough to explain me off to your family," Owen opened his door. He rubbed his chin with his hands thoughtfully. "Or maybe you're not," he laughed. I rolled my eyes. Owen reached over and patted my knee. "I'm sure you already have a neat little scenario written up."

"Actually, I do," I said. But it was anything but neat. I got out of the car and grabbed some bags from the back seat. Owen did too. He strutted up the sidewalk and to my porch in front of me, as if to imply to everyone that he was obviously better. Of course he was better- he had most of the bags.

"Oh, Clare! It's good you're home," said Mom. I saw Jake giving Owen a strange look, and Owen winked back at him. I rolled my eyes. "Put those in the kitchen," she said as she followed us inside. "Who's your friend?"

"That's just Owen. He gave me a ride home," I said.

"Oh, so you were helping him with his homework?" she asked. I dumped the groceries on the counter. Mom went right to the sink to wash her hands.

"No, his little sibling," I said. I knew I would get more inquires if I told her his little sibling was a boy. Much less a gay boy. And I would never get the end of it from Darcy. Hell, I would never get the end of it from her now, since I showed up with a virile young man at night time. She probably thinks I was out having demonic sex with him in a park, or a dirty, pay by the hour hotel room.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," she said to Owen.

"It's dark. A girl like Clare shouldn't be taking the bus at this time of night," said Owen.

"A girl like me?" I asked. I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms, waiting for an explanation.

"Yeah, a silly little girl like you," said Owen. Mom laughed! She laughed! Traitor!

"Owen, you're too funny," she said. "You should stay for a while. Have dinner," she said. She didn't really care if he had dinner. She just wanted more people here, so there would be more buffers between Darcy and herself.

"No, he shouldn't. He should go home," I looked at him. "Soon."

"I'd love to stay for dinner," said Owen.

"It'll be late," said Mom. "I wanted pizza," she muttered. "But no, we have to have spaghetti."

"That's fine. I love pasta. I think I'll go outside and talk to Jake," said Owen. When he walked off, I turned my aggression to my mother, like a normal daughter was supposed to do.

"What did you do that for?" I asked.

"Do what?" she asked. She grabbed a pot from under the counter and began to fill it with water.

"Ask him to stay for dinner," I said. "He's a jerk." I didn't think he was a jerk an hour ago when I was making out with him, but I do now!

"Oh, come on. He did a very nice thing for you, and you should appreciate that," said Mom. I didn't argue. She was right. I was a rude pig, but I was a rude pig that lived here, and had the complete civil liberty to lock myself up in my bedroom if I so choose. I went up there, but I didn't go to my room. I went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. My curls had fallen out. Oh well, whatever. I was just going down to dinner.

I brushed my hair again, and tilted my head. I didn't feel right going down like this. I might as well go to dinner in my pajamas. Wait, I usually went to dinner in my pajamas. Something was wrong with me tonight. I put my hair in a ponytail and brushed my teeth. I thought about make-up, but Darcy and Owen would pick on me for it.

Owen. Breaking down, I put on just a little mascara.

Then, I made my way back down the stairs. "Mom? Do you need any help?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No. Just go outside and talk to your sister. She's been asking questions about you all day," said Mom as she chopped onions. She was making spaghetti and a pecan pie. I didn't really care for pecan pie, and it didn't really go with spaghetti, but Darcy and Dad loved it.

I moseyed through the living room, looking at the old family picture on the mantle. There used to be a big blow up of it hanging on the wall, but that was before Darcy left and I started going to high school. We were so happy there for a while. But we're so different now . . . almost disgustingly so, like we had been replaced with older, prettier, pod people. I eyed my smile in that picture. I haven't smiled like that in a while. I was at Catholic school and things were simple.

I forced myself away and out the front door. There wasn't a chair for me, so I just sat on the steps. Owen was standing next to Jake, looking tall and wearing a stupid grin. Jake was chuckling about something, but I couldn't tell what. When he saw me, he broke out in a full laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, I was just telling Jake here about the time I saw you slip on the wet floor in the hallway," said Owen. "Complete with pantomime." When had I slipped in the hallway? And how did Owen know what a pantomime was?

I remembered now. I fell about a month ago, when I was rushing to a yearbook meeting. My feet slipped out from under me and I went flying, with four dozen flyers in my hands. Had Owen saw that? The hallway was empty . . . or I thought it was.

"My ego still hurts a little bit," I said. I wasn't going to take offence in front of Jake or Darcy. I didn't worry about it. I just kept wondering how Owen saw me that time. Maybe he was looking at the cameras in the security room? He was in there enough, with the security guards who made him watch his own wrongdoings.

"Just your ego?" asked Jake laughingly.

"So, how was Africa?" Owen asked Darcy, who was filing her on nails, looking bored.

"Hot. I suppose it's because of all the pagans," she said, trying to make a joke. No body laughed. "I saved fifteen people on that trip," she said. I wondered how many people threw themselves to the lions to save themselves from Darcy. I'm sure it was in the hundreds. "And, I helped build a church." She did do that, if you call using a nail gun once, for one day 'building' a church.

"That's very admirable," said Owen. "That must be where the tan came from."

"No, the tan came from the Super Spray next to Walgreens," said Darcy. "They do great prom sprays. Clare, who are you going to prom with this year?" she asked. I immediately thought of Jake, since we talked about going together a few months ago. We decided that that would tip our parents off.

"I don't think I'm going," I said.

"Why not? It's a milestone in your young life," said Darcy.

"Well, the chicken is always dry," I said, rolling my eyes. "You know how I feel about dry chicken."

"How 'bout you get a boyfriend real quick?" asked Darcy. "You seem to be good at that, from what I've heard from Dad." I stopped short of calling Darcy a pompous whore.

"Apparently not, since I don't have one," I replied. "It seems I've lost my touch."

"Your touch is the only thing you haven't lost," said Darcy.

"Shut up," I said. She had no room to talk. Wow, that was mean. I'm mean. I really should try to curb that. Tomorrow. I was too busy curbing my enthusiasms tonight.

"Don't tell your sister to shut up," said Dad.

"Don't tell me what to tell my sister," I said. Dad was not the boss of me.

"Touchy, Clare-bear," laughed Owen condescendingly. "Respect your elders."

"You know what Owen? You can s-"

"So!" said Jake, cutting me off before I could tell Owen to shove his foot back in his mouth where it belonged. "Dad, didn't you use to play hockey?" asked Jake quickly. Glen, who had been sitting in his chair quietly, straightened his posture.

"Yeah, I did. Why, son?" he asked.

"Owen plays hockey," said Jake. "He's good."

"Oh, which position do you play?" asked Glen. I tuned out to their manversation. Instead, I looked at Darcy. I didn't say anything, I just looked at her that way she hated me to look at her. I looked her up and down, tilted my head, and squinted.

"Where's your glasses?" she asked critically.

"Where's your freckles," I asked back.

"I had them lazered off," she said. "Like Lindsey Lohan. Your turn," she said. Mom had told her I had eye surgery, she just forgot, or she didn't care to remember in the first place.

"Me too," I said. Then, I squinted at her again.

"Of course," said Owen loudly. "I'm sure Clare could take me down."

"What?" I asked, feeling disgusted with myself at taking his statement in an obscene way, and not hating the concept as much as I should have.

"Oh, nothing," said Jake, trying to cover his friend's ass.

"I was talking about tackling power on the ice," said Owen. "And I bet you have more than me." I don't know how, but he meant that rudely, implying that I was manly or something.

"Hm," I said. "Too bad I can't ice skate."

"I can't either," said Jake.

"I can," said Darcy, curling her hair around her finger as she looked at Owen. She was not hitting on him. "I can ski too," she said as she tilted her head. She was hitting on him.

"Is that so?" he asked, leaning over on his knees. He was taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker. I felt my heart drop, and beat hard in my chest. Then, it rose up again, and raced. Darcy was not stealing my man that I didn't want. I didn't like Owen too much to let that happen.

Okay, that made no sense, but it worked out in my head. I didn't like to argue with myself.

"Owen?" I asked, sweetly. "Do you think you could teach me to skate?" I had never had the urge to learn to skate, and I really didn't want to, but men eat that kind of thing right up. It makes them feel superior.

He smiled slyly at me. "Of course," he said. "You're a quick study."

"I don't know," I said. "Textbooks and ice skates are very different," I said, looking up at him through my eyelashes. I had never considered that I was a great flirt, but I suppose I was taking a page out of Darcy's book. If she were ever smart enough to write a book, that is.

"No," Owen crooned. "All you've got to do is follow directions."

I leaned back and smiled. Jake, who knew what I was doing, rolled his eyes at me. Darcy looked a bit put out, which was how I wanted her. She looked best with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Mom looked at me like that a lot.