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Dedication

To Tamar—

This may not be a “sister” book,

but what fiction could compare to the real thing anyway?

Chapter One

NOW

All things considered, high school’s been pretty good to me. Granted, if ever I get too whiny about anything, my mother will start comparing my woes of not having my own car to her woes of not having her own shoes growing up in Russia, but even in my worst moments of spoiled bratdom, I know that having good friends, decent grades, frequent party invites, and perpetually clear skin makes me one of the luckiest of the lucky.

Sure, my dad’s a disappearing shithead and I didn’t get the pony I wanted for my ninth birthday, but overall, I’d say life’s delivered pretty nicely.

So why is it, when I walk into Stratford High on the first day of senior year, I am immediately reminded of what I don’t have? Why must all six feet three inches of Chase Harding, unreciprocated love of my life, be the very first person I see? Why must he be right down the hall from the school’s entrance, cracking up guys from the football team, stupid-hot calves on blatant display of stupid-hotness?

How dare, universe. How dare.

“Watch that drool, Rissy. Someone might slip.”

“I was hoping you would,” I reply without shifting my gaze one iota. I don’t need to look up to know that Shannon Salter is speaking. She’s the only one who’d dare to call me Rissy. The only one who could without taking my gel manicure to the eyeball, really.

Still, after another beat, I turn away. Even I know I’m bordering on pathetic.

“I missed you, you bitch,” Shannon says, pecking my cheek. “I hate your tan.”

“You wish you had my tan.”

“Of course I wish I had your tan.” Shannon winds one of my shoulder-dusting butter-colored curls around her index finger and tugs. “And look how cute this haircut is! And how blond! How dare you spend the summer at the beach without me.”

“You were literally in Paris, Shan.”

“Oh right, I was.” She smiles widely enough to make dimples pop on her peaches-and-cream-skinned cheeks. “Shit, I am cool.”

She is, unfortunately. Even during this brief conversation, randos have dropped little “Hey, guys” in our direction, but mostly it’s “Hi, Shannon!” with a wave or a smile, careful not to disturb our post-summer reunion, but eager to start the year off right by cozying up to the most popular girl at Stratford.