Crammed in the back of Andy’s souped-up red Camaro wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to be during a three-and-a-half hour road trip, but Rose wasn't complaining. She had Bellamy with her on the back seat. When they weren't holding hands or she wasn't nestling her head on his shoulder, he was swiveling this way and that, trying to take in as much as he could of the Nova Scotia countryside, its truck-stops, roadside diners, farms, and pretty much anything they came across. Honestly, the guy was the most unworldly person she'd ever met. He knew all about people, history, how the world worked, but he seemed to have experienced almost none of it. Like some cloistered scholar allowed out in the wide world for the weekend, he was happier than a child on his birthday.

And Rose loved watching him marvel at everything she took for granted. It made her feel young and mature at the same time. Protective. Optimistic. It would never get old, this feeling, as long as he was this sweet and out-of-sync with the twenty-first century.

Blythe, in the passenger seat, didn't say much. But Rose could tell her mom enjoyed listening to Andy prattle on next to her, filling her in on what he'd been up to. She'd cast him a slightly bemused, fully adoring look every now and then, as if to say, I haven't a clue what you're talking about but I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Even Rose sort of warmed to the little jerk's openness after a while. He left nothing out; where his buddies were from, their prospects, screw-ups, family histories, the pros and cons of letting them hang out with him (how magnanimous of him!). He barely paused for breath whenever he got going. But there was always a wry, knowing humor behind that slightly superior, self-aggrandizing way he had of telling a story. It made him an engaging raconteur. As much as she hated to admit it, Rose could see why he was so popular at college, why people of both sexes gravitated toward him.

Andy was the opposite of Rose. Open and friendly where she was snarky and closed off. He went out of his way to dress well, have perfect hair, and to be fashionable; she dressed however the hell she felt like that morning, had only ever had good hair days accidentally, and generally loathed fashion trends. He had a queue of people his age wanting to hang out with him, while Rose seemed to cause a social stampede in the opposite direction whenever she opened her mouth or cast a glance in any direction.

But all of that was okay, because she had a man in her life. A man who, like her, had almost nothing in common with her brother. A man who made her feel a little less like a social reject because he was further off than she.