It's a bit of a drive to Casper's place, but not nearly as long as if she had to take the light-rail. She lives in a nice neighborhood in a cozy brown house. A nice family home, for her nice family and her nice dog. What would her parents think if they knew she was planning on cutting out early? Would they be upset to lose that time with her? Would it be better for them even if they could never admit it?

"Do you want help with your stuff?" I ask as she pushes open her door. She waves me off.

"I got it. Thanks for the ride and the abundance of food. I think I'm ready to hibernate." A grin crosses her mouth. Then she waves and disappears inside.

I'm alone with Adam.

Adam and I are alone.

Adam is relocating from the back seat, squirming up front into the passenger's seat beside me. We are alone and we're sitting right next to each other. Oh. What is air? How do I breathe again? I swallow hard, forcing back the lump in my throat that is part terror, part excitement.

"Am I taking you home, or did you want to...?"

Adam picks at some lint on his pants. "I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not." Deep breath. "You're never a bother. I'd like it—if you want to, that is. Come back and hang out some more." What am I going for here? I have no idea. Just that I like watching Adam's face, the line of his jaw when he talks, the way he frowns when he's thinking. I wish he smiled more. He has such a nice mouth and it looks even nicer when he smiles.

"If you're sure," he says carefully, casting a sidelong glance in my direction. "I have to stop by home first, if that's okay."

Doesn't make a difference to me. Adam gives me somewhat clumsy directions from Casper's place to his. I say somewhat clumsy, because although he's been to Casper's before (that's news to me) he's always taken a bus and doesn't know the exact streets. Once we hit the freeway, it's smooth sailing.

If Casper's house can be said to be ‘cozy,' then Adam's is...grand, I guess. Two stories, with an automatic wrought iron gate that opens with a clicker on his keychain. I vaguely remember a foster home that was this nice from was when I was little. My stay there hadn't lasted long. Inside Adam's house, everything is neatly decorated. Not, like, overdone with classiness or anything, but it's the sort of house you take a look at and know two things. (1) there's a maid that comes regularly and (2) whoever lives here does nothing to accommodate children or animals.

Adam looks out of place with his shaggy black hair and black clothes. But he moves into the house like it's perfectly natural—well, duh, I guess it would be—and leads me into the kitchen. I'm guessing his mom isn't home, or he might've made me stay in the car.