I turned to find Anthony Beck standing behind me. When I’d thought about Anthony, I remembered his face in fragments. Clipped shots of his cheek, one side of his nose. His face all close—morphed like through the peephole in our front door—as he kissed me. I couldn’t quite remember what he really looked like. Now I knew—he was absolutely gorgeous.

And I was the slutty, no-self-esteem girl who had been too busy sucking hottie face to save her best friend.

We made clumsy eye contact, but my mouth refused to speak.

That’s the downside of the drunken hookup. You think you’ve blasted past all the awkward stages, only to find them waiting—torn and dented—for you on the other side. And ultimately it’s ruined anyway, because chances are you didn’t really appreciate—or in some cases, even remember—all the firsts. First touch, first time smelling his T-shirt, first kiss.

Now he was standing in front of me and I wondered if we had ever touched, kissed. That night was so long ago, across a rift in my world so big I could scarcely remember what had been on the other side.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Anthony said softly, almost under his breath, as he moved toward me. He stopped when he got close, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel like there was no barrier between us. I wasn’t used to someone just moving into my space like that, but at the same time it felt too comforting to step away.

He reached out and stroked his hand down the back of my head. The way one might do to a small child. And I leaned into it. Then he gave me a small lopsided smile. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

As I stood there next to him time seemed to race forward, speeding up, and my heart started beating faster, too fast, and I pulled away.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked, not seeming all that surprised or offended by my change of heart.

“My mom’s coming to pick me up. I had to go see Teasley.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to the task at hand. “No biggie. Just late to Dick Click’s class.”

I was pretty sure my mom would go easy on me, all things considered.

“This is Kori’s locker?” Anthony asked.

“Yeah. I’m just cleaning it out.” I heard the stiff edge in my voice, but didn’t know how to soften it without opening myself to more pain.

“You want help?”

His eyes tried to make contact with mine, but I avoided them by staring into the locker at Kori’s books and papers. I feared if I looked into his eyes, a part of me might cross over into a place that no longer felt safe.