I sighed as I wriggled in my seat, the teal pleather already gluing itself to the backs of my bare legs, and promised myself I’d try to be good—civil, at least—for Mom. It wouldn’t be easy, but I was a good actress, so pretending for an hour wouldn’t be too hard. I looked around, saw three teenage girls with perfect, straight white teeth and killer cheekbones. If I was as old as them, if I was as beautiful as them, would Mom make me sit here? Would I feel as threatened by her having a boyfriend—ugh—as I did now?

Five minutes later the diner door opened, and Mom’s face lit up. I followed her gaze to the two people who’d walked in, realizing I’d got it completely wrong. Brad stood around six feet, had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, and a sculpted beard. He wore a pair of trendy jeans, and his blue T-shirt skimmed his flat stomach. He held up a muscular arm as he waved at us, and when my eyes moved to the boy behind him, my heart almost stopped.

Asher Bennett was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He was a little taller than his father. His shock of dark brown hair—longer on top, shorter on the sides—had been swept back, revealing a face belonging on the cover of a magazine. Full, heart-shaped lips, a beauty spot to the right of his nose, which was neither too big, nor too small, but Goldilocks. I couldn’t stop watching the way he walked to us, self-assured and grown-up, his back straight. Mom had mentioned Asher ran track and wrestled in high school, and you could tell. His arms were toned, his chest broad. When he caught me staring at him, mouth agape, I blushed and dropped my gaze, hoping I’d die on the spot.

I forced myself to look at Brad, who gave Mom a chaste kiss on the cheek before shaking my hand and introducing himself, his words a garbled sound swirling around my ears. Asher’s presence made me will the floor to open beneath me. I wished I’d worn something other than my denim shorts, blue Mary Janes and the mint-green shirt Mom had bought me for my birthday that said √144 YEARS OLD in big white letters. Until then, I’d thought it was the coolest thing, except now it screamed nerd alert louder than anyone did at school.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Scott.” Asher took Mom’s hand before reaching for mine, and I was convinced I’d burn up when our fingers touched. When it didn’t happen, my face continued to glow as a trickle of sweat rolled down my spine and seeped into the waistband of my shorts.

“Hi, Maya,” he said when I finally let go of his hand. “I’m Ash.”