The modern two-story house in the middle of the suburbs couldn't be any more different from the drab gray cement walls of the detention center where I spent the last three weeks. I stare at it from the sidewalk, a backpack containing my favorite belongings dangling from my shoulder. The house looks like it's straight out of a movie, the place where the pretty girl next door would live, and where she'd fall in love with the hunky football player who never noticed her. There are flowers lining the walkway, recently mowed grass, and an actual welcome mat, although it doesn't make me feel welcome.

The house belongs to my dad. The same dad who forgot to pick me up from the airport. I don't know why I'm surprised; he's forgotten about my existence ever since he walked out on us when I could barely walk. But for some reason, despite knowing almost nothing about the man except that he was alive somewhere, I thought he'd show up. I also thought he'd answer my call, but he let me down there too, so I had to Uber here.

After Aunt Julie washed her hands of us, I spent countless nights wondering if Gia and I would be split up in foster care. So when the lawyers told me Dario Amato was taking us in, I was shocked. Hell, I thought the odds of Mom coming back from wherever she's off galivanting were higher. The man hasn't sent me so much as a birthday card in fourteen years, and he's opening his house to us? I don't know why he's stepping up to be a father, now of all times, but I don't care. Anywhere Gia and I can be together is good enough for me.

I stare at the pretty house that's so at odds with where I pictured my father living. I don't want to go in yet; I can't bring myself to move toward the front door. The thought of stepping inside the house nauseates me. I just need some fresh air; ever since being released, I can never get enough fresh air.

After leaving us, Dario moved back to King City, the town where he grew up, the town where he met Mom. It's so quiet here. I can literally hear the birds chirping, and a neighbor a street over mowing his lawn. How long has it been since I've just had quiet? Not on our block in LA, where there always seemed to be shouting, sirens, and other activity throughout the day and night, not in the detention center, and definitely not inside our apartment, since Aunt Julie loved having people over. The silence makes me uneasy.

It's going to be better here. It has to be better here.

Gia's in there somewhere. I haven't seen her since they hauled us off in different police cars, but the lawyer told me she was released almost immediately and sent to live with our dad. This has been the longest I've gone without seeing her, and the monitored phone calls I've had with her just weren't the same as being with her, especially after what happened.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out to see a missed call from an unknown number.

"Hey!" a voice calls, taking me so off guard that I drop my phone on the sidewalk.

A girl around my age is standing on the neighbor's driveway. Even with dark circles under her eyes, she's so well put together and perfect looking. Her long hair is dyed a dark auburn and curled in loose waves. She's even dressed impeccably, like she's getting ready for a runway show at five on a Friday night.

"I saw you from my window." She points at the second floor of her house. "You've been standing there for a while. You must be Gia's sister, Siena. She talks about you a lot; I feel like I already know you."

I edge closer to her, placing her from Gia's phone calls. "Are you Lily? Lily Liu?"

She smiles and crosses the grass separating us to stand with me. I don't know how she does it, considering she's in red stilettos, but she traverses over the uneven grass and gravel with such grace it seems like her feet aren't even hurting and her ankles aren't at risk of twisting.

She must realize my train of thought because she waves me off. "It doesn't come naturally, trust me. Lots of practicing in heels at summer modeling camp. It got a lot better once I grew out of my awkward braces and gangly limbs stage."

Modeling camp makes sense. Gia told me Lily wants to be famous, and once her parents found out where Gia was from, they grilled her about every famous person they could think of, as if everyone from LA knows all the celebrities.

Lily eyes me, and I've never felt more disheveled and unkempt than right now under her scrutiny. "You don't look much like Gia. You're poutier and not as tan. And your hair is pink."

My face must turn as pink as my hair. "Only the ends," I say, holding my hair up as if she can't already see it. "Gia was bored one day, so she dyed my hair pink and then did hers to match."

She did a good job too. The pink blends into the blonde, so it doesn't look like there's a straight line of pink going across the bottom half of my hair. It's growing out now, and the pink is super faded.

Lily's lips purse. "Gia doesn't have hair. Or she does, but it's shaved short in a pixie cut."

I didn't know Gia shaved her hair.

My phone, still on the ground, vibrates, and I grab it, groaning when it's clear the screen is shattered. But after dusting it off, I breathe a sigh of relief when the screen lights up, showing I have another missed call from the same number. The phone works, but the top fourth of the screen remains black. Annoying and inconvenient, yes, but still usable.

"Are you starting school with us in two days?" Lily asks. She's pretty chatty considering this is the first time she's met me, and after hours of isolation and travel, I can't decide if I find her friendliness welcome or annoying.

"Yes. I'm going to be a senior at King City High." The same high school my parents went to way back in the day.

Lily's face lights up. "No way! Me too! Listen, there's a party tonight. Warren is throwing it as a 'goodbye summer' thing. You need to come! I can introduce you to my friends so you know people when you start on Monday."

"I don't know . . ." I mumble.

"Siena?" a voice calls. A woman in her late thirties rounds the garage and comes into view. "Siena!" she repeats, coming right up to me. "I thought I heard you out here. I called you a few times to ask when your plane landed, but you're already here! Your dad told me you were coming in today, but not what time."

I blink at this woman I've never met before. She must be Stella, my father's younger sister. I never knew I had another aunt—a zia, to be exact—but Gia said she's nice enough.

She reaches out as if she's going to throw her arms around me but then hesitates. She reaches out again as if to shake my hand but then stops herself. She settles on patting me on the shoulder, and I force myself to remain still.

"Um, hi . . . Zia Stella," I say, the words sounding weird even to me. "I just took an Uber here."

She frowns and finally drops her hand from my shoulder. "Next time call me. You have my number, right?"

Technically I do now since she called me, so I nod. I wonder if it's just as weird for her to suddenly have two teenage nieces. Gia says she comes around to Dario's a lot to check in even though she works weird hours as an ER doctor, and that she doesn't have any kids.

"Hey Stella," Lily says, surprising me. I forgot she was here. "I was just inviting Siena to a small get-together tonight with my friends. Don't worry, it's nothing crazy; you know my parents would never let me go anywhere that could get out of hand. Is it okay if she comes?"

Zia Stella's eyes light up. "Of course it's okay! Thank you for extending the invitation, Lily. It'll be good for you to meet some new people, Siena."

"Shouldn't I ask Dario . . . ?" I start, but Zia Stella waves me off.

"Oh, no bother," she says, her tone turning apologetic. "He's at a friend's house watching some game. He won't be back until late, so I'm sure he won't mind if you go out."

Her words shouldn't bother me, but they sit heavily on my chest. He knew I was landing today, Zia Stella even confirmed it, and he couldn't even pretend to want to meet his daughter for the first time in years?

The garage to Lily's house opens and a woman calls out to her, followed by some shouting in Chinese. Lily winces and turns to her house. "I'm coming!" she shouts before turning back to me. "Sorry, I have to get to a dress fitting. It's just a small shoot, but my agent told Mom this one could be the one that kick-starts my career, so she's been riding my butt about it." She pats under her eyes to get rid of the nonexistent mascara smudges.

"It's all right," I say to Lily as a BMW backs out of her garage, and Zia Stella steps closer to say hi to Lily's mom.

Lily grabs the phone from my hand. "Let me put my number in your phone. Oh shit. You need a new phone. What's your passcode? I'll add myself to your contacts."

I'm too stunned to do anything other than give her my passcode and watch her enter her contact information. I take the phone back from her and text her my name like she asks.

"Siena Amato," she recites from my text, presumably saving my number when she taps the screen. "I'll text you when I'm heading out tonight. Be ready around eight thirty. But anyway, I've got to go." She surprises me when she leans in and wraps her arms around me. I'm about to return the hug but freeze when she says into my ear, "I know you're Florence's daughter, and I know what happened in LA. I overheard Gia talking to your aunt about it." My blood runs cold in my veins. "But don't worry," she continues, "I won't tell anyone you killed a guy; it sounds like he deserved it."

She pulls away from me, and my arms hang uselessly at my sides as I stare at her. I can't read her face, can't tell what she's thinking.

"So happy you're here." She smiles, then struts over to her car. I can do nothing but watch her go, rooted to the spot as my heart pounds.

"That was nice of her," Zia Stella says as she rejoins me, completely oblivious to the tension in my body. "It will be nice for you to make some friends."

I focus on a pebble on the sidewalk, too distracted by Lily's declaration to pay attention to Zia Stella's words. "Right."

"I'm going to order pizza for dinner," Zia Stella says, breaking the awkward silence. "What do you want on it?"

"Anything's fine," I force out.

I don't bother telling her I don't feel like eating anyway. How can I when my stomach's in knots, and my throat feels like I've swallowed rocks?

I don't want to be known for what happened with Stan, and I don't want to be known as the daughter of Florence Bowen, a B-list actress who's in the media more for scandals and arrests than her movies. I just want to be normal, want people to see me as Siena Amato, not part of the media circus that followed my arrest. The media only really cared because I'm Florence's daughter, and any scandal relating to her is prime clickbait. The only good thing about being seventeen is that everything the media said was "speculation" and from unnamed sources and couldn't be proven since I'm a minor and the courts can't release my name. However, it doesn't help that the "unnamed source" was undoubtedly Aunt Julie, happy to share how fucked up her niece is, how I'm just like my mom. No doubt she's waiting until I turn eighteen to get her name in the papers and claim her fifteen minutes of fame. I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote a book about me and Mom. She tried to write one about Mom before but didn't have the patience to sit and write more than a few incoherent chapters. Now that there's renewed interest in Florence Bowen, she might stop snorting cocaine long enough to pull it together. But I don't want that legacy to follow me here, and I don't want that for Gia either.

"Zia Stella," a voice calls, followed by the front door slamming. "I thought you said we were going to be late . . ." The words trail off as Gia comes into view, freezing as she sees me.

It's only been weeks, but it feels like forever since I've seen her. Her hair really is different—it's a classic pixie cut now, with the sides shaved and short, sideswept bangs, and it looks so good on her heart-shaped face.

She stands there, staring at me for a moment, before she breaks into a sprint and launches herself into my arms. Her tiny frame throws me off balance for a moment before I steady us and return the tight hug.

"You're back!" she exclaims, "I thought Zia Stella was leaving for the airport later?"

"There was a communication mix-up," I say because Zia Stella is here, and I don't want to bad-mouth her brother right in front of her.

Gia pulls back and gently twists a strand of my hair in her fingers. "Well, I'm so happy you're here. I've missed you."

She glances up at me with her big brown doe eyes, and all the things left unsaid pass between us. I know it's been hard for Gia, and I can't imagine what she's been going through without me here to talk to, without anyone really to talk to since her girlfriend broke up with her, citing long distance, though Gia was brief when telling me about it over the phone.

"I missed you too," I say, scanning her. If it's possible, it looks like she's even smaller than the last time I saw her. I hold her an arm's length away. "Have you been eating?" Gia's never been much of a cook, so if I didn't make something for us at Aunt Julie's, she'd eat cereal and Pop-Tarts for every meal.

I glance at Zia Stella, but she smiles reassuringly at me as Gia answers, "Yes. And we're ordering pizza for dinner when I get back."

"Get back? I just got here, where are you going?"

Zia Stella answers for her. "Gia's weekly therapy session was rescheduled to today, but we only agreed because we thought you'd be flying in later."

"Oh, no, that's all right," I amend quickly. "You just reminded me that I'll probably need to check in with Anusha anyway."

Zia Stella nods and checks her watch. "But Gia is right, we are going to be late. Siena, why don't we help you get settled inside so you can get ready for your little party with Lily? But we can all sit together for dinner when
we get back so we can catch up." She gestures for me to give her my backpack, but I hesitate. She continues, "I hope you like your room. I decorated it the way I think you'll like based on what Gia's told me. Your dad basically gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted, so I may have gone a little overboard."

"Wait, party?" Gia asks, looking between the two of us excitedly. "You were here for like two seconds, and you're already invited to a party? Is it Warren's? It's supposed to be awesome, can I come?"

Since when does Gia get excited over a party? "Um, no, no party for either of us," I tell her, looking back at the house I'm going to be alone in for the next hour or so, and my throat feels like it's closing.

I was only in the detention center for three weeks while custody was being sorted and the case was analyzed, but it felt like an eternity before I was acquitted on a "self-defense of others" clause. It helped that there was a record of other girls—young girls, like Gia—who came forward with charges against Stan Roven. It strengthened my case and made me feel less terrible, less guilty about what happened. For a while there, I really thought I'd be stuck in prison for the rest of my life. It terrified me, but for Gia, I didn't regret it. When I got out and breathed in the fresh air, I swore to myself I would steer clear of any and all things that might land me there again. I wouldn't litter; I wouldn't speed if I ever got my license; hell, I wouldn't even jaywalk. Anything to avoid getting arrested and hauled off to jail, I'll do. I never ever want to set foot in a police station or jail again. I never want to be trapped without fresh air ever again.

I finally hand my bag to Zia Stella. "Actually, is it okay if I go for a walk before dinner?" I ask, already stepping away from her.

"Yes, of course, you don't need to ask! I'll bring your stuff in," she says quickly. "Gia, let's go grab our things so we can head out." Zia Stella reaches out to me like she's going to hug me then freezes like before. This time, she settles for a stiff pat on the top of my head like I'm a golden retriever, then peels Gia off me when she gives me one last hug.

I watch them walk into the house for just a second before turning and aimlessly wandering down the street.

Zia Stella's being all awkward and weird around me. Is she acting like that because she has no idea how to behave around a niece she's never met before? But she seems normal with Gia. Maybe she's scared of me? Is that what I can look forward to for the rest of my life when people find out what happened? How will the kids at school react when they find out what happened and who I am? Lily knows, which means it probably won't be long until everyone knows. Being Florence Bowen's daughter isn't easy, but it's even worse when you're living in the town she grew up in, the town that remembers her.

I shake my head as I walk. I can't think about that right now. I just want to walk and enjoy the cool breeze and smell of the pines.

I don't know how long I walk, but eventually I find a trail leading into a forest. I'm not exactly dressed for a hike or particularly fond of hiking, but I follow the trail anyway.

I have no idea where I am or how long I've been out here, but it's getting dark. Storm clouds are moving in, and I swear the mosquitos have been treating me like an all-you-can-eat buffet. My legs are tired, my breathing is labored, and my Converse aren't offering my feet the same support that real running shoes would've. And to make things worse I've been picking random directions when the trail splits into two, so now I'm really turned around. I don't even know what time it is because the top of my phone screen is black.

There's a break in the trail, so I push through the thick trees, ignoring the branches scraping my skin, and finally emerge on a dirt road.

There's nothing around except the road and more pine trees and the steady chirping of cicadas. The sun is setting behind the dark clouds, and a fat raindrop hits my nose, making me flinch.

I wonder if Dario has thought about me, if he knows I've arrived, if he wants to get to know me, like I stupidly was kind of excited to meet him. I even put on makeup for him before getting on the plane, because for some reason it was important to me to make a good impression. But if he couldn't even be bothered to be home when I got there, then he's not setting the bar high in terms of what I can expect from him. I try not to be sad about that. There hasn't been a single adult in my life who has ever cared—or tried—to have a relationship with me and Gia, so it's nothing new, but this was supposed to be my fresh start, and I hadn't been able to help being naively excited.

I continue walking in the middle of the deserted, muddy road as I open the GPS on my phone to figure out where I am. The drizzle has turned into a real rainstorm, and I'm completely drenched. My hair hangs in clumps in front of my face. My white tank top sticks to my skin, and my jean shorts are stiff and incredibly uncomfortable. I try to shield my phone from the downpour, but it's pointless. I can't see anything, and my phone isn't reacting to my touch as I try to type in the app.

Thunder rumbles overhead right as my foot slips out from under me. My arms cartwheel and my phone flies from my hand as I land hard on my back, just barely avoiding slamming my head.

I groan and lie there, not bothering to get up as my head pounds and my back aches. If this isn't an omen about how my new life in King City is going to go, I don't know what is.

The rain continues to beat down on me, and thunder booms. I close my eyes and will the rain to wash away all my sadness, to be my relief like it used to be.

You can't be sad when you dance in the rain, Mom would say, before stripping off our shoes and twirling us around in the rain. It makes you feel free. It's one of the better memories I have of her. But the rain trick isn't working right now. Maybe it's because I'm not dancing, but I can't bring myself to move.

The thunder mixes with the pounding in my head. It gets louder and more constant, and my eyes pop open.

That's not thunder.

I sit up as headlights speed in my direction. The driver must notice me at the same time I notice them, because the tires skid on the wet road, sending the car sliding toward me.

I'm unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything other than watch the impending accident. It's so fast. The front end of the car races toward me, but it swerves off the road, just missing me. It slams into a skinny tree, snapping it, and coming to a stop.

My heart beats loudly in my ears as I realize I was milliseconds away from becoming roadkill.

The driver's door opens, and a person gets out. I can't see him clearly through the rain, but as he gets closer to me, I let out a little gasp.

He's beautiful.

He's around my age, probably, and is tall, so tall that he'll easily tower over me. There's a frown on his face and concern in his blue eyes as his lips move. They move again, and I stare, not hearing anything over my frantic heartbeat. His short brown hair is soaked and matted to his forehead, and his black T-shirt instantly molds to his body as the rain continues to beat down on him.

He crouches in front of me, bringing him to eye level, before placing a rough hand on my shoulder and giving me a shake. Heat seeps through my body from where he touches me.

"Hey!" His deep voice breaks through to me. "Are you all right? Have you been hit? Is anything broken? I can call an ambulance."

He lets go of me to pull out his phone, but I stop him. "No, I don't need an ambulance. I'm all right."

He blinks at me, running his eyes over me like he doesn't believe me before scanning my face. "You're all right?"

"Yeah. You didn't hit me."

A few seconds pass. "Did somebody else?"

"No."

A few more seconds. "Do you have a concussion?"

I shake my head. "I was on a hike."

His eyebrows draw together. "Are you sure you don't have a concussion?"

"Positive. I swear it."

He stares deep into my eyes before examining the sides of my head. I flinch when he shines the flashlight from his phone into my eyes, but he must decide I don't have a concussion because he straightens and puts his phone away. "So why the fuck are you lying in the middle of the road?" he shouts over the rain. "I almost hit you!"

Finally, I stand. I'm muddy and soaked through. He must think I'm crazy. And a mess. A crazy mess. As I blink up at him, still perfect looking even though he's soaked, I suddenly wish he thought I were a hot mess instead of a crazy mess. For some reason, the thought makes me laugh.

"Are you seriously laughing right now?" he exclaims, then points to his car, where the tree is bent at an odd angle over the hood. It's running—the headlights and windshield wipers are still on. It's black and sleek, and it looks expensive. "I literally could've run over you! Look at my car! I'm lucky it was a small tree, and it didn't destroy my car! Or injure me!"

"I'm sorry," I say. "The rain was refreshing." Kind of.

His eyes widen, and I realize I sound crazy. Maybe I do have a concussion, but I don't think I hit my head that hard.

He glances behind him in the direction he came. There are sirens in the distance, but I don't know when he could've called an ambulance because I swear I stopped him.

"Get in the car," he demands, rushing back to it.

"What?"

He grabs hold of the broken tree and snaps it the rest of the way like it's nothing, then tosses it aside.

"You need a special invitation or something? Let's go!" he shouts as the sirens get closer.

I don't move. "You want me to get in the car with you? I'll get everything muddy."

He jogs back to me and gives me another once-over. My hair is knotted and dirty; my now-ruined tank top is so soaked it reveals the pink bra underneath, the same one I was wearing when I was arrested. I'm shivering under his gaze, or maybe it's the cold or the near-death experience, I can't tell. And I notice that for some reason, I'm only wearing one shoe. I wiggle my toes and feel the mud squishing through my once-white sock. I wonder if my mascara is running down my face or if the rain has washed it completely off.

Even though he's also soaked, he looks like he's the lead in a steamy romance movie, with his broad shoulders, the shirt plastered to his chest, water sliding off his smooth tan skin and—oh my goodness, are those abs?

I force my eyes back to his.

"Yes," he says, and for a second, I almost die because I think I asked about his abs out loud, but he says about his car, "Just try not to touch everything." He grabs my shoe from the ground and somehow manages to find my phone. He doesn't look back at me. "Let's go!"

The sirens are even louder now, and I can see lights flashing through the trees in the distance.

My feet are rooted to the ground as he shuts his door. The engine revs, but he doesn't move the car. The driver's-side window rolls down.

"NOW!" he snaps. I don't know what's gotten into him and what the rush is, and I don't know why he wants me in his car with him, but he's got my right shoe and my phone, so I jog over to the passenger door. He opens it for me from the inside, and I sink into the black leather seat.

I don't even have the door entirely closed before he shifts into Reverse. I jerk in my seat when he switches into gear and sends us speeding down the dark road.

"Seriously?!" I exclaim, rubbing the back of my head. He doesn't answer. He's rigid despite his relaxed position behind the wheel, and stares straight ahead, his eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror. The sirens sound like they're right behind us. Flashing red and blue lights illuminate the inside of the car, and I glance at the passenger-side mirror to see multiple police cars trailing us in the rain.

I can feel the blood drain from my face. Police. If I never have to deal with them again it'll still be too soon. I delicately press the button to lower the window a few inches even though it's raining outside.

"I think they want you to pull over," I force out, but he just shifts into a higher gear.

I'm pushed back into the seat as he speeds down the road, and I immediately ignore his "don't touch everything" rule to slap on my seat belt.

"What the hell!" I exclaim, finally cluing into what's going on. So stupid, Siena. "Why are you running from the cops?!"

"I'm not running from them," he says, taking a corner faster than should be possible. "We're avoiding getting arrested. There's a difference."

We?! There is no we! I'm an innocent bystander! All I wanted to do was lie in the rain and contemplate how much my life sucks, and now I'm an accomplice! My stomach drops. I was just released from police custody hours ago, and now I'm going to be sent right back.

"Pull over!" I order, gripping the seat for dear life with both hands.

He glances in his rearview mirror. "We're trying to avoid arrest, remember?"

Again with the "we" stuff. There is no we. There's a him, and there's a me, which means there's no we, especially when it's followed by "'re trying to avoid arrest."

Oh God. Great going, Siena. You willingly got in the car with a psycho! A wanted psycho. Why is he on the run from the cops—or avoiding arrest, as he put it? Did he rob someone? Stab someone? Oh shit, am I in the car with a murderer? No one even knows where I am!

I don't drive so I know nothing about cars, but even I know that at this point he's run out of higher gears, and we're taking turns at full speed. I have never been in anything on four wheels that moved this fast before, and I do not like it. In fact, I hate it, especially since I don't know the guy driving or his abilities, or why we're running from the cops. Double especially because I am not going back to prison. Ever. For anything.

"Let me out!" I demand, trying to put as much authority in my voice as I can, but the look he sends me tells me he's not planning on doing that.

He takes another turn at breakneck speed, and I swear I see the psycho smile when I shriek.

"I had such a good lead before you decided to lie in the middle of a deserted road and blow it," he huffs. "Hopefully it's too dark and rainy to properly see what kind of car I drive. I still have a good lead. I'll lose them."

If they've been chasing him, don't they already know what kind of car he drives? Despite not wanting to let go of the seat, I turn around to look out the back window. He's right. He's losing them already, and they may be too far back to properly see his car. Their lights are only vaguely visible now, blurred by the pouring rain.

But why is he running from them in the first place? I turn back in my seat and consider my options: 1. Do nothing, hopefully not get arrested or murdered, 2. Try to fight him for the steering wheel, hopefully not crash and die, or 3. Jump out of the moving car, hopefully not die. I don't like any of these options, especially since all of them involve a chance of dying. I can't even call someone; my water-damaged phone sits uselessly in the cupholder between us. And I'm still only wearing one shoe!

But of all those options, there's one I'm scared of most, and that's getting arrested. So, I grip the seat harder. "Lose them," I demand.

"I'm already on it, sweetheart," he shoots back.

"Well, lose them better!" The lights are still visible in the distance.

"Would you like to drive?" he asks.

"I don't know how—" I'm cut off by my own scream as he jerks the wheel and pulls a lever beside him, throwing me into the door. He smiles as the car drifts around the corner. I knew it! He's loving this! Why did I get into the car with the one guy who's going to ruin my chances of staying out of trouble?

He drifts around a few more corners, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see what happens. I told him to lose them, and it looks like he's doing just that. I only hope he can control the car. The back end keeps sliding around, and I don't even know if he's kept it on the road this whole time.

The car jerks as it straightens out again, and I finally open my eyes to see the trees fly by in one big blur. My breathing is hard and fast, and my fingers hurt from how hard they're gripping the seat.

He glances over at me and does a double take like he's forgotten I'm sitting here, then slows down a bit and takes some turns at a slightly more normal speed, but my heart is still beating out of my chest. The flashing lights are long gone, and even I know he's lost our tail.

After a few minutes of silence, I force words out of my dry throat. "Pull over, please." We haven't seen a single car, and I have no idea where we are, or if we're even still in King.

"We might not have enough distance between us yet."

"I don't care." I do care, but I need air. I need my legs on solid ground, and I need to get away from the boy who almost got me arrested less than twenty-four hours after I was released.

He studies me for longer than his eyes should be off the road, before giving an aggravated sigh and pulling over. There's nothing around us, just trees and abandoned roads and dark, stormy skies. I stumble out of the car as soon as it comes to a complete stop and gulp in deep breaths.

I'm alive.

He rounds the car and stands in front of me, unbothered by the rain, which is finally easing.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Am I all right?" I repeat, straightening to my full height, though it's no match for his. "Are you for real? You just kidnapped me then went all Tokyo Drift while running from the cops and making me an accomplice! No! No, I'm not all right!"

"You're being a little dramatic," he says calmly.

"I have every right to be as dramatic as I want!" I throw out my arms as if to emphasize said dramatics. "Why the hell did you rope me into this?"

He's still so eerily calm, but it's even more intimidating than if he raised his voice. "Well, did you want me to leave you there to get arrested?"

I'm taken aback. "Why would I have gotten arrested? I was minding my own business."

He shakes his head as if praying for patience, like I'm the one who involved him in a high-speed chase worthy of the Channel 5 news-copter. "They didn't know you're a weirdo who lies in the middle of the road in the rain for fun. You're a teenager in the middle of nowhere and near the Tracks. They would've assumed that you were running on foot and part of it."

I wipe the rain from my face and stare at him. "I don't understand half of what you said. The Tracks?"

He sighs and looks back in the direction we came from. "I'll explain in the car. We still need to get out of here."

I back away from him. Fool me once, shame on you, but twice? Nuh-uh. I'm not getting in his car again. Teachers used to warn not to get in strangers' cars if they offered you candy, and I went and did it just because he's handsome and asked me to. But I'm not falling for it again.

"Not until you explain what just happened."

A muscle in his jaw jumps, and I refuse to think about how sculpted it is, how regal it makes him look. "We were street racing. It was a smaller group, but there must have been over fifty cars there watching or participating, and even more people. Most people will slip away undetected in the chaos, but we're screwed if they find two teenagers here, in the middle of nowhere, close to the Tracks, where they just busted a bunch of kids for drag racing. So can we leave now?"

He was drag racing? Or watching? Definitely participating, especially if he was driving like that, like he knew what he was doing and loved every minute of it. But I'm not going anywhere with him. Even if I do believe his story, my heart is still working overtime, and my breathing is still too shallow.

"No," I say, even though I walk back to his car. I grab my ruined shoe and phone.

"What?" he asks, following me with his eyes.

"Where are we?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself to stop from shivering. "How do I get to Pinewood Street, if you know where that is?"

He stares at me. He's been doing that a lot, and I can't decide how I feel about his intense gaze on me. He has to be my age, but something about him makes him seem older, more mature.

He wipes the moisture from his forehead as the rain becomes a light spit. "It's about a twenty- or thirty-minute drive that way." He points in the direction he came.

A twenty- or thirty-minute drive is probably about an hour's walk. That'll give me time to compose myself before entering my dad's house and pretending that everything's okay. Pretending I wasn't lying in the middle of the road in the rain, pretending I wasn't involved in a police chase, pretending I'm happy. Though, now that I think about it, I haven't felt that empty ache since meeting the handsome boy in front of me. I haven't even thought about all the problems I'm facing right now. He was a good distraction, even though I was terrified the entire time, maybe because I was terrified the entire time. That fact softens my anger toward him, but I cling to my resolve. I am keeping my nose clean, and I do not get involved in illegal activities or shenanigans. I want nothing to do with it, or him.

The shoe in my hand is completely muddy and soaked, but I still try to put it on. The boy watches me silently, and I realize I must be a pitiful sight, hopping around trying uselessly to put on a muddy shoe. I slip and catch myself multiple times before completely losing my balance and toppling to the ground. Eventually I give up and hold the shoe as I try to wipe my phone clean. His eyes follow my every move, silently assessing me. I can feel his gaze burning into me. It warms me up.

"What are you doing?" he finally asks.

I straighten my spine, trying to compose myself as much as I can. "I'm leaving."

He raises an eyebrow. "Leaving?"

"Yeah."

He gestures at the abandoned terrain around us. "And where are you going?"

I lift my chin. "I told you. Pinewood Street."

Without waiting for him to answer, I turn and walk in the general direction he pointed to before. I don't know what I'll do when I get to the fork in the road, but I need to do something, need to distract myself before I do something stupid like get back in his car.

"You're going to walk?" he asks, easily catching up and keeping pace beside me.

I don't look at him. "Yup."

"That's like a two-hour walk."

Damn. My estimate was off. I guess it's a twenty- or thirty-minute drive if he's driving. "Well, it's a good thing I've started then, isn't it?"

He huffs in annoyance. "Don't be stubborn. You can't walk."

Now I stop to turn and look at him. "And you can't just rope people into your illegal activities!"

"I was doing you a favor."

I laugh humorlessly. Almost getting me arrested was not a favor.

"Besides," he adds, "you were the one lying in the middle of the road in the rain like a lunatic for fun!"

"It wasn't for fun! I told you the rain was refreshing!"

He steps closer. I could reach out and touch him with ease. The rain has all but stopped now, so there's nothing between us, nothing shielding me from the force of his gaze. My heart beats for an entirely different reason than when he almost ran me over or when I was in the speeding car.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. His eyes scan my face for a moment before he steps away from me. "Fine. Have it your way. Walk back."

"I will!" I retort, turning and walking into the night.

"Good!"

"Good!" I repeat, refusing to look back at him.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Don't get eaten by bears or wolves!" he calls, and that makes me stumble before catching myself. He can't be serious. Can he? We are in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees and darkness. I never had to worry about bears or wolves in LA.

I decide he's bluffing and continue walking. My sock squelches in the puddles with every step I take and my thighs are chafing from my wet jean shorts, but at least there's a fire in my belly that keeps me warm, along with the glare I feel on the back of my head. It keeps me going, keeps my steps steady, at least until I pick a random direction at the crossroads and know I'm hidden from his view by the trees.

Great. Now what, Siena? I really need to think things through more. I attempt to wring out my freezing shirt and hair, but it's hard with one hand and mud everywhere. I probably only tangle my hair more. A twig snaps in the forest beside me, making me jump, but I don't see anything. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

I hear swearing, then feet pounding on asphalt. The handsome boy comes into view and halts at the crossroads, looking around before spotting me. He jogs to catch up, and he's not even out of breath despite apparently running the whole way here. I turn to continue walking, hating that part of me is comforted by his presence.

"You are so frustrating," he fumes, falling into step beside me.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"What does it look like?" he seethes. "I'm walking with you."

I almost trip over my own feet. "What? Why?"

He refuses to meet my eyes, and I'm glad, because he looks extremely annoyed. At me. At himself. At the world. "Because you're refusing to get in the car, and I can't just let you walk alone. Also, here." He tosses something soft at me. I catch it and hold it out. It's a black hoodie with a King City High logo on the front. It's dry and warm, and I am not. "Your teeth are chattering so badly it's annoying," he says by way of explanation.

He's walking with me knowing we'll probably run into the police or scary wildlife, leaving his car behind for a two-hour walk, and still had the foresight and kindness to bring me his sweater, even though he's in a soaked T-shirt. My throat squeezes. "I'm going to get it all muddy."

He spares me a glance. "I know."

I stare up at him as we walk. Now that it's drying, his hair looks more dirty blond than brown. He has a nice profile. I was once told I had a nice profile and never understood what it meant until now. I have the sudden urge to trace the straight slope of his nose and sharp cut of his jaw with my fingers.

"Do you stare at everyone you claim kidnapped you, or just me?" His voice makes me jump. I didn't realize how long I'd been staring at him.

"Well, I've only been kidnapped by you, and a middle-aged woman named Alice who spent tons of money to look like my mother, so just you."

I feel his gaze hot on my face but refuse to look at him. I don't know why that slipped out; I haven't thought about Alice in years. I also just admitted that I liked looking at him.

I pause long enough to drop my shoe and put my phone in my back pocket so I can pull on the hoodie. The hoodie completely engulfs me, but it's warm and smells comforting, like cedarwood and spice. Despite his apparent distaste for me, he's still here, walking with me in the middle of nowhere in the dark, letting me dirty his sweatshirt even though he would probably like it for himself. For the first time in years, I don't feel lonely. My eyes sting, and I look down, clenching my teeth.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't rush me to keep moving or persuade me to go back to the car. Just stands there with me, his presence impossible to ignore.

With a shaky inhale, I reach for my shoe and turn around, walking back in the direction we came from.

"Are you already lost?" he asks, easily reaching my side with his long strides.

"No. You win. Let's drive."

I expect him to gloat, to rub it in, but he doesn't. He just slows his stride to match mine and keeps his eyes forward.

"So, do you believe that I helped you avoid being arrested?" he asks after a while.

I wrap my arms around myself. "I believe that you believe you helped me avoid being arrested," I answer as the car comes into view. "But I am not paying for whatever damage that tree caused to your car when you swerved to avoid hitting me. That's the price of my forgiveness."

I don't think there was any damage to his car anyway. Maybe a dent or scratched paint. I would've offered to pay for it before he dragged me into his illegal antics, even though I can't afford the new phone I'll apparently need. I need to look for a job ASAP.

He snorts a laugh. "Who said I wanted your forgiveness?"

I cut my eyes to him. "I did. And congratulations, you've almost earned it."

He shakes his head as we reach the car and opens the passenger door for me. I don't fool myself into thinking it's chivalry, merely the fact that I'm still muddy and he doesn't want me touching everything. He shuts the door and I watch as he rounds the front of the car.

I'm wearing his King City High hoodie, so that must mean he goes there. I wonder if I'll run into him at school. Will he pretend he doesn't know me, the weird girl who lies in the middle of the road in the rain "for fun"?

He gets in beside me and closes the door, and suddenly I'm all too aware of him. In this small space, he's everywhere. He smells like cedarwood and fresh rain. Or maybe the cedarwood is from the car or from the sweater. I wonder what he smells like when not obscured by rain and my muddy hair. The car itself is neat and clean, not a single wrapper or water bottle littering the floor. The engine roars to life, and as I buckle my seat belt he pulls onto the road, the song on the radio a soft hum between us.

"You're going the wrong way," I tell him.

He lifts an eyebrow. "You don't even know where you are."

He has me on that. But he said Pinewood Street was behind us.

"I'm going the long way around," he explains.

The long way around. More time spent in the car with him, surrounded by his scent, his intense eyes, his oddly comforting presence.

The rain has completely cleared. If it weren't for the fact that the two of us are completely drenched, it would be like it hadn't happened. I lean against the headrest and something pokes me, so I feel the back of my head and pull a twig out of the tangles. Despite the no-touching rule, I open the window a bit more to throw it out. The twig flies away in the wind. If only my problems could disappear that easily.