STOP, DROP, AND LET'S ROLL

RYAN SLAMMED the book shut and tipped his head back, sprawling on the bench and claiming it as his own. I looked down at my lap, his current pillow, and shook my head.

"It's cheating."

"I'm not asking you to write the paper for me, Ava. Just engage in a lively discussion about the book." His put on his best pleading face—eyebrows up, a wide smile that showed his teeth, his hands clasped in supplication and—the kicker—his hazel eyes begging. Say what you would about Ryan James, the boy had killer eyes. And he knew it too. It was almost impossible to say no to him. Almost.

"You want to discuss a book you haven't read so you can write a paper on it. So, yeah, totally cheating."

"You seemed way less concerned with moral fiber yesterday." His grin was so impish, there were probably imps nearby taking notes. Not that imps are native to Maine.

I could feel the flush creeping up my cheeks as memories of yesterday, when I'd closed up the bookshop a little early so that Ryan and I could have a little, er, "quality time," started a conga line through my mind. I looked out at the harbor until my blush dulled.

"Illicit make-out sessions aren't even in the same league as skipping your required reading, hoss."

Ryan sighed. "Can't I just watch the movie?" Then he started laughing, no doubt at the scandalized look on my face.

"You did not just say that to me, Ryan James!" I sputtered, and shoved him off my lap. He hit the bricks with a thud but kept right on laughing. "The Count of Monte Cristo is a classic for a reason. I don't know what I see in you. Ugh. Such blasphemy."

He rejoined me on the bench, and I helped him brush some of the grass off his jacket. We were deep into mud season, or "early spring," as I'd heard it was called in other states, and Ryan was lucky that grass and twigs were all he was brushing off. The weather had warmed lately, the snow melting, for the most part, and what was left was more mud than a body knew what to do with.

Ryan leaned over, sweeping a kiss along my temple while putting his arm around me at the same time. "You're so mean. Why do I date you, again?"

"Because you like pain?" I made it sound like a joke, but really, I had no idea why Ryan dated me. Besides his killer eyes, Ryan had curly brown hair that always looked a little tousled, like he'd been doing something forbidden, a lean build, and these lips ... man. He made me act like a mush-headed girl, which I hated, but it was hard to avoid his allure. He always had this sort of hand-in-the-cookie-jar look about him, just bad enough to be fun.

He pulled a cigarette out and placed it in those devil lips, using his free hand to pat his pockets for a lighter. I cupped my hand around my old-fashioned Zippo, flicking the cap open with my thumb, and lit his cigarette.

"You're always ready with a light—that's one thing in your favor." Ryan took a drag on his cigarette, the cherry flaring a bright red. I tucked the Zippo into my pocket with a tight-lipped grin.

The lighter was a prop, empty of fluid and flint. Since I was playing a regular human girl, props were necessary. I could set fire to the bench we were sitting on and every boat in the harbor if I put my mind to it, and that's all it would take: just my mind. But Ryan? He didn't know that. He was normal. He thought I was normal.

Ryan sighed, the smoke from his cigarette coming out in a whoosh. "I wish I was homeschooled. You didn't have to finish reading Lord of the Flies when you hated it."

"They were stuck on an island and no one even tried fishing or digging for clams? I understand the symbolism of the pig, but really."

"They were ignorant boarding-school kids. It's not like Woodland Foraging and Basic Survival Skills was a class."

"Whatever. Anyway, don't be jealous. I had to read two books to replace it and write a five-page essay clearly stating my reasons for protest." Then Sylvie and I did a dramatic reenactment of the essay using sock puppets we made to look like the main characters from Lord of the Flies, but I didn't tell him that. I think I can honestly say that was the day my little hyperactive coworker and I really became friends. She made a killer puppet that looked like an angry clam. Then she sang a song called "Clams, the Better White Meat," which she accompanied on the mandolin. She's thinking of turning the whole thing into a full-length musical.

Ryan threw up his hands. "You win. I'll read the book."

I curled into him, kissing his cheek. "Good, because you would have failed if you went off the movie, anyway. They're different."

He turned into me, his face only a breath from mine, those damn hazel eyes going bedroom sleepy. "You couldn't have just said that?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Tell you what, though. I'll discuss it with you while you read it and go over your paper with you."

"You're a harsh mistress." Ryan was about to kiss me when I heard a disgusted scoffing noise behind us.

"Hey, Ryan. Hey, homeschool."

Aaaand enter Brittany, sullen bitch queen of Currant, Maine.

"Hey, Brittany."

"Orphan."

I rolled my eyes. "Get new material." Technically, I was not an orphan. My mother was dead, yeah, but my dad was probably still around. I just didn't know where, or who, he might be. I kissed Ryan on the cheek. "The sound of her mind cogs screeching as she tries to think up new insults is my cue to leave." I stood up and brushed my hands on my jeans.

Ryan grabbed my arm, glaring at Brittany. "You don't have to go."

My phone chirped and I shrugged. "Yeah, I do." It was maple sugaring day, and if I missed that, Cade would have my head.

* * *

CADE was my guardian. He was one of those family friends so entrenched that he transcended trivial things like genetics and blood. We weren't related, but we were family, even if the state labeled him differently. He was my mom's childhood sweetheart and, to be honest, her forever one as well. You could tell from the way she'd looked at him that Cade was my mom's true heart. Which sounds like a vomit-worthy line from a crap poem, but for them it had worked. They'd been epic poetry in motion.

Whatever the label, my guardian took his job...