Dev talked a mile a minute as he tried to explain to me why going to Green Light, and eighteen and under club, would be the defining moment of the summer.

What he didn't seem to comprehend was that if I even stuck my big toe out the door my mom would be on my ass. I was on lock down until further notice.

"Your mom's gonna be too busy with wedding shit," he countered. "You act like you haven't gotten around a punishment before."

In all honesty, if I really wanted to sneak I could've. I just didn't want to. Going to a crowded club where I'd be expected to leave with a girl on my arm...my head wasn't in it.

What happened yesterday had my head messed up. I got caught up in my own lies. For a moment I had actually believed I was the kind of guy a girl like Waverly could like.

But the look on her face when my mom said that stuff about me getting into trouble with other girls...I knew I blew it. I couldn't even look at her as we left.

She had taken up a permanent residence in my brain while she probably hadn't given me a second thought.

"Steph, you gotta come out," Dev continued.

I heard voices coming from the backyard and thought Devon literally meant for me to come out. When I stepped out onto the balcony I saw that the voices weren't Dev and some of our other friends trying to break me out.

My mom was down there with a light skinned woman with her hair straightened and another girl in pink Converse. Mom and the first woman continued walking ahead, Mom using grand gestures as she told the woman where she wanted the wedding buffet.

The second girl hung back, taken in the landscaping. My mom plus Pinterest meant everything about our house looked like it was pulled straight from a magazine.

The girl did a one-eighty and...was it really her? Her glasses, like her shoes, were pink that day and her curls were just as wild as they were yesterday.

"Stephen!" I jumped at the reminder that I was supposed to be holding a phone conversation with Devon.

"I'll call you back," I said, already ending the call.

Should I say something to her?

Would she even want to talk to me?

I was doing it again. Over thinking my next move. All I had to do was talk to her like I talked to any other girl.

She was just a girl and I had no problem approaching them.

Before I could call out her name someone else did. Her mom, I assumed.

"Waverly, can you go to the car and get the-"

I didn't hear the rest because I was on my way down the stairs to intercept. I tried to look natural, like I wasn't waiting around the foyer for her, but I didn't have a lot of options. Why was I standing around down there? To admire the family photo on the side table by the door of us at the beach-my dad craftily cropped out.

My reflection in one of the long mirrors that flanked the front door reminded me I was wearing what I had on yesterday. Slept in, wrinkled and sporting a hot sauce stain from lunch earlier. She couldn't see me like that.

Too late.

I caught her surprised reflection in the mirror. It quickly turned to annoyance as she continued to the door.

I blocked her path. "Hi, I'm Stephen," I said, sticking out my hand. "But I'll also accept Lying Asshole."

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her stare burned me even from behind the glasses.

"Come on, I'm sure you've called me that a few times," I laughed, hoping to soften her up just a little. She stared harder.

I needed a different tactic. "I apologize for yesterday. It started as a joke and I took it too far."

She was a statue. Had she even blinked? I waved my hand in her face, just to make sure she was still alive.

She stepped back, letting out an annoyed sigh. "Can I get past, please?"

I was no stranger to pissing off girls, but I also didn't usually care if they were mad or not. Waverly was different. Yesterday she'd seemed happy, innocent. Like she'd never been disappointed in her life.

Then I happened. I needed to fix it. That was why I said what I said next, knowing there would be consequences.

"I can get you Sasha Keaton's autograph."

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression giving away nothing. Then, "Can I get through?"

Of course she wouldn't believe me. Why would she have after I'd spent a whole afternoon lying to her?

"I'm serious," I insisted. "I can prove it. Just give me two minutes. Two minutes and I'll leave you alone."

Her stone hard expression faltered a bit as she probably weighed her options.

"Two minutes."

I grinned at her. "Follow me." We headed up the stairs, I glanced back a few times to make sure she hadn't changed her mind and made a break for the door.

Once upstairs we went to the end of the hall to a closed door. Before I opened the door, I turned to her.

"Alright, before we go in here I need you to promise never to mention this anyone," I told her. "Sasha Keaton likes her privacy. If her identity gets out-"

"I got it," she said impatiently. "I promise I won't tell a soul."

The door was locked, it had been for three years, but I knew how to jimmy it open using my driver's license.

I opened the door, motioned for Waverly to step in first. Her steps were cautious as her eyes roamed the small office.

The room was dark and musty, a layer of dust covering the writing desk and bookshelves. I drew back the curtains on the window, opening it to let some air in.

Waverly was staring up at the wall of printed out covers of all of Sasha Keaton's books. There were five total and a place for the sixth book that was never released.

"Is this supposed to be Sasha Keaton's writing room?" she asked, looking up at me. There was a hint of skepticism in her tone.

"It used to be," I replied. "As you can see she hasn't been up here in awhile."

"So, Sasha Keaton used to live in your house?"

"Still does," I corrected. "She just doesn't use this office anymore. She's right downstairs, actually. In the backyard."

She paused. I could practically see her brain working behind her wide, brown eyes. "Your mom?" I nodded. "Your mom is Sasha Keaton? Like, the Sasha Keaton?"

I fought to keep from laughing at her reaction. It was cute. She looked like her head might explode or something.

"You okay?" I asked, ducking to her eye level.

Her mouth kept opening and closing. She looked around the office, probably trying to figure out how my mom and her favorite author could be the same person.

My mom was intense and rarely ever smiled, yet she somehow managed to write these stories that were light and romantic.

"No, I'm not okay," she said. "I'm standing in my favorite author's office. My favorite who called me a slut yesterday."

"I don't remember her calling you a slut."

"It was implied," she said, walking over to the desk and eyeing the dusty Mac computer. "This is where she did all of her writing. She wrote my favorite books sitting right here." There was the beginning of a smile on her lips.

Obviously, she didn't mind my mom implying she was a slut.

She caught herself smiling and narrowed her eyes at me. "Just do you know, this doesn't make up for what you did yesterday."

I walked around the desk to stand next to her. She smelled like peaches. "But you had fun, though. Right?"

She walked around to the other side of the desk, like she was suddenly interested in the bookshelves.

"Finding out you were lying the whole time kinda cancelled out the fun I had," she said, changing direction when I met her at the bookshelves. "As far as I'm concerned I spent the day Kev from Foolish Summer."

She caught on to that as well. I thought she'd figure it sooner, especially when pulled out that shit about being a lonely photographer.

"Do you still think Kev is a boring love interest?"

"Yes," she said, definitely. She circled back to the desk, out of places to go.

"That's a lie," I laughed. "I did the whole shy boy thing and you were still trying to kiss me."

"I tried to kiss you?"

I shrugged. "That's how I remember it."

She turned to me completely, cheeks red from blushing. "You were the one eating chocolate off my face."

"Don't act like you're still not interested."

"I'm really not." She rolled her eyes.

"Really?" I leaned down like I was about to kiss her, our faces barely even an inch a part.

She called my bluff, not moving away. "Really." She deadpanned.

"Stephen?"

We both jumped at my mom's voice. She was in the doorway along with Waverly's mom. It was definitely her mom, they were almost identical.

"What are you two doing up here?"

My eyes darted between my mom and Waverly. Waverly stared, wide-eyed, at my mom. I hoped she understood that when I told her not to share the real identity of Sasha Keaton with no one that it included my mom.

"We were just...talking," I said, knowing there was no way we'd make it out of there unscathed. It was worth a shot, though. "Waverly's a fan of Sasha's-"

"Is this going to be a problem?" I was prepared to answer that question before I realized it wasn't directed at me. She was talking to Waverly's mom.

"No, absolutely not," she responded, subtly waving her daughter over. Waverly went to stand by her side.

"Good," Mom said, sternly. "You came highly recommended, but your small staff did concern me. This is a huge project, so if you and your assistant are not one hundred percent focused..."

"I promise you, Shontell, we are here for one reason and one reason only."

"Well," Mom said, clasping her hands together and throwing a glance at Waverly. "Then we shouldn't have any more problems."

Once Waverly and her mom left my mom turned to me, a scowl on her face. I was surprised when all she did was turn on her heels and leave.

No lecture or yelling. Her silence seemed almost worse. I wasn't too concerned anyway. She'd get over it, eventually.

Waverly, on the other hand. I nearly got her mom fired. If she wasn't mad at me before, she definitely was after that.