Dinner is nothing short of strange; from the Curried Coconut Quinoa with Roasted Cauliflower concoction I'm forced to choke down, straight through dessert, when Mrs. MacKenna—Penny—and her girlfriend roll a home-grown joint. My jaw about hits the table when Hartley takes a hit and I'm thankful they don't invite me to partake in the festivity.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept our extracurricular activities to yourself," Penny says after passing the joint to Jolie. "Many people haven't caught on to the health benefits of marijuana—not to mention it's a safer option considering other forms of relaxation. I'd just hate for your parents to think I'm irresponsible. I never drive under the influence or operate heavy machinery." She gives me a playful grin. "The truth is, I'm not sure I would have survived the changes over the past couple of years without this herbal remedy."

I nod as though I understand what she means and clasp my hands in my lap. If I leaked their family secret, Mom would book me on the first flight back to Ohio. "Don't worry. I won't say anything."

She gives me a wink and stands to clear the dinner plates, and I take the opportunity to ask about her social media presence. "So, Hartley told me you have a YouTube channel?"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Penny's blue eyes light up like a cat in a room full of yarn. "What else did she say?"

"Just that you're proud of your business. What's it about?" Back in Ohio, she worked in an office, doing what, I never knew. It's difficult to imagine her doing anything YouTube-worthy. After all, she is a mom.

Penny swipes my empty dinner plate and places it in the sink. "When Hartley and I first moved here, it was important to me that we strived for inner peace. Her father passed away so suddenly and it took its toll on the both of us." She lets out a long breath. I wonder if she's going to cry, but she doesn't. "We needed to let go of the turmoil and negativity that'd been bogging us down, but I didn't know how. So, I turned to healthy living. Natural foods that focus on sustained energy, recovery, boost immunity, and are packed with protein; meditation; yoga—that's how I met Jolie," she says, giving the woman's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, "—and I began studying aromatherapy. Have you ever heard of it?"

"Yes. But I don't really know what it is."

She leans against the kitchen counter. "Aromatherapy is the practice of using essential plant extracts to help balance the mind, body, and spirit. It's an alternative way to treat emotional health and well-being," she says. "It's made a huge difference. Even Hartley's hooked. Her pillows are infused with bergamot."

"Mom..." Hartley warns, giving her a look.

"It's true!" Penny chuckles. "Anyway, I became a certified Aromatherapist and opened my own shop, and since I work from home, I decided to share what I've learned on YouTube. To my surprise, the channel took off. I hit a hundred thousand subscribers last week!"

I muster my most encouraging smile. "It must be nice not having to go to an office."

"Oh, it absolutely is." Penny turns on the faucet and begins filling the sink with soapy water, completely ignoring their built-in dishwasher. That's something the old Mrs. MacKenna would have never done. "And this way, I get to be here for Hartley."

I nod, not knowing what else to say. Jolie presses the hand-rolled joint to her lips and settles back into her chair. "So, Gwen. Tell me about life back home." Her voice is raspy as she inhales. "Is there anything you like to do? Sports you play? Subjects in school you enjoy?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I used to take gymnastics."

"Oh my God. Seriously?" Hartley interrupts, using her fork to spread the rice-like pieces around her plate. "That was years ago! You were, like, eleven."

"So what? I still did it. And now I volunteer at the Humane Society. Because ... well, because I like animals better than I like most people." As soon as I say it I wish I could take it back. While some teenagers party every weekend, I hang out with homeless cats, dogs, and a surprising variety of rodents. If that's not awkward, I don't know what is. I hope I don't sound like a giant dork.

"That's selfless of you." Jolie says it like she really means it. She tucks a chunk of black hair behind her ear and smooshes the last of the joint into a crystal ashtray. "And I can see your point. Animals aren't nearly as disappointing as humans. They have this surreal ability to love. Don't you think? Even after they've been mistreated, their loyalty is unconditional."

I can't even respond to that because she just hit the nail on the head. Even though I'm a stranger to many of them, the animals at the shelter are always happy to see me. Especially Casey, a three-year-old gray cat who came in last winter with a severe case of frostbite. It damaged both of his ears and now they bend backward and lay across the top of his head. But he's so stinkin' cute, he reminds me of an owl. He's lived there for two years and has officially become the shelter mascot, wandering around as if he owns the place. The lady who runs the volunteer program says he misses me when I'm gone—unlike my own father, who doesn't even care that I've left the state.

"And as far as school goes, well ... I hate it," I tell her.

"Really?" Jolie's dark eyes widen with surprise. "I never would have guessed that coming from someone as bright as you. Why do you hate school?"

I squirm in my seat. "It's just always been a struggle."

Hartley props her elbows on the table. "Gwen's dyslexic."

"Oh!" Jolie's taken aback. "And that makes learning a challenge?"

"Sort of," I admit, giving Hartley a glare. "I see words and letters differently than everyone else. Sometimes they're backward or upside down, and other times they're bunched together or jumping around the page. So, I read a lot slower than most of the other kids. Sometimes, I even have trouble making out my own handwriting. The teachers give me extra time for stuff, but it's still embarrassing." The words come out of my mouth before getting permission from my brain. I don't usually open up so readily, but Jolie is easy to talk to.

"I'm sorry." She tilts her head, her voice smooth as a peach. "That must be difficult."

"It is. But my mom's always encouraged me to read a lot. If we're in the car, she'll have me read every sign we pass along the way, and when we're at a restaurant, she has me read the menu out loud. At first, I hated doing the extra work, but it paid off. I've even started writing, though my spelling's not the greatest."

Jolie's coffee-brown eyes crinkle at the corners. "Your mom sounds like a smart lady. She must love you a lot."

A jolt of guilt shoots through me. I haven't called home yet, but can't seem to find the motivation. Mom might be annoying at times, but everything she does is to benefit me and my brother. She deserves more credit than I give her. Especially now that she's doing everything on her own.

"So, what do you like to write?" Jolie asks.

I duck my head. "Mostly Harry Potter fanfiction on a reading and writing app."

Next to me, Hartley snorts. "Are you talking about Kidnapped by the Wizard? You're not still working on that, are—"

I kick her under the table. She lets out a muffled yelp before pressing her lips into a thin line.

Jolie nods. "An app, huh? I'll have to check it out. I'd love to read some of your stories."

Right. As if I'm actually going to give her my username!

A couple hours later, Hartley and I change into our pajamas and say goodnight to Penny and Jolie. Her bed is queen-size and she insists that we share it, which is fine by me. My best friend and I have slept next to each other more times than I can count. While Hartley paints her toenails a depressing Charcoal Gray, my head hits the pillow, a waft of citrus and lavender swirling around me. Before I know it, I'm dreaming of gassy poodles when I'm abruptly jarred awake.

"Would you get up already? We're gonna be late!"

Blurry-eyed, I stare up at Hartley and then proceed to roll over. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh no, you don't." Two hands grab my arm and pull me onto my back. "Get your ass up! We have things to do."

I let out a moan. "What time is it?"

"Time to get a move on. This party isn't going to start itself."

"What party?" But Hartley doesn't answer.

Groaning, I drag myself out of bed and find my friend fully dressed, but the swollen moon outside her bedroom window tells me we should still be asleep. Before I can reach for something to wear, Hartley tosses over the clothes I wore earlier. "Here, put these back on."

I pull the long nightshirt over my head and wiggle into the khaki shorts and red tank top. "Why are we going to a party so late?" I ask, running fingers through my hair to smooth out potential tangles.

Before answering, Hartley opens her window and slides onto the roof, offering me her hand. "Because this is when all the best parties start."

I wouldn't know. I've never been.

After learning the quickest and safest way to shimmy down the side of a house, I follow close behind Hartley as we race through the darkened neighborhood, her flip-flops slapping against the sidewalk the entire way, and it doesn't take long to grasp that Louisiana at night is just as humid as during the day. I take the back of my hand and swipe it across beads of sweat dotting my forehead. A few minutes later, a blazing orange glow materializes in the distance. Who in their right mind has a bonfire in the middle of a heat wave?

"Melanie's parents have an open fire permit, so she throws parties whenever she can," Hartley says over her shoulder. "Her older sister's really cool, and as long as we give her the cash, she buys the alcohol and leaves us alone."

"And their parents are okay with this?"

"Well, they probably don't know." She grins. "They work nights at the hospital. Her mom's an Emergency Room doctor and her dad's a nurse.

"But I'm so tired! Can't we do this another time?"

Hartley stops in her tracks. "We're about to set in motion the first part of one of your summer goals, and you're whining about being tired? Stop acting like a ninety-year-old woman!"

I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You trust me, don't you?"

"You know I do."

"Then let the master work. No more questions. Got it?"

We duck around the side of an enormous white house with a wraparound porch and follow a paved walkway that opens up into the most majestic backyard I've ever seen. Several kids are gathered near a giant outdoor fireplace, while others are laughing as they toss an inflatable alligator around a kidney-shaped pool. Heat from the blaze radiates toward us and I wonder once again why anyone would want to sit around a bonfire in the middle of a Louisiana summer.

"Hartley!" a voice calls. "I was starting to wonder if you were gonna make it."

I'm rooted to the spot as a broad-shouldered figure rises from a crowded patio table and jogs our way, his golden surfer waves bouncing with evry step. And before I can stop myself, I literally gasp, because standing before me is the most attractive guy I've ever seen in real life.

"Hey!" Hartley stands on tiptoes and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late. Someone," she says, her elbow nudging my side, "was too sleepy to get out of bed."

"Hi. You must be Sleepy Head." The guy turns and gives me this lazy half-smile, which just might be the sexiest thing I've ever seen. There's a dark freckle on his upper lip and his straight-edged nose is just a smidgen too big for his face. But instead of looking out of place, it draws me in.

He thrusts his hand forward as if I'm supposed to do something with it, but iI'm at a complete loss.

"Does she speak English?" he asks, looking sideways at Hartley. The tiniest dimple peeks out from his right cheek and my heart starts working overtime.

"She must be jet-lagged or something." Hartley smiles in amusement and waves a hand in front of my face. "Hello? Gwennie, are you there?"

I blink. "I ... uh ... hi?"

Hartley shakes her head and laughs. "Gwen, this is Sullivan Reed, but all of his friends call him Sully."

Sully. Okay, this is definitely not her boyfriend. And his name is familiar, but she left out the part about him being a total babe.

"Actually," he counters, "you're the only one who calls me Sully."

"Oh, that's right! What I meant to say is that I call him Sully, and he absolutely adores it!" Hartley pushes her shoulder into his. "Sully plays on the varsity soccer team. We were undefeated this year because of him."

And by some crazy miracle, I find my voice. "That's, uh, impressive." Very smooth.

Sully fixes his warm eyes on mine. It's the kind of look that makes my stomach do a full twist. "You like soccer?"

Soccer. Is that the sport where they make goals or touchdowns?

"Are you kidding me? Gwen lives for soccer," Hartley answers for me, her lips twitching as she tries not to laugh. "She's probably the biggest fanatic I know."

Sully smiles. "Is that so?"

"I wouldn't go that far," I tell him. "I'm more of a medium-size fan. Maybe even small."

"Stop being modest!" Hartley bumps me with her hip. "You dragged me to every single game back home."

Seriously? I wouldn't be caught dead at a high school sporting event.

But now Sully's watching me, and a peculiar shudder moves through my body. It's unfamiliar, yet not at all unpleasant.

"Do you have a favorite pro team?" he asks.

"Pro team? I ... uh ..." I'm not sure how to respond. Luckily I'm stopped by a new addition to our group.

"Hey, Hartley." A scrawny boy approaches us, his dark hair cropped close on both sides, the top stuck in that awkward stage between trendy and not. "Did you bring Nick with you? Oh, wait. You two broke up." He snickers. "My bad."

Hartley cocks her head. "We did break up. It's a shame, really. But he was starting to remind me of you."

"Whatever. You only wish you could land someone like me." The boy's beady gaze drags over me and a coil of unease curls in my chest. He drains the rest of his beer bottle then tosses it into a garbage can. "Who's the fine piece of ass you brought with you?"

There's an eerie pause. Even the lazy breeze stands still.

"Dean, watch your mouth," Sully warns under his breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you already call dibs?"

Hartley tenses next to me. "What did you just call her?"

"What, a fine piece of ass?" Dean smirks. "That's a compliment."

Hartley's hands clench at her sides. "I know you did not just say that."

And before I can register what's happening, she cocks back her fist and slams it into his face.