the pungent scent of weed mixes with the motorcycle oil and damp wood in the air. Elliot presses his lips to the convenience store bong and inhales a giant toke.

Don't ask me why I agreed to hang out with him; I haven't figured it out myself. But when Elliot said this wasn't about sex, I honestly believed him. If anything, he seems lonely, like he's looking for a friend.

But it makes me wonder: why am I here, and not someone else?

I don't mean it in an insecure way, I'm not like that. I just don't understand why a guy like Elliot smokes pot in his dad's shed instead of hanging out with people. A guy like him should have friends, or a girlfriend, or a life outside of this.

"Slow down," I say as he takes another hit. "You smoke like an addict."

"It's just pot." His wet red eyes are hidden by the clouds he coughs out. "Besides, I normally only smoke on weekends. It's not a big deal."

"I guess." Maybe every suburban rich boy gets high behind his daddy's back.

Once Elliot is satisfied with whatever, we return to the house, where he opens the backdoor for me. When I pass under his arm, he shuts the door and peels off his blue hoodie. It's obvious he's an athlete; his crisp black T-shirt clings to the lean muscles on his back, and he has definition on his arms, but not so much that he looks like one of those douchey gym guys. I press my knuckle to my bottom lip.

Okay, he's hot.

"What's up?" Elliot takes a step closer to me.

I take one back. "Nothing."

"You're acting weird."

"I am not—you're weird!"

"Is that really a bad thing?"

My proximity to him is making me overheated and annoyed, so I move away.

"Hey, so, wanna play a board game or something?" he asks.

A board game. Glazed eyes or not, Elliot is sort of adorable.

We head down the hall. Unlike last time I was here, a red and green glow emanates from the archway into the living room. As soon as we turn the corner, my breath catches.

Holy, now this is a Christmas tree. It stretches to the ceiling and towers over me, and colorful lights decorate each branch. Some ornaments are round and sparkly, while others are oblong and scribbled on, probably made by kids. I bet Elliot crafted the hockey sticks, or maybe the ones shaped like cookies. It feels like one of those overdone movies; something I saw on TV once, back when I had a home. Except my parents didn't celebrate Christmas. We didn't celebrate anything.

Elliot appears beside me as I marvel at the tree. "My family goes pretty nuts about Christmas. What about you?"

"I've never been about it." But I like your Christmas.

He rubs his hands together. "Man, it's so cold in here. Are you cold? I'm freezing."

Compared to outside, this is a sauna, but I won't complain about more heat. Elliot turns on the fireplace, then sets a monopoly board on the rug in front of it. I plop down and bring one knee to my chest as he sits cross-legged. With his dark eyebrows knitted, Elliot places everything in a neat order while orange flames dance across his face.

"I haven't played Monopoly since elementary school," I tell him.

He smirks. "Well, prepare to lose."

Half an hour later, he honors those words. Looking at my pathetic stack of money, I pout. "This game is stupid."

"You're only saying that because you suck."

"Nope, I'm saying that because it sucks."

"Aww, c'mon... it's not that bad." His brows droop and his stare drifts to his cards.

I sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. It's not that bad."

A massive, goofy-ass smile plasters his face. "I'm totally fucking with you. It's not like I made the game."

I laugh and hide my mouth with my hand.

"Why do you always do that?" he asks.

"Do what?"

"That. Right there. You're hiding your smile."

My face heats. "None of your business."

"Come on, show me."

Rolling my eyes, I quickly bare my teeth. Maybe that will shut him up.

But he just shrugs. "I don't get it."

"I have a gap tooth, okay? There, I said it."

"Aww, that's so cute."

"Shut up!" I want to hate his dumb smile, but I can't. I'm definitely not the type to let stupid guys fawn over me. I cross my arms and raise my nose. "I'm hungry. You haven't even fed me yet."

"Oh, right. My mom went to Costco today, so... things are pretty crazy in there."

We go to the kitchen, where boxes of Oreos and Goldfish Crackers and Fruit Roll-Ups stockpile the pantry, and bring a heap of food back to the living room. I can't believe I have access to all these snacks; I've been starving for so long, this is like a dream come true. And it's not like I'm stoned or anything, it's this place that buzzes me with euphoria. It's him.

Sitting in the glow of the fire, listening to Elliot make jokes and talk about his life, I lose myself. These are the things girls my age should be doing, right? Hanging out with cute guys, talking about life and school and how annoying parents are. A fog rolls through my mind and hazes the memories of my life on the streets. I forget Slater. I forget I have no home. For an unhinged, transient moment, my world is nothing but a dream, and right here, right now, with Elliot—this is reality.

I sit cross-legged and rest my chin on my palm. "Can I ask you something?"

He shovels Goldfish Crackers in his mouth. "Shoot."

"Don't you have like, friends or something?"

"Oh, ouch."

"I don't mean it like that, but..."

"I know." He sighs, before he falls back into his easy going self. "I don't really have any friends. Well, I have one, but she's like, absent."

"You don't have any friends at school?"

"Sort of. None I'd hang out with outside of class. People kind of hate me."

"Bullshit. People don't hate guys like you in high school."

"Guys like me?"

"Yeah, like, hot guys who play sports. Aren't you the best player on your hockey team? You should be popular."

He half-smiles. "Thanks, but it's complicated."

Elliot glances at the grandfather clock, then looks at me with apologetic, ocean-coloured eyes. "Shit, my parents will be home soon. I hate to do this, but I kind of have to kick you out. If they think I'm having girls over when they're not home, it's game over for me."

Game over. Brett said the same thing the other day, except the words are so innocent spilling from Elliot's lips. Game over to me and Brett means a lot more than getting grounded for the weekend or something.

"It's okay," I say. "I should go anyway."

But I don't want to. I want to stay here and play board games, eat snacks, and fall asleep under the Christmas tree. It's a nice fantasy, but this night was never supposed to last forever. Slater's voice echoes in the back of my head: "If it looks to good to be true, babe, it probably is."

My stomach churns. I want to block out thoughts of him for just a little longer, but I can already feel his presence looming over me like a wraith. It's been this way since I escaped him. Even though he's far away from me... somehow, he's still always here, waiting to get me again.

As I'm leaving the living room, I stop at a display of family photos. One is of Elliot's dad in a uniform holding a plaque with police officers. The hairs on the back of my neck raise.

"Oh, that's my dad," Elliot says. "He's head police constable of the east end's precinct."

"You dad is a cop?" Shit, I knew there was something about that guy. If he's a cop, he could know who I am. But no, we already met, and he didn't seem to suspect anything. I've changed my appearance enough over the years, so no one should be able to recognize me.

Is this worth the risk? I don't want to avoid Elliot. He isn't like the other guys I know. He's different.

We walk to the front door, where I gather my things and Elliot leans against the wall. With my Timbs on my feet, Chay's tobacco-stained jacket zipped all the way up, I face him. Our eyes meet, and an electric current zaps me.

"So..." He shifts on his heels. "Where are you going now? I feel like I don't know you at all."

"I have a place," I lie.

"Well hang in there, okay? Keep your stick on the ice. Or whatever." His face flushes. "My coach always says that. Sometimes it helps me out."

"I like it. You keep your stick on the ice too, El."

El. It's a cute name, and it fits him well. Even better than Elliot. Even better than Junior.

"I had fun hanging out with you." Elliot rubs his neck. "Do you maybe want to come back sometime?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," I say, and I'm surprised by how true those words are.