"I hate you."

Andre handed me a glass of water. He watched me with wide eyes, probably afraid I was going to choke again.

I meant what I said to be a joke, but he looked genuinely concerned. Before he could utter another apology, I held my hand up to stop him.

"I'm fine. I promise," I said, after downing the water. "It was my fault. I don't usually spicy stuff."

And who knew a Blazin' Hot flavored knock-off Pop-Tart would actually be like swallowing a handful of Hot Cheeto's?

We had made our way through most of the toaster pastries and their weird flavors. The maple bacon donut was by far the best of the bunch, which wasn't saying much.

Half eaten pastries were scattered across the counters. I didn't even feel bad for wasting so much food. Honestly, I'd be doing the world a favor if I threw them out.

"And I don't actually hate you," I told him, hoping to wipe the worry off his face.

The dent between his brows didn't ease up as he stepped closer to me. His thumb swiped under my eye, wiping away a stream of tears the spilled during my coughing fit. "You should, after I talked you into eating that."

I tried to focus on anything but his touch and the warmth seeping from his palm to my cheek. My only option were his eyes, which sent my stomach into a gymnastics routine. "You want me to hate you?"

If I hadn't been watching, I wouldn't have noticed his gaze falling to my lips, his own parting wordlessly before--he stepped away. He dropped his hand from my cheek like I'd burned him.

What the hell?

"We should get back to your drawing." He was out the kitchen quick. Like he couldn't get away from me fast enough.

With the burn of rejection in my chest, I followed him out. Did I read that situation wrong? Was he not about to kiss me?

Did I want him to kiss me? Never-been-kissed-would-probably-freeze-up-like-a-deer-in-headlights me? No amount of pretending to have Indy's conference would've prepared me for that.

It didn't matter. Clearly, he wasn't interested in me in that way if he just ran out the room. It was something I'd have to get used to. Guys simply weren't interested in me in that way. That was fine. High school relationships were nothing but drama, anyway.

Andre sat on the couch, my iPad in his lap. He couldn't unlock it, so he studied the wallpaper. It was a portrait of a girl I drew using a reference from Pinterest. Her pink hair fluffed out around her shoulders, matching her smirking lips.

Andre held it up for me to see when I sat down. "You drew this?"

"Yeah." I took the tablet and unlocked it with my fingertip. "It's not the best, but I like the color scheme."

"Not the best?" He repeated as if I'd just told him two plus two was five. "Do you have more like that?"

The stinging I felt was replaced with a flutter at the excitement in his voice. I tapped at the tablet, pulling up a few other illustrations I'd done since getting the iPad. Most weren't rendered to completion, but he didn't care. He was mesmerized by the drawings.

I was mesmerized by him. The small smile that never left his face as he flicked through the pictures. The way his nose scrunched up as he focused on my drawings.

"Something like this," he said, showing me another one of my illustrations of a girl with multicolored braids and sucking on a lollipop, "would look dope on shirt or something. And you could add the butterflies in the background, and since they're not the main focus, they don't have to be perfect."

I hadn't thought of that. A portrait of my mom surrounded by butterflies would've more personal than only a butterfly. "I wish you would've told me that weeks ago."

He smiled at that, continuing to swipe through my illustrations. "Is that Rome?"

My heart jumped at his name. Like an idiot, I looked up at the door, wondering if he had somehow gotten in. Feeling like I was doing something wrong being alone with Andre.

I guessed, in a way, I was. But Romeo wouldn't care that I was alone with a boy the same way my mom would've.

Andre was talking about a half finished drawing on my tablet. "Yeah, I'm not done with it." I reached over, tapping the screen to bring up the reference picture.

It was of Romeo, Nia, Keraun and me at the beach last summer, making goofy faces at the camera. So far, everyone else was still a sketch, except for a shirtless Romeo. "I wanted to practice expressions and shading different skin tones." The four of us were a rainbow of browns. Me on the lightest end, Romeo on the darkest.

"You could make a lot of money doing this," he said, swiping to the next picture. "Making those cartoon profile pictures people like using online."

I was shaking my head as soon as he said money. "These are not good enough to pay for. And it's a hobby. Something I do to de-stress Doing it for money will ruin it."

A slow smile stretched across his face. "You get it," he said, bumping my shoulder with his. "Now tell that to my parents."

"What do you mean?" I asked, shifting my body towards him and curling my legs under me.

He seemed to search my face for something before he spoke. "I hate football."

My jaw dropped several stories. Andre laughed at my reaction. "I'm sorry--You what?"

"Full disclosure?" I nodded. "I only started playing because a girl I had a crush on said she only dated football players?"

Of all the things that I thought he'd say, that wasn't it. "Haven't you been playing since middle school?"

He twisted one of the silver rings around on his finger. "Yeah, and it was fun at first. But then I got good at it."

The way he said it, like it was a fatal illness, confused me. "Since when is having talent a bad thing?"

He looked at me then, that smile back on his lips. "It's not. Like you said, it used to be a fun hobby. But now, with senior year and college right around the corner, it's been nothing but stress."

His brow dented again as he stared down at my tablet, swiping through pictures, but not really looking. Until he got to one I'd completely forgotten about. "Is that Shaq? Why is he dressed like a genie?"

My Kazaam fanart had been exposed and I couldn't snatch that iPad away from him quick enough. "You didn't see that."

He laughed, tossing his head back against the couch. "No, I definitely saw that. So, that's your type? Twelve-foot-tall basketball players?

My face burned at his teasing. Thankfully his phone rang a pulled his attention from me.

"Sorry. It's my sister," he said to me before answering the call.

To give him some privacy, I went into the kitchen with my own phone in hand. There was a message from Mrs. Wright and another from Romeo. Even though Mrs. Wright needing to know if I could babysit tomorrow was more important, I clicked Romeo's message.

He sent a picture of the weather forecast for tomorrow. It claimed there'd be snow.

Lies

Bet?

You don't have anything I want at the moment

Good because you're losing anyway

It'll snow

And when it does

I want

...

Those three dots blinked at the bottom of the screen for an eternity before he replied.

I want a favor

To be disclosed at a later date

A favor? What kind of favor could he possibly want? It didn't matter. It hadn't snowed in our little corner of California in almost three years. I was tapping out my reply when Andre came into the kitchen.

"I have to go," he said, his eyes on his phone as he feverishly typed something out. His brow was pinched, jaw clenched tight. He was upset.

I set my phone down on the counter, walking over to him. "Is everything okay?"

"I have to pick up my sister," he said, still focused on his phone as he went to put shove his feet in his shoes. When he opened the door, he finally looked up at me. His hard expression softened. "I'll talk to you later, though?"

I nodded and he was gone.

After Andre left, I started on a rough sketch of my mom in the cartoon-y style I liked. All big eyes and exaggerated expressions. I used a picture of her from her birthday a few years back. She was sitting in front of a cake with purple frosting, butterflies made of sugar decorated the top. Her smile was wide and dimpled and glowing.

I was trying to get her smile just right when the door opened. My mom, followed by Indy and Aunt Brandy, came in, grocery bags in hand. Apparently, it was taco night.

While our moms worked on dinner, Indy walked around the house like she was looking for something.

"He's gone," I whispered.

She grabbed me and dragged me to my room, shutting the door and turning on the tv before hitting me with a million questions.

"We mostly talked about my drawings," I told her as I sat on my bed, back against the headboard. "And he gave me a really great idea for my mom's Mother's Day present--"

"Okay, but did you pick up where you left off at my party?" She sat on the bed with me, waiting for an answer with hungry eyes.

Right. She--everyone--thought Andre and I had done something during that game of seven minutes in heaven. When, in reality, all that happened then was what happened today. Nothing.

"Really? You're not going to tell me?" she said, smacking her lips. "I tell you things!"

"Against my will," I shot back. "I wish I didn't know what you and Javonte did over winter break."

My sister smirked at the memory of that day. "Don't be such a prude, Day."

Yeah. I didn't want to know because I was a prude, not because I was jealous that guys wanted to be more than her friend.

She gave me a more serious look when she said, "Promise you'll tell me if things with you and Andre get real?"

"Of course." I didn't hesitate to make that promise. If anything ever did happen between Andre and me, she'd be the first to know. "Also, I need your help convincing my mom to let me babysit tomorrow night."

That signature Indy smile spread across her face. "You know Jailah can't say no to me."

That statement was painfully true. While the four of us constructed our tacos at the makeshift taco bar spread across the dining room table, I brought up Mrs. Wright's proposal.

My mom made that face she does right before shutting me down--a soft frown, head already shaking.

Indy hopped in just before she said no. "I'll be there, too. So she'll have a ride."

Brandy, a margarita in hand, stopped mid-sip to look at her daughter. "I don't remember discussing this."

My sister wanted to roll her eyes so badly. On any given day, her mom was off in the night doing who knew what. So it was weird, even to me, that she actually questioned Indy. Usually, it was just a waveand a promise to check in later.

I was surprised Brandy even joined us for dinner. Her and my mom had nothing in common, except, apparently, their taste in men. Still, they were very close when Indy and I were younger.

But now, they only made small talk. If it weren't for Indy and me, they'd probably never speak to each other.

"Daya only just told me about it."

The attention was on me then. Two adults and my sister waiting for answers. Why'd I feel like I was caught in a lie, despite telling the truth? Maybe it was residual guilt from having Andre over.

"It was last minute," I told them. My nails didn't have any polish on them, but that didn't stop me from scratching at them. "Mrs. Wright has a wedding to go to. She's paying me double."

Brandy's ears seemed to perk up at that. "Hell, you should've led with that," she said, taking a swig of her drink. "Let them go, Jai. They got college coming up. It's not too early to start saving."

Yes. College. Totally not spending the money on a car.

My mom still didn't look convinced.

"You know," Indy started, casually eating shredded cheese from her taco. "Mr. Wright works at UCLA. Finances, I think. And you know what they say--the key to success is connections."

And just like that, I was cleared to take on a late night babysitting job for double the pay. Hopefully, my mom didn't look up Mr. Wright's credentials because I'm almost positive that man owned one of the Burger King franchises.