It's 6:30 in the evening and I find myself standing between Aunt Clara and Uncle Luke on Tristan Johnson's porch. I can do this. I can totally do this. It's just a dinner, nothing weird. I can do this.

Tristan opens the door, standing beneath the frame in all his glory. He had changed out of his clothes from school into black jeans with large rips in the knees and a very soft looking rich maroon sweater. I totally can't do this.

The three of us walk into the foyer. My rapidly beating heart slows down a bit at the familiarity of the layout of his house. It had been constructed almost exactly the same as ours, just a mirror image. The walls were decorated with pictures of young Tristan at various events, ranging from birthday parties to baseball games. I found only one picture of teenage Tristan on the wall, his long arm slung around his mom's shoulders in front of a cabin. He was smiling that gorgeous smile of his. He looked happy.

"Hey, guys!" Helena's sweet voiced boomed as she entered the foyer from the kitchen. "I'm just finishing up dressing the salad, but everything else is set on the table, so we are good to go."

Aunt Clara nudged me forward a little, making me almost bump into Tristan. "We brought pie!" I say a little too excitedly, shoving the pie pan into his hands, a startled expression taking over his face. Nice...

Dinner breezed by without trouble. The meal was served family style, everyone passing the salad and roasted vegetables around the table in circular fashion. Helena asked me some questions, mostly about school and my friends, some about how I was adjusting to the move. I was polite and answered accordingly; she's a very friendly woman and reminds me of my own mother. At least, my mother when she had her good days.

"So, have you joined any extracurriculars at school?" Helena asks, passing Uncle Luke the bread basket.

My mouth is full of salad and I struggle to chew faster to respond. "Leila is going to join photography," Tristan says for me. I shoot him a glare from my side of the table, mouth still full of leafy greens.

"I didn't know you were interested in that club!" Aunt Clara exclaims with a huge smile on her face. "Oh, honey, that is so wonderful! I've seen the pictures you took back in California and they are very good."

I finally manage to swallow the enormous bite I had somehow shoved into my mouth. "Um, yeah. Tristan actually suggested it, though I have no idea how he knew I like photography," I say that last part accusingly. Tristan still seems unfazed as he scoops more peppers onto his plate.

"In any case, I'm glad you found something you like to do. And if you ever need more hobbies, our book club would be happy to have a new member," Helena offers. I smile graciously and shovel another forkful of salad into my mouth.

Throughout the rest of dinner, the adults talked about adult things. News. Weather. Financials. Stuff like that. In all honesty, I tuned them out to focus on Tristan to see if he would do anything to give him away to his stalking tendencies. How did he actually know I used to be into photography. Was it just a lucky guess? Or did he see some of my pictures that I hung up in my room? There's no way his eyesight is that good.

Once the dinner plates have been cleared, Helena brings out the pecan pie Uncle Luke made earlier. I was, and still am, surprised he was able to bake a pie without his wife's help, but it looked delicious nonetheless. Just as he was cutting and serving the first slice to Helena, Tristan spoke up.

"Leila, I was wondering if you could help me with an assignment. I'm having trouble figuring out how to answer a question for English Lit. We could take dessert up there if you would like," he suggests, widening his eyes ever so slightly to let me know I didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Oh, sure." The two of us grab plates of pie and forks and turn to leave the dining room. But not before I catch Aunt Clara and Helena exchanging excited looks and Uncle Luke looking suspicious. I roll my eyes and follow Tristan up the stairs.

He walks into his room, me right behind him. I know I have seen just a portion of his room from my window before, but that small amount doesn't do it justice. The gray-scale palette with accents of red is more stunning in person. Though extremely pleasing to the eye, his shiny black desk and vibrant red throw pillows look dull in comparison to Tristan standing in the middle of it all. He places his pie on his black nightstand and gestures for me to put mine down as well.

A moment of silence passes between us, the only sound filling the air being his modern looking analog clock ticking away the seconds. "So, you said you needed help with an assignment?"

"No," he replies. "I finished that a long time ago."

"Okay, but then why did we come up here? Are you going to murder me?" I ask jokingly. But what if he is going to murder me? He was being way too nice to me earlier today.

"Luke kept giving me the evil eye so I wanted to get away from that," he shrugs and makes his way to the window. Cautiously, I join him, making sure to leave some space between us. "Would you look at that, we can see your room from my window."

"I KNEW IT!" I exclaim, turning to point my finger at him.

"Knew what?" he asks innocently.

"I knew you could see directly into my room because I can see into yours!"

"Leila, are you admitting to looking through your window to spy on me?" Tristan teases, that smirk appearing on his face. I can feel my face start to grow hot with embarrassment. Damn it, how the hell did he turn this around on me!

"You're funny, you know that?" Tristan continues, moving away from the window without breaking eye contact. "I've thought you were funny from the second I met you, after you started babbling some introduction at me on the first day of school."

"Y-you thought that was funny? I was so nervous! You basically scared me half to death and then wouldn't even say anything."

"I like to keep an air of mystery about me," he responds nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I've noticed," I mumble. "Anyway, can you clarify something for me?"

"Sure."

"Are we, like, friends now?" I ask earnestly. "You've been talking to me more often and you stayed with me and my friends for movie night and now we're kind of hanging out. So... Friends?" God, I hope I didn't just embarrass myself again.

"I don't think I could be friends with you," he answers, eye contact never wavering. I feel myself slump, both mentally and physically. That sure was a blow to my ego. Why did I ever think he would see us as friends. He may somehow know stuff about me and I nothing about him, but still!

"Leila, look at me," his deep voice brings my eyes back up from the floor. He steps closer, close enough for me to be able to smell that spicy cinnamon scent. "I could never be friend with you because I am insanely attracted to you."

Before I can even register what he just admitted, his lips were on mine. Oh my God. Tristan Johnson is kissing me! And he's such a good kisser! I all but melt into him right before he pulls his lips away by an inch. Even his breath is spicy. Absolutely delectable.

My mind is racing through so many emotions right now that I have to keep my eyes closed to concentrate. Confusion, lust, pity, anger, sadness, and joy swirl around my body, colliding with each other. I've held in so much for the past few months that every emotion I should have expressed starts bubbling to the surface. Before I can stop myself, the strongest one fights its way to the top, through my throat, and out my mouth in a blurt of a confession.

"My mom murdered my dad," I say and quickly cover my mouth with both of my hands.