"Damn, do you always sleep this much?" Bryce asks me the moment my eyes flutter open the following morning.

Of course he's already wide awake, typing away on his phone the same way he was when I had fallen asleep last night.

I crinkle my nose at his comment, and he pokes me in the side with one of his fingers.

"Yes, I do generally sleep for eight hours a night like a regular person," I chide, and he shakes his head at me, staring me straight in the eyes.

To my surprise, I woke up curled up in Bryce's lap, his arms around me and the blanket still covering us. I thought for sure I'd wake up to find him on the other couch, as far away from me as possible while still staying in the same room.

I immediately found him braiding a section of my hair right when I woke up, but he quickly stopped to mock me about how much I sleep instead.

"I know science says that teenagers are supposed to sleep for eight hours but I can't think of a single kid our age who actually sleeps that much except for you," he says to me, and I crawl out of his lap so that I'm sitting directly beside him instead.

I pull the blanket up to my chin, leaning against the side of the couch but still keeping my gaze fixed on Bryce.

"Lack of sleep can weaken your immune system which raises the chances of me catching a cold. I can't sing properly if I'm sick," I explain to him, and he presses a finger over my lips to shut me up.

"Shush. Are all theatre kids this whiny about this stuff?" he questions, and I shrug at him, leaving, him to remove his finger. He then stands up from the sofa, pulling the blanket off from over my body and folding it neatly before placing it back in the basket.

I groan at the sudden chilliness, deprived of the blanket's warmth. Bryce rolls his eyes at me, but he then offers me his hand to pull me up as well. I take his hand, standing up and quickly pulling down my sweater that had rode up a little in my sleep, exposing a bit of my stomach.

Bryce snorts at me, before walking over to the kitchen and leaning against the fridge.

"Do you want to change and go out to grab breakfast somewhere? I saw a place a few minutes away when I was buy groceries yesterday," he says out of the blue, and I walk over to him, sitting down at the island.

"Just us?" I question, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself, before walking over, resting his elbows on the granite of the counter and leaning towards me.

I cross my arms, confused as of to why he can't just answer me.

He tilts his head to the side, nodding towards the stairs.

"Personally, I'm starving, and I don't think those losers are going to be awake for another little while," he tells me. "So yes, just us. Go get changed and we can head out."

I'm about to interject when he puts a finger over my lips for the second time already this morning alone.

"You ask too many questions. Go get ready and we can head out," he tells me, straightening his back up again.

"There's no way I'm going in the room right now. I'm scared about what I'll see," I tell him, and he laughs, but nonetheless he walks away from me, over to the stairs.

He raises a hand, gesturing for me to follow him before he heads right up to the second floor. I sigh, not bothering to argue with him, and I stand up from my seat to follow behind him.

That's when Jasmine comes walking down the stairs, her hair falling in messy blue curls framing her face as she covers her mouth while letting out a huge yawn.

"Daniel isn't in there anymore," she says to me, waking right past Bryce without acknowledging him.

"Sorry about stealing the room last night; I was drunk out of my mind," she says apologetically, and I reach for her hair, flipping it behind her shoulders. She smiles at me, then walking for the kitchen and bee-lining right for the coffee pot.

Bryce suddenly snaps right in my face, and I jump back a little.

"Great. Go change," he says to me, and I huff at him, stomping past him and up the stairs.

"You act like a toddler sometimes," he says to me, and I stick out my tongue at him which just further proves his point.

He shoots me a smile, and I walk into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I hear the faint sound of his laughter from the other side, and it lifts the corners of my lips to a small grin.

I quickly change into a white sweater dress, pulling a pair of tights up my legs as well before looking at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup from yesterday is somehow still intact, and although I know having makeup on my face for this long is probably going to break me out, I decide to just go with it seeing as Bryce has very little patience this morning.

I head back downstairs, finding Bryce waiting patiently by the door, wearing black jeans and a T-shirt. He looks up at me when I come walking into the foyer, and I quickly slip on my shoes before Bryce hands me my jacket.

"Thanks," I say quietly and he nods to me as I pull the coat over my shoulders. Just like that he opens up the front door, holding it open and expecting me to step through.

"Where are you guys off to?" Jasmine asks us from where she's now laying down on the couch, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

"Out," Bryce answers coldly, growing restless.

I give him a side-eyed stare, and he doesn't respond to me before Jasmine asks, "I don't get an invite?"

Bryce blinks slowly at her.

"No," he answers, before grabbing his keys and walking out the door, down the steps of the front porch.

"I'm waiting in the car," he tells me, and I contemplate yelling at him for his rudeness.

I hear the sound of Jasmine's giggling, and when I turn to her she stands up, walking over to me.

"He's certainly a character. Don't worry about it," she comments, placing a fist on her hip.

I sigh, nodding in agreement. "I don't know why he's so cranky right now," I tell her, and she snorts.

"You guys haven't had sex yet, have you?" she asks me, and I shake my head quickly at her straight away.

"God, no," I answer her. "We're just friends."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Does he know that?" she asks, and I don't have a chance to respond before she walks over to the bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen table, picking up a banana and beginning to unpeel it.

I know what she's eluding to as she takes a bite right off the tip of the banana, giving me a smug smirk.

I quickly step out the door, grabbing my phone and wallet as she laughs behind me.

"Have fun! Be safe!" she calls out right as I slam the door shut.

I hurry down towards Bryce's car, opening the passenger door and sliding into the seat. I recognize the song playing through the speakers almost instantly, and I'm a little surprised when I realize that the music is being played directly off of his phone.

"I never took you as the type to listen to Mariah Carey," I observe, and he bites his lip as he backs out of the driveway onto the street.

He turns to the left, back down the way we had gotten here, telling me, "I don't listen to Mariah Carey. You have a link to your Spotify on your Instagram page," he informs me, and I blink at the fact that he was looking through my social media pages the same way I was doing with his.

He laughs at my reaction, but doesn't make an effort to change the song. After Fantasy plays through, a Christina Aguilera song plays through that makes Bryce crinkle his nose.

"You really like 90s music, huh?" he says, obviously judging me.

"I like musical theatre from all decades but as far as pop music I like the 90s," I tell him.

He smiles out through the windshield, shaking his head a little at me.

"Of course you do. There's no way you'd listen to rap music because you'd 'never be like all the other girls'," he mocks, and I slap his arm which just makes his smile grow bigger.

He takes a right hand turn, pulling into the parking lot of a small little diner, and easily pulls into a parking spot right by the front door. I hear a click as the doors of the vehicle unlock, and I open my door, stepping out on to the concrete.

There's a chill in the air, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm as I wait for Bryce. He climbs out of the car as well, and he holds the door open for me as we step inside the restaurant.

We're instantly met by a sudden warmth when we step inside the building, and we get seated in a booth against the windows by a sweet waitress with curly blonde hair.

The decor of the place is very retro, red leather seats and the classic black and white checkered floor tiles. We sit on either sides of the booth, and the waitress introduces herself as Judy. She has a warm smile that instantly makes me like her.

When she takes our orders, Bryce gives me an amused glance when I order a hot chocolate rather than coffee, and after thanking Judy when she goes to ring in our orders, I kick him under the table.

"Such a damn drama queen," Bryce teases, and I glare at him.

"Really?" I start. "You're the one who gets super moody whenever anyone else is in the room! I mean, seriously? You could've at least been a little nicer to Jazzy earlier! I know that you think everyone expects you to be a total—"

Thankfully, I'm cut off when Judy returns to our table, setting our drinks down before quickly walking away.

Bryce is grinning like an absolute maniac when I look back at him.

"You're cute when you're mad," he compliments, and I momentarily consider stabbing him in the hand with my fork.

He notices my angered expression and his smile fades. "You're always cute, don't get me wrong. You're just generally not very vocal about your opinions so it's fun to watch you rant," he says, smiling sweetly.

"And you're a jerk," I lash back, but it doesn't get to him as he continues to speak on about me.

"I think you're going places, Blossom. I'd bet money that you'll get into that Juilli-whatever school you're so obsessed with, and I think you can do whatever the hell you want if you put your mind to it," he says, and his kind words come as a total surprise.

"I'm pretty sure you're more successful at seventeen than I ever will be my whole life," I say, looking down into the warm chocolatey liquid in my cup.

That's when I feel his hand reach for mine.

I look up and our eyes meet. His brows are furrowed and his gaze is sincere as he rubs his thumb against the back of my hand.

"Don't say that. With that attitude, you won't get yourself anywhere," he whispers. "You're sincere, smart, beautiful, and talented. You have so much going; please stop putting yourself down."

"Thank you," I say softly, and he nods at me, leaning back in his seat.

Our food is delivered, and I quickly unravel the napkin holding my utensils to cut off a bite of my crepe.

"I feel a bit bad for leaving everybody else to fend for themselves," I confess, and Bryce looks up at me from the piece of ham he's cutting up.

"I don't," he remarks, and just like that he's returned back to his typical self.

"You're so confusing!" I huff, exasperated. "You go from being so nice one minute to suddenly mean the next."

I take another bite of my food, chewing harshly while Bryce eyes me mischievously. He picks up a piece of egg on his fork, responding by saying, "That's all me, baby. You gotta deal with it. Also, 'mean'? That's the best you got?"

I know he's intentionally trying to provoke me into saying something harsher, but I don't fall for it even as he's sitting here smirking like an idiot.

"Yes. 'Mean'," I reply flatly, and he forks the bite of food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before answering me.

"You've got something there, Lexi Brooks."

What is that even supposed to mean?

His elusive statement leaves me with many questions, but I don't bother asking any of them aloud because I know he won't answer.

We eat quietly, not really saying anything that could cause another emotional situation, until Bryce asks for one bill rather than two.

"I can pay for myself," I tell him, and he shakes his head at me.

"I know you can, but I was the one who insisted on coming here so just let me pay," he pleas, and when I don't answer apart from furrowing my brows, he takes it as an agreement to his terms.

He pays for the two of us, leaving a huge tip for the waitress before we head out of the diner.

We climb into the car and Bryce starts up the engine, pulling out onto the street before he decides to start up conversation.

"What are you doing for your birthday?" he asks me, and I suddenly realize how soon I turn seventeen, and how I have no clue how I'm going to celebrate.

Sixteen is a big deal because you can drive, which I don't even do, and eighteen is a big deal because you're legally an adult. But seventeen is kind of that odd in-between age.

"I'm not sure," I tell him, and he looks surprised.

"Really? It's in two and a half weeks," he comments.

"Yeah," I answer, nodding slowly. "I still don't understand how you remembered that."

We're at a red light, and he takes this chance to turn to me. "Don't act as if you don't know my birthday too."

"It's different because your birthday is Valentine's Day. That's way easier to remember," I explain, and he shrugs, turning back to the road.

"And your birthday is two days after Remembrance Day. See? Easy," he smiles, and I roll my eyes at him.

"Not quite the same thing, Bradshaw," I sigh, and he passive-aggressively turns up the radio to prevent me from saying anything more.

When we pull into Ryan's driveway, we find Mateo and Charlie already loading bags into the trunks of their respective cars.

Charlie rushes over as soon as we step foot onto the gravel, looking irritated with us.

"You guys just left?" he questions, and I slowly slip past him, trying to get inside the house.

He promptly takes a hold of my arm, and I give him a sheepish smile when I see his disapproving glare.

"Sorry?" I offer, not feeling guilty though because I did have a nice time with Bryce, rather I'd like to admit it or not.

He shakes his head at me, and I swiftly hurry inside the house to pack up my stuff. Bryce is right behind me, but we branch off our separate ways into our own rooms.

I find Jasmine sitting on her bed, braiding her hair into long twist down her back. She gives me a small wave when I step inside, tying off the end of the style with a hair tie.

I begin packing all my clothes back into my bag, then tossing my makeup and toiletries on top of the pile before zipping the bag shut. I slightly adjust the pillows resting at the top of the bed, since I noticed that they were a little out of line. I then open up the curtains to let some light in, shutting off the overhead light and following Jasmine out of the room.

"So, who's driving with who?" is the first thing we hear when we get to the kitchen, and my brother is the one to say it.

After a bit of discussion, as well as Jasmine refusing to drive with Charlie, we settle so that Bryce, Jordan and I drive together, Daniel going with Charlie, and Jasmine and Ryan with Mateo.

Once it's decided, everyone hops into the cars and we're off.

"Wow, I love being the third wheel," Jordan remarks sarcastically, and Bryce shoots around to glare at him.

"If you're going to bitch about it the whole time, I'll kindly invite you to get the fuck out of my car," he smiles, and Jordan bursts out laughing.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but your attitude is actually very refreshing," he says once he catches his breath, and Bryce looks disgusted by the comment.

"Why should I care about what you think of my attitude?" he questions, and I don't think I can take anymore of this.

"Will both of you please shut up? And will you just drive?" I ask, directing the latter to Bryce, clearly.

They both laugh, and then at the same time they say, "Yes, ma'am."

Jordan bursts out cackling, and Bryce groans loudly. I smile at their opposite reactions, finding their odd friendship sort of thing hilarious.

"You two kill me," I smile, and Bryce sighs, pressing his foot on the gas pedal.