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he next day is spent anticipating the party. I've ironed out the details and officially spread the word, so now all there is left to do is wait.

The morning before the bell rings, we're sat outside on one of the picnic benches, basking in the sun. Justin has his arm around me, and Marnie is sat opposite staring straight at him. Every so often, she says something flirty then looks at me, testing me.

This is the way it works at this school: you are constantly tested or challenged. The more I let Marnie get away with, the more that she'll test me, and the more uncontrollable she'll get.

"How's your love life, Marnie?" I ask.

Her head snaps up. She looks at me carefully. "Fine, thanks. Still looking for my Justin, though." She looks at Justin now and smiles. Another test.

I tilt my head. She'd been bragging last week about some college boy she went out with–this is my ammunition. "We haven't heard about that college boy in a while," I say innocently. "I'm guessing it didn't work out. Was it a dine and dash thing?"

Dine and Dash at this school is essentially code for when a guy hits it and quits it. By the way her cheeks redden, I've hit the jackpot.

Slowly, she looks at me. She forces a smile. The rest of the table watch quietly as this power struggle plays out. According to Tiana, who is about the only person I trust at this school, rumors are flying that people think I'm lame for taking Justin back; I need to do damage control.

"He wasn't my type anyway," Marnie says curtly.

I laugh and say, "Oh, come on, Marnie. Everyone's your type."

The rest of the table laughs. Marnie forces a smile and glares at me. I stare back, unsmiling now, the look in my eyes clear: do not test me.

"This party can't come soon enough," Justin says to break the tension. He kisses my neck, then pulls back a little, his blue eyes wicked. "I can't wait to slam my fist into that asshole's face."

I flinch. There's no way that Justin will win in a fight against Max, but hearing him talk like this puts me on edge. It shouldn't – I shouldn't care what people say about Max, but I do.

"What's the deal with the whole boxing fight thing, anyway?" Tiana asks. She's been quiet until now–she's naturally quiet, but always listening. Watching. She's like my eyes and ears in this place.

I shrug. If I don't play this the right way, if I make it seem like I'm helping Hayden, it'll blow up in my face. "Aren't you bored of the usual parties? I want to do something different."

Despite her previous knockdown, Marnie's up for more. "Okay," she says, watching me carefully, "but why do we have to pay? You short on cash or something, Alyssa?"

"Because, Marnie, if I let just anyone in, it wouldn't be very exclusive, would it? The price tag ensures only the right kind of people attend." I don't mean a word, but the suspicion I'd seen in her eyes slowly dissipates. I've dodged another bullet.

Justin shakes his head and smiles. "This is why I love you," he says, kissing my cheek. "Always thinking outside of the box."

Later on, in English, Kino is already sat in his seat. I'm starting to enjoy these English lessons now that he's here. It offers a sense of normalcy, a break from politics and cattiness. Being partnered with Kino means I'm not planning everything I say or do, because I know he won't use what I say against me.

"Hey," Kino says when I sit down, and he smiles.

I smile back. "Hey." I start to organize the space on my desk while he watches me.

"I'm sorry about my brother last night," he says. "He can be–I don't know. Too Max."

I smile at Too Max. "It's fine. Are you coming to my party on Saturday?"

He frowns and says, "What party?"

I furrow my eyebrows. Either the excitement surrounding my party has worn off, or Kino lives under a rock. I'm praying it's the latter.

"I'm throwing a party this weekend," I say. "Ten dollars to enter. There will be a few boxing matches, too–your brother is fighting."

His eyebrows go all the way up. I figured Max would have at least clued Kino in, but evidently not. "My brother is going to your house?" he asks. "To a party? And he's fighting there?" His voice gets a few octaves higher with each question. "Are you sure?"

I laugh and say, "Yes, I'm sure."

He's silent for a few moments. I can see the confusion on his face. "Sorry, that just...doesn't sound anything like him. He'd gouge his own eye out before going to a party here. No offense."

I smile again. I don't know why, but I like the idea of Max breaking his principles to come to my house. I know he's not doing it for me–he's doing it for Hayden and the gym–but still.

"Well, he is," I say, "and you should come, too."

He smiles and has just enough time to nod before Miss Granger breezes in.

For the rest of the lesson, I think about Max and all of the ways he's too Max. I don't know why. I shouldn't be thinking about a North Sider, especially when, for all intents and purposes, I still have a boyfriend. Thinking about Max–who has made it clear he'd never be interested in someone like me anyway–is foolish. Dumb. Ridiculous. So why can't I stop?

The rest of the day is spent being my least favorite version of myself: high school Alyssa. Queen Bee Alyssa. Girlfriend of Justin, Alyssa.

I'm schmoozing left and right, hyping up my party this weekend while shutting down the whispers that have started to make their rounds, like I'm becoming soft, or that I'm being walked all over. I make it clear that I'm the same Alyssa, and the more I pretend, the more I start to believe it.

At home, the facade wears off. I head upstairs and into the bathroom, where I run myself a bath. I'm supposed to be going to the gym this evening, but I feel so drained that I'm not sure I can muster up the energy.

I leave the bath running while I head downstairs to grab some cucumbers for my face, and Mom and Dad corner me in the kitchen. Dad's got his disappointed face on, so I know it can't be good. "What's wrong?"

He sighs and says, "This deal is taking a little more time than I'd expected to iron out. Mr. Mathers is sitting on the fence, which puts us in a very precarious situation."

I look at Mom, who is busy picking some lint off from her form-fitting dress. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, we'll be throwing a party in the upcoming weeks to see if we can soften him up a little bit," Dad says. "As for now, you need to turn on the charm, Alyssa. I want you over at their house whenever you're free, buttering him up. Maybe if he sees how loved up his son is, he'll be more hesitant to rock the boat."

My heart sinks. "Weeks?" I don't think I can stomach weeks of this.

Finally, Mom speaks. This is the first time in a long time that they've put on a united front. "This is for you," she says softly. "Your future. Your livelihood. We want the best for you, Liss: college, a nice house, a good job – it all depends on us not becoming destitute. So you suck it up, you put on your smile, and you show me what you're made of, Alyssa."

My eyes start to burn, but crying in this house isn't acceptable. Being weak isn't acceptable. My parents raised me with the notion that strength in the face of adversity is everything, and crying gets you nowhere. So I straighten up, nod briefly, and lock myself away in the bathroom.

Finally, I cry in peace.

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