Bottles of coconut rum, vodka and pineapple juice were scattered across our kitchen counter. My mother was using her cocktail shaker to strain the liquid into martini glasses. She accidentally spilled some. "Can you mop that up, Millie?" she asked, sipping her bikini martini. I was already scooping stray ice cubes into my hands. I dropped them into the sink. Mother poured another one for my sister. Flora was in the backyard, soaking up the sun for a glorious tan. It's amazing how one woman could give birth to two such genetically diverse people. Flora was gorgeous, and I was not. Flora was arrogant, and I had nothing to be arrogant about. "Matt asked me out last night. He's picking me up for a movie date at 5," Flora said, coming inside to pick up her martini. For the record, that's not the boy she was blowing in my red chair. "Isn't that a bit early?" "What do you know about dates Millie? No boy has looked twice at you." She had a point. My ex hadn't exactly been exclusive. Anyway, I didn't mind. There is nothing better than having nothing to do. No stress. No problems. I didn't have to change out of my pajamas. I could eat what I wanted, where I wanted – no judgments from anyone. So out came the cookies and ice cream. I received a text from Julia. Sorry, I can't make it over tonight. Lexi's having the girls over at her place. You can come if you want. I messaged back, Would Lexi mind? Julie took twenty minutes to respond. I spent my time productively staring at the wall. She said you'd have to bring sthg. Like guac. I know what that means: don't come. That's ok. I'm pretty tired anyway. I waited for Julia to respond but she didn't, so I added, Have fun. When 5pm rolled around, Flora sauntered over to the front door and jumped into Matt's car. He hadn't even come out of the car to say hello. I stayed on the couch, watching TV show reruns. I waved goodbye to my mother, who also had evening plans. She was going out for drinks. More drinks. I wasn't expecting anyone at home for a while, so I was surprised when the doorbell rang. I shook the cookie crumbs off my pajamas and got up. I had passed out on the couch and there were red lines on my face from where I'd pressed into the cushions. I opened the door without checking who was there. "Did you forget somethi-" Oh. My. God. "Luke?!" There he was; the 'too hot for a daytime fantasy' neighbor. The 'I contribute to global warming I'm so hot' boy next door. "You do know that it's daytime right?" he stared me up and down, "You look like a mess." I held the door and ignored his judgment. This wasn't my first time dealing with Luke Dawson. "You have my number. You could've texted." "I could've." He shrugged and walked in, uninvited. He stood in my living room for the first time. He was curious what our house looked like. The TV was blaring old OC reruns. There were Chinese foo dog statues on either side of the entrance. A bowl of fake crystal were on the coffee table. He didn't comment on anything, he just took it all in. I started to feel self-conscious. I looked like a mess and he was standing here, in my house, because he wanted to see me. He did want to see me, right? "You're not here for Flora, are you?" "Who?" Flora was pretty, but she was not part of Luke's social circle. In fact, it was Flora's life mission to get in. Thinking of Flora in the movie theater right now, I knew she'd kill to be back here with Luke. And I know who she'd kill. Me. "Um..." I started nervously, "Why are you here?" He dropped onto the couch, getting way too comfortable in my house. I tried not to focus on how the olive fabric of the couch complemented his skin tone or how tempting it was to sit where he'd extended his arm. I was still annoyed at him for what happened at school. "I don't know if you can roll your mind back to the day you totaled my computer," he picked up the remote and instinctively switched to ESPN, "but that car is not one I'm forgetting any time soon. I saw it parked in the driveway and figured it was yours. Who knew we were neighbors?" "Yeah, who knew?" I rolled my eyes. I've known for 13 years. "Damn, Millie, is this yours?" he leaned forward, staring at the cookie crumbs, wrappers and melted tub of ice cream on the coffee table. I was embarrassed and rushed to take it away, but his hand picked up the birthday cake flavored ice cream. "This isn't even vanilla. What are you doing with your life?" "Vanilla?!" I judged so hard. "You don't need to match your ice cream to your personality." He laughed, that familiar genuine laugh. I'd forgotten how good it sounded. "Do you want some?" I offered him a clean spoon, tempting him to the dark side. He put the lid on it. "No." Luke didn't come by to say hi. I had to remind myself that he never does - not when he has an entire fan club of hot girls and sporty friends. He had a request. Another demand that, if completed, would take my debt on his laptop down. I should've known Luke wasn't into being friends with me. He only talks to models... As the girl in the lunch line had said. "How much is this favor worth?" "$40," he answered, as we arrived at a Professional Sports Physical Therapy and Rehab Center. "The opportunity cost of my time is more valuable than that," I argued, staring at the sign. Why were we at rehab? "I'll buy you dinner on the way back." I got excited, "McDon-" "Something with vegetables," he said bluntly, shooting me down. I think he'd been scarred by the cookies/ice cream/candy situation on my coffee table. "Lame." He didn't care. He walked through the clinic, past signs that pointed to 'fitness and nutrition consulting' and 'performance enhancement sports training.' That last one looked a bit dicey. He walked towards the department that said 'physical therapy.' "Why are we here? Are you injured?" I asked, trying to hide my concern. "Wait here please and face the window until I come to you." "What?!" I asked, but he was already gone. I faced the window and checked my phone to see if I'd gotten any acceptance letters for part-time jobs. I'd applied to everything in the neighborhood and only received rejections so far. Finally, I got lucky. Email Accepted. I immediately clicked on that. It was for a clothing store in a strip mall nearby. Minimum wage but good after-school hours. "Hey," Luke's deep voice brought me out of my own mind. "I got a job!" I exclaimed, almost knocking over the clipboard he held in his hand. "Where?" I was surprised he asked. "At Lola Roe." I went quiet when I saw another Accepted email. It was for a pizzeria in the same mall. Longer hours but promise of higher pay through tips. Ooh I was conflicted. Which one do I choose? Luke whispered in my ear, "Pretend like you're signing these and don't turn around." "Luke, this feels so shady-" "It's ok. I need to make it look like you're my mum, which is why they can't see your face." It's ok?! Nothing about that was OK. I stared down at the already signed papers in my hand. "Why isn't your mum here? Doesn't she care that you're having physical therapy?" "I don't want to freak my parents out. I'm already healed anyway." "That's for the doctors to say." "I don't need to slow down my training for this, ok?" He was talking about his basketball. "When it's at the expense of your health you do." Our voices were picking up and Luke became conscious of that. He lowered his voice, "My coach approves. This is all above board." I shoved the clipboard against his chest, having not signed a single thing. Not that it made a difference. Everything was already signed. He took it back to the front desk and then returned to lead me out of the therapy clinic. ** "Are you sure you're ok?" I asked him, worried that he may injure himself even more now. He took his foot off the gas pedal and slowed down as we neared his driveway. We had eaten a steak and vegetable dinner and were almost home. There was a convertible parked in the center. A beautiful girl sat on the edge of the car, her wavy blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She was in a black cocktail dress with a slit that revealed her long legs and black converse sneakers. Her arms were wrapped around a Tom Ford model. I'm only kidding. I don't know if he's a model, but he looks like one. Slicked back brown hair, a navy-blue suit. ( "My sister," Luke said darkly. He parked the car behind hers. I didn't know much about Luke's sister. She was a year older than him and in college now. Growing up, every parent would always compare their kids to her. She was the gold standard of our neighborhood. The perfect daughter. I watched Luke eye the guy she was with. For most people, growing up in her shadow would have been tough. But for Luke, he created his own standards. "She likes me to intimidate her boyfriends," he said. I stared from him to her and then to the oblivious Tom Ford model. Hot sibling dynamics must be difficult. "I'll see you tomorrow, Millie," he said, barely paying attention to me as he got out of the car. He walked towards the boy who visibly tensed at the sight of Luke. Luke looked confident in his hoodie, not needing a suit to surpass his sister's boyfriend. They shook hands tensely.