a bowl. He laid it all out on the counter and got to work.
"You know how to cook?" Ariana smiled. She liked the idea that she was learning something new about him.
"How hard is it to follow directions?" he replied.
Ariana watched as he measured the mix in a dry measuring cup and the oil and milk in a liquid measuring
cup. A boy would only know the difference if he'd cooked before-Thomas was trying to hide the fact that he
knew what he was doing.
"So you've never made these before," she challenged.
His back to her, Thomas paused in his stirring. "Okay, fine. You caught me," he said over his shoulder. "I can
do pancakes and grilled cheese."
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"Interesting specialties," Ariana said.
"Yeah, well, when I was a kid we didn't really do dinners together as a family and the maid was always
making, like, fish with mango chutney, so I used to sneak back into the kitchen and make what I wanted."
"Pancakes and grilled cheese," Ariana said with a smile. "Exactly."
Ariana understood. It was just like her twelfth birthday when she'd had to plan and throw herself a party
because her dad was away and her mother was in one of her states. Sometimes you just had to learn to do
these things for yourself. She wondered what had broken Thomas's family. Had it been anything like what
happened to hers? A philandering father and a mother who wasn't all there even before he broke her heart?
"You never mentioned why you're not going home for Christmas," Ariana said. She watched as Thomas
concentrated on the mixing bowl.
"City's too crowded over the holidays," he said quickly. Defensively. "Thomas," Ariana said.
He glanced up, and their eyes locked. The vulnerability, the pain that she had seen in passing flashes, was
there, written in his expression. But this time, it didn't disappear. It only intensified the longer she held his
gaze. Only sharpened the deeper she looked.
A lump rose in the back of her throat, and she bit the inside of her cheek. She'd seen that kind of pain before.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror of a hospital bathroom. Wondering what unforgivable
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thing she'd done in life to deserve a family like hers. Instantly hating herself for the thought.
He was silent for a while. "Let's just say Christmas Eve is not fun at the Pearson home. Unless you're big on
drunken parental throw-downs."
"Oh," Ariana said. "Has it always been like that?"
"Pretty much since birth," Thomas said with a grim smile. "What about you? Why would you rather spend
Christmas with the Sticks-Up-Their-Asses?"
Ariana smirked. "Kind of a long nickname for 'the Ryans.'"
"I'm working on it," Thomas replied. He ran some water over his fingers, then flicked them toward the heated
griddle. Water droplets popped and sizzled across the surface. He even knew how to test for the right
temperature. "Your parents fighters, too?"
"No." Ariana took a deep breath and sighed, letting the familiar heaviness of family thoughts settle around
her. "Worse. They don't speak. Ever. Even when they're in the same room. She just looks at him with this
pathetic longing and he completely ignores her presence."
"Well, silence is good," Thomas offered.
"Not this kind of silence," Ariana said sadly, looking down at her hands.
Thomas turned away for a moment and stirred the pancake batter. Ariana let the rhythmic sound of the whisk
lull her.
"I never really thought about it as a kid," Thomas said finally. "Thought about what?"
"The way things were. How they screamed at each other if they
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were ever around each other for more than twenty minutes. How at the end of every meal, they ended up
passed out in different rooms. And then, one Christmas Eve when we were really young, they were out of
town on business. Tokyo or some shit. And so my brother and I-" "Blake?"
He nodded. "We went over to a friend's house for dinner. And it was like something was off. The dad wasn't
screaming. The mom wasn't crying."
Thomas poured the batter onto the hot griddle and a frantic sizzling sound filled the room.
"Now you know why I like the Sticks-Up-Their-Asses," Ariana said.
"They're normal?" Thomas asked skeptically. He put the bowl down on the counter. "I find that hard to
believe.""Way more normal than I'm used to."
Thomas finished up with the pancakes in silence, then flipped them onto two separate plates and slid them
onto the countertop. He sat down on the stool next to Ariana's, his elbow grazing hers. Neither of them pulled
away.
"Syrup?" Ariana said with a smile.
"As you wish," Thomas replied, handing it over to her atop his forearm as if it were a bottle of wine.
Ariana poured a splash of syrup onto her stack and cut a perfect triangle out of it. Meanwhile, Thomas
grabbed the bottle, doused his pancakes, and used his knife and fork to decimate them into
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a thousand tiny pieces before shoveling a whole forkful into his mouth.
"So were your parents always like that?" he asked after he swallowed.
Ariana's food turned to cement in her stomach. She had never told anyone about her mom. Not even Noelle.
She had never wanted to. Never felt she could. It felt disloyal ...and embarrassing. She lowered her fork and
wiped her fingers with her napkin systematically, one by one.
"You can't tell me anything that would shock me," Thomas said matter-of-factly. "Trust me."
Ariana looked over at him. He stared back, his gaze unwavering. Open. Suddenly she felt as if she could tell
him the whole truth. His family was screwed up, too. Not like the Ryans. Or even the Langes, who did love
each other, even if they had odd ways of showing it.
"You have to swear you won't tell anyone," she said.
"Who would I tell?" Thomas replied.
He had no interest in gossip. That was what he was telling her. He was above that. And she believed him.
Ariana took a deep breath, clutched her arm, and let go.
"My mother has been in and out of mental hospitals since before I can remember."
She glanced at him for his reaction. He didn't even blink.
"So growing up, it was mostly my dad and me," Ariana went on. "My mom was only home here and there."
"No brothers and sisters?" he asked.
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Ariana's fingers clutched her arm more tightly, but she didn't answer. She had no interest in going there.
"So anyway, when my mom was home, everything was always great for the first couple of days. She would
cook and play games with me and just be this ... this kind of light," Ariana said, staring off. " Some -times it
lasted longer than others, but sooner or later she would always come back down."
"Depression?" Thomas asked, taking a bite of his pancake mash.
"Serious depression," Ariana confirmed. "She'd lock the bedroom door and nobody was allowed in. My dad
would always try, but he got more and more frustrated. He started disappearing for days and weeks at a time.
Luckily I had a nanny to take care of me. Otherwise ..."
"What would any of us have done without our nannies?" Thomas joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Anyway, my mother would always get him to come home with threats," Ariana continued. She tore her
paper napkin in half, then in quarters. Perfectly symmetrical little squares.
"Threats?" Thomas asked.
"She'd threaten to ...you know...." She looked at Thomas. He
stared back. He was going to make her say it.
"Kill herself," she said quietly. She tore the napkin again. Eights, then sixteenths, and on and on. The
pancakes on her plate had soaked up all the syrup and were turning cold. "And then, one day when I was nine
and he'd stayed away for over a month ...she finally did it."
"Your mother committed suicide?" Thomas blurted. Then he blushed, realizing his faux pas.
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"No! No. Well, she tried," Ariana explained.
And just like that, she saw it again. Her mother's seemingly lifeless body, curled up in the fetal position on
the bathroom rug. The stark orange pills against the white tile floor. Her blond hair spilling out in a perfect
halo around her head. Ariana saw it all, and suddenly she felt numb.
"It was the last day of school before Christmas break," she said flatly. Her voice had gone monotone.
Detached. It was the only way she could get through the memory. "I'm the one who found her. Called nine-
one-one. The doctor said if I'd gotten there even five minutes later..."
She heard herself screaming for her mother over and over again. Saw herself hysterically crying into the
phone.
"How'd she do it?" Thomas asked. He'd stopped eating.
The question brought her back. "Vicodin. Washed it down with a bottle of vintage wine my dad bought her on
their honeymoon," she said, and forced a smirk. "You have to give her points for dramatic flair."
"No shit," Thomas said with a short laugh. "Wow. You must really hate Christmas."
"With a passion," Ariana said.
Her insides felt shaky, but she was glad she'd told Thomas. Her family, her past ... it wasn't a secret anymore.
Something to feel ashamed of. She had told someone and the world hadn't come to an end.
"Still, I wanted to go home and see my mom, but she really wanted me to be with Daniel, so-" She stopped
herself.
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Thomas looked down at his plate for a second. When he looked up again, his eyes seemed to be a deeper blue
than they had been seconds before.
"What about you?" Thomas asked. "What about me?"
"You said your mom wants you to be with Daniel. But what about you? What do you want?"
Ariana blinked. No one had ever asked her that before. How was it possible that he was the first?
"I..." Her voice faltered. "It's ...complicated."
"Complicated? You either like the guy or you don't. That's the opposite of complicated."
The challenge in his voice set Ariana on edge. "It's not that simple," she replied. "My mother ...she lives
through me. She's so proud of me, of my life here.... If I ever ended things with Daniel, or got expelled, she
would just..."
She couldn't finish her thought. Couldn't bear to imagine what would happen. And it would be all her fault.
All. Her. Fault.
"That's why I have to go to Vermont," she finished. "I don't have a choice."
"But that's not fair." Thomas was incredulous. "You shouldn't have to live your whole life for her. Doesn't
she want you to be happy?"
"Yes, but she believes Easton and Billings and Daniel are the things that will make me happy. And they
should." Her voice was getting higher and higher as she spoke. "I mean, they do. He's a great guy, and he
loves me."
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Thomas laughed cruelly. "Daniel Ryan doesn't love anyone but himself."
"You don't know anything," Ariana said, stacking her napkin pieces on the counter. "Why else would he be
ready to lose his virgin!-"
Thomas gaped at her.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Daniel Ryan told you he was a virgin?" he blurted.
Ariana felt her face flaming. "He is a virgin."
Thomas's eyes danced merrily, and suddenly it felt like the room was growing warmer. The condescending
way he was looking at her, like she was naive. Stupid. Her blood boiled in her veins. In her mind's eye she
saw herself picking up the heavy griddle and slamming the back of Thomas's bent head with it, just to get that
look out of his eye.
"Stop looking at me like that!" she said, standing. Her fingers twitched.
"I'm not...." Thomas replied, his eyes serious again. "I'm just... I can't believe he told you that. And I can't
believe you bought it." Ariana's blood began to cool.
"I didn't buy anything. It's the truth," Ariana said firmly. "Not that it's any of your business."
"You just made it my business," Thomas said, standing. "Let's go."
"Go where?" Ariana didn't move a muscle.
"I'm going to prove to you that he's lying," Thomas said lightly. "Unless you're scared to know the truth."
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Ariana lifted her chin. "I'm not scared of anything."
"Good. Then I propose a bet," Thomas said, picking his coat up off the couch where he'd tossed it earlier.
"What kind of bet?" Ariana asked.
"I bet I can prove that Daniel Ryan is no virgin," Thomas said, looking down at her. "If I'm wrong, I'll..."
"Come back here and clean this mess up on your own?" Ariana suggested, though the very idea of leaving it
behind made her skin crawl.
"Fine, and if you're wrong, you have to kiss me again," Thomas said.
"Very creative," Ariana said, rolling her eyes.
"Men are a simple breed," Thomas joked.
"Fine," Ariana said. "Let's get this over with."
She pushed past him and yanked her own coat off the sofa. She knew Daniel would never lie to her. Not about
something this big. And after the way he'd demeaned her, she couldn't wait to wipe that cocky smirk off
Thomas Pearson's face.
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NEAR MISS
***Thomas shoved open the back door of Billings and they were both blasted in the face with ice and snow.
Ariana could hardly see three feet in front of her.
"Come on. I'll make sure you don't blow away." Thomas had to shout to be heard over the whistling wind.
He offered her his ungloved hand.
She took it with her gloved one, telling herself it was just for survival purposes and for no other reason, and
together they set out into the storm. The snow had piled up so high it kissed the frames of the first-floor
windows. As they took their first steps, their legs sank down and the snow came right up to their knees.
Ariana cringed as the cold soaked her fresh pair of jeans. Sharp gusts of wind blew the falling snow in
dizzying circles around them.
Ariana's eyes burned. Tears spilled down her cheeks when she blinked.
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"Maybe this was a bad idea," she yelled. She turned around and stared longingly through the window into
Mrs. Lattimer's apartment. The memory of the cozy little kitchen disappeared with the next blast of wind.
"Just keep going," Thomas replied.
They trudged the rest of the way without trying to speak. When they finally reached the back door of Ketlar,
they huddled under the overhang, out of the way of the ice and snow. Ariana took a deep breath. Her hair was
soaked, her nose was running, and her ears felt as if they were about to break off.
"That wasn't so bad." Thomas's eyes looked gray against the eerie, snowy sky. The dark clouds above had a
yellowish tinge, making it impossible to tell that it was just past noon.
Ariana simply stared him down, thinking about Noelle, all cozy in New York, probably eating mahi-mahi at
Fred's at Barneys with her parents, and the Ryans sitting together in front of a roaring fireplace in Vermont.
All things she could be doing we
re she not stuck in this blizzard. She pushed her matted hair behind her
shoulders. "Let's just get inside."
Thomas reached for the door and Ariana saw a dark figure move out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly
Thomas yanked her inside. Together they ducked below the window in the Ketlar front door and Ariana held
her breath.
"Who the hell is that?" Thomas whispered. "No one's staying on this side of campus."
Ariana inched up and, ignoring Thomas's whispered pleas to stay
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down, peeked out the window. Atari, lithe figure, hunched against the wind moved slowly by, following the
general route of the cobblestone pathway that was covered by the snow. Jet black hair whipped wildly in the
wind.
"It's just Isobel," Ariana whispered, dropping down again. "I don't think she saw us."
Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. "What the hell is she doing back here?"
"She's here for a week while her parents are on vacation."
"Isobel Bautista couldn't figure out another vacation plan?" Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like an
excuse to me."
Ariana shrugged and tried to slow her breathing. Her lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass. "We
have to be more careful. If the wrong stay-behind student catches us, we're screwed."
"I know." Thomas stood and grabbed Ariana's hands to pull her up. "I can't get caught. My parents will
disinherit me."
"Yeah. Mine too," Ariana said dryly. She pressed her hands on either side of her nose in an attempt to warm
it. It didn't work.
"No. Seriously." Thomas's voice echoed in the empty Ketlar lobby. "One more strike, and I'm cut out of the
will. Everything goes to Blake."
Ariana stared at Thomas in disbelief. "They'd do that?"
Thomas nodded. "They warned me after the last time Headmaster Cox called them. Some freshman told the
Wesley advisor that I sold him Adderall."
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"Did you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Ungrateful prick," Thomas muttered. He turned and strode over to the elevator as if he hadn't just admitted
to being a drug dealer. "Let's go," he threw over his shoulder. "You've got a bet to lose."
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THE BET
***"I can't believe I'm doing this," Ariana said, standing outside the door to Daniel's dorm room. "He'd kill
me."
"Kill you, huh? Sounds like a winner," Thomas teased.
Ariana shot him a look of death and shoved the door open. Piles of dirty sports uniforms, back issues of ESPN
magazine, and protein bar wrappers covered the floor. His dresser exploded with clothes, and a bowl of half -
eaten cereal sat on his desk.
"This is nasty," Thomas announced, eyeing a pair of grass- and mud-stained shorts on Daniel's bed. "Even for
a dude."
"He doesn't have a lot of time to clean," Ariana said, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a lacrosse
helmet.
"Oh, right. Because he's so busy with all his clubs and teams and being First every semester. Message
received," Thomas replied.
Embarrassed that he'd read her so easily, Ariana turned away and automatically started picking up after
Daniel, folding clothes that
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looked clean and swiping the dirty ones into his hamper. As she was trying to shove a T-shirt inside, Thomas
pulled it away from her and dumped the entire contents out in front of the closet doors. "What are you
doing?" Ariana wailed.
Thomas rifled through the clothes. "Proof enough?" he asked, lifting a lacy camisole from the mess. "Either
your boy is getting some on the side, or he likes to play dress-up. Either way, you lose."
"That's mine." Ariana smiled, snatching the cami away from him. "Glad you like it, though."
"Huh." Thomas eyed the camisole in her hands, then shifted his gaze to her body, letting his eyes wander.
"Strike one," she said quickly, stuffing the flimsy garment into her pocket. "Give up?"
"No way," Thomas scoffed. "I'm just getting started."
He ambled over to Daniel's desk, opening and slamming the doors one after the other. Finally he tossed a