Broken Compass

Keep busy.

I broke that rule. What I should do is find another job, or a hobby. Preferably one that lets me meet with people and feel like myself again.

Okay, so I’d take any company, but they wouldn’t make me feel so excited about getting up and getting ready to go meet them. The thought of meeting Nate and West has me stretching like a cat and going over my clothes, going over ways to be close to them, things to tell them.

And Kash. The taciturn, mysterious Kash will be there—if Nate convinced him to come.

Though Nate doesn’t want him to come.

My smile slips.

Sometimes I wish I had a girlfriend to share secrets and talk about boys. Last year, I met this girl at school, Gigi. She’s fun and she’s sweet, and she’s in love with this boy, a neighbor called Jarett. I tried to be friends, but she wanted to stay the night with me, and I blurted out my mom wasn’t here. She was shocked I live alone, and I got nervous and lied about my age, said I was older than I really am, that I was almost eighteen, and… it was a mess.

Not that she figured out I was lying, but I felt weird about myself. It made me think I can’t have normal friends, because I don’t live a normal life, and it hit me hard.

But that’s all silly, because I’m fine with the way things are. Really, I am. Besides, I always got along better with boys. They don’t expect anything from me. They aren’t complicated.

Right?

I’m the one complicating things with my desires and lack of control. I’m fire. I destroy things. But I won’t let myself destroy this friendship. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s all I have.

Mood dampened, I drag myself out of bed and shower, then throw the doors of my closet open and stare at my outfits.

I think of Weston’s blue eyes, so serious and dark with shadows during the biology lab.

I think of Nathan’s bright whiskey gaze on me as he stood at the classroom door.

I think of Kash and his face barely visible in the dark as he stood outside, talking to me about his job and tutoring, so many things left unsaid between the lines.

Don’t, Sydney. Don’t break this. Don’t burn it down.

Frowning, I yank out a denim skirt and a yellow tank top that leaves my midriff bare. Hey, it’s warm. Normal summer clothes, all right? No push-up bra, and no lace. No make-up, no nothing.

See? I’m being good. Just your friendly next-door neighbor. Not trying to go after any of them. Just trying to be friends.

But damn, it’s hard. Nearly impossible, when I find them so cute and sexy. Why couldn’t I have ugly, old, nasty neighbors instead of this group of heartthrobs, huh?

Totally unfair, let me tell you.

Slipping my feet into my pink flip flops, I run a brush through my unruly hair, trying to tame the curls—then give up and put it up in two pigtails, tidying up stray curls with golden barrettes.

There.

I hesitate. I said no make-up, right? But wouldn’t that look like trying too hard to look like I don’t care?

Does this even make sense?

Sighing, I grab my mascara and apply a layer on my pale lashes, then slather some cherry lip-gloss on my lips and call it done. The Sydney-Who-Isn’t-Attracted-To-You-But-Is-Super-Cool look by yours truly.

The butterflies in my belly swarm and crash, like every time I think of the boys. There’s no escape.

Or maybe I’m just hungry. The thought of West’s cooking always gets my mouth watering, much like the boy himself.

Jesus. Stop.

With some time left to kill, I skip down the stairs and get out. The sunlight pours through the foliage of the tree in the front like a rain of gold, and I stand bathed in it, closing my eyes.

Today will be a good day. This will be a good summer. A good year. Everything will be set to rights, I can feel it in my bones.