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on meddling in my affairs?”
    â€œHey,” he said, holding up his hands, appearing contrite even though she knew he was about as contrite as a snake caught sucking back a mouse. “If you didn’t want to have a party, you shouldn’t have agreed to it.”
    â€œI never confirmed anything.”
    â€œSure you did.”
    â€œNo, Zach, I didn’t.”
No, Zach, you little shit, I didn’t
, had been on the tip of her tongue, but she held back. She would not allow herself to sink to his level. “If you remember correctly,
you
made the suggestion I have a party.
You
invited everyone.”
    â€œYou agreed.”
    â€œI didn’t say I would for sure. In fact, I don’t believe I said anything.”
    â€œYou shrugged. Same thing.”
    â€œNo, it’s not, you lit—” Her voice was ice. Cool and hard and dangerous. “It’s not. It’s a very big difference.”
    He turned away again, like he was having a tough time holding her stare. Good. Another scratch of the nose. But when he looked back, there was amusement in his eyes. Hesitant amusement, even uncomfortable amusement, but amusement nonetheless. Like someone who knew he was in the wrong, but also knew there was nothing you could do about it. “So why didn’t you just say no?” he said.
    â€œBecause you put me on the spot.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œYou don’t want us to come?” she said, mimicking him the best she could. She was getting pulled into his childish world after all, but she couldn’t put on the brakes.
    â€œYou’re a grown woman,” he replied. “You can make up your own mind.” He shrugged. “Anyway, this really isn’t a big deal.”
    â€œYes it is,” she said, clipping her words.
    â€œWhy?” A kind of cunning flickered in his eyes, replacing the amusement.
    He knows what he’s doing
, she thought.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Trying to get me to cough up the truth
.
    Well, he could try until the cows came home. She was more resolved than ever to see this through.
    â€œListen, Zach,” she said, her voice Sunday pleasant again. “I’m going to take care of everything. Just stay out of it, okay?”
    â€œIs that all, Miss Burton?”
    She didn’t like his condescending tone. She didn’t like anything about him. “Good night, Zach.”
    He started away and mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “bitch.”
    â€œExcuse me?” she demanded, but by now he had mounted his bike and was pedaling off.
    Katrina got in the Honda. Yanked the door closed too hard. She turned onto Chumstick Highway, making a hard right, trying not to squeal the tires. They still squealed. She was enraged. Just when she thought she’d gotten out of the mess she’d gotten herself into, thought her life was going to settle back down into a regular routine, Zach comes whistling by the very next day to stir the pot.
    What was his problem anyway?
    But she knew, of course. He was a genuine brat. Aside from that, he was still extremely ticked off—and probably more than a little embarrassed, as he should be—about what happened Friday night on the highway, and this was his way of getting back at her. She sighed, angry and confused. Because now she was back to square one. Instead of having the ugly situation fade away on its own, as she’d naively allowed herself to believe, one of those things people get excited about when they’re drunk but never speak of again, she would once more be forced into thinking up an excuse. And ironically, to set herself free from the sticky web of lies in which she was becoming increasingly ensnared, she would have to tell yet another.
    She vowed it would be the last.

    Zach grinned wickedly as he rode his bike home. He had never actually brought the party up with anyone today. It had been a ruse to see how Katrina would react, to