Not feeling particularly whorish that Saturday morning, I got up at my usual hour and headed to work. Soon after my arrival at Ashton's, I discovered that Pam and Jacob's flight had been delayed.

With a small degree of anxiety, I realized that I would be stuck with them for about half an hour. Now one part of me was pleased about this—Pam was still my newest favorite person, after all. But then there was my social anxiety. And the uncertainty of this situation promised all kinds of awkward moments—that is, until Pam asked me if I wanted some tea.

Jumping on the chance of a potentially less awkward morning, I answered, "Yes, please."

Jacob went to his office then, after turning down his wife's offer, which meant one less person was in the picture.

Pam, thankfully, was completely relaxed when she led me to the table and placed our tea on our respective sides. Then again, I couldn't imagine she'd ever had trouble with being social. That was probably why I liked her so much. After we had both sat down, she fixed her angelic smile on me and asked, "So, how are things going with Ashton?"

I was a little taken back by her question. Why was that the first thing she had to ask? Clearing my throat in discomfort, I took a hasty sip of my tea before answering. "It's going well—more or less."

She laughed graciously at that, and I could not help but smile too. It was true; things were going well—more or less. Ashton had been perfectly decent most of this week, but it was last weekend and Monday that had me nervous. Maybe I was being too suspicious, but I had a bad feeling that his kindness could only mean worse things were on their way.

Mrs. Savvonski interrupted my thoughts. "Is he causing much trouble?"

Mulling over her question, I carefully chose my answer. I thought of last weekend, how he'd thrown the party. I'd kind of assumed that Daphne had told Pam about that, but now I wasn't so sure. For some reason, I did not mention it now. "I wouldn't say he's causing trouble. He's just a bit aggravating."

"I can attest to that," Pam said with a laugh. Then she went on to say, "He's always been like that—at least, for as long as I remember."

I found it slightly puzzling that she, his mother, would be saying 'for as long as I remember.' Shouldn't she remember his whole life? Then again, why should she be expected to remember every detail about Ashton since he was born? I was just too accustomed to my parents remembering a bit too much about me.

I don't think Mrs. Savvonski realized where exactly my mind had wandered in her silence, but she took it as a signal to continue speaking. "That's why he has trouble making friends."

After swallowing more of my tea, I said, "He does have two best friends though, right?"

"Yes. Yes, he does." Appearing thoughtful, she muttered wistfully, "No female friends though—and never any girlfriends."

For no good reason, I felt myself blushing. I knew I should not indulge in this particular topic, but I could hardly help myself. "Pardon my asking this, but aren't parents usually happy when their kids aren't partying and chasing girls?"

With a chuckle, Pam questioned, "What does having a girlfriend have to do with partying?"

Cursing myself internally for diving into this conversation, I tried to explain, "It was just a, umm, generalization. I didn't mean that—you know—"

Pam, sensing my discomfort, hid a smile and extended a figurative hand to me to pull me from the waves. "I know what you mean, sweetie. I just wish he'd spend some time with nice girls—like you."

The blush that had just been leaving my face now returned—in full force, no less. I tried to hide it by lifting my cup to my lips. Why is this conversation so awkward? Seriously, why did she have to say something like that? Taking longer than usual to down my drink, I purposefully avoided Mrs. Savvonski's gaze for as long as I could.

However, when I could not prolong it any further, I was forced to look at her and attempt to articulate a comprehensible sentence. "Well, he does spend some time with me, since we see each other every weekend. And at school too, occasionally." I felt like cringing after I'd spoken. Everything I say is so inelegant. Why do I even open my mouth?

Either Pam didn't notice, or she didn't care, for she offered me another soft smile. "And for that, I'm very thankful. He needs some good influences."

I'm not sure I really fit the bill, but thank you? "So...do you not think that Josh and Dave are good influences?" There I went again—letting my curiosity get the best of me.

She did not answer for a few seconds, as though she were trying to think of an appropriate response. If only I could think of appropriate questions, then we'd both be better off. "They're good kids," she said finally. I had a feeling her sentence would be leading to a but. I was right. "But I just don't think they're helping his emotional state."

It was after she said that that I realized I disagreed. From what I'd observed, those boys were one of the best things Ash had going for him. How could Dave and Josh be messing with Ashton's emotional state? True, I hardly knew them, so how could I make such judgements? Something just told me that they could be trusted—that they had each other's backs.

I did not voice any of this to Ashton's mother though. Instead I focused on a different aspect of her answer. "Why do you say 'emotional state'? Is he okay?"

I felt sure then that I had overstepped my boundaries, but Pam did not appear fazed. Instead, she took a deep breath before calmly saying, "You could say that Ash didn't have the best of childhoods."

"Oh." My throat felt dry, although I had finished a whole cup of tea just a minute ago. For once in this tête-à-tête, I did not respond to her with a stupid question. Instead, I fell silent, the emptiness of my eyes pouring into the emptiness of my tea cup. Somehow my slow mind gathered that this was a touchy subject, one that I should not be discussing with Mrs. Savvonski. One that, alternatively, I should be discussing only with the subject himself. So I did not ask any more questions, or even attempt to speak.

Nevertheless, Pam, not one to let a cheerful mood go dour, broke the ice again, this time with a completely different topic. "So, my husband says he knows your father."

Confused for a moment at the sudden shift of thought, it took me a second to collect what she was referring to. "Oh! Does he?" That's actually...terrible news.

"Yes, I mentioned your last name again the other day, and he said he knew a Laurence Eilerts."

I tried to ignore the dread that had begun eating away at my gut. "Well, that's my dad!"

Behind me, a deep voice suddenly interrupted us. "Who's your dad?"

Jolting in my seat, I successfully hit my funny bone against the table. Angrily, I whipped around to see Ashton leaning against the island in the kitchen. I hadn't even heard him come down the steps. Who knew what he could have overheard? My embarrassment making me even angrier, I snapped, "Thanks a lot, Ash!"

He just grinned, pushing himself away from the island and approaching Pam and me. Oh, right. Pam was still here. Should I not have talked to Ashton like that in front of her?

Somehow it was easy to forget that, though, when Ashton reached me and placed a hand on my head to ruffle my hair. Simultaneously embarrassed and annoyed, I batted his hand away and shot him a glare. Then, wondering if I was behaving wrongly, I sneaked a glance at Mrs. Savvonski, only to find her looking back and forth between Ash and me.

She was smiling—slyly. I just about died of mortification.

Before I could climb into my coffin, however, she arose from her chair and collected both of our tea cups. Choosing to focus on her rather than Ashton, I said, "Thanks again for the tea, Pam."

"You're so welcome, dear," she said, bringing the dishes to the kitchen sink and turning the faucet on.

Ashton made it impossible to ignore him again when, in a voice loud enough only for my ears, he mimicked, "'Thanks again for the tea, Pam.'"

Turning my head to glare up at him, I hissed, "Shut up."

Pam's back was still turned, so thankfully she did not witness the rest of our exchange. Smirking down at me, Ashton brought his hand to my face where he promptly squeezed my right cheek between his index finger and thumb. Horrified, I responded by stomping on his foot, but he just chuckled inaudibly.

I grit my teeth before facing the other way and folding my arms across my chest. Pam took that as her cue to reenter the conversation, upon which I forced a smile back onto my face. "It looks like it's time for us to head out. You two have a great time! Don't start the house on fire."

Ashton rolled his eyes, but I answered back happily, "We won't. Have a good trip!"

"We will!" Jacob's voice sounded from the adjoining room, and soon his head popped in view. After flashing me an additional smile and patting her son's shoulder, Pam joined her husband. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and the two soon vanished from sight, but the sound of their soft voices accompanied them out the door.

I couldn't help but smile after them. They were so cute.

Ashton, of course, had to ruin the moment. "What's got you smiling like a schoolgirl?"

I shook my head, exasperated. "Your parents."

His eyebrows shot up. "My parents? What could they possibly—"

"They're cute, okay?" I said, not wanting to discuss this any further. Then I turned to go, but he just followed me, unfazed.

"You're a weird one, Maine. Shipping my parents and all."

I kept my mouth shut, continuing on my path toward the laundry room. I'd just have to stay quiet until he got bored. It seemed like he had other plans though, for he followed me all the way to the laundry room, and once we were inside, he had the audacity to pick up the laundry basket and start throwing items in the washing machine.

My brain did not compute. "What are you doing?"

Looking almost offended, he said, "What does it look like? I'm helping you with the laundry."

Helping me with the laundry? "I'm sorry—what?"

"Is something unclear to you?"

I gawked at him. "Ha—why?"

He paused mid-toss and turned to me, holding a pair of jeans up as a prop. "Because then you'll get done sooner. I've got plans for us today."

This is news. "Then go! I'll take care of the laundry—it's my job anyway."

"You see," he continued, "The whole point is that you go with me. I can't just go by myself."

"Uh..." I trailed off in disbelief. He wasn't making any sense. "You're just going to have to change plans then—I'm not going anywhere."

Tossing the jeans into the machine, Ash leaned against the dryer and challenged me, "Why not?"

"Because...I have work to do."

He grinned slyly. "Don't tell me you're scared? You don't want to get in trouble with my parents?"

I let out a frustrated breath. "Naturally, no. No, I don't want to lose my job."

"Who says you'd lose your job by going with me?"

"Common sense! I can't imagine your parents would be very impressed if I ran off with you instead of doing my job!"

He titled his head to the side. "Did they specifically tell you that you had to be on the premises at all times?"

I gave him an unimpressed look. "Not specifically, but it's implied! So lay off—I'm not going anywhere."

"You sure?" I did not like that mischievous gleam in his eyes. "What if you had no choice in the matter?"

"Seriously? Are you going to kidnap me now?"

"Well, no, but now that you mention it—"

I reached out to shove him. "That's not funny!"

"Sure it is." He grinned that pretty grin of his.

Turning back to the washing machine, I aggressively added the laundry soap for Ashton's load. I refused to look at him as I said through gritted teeth, "You should be glad I'm not big and tough like Brad Penton."

That made him laugh. "Brad's a little punk. I'm very glad you're not like him."

Closing the washing machine door and pressing the start button, I finally turned back to face Ash. "So what were you planning anyway?" I didn't know why I was even asking at this point.

"Oh, just a little...fieldtrip."

"A fieldtrip?" I repeated in disbelief.

He smiled. "Of sorts."

"Hilarious."

"Does that mean you're in?"

"No!" I exclaimed, although I couldn't deny he had me curious.

Sensing this, he leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, "What if the only way for you to keep me out of trouble is to go with me?"

"Then I guess you'll just have to get into trouble."

Undeterred, he tried again. "What if my parents didn't find out about it? What if I did all your work for the rest of the day?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So let me get this straight: if I go on this little fieldtrip with you, you'll lie to your parents and do all my work for me?"

"Yeah. Or I'll just kidnap you if you don't."

He jumped back before I could make a swipe at him. I glared at his amused face, just before making a terrible decision. "Fine. I'll go with you—but only if it helps you stay out of trouble."

I tried to ignore Ashton's smug expression as we made our way into the garage and toward his motorcycle. Accepting the baby blue helmet without complaints this time, I shoved down my nerves along with that voice in my head that was screaming at me to stop and think this through.

I'd made my decision, and I was going to stick to it. I kept telling myself that as I hopped on Ash's bike behind him. At least I didn't have to be told this time to hold on properly, so when Ashton's bike roared to life under us, I was ready.

Sort of.

Riding on the back of the BSA Lightning still scared the living daylights out of me, but five or so minutes into our journey, I was finally beginning to relax. Of course, just around the time I started to calm down, our ride came to an abrupt halt in front of the back door to the Meadowfield Archeology Museum.

What are we doing here? As Ashton turned off his bike and slid his keys into his jeans pocket, I unraveled my arms from around his waist and said aloud, "You weren't kidding about the fieldtrip, were you?"

When he remained silent, I slid off the motorcycle seat and, unlike last time, did not trip over myself in the process. Ashton followed suit, and we yanked our helmets off. After he had removed his, I was surprised to find traces of anxiety in his expression.

"What's going on, Ash?"

He put our helmets down on the motorcycle seat and glanced around casually before stepping closer to me. In a hushed tone, he finally answered. "I'll be honest; I probably shouldn't have brought you here."

I blinked. He had been so emphatic about it earlier—why was he questioning it now? "Why not?"

Wincing slightly, he looked back toward the museum and said, "Because I'm here to meet someone. Someone I shouldn't be meeting."

A slow feeling of dread came over me. "Then why'd you bring me along?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat pained. "I just thought you'd—"

"What?"

His hand fell back to his side. "Keep me...calm?"

Now that made even less sense. I chuckled somewhat. "Sheesh, you're starting to make me nervous—how am I supposed to keep you calm?"

He smiled, though it held little humor. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Once again, he glanced apprehensively at the building, as if some wild animal were about to burst out of it.

"Ash," I said softly, not sure what was coming over me. "You don't have to go in there."

He snapped his gaze to me then, almost looking relieved. "I know," he said. "But I've got some unfinished business with him."

Heart thudding in my chest, I tried not to think about whoever this him was. "You sure it's that important?"

"Yeah," he said after a breath. "I have to face him."

I wanted to argue further, but instead I reached out and gave his shoulder a light punch. "Hey, we got this." He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I'm far more intimidating than whatever is in there."

That got a laugh out of him at last. Seeming to gain back some confidence, he took a deep breath before reaching over to grab my hand. Swinging it upward, he smiled at me. "Ready?"

With that, he turned toward the museum and, weaving his fingers through mine, steered us toward the front of the building. I'd only been to our town's archeology museum once before, and that was when I was in second grade. That would explain my disorientation as Ash led us through a labyrinth of misaligned halls and display rooms.

I briefly wondered how he knew the museum so well, but I did not have long to think about that, as we soon rounded a corner that led us to a large dome-like sanctuary. The room, dimly by dusty ceiling lights, was home to a vast array of skeletons, from rodents to rhinoceroses. I was positive I'd never seen this room before, but the skeletons were not what had me staring.

Standing in the center of the room was a tough-looking man, probably in his early thirties. His arms were covered in two sleeves of ink, and his ears were punctured by large plugs. More alarming than these was the menacing expression on his face as he took us in.

Accompanying him was a twenty-something girl who looked like she'd just stepped out of a Goth magazine. Dressed in lewd leather, face painted with inky black makeup, she looked nothing short of fierce. For a second, I wondered if the man had brought her along for the same reason Ash had brought me. But then I reasoned that she didn't look the part. Peacemakers usually don't come dressed in spiked leather platform heels.

Ashton's rival—if he could be called that—advanced toward us ominously. The Goth girl, hanging off his arm, moved with him, her darkly painted lips curling into a smutty smirk.

Unconsciously, I moved a bit behind Ash. Right now, he felt safer than everyone else in this room. When he squeezed my hand though, I tried to relax and distance myself again. I hoped desperately that my face remained blank.

Not that it really mattered, for the tattooed man had begun speaking.

His voice was surprisingly nonthreatening, but something in his tone still kept me on edge. "Savvonski." He said the name as though it were somehow amusing. "You look good."

"Thank you," Ashton said coldly.

The man smiled. "Shall we tour? You know I'm all about digging up the past."

Although my eyes were fixed on the two strangers, I could still hear the derisive smirk in Ashton's voice as he replied, "How could I forget, Rowlett?"

With that, this "Rowlett" character turned to Goth girl, whispered something in her ear that made her smirk, and then they began leisurely making their way down one of the pathways that branched out of the clearing.

Glancing down at me for a second as though checking to see that I was still there, Ashton murmured, "Cool guy, right?"

Somehow his words made the situation humorous, so I cracked a smile. Ashton smiled back before moving to follow Rowlett and Goth girl.

It was a long and slow walk down the first hallway, with Rowlett stopping every now and then to observe the artifacts. It didn't take long for him to speak again. "So, how is the family?"

"Fine." Ashton gave a typically granular answer. Then, in a slightly more conversational tone, he asked a question of his own. "How's the crew?"

"Oh, you know," Rowlett drawled, "the usual."

Through a feigned cool, my companion said, "Yeah. I know."

That led to a long silence, neither of the guys seeming to have anything to say. But it only lasted a minute.

"I don't believe you've been acquainted with Fern," Rowlett said suddenly, gesturing to the girl on his arm.

"I don't believe I have," Ashton answered cordially enough, though I could tell he did not care.

Still gripping Rowlett's arm with her polished fingers, Fern turned in an impressive fashion so that she was walking backwards, and she held out her other hand in greeting.

Instead of returning the gesture, Ashton surprised the both of us girls by slinging his arm that was connected to mine over my right shoulder so that he was walking right behind me, his chest pressed to my back. "I'm good."

Rowlett was now looking over his shoulder. A dry chuckle falling from his lips, he commented, "Smart thinking, boy. Looks like you've learned your place."

Ash smirked a little too brazenly.

Only then did I realize what was going on. Rowlettwas clearly not someone to be messed with. And that was exactly what Ashton wasdoing.