THE LOBBY
Monday, September 28th
5:48 P.M.
Kristen triple-pushed the elevator button. If she could just get upstairs and change out of her Socc-Hers uniform before her mother got home, she’d never, ever, ev-er, be too lazy to Range-change again. This time she meant it. Pinky-swear!
She hyper-pushed the up arrow for the eighty-third time.
“Miss Gregory?” Willard, the building’s door attendant, asked politely.
OMG, Mom! Marsha must have been walking in behind her! Maydayyyyyy!
Kristen speed-ducked behind the waxy green leaves of the lobby ficus.
“Miss Gregory!” Willard called. “Who ya hiding from? The fashion police?” He chuckled, the stubbly pink skin below his chin reverberating with glee. If Kristen hadn’t been so embarrassed, she might have laughed too.
“Oh, no one.” She emerged, cheeks on fire. “Forget it.”
“If it’s a handsome boy about your age, you’re too late. He already went up to your floor.” He winked.
Kristen’s insides did the wave. “What boy?”
“The boy who dropped this.” Willard shuffled over to Kristen and handed her a worn leather cuff with the letter D scratched into the center. Was it Dempsey’s?
Finally, the elevator stuttered open.
“I’ll take it to him.” Kristen grabbed the cuff and hurried inside. “Thanks,” she called, pushing door-close with finger-whitening intensity.
The inside of the elevator smelled faintly of coconuts. Instinctively, Kristen reached for her necklace and ran the shark tooth back and forth across the leather strap. According to the crumpled itinerary at the bottom of her soccer bag, Dune should have landed two hours ago.
Kristen checked her messages . . . again. Still no “I’m home” text.
But instead of questioning Dune’s feelings for her—-something she normally would have done—her thoughts returned instantly to the D cuff sealed inside her sweaty fist.
What was it about her new neighbor that made her skin buzz? It had to be the anxiety she felt knowing both Layne and Massie were counting on her to play cupid. It had to be.
After a slight jerk, the doors parted. Kristen headed straight for 10G, overcome by the sudden urge to run. She knocked gently even though she wanted to pound.
Dempsey opened the door immediately. Amber-scented incense filled the hall. “Hey.” He smiled, his eyes even greener than they’d been at lunch. “Cool uniform.”
Kristen pinched her sequin-covered dress. “Oh yeah.” She blushed.
“Did Massie design them?” His face illuminated when he said her name.
Kristen nodded yes.
“Wow,” he mouthed, scanning her.
Was he impressed because he thought:
A) Massie was talented?
B) Massie was insane?
C) He thought Kristen looked hawt?
D) He thought Kristen looked like Las Vegas?
E) No idea whatsoever. 
“What?” Kristen asked self-consciously.
“This whole cheerleading thing is awesome.” He gave her a hearty thumbs-up.
“Really?” She grinned. “You don’t think it’s lame?”
“What’s lame about having the coolest girls at school cheering while you’re playing soccer?” He glanced at his bare feet, then lifted his head with a hopeful grin. “Hey, we should all go to Rye Playland this weekend. You know, the soccer team and the cheerleaders. My parents rented out the park so they could take some visiting orphans. It should be pretty cool.”
Kristen slowly began to relax, like an overblown balloon with a tiny leak. “Sure.” She considered asking him which cheerleader he thought was the “coolest.” Which one he wanted to sit beside on the Dragon Coaster. Which one he was really asking out. But Kristen stopped herself when she heard his mom.
“Dempsey!” she shouted. “Come set the table.”
This time he blushed. “I better go.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Kristen held out her hand. “You dropped your bracelet in the lobby.”
Dempsey eyed the sweaty cuff. “’That’s not mine. I don’t do real leather.”
“It’s nawt?” OMG! If it wasn’t Dempsey’s, that meant the D stood for . . .
“Dempseeeeeey.”
“Better go.” He rolled his eyes. “See ya tomorrow?”
Kristen nodded yes as he shut the door.
“It’s mine,” declared a familiar boy’s voice.
Kristen whip-turned, her heart beating double-time. “EhMaGawd!”
Dune was sitting Indian-style on the floor reading a Silver Surfer comic book. His skin was so tanned she could barely see him in the dimly lit hallway.
“Nice necklace.” He smiled shyly.
“You’re here!” Kristen stood above him awkwardly while her internal hard drive rebooted.
His bracelet.
Her crush.
Dune Baxter.
Back from Tavarua.
She had waited weeks for this moment.
Imagined it playing out a billion different ways.
Yet not one of them like this.
Kristen had no idea if she should:
A) Ask how his trip was?
B) Wait for him to stand?
C) Lean down?
D) Hug him?
E) Kiss him?
F) If E, then lip or cheek?
G) Start talking about the first thing that came to
her mind to avoid making a decision she’d probably regret?
“Dude, you have no idea what’s been going on,” she prattled with hushed urgency, in case Dempsey could hear.
“What?” He stood, like his help might be called upon any minute.
“LayneandMassiebothlikemyneighborDempseyandtheybothwantmetotalktohimforthem.IshouldhelpMassiebecause she’smyBFFbutMassiedoesn’tknowI’mfriendswithLayne andLaynesaidIoweherbigtimewhichIdobecauseshehelpedmeget—” Kristen stopped before she revealed too much. “Anyway”—she sighed—“I don’t know what to do.”
“Easy.” Dune stuffed the comic book in the back pocket of his baggy faded Hurley jeans. “Massie probably likes him because he’s trendy. She’ll find someone else. Help Layne. She’s cooler.”
Kristen smiled. Even though his advice was helpful minus fifty, it was good to have her voice of reason back. Dune had a good (-looking!) head on his shoulders.
“So.” He flicked her ponytail. “Your hair grew a lot.”
“It’s fake.” Kristen giggled, then immediately wished she’d chosen a different word. “It’s my cheerleading costume.”
“Cheerleading?”
“Yeah, I know.” Kristen rolled her eyes. “It’s this new thing we’re kind of doing as an experiment.”
“You look like an OCDiva,” he told her long bare legs.
“That’s not all she looks like.”
“Mom?” Kristen gasp-turned.
Marsha was standing behind them gripping a brown bag of groceries, nibbling her lower lip. “Hi, Dune, welcome home. It’s lovely to see you. Now leave.”
“But Mom!”
Marsha cupped her ear. “I’m sorry, did you hear an ex-cheerleader say something?”
“Mom, I can explain.”
“Goodbye, Dune.”
He backed into the elevator as if Marsha’s forceful glare were pushing him.
As the doors closed, Dune wiggled his thumbs, letting Kristen know he’d text her later.
“Your bracelet!” She waved the cuff, but it was too late. Dune was gone.
“Inside!” Marsha insisted, turning her key while balancing the grocery bag on her knee.
“But—” Kristen began, and then stopped. She probably could have convinced her mother to let her run after Dune and return his leather D. But for some reason, she just didn’t feel like it.