"Business? But last night you two ..." My voice trailed off as I tried to find the politically correct term to recap Mom's rage and his attempts to calm her down.

"Yeah, well, she and I talked a few times today about refinancing the mortgage. Seems to make the most sense right now."

Relief overshadowed my shock. "Great," I said- and meant it. While I'd been totally ready to step up with the mortgage thing, I was more than happy to "be the kid again" and hand this responsibility to Dad. Besides, he'd be likely to make things better, unlike moi.

I got off the phone and helped Mom stir-fry some veggies. I kept thinking Alison would call ... surely Jared had told her about my nose disaster? But after dinner, I couldn't wait any longer, so I decided to pick up the phone myself.

Jared answered.

Crazy as it seemed, my heart went all erratic.

"Hey, it's Nic," I managed.

"How's your nose?"

"Not as bad as Rascal's."

He laughed.

My accusations about the digital photo seemed to fly out the window. It was like they'd never happened. And it was no longer like talking to my best friend's older brother. Or a friend, even. Somehow, while I hadn't been looking, he'd stepped up to the role he'd once teased me about. He'd become an Extra-Hot Senior. And I was a lowly junior, trying to catch my shallow breath.

"Thanks for the sign today," I told him after a silence. "It was great."

"You're welcome. I'd originally planned to do something with bright colors at the print shop, but then suddenly I didn't have a car."

"I loved it just the way it was," I gushed.

Then I realized I'd said "loved." Not "liked" or "really liked." Did he notice, too?

"So," I said, and swallowed hard. "I was wondering if Alison was home?"

"She's in the shower. But I'll tell her you called."

"Okay, thanks." I bit my lip, giving him ample opportunity to take charge of the conversation-tell me stuff, ask me stuff (like out).

But again, no dice. He just said he'd see me tomorrow, and we disconnected.

"Yeah," I said. Then held the receiver against my cheek and let out a sigh.

Alison didn't call back. All night.

I tried not to keep looking at the clock. (How long could a shower take?) I tried not to overa.n.a.lyze every aspect of our friendship-what I might have done to make her mad. I tried not to worry and/or care. But I failed on every point.

Taking gel and a brush to my hair the next morning, I ran through can-we-talk scenarios with Alison in my head. But since I didn't know what she would come back at me with, it was pretty hard to bring them to hug-and-make-up endings.

Alison didn't stop by my locker before first period. When I spotted her by a junk machine later, she suddenly got very busy studying her choices. I imagined her thinking: Hmmm ... M&M's or Skittles? Say hi to Nic or pretend not to see her?

My head told me to catch a clue and walk on by. But my gut wouldn't give up that easily. This was Alison- who knew me better than anyone in the world, who knew that in my weakest moments I zipped inside The Dress and sang old Beatles songs. Alison, who'd seen me through so many tough days before.

"You'll be proud of me," I said, trying to break the ice.

After a silence so long I wondered if I'd celebrated a birthday, she looked up. Her expression flat, nonread-able. "Oh, and why is that?"

No! No, no, no. no. She was supposed to guess. But like a meteor had fallen from the sky and thunked my head, I realized that of course, she hadn't forgotten. She just wasn't playing.

I worked fast for something neutral so I could go off and regroup before I did something goofy like tear up. "I tackled my hair today instead of just throwing it back."

"Your hair? I thought you said you were over Rascal."

"I am."

"Oh, you're telling me your sudden interest in your hair isn't totally guy-related?"

I had thick skin for slams from girls like Kylie. But not from Alison. "Okay, fine, I was up early, worried about seeing you today. It's like you're avoiding me. You didn't come to my game yesterday. You didn't call me, even after I left a message. I did my hair this morning just to keep my hands busy while I thought about what to say to you."

There: the truth.

She grabbed a Snickers bar from the well of the machine and tore open the wrapper. "You're right," she said, and shrugged. "Jared did tell me, but I didn't call you back."

My heart jumped to my throat. No "I'm sorry"? Who was this redheaded girl? "We need to talk."

"About what? You and my brother?"

"Actually, about what's happening between you and me. I mean, Jared and I-"

"Spare me."

"Alison! It's not what you think."

"How would you know what I think? When practically the only McCreary you talk to these days is Jared?"

Hey-that wasn't fair. "It's not my fault you hide from me and don't call me back."

"Look," she said, "I'd love to stay and chat, but really, I think we're done here."

My mouth dropped open.

She turned and walked away. So very civilized. So in control.

Leaving me so incredibly heartbroken that I couldn't even stand to think about it. More heartbroken than any guy could possibly make me feel.

Hang much-loved dress above Alison's locker with the words "Best Friends Forever" spray-painted on the fabric

That evening, Alison didn't call-again. Not that I really expected her to any more than I expected to wake up the next morning two inches taller or with a perfectly coiffed 'do. (But hey a girl could dream.) In fact, not only did I wake up still short and best-friend-challenged, but as I shuffled into the kitchen, I patted down what felt like Shredded Mini-Wheats on my head.

When my mother announced that my dad and Autumn were coming by later, I thought maybe my brain was malfunctioning, too.

"He's going to sign those re-fi papers," she added.

I swirled orange juice in my mouth to keep from blurting out the words charging through my head. You're letting Dad and his sp.a.w.n of the she-devil into our house?

She popped rye bread into the toaster. "He apparently has a job interview down here as well."

I swallowed-hard. In the L.A. area? That would be one monster commute. Unless he sold the beige monstrosity and moved back this way. Or left Caffeine. Hmmm....

Then another thought hit, hammer hard. Where would Autumn be during this interview? "You're- we're-not baby-sitting the little brat, are we?"

Mom turned, little lines creasing her forehead. "No," she said, then seemed to consider it. "No, I'm sure he'll work that out. Although why that woman doesn't take more responsibility for her own child, I'll never know."

I got real busy tearing the seal off a carton of yogurt. No way was I risking putting my foot in my mouth again.

Besides, I knew what she meant about needing to take more responsibility. I was guilty there, too. Not with Dad or Autumn, but with Coach Luther. For as much as I wanted to believe Kylie would keep her promise and keep her big mouth shut, she was not one to be trusted. And the fact that I had no idea how she'd gotten a copy of that picture kept gnawing at my nerves.

A heart-to-heart with Luther had as much appeal as wisdom-tooth removal, but if I was lucky it might save me a lot of unnecessary pain, too. Though it was equally likely to backfire.

Alison and I pretended not to see each other in the halls at school. Which, if I allowed myself to think about it, did terrible things to my insides. But also made it less complicated to head toward Luther's office at the lunch bell.

"Antonovich," she uttered, crisp and controlled, looking up. "What can I do for you?"

My heart felt like it was thrashing around my rib cage, and I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. "Can I talk to you?"

At her direction, I sank down in the chair opposite her desk. Posters and calendars showing sports figures lined her walls, alongside photos of her with former Hillside players, and one of Luther herself in a college-volleyball uniform.

As if she had a life. Besides tormenting us.

I took a deep breath. "There's a picture of me going around. Holding a can of beer. I know something like that would be automatic grounds for expulsion off the team," I went on, my words coming out faster and faster, "but you need to know-you need to believe-that I was only holding it for someone else, that I don't drink and never have. And that being your starting center is, like, the most important thing in my whole life, the only thing that's going right."

I paused to breathe. And to squeeze the arms of the chair for protection from a sudden windstorm or spontaneous combustion or something.

"I a.s.sume," she merely said, "there's more to this story?"

"That's it," I managed.

"It? Come on, Antonovich. You can do better than that."

And so, simply, I did. I told her about the mortgage. My estranged father. Autumn. Caffeine. Hiring Jared to drive me. (Twice.) Which, of course, led to the tales about Rascal. The Dress. The prom I didn't attend. Kylie. The friends with benefits rumors. And Alison. Especially Alison. And how much it hurt to be at odds with my best friend.

By that point, tears filmed my eyes. When I was finally done, I let out a little hiccup-cough. And what remained of my pride. "More than you wanted to know, huh, Coach?"

Leaning back in her swivel chair, she steepled her fingers. A tense silence enveloped the room, making my lungs feel like they might burst. (And in the recesses of my mind, I could hear the crumbling of the volleyball scholarship letter that I'd once believed would be my yellow brick road.) "If a picture of you with alcohol comes across this desk," she said, and pressed her lips together, "I'll be put between a rock and a hard place."

I shuddered, feeling terrible about distressing the woman I (secretly) lived to please.

"For the team's sake, and for your own."

Team ... team ... like I would still be on it?

"So let's take care of this right here and now. The official word is you've already explained the situation to me, how the picture was doctored to make it simply look like you were holding a beer. Am I clear? And in return for this favor, I will expect you ..."

Her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed. But for once, she did not scare me. I'd do anything-even play smash ball with my sore nose-if it meant keeping my position.

Finally, she frowned. "You will skip practice today and go straight home. Turn off the phone, kick off your shoes, pop in your favorite DVD. And stop thinking about other people. Stop thinking, period. Just veg. All afternoon. All night. All weekend, if that's what it takes. So when you come to practice on Monday, your head is completely clear of family, friends, and problems. And back in this game."

"That's ... it?"

"Nicolette," she said, her voice oddly gentle. (Nicolette. Not Antonovich?) "It sounds like you're going through enough."

My gaze traveled across her, wondering if another being had crossed the s.p.a.ce-time continuum and entered her body. That was the only reasonable explanation.

"Now get out of here!" she suddenly bellowed. "Before I change my mind!"

A smile quivered at my mouth, and I ran like h.e.l.l.

Coach Luther's unexpected compa.s.sion so completely lifted my spirits that I couldn't even b.u.m out too badly over Alison. But as I was stepping down the front steps after the last bell, my quasi-best friend appeared beside me and did a double take at my backpack. "Don't you have practice?"

My heart sped up. I so wanted to fall into a natural and normal conversation, so wanted our life back. "Luther gave me a Get Out of Practice Free card."

"Why?"

"I talked to her about the digital picture. Explained it wasn't what it looked like. In case Kylie decided to go through with her blackmail threat."

Then I waited for Alison to grin. To nod. To do something besides continue glaring at me.

Finally, she said, "In other words, you're messing with Rascal again and covering your b.u.t.t?"

Oh, come on-enough with this Rascal stuff! Did she really care? Or was it just easier to harp on any feelings I'd had for Rascal than for her brother?

"No," I said forcefully, and sighed. I mean, if anyone was guilty of anything here it was Alison, for taking the picture in the first place.

A noise burst from her mouth, half growl, half laugh, half groan. (You get the idea.) "When are you going to get that he totally used you? That he only asked you to the prom because he knew it would get back to Kylie, that she'd go berserk and come home?"

Numbly, I gave my ring a manic twist. Say ... what?

"Yeah," she went on. "Kylie could have handled him going with anyone but you."

Her face swam before my eyes as I tried to take it in. Never-never-did I think Rascal had asked me for my beauty or status. I'd figured I was just the best of the slim pickings. But I couldn't ignore what she was saying. It did explain how I so suddenly became a bleep on his radar screen.