"...Josh isn't really your brother," Celeste said seriously, "much as I'd sometimes like to donate him to you."

"Pres isn't my brother either."

"He'll be your stepbrother," Celeste reminded me. "You'll be living in the same house with him."

"And that," I said with a triumphant smile, "will give me the chance I need to get close to him."

"It'll also give you time to drive each other crazy, just like Josh and me," Celeste said.

"Hey, you and Josh get along great," I said. But Celeste's implication got me thinking. What if Pres and I didn't get along? What if we wound up bickering constantly like some brothers and sisters I could name? That would never happen—would it?

"Sometimes Josh and I are at each other's throats," Celeste said. "And," she added, grinning, "the reason we usually do get along so well is that I'm just so accommodating." She laughed, because she was anything but.

"All right, all right." I wasn't going to spoil the afternoon by arguing. Instead I changed the subject. "So. Who will be the next guy in your life?"

"Next guy?"

"Celeste. It's been two weeks since you broke up with Riley. That's a record for you to be single. I figured you'd have somebody scoped out by now."

"I don't know." Celeste rolled onto her back. "I just can't seem to get excited about anyone. There aren't many decent guys left."

"There must be one or two," I teased. "What about a senior? That way we could go to the graduation ball together."

"What?" Celeste sat up. "You lost me there."

"Graduation is only three months away," I reminded her. "By then Pres and I will be a couple and so of course we'll go to the graduation party. If you hook a senior, we can both go to the party. Simple, right?"

"Simpleminded if you ask me," Celeste replied. "First of all, I think you greatly overestimate my ability to attract guys, especially when you're talking seniors. Second, I haven't seen any signs that you and Pres will be a couple by then, if ever."

"If I'm an optimist," I said, "then you're a pessimist. You have to think positively if you expect to make things happen."

"You have to be realistic too," Celeste said. "Thinking positively and daydreaming about what you'd like to happen will only set you up for a letdown when things don't turn out the way you hope."

"All right," I said patiently. I was used to Celeste's "constructive" criticism. "Let's just agree to disagree about our outlooks on life. Meanwhile, why don't you look for some gorgeous senior, just in case everything works out the way I know it will."

Celeste sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Right now we'd better finish packing up all this stuff, or I'll never be ready to move by tomorrow."

With Celeste's help I was able to finish packing with just enough time to finish my hair and makeup before the rehearsal dinner. Since it was just Mom, Pres's father, my grandmother, Pres, and me, we were going to dinner at the Oceanview Inn, then to the Rose Room in the Town Hall. I took care to look especially nice, getting my hair just right, even using a touch of the lavender eye shadow I'd bought to match my bridesmaid's dress. I thought it made my eyes look even greener.

When I was all ready, I sat at my dresser and checked my hair once more in the mirror. My gaze fell to the small, leather–framed picture of my father that I hadn't yet packed. I had not only his wide–set green eyes, but also his thick, copper–colored hair. I often wished I'd inherited his high cheekbones instead of Mom's apple cheeks, but all in all I couldn't complain.

I had only a few memories of Dad, but they were surprisingly clear, considering that I'd been only six years old when he'd died. I remember sitting on his lap in the oversized recliner; giggling while he halfheartedly lectured me for some forgotten misdeed; running down the long, narrow aisle in his sporting–goods store and being gathered into his arms and swung up in the air.

I also remember the day I rushed out of school to find Mom waiting for me, even though I was old enough to walk home by myself. Her eyes were red. I knew she'd been crying. Daddy had been taken to the hospital—he'd had a heart attack. There were endless days of waiting before, finally, the really bad news.

He'd always be Daddy in my heart, though I was about to have a new father. Stepfather, that is. It would certainly take getting used to, having a dad after all these years. Especially since Mr. Nelsen—I mean Bill—was the head of the English Department at my high school. I'd have to wait until my junior year to have him for a teacher, since he taught upper–level classes, but in less than twenty–four hours I'd have him for a parent. He seemed nice enough, despite his reputation at school for being strict, so I didn't anticipate any problems.

Getting used to living with Pres would be another matter. Seeing him first thing in the morning, at meals, evenings, weekends—always. I'd have to monitor my heart rate.

"Rebecca!" Mom called up the stairs. "Are you ready? Bill just pulled into the driveway."

"Be right down, Mom." I smoothed my hair and splashed on a few drops of lilac cologne. I took a deep breath and slowly descended the stairs.

Pres stood in the front hallway. I smiled my brightest smile, preparing myself for the evening ahead, for the opportunity to achieve one of my major goals. At dinner I would get up the nerve to actually get into a deep, meaningful conversation with Pres.