Of course, despite all promises to the contrary, Rosa does not come to my room the next morning. Or that evening. I’m sitting in my bed, reading a book, over twenty four hours since the Moon Ball, when she comes crashing in. For once, she isn’t dressed to the nines, wearing a pair of jeans and what I suspect may be Riley’s t-shirt. Her hair, curly as ever, flies and bounces wildly about her head as she throws herself onto my bed.
“Oh, Skylar,” she says. But then she gives a contented sigh and doesn’t elaborate. Her eyes are closed and she wears a massive grin.
“That good?” I ask.
“What?” she asks, clearly barely listening.
“Riley?” I say.
“Oh, yes,” she opens her eyes and turns to me, “well, no, actually. Not the way you mean. We just talked and cuddled and then we went for a run, you
