That’s what Kris Parks said when she opened the door and saw David and me standing there on her front porch. She actually didn’t say it. She screamed it.

I should have known, of course. I should have known this was going to be how she—and everyone—would react.

In the car on the way over, David had been all, “Now, whose party is this?” and I had tried to explain, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job—most likely on account of the frisson, which was not, unfortunately, going away—since he went, “Let me see if I can get this straight. This is a party being given by a person you don’t like, at which will be a lot of people you don’t know, and we’re going . . . why?”

But when I explained that we had to go on account of how I’d promised my best friend Catherine, he just shrugged and went, “OK.”

And even though he showed not the slightest sign of being aware that every single person in Kris’s house fell silent when we walked in, then started whispering like crazy, he knew. I knew he knew. And not because of the frisson, either. No, I knew it because that little grin of his came creeping back . . . like he was trying not to laugh. I think he was trying not to laugh at all the morons from Adams Prep who couldn’t seem to stop staring at him.

At least he could laugh about it. The only thing I seemed capable of doing was just blushing more and more deeply. What I couldn’t figure out was why. I mean, it wasn’t as if I liked him, or anything. As more than just a friend.

“Hi, I’m Kris,” Kris said, thrusting her hand out at David. She was wearing a denim minidress. Like it wasn’t thirty degrees outside.

“Hi,” David said, shaking the hand of the girl who daily made life for me and so many others a living hell. “I’m David.”

“Hi, David,” Kris said. “I can’t thank you enough for coming. It really is an honour to meet you. Your dad is doing such a good job of running this country. I was too young to vote, you know, in the election, but I want you to know that I totally handed out fliers for him.”

“Thanks,” David said, still smiling, only beginning to look like he might have wanted his hand back. “That was nice of you.”

“Sam and I are just the best of friends,” Kris said, still pumping his fingers up and down. “Did she tell you? Since kindergarten, practically.”

I could not believe this bald-faced lie. I would have said something, only I didn’t get a chance to, since right then Catherine came rushing up to us.

“Omigosh, am I glad to see you,” she whispered to me, after introductions had been made. “You have no idea. Paul and I have just been standing here. No one will talk to us. No one at all! I am so embarrassed! He must think I am a complete social leper!”

I glanced at Paul. He didn’t appear to be thinking any such thing. He was gazing adoringly at Catherine, who looked totally cute in the black jeans and silk top she’d borrowed from Lucy.

I turned back to David—who’d finally pried his hand loose from Kris’s—and asked, “Want a Coke, or something?”

“What?” he asked, unable to hear me over the music, which was not, needless to say, ska.

“Coke?” I asked.

“Sure,” he yelled back. “I’ll get it.”

“No,” I said. “I invited you. I’ll get it.” I looked over his shoulder, at John, who was leaning against a wall and trying to blend in. “I’ll get one for John too. You stay here, or we’ll lose each other.”

Then I started to fight my way through the crowd in the direction that I suspected the beverages were located, as that was where the throng was thickest. I had to admit, I was relieved to be escaping David’s presence. I mean, it was just so weird, this thing that was going on between us. I didn’t know what it was, exactly, but I knew one thing:

I didn’t like it.

As I waded through the laughing, gyrating crowd, I thought to myself, This is what I’ve been missing, being part of the unpopular set? Houses bursting to the seams with loud, obnoxious people and head-pounding music you can’t even understand the lyrics of? Frankly, I’d have preferred to be home watching Nick at Nite and eating spumoni.

But I guess that was just me.

When I got to where I thought the drinks were, all I found was a keg. A keg! Smooth move, Kris. I mean, she had known perfectly well David was coming and that he’d be bringing the Secret Service with him. Hmm, she wasn’t going to get too busted or anything.

And you know what? Couldn’t say I felt too sorry for her, either.

The soda, someone informed me, was in a cooler in a room off the kitchen. So I plunged back into the hordes until I emerged into a laundry room.

And wouldn’t you know it? My sister and Jack were in there, making out on top of the dryer.

Lucy let out a squeal and hopped down from the dryer.

“You came!” she cried. “How’s it going? Where’s David?”

“Out there somewhere,” I said. “I’m getting us sodas.”

“Idiot,” Lucy said. “He‘s supposed to get you the sodas. God. Stay here a minute. I want to get the girls.”

By girls, of course, she meant the rest of the cheerleading squad.

“Luce,” I said. “Come on. Not tonight.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Lucy said. “Stay here with Jack, I’ll be right back. There’re some people who are dying to meet the real live son of an actual President . . .”

And before I could say another word, she’d taken off, leaving me alone with Jack.

Who regarded me thoughtfully over the plastic cup he’d just drained.

“So,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” I said. “Surprisingly good. Thursday, Susan Boone, she made us draw this huge chunk of meat, and it was really cool because I’d never really looked at meat before, you know? I mean, there is a lot going on in meat—”

“That’s great,” Jack said, apparently not realizing he was interrupting me, even though the music wasn’t nearly as loud in the laundry room. “Did you get my painting?”

I looked up at him, uncomprehending. “What painting?”

“My entry,” he said. “In the From My Window contest.”

“Oh,” I said. “No. I mean, I don’t know, I’m sure they got it. I just haven’t seen it yet. I haven’t seen any of the paintings.”

“Well, you’re going to love it,” Jack said. “It took me three days. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Then Jack started describing the painting to me in great detail. He was still going on about it a few minutes later when David showed up in the doorway.

I brightened when I saw him. I couldn’t help it. Even though the object of my affections was standing right there beside me, I was glad to see David. I told myself it was only because that story about the salad-serving utensils had been so cute. It had nothing to do with the whole frisson thing. Nothing at all.

“Hey,” David said, with the grin I now realized was practically his trademark. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”

“David,” I said. “This is my sister Lucy’s boyfriend, Jack. Jack, this is David.”

David and Jack shook hands. Standing together, I saw that actually they looked a lot alike. I mean they were both over six feet tall, and dark-haired. There I guess the resemblance sort of ended though, since Jack’s hair was shoulder-length, while David’s only just hit his collar. And Jack, of course, had the ankh earring, while both of David’s lobes were unpierced. Of course Jack also had on his party clothes—Army fatigues with a long black coat—while David was dressed pretty conservatively.

I guess they didn’t look that much alike after all.

“David’s in my art class,” I said, to break the awkward silence that immediately followed their handshake.

Jack crumpled up his plastic cup and said, “Oh, you mean your conformity class?”

David looked confused. And no wonder. Jack is a very intense person, who needs some getting used to.

I said, hurriedly, “No, Jack, it turns out it’s not like that. I was totally wrong about Susan Boone. She just wants me to learn to draw what I see before I go off, you know, and do my own thing. You have to learn what the rules are, you see, before you can go around breaking them.”

Jack, staring at me, went, “What?”

“No, really,” I said, sensing he wasn’t getting what I was saying. “I mean, you know Picasso? He spent years learning to draw, you know, whatever he saw. It wasn’t until he’d totally mastered that that he started experimenting with colour and form.”

Only Jack, instead of finding this particular fact endlessly interesting, as I had, looked scornful.

“Sam,” he said. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would fall for that pedagogic bull.”

“Excuse me?” David sounded kind of mad.

Jack raised both his eyebrows. “Uh, I don’t think I was talking to you, First Boy.”

“Jack,” I said, a little shocked. I mean, Jack is an amazingly artistic person, and having that kind of, you know, creative energy bouncing around inside can be exhausting (as I well know). But that’s no reason to call anybody names. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me?” Jack laughed, but not like he actually thought anything was very funny. “That’s not the question. The question is, what is wrong with you? I mean, you used to think for yourself, Sam. But now all of a sudden you’re falling for all this “draw what you see” crap like it’s been handed down from the gods on a freaking stone tablet. What happened to questioning authority? What happened to making up your own mind about the creative process and how it functions?”

“Jack,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I mean, Jack had always said it was imperative for artists to be open to all new things so that they could soak in knowledge like a sponge. Only Jack certainly wasn’t acting very sponge-like. “I did make up my own mind. I—”

“Hey, you guys.” Lucy suddenly reappeared, a posse of cheerleaders, each one wearing more body glitter and Lycra than the next, trailing along behind her. “Oh, hey, David, I’ve got some friends who want to meet—”

But I was still trying to make Jack understand.

“I looked it up, Jack,” I said. “David’s right. Picasso was a technical virtuoso before he began experimenting with line and—”

“David,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Oh, yes, I am sure David knows all about art. Because I’m sure he’s had paintings publicly exhibited before.”

Lucy looked from Jack to David to me, as if trying to figure out what was going on. When she spoke, it was to Jack. “Like you have?” she asked, with one raised eyebrow.

Lucy really is the most unsupportive girlfriend I have ever seen.

“Yes,” Jack said. “As a matter of fact I have had my paintings exhibited—”

“In the mall,” Lucy pointed out.

Jack didn’t even look at Lucy, though. He was looking at me. I could feel his pale-blue eyes boring into me.

“If I didn’t know better, Sam,” he said, “I’d think it wasn’t your arm you broke that day you saved this guy’s dad, but your brain.”

“OK,” David said. There was no trace of that secretive little smile on his face now. “Look, dude, I don’t know what your problem is, but—”

“My problem?” Jack jabbed a finger at himself. “I’m not the one with the problem, dude. You’re the one who seems so perfectly willing to let your individuality be sapped by a—”

“OK,” Lucy said in a bored voice, slipping between Jack and David and laying both hands on the front of Jack’s long black coat. “That’s it. Outside, Jack.”

Jack looked down at her as if noticing her for the first time. “But,” he said, “Luce, this guy started it.”

“Right,” Lucy said, pushing Jack backwards towards a door that seemed to lead into the backyard. “Sure he did. Let’s just step outside and get some air. How many beers have you had, anyway?”

Then they were gone, leaving David and me alone. With Lucy’s cheerleading squad.

David looked down at me and went, “What’s with that guy, anyway?”

Still looking after Jack—whom I could see through the screen door, gesturing wildly to Lucy as he explained his side of the story—I murmured, “He’s not so bad. He just, you know. Has the soul of an artist.”

“Yeah,” David said. “And the brains of an orangutan.”

I glanced back at him, sharply. I mean, that was my soulmate he was talking about.

“Jack Slater,” I said, “happens to be very, very talented. Not only that, but he is a rebel. A radical. Jack’s paintings don’t just reflect the plight of the urban youth of today. They make a powerful statement about our generation’s apathy and lack of moral rectitude.”

The look David gave me was a strange one. It seemed equal parts disbelief and confusion.