Thank you to Stacy Cantor, editorial princess, whose magic red pen royally helped this book. Thanks to all of my friends, online and off, for your support and continued encouragement of my writing. You all rock! To Jim McCarthy, my prince of an agent.

"That guy is staring at you."

I glanced over at the far right corner of the cafeteria and groaned. Melinda was right. In fact, I knew the tall, dark-haired guy in the faded Van Halen T-shirt and navy blue hooded sweatshirt had been staring at me for about ten minutes and I was relieved someone else had noticed.

"Who is he?" I asked. "I don't recognize him from around here."

"No idea. Some loser."

"Just ignore him," I suggested.

She grinned at me before taking a sip from her bottle of Evian, the sum total of her Wednesday lunch. "Maybe he wants to ask you to Winter Formal."

I made a face. "No, thank you."

"Well, he's going to be too late." Her grin widened. "Because I know who is going to ask you." I blinked. "Who?"

She shrugged. "Can't tell. It's a secret. But not for long." Great. A secret. I felt my blood pressure shoot up about fifty points right then, wondering who she was talking about.

Melinda looked way too proud of herself. She couldn't possibly know how much stress she was causing me with her cryptic statements. She didn't have any comprehension of what a loser I'd been before transferring to Erin Heights High School two months ago-not that I felt all that much different now.

Though I'd seriously lucked out when I'd become friends with her.

Not only did my mom move us three thousand miles away from our old home in San Diego, but she'd moved us right out of the country. We were now settled in the small town of Erin Heights, which was about thirty minutes west of Toronto, in Canada, nestled right next to Lake Ontario. Mom had been born in the area so she was excited to be back. Me? Not so much.