Abby squeezed Emily's arm. "The ratio of guys to girls here is four to one," she whispered. "So you'll totally hook up tonight. I always do." So Abby didn't know about Emily. "Oh. Great." Emily tried to smile. Abby winked and jumped out of the truck. Emily followed the others toward the silo. The air smelled like Clinique Happy perfume; hoppy, soapy beer; and dried grass. When she walked inside, she expected to see bales of hay, a farm animal or two, and perhaps a bare, unstable ladder that led to a freaky girl's bedroom, just like in The Ring. Instead, the silo had been cleared out and Christmas lights hung from the ceiling. Plush, plum-colored couches lined the walls, and Emily saw a turntable in the corner and a bunch of enormous kegs near the back. Abby, who'd already grabbed a beer, pulled a couple of guys toward Emily. Even in Rosewood, they would've been popular--they all had floppy hair, angular faces, and brilliant white teeth. "Brett, Todd, Xavi...this is my cousin Emily. She's from Pennsylvania." "Hi," Emily said, shaking the boys' hands. "Pennsylvania." The boys nodded appreciatively, as if Abby had said Emily was from Naughty Dirty Sex Land. As Abby wandered off with one of the boys, Emily made her way to the keg. She stood in line behind a blond couple who were grinding against each other. The DJ melted into Timbaland, whom everyone at Rosewood was into right now, too. Really, people in Iowa didn't seem that different from people at her school. The girls all wore denim skirts and wedge heels, and the guys wore oversize hoodies and baggy jeans, and seemed to be experimenting with facial hair. Emily wondered where all of them went to school, or if their parents homeschooled them as well. "Are you the new girl?" A tall, white-blond girl in a striped tunic and dark jeans stood behind her. She had the broad shoulders and powerful stance of a professional volleyball player, and four small earrings snaked up her left ear. But

there was something very sweet and open about her round face, light blue eyes, and small, pretty lips. And unlike practically every other girl in the silo, she didn't have a guy's hands draped over her boobs. "Uh, yeah," Emily replied. "I just got here today." "And you're from Pennsylvania, right?" The girl pivoted back on her hips and appraised Emily carefully. "I was there once. We went to Harvard Square." "I think you mean Boston, in Massachusetts," Emily corrected her. "That's where Harvard is. Pennsylvania has Philadelphia. The Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin stuff, all that." "Oh." The girl's face fell. "I haven't been to Pennsylvania, then." She lowered her chin at Emily. "So. If you were candy, what kind would you be?" "Sorry?" Emily blinked. "Come on." The girl poked her. "Me, I'd be an M&M." "Why?" Emily asked. The girl lowered her eyes seductively. "Because I melt in your mouth, obviously." She poked Emily. "So how about you?" Emily shrugged. This was the strangest getting-to-know-you question anyone had ever asked her, but she kind of liked it. "I've never thought about it. A Tootsie Roll?" The girl violently shook her head. "You wouldn't be a Tootsie Roll. That looks like a big long poop. You'd be something way sexier than that." Emily breathed in very, very slowly. Was this girl flirting with her? "Um, I think I need to know your name before we talk about...sexy candy." The girl stuck out her hand. "I'm Trista." "Emily." As they shook, Trista spiraled her thumb around the inside of Emily's palm. She never took her eyes off Emily's face. Maybe this was just some sort of cultural Iowan way of saying hello. "Do you want a beer?" Emily sputtered, turning back for the keg.