Through the large window facing the hallway, I can see the crowd hasn’t dispersed. Instead, the mass of bodies has increased since my moment of glory. Almost everyone gawks at me—laughing. My mom said Eli’s family was psychotic, but this...this is...

The door squeaks open and the guy who caught me and kept me from falling to the floor enters the room with a can of Sprite. He’s rocked out in those loose jeans, a studded black belt and a black T-shirt. “Olivia says it’s not officially a party until somebody pukes.”

“Glad I added to the fun.”

He perches on the edge of the folding chair across from me and offers the Sprite. “Eli told me to get you this.”

I keep my hands planted in my lap. Nothing today has gone right and I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m done puking.

“It’s Sprite, not crack,” he says.

“Thank you.” I accept the soda and set it on the desk. “Are you my cousin?”

He doesn’t resemble me or Eli with his blue eyes and grown-out black hair. The type of hair that’s not overly long, but long enough that girls would be drawn to him because it’s the correct length for seductive rebellion. The ends lick the collar of his shirt and hide his ears. He has the type of hair Blake Harris was suspended from school over. But that’s not where my eyes linger. What captivates me is the way the sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his muscles. He’s ripped in a very awesome way.

“No blood relation,” he answers.

Good, because he has that alternative-music-band hotness and thinking someone I’m related to is sexy could send me into another meltdown.

“Will you do all of us a favor?” he asks.

I shrug, not exactly in the mood for conversation.

“Play nice with Olivia, then leave.”

“Excuse me? Play nice? With her? She freaked me out.”

He leans back in the chair and sprawls his legs out in a way that makes him appear larger than life and leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “Look, I know you’re going all prodigal daughter, but this ain’t the time or place. This is Olivia’s party and you’re ruining it.”

“Prodigal what?”

“Daughter. Bible. The long-lost son returning home.”

I stare at him, not sure what to say.

He gives a short laugh. “I heard that about your mom. Gave up God and family.”

No one speaks badly about my mom. “I heard you’re all crazy. And guess what? It’s true.”

“Why? Because Olivia’s enjoying her life?”

“Because she plays make-believe in a coffin and all of you are okay with it.”

“Better than screaming like a two-year-old and puking our guts out.”

I was wrong—he’s not hot. He’s evil. Very, very evil. “It’s sick. This whole thing is sick. You people are absolutely insane!”

The guy stands. “You need to leave. You want to see Eli? Wait for him to spend all his money so he can visit you this summer. This party is for Olivia and the people who care for her. You don’t belong here.”

The door opens and Eli and Olivia walk in. Eli had been smiling, but one flickering glance between me and Sprite guy and Eli’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Is there a problem, Oz?”

His crazy name suits this insane day. Oz flashes an easygoing grin and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to slap him. “Nope.”

Eli surveys me and his jaw relaxes. “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed—yes. Mortified—definitely. Okay—not at all. “Yeah.”

“I need to speak to my granddaughter.” Olivia pats Oz’s arm.

He envelops her in a bear of a hug, looks at me over her shoulder and mouths “leave.” He walks out and I’ve never been so happy to see someone go in my life. Hot or otherwise.

Olivia eases into the chair across from me, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her jeans and lights one up. “I have cancer and the doctors aren’t hopeful.”

I steal a peek at Eli, who rests his back against the wall. He’s watching me, and I suddenly feel like a fish in a glass bowl. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Olivia says. “I’ve fought a good fight and lived a great life. God calls us all home at some point.” She blows out the smoke and I swallow the cough that tickles my throat.

“Funerals are expensive,” she states. It’s a pause and an uncomfortable one. She props her elbow on the desk, and I’m strangely fascinated by the way she holds her forearm up and dangles the cigarette from her bent hand.

“Okay,” I prompt, hoping this will continue the conversation.

She nails Eli’s smile and I notice her dark eyes—my eyes. Olivia is pretty and doesn’t seem old enough to have a granddaughter my age. A part of me wonders if I’ll resemble her when I grow older.

“And if I’m going to waste that much money on a party, I prefer to be part of the action.”

“So you planned your own funeral and attended it.” Weird. Very, very weird.

“Yes. Sorry about earlier. Bad timing. I thought I’d test-drive the bed in a box. See what these bones could be spending eternity in. It’s either that or the furnace.”

I shift in my chair. That’s not weird. It’s nuts.

“Eli fucked up the e-mail to your family. Put in the obituary instead of the party announcement. I wrote the two at the same time. Figured I’d be the best person to write what I want people to read after I bite.” Olivia takes another drag off her cigarette and flicks the ashes into a coffee mug.