Alex doesn’t say anything. She just stares forward.

I frown. I wasn’t expecting her to jump at me or to throw flowers at me as if I were her champion or some- thing, but a simple thanks might have been nice. What the hell? Instead, she’s sitting there, not looking at me, not saying anything. She looks angry.

Then she stands. And walks to the door and out. What. The. Hell?

I jump to my feet. “Excuse me, guys; I’ll be back.” The door bangs open as I get out onto the street.

This is a crappy little street, lined with fast-food joints and a few electronics and convenience stores. Alex is already fifty feet away and moving at a fast pace. Where does she think she’s going?

“Hey! Alex!”

She doesn’t stop. Christ on a crutch. I run after her.

“Where are you going?” I ask when I finally catch up.

“Back to my host family, of course. Where else am I going to go?” She’s almost in tears.

“What the hell, Alex? What did I do wrong?”

She stops and turns toward me. “What did you do wrong? More like, what did you do right? You don’t own me, Dylan Paris. You don’t even really know me. We aren’t dating. We aren’t anything.”

I want to say: we could be. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “I was just trying to help.”