Meg Summer wanted one thing before winter: for Charlie to ask her to the formal. Instead, he called her a silly little kid. Today she planned to change his mind. She hid a plate of cookies behind her back and waited by the huge oak tree with the blue glowing buds, where Charlie always passed after practice. She had practiced her line all morning. When he came into view, she stepped out too fast, tripped on a root, and dropped the whole plate. Cookies rolled into the dirt. Charlie laughed, shook his head, and kept walking. "Cute," he said, not stopping. "Careful, kid." Meg stood in the leaves with her cheeks burning. Every time she tried, she looked younger. The braid, the pink top, the giggles. She didn't understand why nothing worked. A girl in a dark dress sat on the gazebo steps nearby, reading. Charlie's little sister. Jill Harper watched the whole mess over the top of her book. She had auburn pigtails and green eyes that missed nothing. "You keep doing that," Jill said. She didn't look up. "The trip. The cookies. The waiting by his tree." Meg wiped her hands on her shorts. "You saw that?" "Everyone sees it." Jill turned a page. "That's the problem." Meg crossed to the gazebo and sat. "You're his sister. Tell me what he thinks. Please." Jill closed the book. She studied Meg for a long moment, like she was deciding whether the truth was worth spending. "He thinks you're a mascot," Jill said. "Something to pat on the head. You laugh at everything. You never disagree with him. You wait around for him to notice you." She shrugged. "He can't ask a mascot to a dance." Meg's throat tightened. "So I'm just... a joke to him." "You made yourself easy to laugh at," Jill said. "Boys like Charlie don't chase what already worships them. He wants someone who doesn't need him." She tilted her head. "Right now that's the opposite of you." Meg looked at the ruined cookies in the dirt. She had thought sweetness was the plan. It was the trap. "How do you know all this?" Meg asked. "I get straight A's," Jill said, opening her book again. "I pay attention. He talks. I listen." Meg stood. The old script was dead. No more waiting by the tree. No more chasing his laugh. If Charlie wanted someone who didn't need him, she would stop needing him, all the way, until it hurt. "Thank you," Meg said. She meant it. Jill glanced up, surprised for the first time. "You're taking that better than I thought." "I finally know the rules," Meg said. "Now I get to break them." She left the cookies where they fell. Behind her, the blue buds glowed in the oak. For the first time, Meg didn't turn to see if Charlie was watching.