Mrs. DeMarco is the sweetest woman I've ever met. After I left the train, a carry-on bag across my shoulder, she was already waiting in the luggage area, her smile brighter than the luminous glare of lights in the small station. Her blonde hair was sashaying down her back like silk that the goddesses wore.

"Eleanor Cambridge?" she asked me sweetly when I started walking towards her, already aware of what she looked like, and then I nodded, and she hugged me. It was quaint, a small form of comfort that made me grin. "Oh, it's so good to meet you! I just got off the phone with your mother! I'll have to call her back and let her know that you arrived! But for now, how was the trip? Are you tired? I bet you are! Let's get you home, fed, and in bed."

At the moment, I didn't tell her that it was only eight at night, and I probably wouldn't be sleeping for some time, only let her drag me to her 2009 Lincoln MKX with no argument. We loaded up the bags, and I sat in the passenger seat, and she told me about her home-two children with a husband who works a lot-and how excited she was for me to be staying there for a week and a half.

Now, I'm in the guest room of their giant house, and I am panicking. The phone is pressed against my ear as I stuff my clothes into the empty drawers-mahogany wood, polished and beautiful. Rich.

Mom is on the other side, fussing over me. "I'm just making sure you've got everything! Toothbrush?"

"Yes, Mom." It's sitting in the guest bathroom with all of my other supplies. Mom packed so much that it made me feel like I was moving out. "I've got my shampoo and conditioner, too."

"Good," she says. Then, "Did Elizabeth make sure the dinner you had was vegetarian?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes, she did. I had some vegetable fried rice. It was good." My back smacks against the headboard as I sit down on the bed, and I stare ahead of me, eyes caught on my hand.

"I'm glad," Mom tells me. There's a crackle, then Mom laughs heartily, Dad's booming chuckle following behind it. "I think your father wants to talk to you, El."

Stomach curling, I let the warm heat from the vents wash over me, try to calm my aching nerves. It's just my dad. He's not dangerous. There's no way that Ron-

"Hey, Ellie!" he shouts merrily. "We miss you already! How was the trip? Are you nervous?! Is Mrs. DeMarco being kind to you?! Does she have a son? Does she have kids at all? If she has a son-is he cute?!"

"Owen, enough!" There's another ruffling noise, then Dad's huffs a breath, muttering, "I just wanted to know. . ."

I say, "Yeah, she's got two sons. One my age, the other eight."

Dad shouts with glee. I'm getting the impression that he's had more than one drink tonight. "That is amazing! Though, I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with that picture. Shouldn't you not be staying with boys your age? What if you get. . . subducted?"

"Jesus Christ, Owen, you're drunk as anything," Mom says, her voice dark. "Go to bed. You've got to work early in the morning tomorrow, and I am not dealing with your hangover."

"God, I love it when you boss me around. . ."

A grimace takes over my face. The urge to spit up my supper is immense, but I hold it back, throwing my head onto the much too fluffy pillow that reminds me of Alfonzo. I miss him. I wish I was seeing and hearing him rather than listening to whatever love fest my parents have going on.

Over the phone, Mom pushes Dad away once more, and I hear grunting and groaning, and I figure that she's going to have to manhandle him into bed at this rate. When I can hear her speak faintly, I know she's putting him to bed.

I stew for a couple minutes, eyes closed, before she comes back.

"Sorry, El," she says. "You know how your dad gets when he's had too much to drink."

I hum.

"Anyway, he does make a good point," Mom mutters contemplatively. "Have you met her son? Is he complementary? Is he a threat to your virtue? Do I need to come and have a talk with Elizabeth?"

"No, Mom. You don't need to come and have a talk with Mrs. DeMarco," I tell her with a sigh of discontentment. "Her son isn't going to be home until tomorrow morning. Either of them. She thought it'd be best that I settle in alone than have them bombard me on my first night."

"Wise woman." Mom hums on the line, and I can almost see her nodding in approval. Loose strands of her hair must be caught in the microphone because it crackles in my ear, and then she says, "We all miss you. I know it's only been a couple hours since you've left but I swear, Ron and Owen took. . ."

A crackle shoots down my entire body.

I remain rigid in my room, unmoving in fear that any slight tick will set off something-anything. Never mind the fact that I'm completely alone and the only person who can truly hurt me would be Mrs. DeMarco (who is a godsend), but she is downstairs humming seventies' pop and scrubbing the house. The cleaner is leaking through the crack in the door.

But-Ron. Mom mentioned him, but it was in that casual sort of way so they can't know, right?

There's no way they know how much of a fool I made of myself. Ron wouldn't have told them; he's more intelligent than that. There's no way he told them I planted a giant, fat kiss on him.

Even thinking about it makes my entire body blaze up, my cheeks darkening until the red coating them resembles a light plum. My stomach knots itself into coils over and over, undoing and redoing, upsetting and exhilarating at the same time. Even my lips are tingling. What the hell.

Okay, so I kissed him. That happened. It was an accident-sort of. I had been in a state of delirium where everything was surreal. We had just found common ground again, and he was comforting me, and he was familiar, and his lips looked like cotton candy, and I-I lost control.

My lips met his, and I wound my hands in his tufts of hair and pulled like it was a tug of war, and I was desperate to win.

And listen, he kissed back. Yeah, surprising. When I did it, I was expecting him to push me away, kick me out of the truck and leave me stranded at the train station after explaining why it was wrong that I did that. I wouldn't have been shocked; if anything, I had been expecting it.

But when his hand fell out of my hair, falling down onto my waist to mold our bodies together, his lips fell into a rhythm with mine, my entire being sizzled with want.

For so long, I had kept those feelings hidden, concealed because I was terrified that he would somehow find out how deep they ran, but in that moment everything flowed out into the open if only for a short second. When he pulled away, it wasn't because he was going to push me out of the truck like I had thought, but to tell me that he wanted me to be okay with it. That he was okay with it.

Ron. Okay with kissing me.

And then--then he kissed me again. Before I left to leave the truck and get on the train. The second one was longer than the first and my fingers ended up on his jaw, capturing the moment with my fingers rather than my eyes. His lips were soft and my heart was rabid in my chest, and everything was spinning, but it had been nice and I can't stop thinking about it.

Mom keeps talking on the phone, but I don't hear a word she says. My mind replays the kisses in my head over and over again until the only thing I want to do is find Ron and kiss him again and again until he's ingrained into my brain, my heart-my very being.

"El, are you even listening to me?" Mom asks. Her voice is shrill enough to pull me away from my thoughts.

I flinch away from the phone. "I was trying, but I'm really tired, Mom. . . I think I'm going to head to bed. I've been traveling for quite some time tonight."

Mom sighs. "You're right. You have. I didn't mean to keep you awake for as long as I did. Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you. Call me tomorrow."

"Will do, Mom. I love you, too. Goodnight."

I press the end button before she can go off into another rant about the ply of toilet paper that Mrs. DeMarco has. It's two-ply and it's perfect, even if we use three at home.

✦

The next day, I wake up after noon. The sun beams into the giant window on the right side of the room. My eyes squint against the rays as I blearily blink my eyes open.

There is a persistent knocking on the door. Mrs. DeMarco's voice drifts past the wood and into my ears.

"Good morning-or well, I should say afternoon!" the woman says and I picture a smile gracing her lips. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Permission falls off my lips and soon, I'm gazing at the illuminant form of Mrs. DeMarco, her floral shirt reflecting the sunlight. Her grin is even brighter than her shirt, and I try to muster up a smile in return despite how tired I am.

"How are you today, honey?" she asks. She moves over to the curtains, pushing them open, and I resist the urge to groan into my pillows.

I'm so tired.

"I'm good," I tell her, rolling over. After a moment, I push the covers off of my body, and the chill of the air rattles down my legs, chilling me. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"It's not a problem." Mrs. DeMarco comes behind me, pressing the comforter into the bed neatly as she makes it. "I made some vegan pancakes using applesauce as an alternative. They're really good, if you're in the mood to eat!"

I nod, heading into the bathroom. "Thank you, I'll head down soon."

Mrs. DeMarco hums her approval and I spend the next few minutes brushing my teeth and using the restroom. When I'm done, I walk out of the room and into the large expanse of the house, stepping into the large corridor. I keep my footsteps light as I walk into the foyer and head into the kitchen.

Mrs. and Mr. DeMarco are both there. Mr. DeMarco is reading a newspaper. When Mr. DeMarco sees me, he nods, glasses tilted onto his nose. I nod back with a smile, feeling a bit awkward as I make myself a plate of pancakes.

Host families are a bit weird to me. The concept of staying with someone and having to act normal is odd because I'm taking their things without giving anything in return.

I thank Mrs. DeMarco for the breakfast, the delectable taste warming my tongue and watering my mouth. She beams at my gratefulness, and I hurry and eat before asking if there is anything I can do to help her before her sons return home tonight.

She declines me politely because I'm a "guest," so I spend the rest of the day in my room, picking out my outfits for the rest of the week when I start my internship. The email that I received from the teacher I would be assisting said I didn't need to be too formal, that casual would be fine. I pull out blazers and jeans, placing a pair of flats on the floor underneath them.

When I finish that, I relax until it's time for bed. Mrs. DeMarco makes a brilliant casserole for myself and her while the three males in the house eat hamburger steak. I meet Trent, who gives me awfully lewd glances when his father isn't looking, and Toby, who has the greenest eyes and loves learning about new constellations.

Before I depart to my room for the night, Trent stops me in the hallway and says, "Welcome to Cali, Eleanor. If you ever need a tour, let me know."

I find that I do not like the way he touches my arm and glare at him until he removes it, slamming my door shut behind me as I enter my room.

Showering consumes my time, and before I know it, I'm exhausted without having done anything all day.

Tomorrow, I'll be headed towards the local high school, which is luckily walking distance from the DeMarcos' house, and I will start my internship. Luckily, the feelings of apprehension and terror have not yet settled in with me, though I am certain that they will tomorrow when everyone will have their eyes locked on me throughout the entire day.

I fiddle with my phone when I settle in for bed, pressing the buttons on it until it beeps at me like it's annoyed. When I return to the home screen, a picture of Theodore and I pops up. Rather than bringing me the usual sadness I associate with it, a comfort rings through me, a tether that keeps me stuck in the present.

Then, my phone lights up with a phone call, and everything is shot out the window because it's Ron calling.

✦

I had not anticipated that I would talk to Ron at all during my time here. Honestly, I'm not too sure that I want to talk to him because that would distract me from everything that I need to focus on. My mind would become a jumble of words that I'm supposed to know but have lost the definition of and neither of us need that. Also, he's busy at the base and shouldn't allow himself any interruptions while he's working.

So why is he calling now? Does he want to see if I've settled in okay? Did Mom put him up to this because I didn't answer her call after dinner?

Before I can think too much about it, I answer the phone with a breathy, "H-Hello."

"Eleanor?" he asks, voice filled with static but still the same warm tone. "Are you alright? Why do you sound out of breath?"

"You know, the usual rituals before bed."

"I see," he says, pausing. Then he curses. "Frag. I forgot it was late. Have I caught you during a bad time?"

"No, no." I shake my head, sitting up in the bed. "No, I just got in bed. It's not that late, Ron."

"It is ten o'clock at night, Eleanor," he responds. "Your internship starts tomorrow, remember?"

"Actually, I forgot. I completely thought I was in this woman's house just to be here, Ron. Never actually thought that there was a reason. Thank you for informing me of it."

"I am not fond of your tone."

"Tragic. I'm not fond of you."

"Eleanor," he warns.

I laugh. "Oh, cool it, would you? I'm just kidding. Let me have some fun, Ron. I'm lonely and bored. Also very tired."

"You could have allowed me to join you on this trip and you would not be as isolated as you are," Ron comments, smug undertones in his voice like he knows just who I miss.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, and have you follow me around everywhere like a babysitter. No thank you."

"You've made a horrible mistake, then." Ron sniffs. Something in the background clatters.

"What're you doing?" I ask.

"Making a new weapon."

"A new weapon?"

"Mhm. For Sideswipe."

"Ah." I don't really remember if he's mentioned Sideswipe or not. I wonder if it's a new recruit. "What is it?"

"Plasma cannon."

"Haha, Ron. Seriously, what is it?"

"I am being as honest as I can with you, Eleanor. It is a plasma cannon. Truly. When you return, you may see it for yourself since you are so skeptical."

"Mmm." My stomach churns. For a moment, I forgot about the entire robot thing that Optimus had mentioned to me. Forgot about how Ron was supposed to tell me everything. It seemed so easy to forget it for a moment. "I look forward to it."

He tells me that my father has been absolutely inconsolable since I've left, and I relay the story of Mrs. DeMarco and her generosity.

"Her sons," he says. "How are they?"

The loose fabric between my fingers feels coarse. "They're okay, I guess." My stomach knots as I think of the lewd expression on Trent's face earlier. "I like Toby, the youngest, a lot. He seems to be a smart kid."

Ron hums. "And the other one?"

"He's like every other teenaged boy I've met before," I say, gazing up at the ceiling until spots start moving along the white paint. "Arrogant."

"Has he been inappropriate?"

"No." I shake my head. "Just annoying." I had forgotten how immature teenagers were. Being surrounded by military men has really changed my viewpoint on them, too.

"Good," he says. There's a clatter in the background. "Slaggit!"

My eyebrows raise. I think back to the "Frag!" that slipped by earlier, to all the times he's let that word or something similar to it slip from his lips, and I ask, "What does that mean, Ron?" without meaning to.

I wait for him to say nothing, to defend himself from my inquiry, but there is only a moment of silence before he sighs and says, "It is a curse. Slang. From where I originate."

Originate? Like, another state? I hum into the receiver. "Is it the equivalent of a regular curse word?"

"I suppose so," Ron says. "Back on--where I'm from my Cre--my mother would reprimand me for using such language."

So a modern day curse word. I nod my head upwards with a sigh. My body relaxes against the bed while I try to ward off a smile. I know that it was a sliver of information, but the fact that he gave it so willingly--that he wanted to tell me--means a lot.

Odd, though, that other states have such language.

Despite the desperation in me that begs me to keep this conversation going, my mouth parts in a yawn as my entire body sags against the comfortable bed.

On the other side, Ron hears it. "Rest, Eleanor. Do not let me keep you up."

"You're not," I deny, but even I know that had he not called, I would have already been asleep. "Okay, you might be. I guess it's time for me to go to bed. Gotta get up early in the morning, anyway."

"You do," Ron says, grunting. Something else clatters in the background, and he curses underneath his breath again. I chuckle. "I shall go finish my plasma cannon, then. Go get some rest."

My eyes shut. I yawn into the receiver. "I will. You do the same, Ron. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Eleanor."

My name whispered on his lips, like something being caressed. There's a smile on my lips when I fall asleep that night.