Angel reached the faded red Toyota before Alex could even get his door open.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when I finally reached them.

Alex quit spinning Angel around in circles and sat her back on the ground. She giggled as she stumbled around like a drunkard. “Ummm....you told me to meet you here?”

“Like in a dream?”

“Like with a text message.”

We stared at each other in confusion for a long minute.

“Can I see your phone?” I finally asked.

Alexʼs inbox had messages from “Liam”, “Ash” (messages I didnʼt read, which makes me a saint), and “Boo”, who I had to assume was me. I clicked on the message with a 3:17 time stamp.

“Meet me @ Landeen Park in 1 hour.”

“You thought I would misspell ʻLandingʼ?” That bothered me more than the fact that I hadnʼt been the one to send the message.

“It was a text. No one uses correct spelling when they text.” He took the phone from me, brow furrowed. “If you didnʼt send it, who did?”

I could only think of one person with both access and motivation. I walked over to where my sister was spinning around with her arms stretched out to her sides. “Angel, did you steal my phone?”

“I borrowed it,” she said, picking up speed.

“Why did you tell Alex to meet us here?”

She finally stopped spinning and promptly tumbled onto her butt. “Cause no one ever comes out here. We can all hang out and no one will ever know. Itʼs like having a secret club.” Not for the first time, I thought that my little sister had all the makings to be an evil genius.

The Pretty Purple Unicorn Club, named by President and Founder Angela Sophia Donovan, met as often as possible. We would talk while Alex pushed Angel in the swing or as we walked the woodland trails, Angel riding on Alexʼs back. When it was time to leave, Angel would graciously go wait in the car so Alex and I could have a few minutes alone. I found my affection for both the ruinous park and my little sister growing.

By the time March rolled around I was in a state of perpetual bliss. I had an amazing boyfriend who completely adored me. Okay, so he was a secret boyfriend who I couldnʼt be seen with in public, but thanks to Angel we got to spend several afternoons a week together. I was coming into the home stretch of my Senior year, and the homework was already starting to slack off. Calculus was even becoming easier, or at least I was starting to understand nearly half of what Mr. Beck said. And Toby had followed through with the private lessons. Every Friday I would drive down to the Base and allow Charlieʼs sadistic big brother to torture me. It was great. I felt stronger and more capable than ever.

After one particularly punishing session Toby left me to do repetitions with the bag as my penance for losing yet another sparring match. The front door was left open to let in the first warm, Spring-like day of the year. The breeze that wafted in smelled of rain and dirt. My iPod was cranked up, filling my ears with ass-kicking appropriate music. It wasnʼt long before I decided to throw form out the window and started adding a few hip shakes and shimmies to my routine. I completed a rather beautifully executed round-house kick and twirled around a couple of times, planning to hit my second imaginary opponent with a right hook. Instead, I collided into a rather solid chest.

I let out a girly yelp and would have fallen down if two strong hands hadnʼt caught my shoulders and held me in place.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Scout, the one who doesnʼt dance?” Charlie was standing so close I could smell his cinnamon flavored gum.

I stepped back, wondering how fast my heart could beat before it completely gave out.

“That wasnʼt dancing. It was a new variant of Kenpo.” Lying was much preferable to admitting that I had actually been attempting to dance. Everyone knew that when it came to getting a groove on, I was a complete lost cause. For all my supposed grace, Iʼm a disaster on the dance floor. Want someone to execute a perfect butterfly kick or walk the narrowest of balance beams? Iʼm your girl. Just donʼt ask me to mambo or whatever. Talley, who dances like freaking Ginger Rogers despite her size, thinks itʼs because Iʼm too much of a control freak to let myself go and move with the music.

Personally, I think that is ridiculous. My theory - that my hips are somehow misaligned and therefore wonʼt work right - makes much more sense.

Of course, when it comes to Charlie and Jase and their incessant teasing, the reason didnʼt matter. All they care about is getting as much entertainment at my expense as possible.

“A variant of Kenpo, huh?” Charlie cocked an eyebrow at me, which was only mildly sexy. “I didnʼt realize that Bob Fosse ever contributed to the martial arts.”

“You know, Chuck, it takes a very confident man to make a Bob Fosse reference.”

“Are you questioning my manliness, Miss Donovan? Because Iʼm quite capable of proving to you what a strong manly man I am.”

I pulled up one corner of my mouth in a smirk. “As if you could take me.” Charlie crouched down and began snapping his fingers as he circled me.

“Fosse and West Side Story. Whatʼs next? Do you want to get a manicure and talk about your feelings?” I teased, snapping along as the Shark to his Jet. Or maybe I was the Jet and he was the Shark.

I stepped to the right just as he lunged for me. My left leg snapped out to sweep his feet out from under him.

“Is that seriously all youʼve got?” I asked as he landed on the mat. I held out my hand to help him up. “I was really expecting a bit more of a fight out of you.” He may not have heard the last few words since I was flying through the air as I said them.

I rolled as I hit the mat, narrowly avoiding being penned by Charlie. We were both on our feet in a matter of seconds.

When it came to fighting, Charlie relied more on strength than speed and agility. He also tended to hold back, grossly underestimating my abilities. For a few minutes I fought in a style that mimicked his own, lulling him into believed that he would be able to best me. Then, as he was delivering a right punch, I surprised him by stepping towards him, instead of backing away. My right leg snaked around and caught him behind the knees. The plan had been for him to go down. It hadnʼt included me sprawled underneath him on the mat, but somehow I ended up there anyway.

“Now, who is the He-Man?” Charlie put just enough weight on his elbows to keep me from being squished to death.

“You are,” I said as a drop of sweat fell from his hair onto my forehead. “Youʼre very masculine and strong and sweaty and gross.”