"Monopoly!" Kyland said, enthusiastically. I laughed and reached for the game.

I sat on the couch and Kyland sat down next to me. I pulled the coffee table closer to us and started setting it up, putting the money tray in front of me so I could be the banker, and handing him the real estate cards.

"I'd rather be the banker," he said.

I frowned. I was always the banker. But he was my guest after all. I handed him the tray of money.

"And I'm always the shoe," he continued.

Well, that was unacceptable. "I'm always the shoe," I informed him.

"Oh no, uh uh. I'm always the shoe."

"Why would you want to be the old, grungy-looking shoe anyhow? Don't you want to be the luxury car?" I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to fake him out as I held the car up and swept my hand toward it in a lofty presentation.

"No. The shoe represents hard work. And hard work leads to riches. I'm always the shoe."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Why do you want to be the shoe?"

"Because the shoe looks unassuming. No one expects the shoe to come from behind and win it all. Everyone keeps a watchful eye on the luxury car . . . but not the shoe. That guy, he flies right under the radar, or walks as the case may be." I winked.

Kyland laughed, looking pleased. "I like that answer. I say we roll for it."

I grinned. "Deal."

I rolled first. Four.

Kyland rolled second. Three. He laughed. "All right. You're the shoe. Fair and square."

An hour later we had survived a stock market crash, were deeply involved in several land deals, and had passed "Go" more times than I had kept track of. Kyland was winning and I was not happy. I landed on another of his damn railroads.

He laughed and my eyes snapped up to his. "What's so funny?"

"I never would have guessed you to be so competitive, Tenleigh Falyn." He grinned, quite pleased with himself.

"Hrrmph," I grunted, counting out money for the railroads.

"Monopoly tip: always buy the railroads first."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're not winning so much that you get to give me winning strategy advice just yet, mister." I paused. "I never buy the railroads. Railroads are boring."

"Well, you should. Compared to the other properties, the flow of revenue from the railroads is more constant over time. Owning all four of them is a cash cow. You can use them to fund your other monopolies."

I glanced up at him, pausing. I tilted my head. I knew he was working toward the scholarship, but I hadn't realized just how smart Kyland really was. And suddenly it hit me—he couldn't stay here. He had to get out if he was going to utilize those smarts of his. Something that felt like deep sadness filled me, but I was confused. Being smart was not a sad thing—especially with the lack of it going on in Dennville, Kentucky.

"I shouldn't be giving you all these tips, but obviously," he swept his hand over the board indicating the fact that he was winning, "you could use them."

I laughed. "Asshole," I muttered. He laughed, too.

An hour after that, I was utterly bankrupt and practically seething. Kyland couldn't keep the amusement off his face. It was maddening.

Really, though, I hadn't had that much fun in forever.

"All right—I concede. You've officially wiped me out and hung me up to dry. Congratulations." I picked up the board and dumped the pieces into the box as Kyland laughed.

"If you're lucky, I'll give you a rematch."

"Hmmph."

There was a knock on my trailer door and I looked up, confused.

"Who is it?" I called.

"It's Buster."

"Buster . . ." I said, rushing to the door and opening it, a blast of icy air making me step back. "Get in here." Buster West was my neighbor, one of the oldest on the hill, a strange, but kindhearted guy who would bring us rhubarb by the basketful in summer.

"Hi there, Missy," he said, smiling and pulling his hood down.

"What are you doing out in this weather, Buster?"

"Just came to drop off a Christmas gift." He looked over at Kyland.

"Buster, do you know Kyland Barrett? He lives down the hill—"

"I surely do. Hi, son. How's your mama?"

"Hi, sir. Uh, she's okay. Doesn't get out much, you know."

Buster frowned. "No, don't reckon she does." He looked at Kyland for just a beat too long. What was that about? I looked over to Kyland and he had his hands in his pockets and was looking down at the floor.

"Ah, so, here you go." Buster held out something wrapped in white tissue paper. I took it from him.

"You didn't have to do this." I smiled uncomfortably, shifting on my feet. I knew exactly what this was and I didn't want to open it in front of Kyland. But Buster was standing there looking so pleased and expectant, so I unwrapped the tissue and held up the piece of whittled wood, trying my best not to cringe. I couldn't help the heat I felt making its way up my neck, though. Buster was a pornographic whittler. As far as I knew, he was making his way through the Kama Sutra. This one featured a woman kneeling in front of a man, giving him a blowjob as he yanked on her hair, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

Well.

"Wow, Buster. This is . . . very . . . romantic."

Kyland made a strange choking sound in the back of his throat and began coughing.