There was something about home that immediately quelled the stress that I was still experiencing from the weekday. When my sister and I arrived back home in good old suburban New Jersey from the train station, I speed-walked to the door with my bag, promptly dropped it to the ground when I reached my room, and collapsed onto my large, soft bed. Ah. This was the life.

"Your bed at school must really suck."

I looked up to find Alyssa smirking at me from the doorway. "Well, duh—everything related to the dorms sucks. But I always miss this place. I mean, I love sharing the suite with my friends and all, but sometimes it's nice to have your own personal space, you know?"

"Oh, I definitely know. I had a single all through college, remember?"

I nodded. Oh, I remembered, all right. My sister was just about the lightest sleeper on earth. During her first semester of freshman year at college, she nearly turned into an insomniac. Her two roommates consistently barged into the room during the early hours of the morning, which drove my sister crazy. Eventually, after meetings with the administration and threats from our father, she had finally been granted a single for the second half of freshman year. Needless to say, Alyssa didn't keep in touch with her old roommates.

"So," I began, eying her artist jeans and plain green T-shirt, "do we have to dress up for this shindig tonight?"

Alyssa pursed her lips together, silent for a few moments, but then replied, "Well, I'd recommend you wear something…nice. No sweatpants." She, in turn, stared at my baggy sweatpants with the Yale bulldog mascot imprinted on the top of the right leg.

"Fine," I sighed. "Do I have to wear a dress? I'm not in a girly mood today."

"No, but I thought you'd want to impress Ryan." Alyssa grinned.

I groaned. "Says who? If Ryan and I got together, do you know how cliché it would be? Besides, I don't need a guy right now. I've got my whole life ahead of me. You always said that you'd never put a man in front of your career."

"I suppose," Alyssa drew out, "but that was before I met David."

"Wait a minute…" I really hoped that this wasn't a hint that she was going to change her last name. Now I was going to be the only "cow" in the family. "What does that mean?"

She exhaled, clasping her hands together. "It's not a huge deal, June. It's just that when I make decisions, I'll have to think about David and I, instead of only considering what would be best for me."

"Thanks for being so specific." I probably sounded whiny, but who cared? My sister was going to change herself for a guy—even if this guy was her future husband.

Alyssa shook her head. "I'm still going to work, if that's what you're worried about. Really, June, don't freak out on me like this. I'm still going to be the same person, no matter what my name is or what my career will be."

"So you are going to change your last name."

"I haven't decided yet." She looked frustrated, from the way she was biting her lip and tapping her fingers against the side of her legs. "Can we end this conversation?"

"All right," I conceded.

I wasn't usually moody and snappy with my sister. But when it came to men, I tended to be a bit disagreeable. I wasn't sure why, either. Perhaps my surly attitude stemmed from those books I read about women moving on after their husbands cheated on them, or all those movies where guys were complete assholes. I mean, I knew that they weren't true stories, but who knew how men were in the real world? The divorce rate in the country was fifty percent, so I figured there were plenty of stupid males capable of breaking hearts out there. Well, all right, sometimes divorces were mutual decisions, and women may have also instigated marriage conflicts, but still. If you loved someone more than they loved you, you were the one who was bound to get hurt. That was why my mom always warned us against marrying someone who didn't return the full breadth of your affections. "Love" was useless if you slaved over your husband as an infatuated fool, while he simply acknowledged your existence.

Great—now I didn't know if my sister should even get married or not. Perhaps I was overanalyzing the situation. I always had the impression that David loved Alyssa just as much, if not more, than she loved him.

My sister was now pacing around my room aimlessly, glancing around at the bare walls. "I hope you put up some posters in your dorm at school. That would make the room seem less like a prison."

"I put up the collage that you gave me for my birthday last year," I offered, and grinned when I saw Alyssa look at me, beaming. She had painstakingly constructed a hodgepodge of pictures with attractive guys. Well, half of them were British actors, since Alyssa was into the whole accent and all (not to mention she was obsessed with those period dramas and adaptations of Jane Austen's books), but I didn't mind. The accent was pretty hot—better than our American drawl that everyone else in the world probably found stupid and crass-sounding.

"Good girl," my sister praised. She glanced over at my closet. "Well, you'd better get ready soon. They're going to be here in about an hour."

"What are you going to wear?"

"Oh, probably my green sundress. This isn't supposed to be formal or anything, but I do want to look nice. After all, I'm the one getting married."

"And you want to knock David's socks off." Teasing her was just too much fun.

Alyssa blushed, raising an eyebrow. "Not literally, though—I only do that when we're alone."

"Ew," I groaned. "That was too much information. I don't need the inside scoop on the intimacies of your love life."

She cackled. "You'll grow up one day. I have to help Mom with some of the cooking, so I'll see you downstairs in an hour, 'kay?"

"Fine." I sunk my head down into my pillow, trying to sort out my clothing collection in my head. I did want to look nice for Alyssa and David—and I wanted the Wilkinsons to have a decent impression of me. But I definitely didn't care what Ryan Wilkinson would think of me. Nope. I was above all that "dressing up for boys" nonsense that girls often partook in. Still, it didn't hurt to look good for my own general pride.

I stood in front of my full-length mirror, inspecting my outfit. For once, I actually decided to be a girl and donned a green, ruffled skirt that reached slightly above my knees, along with a white, long-sleeved polo. I even put on some eyeliner and mascara. It wasn't much, but I was looking pretty hot—for my standards, anyway. I probably looked hideous compared to Gisele Bündchen, but then again, who didn't?

The doorbell startled me while I was thinking about how it would nice to be a supermodel—all I'd have to do is strut around and look pretty all day. I heard my sister call me downstairs and I sighed, ready to experience another boring dinner affair. Hopefully, Ryan Wilkinson wouldn't be as mute as the typical male, and I wouldn't be spending the whole time answering perfunctory questions about school from the Wilkinsons.

Just as I was about to reach the bottom step, though, I froze. Holy cannoli—Bike Guy was standing in the hallway. However, I refrained myself from screaming. I was going to approach the situation calmly. Clearly, I had a stalker in the midst. First, I was going to warn my family very slowly, so that they wouldn't freak out. All right. I took a deep breath, ready to speak, but was cut off by Mrs. Wilkinson.

"There you are, June! Come meet my youngest son, Ryan. I know you two will get along splendidly." She beamed and placed an arm around Bike Guy.

My jaw dropped. "That's…he's…" I couldn't even formulate complete sentences.

"We've met," said Ryan abruptly, his eyes focused on my dumbfounded expression.

"Oh, what a coincidence," said Mrs. Wilkinson, smiling widely. "What a small world, huh?"

She had no idea. "Yes," I agreed. God, please let the ground suck me into the core of the Earth.

"Well," said Alyssa, after a few moments of silence, "let's get to dinner, yes? My mom's made some fantastic traditional Chinese dishes."

"Yum," said Mr. Wilkinson, rubbing his rather rotund belly. "I can't wait."

I lagged behind while everyone else headed toward the dining room, hoping that no one would put Ryan and me next to each other and force us to make conversation. I was not going to be buddy-buddy with a guy who mowed me over on his bike. It made no sense. It was like making friends with someone who attempted to shoot you. Well, maybe not to that extent, but still. It was the principle of the matter.

When I reached the dining room table, though, where my mom had already set up platters of food, I found that the only available seat left was the one right next to Ryan. Just perfect. I didn't understand why fate was so cruel. Ryan Wilkinson could have been a sweet, down-to-Earth guy like his older brother. Instead, he knocked me over and was pissed at me about it. Well, all right, maybe I was the one who called him stupid, but he still lashed out at me. Somehow, I knew it was too good to be true. No one could be as nice and perfect as David Wilkinson. Damn it. Alyssa always got all the luck.

"So, June, how did you and Ryan meet?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson as she dug into her chicken and rice.

"Uh…" I toyed with the food on my plate. I debated whether I should tell her the truth, although, honestly, I hardly wanted to tell her that we met when he ran me over with his bike, which would then result in an argument and exchange of unsavory words.

"We're in the same class," said Ryan before I could come up with a realistic story. "My eighteenth-century literature class."

What the frolicking pandas was this? How did he know that I was in that class? Maybe he was a stalker, after all. He seemed to notice my confusion, because he smirked and elaborated, "We both share an immense love for Jane Austen."

"Oh, is that the class dedicated to her works?" asked my sister eagerly. "How is that class, Junie?"

"It's fine," I managed to get out. Okay…I so did not understand what was going on. What was a guy like him doing in a Jane Austen literature class? Then again, I was puzzled over why guys in general enrolled in that class. Apparently, girls were impressed when guys knew their Austen material. They probably hoped that guys would take a leaf out of Mr. Darcy's book. I wasn't one of those girls, though. Besides, I'd always preferred Mr. Knightley to Mr. Darcy.

"The dissection of Ms. Austen's language is very fascinating," Ryan informed Alyssa. "Jane Austen isn't only for female readers."

"Of course it's not," said Alyssa, nodding with vigor. "I'm glad a guy finally appreciates the brilliance of one of my favorite novelists."

"Oh, yes, our Ryan is very well-rounded," said Mrs. Wilkinson, straightening her back. "He loves reading but is in the combined economics and math program at Yale."

Shut up, Mrs. W, I silently griped. I don't care about the brilliance of your son. Did you know that he was so intelligent that he forgot that you could also stop a bike by putting your feet on the ground, too? I didn't think he revealed that bit to you. He was probably too afraid that you wouldn't be able to handle such ingenuity on his part.

And also, it was odd; I never noticed Ryan in my Jane Austen class. Then again, there were quite a number of people who attended those lectures and he wasn't in my section, so it was understandable that I'd never seen him there. Besides, I was never fully awake and functional for that class anyway.

"What are you majoring in, June?" asked Ryan, his voice dripping of sugar-sweet honey. I narrowed my eyes at him. I had an urge to tell him that I was planning to drop out and become a gymnast at a circus instead in order to wipe that snarky look off his perfectly sculpted face. If he wasn't such a suck-up, I may have considered being civil to the guy and overlooked the fact that he nearly killed me. I hated people who thought they deserved to be treated as though they were a reincarnation of Albert Einstein.

"I'm pre-med, majoring in Biology," I replied. "I'm planning to study oncology in medical school." That's right, Mr. Ryan. I'm quite accomplished myself, thank you very much. Dissecting cats was much more impressive than solving a bunch of math problems, in my opinion.

"How interesting. I wish you luck. Medical school is very competitive. Mrs. Cao, this food is delicious. You are a wonderful cook."

And so it began. The guy spent a good number of minutes praising my mother on her culinary skills, and I swore that I saw her blush. God. He probably thought he was special, hitting on a woman who had just reached the big five-oh. But no. He then proceeded to woo my father (in a strictly straight manner, of course) by discussing stock prices and the general economic situation with him. He was taking the limelight away from David and Alyssa and keeping it for himself. Greedy suck-up.

"Lyssie, do you and David have a wedding date set?" I asked, taking advantage of the very brief pause following the heated conversation between my dad and Ryan.

Alyssa nodded. "David and I were thinking of a May wedding. By then, the weather would be warm, and the both of us can afford to take a few days off for the event. We don't want to have too long of an engagement, as we've been together for quite some time."

"Yes, David, you've taken an awfully long time to propose," chided Mrs. Wilkinson gently to her eldest son.

David shrugged, a hint of pink tinged across his cheeks. "I didn't want to rush things," he protested. "We both wanted to take everything slowly."

"I'm afraid it was my fault," said Alyssa with a small laugh as she slipped her hand into David's larger one. "I'm very conservative when it comes to relationships."

"A spring wedding is fine, but you'll have to start planning now," Dad said, clearing his throat.

"I know." Alyssa sighed. "Well, we'll just be busy for the next few months then. Oh, and we'd like June to be the maid-of-honor and Ryan to be the best man." She glanced over at the two of us. "I hope that's all right?"

"It would be an honor," said Ryan. "I'm just glad that my brother finally found a great girl to settle down with."

I couldn't let him get away with capturing the love of the future bride and groom. "And I'd love to be the maid-of-honor. David, you're the first guy whom I haven't chased away from Alyssa with my thorough questionnaires. Congratulations. That means I actually like you, and I'm thrilled to have you as a brother."

"You never gave me a questionnaire," was his only response.

"Well, duh—I liked you enough not to grill you like a well-done sirloin steak."

"Nice comparison." Ryan chuckled. He fixed his blue eyes upon me, and his lips tugged upwards. I blinked. He seemed surprisingly genuine.

"Thanks," I replied, raising an eyebrow. His eyes were very, very blue. They were like Elijah Wood blue—sky blue.

"Oh, how adorable," cooed Mrs. Wilkinson, placing her red-paint crusted fingers on my hand. "You and Ryan will make such a cute match, walking down the aisle. Ryan, I'll have to find you an outfit to match June's dress—"

"Mom," Ryan interrupted, "I'll be taking Gina as my date. June and I will not be a couple at the wedding."

Silence ensued. Mrs. Wilkinson removed her hand from my own and moved her gaze over to her son with pursed lips. Mom and Dad looked at each other, most likely confused and wondering what sort of strange ideas Americans were coming up with these days. No one ever thought of their youngest daughter as potential dating material. David looked as though he wanted to speak, but his father cleared his throat before he could make a sound.

"Now, Ryan, there's no need to adopt such a tone," he said, frowning—which was odd, because Mr. Wilkinson was usually a jolly man, much like Santa Claus. "You and June only have to walk down the aisle, as the tradition. You may bring Gina along, of course, but there's no need to make June feel as though she isn't worth being an escort. June," he continued, turning toward me, "I'm sure any young man would be happy to be your partner at your sister's wedding."

I nodded, thanking him quietly. Ugh—the nerve of that Ryan Wilkinson. He probably didn't think I was desirable enough for any guy—which may be true, considering the fact that I'd never had a boyfriend before, but that was my own choice. Maybe I should get a boyfriend, and then he'd shut up—that was, if I could ever manage to hoodwink an innocent male victim into becoming my boyfriend. Damn it. It was times like these that I wished love potions did exist.

The rest of the dinner passed rather smoothly. My parents, still utterly baffled by the entire event, merely placed the empty dishes in the sink and invited the Wilkinsons to stay a little longer in the family room. They declined politely, murmuring about church the next day.

David held Alyssa's hands in his own and kissed her quickly. "You'll be back by tomorrow?"

She nodded. "I just want to spend a little more time with my family, but I'll be back for dinner." She whispered something in his ear, and he let out a chuckle. "Bye, David."

I was too busy watching the couple of the hour, and I nearly jumped when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find Ryan standing there with his hands in his pockets, avoiding my gaze.

"Hi," he muttered. "I just, um, wanted to apologize if I offended you or whatever."

Boy, if he wanted to sound sincere, then the kid needed some serious acting lessons—preferably from Michael Cera, who always took on the role of the nice guy. But I really didn't want to cause a ruckus with a bunch of adults around.

"That's all right," I said, "I wasn't offended. But just so you know, I'm not a repulsive insect. I can get dates." As if I'd let him off the hook that easily.

"Okay." He raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be too cocky about it, though, especially with that attitude of yours. You should try to be nicer."

I must have done something terrible in my past to deserve such words from someone who needed an attitude adjustment himself. Before I could come up with a retort, though, Mrs. Wilkinson called, "Come, Ryan, it's time to go. You can talk to June at school, in that class of yours."

Ryan gave me a nod of acknowledgement before joining his parents and brother. As soon as the door clicked shut, Alyssa whipped around to face me, her hands on her hips.

"What the hell just happened back there?" she said, sounding more curious than angry. "You two don't seem to like each other very much."

That was the understatement of the century.