Caz takes one look at me and bursts out laughing. I freeze, self-conscious and a little stunned, because I can’t recall seeing Caz laugh like this before: head thrown back and dimples so deep they look carved-in. Then he says, “Eliza. Your hair.” “What?” My hands reach instinctively for the top of my head, and I’m horrified to find my hair sticking … up. All the way up, as if I’ve been shocked with electricity. Perfect. Just perfect. I scowl to hide my embarrassment and quickly smooth my hair back down in a few vigorous pats, then glare at him. “Don’t say another word.” “Come on, it didn’t
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