The Tattered Gloves - J.L. Berg

Copyright © 2016 J.L. Berg All rights reserved. Visit my website at www.jlberg.com Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com Custom Photography: Kelsey Keeton, K.Keeton Designs, www.kkeetondesigns.com Editors: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com, Ami Waters, Book Glam, www.bookglambyami.com

Formatting: Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction, www.loveaffairwithfiction.com No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. ISBN-13: 978-0-9983912-0-5 For Hannah. Thank you for pushing me to be more than ordinary by being extraordinary in everything you do. I love you, baby girl.

Table of Contents Front Matter Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Epilogue The Tattered Gloves Playlist Acknowledgments About the Author

HEAD DOWN. Don’t look up. Never make eye contact. These were the rules I’d learned to live by while growing up in a house where men frequented but did not stay. When I was very little, I’d always assumed my mother had a lot of friends. Big, strong, manly friends who protected us since I didn’t have a daddy. How naive I had been. The men who had visited only wanted one thing, and my mother was happy to give it — for a price. She’d never made any desperate attempts to shadow this particular part of her life or protect me from it. The most I’d gotten was a flippant warning when I started showing signs of puberty. “Willow, you might want to keep out of sight more now,” she’d said. Thanks, Mom. And then, when I’d garnered more than a glance or two, she’d say, “Stay in your room at night. Don’t come out.” But, even with all the rules and warnings, I couldn’t keep them all away. I couldn’t keep him away. He’d managed to snuff out every bit of me in a matter of minutes. Whatever remnants of innocence I’d had from my childhood was gone like a puff of smoke. But, in our darkest hours, sometimes, even the weak could find the light. I did, and this… this was my story.

THE LONELY BUS rambled on, rattling down the dusty road, as the idle passengers fell into a false sense of security under the dim lights above. Stupid fools. As others on the bus slept in awkward positions, curled around each other like wolves, leaning against the cold, dark window, desperate for a few moments of peace, I sat rigid and alert, keeping a lookout on my surroundings. So trusting they were. So naturally inclined to lie back and let the world take care of them. I pulled my duffel bag close to my chest and rested my head against the back of the seat, letting my eyes close for the briefest moment. My back ached from sitting and leaning back, so allowing myself one second of peace released a bit of tension that had been creeping up my spine. The subtle jostling of the road never seemed to cease. Not since we’d left the city. It was different — this road. I could feel it in the way my body moved back and forth as the miles rushed past us. The country. That was where I was headed. To live with an aunt I’d never known existed until yesterday. In a matter of days, my entire life had been turned upside down, and I hadn’t had a single choice in the decision. The joy of being a minor. Sitting upright once more, I looked out the window, noticing the sheer number of trees that passed by. Country roads seemed more constant than the city roads I was accustomed to. They were rough and rocky, but it gave the bus a kind of movement that reminded me of a baby carriage — gentle and even. In some cities, there was no such thing as constant, and that included roads. With their deep potholes and quick patch jobs, they could take a passenger on a wild ride with no regard for the outcome. I should know. I’d grown up in the slums of Washington, DC, and I had the scars to prove it. Looking out the window, I found myself smiling. Maybe a smirk was more accurate. Roads were sort

of like people. There were those who were gentle, maybe a little rough around the edges, like the dusty road I was traveling down at this very moment in time. And then there were the city roads. Patched and bandaged beyond repair. So full of holes and problems, it was hard to decide whether it was even worth repairing. Which road was I? I took a glance out at the darkened path that went on for miles ahead of us, and then I looked down at the bright red gloves that covered my hands. I was the road that no one wanted to walk on. The scary alley everyone avoided. Because there was damaged, and then there was just plain broken. And I was one step beyond all that.

MY MOM HAD never been much for organization. Unless it came to her business. Yes, she actually called it that — her business. Even though she was paid in all cash and her wardrobe mainly consisted of… well, never mind. But, beyond her business, the woman couldn’t remember to stock the fridge with food, pay the electricity bill on time, or do any of those other pesky things adults had to deal with. So, I didn’t know why I was surprised to find myself alone under a curtain of rain two hours after I was dropped off on the outskirts of a deserted town in the middle of nowhere. Did I even have an aunt, or was this my mother’s desperate attempt to get rid of me for good? As fall hadn’t completely settled in Northern Virginia, the sticky air of summer still lingered, making me both cold from the rain and sweaty from all the humidity around me. Looking around for the tenth time as I huddled under the pathetic excuse for a rain shelter, I finally gave in, grabbing my phone and taking matters into my own hands. With nothing more than a single lamp illuminating the tiny bus stop, I wasn’t about to let this place be my home for the evening. Using the prepaid phone I’d bought months ago with my own money, I fired up Google in a last-ditch effort to find a way out of this mess. Within minutes, I found my answer. And, soon, headlights appeared, and a tall, slender woman who mirrored my mom in her likeness — minus the fake boobs and horrible wardrobe — stepped out of a car to greet me. She looked younger, livelier, but still, it was all there. The baby-blue eyes, the flawless cream skin, and that megawatt smile.

My mother only awarded it every so often, usually when it involved me doing something that benefited her. But when she did? I would feel like the most important person in the world. It was probably why men always kept coming back for more. I shook my head, rearranging my thoughts, and gave a stiff wave. My aunt — her name was Addington — seemed a little taken aback by me, her eyes briefly pausing on my covered fingers and my less than welcoming appearance. I knew what she must be thinking. Who wears gloves in September in Virginia? I was pretty sure I was the only one. She waved back, once again giving that smile that set me on edge. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar. “Call me Addy,” she said, her voice smooth like silk. My mother’s voice was rough from years of smoke. Addington’s — or Addy’s rather — was different. Different was good. “Why don’t we get your things into the car?” she offered in that velvety voice once more. I gave her a long, hard stare before looking down at the modest bag of belongings I’d brought with me. Finally, I nodded. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust anyone anymore. But I guessed a woman who looked like my mom but didn’t sound like her was a better alternative than sleeping on a bench in the pouring rain.

“I’M SORRY I wasn’t there to pick you up, Willow,” Addy said as the car traveled down the darkened road. I held my hands tightly together before wrapping my arms around my waist as I tried not to reach up and flip on the interior light. It’s too dark. I could feel sweat beginning to bead around my temples, mixing with the leftover rainwater. Both trickled down my face as I stared into the lights of the oncoming traffic. If I were in the city, it would be bright. Even at night. The sky would be alight from buildings, cars, and stoplights. The city never slept.

Out here, in the country — or what I considered the country — the only light in the sky was from stars. For most, it would be a welcome sight. But, for me, it was just darkness. And hell. My mind began to backtrack. Back to that night… back to that room. “She didn’t tell me what time to pick you up,” my aunt chimed in again. I thought she was trying to apologize, but I couldn’t seem to pay attention. Not when the black of night was closing in on me. Finally, we pulled into a driveway, and she pushed the car into park. The overhead lights came on, and I exhaled, relaxing, before the breath returned to my lungs, and the memories faded. “It’s okay,” I finally responded. “It’s not the first time she’s forgotten about me.” And it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Addy offered to help me with my soggy bag of clothes, but I declined, grabbing it out of the back of her rusty hatchback. Looking around, I noticed she lived in a small, well lit neighborhood. It appeared dated but well kept, nothing like the filthy apartment building I’d come from. Following her toward the front door, I took note of the many plants and shrubberies that lined the walkway. There was even one of those dumb little gnomes you would see on TV. Hers was dressed like a ninja, making it hard to see in the dim light, but the pointy little hat was hard to miss. I waited for her to unlock the front door, taking my time to absorb every little detail — from the handpainted single initial F on the door to the tidy doormat that matched the season. Who is the woman? And how did she and my mother share a womb? Although my aunt might look younger, it was only because, while my mother had been busy growing her business, my aunt had been buying garden gnomes and planting flowers. But they were, in fact, identical twins. Or at least, that was what I had been told two nights ago when my mother informed me I was being shipped off to Sugar Tree, Virginia, to live with the woman. I didn’t know much about my elusive aunt, but as I stepped into the house, I realized she couldn’t be more different from the woman I’d just left. “I know it’s not that much,” Addy apologized, looking around, “but it’s cozy and all mine. There are only two bedrooms. One I was using for a craft room, but I’m going to clean it out for you. I just need some time. So, for now, I’m going to have you sleep here.” She pointed to the couch. “I hope that’s okay. This was all a bit sudden.” I looked at the cozy couch, pausing briefly before turning back to her. Swallowing nervously, I nodded. “Okay!” she exclaimed. “Let me get some bedding. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” Comfortable? Right.

As she scurried off to find linens, I moved around the room from one corner to the other. Knickknacks and random little pieces of art were everywhere. Thinking of that song Ariel sung in The Little Mermaid about gadgets and gizmos, I swore, in that moment, I felt like I’d stumbled upon her underwater cave, only it was in my aunt’s living room. Who in their right mind collects this much crap? “I’m a bit of a crafter,” Addy spoke up. I turned around to see her with her arms heavy with blankets and pillows. “I’ve been single for years; decades, it feels like.” She laughed. “And I guess it gives me something to do in a town where there are literally no single men. Kind of pathetic, right?” I looked back at the display shelf that housed everything from crocheted animals to stained glass before glancing back at her silently. Because I had no words for that. A life without men? It sounded like heaven to me.

HUNGER GNAWED AT my belly, making sleep impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind would conjure a mental image of the kitchen, filling it with food. Rather than barren cupboards and empty shelves in the refrigerator, there would be plates of ham and cheese, fresh bread, and no peanut butter anywhere. I hated peanut butter. My mom must love it because she constantly bought it, believing it was a stable source of nutrition. I thought my doctor would argue with her on that one… if I actually had one. I tossed once more, adjusting my lumpy pillow under my head. Sleep never came. Growing even more frustrated, I sat up, looking at the door with longing. “Don’t leave your room. Ever.” Her instructions had been clear. Ever since I’d sprouted boobs, I was to stay in in this room until morning. But she’d had some early clients arrive before dinner, so I’d been stuck in here without food for hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Breakfast maybe? I needed food. Maybe just this one time… Quietly moving across the room, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, my body on high alert. I could hear the music across the hall — my mother’s attempt to drown out the noise. It was exactly the sign I needed. Turning the knob, I stepped out into the hall. Freedom at last, I thought. Until my body was jerked backward.

And I was plunged into darkness. Forever. As my body came awake that first morning in the unfamiliar house filled with handmade crafts and goofy art on the walls, I noticed the lack of silence almost immediately. Tugging my knees into my body, I lay still, my hands still shaking from the dream that wasn’t a dream at all — just a memory on repeat. A man coughed down the hall, and I heard a toilet flush. My heart instantly began to race, thumping in my chest like a scared little firefly caught in a glass jar. My fight-or-flight instinct took over, but there was no fight in me. I wanted to flee. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen. A door opened, and heavy footsteps echoed against the old wooden floor. My fingers dug into the yarn of my gloves as I tightly wrapped the quilt around my body, hoping to become invisible. Head down. Don’t look up. Never make eye contact. The rules that had been drilled into my head since birth played over and over like a mantra in my mind as the unknown male made his way closer. I could feel my body quivering, the waves of terror matching the rapid fire of my heart. “Hey! You ready?” my aunt said, her familiar voice cutting through like a knife. Oh no… not again. Did that run in the family, too? “As I’ll ever be.” The man laughed. There was a brief moment of silence before she replied, “Great. Just give me a second, okay?” “Sure.” A door shut, but my body still refused to move. Still refused to leave the safe cocoon of blankets and warmth I’d created for it. “Willow?” my aunt called out. Nothing. No response. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. She stepped into the room with small movements and little sound, as if she were approaching a gentle gazelle in the wild. As she sat on the wingback chair in the corner, I saw the tips of her feet dangling in front of me. She was wearing tie-dye socks with no shoes. For some reason, that slightly calmed me. Looking up, I found the rest of her outfit equally odd. A matching tie-dye shirt and tattered denim overalls that looked older than me.

Was this woman for real? “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay because I can clearly see the answer to that question just by looking at you. What I am going to ask is, what did I do, and how can I fix it?” I opened my mouth to answer, but the words were still not there. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself into an upright position but kept my gaze downward. Maybe talking to the floor would be easier. “The man? Is he… will he be here often? Are there others?” I wasn’t sure of how to phrase the question, Are you a prostitute?, to an aunt I’d just learned existed. There were several moments of silence. I wanted to look up to judge her expression to my question, but the floor was safe. The floor was easy. So, I kept my head down, like I’d been taught. “I want you to know, before the other day, I hadn’t heard from my sister in years. I know you must look at me and the life I have and wonder what kind of person am I to let you grow up with a woman like that when I was just a few hours down the road. But I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know about you, just like you didn’t know about me. If I had, I would have done… something,” she huffed out. “But all of that is behind us now. I can’t even begin to know what kind of horrors my sister unloaded on you over the years. I’m sorry I didn’t find out about you sooner. And I’m sorry I couldn’t fix her for you. Lord knows, I tried. But, sometimes, certain people are beyond your help, and as much as it hurts, you just have to walk away… and hope they figure it out for themselves.” My eyes squeezed shut as her words resonated. She was right. My mom was damaged goods. But how soon would it be until Addy realized I was, too? “Now, why don’t you go get ready?” she suggested in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “We have an appointment at the high school in a couple of hours. Figured I’d give you a day to adjust, but tomorrow, you’ll need to get into the swing of things around here, and that includes an education.” I nodded silently even though every molecule in my body was groaning at the idea of attending another school. There were people there. I generally didn’t get along with others, especially those my age. Even growing up in the crappy part of DC, where every kid in my grade had just as much baggage as me, I had still been referred to as the weird girl because I didn’t talk enough. Even kids in the hood had friends. Except for me. But talking and friendship didn’t solve anything. It didn’t make the darkness go away.

STARING INTO THE wide bathroom mirror that was still covered in a fresh coat of steam from my shower, I brushed back my golden-blonde hair. It was the one physical trait I must have inherited from my father, something my mother hated to be reminded of. She was constantly dying her dark brown roots, trying to maintain that perky platinum-blonde persona she swore her clients preferred. Honestly, I doubted they even noticed. But it wasn’t something I was going to tell her. The bright blue eyes though? Those, I got from her — or the family at least. My aunt sported the same blue irises as my mother and me, and I wondered who else on our side of the family had carried the trait. Not that I’d ever find out. The three of us were all that was left of the mighty Fairchild lineage. I quickly finished braiding my wet hair to the side, not bothering with makeup. I never did. A dab of moisturizer and a change of clothes, and I was ready to go. Not knowing exactly what my aunt was doing with the mystery man, I kept myself occupied in the craft room, as far away from the two of them as I could get. Finding a cozy chair, I curled up under a blanket and flipped through old craft magazines until it was time to go. About an hour later, Addy came looking for me, still dressed in her tie-dye and overalls outfit, asking if I was ready to go. “I guess,” I replied. “Well, let’s go. Don’t want to be late. After we get you registered, we can go get a bite to eat for lunch, and I’ll show you around town.” “Okay.” I followed her out of the house, taking another look around. The washed-out plants I remembered from last night were suddenly bright with every color under the rainbow as they soaked up the last rays of the dwindling summer heat. Even the ninja gnome looked happier at his post in the middle of the garden, surveying his crop. Everything was better in the daylight. Safer. “So, do you know anything about Sugar Tree?” my aunt asked as she opened the driver’s door, not even bothering to unlock it. If you left a car unlocked in my old neighborhood, you’d return to find nothing but an oil spot the next day. I resisted the urge to stand there, dumbfounded, at her abundance of trust, and instead, I followed her lead, opening the passenger door and climbing in.

“Um, no,” I answered. As we pulled out of the dusty gravel driveway, I continued to peer around my new neighborhood with mild curiosity. Most of the other houses on the street were similar to my aunt’s. Small one-story brick ranchers. Nothing fancy, but everything was neat and tidy. “This is the newer section of town. New is a relative term here in Sugar Tree. These houses were built a few decades ago, but when you drive closer to the center of town, you won’t find a building that isn’t at least a hundred years old — with a few exceptions,” she said, shrugging. “We’re proud of our history.” She’d said we as if she were a native of this place. As if she’d sprung up out of the ground one day and put down roots in this pint-sized town in the middle of Virginia. Maybe she’d found a way to forget her past, just like my mother. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of one of these buildings down here for a while now,” she continued, pointing to the left. “I cut hair. I don’t know if I made that clear before. I mean, with the gentleman in the house.” Her eyes briefly met mine, and I nodded. She hadn’t, but I was glad she was doing so now. “I have a salon out in the garage. Most of my clients come during normal business hours, but I sometimes stretch those hours to accommodate some of the neighbors. The man who came today lives down the street. He has two little boys and another on the way. He’s been working double shifts, trying to earn up a little extra before the next one arrives. So, I fit him in when he has time.” A part of me was relieved. Relieved my aunt wasn’t like my mother. Relieved I wasn’t in a house like hers again. But the idea of random strangers running in and out of the house at all hours of the day made my skin crawl. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, as if she could somehow read my thoughts. I was blessed with the gift of not having to respond as the car slowly pulled up to the high school. I lifted my head toward the large sign that proudly displayed the name Sugar Tree High School. It sounded like a school for the Oompa Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The whole town did. I mean, seriously, who thought up the name Sugar Tree? I took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of student cars in the parking lot, wondering which of the owners would be the first to make fun of the weird new girl. Who would be the ones to whisper behind my back, and which brave souls would do it to my face? While the inner turmoil was going on inside my head, I stepped out of my aunt’s late model Honda Civic and followed her into the brick building — one that she’d said was, “one of the newer buildings in town.” It had been built when Kennedy was in office.

We both stepped up to the long row of glass doors, stopping to press the buzzer, where we waited for permission to enter. I guessed, even in a small town, trust only stretched so far when it came to people’s kids. A chipper female voice crackled through the speaker. “On your left,” she instructed. Addy grabbed the door handle and pulled, smiling slightly when it easily gave way. “Here we go!” she said brightly. My stomach lurched at the thought, but I woefully trudged on. The old saying, Same shit, different day, came to mind as I took my first glance around the old building. It wasn’t that unlike the school I’d left behind. There were no metal detectors at the doors, and it lacked the grime and edge I was used to, but the bland coat of paint on the cinder-block walls felt the same. There were also those stereotypical posters plastered everywhere, warning us about the hazards of underage drinking and drug use. That was all oddly familiar — and not in a comforting sort of way. The polished white linoleum floors led to a glass door to the right of the main entrance. A sign to the left told me we were here — the main office. I followed Addy inside, taking note of my surroundings. The entire office was surrounded by glass, like a square little fishbowl. I guessed it made it easier to watch and observe the natives. Since class was already in session for the day, the hallways around the fishbowl were quiet. I thanked whoever was listening above for this tiny little favor. I needed just a few more hours before the staring and pointing began. Just a few more hours of being safe and invisible. “May I help you? Oh, Addy! I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you outside of the salon! Is that a new cut or color?” she asked, pointing to my aunt’s short brown locks. “I just styled it differently. Yours is looking like it needs a trim, June,” Addy greeted the tall blonde behind the desk with a wink. “This is my niece, Willow. She’ll be living with me for the foreseeable future, and I wanted to get her registered for school, if that’s possible. I believe we have an appointment.” The perky young thing nodded before looking down at what I could only assume was a calendar. “Yes! I see it. One of the students must have written it down. Sorry about that. Do you have her transcripts from her previous school? And immunization records?” I turned to Addy, waiting for her admission of failure. Maybe we could go home. Maybe I’d be able to postpone this whole miserable adventure for another week or so. “I’ve got them right here,” Addy replied, giving me a sideways smirk. Dang. How’d she manage that? She handed them across the counter, and the woman smiled, taking them in her hands. “I’ll be just a moment. I need to key these into her record. You can have a seat.”

Addy nodded, and we both turned toward the waiting area. It was empty, thankfully. No unruly kids to awkwardly avoid. We took two of the chairs that faced the door and sat in silence. There were no magazines, like at a doctor’s office, and unlike most people my age, my cell phone was only used in emergencies since I didn’t have money to buy more data. But, in that moment, I completely understood the need to bury oneself in a mindless device. It was far better than the alternative — sitting around in uncomfortable stillness while you waited for time to pass. Just as my eyelids were starting to waver, I heard the same voice that was used to greet us moments earlier echo in the old speaker. “On your left.” My attention piqued, and I watched to see who might come through the door. Carrying his backpack on one shoulder, like he wasn’t fully committed to the idea of this place yet, I observed the tall stranger as he made his way to the office. Clean-shaven and dressed nicer than any boy I’d ever seen, he waltzed in this fishbowl of a room like he owned it. “Sam Shepherd! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in class!” the tall blonde nearly gushed, rising up from her computer. Although her words had a note of authority to them, the way they were delivered had the opposite effect. The boy, Sam, set his backpack down on the ground, placing his elbows on the counter. Giving the woman a dreamy smile, he had her wrapped around his finger in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry, June — Mrs. Carrow, I mean. I was helping my father this morning, and time got away from us. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” he said, his words dripping with honey. “Of course, darling. But, you know, I’ll need a note from your daddy.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair. I moved slightly in my seat. Outside the door, ducked down neatly behind the portion of glass where the large side of the counter rested, there was a girl. A beautiful, normal… about-to-be-in-a-heap-of-trouble girl. Her eyes caught mine, and I could see her gaze wander over me, trying to place me. When she couldn’t, her finger went to her lips, begging for my silence. “Do you think I’d show up here, late for school, without a note from my dad?” Sam went on, leaning against the desk. His smile deepened, and soon, he had the entire office captivated. Oh my gosh, they are working together! He’d snuck her in, and now, he was carrying on, flirting with the staff and distracting them with his good looks so that the girl could get past undetected. I didn’t know whether to applaud the pair or turn my head away in disgust. There must have been some sort of signal I’d missed because, as soon as Sam reached into his pocket to procure the note, he was rambling on, and when all eyes in the office were focused on him, the girl ran out from her spot and darted down the hall. None the wiser.

I saw the corner of Sam’s smile turn upward. “Here you are, Mrs. Carrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some learning to do.” He tipped his head, pulling at an imaginary hat on his head, as he delivered a cocky grin to the ladies behind the counter before bending down to grab his stuff. Then, he quickly pivoted toward the door, swinging his backpack on his shoulder in one fluid movement. “That Sam Shepherd, quite the gentleman,” the young lady behind the counter said as she typed away at her computer, hopefully doing something related to me. I would like to leave this place while I still had the option. “Too bad about his mother though,” someone in a nearby desk chimed in. “A boy that age needs a little motherly love, you know?” “Oh, I’m sure he’s seen plenty of motherly love pass in and out of the house over the last few years.” June snickered back. I tried not to stare, and Addy audibly cleared her throat next to me. Was this how small-town life was always going to be? I had already been a freak in a city of a million. How would I possibly survive a town of a few thousand where everyone knew everything about everybody, down to their shoe sizes and mating habits? This office might look like a giant fishbowl, but it turned out, I might be the only fish out of water in this school.

“YOU’VE BARELY TOUCHED your food,” Addy pointed out as we sat, eating lunch at a little cafe in the middle of town. After registering for classes, she’d made it a point to make sure I got to know my new home, driving back down the main streets before finding somewhere to park. It was a typical September day in Virginia — hot — and as we’d ventured down the sidewalks, tiny beads of sweat had begun to form around my temples while I listened to her describe each place we’d passed. I knew I was being rude by not listening. I knew I was being rude by not eating the food she’d bought me, but my mind was somewhere else. “Is everyone here like that?” I finally asked after my mind circled a million times around the conversation I’d overheard in the office. “Like what?” she asked. She casually dipped one of her French fries in some ketchup, waiting for me to reply.

“Nosy? I mean, those women in the office… the way they spoke about that kid after he left. Does everyone do that?” She sat there, her French fry midway to her mouth, staring at me. I realized it was most likely the most words I’d strung together since I’d been here, so she was probably a little overwhelmed. Yes, Addy, I can actually speak like a human being. Surprise. “I wish I could say no, but I think small-town life is going to be a bit of an adjustment for you. June…” She hesitated. “June is maybe an example of an extreme case. Honestly, that woman should have been fired long ago, and I swear, the only reason she and the old bat of a woman work in that office is because the gossip keeps them from dying of boredom.” “It was unprofessional — what they said,” I responded, nearly interrupting her. “It was,” she agreed. “And I’m not discounting that. Especially with a student in the room.” She paused once more, this time taking a sip from her nearly empty coffee cup. I’d never seen anyone drink coffee with their lunch before, but Addy was currently on her third cup. If I had that much caffeine during the day, I thought, I’d be levitating by now. “What you heard, it’s common knowledge around town. So, in June’s mind, it’s not gossip; it’s just a fact. Doesn’t make it right, but that’s how she sees it. However, whenever there is a crisis, those two crazy women are always first on the call list to offer assistance. So, you take the gossip with a grain of salt. Or at least that’s what I do.” I didn’t say much after that, instead choosing to focus on my meal. Part of me was relieved to hear the women in the office had a giving side to balance out the gossip they’d been slinging in front of me. But I wondered how far it reached. If they knew where I’d come from, what I’d been through, would they be the first to offer a hand in my aid? Or would they turn their backs on me, like everyone else in my life? Looking up at my aunt, I couldn’t help but ponder over the same sort of questions when it came to her. Would she be there for me? If she knew?

THE NEXT MORNING, no strange men were in the house. No early morning haircut. Just the intoxicating sweet smell of bacon. My stomach recognized the scent almost immediately. Stretching my long legs on the old couch, I sat up to find Addy in the small kitchen across from the living room, dancing around with a spatula in her hand. Tiny earbuds were attached to each side of her head, letting me know she at least wasn’t crazy. Although, judging by her wardrobe, the jury might still be out on that. Today, she’d chosen a geometric-patterned pair of leggings with a long striped top. Perhaps, if you looked at it sideways, it could match, but overall, it made my eyes hurt. “Oh, good, you’re up!” she hollered, obviously talking over the music in her ears. Realizing her error, she pulled the cord at her neck, popping the white buds free. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said at a normal volume. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat, so I’ve made a variety of things. I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast for your first day.” Walking over to the counter, I took a quick look around and found myself instantly overwhelmed. I didn’t think, in my relatively short life, I’d ever seen that much food in person. There were doughnuts that looked like they’d been boxed fresh from a bakery, sizzling bacon, eggs, pancakes, and several boxes of cereal. The starving child inside me wanted to grab everything and find someplace to hoard it all. The untrusting teen in me wanted to run. I aimed for middle ground and silently grabbed an apple fritter and a handful of bacon as I made my way to the bathroom. School. I looked in the mirror and let out a long sigh. Taking another bite of the sugary sweet doughnut, I tried

to talk myself into getting ready. Ten minutes later, I hadn’t moved an inch, but the doughnut and every trace of bacon was gone. So, I had to decide if I was either going to stay in here all day or face the world. Looking down at the place where my toothbrush rested near my aunt’s, I made my choice. At least I could grab another doughnut on the way out.

“IS THAT WHAT you’re wearing?” Addy asked as I stepped into the living room. Staring back at her in the outfit that had nearly given me a headache a half hour earlier, my eyes furrowed in confusion. After looking down at my faded jeans and plain black long-sleeved shirt, I found myself instantly glancing back up at her, asking, “Why?” “It’s not that it’s bad. It’s good. We just might want to pick you up a few things the next time we’re in town.” Her eyes narrowed in on the hem of my shirt. I turned away, toward the door, with the backpack Addy had pulled out of her craft room for me slung over my shoulder. It was secondhand, like everything I owned, but nicer than most of my stuff. There were a few stains on the dark fabric but no rips or holes. Tugging it close to my body, I felt her hand grip my shoulder. I instantly stiffened. She backed off. Standing at the doorway, I stood frozen. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She hesitated. “I don’t know how to do this, Willow.” Turning around, I saw concern written all over her face. “Do what?” I asked. “Take care of you, be there for you. I’ve never been a mother… much less an aunt before.” My eyes briefly wandered over her as I remembered the way her hand had reached out toward me. “Stop trying,” I said, severing our conversation with just two abrupt words. I didn’t bother waiting for her response. As she had reminded me when I first got here, it was time for me to go get an education.

THE SHORT RIDE to school was tense, to say the least.

I did everything I could not to look toward the driver’s side of the car, and I was pretty sure Addy was doing the same. When the car came to a stop in front of the double doors of the high school, I didn’t bother saying good-bye. It was probably better this way anyway. For both of us. She’d just end up disappointed and filled with regret if she tried feeling anything for me. The school looked different at this time of day. Students were loitering in small groups on the lawn, talking or texting on their phones. Even texting couldn’t be done alone in high school. I managed to go unnoticed as I walked through the entrance and down the familiar hall, passing the fishbowl office I’d sat in yesterday. The chatty secretary my aunt had spoken about looked up from the counter, instantly recognizing me, and waved. Figuring I’d handed out enough rudeness for the morning, I gave a small wave back as my pace quickened down the hallway, toward the direction of my new locker. Although, I’d declined the normal student tour guide on my first day, the chatty secretary had been kind enough to show me around briefly while class was in session, even stopping by my locker briefly. Today though, I’d be on my own. It was what I was used to after all. Roaming down the corridor, I found the locker without issue. The building might be somewhat outdated, but the lockers seemed relatively new. However, getting into them proved otherwise. After three attempts, I was ready to give up and just use my hand-me-down backpack as a makeshift locker. Who needed an aligned spine anyway? Certainly not me. “It helps if you go past the last number just slightly,” a voice called out. I looked to my right and found the same blonde girl I’d seen sneaking in the day before. Although we shared the same hair color, the similarities stopped there. She was everything I was not. Tall, lean, and curvy in all the right places and dressed in a way that clearly showed she’d never worn a single piece of secondhand clothing. “Thanks,” I replied dryly. “You’re new here,” she said, not bothering to form her words into a question. If everyone knew everything about each other, like my aunt had said, then it would be obvious to a popular-looking girl like her that I didn’t fit in. That I obviously didn’t belong. “Yes,” I said, giving my locker combination another try. To my surprise, her bit of advice actually worked, and the door sprung free, giving way to an unimpressive little space for my things.

Realizing I actually had nothing to put in there, I quickly shut it. “Where are you from?” the nosy girl asked. I guess this conversation is continuing. “DC,” I answered as I made an attempt to leave. She just followed right along. “DC? Wow, I bet this is crazy different.” Crazy different. That’s one way to describe it. “You could say that,” I replied, wondering just how long she’d be tagging along. Would she follow me into my first period class? Would she try to braid my hair and make friendship bracelets with me at lunch? As I dodged down the correct hallway for my first period class, the friendly blonde stuck to me like glue, chatting away about small-town life. “We don’t have a movie theater, but sometimes, on weekends and special occasions, the park will set up a giant screen and play old movies. It’s a great place to hang out.” I gave a strained smile, stopping in front of the open door that led to my first class. She looked at the door that led into the classroom, spotting the teacher at the desk, and frowned. “Try not to fall asleep. He’s a bore. What other classes do you have?” Before I could even answer, she snatched up the schedule I’d had clutched in my hand and was skimming through each period. Her face changed from happy to sad, like one of those clowns who moved his hand up and down his face as he changes emotions. “We have third and seventh together! Yay!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, before adding, “I’m Allison Greer, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Willow Fairchild! See you later.” She skipped off before I could say anything more. Looking down the hall, I watched her greet and hug several people before disappearing. What’d just happened? And how did she known my name? Looking down at my schedule that she’d handed back to me, it dawned on me. She’d read it. Sneaky little— Wait, had she looked at my gloves? Even once? The warning bell rang, telling students they had two minutes to get to class. Suddenly, the hallways were a flurry of energy. Boyfriends and girlfriends hugged, and friends said good-bye as I made my way to my first class at Sugar Tree High School.



THIS WAS THE part I had been dreading. Well, the part I was dreading the most. The walking-into-class part. Will everyone stare? Will the teacher make me talk about myself, like they do in movies? Or will I simply be able to sit down and disappear? Hoping for the latter, I quickly walked to the slightly overweight man behind the desk in the front of the room. He had a large coffee stain on his white shirt, and it looked like he’d used several of the term papers around him to mop it up. Awesome. Hoping I could get by with as little talking as possible, I made myself as visible as possible, standing right in his line of vision. It didn’t take long for him to notice the awkward-looking girl in front of him. “Ah, yes… you must be Willow,” he said with a gentle smile. Letting out a sigh of relief, I nodded. “Good, good. Well, let’s get you a seat then. I do assigned seating in my class. Helps me learn names quicker in the beginning of the year. Although, by junior year, I tend to know half of these kids anyway. Why don’t we sit you here?” he suggested as I followed him down a row, toward the back. “Okay,” I said quietly as other kids looked on with mild curiosity. “Great. I’ll get you a textbook and a syllabus, and you’ll be on your way,” he said cheerfully, making his way back toward the front. He stopped a few times to give warnings on cell-phone use in the classroom. By the time the bell rang, I had one used standard English textbook and a copy of the semester’s syllabus on my desk. I tried not to notice the eight people around me, staring. As soon as the bell rang, it happened. The barrage of questions. “Where are you from?” “What’s with the gloves?” “Are you deformed?” one guy asked. The girl next to him playfully slapped him. They laughed quietly between each other. I didn’t bother answering any of their questions. I was used to kids like this — the bullies and the ignorant ones. The labelers. High school was all about labels, and kids like this were the enforcers of said labels. Jocks, nerd, goth, whore — everyone needed to be something here. Otherwise, you didn’t exist. Otherwise, you were invisible. I preferred to be invisible. Head down.

Don’t look up. And so, I did what I had been trained to do. I turned and walked away, letting their labels and their questions trail behind me like dust. One class down. Six more to go.

THE REST OF the day went on much the same. Many stares, lots of questions. No answers. I was sure I was the talk of Sugar Tree High, but I didn’t care. The drama of school was something I found oddly comforting. Don’t get me wrong; I still hated it. The whispering, the laughter, and the never-ending stares. But it never changed. Whether I was here or in DC, it didn’t matter; teenagers were the same in every state. Well, most of them anyway. As I sat on the couch in my aunt’s living room while she sang to herself in the kitchen, my thoughts drifted back to my encounter with Allison. She seemed to break every rule I knew. She was obviously popular and well liked. If the looks and the designer clothes hadn’t given that away, seeing her float from person to person down the hall was a dead giveaway. But the way she’d treated me? It seemed genuine. In the past, I’d had other encounters with kids who’d acted like they were trying to befriend me, only to find out it was a bet — some cheap trick to win over the quiet, weird girl… whose feelings didn’t matter. But Allison seemed different. And that made it all the more terrifying because I found myself wanting to like her back. What good could come from that? “Did you get all your homework done?” Addy called from the kitchen. I nodded, quickly realizing she couldn’t see me from my curled up position on the couch. “Yes,” I replied. “Good. You haven’t really said how everything went. Did you find your classes okay? Make any

friends? Learn anything?” “Um,” I managed to mutter. “Why don’t you come over here and help me fix dinner? That way, we can chat. I can barely hear you over this meat sizzling in the pan.” She could barely hear me because I hadn’t actually said anything, but I didn’t bother correcting her. She’d evidently ignored my advice from this morning to give up and was making a solid effort to get to know me. Walking into the small, boxy kitchen, I took the wooden spoon resting on the stove and began to idly stir the ground beef. Addy was chopping fresh tomatoes and lettuce on a plastic cutting board next to me, humming and happily swinging her hips. She’d changed out of her wacky attire for the day, opting for a pair of plain black sweats and an old T-shirt. It was still strange to look at her with those familiar blue eyes. But, the more I got to know her, the less I saw of my mother staring back at me. The resemblance would always be there; there was no doubt about that. The twin gene ran strong with those two, but everything else was starkly different. Addy carried herself with pride and a kind of joy I’d never seen my mom have. I didn’t understand how two women, both raised in the same household, could turn out to be such polar opposites. One so happy, and one so— “Are you going to tell me about school?” she asked again, her eyebrow raised in my direction, as she scooped the tomatoes into a serving dish. “There’s not much to tell.” “Did you meet anyone?” she asked. “Not really. Well, one person,” I amended. “Oh, yeah?” She perked up, stopping everything she was doing to divert her full attention in my direction. I felt my insides quiver at the sudden spotlight thrown in my direction. “Tell me about it.” “It was just some girl who has a locker next to mine,” I said, shrugging. “What is her name?” “Allison.” “Allison?” she asked, searching for a last name. “I don’t know. She gave me a last name, but I don’t remember it. She has blonde hair.” She seemed to deflate a little at the lack of information I was giving, clearly hoping for more. Her shoulders sagged as she turned to finish up the fixings for our tacos, and I knew I should have said something. Anything to cheer her up. But what could I say? That the kids had wanted to know why I wore thick winter gloves all day long?

Rumors were probably already floating around that I had some horrible disease or disfigurement. And, rather than answering them or sticking up for myself, I’d just scurried off because, if I told anyone the real reason I wore them, I’d finally have that label everyone was dying to put on me. Coward.

“YOUR MOTHER DOES know what size you wear, doesn’t she?” Addy asked the next morning as I walked out of the bathroom, showered and dressed for school. Looking down at another version of the black long-sleeved shirt I’d worn the day before, I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “This is hers. Most of my clothes are. She always just gave me what she didn’t want anymore.” Her eyes widened and then softened. “Well, I meant what I said. I’m taking you into town this weekend. You’re too tiny to be wearing your mom’s hand-me-downs. She’s got to be at least two sizes bigger than you.” Four sizes, but who is counting? “Maybe, if I keep feeding you like this, you’ll actually grow some meat on those bones of yours,” she suggested, her keen eyes still fixated on my body. It made me suddenly aware of the way my jeans felt so loose around my hips… how easily they fell from my body. “You and me… we’re the same.” The memory of his voice cut through my mind like a razor blade, and I instantly stiffened. “Willow? You okay?” Addy noticed my change in mood almost instantly. She moved to my aid but stopped herself before her hand reached my shoulder. “Whatever is going through your mind right now, it will fade.” “It won’t,” I said through clenched teeth. “It will never fade.” “It will. Maybe not today or tomorrow, not even next year… but with time, it will fade. And it will heal.” “You don’t know. You can’t—” “Trust me,” was all she said before turning toward the door. I watched her walk out, leaving the door open for me, and I wondered, Who is this mysterious aunt I am living with?

“IT’S THE PERFECT solution,” Addy said over dinner that night. I’d just sat down in front of a large plate of homemade spaghetti and salad, my mouth nearly dripping with saliva over the aroma, when she’d hit me up with this ridiculous idea. “A job?” I said, looking up at her with a mixture of distrust and confusion. With a glance at the table full of food, my gut was churning — but for another reason entirely. Guilt. “If it’s a matter of money, I can eat less, and I don’t really need any new clothes. What I have here is fine.” Her hand stretched out across the table, an obvious attempt to console my fears. But, like always, she’d only gone so far, her fingertips barely grazing the tattered pieces of yarn on my glove as she tested my limits. I pulled my hand back, resting it under the table. “It’s not about money,” she said warmly, clearly ignoring my blatant rejection of her never-ending efforts at showing affection. “I don’t want you to think you’re a burden, but I do want you to feel at ease living here.” “So, you got me a job at a bookstore?” I didn’t understand her logic. I didn’t understand why she thought this was such a brilliant plan. The idea of stepping further out of my comfort zone was truly terrifying. “There are many jobs in town for kids your age,” she went on, explaining herself. “Most are usually snatched up before the Help Wanted signs make it to the windows. When Mr. Shepherd mentioned it to me, saying that he was looking for someone to stock shelves and keep the place tidy, I knew it would be a great fit for you.” “Can’t I just come back here after school like I have been doing?” In other words, couldn’t I just come here and hide? She sighed. “I mentioned to you earlier that I’ve been trying to get a storefront in town for my business, but I haven’t succeeded.” I nodded, remembering her bringing it up during our initial tour of the town. “It’s why I met with Mr. Shepherd in the first place. He owns several of the businesses in town, and I was trying to convince him why my salon would be a good fit for the open storefront next to the bookstore.” Shepherd. The name sounded oddly familiar.

I remembered the boy just then, the one who had smooth-talked the ladies at the front desk while Allison snuck around the corner. I’d seen him around school and I think I even have a class with him. His last name was Shepherd, wasn’t it? Was she speaking of the same family? “But Mr. Shepherd won’t budge,” she continued. “He feels that, since Sugar Tree already has an established salon, there’s no need for another one. So, he’d rather leave the storefront empty than lease to me, but maybe something good can come from that meeting.” I could see the disappointment in her eyes, and at that moment, I realized how important this was to her — the realization of her dream. I’d heard of such things, people having aspirations and goals in life. Reaching for the stars and all that. But I’d never been able to dream bigger than my tiny bedroom. Until last week, my biggest aspiration was to make it to my eighteenth birthday, so I could walk out of that apartment, away from my mother, and never look back. I looked down at my fingers, covered by worn red yarn. I guessed, in a way, these gloves and everything they represented had achieved that dream for me. Too bad there wasn’t enough of me left to enjoy it. “Look, I think it’ll be good for you,” my aunt said, bringing me back to the here and now. “To do something outside of school. And this is the best solution I could come up with for…” She hesitated. “What?” I said, wondering what she was getting at. Her eyes met mine. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but after that first day you arrived, I haven’t had a single client here before school.” My heart rate quickened. “And I’m not going to,” she clarified. “But it requires a bit of rescheduling. I’m going to need to work later into the evening hours, which means there will be clients here.” I remembered that feeling — the helpless, frozen feeling I’d had when I awoke to discover I wasn’t alone in this unfamiliar house. I finally understood the need for a job, why she’d jumped at the chance for me to take shifts at the bookstore in town. She knew I wouldn’t be comfortable with strangers in the house. And, for once, she was right. So, it was a choice between being trapped at home with my aunt’s random clients moving in and out of the house or being trapped at a boring old bookstore for five days a week. It was a no-brainer really. “I’ll take the job,” I said. “When do I start?”

I HONESTLY HAD no idea what to expect the next day as I walked to Page Turners, the bookstore I was now supposed to report to right after school. Summer and fall were still battling it out for supremacy over September, and the daily temperature would fluctuate from sweltering to almost bearable. As I made my way down the street toward town, I took a deep breath, enjoying a rare crisp breeze I hadn’t felt in months. This was normally right about the time of year when I’d start to panic, that first chill running up my spine. Winter was coming. I didn’t know how many Januarys I’d spent huddled under a jacket too thin or too small because my mother had blown every cent she had on a new dress — or worse, on a guy. Some of my worst winter memories were when my mother found herself a new boyfriend. She’d spend her last dime making herself over from head to toe, believing she’d finally found the one, only to be devastated once again. Sometimes, I felt for her and how hard it must be to be rejected over and over. Most of the time though, I was just too cold and hungry to care. Thankfully, the distance between school and my new job was less than ten minutes. Finding the storefront wasn’t hard with its large sign. After all, this was Sugar Tree. The whole town reminded me of an old movie set. It just didn’t seem real. Every building had its own unique history and had probably been standing there since the signing of the Declaration. The modern cars parked in front of the old brick buildings almost felt out of place, like seeing a Corvette in the middle of a Western movie. Reaching the ornate glass door, I turned the old brass knob and pushed. The door creaked open, announcing my arrival. I quietly looked around, wondering whom I might find. There was no one at first glance, so I took a moment to look around. I’d only seen the insides of bookstores on TV, and our school library back home was rarely used. Stepping into Page Turners was an experience for my senses. There was a distinct smell, like you knew you were walking into a place with history. Mothballs and leather maybe? It just smelled old. And there were books everywhere. New and old, every genre and age. There was even a huge section with graphic novels and comics. Unfortunately, the place was also dead. Like not a customer in sight.

There also didn’t seem to be anyone working either, so that could definitely be the source of the problem. A braver person would have called out, hollered to see if anyone was around. Instead, I stood there… waiting. For what seemed like an eternity. “You’re late,” a male voice called out from the stacks. The deep voice nearly stopped me in my tracks. I’d been so surprised by the announcement of the job offer, I’d forgotten to ask whom I’d be working with. A tall, somewhat lanky boy appeared, carrying several paperbacks in his hand. I instantly recognized him as the smooth-talking, class-cutting heartthrob the ladies at the front desk had been all aflutter over. “Excuse me?” I managed to say. “You are my new hire, correct?” he asked pointedly. “Yours?” “I’m the manager here. Well, during the afternoons at least.” I remembered my aunt mentioning just who owned this store. “Must not be hard when your daddy owns it,” I said, surprised by my own words. Rather than get angry, he merely smirked, setting the handful of books down on the counter in front of me. “Tomorrow I’ll give you exactly ten minutes to get here from when the last bell rings. Otherwise, I’ll dock your pay. If I can get here on time, so can you.” I opened my mouth to protest or offer up another insult, but I was all out for the day, which only made his cocky grin grow wider. “Good. Now, why don’t you start by stacking these on the shelves? I’ll give you a lesson on the computer system later, but for now, you shouldn’t have much trouble finding homes for these.” Before I had a chance to ask for further instructions, he was gone, disappearing into the back, no doubt still wearing that damn smile on his face. “Stupid jerk.” “Heard that!” He laughed before a door shut. I stood on my toes, trying to figure out where he’d gone, but I only saw more shelves. Deciding I was on my own, I grabbed a couple of the books he’d left for me, making a quick inspection of the covers and spines. One was a teen romance, and the other looked like science fiction. I set out on my quest, enjoying the peace and quiet the store offered. Part of me wondered how a business so empty could stay afloat, let alone need an extra employee, but I was grateful for the silence. So, I went about searching for the science fiction section first. The store wasn’t huge, mostly compact and desperately in need of some serious organization. But I managed to find a location for the futuristic alien book and moved on to find the teen romance section.

Looking down at the cover, I found myself rolling my eyes. Don’t Let Go. What a lame title. Yet, before my eyes were finished making their final roll, I found myself cracking open the cover. I’d never been into reading. School was something I just did but never really thought about much after textbooks were closed and papers were written. Such luxuries weren’t taken when you were busy worrying about winter coats and just who was roaming your halls late at night. “You know, I’m not paying you to read.” Sam’s voice cut through the silence. I jumped, caught off guard by his sudden presence. I was usually more attuned to my surroundings, but for some reason, I’d gotten lost in the first couple of pages in that book. Looking up, I wanted to scream when I saw him leaning against a tall shelf, one foot over the other, like he had all the time in the world, that same wolfish grin plastered on his face. “And what do you get paid to do exactly?” I shot back. He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step forward, snatching the book from my hand and motioning for me to follow him. Knowing I’d probably already gotten away with my fair share of snide comebacks for the day, I decided to follow. Rounding a sharp corner, we arrived at the small teen romance section. It barely took up two shelves. He made an elaborate demonstration of putting the book on the second shelf, next to another book by the same author. “We do offer ten percent off for employees,” he said before walking off. My normally quiet nature seemed to take a backseat when it came to this guy. He made me angry, flustered, and… something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Annoyed maybe? No, that wasn’t it. “What is your problem?” I blurted out, chasing behind him. “My problem?” he asked, spinning around to face me. Suddenly, he was too close. I could feel his breath on my face, his presence looming over me. I took a step back. He seemed to notice the unease settle around me, and a bit of the edge he carried chipped away. His next words were said with a slightly softer quality. “Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but if the store doesn’t do well, it’s on me. My dad thinks it’s a waste of time.” “And you don’t?” I didn’t know what a rich, popular kid wanted with an old bookstore, but I kept my mouth shut. He shrugged. “We have nothing in this crummy town, not even a movie theater. Last month, I wanted to see the new Marvel movie, and my friends and I had to drive thirty minutes away just to see it.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Netflix?” I asked. “It’s not the same as seeing it on the big screen.” “I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “What?” He grinned. “You’ve never been to a movie?” The way he said it was meant as a joke, but all laughter died when I shook my head. “Seriously?” “I mean, I’ve watched several on TV but never at a theater,” I answered, not able to meet his stare. “I thought you were from the city.” My eyes flew up to his. “Oh, so you really did think you were invisible. That doesn’t work around here, Mittens.” My brows furrowed as I tried to figure out what he meant until he pointed to my gloves. Mittens. Cute. “My name is Willow,” I corrected. Sam just kept smiling. “Word of advice, Mittens. The less you try to be invisible, the less interested people will be.” I let out a heavy sigh, snatching the remainder of the books from the counter. As he’d reminded me earlier, I wasn’t being paid to mess around. And I sure as hell didn’t need life lessons from an over privileged daddy’s boy. I hated this place.

“YOU’RE LATE AGAIN, Mittens,” Sam announced. I nearly fell through the door, huffing and puffing from my quick sprint across town. I didn’t bother responding. He’d said the same damn thing to me every day this week. How he managed to beat me here, I had no idea. I was starting to believe he had superhuman powers. Giving him a death stare, I proceeded toward the back stockroom, intent on dropping off my backpack. Sam, of course, followed. “I need you to order a few things today. Oh, and some reshelving needs to be done also.” “Got it,” I muttered, trying my best to ignore him. In my new small world of Sugar Tree, Sam Shepherd had become the bulk of all things annoying and bothersome. Everything about that boy set my teeth on edge. The fact that he never, ever seemed to lift a finger in this place, instead disappearing into the back to do God knows what, made my blood boil. That stupid smirk he wore whenever he spoke to me. And then there was the nickname. God, I hated the nickname. Mittens. What was worse was the fact that the nickname had worked its way into my school life as well. During History, a class we unfortunately shared together, Sam had walked up to me, sly smirk in place, and asked, “Mittens, do you have notes on yesterday’s class? I was detained.” A couple of his buddies had snickered behind him. Detained? More like skipped class. Jerk. “You’ve got a real problem with me, don’t you?” Sam asked. I’d just dropped my backpack on the floor of the stockroom, ready to jump into the stacks of books that

needed to be shifted around for today, when I found him still leaning against the doorframe. “Excuse me?” “I think I should be the one offended here,” he responded, evidently picking up on my tone. Making a nonverbal shrug, I tried to ignore him, digging into the first couple of books with gusto. “No, seriously, I want to know. You’ve been nothing but rude to me since the moment we met, and I have no idea why. Did I offend you in another life?” Standing up tall, I met his dark green eyes. “Look, you’re just not my type of person, okay?” His face scrunched in a mixture of shock and amusement. “Really? And what kind of person is that exactly? Since you seem to know me so well.” I sighed, really hating this conversation. While Sam didn’t intimidate me like most male figures, I tried to avoid confrontation at any cost. Scratch that. I tried to avoid conversations or talking at any cost. “It’s not a big deal.” I tried to downplay my previous statement. “You and I are just complete opposites. We come from different worlds. And, believe me, I know your type; you don’t like me much either.” A flash of something blazed through his irises. “You know my type? That’s interesting. And how did you work this all out, oh wise one? From the handful of conversations we’ve had?” “I just know, okay?” I pressed on, my gloved hands running up the fabric of my shirt in discomfort. “Fine,” he said angrily. “I didn’t figure you were someone who made such quick judgments about others… but then again, that’s the tricky thing about first impressions; they’re usually wrong.” He stormed away into the sea of shelves, and those were the last words he said to me for the rest of the day. Seems like the only jerk in the store that day… was me.

I’D BARELY SAID two words to Addy since I arrived home. Although I wasn’t known for being overly chatty, I had been loosening up a little in my new home. So, by nine o’clock, the silence had become evident. “Something happen today?” Addy asked as she sat on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, a hot glue gun in hand. She was working on her latest craft project — red and green felt roses that she was

eventually going to turn into Christmas ornaments. I didn’t bother reminding her that Halloween was still a month away. “No,” I answered shortly. “Why don’t you come sit by me and help me glue?” she suggested. I’d just finished wiping down the table after dinner, and I was itching to disappear into my room for the evening. Addy had made good on her promise and cleaned out the spare bedroom over the weekend. Half of the closet was still occupied with fabric, glitter, and other various art supplies, but for the most part, it was mine. It was the first time I had a space of my own that didn’t feel like a prison. My room back in DC had been out of necessity. If my mom could have found a way around giving me my own space, I was sure she would have. But it was a convenient place to hide the kid no one wanted to see. Reluctantly, I put the towel down on the counter and found a spot next to Addy. She turned the TV on, the volume so low that I could barely hear it. I’d watched her do this on several occasions as she worked on crafts. I thought she enjoyed the chatter because she hardly ever paid attention to any of the shows. A couple was shopping for a starter house on the screen while Addy taught me how to create a felt flower. It was amazingly simple really, and once I was finished, I was kind of proud of the little red rose staring up at me. “Good. Now, put a bit of glue on the bottom here.” I tried to follow her directions, but somehow, I ended up making a mess. Hot glue was stuck to my gloved fingers and the bottom of the flower. As I tried to yank myself free, the flower fell apart, unwinding into a large mass of felt on the table below. Looking down, I sighed, trying to pick off some of the glue that had accumulated on my fingers. But it was no use. Yarn and hot glue did not mix. I noticed Addy intently watching me before rising from her spot. She disappeared into her room down the hall before returning a moment later. In her hand was a pair of gloves, dark blue with tiny snowflakes on the back. “Here, try these,” she simply said before walking into the kitchen. I sat there, on the floor, slightly stunned, staring at those blue gloves. “You don’t have to use them,” she said, a warmth to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “But they’re yours to keep either way.” I nodded, still staring at the tiny snowflakes. Part of me wanted to rip off the gloves and toss both pairs in the trash. But I knew I wouldn’t. I knew the nice pair with the snowflakes on them would end up in a drawer, never to be seen again. Because I couldn’t — no, I wouldn’t take them off.

Not now. Not ever.

LIFE SLOWLY BEGAN to settle into a different kind of normal in Sugar Tree. Addy, determined to get me into clothes that actually fit, took me shopping the next weekend and managed not to say a single word when I came out of the store, carrying two full bags of boring longsleeved T-shirts and jeans. “At least they fit,” she muttered. Okay, so she said a few words. I continued working at Page Turners, nearly sprinting the entire way there after school in hopes of one day beating Sam, but I had no luck. He beat me every time. Although I wasn’t about to admit this to him out loud, I was starting to wonder if I really had misjudged him from the very start. He was a bit arrogant, always had a comeback, and rarely seemed to actually work, but more than that, he was kind. Or at least I thought he was. I’d made it a habit to arrive at school early. The hallways were less crowded, and it gave me time to visit my locker and slip into class way before the bell rang. My English teacher wasn’t much for punctuality, something well known around the school. He’d show up mere minutes before the bell, wiping sweat from his brow as he collapsed into his rickety chair, carrying a huge travel mug of coffee. His distaste for mornings served me well since the empty classroom gave me a sort of sanctuary to hide in while the hallways filled with noise and commotion. I’d doodle on my notebook, listening to the gossip and chatter just outside the door, thankful I was away from it all. Today, however, as I made my way to the empty classroom, I was intercepted. “Willow!” a cheerful voice called to me from across the hall. I turned to see Allison, dressed in a colorful top and stylish jeans, jogging toward me, her megawatt smile in place. This wasn’t the first time she’d tracked me down, demanding we sit next to each other in our shared classes and walk together between classes. “How are you?” She beamed, slightly breathless, as she stopped in front of me. “Good. I’m good.” I stumbled over every word. If she noticed my awkwardness, she didn’t show it. Instead, she simply continued on, reminding me

about homecoming and the dance that would follow. “It’s going to be so much fun. You must go.” “It’s not really my type of thing.” “Have you ever been to a dance?” she asked, her hand gently resting on her hip. I shook my head. “Then, how do you know?” she asked. “Besides, you don’t have to bring a date. Lots of people just go in a big group. If you wanted to, you could come to my house and get ready before. I’d be happy to help.” “I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” I answered, feeling completely out of my element. Why did she care so much? Was she working toward some sort of kindness badge for Girl Scouts, and I was her newfound charity case? I just couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t leave me alone, like everyone else. “Okay, but I’m holding you to it this time. You also said you’d think about eating lunch with me last week, and I haven’t seen you in the cafeteria once!” I purposely averted my gaze. I’d been spending most of my lunches as far away from everyone else as I could. Since upperclassmen had roaming privileges around campus during lunch, it wasn’t that hard. Sometimes, I would eat outside on the grass or in an empty hallway. Thankfully, I hadn’t had to resort to eating in the restroom yet. That would be unfortunate. And gross. “I’ve been busy,” I said lamely. Her vibrant blue eyes dulled slightly. “Look, if you don’t want to be my friend, I understand. I just wanted you to feel welcome here.” Now, who’s the jerk? Again. I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.” “What? Talking? Friendship?” she asked, a bit of amusement in her tone. “Yes.” A small smirk appeared on my face. “All of it.” “That’s okay. Not all of us can be perfect like me,” she quipped, adding a dramatic hair flip for effect. I actually found myself laughing at her antics. It was so unexpected, my hand instantly flew up to my mouth. “Well, please do think about the dance. If it makes you more comfortable, it can just be the two of us at my house. My mom would love to meet you. And—” Her words died as I watched her usual bright and happy features fall to the floor. Following her gaze, I turned to see what had upset her so swiftly.

There, in the middle of the hallway, was Sam and a girl I recognized from my gym class. He stood over her, smiling wide, as his fingers brushed her cheek. She batted her eyelashes, swinging her hair in a ridiculous fashion, as she laughed at something he’d said. The whole scene made me kind of sick. But, for Allison… it was obviously soul-crushing. “I’ve got to go,” she said suddenly. “Allison, are you okay?” I asked, turning back to find her already darting down the hallway. My eyes swept back around to find Sam still making a nauseating scene in the hallway with the girl from my gym class. Feeling braver than I had in months, I stomped over to him, surprised when he noticed me right away. “Hey, Mittens.” He smiled. “You know how you said I shouldn’t judge a person by my first impression?” He began to respond, a lazy grin on his face, as his fingers stretched across the waist of the girl in front of him. I didn’t let him get a word in. “I’ve had the time now to get a second, third, and even fourth opinion of you… and you know what? You’re still a jerk.” As I stormed off, I tried to ignore the onlookers and whispers that followed in my wake. Sam might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about one. I couldn’t be invisible. Not here and certainly not anymore.

HE DESERVED IT. Sam is selfish and callous, a pathetic excuse for a human being, and what I did in that hallway was totally justified. Those were the thoughts running through my mind as I made my way to the bookstore that afternoon, a little slower than normal. I wasn’t scared of confronting Sam after my public lashing at school this morning. I was just taking my time to admire the scenery. Yep… that didn’t sound like a lie. The fact that I’d gone out of my way to completely avoid him in History class? Total coincidence. As I stepped up to the stoop of the old shop, pushing open the door, I found myself taking a deep breath, as if I were preparing to go underwater.

Seeing Sam’s stern expression meet mine, I would have preferred the water. Hell, the middle of the ocean would have been a cakewalk compared to this. He didn’t greet me with his normal, You’re late, Mittens. Instead, our eyes met briefly before he quickly turned away. It was enough time though for me to catch the hurt and anger painted clearly across his face. He deserved it, I reminded myself. I tried not to linger too long on his downcast eyes as he worked on the computer. Selfish… and pathetic excuse for a — what was the rest of my speech? “You going to stand there all day, or are you planning on actually working?” he asked, his voice filled with a bit more grit than usual. “What’s up with you and Allison Greer?” The words flew out of my mouth faster than my mind could contemplate whether it was my place to ask. Sam turned to me, the old wood counter still separating us. He set down the book he had been holding and folded his arms across his chest. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. I could see why Allison — and every other girl in school — was obsessed with him. There was nothing trendy about Sam Shepherd. He was the kind of handsome that transcended style and generations. I remembered watching an old eighties movie on the small television in our DC apartment and rolling my eyes at what the girls back then considered hot. Had they had eyes? But I was sure that even those girls, with their crazy acid-wash jeans and hot-pink scrunchies, would agree with me about Sam. It wasn’t his clothes or the way he cut his hair. It was the feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when he looked at you with those dark green eyes. The feeling that you were something more than ordinary. Does he make Allison feel that way? I wondered. Did she care that he was a worthless idiot, or did none of that matter when the guy was gorgeous and popular? “So, that’s what this morning was about? Sticking up for your friend?” he said. My mind tried to wrap around my convoluted feelings. “Friend?” I said, slightly bewildered. “That was what you were doing, right? Sticking up for Allison? Not that it was necessary.” “And why—” I began to ask but was quickly cut off. “Look, you lost your chance for an explanation when you decided I wasn’t worth the time and tried to embarrass me in front of half of the school. I told you before that first impressions weren’t always a given. Maybe that wasn’t accurate because my first impression of you was spot-on.” I was immediately taken aback. His words hurt more than I could comprehend.

Hearing his footsteps on the wood floor, most likely heading for the stockroom, I stood frozen, as if I’d been physically harmed. But my gloves were still firmly in place. His steps halted, and his deep voice filled the quiet void once more. “I’m not the guy you’re trying to pigeonhole me into. If you trusted your instincts, you would have realized that by now. I’m going to work in the back today and give us some space. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The rest of my shift was spent in relative silence. There were the few random customers. One even bought a book, despite my awkward lack of words as I rang her up. But I just couldn’t get Sam’s voice out of my head. Deep down, I did trust him. I had walked into this bookstore on my own, had seen a nearly full-grown man, and hadn’t run out the door, screaming. Why? I always rolled my eyes at stereotyping and labels in high school, but as I sat there, alone in the bookstore, listening to Sam’s words bounce around in my head, I couldn’t help but wonder… Was I just as bad as my peers?

IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Allison to hear about my altercation with Sam, and although she emphasized that it hadn’t been necessary — not bothering to give any further details on the matter — she did decide that me standing up for her meant we were officially friends. Besties. What a stupid word. “So, now, you must go to the homecoming dance with me. I don’t want to bring a date. So, we can go together. Please say yes,” she begged as we sat together at lunch. Yep, she’d even managed to coerce me into having lunch in the cafeteria as well. Pissing off my boss, causing drama, making friends — it had been a big week for me. The idea of going to a dance sounded like my own personal version of hell. But the way Allison’s face lit up when she asked me to go with her? It made me want to say yes. I wasn’t a total freak. I’d had friends before in my life — mostly when I was younger and a bit more naive to what went on in my house. In second grade, there was Maria. Her father had split when she was a baby, so we’d found common ground there. But that was where the commonality had ended. Her mother was a nurse, and Maria would sometimes come to school crying because of the late hours her mom worked. “She didn’t tuck me in,” she’d complained. It was a tough life, growing up with a single parent. I couldn’t help but notice, even then, the differences between her family and mine. No matter how little her mother was around, the love she had for Maria was evident. Little notes in her lunchbox. Days off spent together. I’d tried not to be jealous of Maria. After all, life was hard for everyone in one way or another, but by

the time we were in middle school, Maria’s mother had remarried, and they’d moved away. I had been left behind, stagnant. Never moving forward. Until now. “Sure,” I finally said. “I’ll go to the dance with you, but I have one request,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t say no. “Anything,” she nearly squealed. “Can we get ready at my house?”

“CAN YOU SAY that again?” Addy asked, her eyes filled with surprise at my sudden request. We’d just settled into a lively evening of crafting and silent TV-watching when I sprang my rather odd question at her. “I’m going to the dance,” I said once again. “And I need a dress.” I thought the shock from my words may have caused a brain malfunction in my poor aunt because the stupid felt rose she had been working on suddenly fell from her hands, unraveling from the tight bundle she’d created. “That’s… great,” she finally uttered. “Do you have a date?” Her words were timid, causing the teenager in me to want to roll my eyes. “No,” I sighed. “Just me and a friend. I was actually going to have her come over here to get ready, if that’s okay?” She excitedly bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, absolutely. I can do your hair if you want — both of you.” “I’m not sure how formal it is, but I know Allison wouldn’t mind the attention,” I answered, seeing how happy this entire conversation was making her. She seemed to recompose herself as the idea settled between us. Picking up her ruined piece of felt, she twisted it between her fingers, starting in the center and slowly reworking the fabric into a flower. “And the dress? What were you thinking?” she asked casually. I could sense the way she’d approached the question with hesitance. “Um, I don’t know since…” I looked down at my gloves. Addy took her time with gluing the flower so that it wouldn’t fall apart this time when it left her hands. Setting it down on the table, it stood upright, a beautiful, tiny piece of art.

With her hands free and her mind focused on me, she met my eyes. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by beating around the bush when it comes to me.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I know you’re not used to trusting people, especially those close to you, but believe me when I say, you need to address whatever you’re avoiding in your head. Whether that’s talking it out with me, writing to yourself in a journal, or finding a friend to confide in. But something has got to give, Willow.” I instantly wanted to rebut, to refuse to believe her. But I’d been doing a lot of that lately — arguing with Sam, fighting off friendships because I didn’t believe I was worthy of one, and refusing help from the one person who continued to offer it. It hadn’t gotten me anywhere. I was still miserable, still scared of the dark, and still fighting a past I couldn’t forget. An internal war I was sorely losing. Addy was right. Something had to give. Maybe it could start with this. “I need a dress that will cover me — all of me,” I said, nervousness and fear bubbling up in my stomach like burning acid. “See? That wasn’t too hard.” She smiled warmly. “I’ll take you shopping on Saturday. I’m sure we can find you something.” I let out a breath of relief. I hoped she was right.

DESPITE MY BEST efforts to will it away, the day of the dance came anyway. And a crapload of anxiety with it. By the time Allison arrived at the house, armed with enough stuff to supply a small boutique, I was nearly climbing the walls with apprehension, terror, and every other disastrous word I could think of. “Whoa, you look like you’re about to explode,” Allison said as she entered my room, taking a quick glance around before plopping down on the bed. “Why did I agree to this?” I asked, pacing back and forth between the closet and the cute little bookshelf Addy had installed the week before. “Because you didn’t want me to go alone,” Allison said, smiling just enough to ease some of the tension in my shoulders. “Like that would ever happen. Everyone loves you.”

“And everyone would love you if you gave them a chance,” she added. Over the last week, I’d given in to my friendship with Allison. I’d stopped trying to hide during lunch or avoid running into her in the halls. I’d accepted her for what she was — a decent, profoundly nice person. Once I’d stopped trying to label her, to put her in a box like everyone else, it was actually quite easy to get along with her. To onlookers, her and I might be as different as two young adults could be. She was outgoing and vivacious while I was shy and frumpy. But, together, we worked. I didn’t know why, but we just did. And, slowly, she was starting to bring me out of the impenetrable hard shell I’d created for myself, despite my best efforts to stay buried deep inside. “So, do you want to see my dress?” she asked, her voice rising an octave or two as her excitement boiled to the surface. “Sure,” I replied. We switched places — me on the bed and her pacing around the room. Only her pacing had purpose. When she’d entered the tiny space — armed with makeup, clothes, and overnight supplies — she’d also had a garment bag slung over her shoulder that she’d placed in the closet, next to my aunt’s boxes of fabric. “Okay, here it is,” she said, reaching into the closet and quickly unzipping the bag. Inside, I caught the faintest glimpse of teal fabric as she worked the dress out. Giving up on trying to get the hanger loose, she finally pulled the dress free and held it in front of herself, doing a slight twirl, as she smiled. I wasn’t much into clothes or fashion. That much was obvious by the lack of color I infused into my standard long-sleeved-shirt-and-jean combo, but I had to admit, I was a little wowed by it. Strapless with a lace overlay and tiny sequins scattered here and there, it was formal yet casual at the same time. It was one of those dresses you could easily dress down or up, depending on what you wore with it. And, if I knew Allison, she wasn’t going to go for casual. “It’s beautiful,” I said earnestly. “My mom and I picked it up last weekend on a trip into Leesburg. Clearance rack. Can you believe it?” Another thing I’d assumed about Allison was that she was a rich snob. The truth was, she came from a fairly modest family and bought all her clothes from secondhand stores or off the clearance rack. She was the biggest bargain shopper I’d ever met. “My mother taught me well.” She laughed, showing me the slashed price on the tag. “And we got an additional twenty percent off that!” Dang, maybe I should take her shopping with me next time.

“Now, show me yours,” she said, placing her dress down on the bed next to me. I took one long last look at her cheery teal dress and stood. “Okay, but swear you’re not going to laugh.” “Why would I laugh?” she asked, genuine concern written across her features. “It’s different,” I warned. She rolled her eyes as her arms crossed over her chest. “Just show it to me, will you?” Diving into the closet, I reached into the back and pulled out a similar garment bag to the one she’d brought. As the zipper slowly descended and the dress I’d bought alongside my aunt appeared, I wondered if I was doing the right thing… stepping out of my element, trying new things. Maybe it was better to just hide. To never trust again. Then, there would be no chance of getting hurt. “I love it!” Allison exclaimed, running her hands over the dark fabric, before I’d even had the chance to fully remove it from the garment bag. “Where did you get it?” “Um, I honestly don’t remember what the store was called. Addy helped me pick it out.” Allison took over, pulling the dress out and holding it in front of me. For once, I’d gone for something other than black. Although the dark magenta wasn’t far off. “We’ll match,” she pointed out, fingering the dense lace. I wasn’t really sure how I could stand next to her and, in any sense of the word… match, but I nodded nonetheless, taking a moment to appreciate the dress Addy had bought me. She really had done the impossible, finding a dress that was both flattering and provided the coverage I needed. When she’d said she could help, I’d imagined showing up to the dance, wearing a long robe like a nun or a big white toga. But the dress we’d purchased was nothing like either of those. With thick burgundy lace over a thick black fabric, it covered me from neck to knees. A pair of tights and some combat boots finished the look. “Are you really going to wear boots? To a dance?” Allison asked as we busied ourselves with getting ready. She was deeply involved with her makeup routine while I mostly just sat around and watched. Makeup had never really been my thing, but I was kind of fascinated, watching how many different tools and products she used. Some, I swore, looked like torture devices. “I like my boots,” I answered. She applied another coat of mascara to her already black lashes. “I have a pair of heels you could borrow.” She tried one more time. “You do not want to see me in heels. I’d end up falling face-first onto the pavement.” She laughed, a small snort escaping her newly painted lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do

your makeup? Not even a little?” She stretched her hand toward me, holding a tube of mascara along with blush. As much as I trusted her, my heart sped up at the idea of having someone’s hands on me, and I immediately shook my head. She seemed a little disappointed at my dismissal, and her eyes fell to my covered hands. I could sense the hesitation as she worked up the courage to ask the question I was sure would follow. But, for once, I wasn’t scared to answer. For once, I actually felt like telling someone. Maybe this was the outlet my aunt had told me I needed. “Why do you wear them?” Allison asked softly, her eyes round with warmth and compassion. “I don’t like to be touched,” I answered, matching her tone. She nodded, as if this confirmed something she’d already worked out for herself. “Did someone… I mean, was it because of something that happened to you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly. “Yes,” I said quietly. The open and honest feelings I had swiftly began to crumble as the events of the past came rushing back to the surface… the dark room, the sound of his boots. She seemed to pick up on my growing nerves and changed direction. “Megan Bell has been telling everyone you have a fake hand.” That made me laugh out loud, the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach abating instantly. “That’s horrifying.” She laughed, too. “Right? I also heard someone in gym say that you had a skin condition and were covering it up to keep it from spreading.” “Gross,” I replied, shaking my head. “People suck.” She agreed, “They really do.” Looking down at the makeup in front of her, I picked up a collection of eye shadows and opened it. “Do you think you could teach me?” Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!” By the time my aunt came in to call us into her salon to do our hair, my head was nearly spinning from the information Allison had thrown at me. I told her she should host her own YouTube channel — helping poor, unfortunate people like me who were clueless when it came to proper eyeliner application. She rolled her eyes at the idea, but I could see she was pleased. My aunt did a simple hairstyle on Allison, curling her long blonde mane, while I tried my best to copy her motions. I knew Addy was a little disappointed I wouldn’t take a turn in the chair, too, but she didn’t say a word as I scurried off to find my shoes and grab my purse. Stopping by the bathroom, I took a quick peek in the mirror. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. She was happy and radiant.

Nothing like the emptiness that still lurked beneath the surface.

I REALLY HADN’T thought this whole thing through. I’d been so concerned with showing up to the dance, looking like a nun, that I hadn’t thought about the actual dance. As Allison and I arrived at the school, I suddenly remembered all those prom scenes in movies. Darkness. Darkness everywhere. “Hey, will there be any lights on in the gym?” I asked, trying to mask the panic in my voice, as we got out of the sedan Allison had borrowed from her parents for the evening. “A few, I guess,” she answered casually. “But they turn off the overhead lights, if that’s what you’re asking.” She turned to me as we began walking toward the school, my steps slow but somewhat steady. Suddenly, she stopped. “Oh my gosh.” “What?” I said. “You’ve never been to a school dance before?” she blurted out. “That wasn’t obvious by the clothes and the crazy gloves, Allison? I’m not much of a social butterfly.” “You underestimate yourself so much. Okay, this will be great. You’ll love it. But, before we go in, I need to know. The lights being out? Is that bad?” I bit my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to explain without having to explain. It wasn’t something I really wanted to get into right then. She held up her hands, like a white flag of surrender. “I got it. So, we’ll stick to the well-lit areas, okay? And, if you need to, just step into the hallway for a breather.” I nodded, grateful for Allison and her never-ending patience. “Now, let’s go have some fun!” she demanded. “Lead the way,” I said, feeling both extremely nervous and slightly excited. I’d always wondered what exactly went on at a school dance. Were they as drama-driven as TV made them out to be? Did kids really spike the punch and get wasted on the dance floor? So many questions… One aspect that was spot-on was the music. It was trendy and loud and made me instantly want to go home.

“Sorry!” Allison shouted. “The DJ the school hired kind of sucks!” The boy-band chart-topper went on and on as Allison and I made our way into the gym. It was odd — being at school after-hours. Here, in the place where I usually dripped of sweat in my modified gym clothes — shorts over leggings and a long-sleeved Sugar Tree High School shirt — while running laps or participating in some other crazy physical activity that was equivalent to an hour in hell, had now been transformed into something completely different. In the corners were larger-than-life wire trees with paper branches and tiny twinkling lights. Bird cages and fall foliage hung from the ceiling, creating a sort of autumn wonderland. Even my typically underwhelmed heart appreciated the effort. Despite the pulsating music, Allison managed to give me a tour around the gym, showing me the refreshments table and places to sit. She even laughed when I asked her whether spiking the punch was real. “Do you see a punch bowl?” she asked, pointing at the table where rows and rows of soda cans were lined up. I had to admit, at that moment, I was a little let down by my TV education. I spent most of the time being Allison’s sidekick, walking with her, as she greeted friend after friend. I tried to be engaged and social, but the introvert in me reared her ugly head, and I soon found myself taking a step back and fading into the background. It didn’t take long for Allison to notice. She was attentive like that. “You’re not having fun, are you?” I tried to think of something to say, but I knew lying would only make the situation worse. “Do you want to dance?” she asked. She broke out into a large grin as she watched my face morph into abject horror. “Okay, so that’s a hard no then?” I laughed, and she seemed genuinely pleased to have caused it. “What if we grab a couple of sodas and chairs and I tell you some stories?” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I couldn’t say no to being antisocial. Taking a spot at one of the only tables not occupied by a vomit-inducing couple staring deep into each other’s eyes, we each popped open a soda and started munching on a few handfuls of chips we’d grabbed. “So, since you’re new here and everyone has made it their business to talk about you, I figured it was only fair to give up all the juicy gossip on everyone else.” “Isn’t that basically just doing the same thing they’ve been doing to me?” I asked, my mouth half full with Doritos. She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing back and forth. “Not really. Just think of it as a history lesson.”

“You will make an excellent lawyer someday, you know that?” She sat tall in her chair, grinning. “That’s what my daddy says!” Her eyes left mine and began scanning the room. It was somewhat dark, but the lights near the DJ still kept it well lit. That was why I hadn’t run out, screaming like a crazy person, the second I entered. “Oh! Okay, here is a good one. See the girl about halfway across the room, dancing like she stepped out of 1998?” I wasn’t sure I knew what that meant, but I searched around the room anyway. It didn’t take long for me to spot her. She was stepping from side to side, bobbing her head and moving her arms, while everyone else kind of just moved their hips. “That is Katie Drew. She moved here in sixth grade from somewhere in Mississippi. I remember the state because our teacher had us all spell it the day she arrived, and being the slightly neurotic kid I was — am,” she corrected with a gleam of a smile, “I walked the whole way home, saying, ‘M-I-S-S-I-S-S-IP-P-I.’ It was stuck in my head for weeks.” “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” I joked. “See? I’m not all sunflowers and daisies.” She tried to convince me, causing me to nearly choke on my Diet Coke. “I know. I see it now — your checkered past.” “Anyway,” she went on, smiling, “Katie is probably one of the meanest, scariest girls you’ll meet in the entire state.” “The entire state?” I repeated, thinking her generalization was a bit grand. “She even hates me.” My mouth hung open. “Exactly. She’s so feared, the only reason she has friends at all is because they are too scared to run away.” “That’s sad.” I snuck another peek at the girl. She was average-looking, maybe a little less than. But then who was I to judge? She wore a pink dress that flattered her figure and matching shoes. A large group of people danced around her, all appearing to have a good time. Were they really? “Why is she so mean?” “Honestly? I think she doesn’t like herself very much.” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on. That’s lame. A girl is mean because she has self-esteem issues? That’s about as cliché as—” “A girl who doesn’t want anyone to touch her because…” “Okay… point taken,” I conceded. “But, seriously, there’s got to be another reason for her anger. Tell

me another one — and make it good this time.” Her eyes roamed around again and landed on a familiar face. “Sam. He’s a good one.” I shook my head. “What? You don’t want to know Sam’s history?” “He’s my boss. It would be too weird.” “It wasn’t weird when you yelled at him in the middle of the hallway.” “Yeah, actually, that was totally weird. He didn’t talk to me for the entire shift… or the rest of the week.” Her cheeks reddened. “Oh. Sorry about that.” “I didn’t say I regretted it. It felt good to stick up for a friend, but if we’re being honest, I don’t really want to get between you two again.” She nodded. “That’s fair. And I’m glad to hear you say that we’re friends.” “I did let you talk me into this ridiculousness,” I told her, holding my hands out to serve as a reminder of where we were. She instantly burst into laughter as we finished our sodas and dug into the rest of the chips. A moment later, a boy I didn’t recognize approached our table, obvious nervousness written across his sweet face. “Allison, I was wondering if you’d like to dance?” he asked. She looked to me, and I smiled. “I’m going to step out for some air. You kids have fun,” I said with a wink. She took his hand, and I watched him lead her out to the dance floor as a slow song began. Scoping out an exit, I quickly made my way toward the back, remembering Allison’s suggestion to head toward the halls for some peace and quiet. After almost an hour of horrible, loud music, it was just what I needed. A little peace and quiet. Unfortunately, all I found was Sam.

AS SOON AS I saw the all-too familiar back of his head, I wanted to turn and make a run for it. Not because of the scene I’d caused or the uncomfortable silence that was sure to follow. I wanted to flee for the sheer fact that seeing him made me feel things. Want things. And that was something I was altogether not okay with.

Sam had a way of making me want to run and hide and never leave at the same time. Even though I knew he had most likely done some horrible, despicable thing to my friend… even though I’d heard gossip following him wherever he went, I couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach whenever I saw him. When he was around, I felt like one of those girls back on the dance floor, gazing into the dopey eyes of a boy. Completely besotted or some such crap. It was disturbing. Why him? Why not some badass rule-breaker or a guy who at least didn’t wear polos or T-shirts with comic book characters on a daily basis? But, man, if he didn’t look a little like Captain America… “Did you just sigh?” Sam’s voice cut through my awkward, slightly unsettling daydream. “What? No. Did you?” I fired back. “Didn’t figure you much for the school-dance type, Mittens,” he said, fully turning toward me, only to fall back against one of the lockers behind him. He did so with such ease and fluidity, like the whole world just bended to his will. Maybe it did. He was dressed better than I’d ever seen him. Wearing a nice pair of khakis and a navy blazer, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a country club or some fancy restaurant. Standing next to him in my combat boots made me feel awkward. “You know they’re not mittens, right?” I found myself blurting out. He smiled, his mouth forming a lazy grin. “Yes, I know.” I let out a frustrated puff of air, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I’m here with Allison.” He nodded, as if that was all the explanation needed. “She’s a hard one to say no to.” “But, clearly, you did,” I replied sharply. “Again, you’re jumping to conclusions about people because I know Allison didn’t tell you that.” “Why do you say that?” I asked. “Allison and I have been friends for years, since we were barely able to walk. She might be mad at me, but she’d never make things up just to hurt me.” “No, she wouldn’t,” I agreed. “Well, at least we agree about something.” Silence fell between us as I tried to figure out what to say next. Staring at the old linoleum floor that had probably seen more drama in these halls than a daytime soap opera, I finally spoke, “I’ve never really had a friend like her — loyal and kind. I’m sorry for the other day. I was just trying—”

“To protect her. I know. Just, next time, get the facts first before you strike. You’re kind of scary when you’re mad.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Will do,” I conceded, noticing the music had changed back to something more upbeat. Knowing Allison, she was searching around for me, worrying I’d been left alone to my own devices for far too long. “I’d better get back.” He nodded coolly, hands tucked neatly in his pockets. Before I had a chance to reach the doorway, I heard him call for me, “Willow?” Turning back, I found he’d taken a few steps toward the door. “You look nice. I mean, I wanted you to know you look really pretty tonight.” Heat flooded my cheeks as I tried to compose myself. Total fail. Apart from dissolving into a complete pile of goo right there on the floor, I didn’t manage to say one word back to him. Instead, I pivoted on my heels and exited. More like sprinted. It wasn’t until I was back in the safety of the gym, under the strobe lights with the nauseating music, that I realized what had just happened. Sam hadn’t called me Mittens this time. Only Willow. For the first time in my entire life, I kind of loved the sound of my own name.

THE REST OF the weekend passed by in a blur. Allison had spent the night at my house after the dance, crossing off yet another thing from the list of items that truly made me an American teenager. Hosting a sleepover. Again, this was where my TV education had completely failed me. I’d expected pillow fights and lots of boy talk, all while consuming large quantities of sugary snacks. Maybe all that actually did happen. But, when you got home from a dance around midnight to a quiet house with an aunt who woke at the tiniest noise, the most that happened was a little light conversation and a whole lot of sleep. But, luckily, that same aunt also tended to rise at the crack of dawn, and she made the most killer breakfast in the state. Allison had been seriously impressed. “You should spend the night at my house. The most my mom cooks for breakfast is toast,” she’d said. I’d laughed, but a part of me had panicked a little at the thought of actually sleeping at her house. I’d barely gotten used to this one. Sunday had been spent catching up on homework and laundry, reading a couple of novels I’d bought with my employee discount at the bookstore, and helping Addy with a few chores around the house. It sounded boring, but coming from a place that was anything but, I’d take boring any day. It’d also given me time to think. Maybe too much time. By Monday, I’d convinced myself that the entire thing hadn’t happened. I must have imagined it. The conversation between Sam and me had been ordinary, and… well, boring. At the end, I’d walked away, and there’d been no, “You look really pretty.”

Nope. None. Everything would be normal. Except that it wasn’t. And I knew it the second I walked through those double doors of our high school. I could feel the tension coiled around my gut like a snake. What would I say to him if I saw him? Hi. How’s it going? Did you mean what you said? Do you say that to all the girls? Or just me? Maybe I was looking way too much into this. Perhaps he’d just said it to be nice. Oh God, what if he felt bad for me? By the time I made it to History — the one and only class Sam and I shared together — I was nearly dripping with sweat as nervousness took over. I wasn’t equipped to handle this type of stress. Most kids my age had had years to prepare for this. I’d been busy with dealing with other crap in my life. Real-life drama. So, you’d think I’d be able to handle a little thing like a crush, but nope. I was crumbling faster than a sand castle in a windstorm. “Okay, okay, settle down, everyone,” our teacher said, her voice booming over everyone else. It was amazing to me that, despite her frail, small frame and normally quiet disposition, she could command a room like a burly drill sergeant twice her size. For that and many other reasons, Mrs. Landers was one of my favorite teachers at Sugar Tree. Until today. “I know you’re all bustling with energy after this weekend. No doubt there is plenty to talk about, but unfortunately for you and for me, it’s Monday, which means it’s time to work.” Groans were heard throughout the classroom. “For those of you who actually follow the syllabus I passed out all those weeks ago when we started this semester, you’ve noticed that a good chunk of your grade is based on something called a personal project. What is that? Well, today, you shall find out.” More groans followed as well as a few disgruntled heads hitting desks. I sat quietly in my desk, trying my best not to study the back of Sam’s head. I was failing miserably. “If you have any older siblings, which I know some of you do, you might be familiar with the personal project. It requires you to delve into your past — specifically, the history of your family. It’s something I’ve required for decades since arriving at Sugar Tree, and for some students, it’s what they look forward to upon entering their junior year.” Several students looked around the room, wondering just who might be crazy enough to actually look forward to schoolwork. I was one of them. I might be a decent student, but I didn’t come here, begging for

stuff to do. “This year, however, I’ve decided to switch things up a bit,” she announced, causing a few heads to rise in interest. “You will still be studying your past, learning about your family and ancestry, like the classes before you. But, this year, you will do so with a partner. This year, you will not only be learning about your history, but also the legacy of one of your fellow students. And, at the end of this assignment, you will write a report of what makes you individual and unique in addition to sharing any similarities you and your partner might have in common. This is your chance to learn about other cultures, to discover various circumstances outside your own. After all, isn’t that what history is?” It was a nice speech; I’d give her that. If she’d delivered it to anyone but a room of high school students, I was sure the response would have been overwhelmingly positive. But it wasn’t. Instead, we all looked at her like she was insane. Completely, totally insane. “Now, to make sure this is fair,” she continued, seemingly unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm to the revised assignment, “I’ve already preselected your partners.” If she was hoping for a response, she found it with that announcement. Instant pandemonium. If there was one thing that could cause a riot among young girls, it was telling them they couldn’t work with their friends. Heck, even I was upset, and I barely knew anyone in the entire class. “Good,” Mrs. Landers continued, ignoring our outcries of injustice. “I’ll be posting the pairings at the end of class. The requirements along with the due date will be added to the class’s online Blackboard. Please feel free to see me if you have questions. Let’s move on.” I wasn’t sure anyone paid the least bit of attention to the lecture she gave as we all sat on the edges of our seats, waiting for that list to be revealed. I honestly didn’t care who I was paired with. I mean, how bad could it be? I didn’t know anyone, so really, one person was just as bad as the next. Unless… No, that would never happen. Would it? My anticipation doubled. While I waited for the period to be over, forty minutes easily became a hundred forty as the clock seemed to move backward, Is the clock freaking broken? Finally, the bell rang, and we all jumped from our seats. Mrs. Landers slowly walked to her desk,

reaching for a manila envelope. From inside, she pulled out a single sheet of paper and casually took it to the door. All at once, she was crowded by twenty students, wrangling for a look at the list. Somehow, maybe because of her tiny figure, our teacher made it out of the fray alive and sat back in her desk chair. A happy smile was on her face as she watched everyone jockeying for positions near the list. I, on the other hand, held back, until every last one of them had their turn before I approached. Some were pleased with their pairings, giving high fives as they exited to the hallway. Others swore under their breaths or threw their hands up in the air, like the entire world had just ended. I cautiously walked up to the list and felt my stomach hit the floor. Great. Just freaking great. Turning toward Mrs. Landers, I spoke, “Is there any way I can switch?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took out a duplicate list from her desk and found my name. “Is there a reason you can’t be partnered with Mr. Shepherd?” she asked, neatly folding her hands in her lap. He does funny things to my insides. He said I was pretty, and I don’t know what that means. “No,” I replied, followed by, “I mean, it’s just—” She smiled warmly. “I get it. You don’t know him. You’re new here. But that is why I paired everyone the way I did. I purposely put students together who might not know each other well. This will push you outside your boundaries, force you to get to know someone you might otherwise ignore.” “But I do know him. We work together!” I blurted out, thinking I’d found a loophole in her carefully thought-out plan. “Oh? Well, that could change things. Tell me then, where does he live? What does Sam like to do when he’s not at school?” “Uh…” I struggled to answer. “I don’t know.” Her smile widened, almost as if she’d expected my answer. “There is a difference between knowing someone and truly understanding them. Maybe this will help you discover that distinction. Good luck with your assignment.” I nodded, realizing she’d given me a firm no to my request. As I exited the room, my head reeling while I tried to figure out just how I was going to make all this work, I ran straight into a brick wall. Looking up, I realized it wasn’t a brick wall at all. It was Sam. The expression on his face was just as hard and unyielding. “Read,” he said.

“What?” “That’s what I like to do when I’m not at school.” And then he walked away.

I TRIED TO be the first one in the store that day. I’d even briefly considered ditching my last class just so I could be the one hiding in the back when school let out. But I knew hiding wasn’t the answer to this problem. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the answer to any problem, no matter how much I wished it. Once again, I’d managed to hurt Sam Shepherd without even trying, and now, more than ever, I needed to make amends. It was one thing for my grades to suffer but an entirely different story all together to see his plummet just because I was a royal jerk. I really had no idea what I was going to say to him, and much to my dismay, the short walk between the school and the main drag in town wasn’t enough time for me to come up with something. My stomach lurched as I pushed my way through the heavy old door that led into Page Turners. The familiar smell of parchment and binding adhesive felt oddly comforting. As much as I’d hated the idea of this bookstore in the beginning, it had sort of become my favorite place. I loved running my fingers across the books as I roamed the shelves, back and forth, like a maze, while I searched for new books to read. I’d probably spent half of what I’d earned on reading material, but I honestly didn’t care. Finally, I had something to call my own. My love for reading had happened by accident really. Don’t Let Go. That stupid title I couldn’t forget. I didn’t know how many times I’d walked by that particular book on its lonely shelf before finally picking it back up. I’d thumb through the first few pages and then stuff it back on the shelf, only to find myself right back in front of it, wondering what happened next. It was the first. But definitely not the last. Every time I put a new book on the tiny shelf in my room, it would bring a little smile to my face. They weren’t worn or secondhand or something my mom suddenly had no use for anymore. They were precious. They were mine. I inwardly snorted to myself, thinking I sounded like that weird little creature from The Lord of the Rings when I thought about my books, but it was true. I couldn’t care less about clothes, makeup, or a

single inch of my room, except for that shelf. “You gonna stand there all day, or are you actually going to work?” Sam’s gruff voice said, startling me. I nearly jumped, turning toward him, as he approached from the back room. “Sorry, just a little spacey.” “Is that hereditary? Should I put that in my report?” he said as he breezed past me. The words were said in jest, but I could tell he was still hurt by what he’d overheard. “I’m sorry I tried to switch. It’s not what you think,” I said, hoping he’d actually stop and pay attention to me for a split second. He did — barely. He’d just stepped behind the counter, and as soon as my words had left my mouth, he spun around, fire and ire in his eyes. “It’s not?” he nearly spit. “So, you didn’t mean to ask our teacher for a new partner?” I bit my bottom lip. “No, I did.” “So, it is exactly what I think then.” I tried to think of a way to explain it. How did you tell a guy that being around him made you kind of crazy and flustered and… well, that feelings like that aren’t allowed because of certain past relations with your best friend? No, I definitely could not tell him that. “Look, I thought we were finally starting to see eye to eye, Mittens. But obviously that’s not the case. We have a project to do, and somehow, we’ll figure it out. But, for now, let’s just stick to work. Things can just go back to the way they used to be, okay?” I was Mittens again. Not Willow. Just Mittens. I nodded, feeling dejected and dismissed. He’d effectively solved my dilemma. I no longer had to worry over the conflicting feelings I was having for a boy who was off limits. There would be no after-school talk. No sly jokes or out-of-the-blue compliments. He was done with me, and we could go back to being coworkers. Like normal. The problem though? I didn’t want to be normal anymore.



MEET ME @ the bookstore round 3 tmrw to work on r project. That was the text I received on my phone at lunch. I stared at it, perplexed. The only person I’d given my number to was Allison, and I’d told her to call me only in case of dire emergency. She’d called about half a dozen times. Dire emergency was a loose term in her vocabulary. I was starting to run out of minutes on the prepaid phone I’d brought with me, and as much as I didn’t want to put my hard earned cash into something as stupid as a phone, it was becoming inevitable. Leaning over, chewing on a carrot, Allison read the confusing message. “That’s Sam’s number. I gave yours to him,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Can you tell me what it says?” I asked. She laughed. “How have you made it all the way to sixteen? I swear, you’re like an alien.” She shook her head and read the text aloud. Most of it, I’d figured out on my own, but having her read it confirmed what I’d suspected. “So, you guys are partners for Mrs. Landers’s dreaded history project? I was so glad I got Mr. O’Connell for History this year.” I nodded. “Does it bother you?” She shrugged, grabbing another carrot. “No. Why would it? Sam and I are still friends.” “Oh, okay,” I said. “I just haven’t heard you talk about him, so I didn’t know.” “Sam and I are just going through a rough patch. We’ll be fine.” I wanted to press on, to figure out exactly what kind of rough patch she was talking about, but it was clear that this was a subject she wasn’t interested in talking about — at least, not in the middle of the packed cafeteria. I let it go, my mind still revolving around the text I’d received. I thought about it all the way to History class until I realized I hadn’t responded. Sliding into my seat in the back, I pulled out my cell phone and quickly replied with, “Okay.” I hit Send, taking a quick glance around the room for him at the same time. The bell rang, and students ran to find their seats, but Sam wasn’t one of them. I looked around but still couldn’t find him. He was a no-show. My phone buzzed once again in my hand. Come prepared. For some reason, I looked up once again and scanned the room. Nope. No Sam. Yet he was somewhere, texting me. My eyes went to the seat of the girl he’d been hanging out with lately, the one he’d been practically attached to in the hallways, wondering if she was the reason for his absence. But, she was sitting back in

her chair, looking bored. Where is that boy?

I LOOKED FOR Sam after class, but he was a ghost in the hallways as well. I did find him after school at the bookshop, but from the flushed tone of his cheeks, I was guessing he had just beaten me there. I didn’t get the opportunity to ask him where he’d been, not that he would have told me if I’d asked. He was busy speaking with Diana, the kind old lady who worked mornings in the store. I couldn’t hear what their conversation was about, but in the end, Diana rested her hand on Sam’s shoulder before walking away. The whole ordeal left me slightly unsettled for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d missed something important. But, unfortunately, I’d blown my chance to be friends with Sam. Now, all I could do was hopefully make amends and give him the best information I could for his report. That was why I needed Addy’s help. After a long day of school and work, I ventured into her salon, somewhere I usually avoided. The day of the dance was one of my first visits into the garage turned beauty parlor. I knew the hours she kept; she’d made certain of it, going over her schedule with me when I first arrived. It was why I steered clear of the house during the afternoon hours. So, why was I so scared of the place now? Pushing the door to the garage open, I was hit with the lingering scent of flowery shampoo and hairspray. It wasn’t a pungent smell, just not one you’d expect when stepping into a garage. But this wasn’t any ordinary garage. In typical Addy fashion, she hadn’t just set up a small corner with a salon chair and called it a day. No, she’d outfitted the entire space, making it feel like you’d just walked into some fancy place in Manhattan or Beverly Hills. Looking around at the secondhand leather furniture and faux fur rug, I amended my previous thought. Okay, maybe not that fancy. But it was definitely impressive, and she’d done it all by herself. It was no wonder she was the most popular beautician in the town, including the shop on Main. Speaking of my overachieving aunt, I found her sweeping up a day’s worth of hair near her chair, softly humming to herself. I instantly recognized the song, as it was one we’d heard on the radio on the way to

school that morning. It made me smile. “I don’t see you in here much, so it must be important,” she said without bothering to look up. “What?” “Whatever you’re going to ask me must be important. Otherwise, you would have just waited until I came in for dinner.” “Oh, right,” I said, walking up to the counter where she displayed several types of products. I idly fiddled with a bottle of shampoo while I gathered my thoughts. “I have this project at school,” I started. “Ah, yes, Landers’s project.” “How—” “It’s a small town, remember?” she reminded me. “And I cut about half of the town’s hair. The people who sit in this chair love to talk, especially about their kids.” I nodded. “Right.” “So, what do you need?” she asked, not letting me off the hook so easily. “Help,” I answered with a sigh. “I need to know more about us, about our family.” She finished sweeping and put the broom away. Then, she walked up next to me. Leaning against the counter, she folded her arms across her chest. Today, she was dressed down in a simple pair of green leggings and a floral top. It would probably be considered a little crazy for most people, but on her, it worked. “You might not like everything you hear,” she warned. I nodded. “I know.” “It might hurt a little,” she pressed. I didn’t respond as I focused on a long red string that had come loose from my left glove. Part of me didn’t want to know anything more about the past, about my mother or the life she’d had before me. I knew there were reasons she was the way she was. I mean, didn’t every villain have a backstory? But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know my mom’s story. Would I feel differently about her? Would it humanize her and make me somehow dismiss everything she’d done? Everything she hadn’t done… It was easy to sit here, in my safe new world and forget the past, to pretend like nothing had existed before Addy picked me up at that deserted little bus station. But the past had happened. And, if I ever wanted to make it up to Sam, I needed to take this step. “I want to know,” I finally answered. Maybe, just maybe, I’d learn something about myself along the way.

I’D NEVER BEEN to the bookshop during the weekend. It was odd, walking up to the old storefront, knowing I wasn’t there for work. I felt a little out of place. Especially when I realized how busy it was. Stepping inside, I looked around and found people — actual, real live people! What the heck? “Can I help you?” the woman at the counter asked. “I’m Willow. I work in the afternoons during the week,” I explained. I knew we had another employee, besides Diana, who helped during the weekend hours, but I’d never met her. She was younger, maybe early twenties, and cute — in a bookish sort of way. Her large blackrimmed glasses only brought out the natural caramel color of her eyes and highlighted the freckles along her cheeks. “Oh, right! Sorry. I’m Sophie, Sam’s sister. He told me you’d be coming in.” Sam has a sister? I guessed I really didn’t know anything about him. “Do you know where he is?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misread his cryptic text. “In the back, as usual.” She smiled. “Right. Thanks,” I replied, turning toward the shelves. “Oh, and, Willow?” she called out, stopping me in my tracks. “It was nice to finally meet you.” My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to her meaning, but I nodded nonetheless. “You, too,” I said, not wanting to be rude. I didn’t want to explain that I hadn’t known she existed until today. That’s kind of harsh. And I was all done with being Bitchy Willow.

Or, at least, I was trying to be. Today would be my first test. Making my way past the shelves, I did my usual thing and trailed my fingertips along the spines. Figuring I wasn’t doing any damage with my gloves, I’d made it a habit whenever I passed through. Sometimes, I would slow down, pull one from its place, and read the back. I’d either neatly return it to its spot, or I would set it aside and make myself a note to purchase it when payday rolled around. Today, there would be no stopping however. I had a feeling I was— “You’re late, Mittens,” Sam’s booming voice said the second I pushed through the door that led to the small stockroom. I glanced up at the clock. It was two minutes past three. I resisted the need to roll my eyes. I’d never met someone who was so obsessed with time. “I met your sister on the way in. Seems she knows all about me,” I said, dropping my backpack on the floor beside a shipment of books that had just come in. I peeked at the side to see what title it was, hoping it was the one I had been waiting for. Sadly, it wasn’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam watching me, his dark brown hair falling in front of his face, as he tapped his pencil on a yellow notepad. “I mentioned you would be here.” He shrugged. “Oh,” I found myself saying, slightly dejected. “She just made it—” “Look, are we going to start on this or what? I don’t have all day.” Ouch. “Right. Of course.” I nodded, diving into my bag for my binder and the notes I’d taken the night before. Just seeing the black composition book that held the words I’d written during my talk with Addy made my heart hurt a little. She was right. It hadn’t been easy to hear about the life my mom had had before I was born. Had it changed me? I still wasn’t sure. I guessed the verdict was still out on that. Both opting for the floor rather than the rickety old chair, I chose a spot across from him. Attempting to make myself as comfortable as possible, I leaned my backpack against the wall, using it as a sort of pillow, but it only worked so well on the old wooden floors. “So, how do we do this? One at a time? Or do we just kind of talk?” I said, rambling. The idea of sharing with him the information that I, myself, was still trying to deal with was making me edgy and nervous. “Why don’t I start, and you can just join in whenever?” “Sure,” I agreed.

“Okay, um…” He surveyed his notes. I noticed it was a different notepad than the one I’d seen him with when I entered. This one was similar to mine, a black-and-white composition book. The yellow notepad he’d had was nowhere to be seen. “So, my mother and father are both originally from Virginia. My dad was born in 1969, and I think my mom was born in 1978.” “You think?” I blurted out, instantly regretting it the moment his eyes met mine. “She wasn’t around to ask,” he answered coldly before suddenly going quiet. I guessed it was my turn. “My mom, Evelyn Fairchild, was born in 1976. I don’t have a birthdate for my father, or his name,” I said before adding, “He wasn’t around to ask.” A moment of silence settled between us. I could feel the palpable tension I’d brought with me into the room somehow abate, as if we’d finally come to terms with each other. Having something in common calmed the storm brewing between us. “Did you always live in DC? Is that where your family is from?” he asked, his questions now a bit more casual. “Yes — well, I mean, no.” He smiled slightly. “Well, which one is it, Mittens?” I winced a little. Still Mittens. “I grew up in DC, but my mom, she grew up in Charlottesville, Virginia.” “That’s a long way from DC,” he said. We both knew he wasn’t speaking about distance. “My aunt said the Fairchild family was well known in Charlottesville. Our family roots could date back to days when Jefferson was still around.” “I’m sensing a but,” he said. “Doesn’t every good story have one?” “They sure do,” he agreed. “I guess my family was also wealthy — something I just learned from my aunt,” I told him. “I always thought there was a touch of class behind all those weird clothes Addy wears,” he responded. It was odd to hear him speak about Addy like he knew her. But then again, I guessed he did. He’d grown up here, so I was sure their paths had crossed a time or two. “Well, unfortunately for Addy, it didn’t last long. My grandfather had quite the gambling problem and lost most of it.” I remembered her voice as it trembled slightly while she recalled her childhood.

“IT WAS PETTY card games to start,” she said. “Daddy always seemed to have a lot of time on his hands when we were little. My grandfather was still alive back then, and I don’t think he trusted Dad to take over the family business. Or, at least, that’s what I overheard,” she explained, her eyes seeming to drift off, as if she were fading back into the memory itself. “Our mom and dad fought a lot. I guess gambling was a type of escape for him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it — cards, that is. I think that was when he moved on to horses. “I remember him taking us to a race. I thought it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Mother got us dressed up — something we were used to, coming from the family we were born into, but it was exciting nonetheless. Watching those beautiful creatures fly across the racetrack, it was breathtaking. But the moment didn’t last,” she said, her voice fading. “Soon, things from the house started disappearing. Mom would ask if anyone knew where the silver candlesticks had gone, and at first, she just chalked it up to something simply being misplaced. But, after a while, it became clear; Daddy had been pawning things to pay off his gambling debts.” I could see her pain. Even after all these years, it was still so ever present on her face. If I were a stronger person, I would have reached out for her and held her hand as she spoke. Instead, I just waited for her to continue. “Evie and I knew it was bad when we had to leave our childhood home — a place that had been in the family for decades. Things got a little better when our grandfather died. We were around twelve at the time. “Mother believed taking over the family business would finally give him the drive and devotion he needed, but it only gave him stress and more reasons to seek out relief. By the time we reached high school, the business our family had run for generations was bankrupt. My father was the laughingstock of the county.” “So, you’re not the secret heiress to a multimillion-dollar fortune?” Sam smirked. “Sadly, no,” I replied, glad for the levity he brought to the conversation. Remembering the sadness in my aunt’s voice was sobering. “I guess we’ll just have to keep you around then,” he sighed, amusement painting his features. I was glad to see a bit of the old Sam returning as we warmed back up to each other. I knew the fence between us was far from mended. I’d hurt him more times than I could count, but maybe… just maybe, he was giving me a second chance.

Or a third? Maybe it was a fourth? He had more patience than I did. Either way, I hoped I wouldn’t let him down this time.

“ARE YOU TELLING me that you never text?” Sam asked, disbelief spread wide across his handsome face. “Nope,” I answered. “Never?” I shook my head, before amending my answer. “Well, sometimes to Allison.” “What about social media? Instagram? Snapchat?” he pressed. I looked at him, clueless. “Oh, come on. You at least have to be on Facebook. Even my dad has a Facebook account.” “Sorry,” I answered. He laughed before taking a sip from the frozen coffee he’d bought from the café across the street as we settled in for another long afternoon of work. We’d decided that, since we were both stuck in the store during the weekdays anyway, we might as well use some of that time on our project and not waste our weekends. The store was usually pretty quiet unless there was a new comic book coming out or news got out about some steamy romance novel women just had to have, so our plan seemed to work. Honestly, I was just glad he was talking to me again. The awkward silence at work had started to get to me, and it was me who usually relished in it. “And here I thought, I was the one who was born in a barn.” I rolled my eyes. “Just because I was born in the city doesn’t mean I have to be tech-savvy. I like not being attached to a phone all the time, like the rest of you. You’ve seriously checked that stupid thing twenty-five times since we got here.” “Have not,” he retorted. “Have too. And I know you weren’t born in a barn. Although the local hospital isn’t much different.” I laughed. He joined in, adding, “Laugh all you want, but at least there is a local hospital. My grandfather was born at home because his parents knew they wouldn’t make it to the hospital that was two hours away.” “That’s scary,” I replied. “And can I add, it’s really weird that you know that?”

He shrugged. “I know all sorts of stuff about my dad’s side of the family. We’ve been here for generations.” “Here, as in here?” I asked, meaning the town. “Yes, the Shepherds founded Sugar Tree.” “And you decided to name it Sugar Tree?” He grinned, taking another sip of his coffee. “I honestly don’t know why my great-great-great—” “I get it.” I laughed. “Grandpappy Samuel Joseph Shepherd chose that name for the town. I could find out for you if you like.” I should have said yes. It would have been an excellent addition to my report. Who knew I’d landed the gold mine for partners — the freaking ancestor to the town’s founder? But my mind was already focused on something else. “Wait, there’s another Samuel? How many of you are there?” I asked. “Let’s get one thing straight.” He leaned forward, his eyes turning an intense shade of green that made my heart race. “There is only one of me.” I didn’t know how to respond, so I just sat there, awkwardly staring at him. His grin turned lopsided. “But there might be a few other Sams in our family tree.” “How many?” I finally managed to say. “About a dozen.” “A dozen?” I blurted out, completely shocked. He shrugged, a bit of brown hair falling in his eyes. I watched him brush it back, wishing it were my fingers touching his dark brown locks. Wait, what? “It’s a Shepherd tradition.” “It’s weird,” I said, trying to move on from the odd hair thoughts running through my head. “Oh, and the name Willow isn’t?” he countered. “My mother picked it out. It’s a stupid name,” I replied, my arms instantly twisting around my chest. He must have noticed my change in tone because his lessened as well, matching mine. “I like it. I mean, it’s a little hippie-sounding and makes me think about trees, but it’s pretty.” There was that word again. Pretty. “My mom loves TV. It was maybe the one thing we did together — if together was even a word for it. It was the one thing she allowed me to do with her, I guess. She watched everything from soap operas to cheesy cartoons. It was her way to escape from… well, anyway. When she was pregnant with me, she was on a big Buffy kick.” “Buffy?” he asked for clarification. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It was a TV show about this—”

“Vampire slayer?” he said, smiling. “Right,” I said, a small smile peeking out the corners of my lips. “There was this character, Willow. She was a witch or something. Anyway, when she delivered me and they asked what I was to be named, that was what she decided on. I’m named after a redheaded witch.” “Better than a tree,” he said, causing me to laugh. “True. Very true.”

WHEN I’D FIRST moved to Sugar Tree, I would never have guessed I’d fit in, let alone have people to call my friends. Sitting at the long table in the cafeteria, listening to Allison prattle on about Spanish homework and the football game on Friday, I felt like I barely knew the girl I once had been. I was still quiet, still unwilling to sit too close to anyone, but I was different. I felt different. “My partner for this project is the most boring person in the world!” Margie, a girl I’d recently met, exclaimed. She was a friend of Allison’s, and like her, Margie had a sweet disposition. She was curious about me. Her eyes would linger around the frayed edges of my gloves, and I could almost see the questions forming on her lips. But she never asked. None of them did. “Her family has literally done nothing but farm. For generations. I have nothing.” She groaned. “Nothing but four generations of crops. I tried to get something interesting from her — a story or family tradition or, you know, anything — but nope. All I have is farming. I’m screwed.” “Maybe talk to her about an event that happened in your family’s past, and it will hopefully spark a memory for her?” I suggested, surprised to hear my own voice responding to her. By the looks of everyone around the table, so were they. “Um, okay,” she replied. “I’ll give that a try. So far, it’s been really awkward between us. So, I’ll see if approaching it differently might help.” My cheeks felt hot from the sudden attention, and Allison, who was most likely loving every moment, didn’t make it any better. “How is your project going, Willow?” she asked, determined to keep me talking for as long as

humanly possible. “Um, good,” I answered. “You have Sam as a partner, right?” Margie asked. “He’s pretty cool.” I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s been fairly easy to work with.” “I knew he would be. He’s a good guy,” Allison agreed before taking a casual sip from her water bottle. In the last few weeks, I’d noticed her fixation on Sam lessen. Her eyes no longer followed him in the hall, sad and wanting. When she spoke of him, her words carried no regret or remorse. She’d moved on. “You like someone!” I said in a hushed, almost whispered tone as I caught her eyes darting back to mine. “What? Do not!” “Do too! You haven’t mentioned Sam once in weeks, so spill. Who is it?” She shrugged. “Sam was just a stupid crush. I don’t even know why I bothered, honestly. I should have known I’d never have a chance with him.” My good mood instantly soured while I watched her continue to tear the edges of her sandwich off, her perfectly curled blonde hair framing her face, as she laughed and carried on with the people around the table. If she never had a chance with Sam, I was the last person on earth who did. Apparently, pretty really didn’t mean anything to Sam. And it shouldn’t mean anything to me either.

ANOTHER SLOW DAY at the bookstore. I grabbed my notebook filled with random facts about the Shepherd family and headed out on a quest to find Sam. I hadn’t seen him since I arrived, which was odd. Usually, he relished in announcing my late arrival. It used to annoy me that he’d stand by the front door just to notify me that it was one minute past the hour, but now, I actually found myself looking forward to his happy face and smug grin, declaring, “You’re late, Mittens.” But nothing today. No cute smile, no greeting at the door. After helping the one and only customer in the store, I set off on a solitary journey to find him. It didn’t take long. He was in his regular spot, sprawled out on the hardwood floor in the back, hunched over a

yellow notepad, loud music blaring from his ears. He noticed my feet first as I stepped into the small space. His eyes ventured up my tall, thin frame until our eyes met, and I was immediately taken aback by the hard stare he gave me. “What?” he snapped, pulling at the earbuds with one violent tug. “Um, I was checking to see if you wanted to work on our project this afternoon? It’s not too busy out there today.” “No.” “Okay,” I simply said before adding, “Is there something wrong?” “I’m fine. I just can’t keep doing homework during work.” “Right. That makes sense. So, I guess we’ll just need to go back to weekends then? I don’t have much going on, so if you just want to—” “Whatever. I’ll call you.” I took a step toward the door, unsure of what to think. He’d been nothing but funny quips and in a good mood the last time I saw him, and now, it felt like the world had tilted on its axis due to his sudden mood shift. “Are you okay?” I asked, backtracking. He was in the process of putting his earbuds back in place, basically attempting to ignore me once again, when I interrupted his process with my question. “I’m great,” he answered firmly. “Because we were doing fine the other day, and today, you’re—” “I’m what, Mittens? Busy?” I huffed in frustration, trying to find a reason for his foul mood. “Is this because of Allison?” I asked, grasping at straws. “Because I thought everything between you guys was back to normal. She even hinted at liking someone else today.” He rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion. “Eddie Reynolds? Please. That kid doesn’t even know she exists. If there is one thing Allison is terrible at, it’s picking guys.” Anger boiled hot in my chest. “Is that what happened with you — she fell for the wrong guy?” He deflated slightly, letting a winded breath out through his mouth. I watched his eyes, filled with regret, fall to the floor. “I love Allison. I always have. But she’s a sister to me — nothing more. She knew this, yet…” His back stiffened, and his gaze refocused on the yellow notepad in front of him. “Don’t you see what I mean?” I nodded my head. “Yeah, I see exactly what you mean,” I answered, not wasting another second in that stuffy stockroom with him. I’d wasted enough time on Sam Shepherd.

I DIDN’T TALK to Sam for the rest of the week. We went back to working side by side in heavy silence. I helped with customers and kept the store neat and tidy while he wallowed in the back with his head buried in a notebook. The remainder of our project was completed by email. I sent him information on my family and vice versa. It was enough to write what was needed to pass, but as I sat in front of Addy’s old laptop, looking over the first part of my notes, remembering the conversations we’d had, a part of me — okay… a huge part of me — missed him. I was still mad at him for how he’d acted that day in the stockroom. I’d never known Sam to be spiteful just for the fun of it. That could only mean, something deeper was going on in his life. But what? I wish I knew, but my heart hurt from the whiplash he’d caused, and my wounds from our last encounter were still healing. I told myself I needed a break, but even I knew I was telling myself a lie. Because I knew that boy had the power to destroy my heart with one swift strike, and I wasn’t certain I would be strong enough to recover. So, I took the easy road out and ignored the issue. It wasn’t brave, and it wasn’t heroic, but it saved the one thing I needed to protect more than anything. Myself. Besides, I had a host of other issues to deal with — like finishing a term project about a guy who didn’t want to talk to me and dealing with a best friend who might or might not be first in line to have her heart crushed. Again. The more and more I watched her, the more I started to agree with Sam. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Eddie What’s-His-Face seemed to have no interest whatsoever in

Allison, and it only seemed to infatuate her more. After that, it didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together on what had driven a wedge between Sam and Allison not so long ago. But, with Thanksgiving break soon approaching, I was short on ideas on how to fix it, and I was hoping some time apart would help clear my head. And hers. So, as I sat down to work on a project that was supposed to bring classmates together, I convinced myself I was doing the right thing by avoiding Sam and the drama he brought to my life. Because, so far, Sam had brought me nothing but confusion, sadness, and pain. And I’d had enough of that for one lifetime.

I WORKED FEVERISHLY on my report right up until the very end. Walking into History class on the last day before Thanksgiving break felt like I was at the end of a twenty-six-mile marathon. I was exhausted. As I glanced around the classroom, I realized I wasn’t the only one. Many red-eyed, tired gazes met mine, including one familiar face. “Did you have enough information?” Sam asked, his arms neatly folded across his chest. “Um, yes. And you?” I asked, anxiously biting my bottom lip. I caught his gaze drifting downward toward my mouth before he suddenly snapped out of it and stood upright. “I made it through, thanks. Anyway, have a good break.” “You, too,” I replied, but it was useless. He was already headed back to his seat. The bell rang as I watched him settle in, speaking to several people around him. He wasn’t nearly as short, but I could still see it — the distance he put between himself and everyone else. Whatever had been going on with him the day he snapped at me in the bookstore, it was still happening. If there was one thing I could recognize, it was a person being dragged down by their own baggage. And, from the looks of it, Sam was about to take a nosedive into the pavement from the weight of his.

“IT’S JUST THE two of us, right?” I asked, beginning to feel a little nervous, as I watched Addy flutter about the kitchen like a tiny bird. The idea of a random stranger entering my inner sanctum was a scary thought. I’d grown used to putting myself out there when I was at school. I’d even grown accustomed to talking to complete strangers at Page Turners when necessary. But this place? This had quickly become home, and I liked how isolated it felt. Just Addy and me. It felt safe that way. “Just the two of us, promise,” she replied, quelling any nerves I had. “Then, why so much food?” I asked, watching yet another dish go into the oven. I’d lost count at this point. “It’s Thanksgiving!” she replied. “It’s our duty as Americans to stuff ourselves until we can’t breathe and then feast on the leftovers for the entire weekend. Some say, there’s some nonsense about football in that tradition, but for me, it’s all about the food.” I smiled, watching my aunt check on the turkey for the hundredth time. I knew what she was doing. It had started a week ago when I was finishing the research for my project. Even though the conversations between Sam and I had ended, they had only continued and flourished at home. Over the last several weeks, I’d found myself discovering more about the Fairchild family than I’d ever thought possible. Some facts were utterly fascinating while others… well, let’s just say Addy was right. Not everything I’d learned was easy to face. But, by and by, with each late-night talk Addy and I’d shared, something had started to grow between us. Soon, it wasn’t just family stories she shared, but also things about her own past — how she’d worked her way through cosmetology school and ended up in Sugar Tree. It was truly unique — the crazy life she’d led. And, soon, it was me opening up to her. It was little things to start — school, friends, and work — and then eventually even a little more. That was how we had gotten to the giant Thanksgiving feast for two. “Your mother never cooked for you, did she?” Addy asked after a long pause. I didn’t like talking about my life in DC much, but I knew she was curious. Curious about her sister and the life we’d had there. Even if there wasn’t much to tell.

“No,” I finally admitted. “Mom doesn’t really do more than cereal and milk… and peanut butter. She loved peanut butter.” “What did you do for holidays?” Addy asked, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground. The last time she’d asked me personal questions like this, I’d bolted, faking tiredness and going straight to bed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know. I was sure she could guess most of it on her own just based on my usual habits and the state in which I’d arrived that rainy night in September. But it was the talking about it that hurt. It would bring everything back. The cold nights, the never-ending hunger pains that had ultimately led to the worst decision of my life. But, even beyond that horrifying night, I’d remember it all. The lonely, endless hours as a child when all I’d wanted in the world was someone to love me. When a simple hug would have erased every horrible thing my mother had done. If she’d only loved me, none of it would have mattered. The men, the lifestyle… I would have defended it all. If she’d only loved me. But she hadn’t. And, instead, I had been left alone, silently chanting to myself to stay quiet and not make a sound. Nighttime was supposed to be a safe place for children. When the monsters under the bed and the nightmares came, your brave parents would come in and banish them away, like the heroes you always imagined them to be. But there were never any heroes in my stories. And the monsters always kept coming. “I’ve never had a holiday,” I finally said. I wasn’t sure if Addy was doing this because of guilt or the driving desire to give me something I’d never had before, but as I watched Addy run around the kitchen, assuring me she didn’t need any help, I felt cherished for maybe the first time in my life. I felt like part of a family. I felt loved.

I’D NEVER EATEN so much in my entire life.

When Addy had said it was a Thanksgiving tradition to stuff yourself silly, I’d kind of rolled my eyes and laughed, believing she was kidding. She wasn’t. After filling my plate and doing a pretty good job of cleaning it, she’d made me take seconds. And then thirds. “You’re too thin,” she’d nagged. “Don’t let all this food go to waste.” I’d decided not to remind her that we had a refrigerator to prevent that. She had been happy, and in turn, so had I. Although, almost twenty-four hours later, I was still slightly miserable and perhaps a little sleepy from the turkey. But it was the first Thanksgiving in my life that hadn’t come and gone. I’d been able to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, knowing that hot food would soon be on the table and in my belly. Most years, I’d been jealous of the homeless people down the street who visited the soup kitchens. One year, when I was around the age of six, I thought I might have even asked my mother if we could join them. I’d gotten a nice long speech on being grateful as I ate my cold turkey sandwich. Part of me had wanted to be grateful because, yes, she had put a roof over my head and kept me fed. But what about everything else? Wasn’t I worth more? “I’m going to run into town and pick up a few things. Want to come with me, and then maybe we can check out what movies are available to rent?” Addy asked, poking her head in my room. I’d been in here, curled up on my bed, reading my latest find from the bookstore. So far, I’d managed to line an entire shelf with books I’d read. Looking down at my current read, a paranormal teen drama that was nearly finished, I bit my lip, really wanting to decline. “Sure,” I finally said, remembering all the trouble she had gone through yesterday to make sure my first real holiday was perfect. Setting the book down, I grabbed a hoodie and followed her out the door. All the leaves had mostly fallen from the trees now, some settling around the little gnome that guarded Addy’s small garden in the front. The neighborhood was a picturesque scene of autumn, full of pumpkinlined porches and laughing children enjoying their short break from school. I’d experienced the changing of the seasons sixteen different times in my life, but as we drove through the small town I now called home, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time. One of the luxuries of feeling safe, I guessed. Addy pulled into one of the few remaining parking spots on Main. It was Black Friday, and people were enjoying the day, shopping at several of the local businesses and taking advantage of sales. I followed Addy to the small grocery store she loved to visit that stocked fruits and veggies from nearby

farmers. “You’re buying more food?” I asked, clearly surprised. She laughed as we entered, grabbing a small handbasket. “Just a few things. I thought I’d take the rest of the leftovers and make a soup or maybe a potpie. I haven’t decided.” Despite the vow I’d made to never eat again after consuming copious amounts of food yesterday, my stomach instantly growled at the thought of homemade potpies. Traitor. “Why don’t you go look at the movies, and I’ll meet you back at the register in a few?” she suggested, already focused on several items in front of her. I agreed, liking the idea of venturing out on my own much better than standing around, waiting for Addy to decide between three different brands of chicken stock. The town’s one and only Redbox was just outside the door, so I immediately headed there. It didn’t take me long to look through what was available and pick out something Addy might like. I’d learned rather early on, she preferred comedies to most everything else. And that was totally fine with me. Using the credit card she’d given me, I grabbed two selections and headed back into the grocery store toward the checkout counter, but she wasn’t there. Knowing how long she could sometimes take with making decisions, I set out to find her. The odds were in my favor, seeing as it wasn’t a large store, and it thankfully took only moments to locate her. Of course, the sound of her laughter could probably be heard miles away. Approaching tentatively until I knew whom she was speaking with, I stayed back, waiting until she noticed me. “Oh, Willow! I’m so sorry! I was supposed to meet you up front. I got caught up, speaking with Mrs. Landers about your wonderful History project.” The familiar face turned to greet me, and I smiled. It was always weird to see teachers outside of school. Mrs. Landers, an older woman, probably in her late sixties, was dressed down in knit pants and a matching top. Her hair was styled much more casually than I’d ever seen, and the dark lipstick she usually wore to class was gone. It was like seeing a lion in the zoo. You just knew it didn’t naturally belong there, yet you couldn’t stop staring. “Hi, Mrs. Landers,” I finally said, fidgeting with the DVDs in my hands. “Hello, Willow. So good to see you. Did you two have a pleasant Thanksgiving?” she asked politely. “Yes, we did, thank you,” Addy replied. “And you?” “Oh, it was nice. Quiet, but nice all the same.” There was a sadness to her words, as if the word nice really didn’t mean nice at all. Addy must have noticed it, too, because there was a slight pause before she replied, “Good, that’s

good. Say, do you have any plans tonight?” she asked, causing both of us to look up at her in shock. “Um, well… no, I guess not,” Mrs. Landers replied. “Great! Well, Willow and I were just picking up a few things to make a big homemade pot pie, and we’d love to have you over, if you’d like to join us? Maybe you could stay for a movie as well?” Mrs. Landers looked over at me, clearly asking for permission. Is it strange to have your teacher over for dinner? Did I care? Seeing the loneliness in her gaze, I realized… no, I really didn’t care. I gave her an encouraging smile, basically green-lighting her to accept. “That sounds delightful,” she replied, her mood already lifting, as the tone in her voice improved. Addy and she discussed time and other details. Mrs. Landers insisted on bringing something, and they settled on rolls or an appetizer. I couldn’t remember. My mind was still focused on the fact that my teacher was coming to our house to hang out. Can this day get any weirder? “Is it okay that I did this?” Addy asked as we walked through the front door, both carrying grocery bags. “She looked so sad and lonely. Her husband died just over a year ago.” “Yeah, it’s fine,” I answered before adding, “What are we going to talk about?” “She’s not an alien, Willow,” she replied. “I know,” I answered although I wasn’t sure I agreed. I followed her into the kitchen, intent on helping her with dinner. It was something I’d sort of fallen into. First, it had been a way to earn my keep, I guessed. If I couldn’t pay for things, I could at least help prepare the food and keep things tidy. But, now, it was actually something I looked forward to. It was a little tricky — cutting vegetables with yarn-covered fingers — but I’d learned to manage. At least, if things went upside down again and I found myself back in that cold apartment, I’d know how to cook for myself. It was something I tried not to think about. The possibility of going back. But, sometimes, being here felt too good to be true, and I knew what they said about things that were too good to be true. They usually were. Mrs. Landers — or Trudy, as my aunt called her — arrived right on time. This didn’t surprise me in the least. Most teachers were sticklers for punctuality — with a few notable exceptions. Although still wearing the same knit pants, she’d changed into a seasonable sweater and done her makeup. She looked more like the woman who greeted me in History class every day and less like the grocery-shopping stranger we’d run into this afternoon.

And, now, she was standing in our living room. Crazy. “Willow, why don’t you get Trudy a soda or a glass of water?” Addy suggested, making me realize I was standing in the living room, awkwardly staring at my teacher. “Sure,” I replied, jumping into action. Mrs. Landers requested a cup of coffee instead, and thankfully, Addy had had the foresight to brew a pot. I wasn’t much for the stuff, so I poured a medium-size cup and pulled out the half-and-half Addy used as well as several varieties of sugar packets, including the gross fake kinds Addy liked. I brought them out into the living room and set everything down on the coffee table in front of Mrs. Landers, taking a place next to Addy on the couch. “Thank you, dear,” she said sweetly. “In the store, Trudy was telling me how well you had done on your project — both of you actually,” Addy said, a hint of pride in her voice. It made me blush. “Oh?” I said, curious as to what she meant by both of us. “Yes, I really enjoyed the sections you wrote about Sam’s early family and the settlement of the town. I know I’ve heard it before, but reading it from your perspective and his, it was really quite fascinating.” I gave a half-smile, remembering our conversation at the bookstore and how funny I’d thought it was that he was one of twelve Sams in his family. He’d offered to get me information on why the town was named Sugar Tree, and he’d done just that. But reading it in an email just hadn’t been the same. None of it was the same. “He had a lot of wonderful things to say about you as well,” she said, instantly grabbing my attention. I opened my mouth to respond, but what could I say to something like that? “It’s examples like the two of you that made me decide to change the project this year. Bringing students together, making connections — that’s what I hoped they’d gain from the work. Yes, I wanted you to learn about your families and gather insight about others, but the relationships you make now are so important. My hope is that a lot of lifelong friendships will blossom out of this little exercise.” She smiled before adding with a wink, “And perhaps a few marriages.” I gulped as both adults laughed at my obvious unease. “That’s doubtful,” I replied, rising from my spot on the couch to flee to the kitchen. I thought I’d had enough parent-teacher bonding for now. “She might not believe me now, but she didn’t read what he had written,” I heard Mrs. Landers whisper softly enough that she must have thought I couldn’t hear her. It froze me in my tracks. Just when I’d finally done a decent job of convincing myself that Sam wasn’t worth my time, now, I

was stuck here, wondering, What in the world did he say?

THE HALLS WERE louder than usual when we returned to school the following Monday. I watched as friends hugged like they hadn’t seen each other for years even though it had only been a few days. I wanted to roll my eyes, but honestly, I kind of missed Allison, too. She’d spent the four-day break in the mountains with her family — something they often did in November. When she’d returned home last night, she’d called me briefly, tired and happy, but I was eager to hear all about her trip. After all, I’d never been to the mountains. “It was fantastic,” she said when I finally tracked her down. “We stayed at this old rustic cabin in the middle of nowhere. The views from the deck were insane. I freaked out a little at first when I realized there was no cell reception. Like, what if someone needed to contact us?” she said, making me laugh over her cell-phone dilemma. “But it was actually nice. I mean, I wouldn’t want to shut my phone off forever, you know, but a few days away was cool. Anyway, how was yours?” “It was good. Just Addy and me. She made enough food for the entire town though,” I said, making Allison smile. “My mom does that, too.” Her comment made me freeze. For all my life, the word mother had a much different meaning to me than it did to most. Mothers were supposed to be caring, gentle, and giving. My mother was none of those things. But Addy was. “Yeah, it was great,” I finally answered. For the first time, I realized that word that had haunted me for years, making me question what I’d done to deserve someone like my mother… well, it didn’t anger me anymore.

Because I had an Addy. And that was so much better.

WHEN SIXTH PERIOD finally rolled around, I felt like I had been at school for days. The fresh glow and renewed energy we’d all returned with after some much-needed time off was gone. Gone and dead. And, now, it was just back to the same old classes. But at least I had one thing to look forward to. Our graded projects were being returned to us today. I wasn’t nearly as nervous as everyone else, having already heard from Mrs. Landers directly that I’d done well. But how well was an entirely different question. Also, the idea that Sam had written about me still lingered in my mind. I’d thought about mentioning it to Allison, but I knew what she’d say. She’d make a big deal out of it, and soon, there would be texts and conversations. Ultimately, I’d only discover that he’d actually written one sentence about me, and the lonely old lady had just been making friendly conversation because we’d invited her over for dinner. So, even though I still wanted to know if he had really said what she’d hinted at before dinner the other night, I wasn’t going to risk it. Sam and I had enough tension between us. Any more, and things were liable to explode. “All right, everyone. Let’s quiet down,” Mrs. Landers said, her loud voice somehow carrying over everyone else. “I know it’s been a long day — for me, too — and everyone is eager to get to last period and call it a day, but I have some things to go over first.” A few groans made their way around the classroom. “First of all, I want to say I’m really quite pleased with how everyone did on this project. It was no easy task I gave, and for the most part, the majority of you rose to the challenge.” Looking around from my seat toward the back, I could already spot a few nervous faces from the ones who already knew they were screwed. “But, as I’ve said before, this is more than a grade, and I hope you take what you’ve learned — about each other and yourselves — and hold it close to your heart. Cherish your memories — the good, the bad, and everything in between — because, someday, you’ll be asked to tell your own history, a story of your life… and you’ll want to make it a good one.”

Her words tossed around in my head as Mrs. Landers dived into her lecture, promising to give back our reports at the end of class. Good, bad, and everything in between? I didn’t want to remember everything. I only wanted to remember my life starting when I’d first arrived in Sugar Tree. Everything else wasn’t worth remembering. She wasn’t worth remembering. I’d found a new life, a new home… and finally, someone who cared for me. Nothing else mattered, did it? I was still deep in thought as we all waited in line just before the bell rang to pick up our graded papers. I didn’t notice him staring until we were near the front. “How was your break?” Sam asked, his deep green eyes giving me a startle. “Fine. And yours?” I asked, trying not to fiddle with the straps on my backpack. “Decent, I guess. My sister has been trying to teach herself how to cook, so she can move out and be a grown-up or whatever, so our turkey was a little burned, and everything else was cold. But it was food, so can’t complain.” I wanted to tell him that complaining was actually what he’d just done, but he was talking to me. Actual words. So, I just nodded and tried not to say anything stupid. “My aunt is teaching me; it’s not easy. Cooking, I mean,” I clarified. “I grew up with a single father who hated the stove, so I’m pretty impressed with anything that’s not frozen or microwaved.” He shrugged. “Me, too,” I admitted. His eyes held mine for the briefest moment before my knees hit the front of Mrs. Landers’s desk. Caught off guard, I turned and saw her smiling at us. “Glad to see both of you. Your papers were excellent,” she said, keeping it brief. From the look on Sam’s face, he was decently pleased with himself. Looking down, I found myself grinning when a solid A in bright red was written across my paper. “Oh, and, Willow?” Mrs. Landers said as I stepped to the side to allow everyone else through. “Yes?” “Can you return this to your aunt and thank her for the leftovers? It was very thoughtful of her to send me home with food the other night,” she said, holding out a clean Tupperware container toward me. I looked around, noticing Sam’s curious eyes move between us. “Um, sure,” I answered quietly, quickly taking the container. The bell thankfully chose that moment to ring, disrupting the awkward silence that had fallen between Sam and me. I took it as a cue to gracefully exit and move on to my last class.

But, of course, that was never how things worked in my favor. “Hanging out with teachers, huh?” a snarky female voice said to my back. I turned around to see Katie, the girl Allison had described as the meanest girl on the planet, carrying a smug look on her face, standing in between two of her friends. Everything about her was over the top. From the overly complicated outfit she wore to the dozen accessories, including a gold necklace around her neck that said Screw U. “She just came over to my house to spend some time with my aunt,” I said, hating that I had to defend myself to someone like her. “No need to explain yourself, Willow. We all knew you were a freak anyway.” She grinned, making a point to glance down at my gloves. I’d never been overly concerned with what people thought of them. I knew they were weird; an added bonus to wearing them. It kept people at a distance and made them think twice before approaching me. But, in that moment, I wanted to rip them off and run away. In that moment, I wanted to put her in her place and tell her to go to hell. But I didn’t. I simply stood there, holding back tears, until I had the courage to turn and flee. But that same brick wall stood in my way, and this time, it held on. “Back off, Katie,” Sam warned, his fingers barely brushing my shoulders. “What’s this now? The knightly Sam sticking up for the school freak?” “I mean it, Katie. No one needs your bullshit right now.” She brushed him off, laughing, as she walked away. Yet he was still touching me… still invading my space. And so I did what I’d sought out to do in the first place, before the wall and the hands on my shoulders. I fled. Without saying a word.

IF THERE WAS ever a day I wished I didn’t have a conscience, it would be today. Then, I could brush off my responsibilities and ditch work after school, avoiding Sam and the conversation that was sure to follow. I’d walked away from him after he stood up for me in front of the whole school. Okay, it wasn’t the whole school, but when you did something like that, everyone was bound to find

out. And, if there was one thing Sugar Tree High was good at, it was spreading gossip fast. By now, everyone knew, and it was just a matter of time before people began speculating on what Sam’s confrontation with Katie could mean. What did it mean? Honestly, I didn’t even want to know because as I walked into the bookstore — on time, I might add — my mind was still reliving that single moment when his hands had found their way to my shoulders. When he’d held me in place. It was the first time I’d ever felt fear in his presence. It was the first time I’d been reminded he was a man, just like the rest of them. Just like— “What the hell was that all about?” Sam’s concerned voice pierced through the silence, bolting me back into reality. I nearly jumped as I looked up, finding him behind the counter, while I entered through the front entrance. His voice had shocked me, but he was still Sam. Still just Sam. Am I really scared? “What are you talking about?” I asked, purposely not making eye contact, as I tried to figure out my warring feelings. “You running away from me today after class. Did I overstep by saying something to Katie? I figured you wouldn’t mind a little help. She can be quite the bitch when she wants to be,” he said, stepping from behind the counter. I took a moment to admire the way the light from the window made his brown hair suddenly seem like it held every shade imaginable — from the darkest mahogany to the few scatterings of light brown that hung around his eyes. I wondered if anyone else had ever taken the time to look at him this way. The girl I always saw him with in the hallway, the one who laughed every time he spoke… did she see the way his eyes darkened when he was angry or how he constantly pushed his hair behind his ear because he was seriously in need of a haircut? “It was fine,” I finally answered, looking away. I turned my attention to the books on our featured shelf near the register. It was where we often displayed new releases or local Virginia authors. I realized it was in need of some reorganization, and I began fiddling with the various paperbacks. I felt his presence behind me almost immediately. The warmth of his body so close to mine made my back go rigid. He must have noticed because he retreated almost as instantly as he’d arrived.

“Why do you always lie when you’re around me?” he said quietly, his voice now further across the room. I spun around, spotting him leaning against the front door, one foot over the other. “I-I don’t—” I stuttered. “You were anything but fine today, Willow,” he stated. “And, just now, I confirmed exactly what I’d suspected for a long time.” My arms wrapped around my chest. “What you’d suspected?” I repeated, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What does that even mean?” “You’re scared of me.” It was said as a statement rather than a question. “It’s why you always flee when I’m near, why we seem to connect and disconnect at the same time, and why I—” “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” I nearly shouted, interrupting him mid sentence. “This whole thing, all my baggage, it revolves around you? God, you’re so delusional. I’m not scared of just you. I’m scared of everyone. The whole goddamn world.” “But why me?” he asked, as if my major revelation meant nothing to him. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” He pushed off the doorframe, mindful of where he stepped. He stayed a safe distance from me, careful to walk a short path toward the counter, as if he needed a change of scenery. “You might not know this about me, Willow, but I’m actually a pretty good judge of character. It’s why I told my dad to try and hire you in the first place.” My jaw fell open. “You arranged this? But how?” I asked. “That day in the office when I was charming the front desk ladies into letting me in late without noticing my note had indeed been forged — do you remember?” I nodded, not realizing he’d even seen me. “It’s not every day Sugar Tree gets a new student, so I noticed you right away, sitting there with the woman who’d been cutting my hair since I was barely able to walk.” “Looks like you’re overdue,” I added, pointing to his head. He ignored my comment and continued, “I learned a few things about you from random friends, and of course, everyone wanted to know what was up with those crazy red gloves of yours.” “And so you thought, who better to hire than the new school freak?” I asked, my hands suddenly feeling warm and scratchy in my gloves. “No. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it. Having been on the wrong side of gossip for much of my life, I’m not big on feeding it when it’s going around. But I was curious,” he admitted. “So, you hired me? Or rather, you had your father hire me?” He shrugged. “I figured, why not? I knew I needed someone to help out here while I worked on managerial stuff, and my dad had mentioned he had a meeting with Addy that week. It just made sense.”

It didn’t make sense to me at all. “What does your dad get out of the deal?” I asked, trying to figure out why one of the richest men in town would bother listening to his teenage son when it came to managing a business. “It doesn’t matter. We both got what we wanted.” I wasn’t exactly sure that was the truth, but I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He let out a sigh as his emerald-green eyes met mine. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry if I scare you, Willow. That wasn’t my intention at all. I just thought this might be a safe place for you, but if it’s not, I understand. You don’t have to stay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” It was the third time today that he’d called me by my actual name. Willow. It sounded so beautiful on his lips that I was actually beginning to fall in love with my own name. “I’m not scared of you,” I finally said. His eyes widened slightly with shock. “But you said—” “I was angry with you,” I admitted. “And you did scare me today, but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of you,” I explained. “Lots of things scare me. I’m not a very brave person.” “Sure you are,” he countered. “I’ve seen you do a lot of brave things since I met you.” I gave him a look a doubt, arching an eyebrow in his direction. “You stood up to me in the hallway at the beginning of the year; that took balls. And you work with me every day; that can’t be easy.” He grinned. I couldn’t resist his charm, and I found myself smiling back at him. “It is rather tedious.” I laughed. “Funny,” he remarked. “Now, come help me stock the new releases before tomorrow.” I followed him to the back room where a couple of boxes were waiting for us. For the rest of the day, we worked in synchronized harmony, side by side. I stocked while he unpacked, and as customers came in, I’d stop to help them out while he took time to jot things down in his mysterious notebook. One of these days, I’d gather up the courage to ask him about it. But not today, I thought to myself as I heard Sam happily humming to himself in the back, remembering the sound of my name as he spoke it. No, definitely not today.



“IT’S ALL OVER the school,” Allison informed me the next day as we sat alone in a hallway, enjoying lunch. Every so often, my bubbly social butterfly of a friend would indulge my introverted tendencies and allow us to go off and eat by ourselves. Honestly, I thought she enjoyed it. Compared to the deafening noise that always resonated in the cafeteria, sitting here in the quiet, empty hallway was almost peaceful. Minus the random student or teacher who would stroll past every few minutes. But, besides that… totally peaceful. “I wish people would just stop talking about it,” I said, nibbling a piece of my crust from the turkey sandwich I’d made early that morning. Allison made a sour face. She was an avid crust hater, still insisting all her sandwiches be completely crust-free. Occasionally, I’d notice that her mom had even cut them into little shapes, like hearts and stars. It was kind of cute — in a vomit-inducing sort of way. Addy had never sent me star-shaped sandwiches, but every now and then, I’d find a handwritten note in my lunch bag. Nothing mushy. Just a random quote she’d heard on the radio or a funny joke. It had the same effect as the goofy sandwich though. It made me smile. I was having a hard time doing that right now with the constant scrutiny I’d been under after returning to school that day. “It’s kind of a big deal,” Allison responded. “Sam doesn’t usually butt into other people’s business. He kind of keeps to himself.” “He’d stick up for you,” I argued, giving up on my lunch altogether. I didn’t have much of an appetite today. “Well, yeah, but that’s because we’ve known each other since we were little. Our mothers practically raised us together until… you know…” “What?” I asked after her voice drifted off. “Until she left,” she finally answered. “Oh.” “Yeah.” Uncomfortable silence filled the air between us as I tried to imagine how Sam must have felt to lose a mother. Lots of kids lost a parent, I guessed. But to know she’d left willingly? “How old was he?” I finally asked. “Eleven,” she answered. “It was the summer between sixth and seventh grade. Our birthdays are both in July, and we were planning on having a big pool party at the town pool.” “What happened?” I asked. “He woke up the morning of the party, and she was just gone. Her clothes, suitcase… everything, gone.”

“Did she leave a note or anything to explain why?” Allison shook her head. “No, but everyone had their opinions.” “I’m sure.” “Ever since, Sam’s dad has been… well, not much of a dad.” We didn’t talk for a long time after that. Allison munched on a bag of chips, and I thought about a small boy growing up without a mother. I’d always thought life in the country… in Sugar Tree, was easy. Carefree. Like a long, winding country road. Maybe a few pebbles would get in the way, but nothing you couldn’t steer around with ease. But life in the city? That was hard. Life in the city was a gritty mess, filled with potholes and dead ends. At least, that was what I had thought. I was quickly learning that potholes could spring up just about anywhere. Even in the country. Even here.

I COULDN’T SLEEP. I couldn’t sleep most nights. The grumbling of my stomach was so loud, it almost beat out the sound of the busy street noise below. I’d been lying here awake, thinking of nothing but food. Food in my belly. My empty, starving belly. Deciding I might as well give in, I threw on a jacket and a pair of socks I’d worn for the last few days. Walking to the door, I slowly turned the handle, peeking my head out. Coast was clear. I made a run for it down the hallway. The sound of thumping bass echoing from underneath the door of my mother’s room was still going strong. Pulling the jacket close to my body, I went into the small kitchen and roamed around the cupboards, hoping to find something to take the edge off. Bread! This hadn’t been here when I went to sleep. Grabbing the loaf with eager hands, I pulled out two pieces from the bag, stuffing a third into my mouth. The edges were hard, and it tasted a little stale, but it could have been green, and I probably would have still eaten it. Anything to make the hunger pains stop. Work had been slow for Mom over the last month. She’d said it had something to do with the time of the year. “Happens every year,” she’d said on a quiet night as we sat in front of the TV, watching an old movie on stolen cable. “It will pick back up soon.”

I honestly didn’t mind. The house was quieter. Safer. I liked it this way. And, when she didn’t work, sometimes, she’d talk to me. Like other moms. But, tonight, her door was closed, and I was starving. And alone. Again. So, into the refrigerator I went, in search of something to eat with my bread. Just as I was about to grab a half-eaten jar of jelly, something caught my eye. I turned just in time to see him. A boy in the corner of the living room. What the— Clutching my bread and jelly, I closed the refrigerator door and took a few hesitant steps toward him. He had dark brown hair that brushed the tips of his eyebrows and bright, vivid green eyes that looked up at me with curiosity. “Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, unsure of why else he would be here. “I can’t find my mom,” he said, still huddled in a ball. His arms clutched his bare knees, and one foot was on top of the other, in an obvious attempt to keep warm. Someone let this kid out of the house like that? It was the dead of winter, and he was dressed like he was headed out to the beach. He must be freezing. “Do you want my jacket?” I asked, pulling my arms out of the sleeves and holding it out to him. He stood finally, and I got a decent look at him. Not nearly as young as I’d originally suspected but still several years below me. “What does she look like — your mom?” I asked as he took my jacket and wrapped it around his body. It engulfed him, even more than it did me. The chill in the air hit me instantly as my eyes scanned the small room for a blanket. “Um, I don’t know. I can’t remember. But she was pretty. She was pretty like you.” My search for a blanket ended as my head whipped around toward the boy in the corner. His eyes. His emerald-green eyes. “What is your name?” “Don’t you know, Mittens? Don’t you know?” The door to my mother’s room opened suddenly, and the familiar sound of heavy boots moved down the hallway. The same boots that—

“You’ve got to go!” I cried, as I turned to face the horror to come. And then everything went black. I awoke to the sound of Addy’s voice as she sat next to me on the bed. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it might beat right out of my chest. The light I’d left on in the room was still on, and the first thing I noticed was the concern written all over her face. “I thought we’d beaten these nightmares,” she said. “Me, too,” I admitted. It had been weeks since I had one, and usually, they were all the same. Just a dramatic retelling of that night. The night before my mom had announced to me that I was too old to live in the house rather than comfort me. The night before the gloves had become my life. But this dream had been different. Because of Sam. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, careful to make sure there was a sizable distance between where she was sitting on the bed and where my body lay. If there was one thing Addy was good at, it was respecting my need for space. She never asked what had happened between my mother and me to have me end up here. Maybe my mom had told her. Maybe she’d guessed. Maybe it didn’t matter. But, no matter the reason, she maintained her distance. Even though I could see that, sometimes, all she wanted to do was scoop me up in her arms and tell me everything would be all right. And I thought, sometimes, I wanted that, too. “No,” I finally answered. “I’m okay.” She nodded, rising from the spot on the bed. I watched the mattress return back to normal, and I resisted the temptation to move my hand to that spot, knowing it still held her warmth. The door creaked as she exited, and the only sound I was left with was the slow inhale of my breath as it returned to a natural pace. My mind drifted back to the boy in the corner from my dream. “Don’t you know, Mittens?” Don’t I know what? The only thing I knew for sure was that I never wanted to think of that night. And I never wanted to go back to that apartment again.

“WINTER BREAK IS in exactly four days, one hour, and”—Allison looked at her phone—“two minutes,” she said as we met up in the hallway between classes. “That’s precise,” I said, smiling at her sideways, as I adjusted my backpack. “Hey, you can’t blame me. Two and a half weeks off school? That’s worth a countdown.” “Agreed.” And I actually did. It was the first school year that I didn’t have to hear the words, “Go try and find something to do during the day, so you don’t wake me up,” from my mom. I’d scheduled extra hours at Page Turners during the break, which meant extra spending cash, and Allison had threatened to personally check in on me if I didn’t call her every other day. She’d caught on quick. “I can’t believe you’re working the entire break,” she whined, throwing her hands across her chest in a grand gesture, like a forlorn child. “I’m not working the whole time.” “Every single day is the whole time, Willow!” I laughed. “I’m not working Christmas or New Year’s. And it’s just a few hours every day. You’re making it sound like I’m being thrown in there with no breaks, doing backbreaking work.” She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?” “You could get a job yourself,” I suggested. Her face turned unpleasant. “Ew. No, thanks. I’d rather help out at home by clipping coupons and finding bargains online. That’s my true calling.” “At least you’re good at it,” I shrugged. “I really am! Are you good at… whatever it is you do at the bookstore? Shelving?” I laughed once more as we stopped in front of my last class. Hers was directly across from mine. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so we had time. “The best,” I joked. “Sam doesn’t give you a run for your money? He’s been working at that store since I can remember.” That surprised me. “But he’s only sixteen.” “Well, I’m not sure he was a real employee until recently, but he’s always been in there, helping out his sister when she started and his dad and his—” “Oh,” I said, guessing what she was going to say.

“Yeah.” The bell chose that moment to ring, and we both quickly waved our good-byes, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that Sam’s loyalty to the bookstore was more than just another family business. Maybe this was his link to her and everything she’d left behind.

I HADN’T SEEN Sam since having the weird dream the night before. Okay, that wasn’t true. I hadn’t spoken to Sam since having the weird dream in which he was a boy version of himself, lost and confused in the crappy apartment I’d once shared with my mom. I’d seen him plenty. Or at least the back of his head. I’d spent the better part of sixth period staring at it while I tried to figure out what it all meant. I’d dreamed of that apartment, the place I used to call home many times before, but it never wavered. It was always the same. The same summer night, the door creaking open… I was so deep in thought, I barely noticed the awkward footsteps behind me as I made my way to the bookstore. “Wait!” Allison called out, breathless. I stopped to turn and saw her running after me, her clunky UGG boots slapping against the damp pavement. “What are you doing?” I said as she finally caught up to me. Her cheeks were red from the cold air and the exertion she’d obviously just put out to catch up to me. “Why are you walking so dang fast?” she asked as she gulped in air. “I’m on my way to work,” I explained, grabbing my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Crap. I normally would have given her a minute longer to recover from her jaunt across town, but I didn’t have one to spare. “I know that; that’s why I’m following you.” “Okay…” She laughed, a sort of strained laugh, as she tried to regain her breath. “I wanted to see you in action, you know. Plus, I haven’t seen Sam in a while, outside of school, so I figured a trip to Page Turners was

in order.” “You were bored.” She nodded. “Yeah, basically that. Is Sam some sort of evil overlord or something? Why are we walking so fast?” she asked, quickly noticing I wasn’t waiting for her. She hurried to catch up. “No, he just likes me to be on time,” I explained. She looked at her own phone, and by the expression on her face, she must have figured out the time I was expected to be in the store. “But that’s ridiculous. You’d have to basically—” “Run,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Why would you do that? I would tell him to bite me unless…” “Unless what?” I said, giving her a sideways glance. The bookstore was within reach now. Just another block, and I’d be at the door. “You like him!” she exclaimed, nearly loud enough for the whole block to hear. “What? You’re crazy!” A sly grin crept across her face. “Maybe, but you didn’t dispute it.” “I do not like Sam Shepherd,” I lied. “Besides, it would be totally wrong, considering your history with him.” She rolled her eyes, digging her hands into her warm coat. “Please, don’t use me as an excuse to get out of this. You know as well as I do that whatever delusion I was under at the beginning of the school year was a one-time thing. Believe me, it will never happen again.” I suspiciously eyed her. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I mistook Sam’s affection for me as something more. But it is what it always has been — brotherly. When I actually thought about it? Like kissing him? Gross.” She shook her head, her face scrunching up. “But you though?” she said, giving me a quirky grin. “I bet you don’t feel that way at all, do you?” “About what?” I asked. “Kissing Sam,” she clarified. My eyes ventured toward the bookstore before turning my attention toward her again. “I’ve honestly never thought about it.” She gave me a hard stare. “Okay, maybe once or twice. But look at me, Allison,” I said, holding up my stupid gloves, the ones that still had little chunks of hot glue I couldn’t get off the fingertips. “Do you think Sam cares about that kind of stuff?” she asked. “He probably would if he tried to kiss me, and I ran away — or worse… my glove got stuck in his hair,” I said. She took a step forward, mindful of the distance between us. “Just allow yourself the opportunity, Willow,” she said. “Maybe it will be nothing more than a crush or a world-class friendship. But maybe…

just maybe, it will become one of those epic adventures you read about when no one else is looking.” I bit my lip, embarrassed to find she knew me better than I’d realized. “You’ll never know unless you try.” I looked toward the door one more time. “I’ll come visit Sam another day,” she said. “You should go to work alone today.” “Are you sure?” I asked, finding her gaze once more. She nodded, smiling. “Yep, I think I’ve got some homework to catch up on. Besides, you’re going to be late, and I don’t want to see my good friend Sam turn into a beast,” she joked. “Noted.” “Good luck, and remember… try!” “Do you always meddle this much in your friendships?” I asked as I walked away. “Only the ones that are this much work!” She laughed. She couldn’t see, but I was smiling in return. And glad she never stopped making the effort.

“YOU’RE LATE, MITTENS.” Still smiling from my encounter with Allison, I felt it only grow wider. His words were said from a distance, and I was curious to find him. “How’d you know it was me?” I asked, finding him in the stockroom, holding the yellow notepad to his chest. I dropped my backpack to the floor as I began to inspect some of the inventory that had come in. I’d noticed less and less had been arriving in the last few weeks, which felt odd to me. As we geared up for the holidays, I would have guessed it should have been the opposite. Didn’t people buy books as gifts? “The way you open the door,” he said absently, counting several boxes before scribbling something down. “What is that?” I finally asked, pointing to the messy pale yellow notepad. “What? Oh, nothing. Just something I’m working on.” “And you don’t think I’m able to help?” I challenged, feeling a flutter of confidence. Maybe it was what Allison had said. Maybe I was just sick of him carrying that stupid thing around and excluding me. Maybe I was just bored.

Who knows? But, suddenly, his eyes met mine — those dark green eyes — and I could see him rise to the challenge. “Okay then,” he agreed. “It’s notes I’ve been taking on the state of the bookstore.” “The state of it?” He nodded. “My father has given me until the end of the school year to make it profitable again. If it’s not, he’s going to close it for good.” My mouth fell open. This was his store. His only son. How could he do such a thing? “What will happen to it? If it closes, I mean?” I asked, still shocked beyond measure. “A coffee bar or something equally as stupid. He thinks it would bring in tourists — the antique shoppers and the B and B crowds.” “I don’t even know what you said in the last part of that sentence,” I confessed. “Believe me, I wish I didn’t either. But it’s not going to happen. I’m going to keep this store open if it’s the last thing I do. Maybe just to spite him,” he said with a sly grin. “Well, what can I do?” I asked, more than happy to help. He seemed genuinely pleased, and he shared his thoughts with me. He’d been busy. There were pages and pages of notes. Deciding our conversation was better suited for the front of the store, we headed toward the register. I watched as he leaned against the counter, dressed in dark denim and an Avengers T-shirt. While everyone else in Sugar Tree had adapted to the colder temperatures, throwing on wool coats and scarves, Sam seemed perfectly fine in his short-sleeved shirt. “You look cold. Do you want my jacket?” he asked, stopping in the middle of his explanation on revamping inventory. “What?” I said, feeling a wave of déjà vu crash around me. “You’re cold, right?” he confirmed. “A little,” I admitted. Before I had the chance to say anything else, he dashed in the back and reappeared within seconds with his jacket, a name-brand fleece everyone in our grade seemed to have. After a moment of hesitation, he simply handed it to me, and I slipped it over my shoulders. I couldn’t help but notice it smelled like him — a mixture of pine and mint. It smelled clean and comforting and— Dear God, Willow… do not smell the jacket! “So, you were saying something about the inventory?” I asked, trying to save myself from utter embarrassment.

His eyes were still on me as he slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I was thinking about switching up our stock. You know, appeal to the younger generation and stock stuff we like to read. Maybe then we could get more traffic in here.” I nodded in agreement. “I think that’s a good start, but it’s not enough.” He blinked in surprise. “Not enough? What am I missing?” I could see he was slightly hurt by my comment, and the last thing I wanted to do was bruise his ego. What he’d done so far was nothing short of a miracle. Most kids our age couldn’t keep a store like this running, much less care about it. But, if I was going to help, I wanted to make it count. “I’ve had the unique experience of growing up a bit differently than most of my peers.” His eyes dropped to my gloves for a brief moment. “No, not the… mittens, as you call them. Those are actually a fairly recent addition. I mostly meant, I’ve been kind of an outsider for a long time. It’s given me time to observe.” “So, you’re the trainer, and we’re all the zoo animals?” I smiled. “Kind of, I guess. Monkeys maybe?” He laughed. “With Snapchat and iPhones?” “Exactly! Anyway, not a lot of kids our age read. Offering books they might like isn’t enough to get them to walk through the door. And, as much as you hate to admit it, I think your dad does have a point. A coffee bar is really appealing. So, why not have both? I mean, it’s not reinventing the wheel by any means, but if big chains can do it, so can we.” “So, you want to sell coffee?” “Not just that. Make this a place for people to hang out. If we can get students here after school, doing their homework, there’s no end to what we could accomplish. Soon, we could be the place for stay-athome moms to meet or a sweet spot for local artists to hang out.” “Wow, that’s actually a good idea.” “And, while they’re here, drinking their coffees and eating their scones or whatever, they will happen to see that book Oprah or Ellen talked about, and rather than ordering it online, they’ll grab it before they leave!” “Genius!” “I know. I really am. Why didn’t you think of this?” “Honestly, the second my dad said coffee bar, I couldn’t even say the words without becoming angry. This is my store… my life. This is where I grew up.” I fell silent for a moment, unsure of if I should say anything. “Allison told me about your mom,” I said. He nodded. “I’m glad it was her. God knows what horrible story you might have heard from someone else. But I’m surprised Addy didn’t tell you.” I gave him a confused look. “Why would she?”

“She and my mom were really close. It’s why I got my hair cut by Addy. Well, until she left, that is.” The memory of him saying something about Addy cutting his hair when he was little fluttered through my mind. “I’m sure she would love to give it another go,” I said, looking up at his disheveled locks. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The door rang just then, signaling the arrival of our first customer for the afternoon. Knowing Sam had a lot on his mind, I took the lead, greeting the elderly lady and offering any assistance. After ushering her to the small section of cookbooks, I found my way back to the front. “Willow?” Sam said from his new spot behind the counter. “Yeah?” “Thanks for today. The help, I mean,” he said, slightly stumbling over his words. I smiled, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “Anytime,” I answered. Rushing into the stacks, I found my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and quickly sent a text to Allison. I did what you asked. I tried. I got an immediate response back — a heart-eyed emoji which meant she was happy, or proud. I don’t really know. Rather than go into details, I didn’t bother sending her a long-winded explanation. I didn’t even send her a single word. Just a happy face emoji back to match my own.

“ARE YOU KIDDING me?” I said, staring up at the giant tree that now took up half of our living room. “What?” Addy said casually. “It was on sale.” “It touches the ceiling!” “Barely.” I’d just arrived home from another shift at the store. School had ended for the month among howls of joy as every student, staff member, and teacher ran from the building, celebrating the holiday season. And the blissful two-and-a-half-week vacation. After school, when I’d gone to work as usual, I’d brainstormed more ideas to keep the shop going. The obvious problem to our great plan? Neither of us knew the first thing about a coffee house. How much did the equipment cost? Should we start small? Were we even licensed to sell food and beverages? Was that a

thing? It was overwhelming, and I’d left feeling slightly less useful than I had when I first arrived in the tiny shop. Greeting me at the door the second I’d stepped inside was an overly enthusiastic guardian with tinsel wrapped around nearly every part of her body, begging me to help her decorate. “I thought we weren’t doing this,” I said, sitting among the boxes of ornaments, as I continued to gaze up at the tree she’d snuck into the house while I was away. “Why would you think that?” she asked, fiddling with the radio. The old speaker crackled and faded in and out as she tried and failed to find the local station that was dedicated to playing holiday music twenty-four hours a day. I hated that station. Sam had insisted on playing it around the clock basically since the minute Halloween had ended. He thought it would remind customers about their holiday lists and convince them to purchase more. All it had done was slowly drive me insane. “Well,” I said, referring to her question, “it’s so close to Christmas. I figured we were just skipping the decorations. I mean, half of my friends had their trees up the day after Thanksgiving, some even before. I thought maybe you weren’t into it.” She stopped messing with the radio. The static sound of the radio went silent as she found her way to the floor, sitting next to me near the tree. “When we were little — your mom and I, I mean,” she clarified, “our daddy would always show up days before Christmas with the biggest tree I’d ever seen. It would take up the entire parlor of the grand house downtown, and we’d need a ladder to get to the top. When I asked him why he’d waited so long, he would shrug and say that was the way his parents had done it, and he wanted to continue the tradition. I guess I do, too.” I thought back to all the stories she’d told me about her growing up. Most hadn’t made it into the pages of Sam’s report. It had been a lot to swallow. It still was. “Even after everything he put you through?” I asked. She nodded. “My daddy was a good person, Willow — or at least, he tried to be. He just made a lot of bad choices.” “Like my mom,” I said quietly. “My sister blamed the world for our misfortune. She couldn’t let go of everything we’d lost — the money, the house… the lifestyle. She was Daddy’s little girl. Prim, proper, and always neat as a pin. She loved growing up in a lavish home. Me? I was happy as long as we were together.” “And when everything fell apart?” I asked, remembering the story quite well. My grandfather, the gambler, had destroyed a family dynasty with his obsession.

“After Daddy died, years after, we lost our mother, and Evie went off in search of someone who could give her everything that had been taken from her. I tried to reason with her… tried to show her we didn’t need any of that when we still had each other. But I wasn’t enough for her. I hoped she’d found it — whatever she was searching for.” “She had me instead,” I said. “Maybe, one day, she’ll realize what a treasure you are.” Doubtful. “Now, come on, let’s decorate this tree.” She hopped to her feet, and I followed. Still covered in garland, she handed me several handmade ornaments. I recognized a few — the ones I’d helped her make when I first arrived. Tiny felt flower bouquets with glittery tips. The ribbon felt heavy on my finger, and I wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Part of me wanted to pull my hand out of the glove… just for a moment… to feel the satin run through my fingertips. But I didn’t. Instead, I hung it on the tree, careful to keep the branches from catching on the loose strings of my gloves. “Did you make all the ornaments?” I asked, looking at the pile behind me. “No,” she replied. “Some are bought; others are gifts. And those,” she said, pointing to the box on the bottom, “are from the old house.” “But I thought you said everything had been sold?” I asked, my eyes now frozen on that single box. Now that I got a good look at it, I noticed the obvious wear around the edges. There was staining along the bottom, and unlike the other boxes my aunt had obviously saved from previous online purchases, this one had a perfectly shaped lid. “It was a gift from our banker,” she answered. “He was a longtime friend of my grandfather and hated watching our family fall apart. He wanted to do more, but my father wouldn’t allow it. Dumb, stupid male pride. So, he offered to buy something from my father and give it to Evie and me. When he saw me trying to choose from this box of ornaments, he scooped up the entire lot and bought it. I’ve kept it with me ever since.” “What did my mother get?” I asked, trying to remember if I’d seen anything in the house she might have kept hidden. “A diamond necklace from our mother. It was worth a small fortune. Honestly, I would be surprised if she still had it.” That would make two of us. “So, you took a box of old ornaments, and my mother took a ridiculously expensive necklace?” I asked for clarification. She shrugged. “Like I said, she was used to a certain type of lifestyle.”

“So were you.” “Yeah, but I never really felt like I fit in it, you know? I mean, look at me!” She laughed, looking down at her paisley leggings and brightly colored sweater. “Point taken.” “And, in full disclosure, some of those ornaments are in fact worth quite a bit of money… not that I knew that as a teenager.” “But I’m sure my mom knew how much she could get for that necklace,” I grumbled. “Give her a little credit. Maybe she chose it for its meaning. It was our mother’s after all.” “Yeah, I’m sure that really kept her heart beating — all the way to the pawn shop.” “Willow…” Addy started. “What? Addy, what? Why do you keep defending her? She neglected me my entire life! She brought creepy, disgusting men into our house every single night, and for what? So, she could feed me? Provide for me? Because, believe me, none of that happened! And then, when I got too grown-up-looking, she made me stay in my room after it got dark, so I wouldn’t entice the clients. So much for that!” Turning away from the glowing tree with my arms stretched firmly across my chest, I took a deep breath, fighting back tears. I’d suddenly lost my festive Christmas spirit. Addy returned my heavy sigh with one of her own. “I’m sorry if you think I’m defending her,” she said quietly. “I’m just trying to make you understand her — or at least the version of her I knew.” “Why?” I asked. “I don’t want to know anything about her!” So much for fighting back tears. They were here, dripping down my face and sliding down my chin. I wiped them away, feeling the scratchy yarn from my fingers move against my skin. “I just thought, maybe if you understood her roots, how she started out—” “I’d what? Feel bad for her? Understand why she did what she did? Because I don’t!” I screamed. “I don’t understand any of it. Why she hated me, why she sent me away, when all I wanted her to do was hold me and tell me none of it was my fault. But she didn’t. She didn’t,” I said, my voice strangled and hoarse. And, now, no one would hold me. No one would tell me it was going to be okay. Because I wouldn’t let them. Because of these gloves and everything they represented. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” she said softly, her kind eyes meeting mine. I could see the emotion behind them as her heart slowly broke for me. I quickly nodded. “Good,” she replied. “And you know I’ll be here to tell you that whenever you want. And if you ever find yourself in need of a good hug? Well, you know where to find me.”

She turned toward the tree again, hanging the ornament she’d been holding in her hand during my mini outburst. A part of me wanted to run into her arms and never let go, to thank her for being the mom I’d never had. To tell her I loved her. But I couldn’t. Because she was wrong. It was my fault. That night was all my fault.

“I HATE TO say it, but I think we need help,” I confessed, looking over all the notes Sam had taken since even before I’d started at the bookstore. It was pages and pages, and we were still no closer to figuring out how to save the store. “That’s what I have you for!” he answered, a slight smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. “And you’ve given me caviar dreams with no way to pay for them.” I shook my head. “I know, and I’m sorry. I like the coffee idea, too, and I think it would really bring in customers, but without the money, I don’t know how we can make it work.” His fingers threaded through his unruly hair as he leaned against the worn checkout counter that had probably been there well before his parents had been born. My fingers found a groove in the wood and began to trace it. I imagined what it would feel like — slightly cold and slick from the many layers of gloss it had retained over the years. If I pressed hard enough, I could almost feel it through the tiny holes in my gloves. “So, who do we ask?” he finally questioned, obviously conceding to something I’d already come to terms with. “Your dad?” I said quietly, already preparing for the retaliation. “No. Absolutely not.” “But—” “Willow, no.” I’d learned enough about Sam now to know that when he used my real name, there was no fooling around. My mind had memorized each and every time I heard it, and in every instance, he’d been angry, attempting to be sincere, or… well, I wasn’t sure about the other time. Sweet maybe? At any rate, I knew not to push him. “Okay, what about my aunt?” I suggested, quickly switching subjects. “Or your sister?”

He laughed almost immediately. “My sister? You obviously don’t know her very well.” I shrugged. “I’ve only met her once.” “Right. Well, you know she’s the oldest?” I nodded. “Have you ever heard the saying, Age is only a number? Sometimes, I think it was created especially for Sophie. She’s a bit of a free spirit. At twenty, she’s no closer to becoming a grown-up than you and I are.” “But I thought you said she was moving out on her own? That sounds pretty grown-up,” I said, trying to picture myself living alone. Even though I’d practically raised myself — cooked my own meals, picked up my own messes, and did every other possible thing a parent did — the idea of actually being by myself, without anyone? It sounded horrifying. “Oh, she’s living alone,” he sneered. “On my dad’s dime. She said she was going to find a job, go to school, whatever, but she has yet to do anything.” “Maybe she just needs time?” I suggested, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. She had seemed nice — in the three minutes I’d gotten to know her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes, I think we coddled her too much.” That sentence confused me, and I found myself asking, “We?” He nodded. “After my mom left, it was Sophie who took it the hardest. I mean, we all did… in our own way. No doubt you’ve heard how my father copes?” “No,” I admitted. “When I got here, Addy told me to stay away from town gossip or at least not to believe everything I heard.” He smiled. “That sounds like something she would say.” It was weird, hearing him speak so fondly of her. I wish I had known about Addy’s friendship with Sam’s mom sooner, but then again, speaking about it would have been gossip in Addy’s mind… and she would have been right. It was better to hear it from Sam directly. “You know those movies where a man loses his soulmate or whatever, and he spends the rest of his life being sad and alone?” “Sure,” I answered, trying to picture the hardened face of Sam’s father crying himself to sleep at night. “That’s not my father,” he replied flatly. “Let’s just say, he’s gotten over her. Many, many times.” My eyes widened as I finally understood his meaning. “Oh! That’s… I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “My dad’s never been much for emotions. Hates showing them — well, unless it’s anger, of course. He loves that one.” I could almost taste the bitterness in the air as he spoke about the man who had raised him. “You don’t like him, do you?” He struggled to answer. “It’s not that,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter if I like him or not, you know?

He’s my dad whether I want him to be or not. Family is family. You don’t get to choose who you’re related to. But the more I get to know him as a man, the less respect I have for him. He’s just not a good person.” I let his words sink in, and then I remembered what Addy had said to me the night before as we hung Christmas ornaments. “My aunt says there is no such thing as a good or a bad person, just a sum total of decisions — or at least, that was how I interpreted it.” “Like a scale kind of,” he replied, his eyes watching my fingers as they traced the grains of wood on the counter. “A scale?” “Our family has owned various businesses in this town for generations. I recall, as a kid, we owned — still own, I think — the grocery store down the street.” I nodded, thinking back to the many visits with Addy to that particular store. “Before they installed the digital scales at the register, they used to have old-fashioned ones scattered all over — in the produce section, coffee aisle, anywhere customers might need to weigh goods. I, being the incredibly helpful kid I was, used to try and see how many items I could stack on each scale before it would tip.” “What do you mean, tip?” I asked. “Unlike the digital scales, these scales could handle only so much weight. I think the highest it went was around ten pounds.” “That’s not a lot.” “Well, keep in mind, it was mostly for weighing carrots and lettuce. Not huge bags of flour or sixpacks of soda.” I laughed. “That’s not helpful at all.” He grinned. “You weren’t there when the six-pack crashed to the ground and exploded. I thought the old woman grabbing her rhubarb next to me was going to have a heart attack right there in the store.” I gave him a dubious look, part amazement and part shock. “She didn’t though. She lived, I think. Anyway, the point is, before my tragic accident with the soda, I used to run around the store, grabbing as many different things as I could — small, big, somewhere in between — determined to find as many combinations as possible that would tip the scale.” “So, you’re saying the soda or the bag of flour are what? Our decisions?” I asked. “Yeah, why not? Our decisions, good or bad, all make an impact, right? So we make an epic mistake? We cheat on a spouse or” — he swallowed audibly — “leave our family… that’s a big one… so load up a bag of flour. We—” “Neglect our daughter,” I said quietly. “Definitely a bag of flour or two.” “But what happens when you do something good? Say the cheater becomes a nun?”

Sam shook his head. “Not sure that’s a good example, but okay, I see where you’re going. Maybe some of the flour comes off?” “Some but not all?” “Maybe eventually. But it’s a pretty heavy bag of flour.” I hadn’t noticed, but as I was tracing the wood on the counter, Sam had begun a doodle of his own. There on the yellow notepad was a rough sketch of a scale. It was exactly as he’d described it. A round base suspended by two chains. At the top was the actual scale, numbered from one to nine, with small marks in between each number, almost like a strange little clock. “But what if someone does something really bad? Like murder or…” My voice suddenly faded. “I don’t know, Mittens. It’s just an idea,” he said casually. “Maybe some things you can’t come back from?” Could life really be judged by a simple scale? Had my mom already tipped hers? What about Sam’s father? What about me? How many bags of flour were sitting on my scale?

I FELT LIKE I was carrying Sam’s heart and soul as I walked in the door that night. “What do you have there?” Addy asked as I stepped inside. “Notes. Lots of notes.” “Homework? During Christmas break?” she asked. I actually did have some homework to finish during my time away from school, but I planned on avoiding it for as long as possible. Nothing like a good bit of procrastination. “No, notes on the bookstore. Sam… and I are working to keep it open.” The mention of Sam’s name obviously caught her attention. “Sam? You two are getting along then?” A slight smile spread across my lips at the curious tone her voice had taken. “I guess,” I answered. “I mean, we see each other every day, so we’ve kind of become friends.” “Did you know your cheeks are turning red?” she said, a smug grin appearing across her face as she turned away from the dinner she was making. “They are not!” I argued halfheartedly because I knew for a fact that they were.

“So, Sam, huh?” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she moved about the kitchen. I carefully set the notes on the counter and took off my jacket, deciding to help her with dinner. “We’re just friends.” “Okay,” she replied. Although she didn’t sound convinced. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you and his mother were so close?” I asked, grabbing a tomato off the cutting board. There was something therapeutic I’d come to enjoy about cooking with Addy. I hadn’t learned anything life-changing in regards to cooking when I was with her. Mostly, I just chopped vegetables and stirred sauces, but it was a routine I looked forward to every day. It was normal and boring and just plain nice. “You know how I feel about—” “Gossip. Yeah, I know.” “Besides, I wasn’t sure how Sam would feel about me after all these years.” “Sam thinks very highly of you actually. It’s why I have those notes. He wants me to have you look over them and see if you can offer us any advice.” She stopped in the middle of rolling her meatball, her eyes showing the slightest bit of moisture as she pursed her lips together. “I would be honored.” A couple of blinks and a few sniffs later, she was back to shaping another meatball when she asked, “He’s a good kid then?” I smiled. “Yeah, he is.” “I always knew he would be — or at least, I hoped for it. Every day.” “How come you didn’t visit him? I mean, it sounded like you were a special part of his life back then?” She’d just rolled one of the meatballs and placed them in the oven. As she washed her hands, I could tell her mind was wandering back in time. “It’s complicated,” she explained. “I tried; believe me, I did. But Sam’s father, he wouldn’t allow it.” The more I heard about this guy, the less I liked him. “He wouldn’t allow it? Why?” She’d shut off the water by now, and she was drying off her hands, the towel moving over her skin long after it was needed. She took a deep breath of air. “Because I was the reason Sam’s mother left,” she confessed. “What? What do you mean?” “Willow,” she said softly, “I’m the one who convinced her to leave her family. I’m the reason Sam doesn’t have a mother.”

IF CARRYING SAM’S prized notes home had been difficult, returning back to work the next day with the information Addy had shared with me the night before was pure torture. She was the reason Sam’s mom had left? What did that even mean? We hadn’t spoken much after she dropped that bomb on me. Dinner had been shared in silence, and afterward, I’d retreated to my room, trying to come to terms with the fact that my perfect aunt was… well, less than perfect. How many bags of flour did she have on her scale? I dragged myself into the store, bright and early, a change from my normal schedule. Since it was Christmas Eve, we were only open until noon, and the woman who normally worked in the morning had grandchildren visiting. So, once again, it was just Sam and me. And the giant secret I was carrying. “Are you coming in, Mittens? Or are you planning on letting all the heat out instead?” Sam’s voice cut through my wayward thoughts. Looking up, I saw him standing by the counter, grinning. It was then that I realized I was standing in the doorway with my hand still on the giant old knob, one foot in and the other still on the pavement outside. “Sorry, tired,” I explained. “You know what would help?” he asked as I stepped in and closed the door behind me. “Coffee! But we don’t have any of that. Well, not yet. But soon, right? Because you talked to your aunt, and she had brilliant ideas?” His mood was lighter today, and I could see the hope in his face. How I hated to ruin it. “I actually didn’t get a chance to speak with her,” I said lamely. His expression instantly fell. “That’s okay. It’s not a big deal.” But it was. It was a huge deal. And I knew that more than anyone. This was his home. He’d spent every waking moment trying to keep it alive. “I’m going to talk to her, I promise. Things just got…” Weird? Tense? “Awkward last night between us, and I ended up going to bed early. But I’d mentioned it to her when

we were making dinner, and she seemed excited to help. We just didn’t get into details.” That lifted his spirits slightly, and I watched as his eyes met mine. “Okay, that’s a start I guess. Did you bring back the notes, so I could go over them while we’re closed?” “Crap, no,” I answered. “I forgot.” Grabbing the receipts he’d been entering, he stalked off without a word toward the back. Great. Unsure of what to do, I followed him. Logically, it wasn’t the best decision, but I did need to drop off my bag, and he happened to be going in the same direction. I also hated the idea of him being mad at me on Christmas Eve. Or at all for that matter. “I’m sorry!” I finally said as I caught up to him in the stockroom. “Things at home were—” “Awkward. You said that.” Frustration built in my chest. “Look, you don’t understand what it’s like… what happened.” His wild green eyes met mine. “I don’t understand? Jesus, Willow! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Do you really think you’re the only one around here who has issues? The only one who wishes they could put gloves on and remove themselves from the world? To wish away emotions and feelings?” “That’s not why I—” “Really? You don’t keep those things on to push people away?” I opened my mouth to respond, to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was right. That was exactly why I wore the gloves. “Stop acting like you’re the only person in the world who has shitty parents. Because, believe me, you’re not.” “I know,” I answered softly. “So then, why do you keep treating me like an outsider? I’ve told you plenty about my messed up little family, but what I know about you could barely fill the bottom of a mason jar.” There was a note of sadness in his voice as he looked at me with those desperate eyes. “You won’t like me once you find out,” I said. “I won’t know you — the real you — until you learn to trust me,” he answered. I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. He proceeded to push several boxes out of the way, making a spot for us on the floor. The bell on the door in the front would alert us if anyone entered the store, but for now, we’d enjoy the solitude. I took a deep breath. Knowing something and saying it out loud were two entirely different things. “You know when you’re little and your parents go off to work?” He nodded.

“You’re not really sure what they do. Maybe you have an idea, like, My daddy works with computers or airplanes, but technically, you have no idea that mommy or daddy really builds websites for the government or makes engines for a specific kind of aircraft. “For me, growing up? Once I hit a certain age, I knew exactly what my mom did for a living. She never bothered hiding it from me. Never tried to shield it to preserve a sort of childhood innocence for me. In her eyes, the more I understood, the better off I was.” Sam watched me, leaning forward, as he listened to every word. I guessed there was no sugarcoating it. “My mom is a prostitute.” Rather than shocked horror or sympathy, he did the weirdest, most unexpected thing. He asked a question, “Like Pretty Woman? I mean, does she go out on the street and wait for cars to flag her down?” I couldn’t help it. He made me smile, and the nervousness I’d had vanished with his ridiculous ramblings. “You’ve actually seen Pretty Woman?” I laughed. “I have a sister. She’s fun to hang out with sometimes.” “Hmm… well, I’m not sure your description is spot-on — at least, not from my frame of reference. But, to answer your question, no, it is definitely not like Pretty Woman… although I have seen her come out of her room in a wig a time or two.” I inwardly shuddered. “But, sadly, no rich men have ever come to sweep her off her feet, despite her best efforts. We were and have always been poor. Like dirt poor.” “I always thought prostitutes made good money. I mean, can’t you charge a lot for… that?” I shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. How much she charged wasn’t exactly a topic around the dinner table at our house. Not that we had one — a table, I mean. But I’m pretty sure I was the reason she wasn’t higher up on the food chain.” “Why do you say that?” he asked, stretching his legs out in front of him. I did the same, so our feet were nearly touching but not. “She told me. Constantly. I was what kept her from moving up in the world.” “She said that?” I nodded silently. “I guess having a kid isn’t exactly sexy. The men — or clients, as she called them — came to her for an uncomplicated good time.” “And you were a complication?” he guessed, his voice filled with sadness. “Yep.” “That’s messed up.” “That’s me and my mom in a nutshell. Hell, that’s my whole family.”

“Welcome to the club,” he said. “We have a meeting every Thursday in the basement of the old church down the street. I bring cookies.” His words were in jest, but they carried a certain tone I was familiar with. Pain. “Count me in,” I replied with the tiniest wisp of a smile. My eyes were still trained ahead, focused on our feet that were right next to each other, so it took a moment for me to recognize the sensation. It was foreign yet familiar. Something I remembered but had almost forgotten. I followed the feeling until my eyes froze. In fear? In surprise? I wasn’t sure. But there, side by side, was my hand and Sam’s. Barely touching. His pinkie rested against mine, the slightest bit of pressure. He must have noticed as well, but he didn’t move. He instead waited for my reaction. What was my reaction? Ding, ding! Suddenly, the spell was broken as the bell at the front, alerting us of a customer, chose to make the decision for me. Hopping to my feet, I bolted for the door and didn’t look back. Because, if I did, I’d have to acknowledge it. I’d have to move forward. In fear or acceptance. Was I ready? Was I brave? Or was I drowning in too much flour?

IT WAS THANKSGIVING all over again. I awoke the next morning to the sweet smell of cinnamon and chocolate, quickly realizing she’d done it again. Food overload. Slipping into a pair of warmer socks and taking a minute to brush my hair, I wandered into the living

room and spotted her in the open kitchen, dressed in green and red pajamas, dancing around to holiday music. The sun was barely up, and she was dancing. “Hot chocolate is on the stove,” she announced without even bothering to turn her head. How did she know I was here? She was becoming a master at this parenting thing. She’d even developed the invisible eyes in the back of her head. Creepy. I didn’t spend too much time contemplating that. Hot chocolate was calling my name. “I bought some whipped cream, too. It’s in the fridge,” she added, never missing a beat as she continued to move along to the popular Christmas song. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet above me, it didn’t take me long to notice the cinnamon rolls baking in the oven or the gigantic casserole below it. And it was all homemade. How long had she been up? “When did you find the time to do all of this?” I asked as I used the ladle to scoop up a large cup of steaming hot cocoa. The rich scent made my mouth water instantly. “Some of it I prepped last night after you went to bed. The rest I did this morning.” “This morning? But it’s barely seven!” She shrugged, grabbing a mug from the cabinet for herself. “I always wake up early.” Reaching into the refrigerator, she handed me the whipped cream and watched as I tried to operate the nozzle with my gloves. Before I ended up with white fluff everywhere, I sheepishly handed it back to her, and like a small child, I waited for her to top off my cup. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “Of course.” “No, I mean, thank you. For everything. For the food and the tree. For the presents I keep catching you sneak under the tree.” “I’ve caught you a few times myself,” she replied. I smiled a little. “You don’t have to do it all, you know. I’d be happy with anything.” Her face softened as she set the cup down on the counter. “I know that. You think, after all these months together, I don’t know you? The girl I brought into this house would have been happy with receiving a can of soup and a deck of cards for Christmas.” I shrugged. “It would be more than I got last year.” Or any other year for that matter. “But have you ever considered that you deserve more, Willow?” she asked, leaning against the

counter, as the fragrant smells of the holidays filled the tiny kitchen. “Sometimes, I guess, but I figured I just wasn’t worth it.” “Why?” she pressed. Because I’m no one, a tiny voice in my head answered. “I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” “Well, start thinking about it. Life throws a lot of crap our way, some more than others. When my daddy died and your mom left, I was alone. Truly alone for the first time in my life.” “What did you do?” I asked, holding my cup of cocoa close to my face. The heat warmed my lips as she spoke. “Well, for a while, I was just angry and mad. I was young, and the only family I had was gone. So, I blamed them. I blamed my father for screwing up our lives. I blamed Evie for not having the guts to stick it out. And then I blamed myself for not being strong enough to keep it together.” “Keep what together?” “Everything, honestly. After I was done blaming everyone else, there was no one else to blame but myself. So, that’s what I did. I blamed myself for not noticing the signs of my father’s addiction and eventual sickness. And I convinced myself that it was my fault Evie had turned out the way she did. I was the mature one, I should have been more motherly.” “But it wasn’t your job,” I said. “I know that now, but then?” She shook her head. “I spent a long time feeling guilty for everything that had happened to our family, convinced I was the cause of it all. But then I met someone who changed my perspective.” My interest piqued. “Who?” A wistful smile spread across her face. “Sam’s mother.” I didn’t know what to say, so I decided on saying nothing at all. Instead, I took a sip of my hot chocolate, letting it warm my body, as my aunt shared yet another story from her long life. “I’d found work at a local diner called The Short Stack in Charlottesville, far away from anyone who would recognize me. Growing up, we would have never set foot in a place like that… which was why it was perfect for me.” “You were hiding,” I stated. She nodded. “Too afraid to leave yet too proud to stay. So, I hid in plain sight, knowing none of my old friends would come looking for me in a greasy diner. It was good work. Hard work, I’ll admit. The silver platter I’d been dining on my entire life had not prepared me for the backbreaking work of standing for hours on end. But I got used to it, and eventually, I even made a few friends. Laura was different from anyone I’d ever known. She was bold and captivating, full of wit and humor and love.” Like Sam, I couldn’t help but think silently to myself. “At first, I thought we’d never get along. She was too perky. Too normal. I was a messed up former

rich girl, nearly living on the streets. We were nothing alike.” “Let me guess, she wasn’t what she seemed to be?” She laughed. “No, she really was that perky and normal. I mean, at least compared to me. She came from a good home, went to church on Sundays, loved her parents.” I was confused. “So, how did she change your perspective then?” “She was incredibly persistent. For a while, I was convinced I was her Sunday school project or something. But, really, she just wanted to get to know me. “When I finally gave in and told her who I was and everything that had happened to me… none of it mattered. To this day, I can recall the exact color of her big green eyes, full of fire and spunk, as she told me all the reasons I was wrong about myself. She was a small woman, but she could be mighty intimidating when she wanted to be. Or, at least, she was back then,” she added. “I still remember her telling me I could hold on to my past or I could set it free. And then she told me the most ridiculous story ever.” My brow lifted in curiosity. “‘When she was little,’” Addy said, “Laura had a problem with stuttering. I had a friend growing up who struggled with it. It’s not easy. Anyway, she went on to say that her parents tried everything to cure it, but she still could barely say a single sentence without tripping over herself. When she entered the fourth grade and student elections were being held, she threw her name into the ring for vice president. Little did she know, she’d have to give a speech to the entire school. Her parents tried to talk her out of it, of course, but little Laura was determined.” My face scrunched, already guessing what was going to happen. “She was laughed off stage.” “Ouch.” “Yeah. And I felt for her; I really did. But as I stood there, in the diner where I made minimum wage and barely got by, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why this woman was telling me this. She always was a bit of a rambler.” “Runs in the family,” I muttered. “But she eventually got to her point. She said, although she’d lost that year, it’d propelled her to work day and night, and the next year, she won, blowing away the competition with her flawless speech.” “And that somehow changed your life?” I asked. “Well, no, but it’s a nice story about Sam’s mom, right?” I rolled my eyes. “There wasn’t one specific thing that Laura did to change my perspective. She didn’t have any grand words of wisdom that suddenly changed my mind. It was just the fact that she was there. She befriended me when I was at my lowest point, uncaring of who I was or where I was from. That was what made the ultimate difference.”

She smiled once again. “I always remembered that story though. She’d remind me of it every time I wanted to quit. Every time I wanted to throw in the towel and give up. She’d say, ‘You haven’t given your speech yet, Addy.’” Her face turned slightly sad as she thought of her friend who had long since vanished. “What happened?” I finally asked. “What made her leave?” She took a deep breath, relaxing a bit more against the counter. “That isn’t my story to tell. But I’m sure Sam will share it with you soon enough.” Finishing my last sip of cocoa, I frowned. “Why do you think that?” “You two seem pretty close.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “We’re just friends. I mean, I don’t even see him outside of school and work.” “Really?” Her smile grew. “Is that why he called and asked if he could join us for breakfast this morning?” My eyes widened as I watched her smile break into a laugh. “What? When? Why?” “You have an hour. I suggest you—” I didn’t even wait for her to finish suggesting anything. I was already making a beeline toward the shower.

“WOULD YOU STOP fidgeting?” Addy said as I helped her finish setting the table. “I’m not!” I argued, pulling at the sleeve of my shirt once more. “Okay.” She laughed, setting a glass down at each place at the table. Three spots. Not two. Three. Because Sam was coming here. To eat. With us. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Why would he ask my aunt to join us on Christmas? Why hadn’t he just asked me? Why did he want to be here in the first place? This was the ultimate question. It was a general law among humanity to not deliver bad news on major holidays, right? Because the only reason I could possibly come up with was, he was firing me. And he decided to do it over cinnamon rolls?

No, that didn’t sound right. “You look like you’re about to make a run for it,” Addy commented as I checked the clock one last time. “I just don’t get it. He asked you?” “For the third time, yes. He called the salon and asked what our plans were for today. When I told him we didn’t have much going on besides eating and presents, he asked if I wouldn’t mind him dropping by. So, I invited him over for breakfast.” “But he didn’t specifically ask?” I knew I sounded nuts, but I just couldn’t stop. She took a knowing breath, setting down the dish she had been carrying. “Willow, he called me, remember? He asked to come over.” “Right, but maybe he just wanted to see you, you know? Maybe he wants to get a haircut or something?” Her nose scrunched as she tried to contain a smile. “On Christmas?” I huffed out a large breath. “I don’t know.” “Well, I guess it’s time we found out. What do you say?” she said a mere moment before the doorbell rang. I jumped, feeling the trembling shock waves of anticipation all the way down to my toes. It is just Sam, I told myself. Just Sam. This little mantra did nothing to soothe my nerves because, although I might see him every day, sit behind him in class, and work alongside him, there had always been barriers and borders to our relationship. When he stepped foot into this house… my house, everything would change. I could no longer hide behind the guise that we were nothing more than classmates and coworkers. Because the truth was, he was so much more. “Are you going to answer the door or leave the poor boy freezing outside?” Addy asked, peeking up from her spot in the kitchen. “Right,” I answered, propelling forward toward the door. The moment my hand touched the knob, I felt a rush of anxiety as I pulled it toward me. Should have worn a different shirt. Why did I wear my hair like this? Oh, crap, what if he really is firing me? Did I brush my teeth? “Hey, Mittens.” Sam smiled, his warm voice cutting through the brisk chill of the outdoors. “Hey,” I answered back, feeling awkward and happy at the same time, as I leaned against the door, staring at his familiar frame across from mine. “You going to let me in, or do I have to beg?” he asked, that jaw-dropping smile of his widening even

further. “Oh! Yes! Sorry,” I said, stumbling a bit as I stepped backward to let him pass. This is going to be a complete nightmare. “Sam, good to see you,” Addy said, greeting him with open arms. They hugged like old friends, and I suddenly felt oddly out of place, like I was witnessing something private and precious. I turned my head for a moment to give them a second to catch up. “I made your favorite — cinnamon rolls,” she said, still giving him a tight squeeze around the shoulders. “It’s Willow’s favorite, too.” “It’s everyone’s favorite,” he corrected. “If your salon fails, you can make a living off your cooking for sure. Do you still make those cookies? The ones with the—” “Cherries?” “Yes,” he replied. He turned toward me. “They were always my favorite. When she first offered them to me, the little kid in me turned his nose at the idea of fruit in my cookies, but then she hooked me, saying there was chocolate and little bits of candy.” Addy shrugged. “Toffee is a candy.” “Not to a five-year-old. When she handed me this cookie that mostly resembled a chocolate chip cookie with fruit thrown in, I was not impressed. But she insisted, saying I could have a treat afterward.” They smiled simultaneously. “And you loved it, right?” He nodded. “I did. And I never doubted you again.” Even though I knew he was talking about cookies, I felt there was a deeper meaning behind his words. I watched something pass between them as we all headed toward the kitchen, grabbing the last few items for the table, and I wondered what piece of the puzzle I was missing.

“I DON’T THINK I’ve been this full in years,” Sam admitted as we stepped out of the house. After watching him somehow manage to stuff three cinnamon rolls, several helpings of egg casserole, and a handful of bacon into his stomach, Addy had suggested we take a walk while she cleaned the kitchen. I’d protested, offering to help, but the look she had given me suggested it was more of a demand than a subtle recommendation. December had hit Virginia like a battering ram this year, bringing early snowfall and plenty of ice. I

was sure it was a normal occurrence in places farther north, but here, where we actually looked forward to snow days, it was a total game changer. School had already been canceled twice before Christmas break, something that had only happened a handful of times in the school’s history, and today, as we stepped outside for our brisk morning walk, a few snow flurries were already falling from the sky. “I guess we’ll be getting a white Christmas after all,” Sam said, lifting his head toward the heavens with his hands casually in his pockets. Several snowflakes fell on his face, melting instantly as they touched his skin. The water dripped down his cheeks as he tried to shake off the cold. “Why are you here?” I blurted out, hating myself instantly. “I mean, not that I don’t want you to be… because I do — if you want to be. It’s just, I can’t figure out why. You were nostalgic with Addy about cookies and scarfed down our food and sat in our house… and I just—” He stopped in the middle of the street, the snow falling all around us. Kids were outside, riding new bikes and chasing each other on the powder-covered lawns. Yet all I could focus on was him. The brilliant green of his irises and the way he never ceased to smile, even when I was being slightly rude and erratic. “I came to see you. I thought that was obvious,” he answered, never missing a beat. My hands dug further into my jacket pockets. “But why? Why me?” His head shook back and forth. “Why not you, Willow?” I bit my lip, searching for the right words. “There are plenty of girls at school, Sam, most of them willing to give you their undivided attention.” “Most of them?” he joked as the corner of his lip twitched. “You know what I mean.” “I do, yet I’m still here. Do you know why?” “My aunt’s cinnamon rolls?” I joked. He gave me a brief smile. “I’ve dated a few of those girls you mentioned, and it was okay for a while. Like that girl you keep sending death stares to in History? Valerie?” My mouth dropped open. “I do not send her death stares.” “Let’s agree to disagree on that one. Anyway, Valerie and I went out a few times — movies, football games — and I even asked her to the homecoming dance.” “I didn’t see you with her at the homecoming dance,” I blurted out. “Not that I was looking.” “You really need to stop doing that,” he said. “Stop doing what?” “Pretending that you don’t like me. It must be exhausting,” he replied, a cocky grin on his stupid mouth. Breathing loudly, I muttered, “Jerk,” which only made him laugh. “I’m not pretending anymore and see how much happier I am?” But I barely noticed. I was still stuck on his words. “You like me?” I found myself saying softly.

“I thought we’d already figured that out, Mittens. Why else would I be here, on Christmas Day, in the freezing cold? Yesterday, I thought we’d finally gotten somewhere when you opened up to me. I thought I’d found my chance to tell you and then—” “I ran off,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Exactly. I thought about giving you some time to figure it out, but I’ve had some time of my own — about four months or so — to learn how this works. And, if I know you well enough, I know you would have returned to work tomorrow, as if nothing had happened.” He was so right. “So, I made the call. And here I am.” “Here you are,” I repeated, still in shock. “My dad isn’t much for Christmas morning anymore. Ever since my mom left, he hasn’t been much on holidays in general, but Sophie tries. Breakfast was probably the only unburned food I’ll eat today.” “I’m sure Addy will send you home with leftovers.” Silence fell around us as the snow flurries picked up. “Are you going to say anything? Or did I completely blow this by showing up this morning?” “Why?” I asked again. “I just don’t understand. Why me?” “And that’s part of the reason I’m here.” He paused for a moment, searching down the street, as if the words would suddenly appear. “When you look at me, what do you see?” I instantly blushed. “Not physically.” He laughed. “Although I like the way you’re thinking. What I meant was, when you see me, what kind of person do you see?” A chill ran down my spine — not because of the cold, but because of the immediate fear that rushed through my veins. Part of me wanted to turn and run, the overwhelming feeling of being vulnerable in front of another person making my fight-or-flight response go haywire. But this is Sam, I reminded myself once again. Sam is safe. “You’re kind,” I finally stated. “And kind of arrogant.” He smiled. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?” “And you like to interrupt people with bad humor,” I added, feeling the fear abate slightly. “You never take no for an answer, and you always see the good in everyone, even when they don’t deserve it.” “You deserve it,” he argued. “Well, mostly.” “You’re fiercely loyal, and despite my first impression… you’re a hard worker.” He laughed. “You really did think I was the laziest person in the world, didn’t you?” I nodded. “I really did.” “You know what I see when I look at you?” I shook my head, unable to answer.

“So much of the same, Willow, but I doubt you’d agree. I don’t just like you because we share a similar background or because you see me as more than the boy whose mom left. I like you because you see all of me.” “And do you see all of me?” I asked with trepidation in my tone. “I’d like to,” he answered, “if you’d let me.” “But what if you don’t like what you hear?” He took a deep breath as I watched him pull his hands out of his pockets. Reaching out halfway, he held out one hand and waited. It took me only a second to realize what he was doing because that handful of seconds in the bookstore hadn’t ever left my mind. Taking a deep breath of my own, I stretched out my hand and met him the rest of the way, touching the tip of my pinkie to his. “Impossible,” he finally answered. And, in that moment, I chose to believe him. I believed in the possibility of love and everything that went with it. Because he’d done the impossible for me. He’d given me hope.

“WHAT DOES THIS mean?” Allison asked as we sat together at the lonely café the day after Christmas. She’d made good on her promise and called me first thing this morning, wanting to know if I was still alive since I hadn’t bothered to check in. So, I’d suggested a late lunch. Late to avoid the crowd. Lunch because… well, we both liked food. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Are you dating?” My shoulders lifted in doubt. “No idea.” “You didn’t ask him?” she pressed. “Not really. I mean… I’ve never really done this. Is that what you’re supposed to do? That seems kind of formal. And lame.” “Well, usually, you know, Willow. You don’t walk away, scratching your head, leaving your best friend to ask all the important questions.” I had to laugh at how flustered she was over my lack of information. She wasn’t upset. Not by any means. When I’d broken the news to her, I was fairly certain birds fell from the sky from the shrill sound of her screams alone. She was happy for me. Definitely happy. Well, except for the whole clarification part. “I’ll try harder,” I said, creating tiny hearts on the wood table from the water droplets that had fallen from my glass of soda. “You’d better,” she replied, smiling. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to get my information from him.” My eyes widened as she took another bite of her BLT. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she explained. “Not that I think Sam would ever do such a thing. But

you are both special to me, so you can see why I have an invested interest in this relationship.” Relationship. My stomach did a flip-flop, making me regret how quickly I’d eaten my lunch. “What if he decides he doesn’t like me? What if it was just a brief moment of insanity? Too many Christmas cookies or something?” I asked in a panic. She smiled, the type of smile she gave me when she knew I was being ridiculous. I knew it, too. “Sam doesn’t do anything without ample consideration. When we were ten and his parents told him he could pick out a new bike for his birthday… it took him six months. Six months, Willow! He was half a year older by the time he’d weighed all the pros and cons of each type and model. So, no, I don’t think he’s going to change his mind. He seems pretty determined.” “Okay, but what if I can’t do this, Allison?” I asked, feeling helpless. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. I held up my hands, the pain clearly written across my face. “I won’t even let anyone near me. How can I have a boyfriend if I’m always going to be wearing these? They’re like a giant Stop sign.” “Sam said you held hands. Well, sort of. He tried to explain it, but he’s a guy, and it got all sorts of confusing.” My eyes met hers. “You already talked to him? I should have known.” She shrugged. “He called me before he went over to your house for breakfast. Wanted to make sure it was okay before he made his move.” “His move?” “My words, not his. He called, making sure everything was good between the two of us. I assured him it was and gave my blessing, as a best friend to both of you. That’s when he told me about the handholding.” “It wasn’t holding so much as touching. Or barely touching,” I tried to explain. “But it was something.” I smiled. “Yeah, it was.” “Look, I know I’ve never asked, and that’s because I figure you have your reasons for not sharing. But whatever happened to you, whatever caused the gloves to be put on in the first place, you’ll find a way to let go and move on. I’m sure of it.” “I wish I shared your optimism,” I said, looking down at a stray piece of yarn hanging from my glove. “No need. I have enough for both of us!” “Let go and move on.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew one thing…I was ready to try.

ADDY HAD ARRIVED at Page Turners about fifteen minutes ago. She’d walked in and taken a look around while Sam and I’d nervously eyed each other. After asking her to meet with us and offer some business advice, she’d suggested a trip to the store might be in order. “I need a feel for the place,” she’d explained. “It’s been a while.” Seeing her walk through the stacks now though? It felt like an inspection we hadn’t been prepared for. “I had some time to look over your notes, Sam,” she finally said, returning to the front where we stood. “And, although your penmanship still needs some work, you have some good ideas… great ideas actually.” “Thank you,” he responded, sounding slightly relieved. “But they’re lofty,” she continued. “A little too lofty for what you have to work with right now. If there is one thing I’ve learned about owning a business, it’s that you never take on more than you can handle.” “But—” Sam tried to intervene. “Let me finish,” she said, holding out her hand. “Like I said, I like your ideas. And I think, over time, you could probably do all the things you’ve dreamed about here, in these pages of notes. Like a top-ofthe-line coffee bar with fresh pastries to sell. Branching out would guarantee the longevity of the bookstore, but without the capital to invest in the equipment, you are stuck back at square one.” I watched as Sam deflated instantly. This wasn’t the good news he had been waiting to hear. “Don’t give up on me just yet,” Addy said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve run a successful business out of my home for nearly a decade. It’s been enough to not only support me, but support Willow now as well. That’s something I’m proud of. It’s something I’ve worked hard to achieve. But do you think I want to cut hair in my garage for the rest of my life?” “It is a nice garage,” he replied with a hesitant smile. She joined in as I watched the two of them. “It is, but it wasn’t always that nice. Do you remember when it was nothing more than a chair and mirror?” she asked. He nodded. “You used to wash our hair in the kitchen sink.” She smiled, obviously glad he remembered. “My adult clients were thrilled when I finally had the cash to afford an actual washing station. The kids, not so much. They’d loved the trips to the kitchen. The point I’m trying to make is, don’t only hold on to all these dreams,” she said, pointing to the yellow notepad she’d brought back to return to him, “but also work for it. Otherwise, those dreams will never be anything

more than random ideas scribbled on a piece of paper.” Sam’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Where do we start?” A warm smile spread across Addy’s face as we both watched her walk toward the front windows. “Here, I think.” “There?” I asked, following close behind her. “Yes.” She nodded. “You want a place where people can meet, have coffee… that sort of thing. In order to do that, you first need to establish a place for it. I think this is the perfect spot. It’s by the window, which allows for natural light and a bit of scenery. Plus, there’s the added bonus of free publicity.” “How so?” Sam asked, one step behind me. “Well, if you have a window full of people talking and engaging in some sort of activity, others passing by will notice and file it away as a possible place for their next social gathering.” “That’s… actually kind of smart,” I said before adding, “But how will we arrange it? This area is stuffed full of shelves.” “Sam’s already done it for you.” I turned around, giving him a perplexed look. “It’s something I’ve been doing for a while now — tracking sales to see what needs to go and what should stay.” “So, you want to downsize the inventory?” He shook his head. “No, more like streamline it — put books that will actually sell on the shelves. Like take this one,” he said, holding up a fictional novel that, based on the cover, had been written several decades before either of us had been born. “This book has been sitting on the shelf for well over three years. Why continue to stock it when we could replace it with something more appealing?” “But what if someone comes in, wanting that book, down the road?” I argued, hating the idea of getting rid of any book. “Well, this specific copy will go into storage, so we can always pull it out. But, if there is a book a customer wants that we don’t have, we order it. That’s always been a policy, just not one we’ve publicized.” “Until now,” I said, catching on. “Exactly.” “So, what do we keep?” I asked, feeling excited and nervous all at the same time. He motioned me back to the counter where his notebook rested. We spent the rest of the afternoon going over the inventory, figuring out what to keep and what to put away. Addy left us to it, knowing we were fully capable of handling the details ourselves, but after a while, I was starting to doubt her confidence in us. The storage room wasn’t big enough to hold everything, so after several cuts, I came up with the brilliant plan to hold a sale.

“Call it an after-Christmas sale,” I said. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? It is already after Christmas.” “Okay, what about a New Year’s sale? It will give us a few days to set up. We can put all the books on sale in front here,” I said, pointing to the space by the counter usually reserved for new releases. “Slash the price by fifty percent or more, anything to get them out of here. It’s better than storing them in the back.” He stared at me for a moment as I leaned against the counter across from him. I could almost see the wheels in his head moving around. Then, he made his decision. “All right. Let’s do it.” “Great. When do we start?” I asked. Looking at his watch, he got up from the stool he’d been seated on for the last few hours and walked over to the front entrance, flipping the lock, and at the same time, the lights dimmed. His hard boots hit the wood floor as he returned. “Well, since we’ve been technically closed for about thirty minutes, how about now?” If it had just been the sound of the door locking, I would have been fine. If the sound of his boots hadn’t been so loud or the room so dark, I could have kept the rational side of me in charge. But it was too much. Too much all at once. And I immediately began to sink into the darkness. My mind went reeling backward. “Willow?” His timid voice called out. “Don’t,” I pleaded. “Please don’t come near me right now.” “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to go sit on the floor, way over here.” I lifted my head and watched him walk back to the door, finding a place on the floor to rest. I didn’t know how long we sat like that — me nearly rocking back and forth on the stool behind the counter, my breath heavy and uneven, while he sat on the floor, probably wondering what the heck was wrong with me. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener,” he finally said softly. “By who?” I asked. “Whom.” “What?” “It’s not by who; it’s by whom. Just demonstrating my superior listening skills for you.” My eyebrow lifted as I found his faint smile across the room. “My sister,” he answered. “I think I’ve mentioned to you that, out of the two of us, she took my mother leaving the hardest. Often, late at night, I’d find her crying instead of sleeping. Talking was the only way to keep the tears away, so that was what we’d do, sometimes all night. But it helped. Even me,” he

admitted. “Head down. Don’t look up. Never make eye contact. Those were the rules in my house, growing up. I was to keep out of the way, shut up, and pretend I didn’t exist,” I said in one quick breath. “I played my part well, staying out of sight for as long as I could. Until I couldn’t anymore.” “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice distant. “The men who frequented our place weren’t always the best men, something my mother constantly reminded me of. When I was little, I would convince myself that she did this to protect me, but I soon came to realize, she was blaming me for her crappy clientele. No one wanted to see a kid running around when they came to have a good time.” “That’s not fair.” “No,” I agreed. “But it was the truth. It’s why she made me all but hide when I started to get older, fearing some of the less-than-savory men would try their luck with me rather than actually pay for any services she offered.” “Willow, no.” I could hear the agony in his voice as he came to the realization of my words. “I should have stayed in my bedroom,” I said meekly. Looking down at my gloved hands, I remembered the first time I’d put them on. “I didn’t move for what felt like days, but in reality, it was just a few hours. All I could hear was the sound of my mother’s voice as she paced the floor. She was angry that I hadn’t listened. Angry that some dirty scumbag had taken advantage of her.” “Of her?” he interrupted. I nodded, meeting his pained expression. “He hadn’t paid her.” “I’m going to ask you a question,” he said, “and feel free to say no, but it’s killing me to sit against this wall when you’re so far away. If I promise not to touch you and I turn on the lights… hell, I’ll even tiptoe over there like a freaking fairy, can I please sit next to you?” “Yes,” I found myself instantly agreeing. He did as he’d promised, slipping off his shoes before he flipped on the lights. He moved carefully across the store, checking on me each step of the way to ensure I wasn’t in any distress. “I’m okay,” I assured him. Sam took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as he found a spot on the floor next to me by the old counter. I was seated on the stool in front of the cash register, so the angle was awkward. But he was right. It was better to have him close by. “I was lying in my room, staring at the wall, shaking, because I had no tears left to cry, and that was when I saw them, balled up in a corner.” “The gloves?”

“I must have thrown them there and forgotten about them. I’m not the neatest person. But, in that moment, they looked safe and warm… everything I wasn’t. So, I crawled off the bed and slipped them on. It felt like armor, and I just knew I was never going to take them off again.” “Can I ask you something?” he said, looking up at me from his spot on the dusty floor. “Anything.” “What did I do tonight? Specifically? To scare you? I’ve done it before, haven’t I?” I nodded. “The sound of your boots,” I said, a bit of sadness in my words. “It doesn’t usually bother me, but that coupled with the darkness and the lock clicking into place. Before he… when it happened, I walked out into the hallway, and he caught me. He pushed me back into my room, and the only things I heard were the sound of his boots and the lock clicking into place. I didn’t even see his face. It was too dark,” I said. “And what did I do before?” he asked. “You put your hand on my shoulder.” He nodded, remembering. “In the hall. I didn’t even think about it. I was just—” “Sticking up for me. I know.” Silence settled between us as we both searched for what to say next. “I’m not him,” he finally said. “I hope you know that. I’d never hurt you… or do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.” “I know,” I answered. “It’s been a long road, but I do know the difference between someone like you and Addy or Allison and someone like… him. But it’s just been easier, not having to figure it out, you know? The gloves, my armor, keep me at a safe distance from everyone.” “No chance of being hurt that way,” he murmured. “Right,” I answered. “So, where does that leave us?” he asked, his beautiful green eyes meeting mine. I held my hand out to his. “Right here, if that’s okay with you?” He tentatively met my hand with his own, barely brushing the loose threads of my glove. “Sounds perfect.” It did indeed.

I DECIDED TO head into the bookstore early the next day. With our plans for the New Year’s sale underway, I knew we had a lot of work ahead of us, and Sam would probably try to take it all on himself. What I hadn’t expected was to find the store nearly empty when I arrived. “Are you the only one here?” I asked Sophie after pulling the door shut behind me. I took my coat off, feeling the lingering chill from the outdoors still clinging to the air. “Yep,” she said. “It’s been pretty slow so far this morning. Sam said you weren’t coming in until three though. Did I mishear him?” She looked down at the schedule that was always taped to the counter by the register. “No, he’s right. That is my normal time. I just thought I’d come in early and help out with the sale.” “Oh, right. He mentioned that. Um, I think he made a list of books to pull in the stockroom,” she said, picking up her phone to check a text message that had just come in. “Any idea when he’ll be in?” She smiled, setting her phone down and refocusing her attention back on me. “I have a feeling it will be soon.” I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just headed for the back, unsure of what the protocol was in regard to your boyfriend or semi boyfriend or guy you liked and his sister. Should I have stuck around and tried to strike up a conversation? Were we supposed to be friends? Did it matter if she liked me? I had no idea. So, instead, I hid in the back with my books. All fifty thousand of them — or so it appeared. I nearly fell over from the massive piles that had erupted overnight. Sam must have been here for hours, making lists and pulling books from the shelves.

“Did I go a little overboard?” I turned around to see Sam standing behind me, his hands in his pockets and his cheeks still red from the cold outside. He wore a knit beanie on his head, something I’d only seen on him a time or two before but instantly loved. It framed his face, pulling the loose pieces of hair away from his striking features. He really did need a haircut. “Depends,” I answered, pulling my eyes away from him, “on what you pulled.” I took a step forward, glancing at each pile with a certain amount of scrutiny. “What?” I said, pulling a book I’d had my eye on for a while. “You can’t put this on sale! It will definitely sell. It’s barely been out for three months.” His hands left his pockets, and he wrapped his arms around his chest. “Then, why is it still here?” Glancing around the piles, I noticed a general lack of books he tended to gravitate toward. Making my way out of the stockroom, I brushed past him, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the place where my shoulder had touched his. “What about these?” I asked, pointing to several books from a series I knew he loved. “They’ve been on the shelf for a year.” “They’re classics!” he pointed out. “You can’t put a classic on sale!” I rolled my eyes. “And the comic books?” “Also classics.” “You’re impossible,” I muttered. “But lovable? And maybe even a little adorable?” “Your cuteness will not change the fact that teen romance is a huge seller for us, yet you have half of them in the back!” He nodded. “And there is a reason for that.” Folding my arms in front of me, I waited. “What do we have a ton of in this town right now?” he asked me. I gave him a blank look. “Antique stores?” He laughed. “Okay, besides that.” There was a short pause, as he waited for me to figure it out. When it became clear, I wasn’t into his game, he finally gave in. “Teenagers!” he announced. “And, specifically, teenage girls! Come on, Willow. Don’t you see what I’m doing here? I’m not trying to get rid of your beloved young adult section. I’m trying to find customers for it. So, how do we do that? Offer up a sale.” “That’s actually smart, I guess,” I said. “I know.” “But I have one condition.” “To the plan I’ve already set in motion?” I nodded. “Okay.”

I held out the book that was still neatly tucked in my hand. “I want this book, half off.” His laughter filled the entire store.

STANDING IN FRONT of the nearly full bookshelf in my room, I slipped my new favorite book next to the others, smiling to myself with happiness. Even though I hadn’t read it yet and I had about five others to read before I got to it, I knew it would be amazing. Because that was what reading was to me. It gave the lonely girl still living inside me a thousand opportunities to walk in someone else’s shoes — see life in a new perspective, travel to a new land… even be a mythical creature if I wanted to be. And, so far, I’d taken that little girl everywhere. Yet the very real teenager that I was, was stuck. Stuck in these gloves that kept me from doing anything. I wasn’t lying when I’d told Sam I trusted him. I did, more than he knew. Yet when it came to showing him? Showing anyone? I was stuck. Trapped inside these gloves that were supposed to protect me from the horrors of the world. Instead, they’d somehow become my prison, and I couldn’t find the key to unlock my freedom. Grabbing the edge of my left glove, I tried. I tried so hard to pull it off… to reveal the skin beneath. Allison had once asked how I showered, a common question people must have had when they found out about my oddity. “I use plastic bags and tape,” I’d confessed, feeling ashamed. “Sometimes, when they get really gross, I’ll wash them with a little shampoo, but it itches while I wait for them to dry.” “So, you never take them off?” she’d asked. “Never.” Never suddenly felt like a long time.

“YOU READY TO go?” Addy asked, peeking her head inside my room.

I’d turned my attention away from my books, instead focusing on putting away a few loads of laundry before going to work. Once again, I was heading in early to help Sam out. We had a lot to do. “You don’t have to drive me,” I said, finishing up. I placed an armful of shirts in my dresser drawer and quickly grabbed my backpack. I didn’t think we’d have much downtime while preparing for the sale, but if for some reason we did, I wanted to be prepared with some homework since the end of winter break was quickly approaching, and I was horribly behind. “I know,” she replied. “But it’s cold out there, and I hate seeing you walk all the time. Besides, Sam requested that I join you.” That piqued my interest. Looking up, I met her gaze. “He did? Do you know why?” She shrugged, looking as clueless as I did. “No idea, but I guess we will find out soon. You ready?” I halfway put my backpack over my shoulder and walked across the small space before I realized my jacket was still on the bed. I tried to ignore the tiny chuckle that escaped from my aunt. “Just glad to see you excited,” she said as I wrinkled my nose at her. “To go to work?” I replied. I followed her out the door, pausing just outside to allow her time to lock everything up. Once her keys were safely in her hand, she looked over at me and replied, “Are you ever going to admit to me that you have a crush on that boy?” “I… yes, maybe.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her smiling. “I know it might seem like I don’t have much experience in dating, considering I haven’t been on a single date since you arrived here. But I have—” “Awkward. This is totally awkward,” I said as we approached the car. “Okay, good. I felt like I was dying.” She breathed out in relief. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Just know I’m here if you ever want to talk… about anything.” I nodded. “I know.” “Good.” We enjoyed the rest of the drive in silence as I sat back, watching the town I’d found myself falling in love with rush by the window. It was a short route into town, less than a few minutes really, one that I’d nearly memorized from my walks to and from the bookstore. From the tiny gas station on the corner that served some of the best ice cream in town to the diner we passed as we turned onto Main that Allison and I frequented because of their cheap fries, there were memories spread all over this town. Good memories.

Bad memories. And everything else in between. Mrs. Landers’s words came back to me then. Cherish your memories — the good, the bad, and everything in between. It reminded me of the life or story I was creating here with Addy and Allison… and Sam. As much as I wanted to forget about the bad memories of my life, I was determined to make good ones here… the ones I’d remember forever. Addy parked the car directly outside the bookstore, and I noticed the mess in front of the large set of windows right away. “Looks like he got started early again,” I muttered. “You two have been busy,” she remarked as we entered. Piles of books were stacked by the checkout counter, leaving obvious holes in the usually full shelves around the store. Also, there was the mess in the front corner. “How long have you been here?” I asked Sam the moment his head popped up from a stack of books. “Six, maybe seven? I don’t remember really. I couldn’t sleep.” “Six in the morning?” He nodded before noticing Addy. “Oh, good, you came!” “I did.” She smiled as she pulled her gloves off and stuffed them in the pockets of her coat. “I have a bit of news,” he said, standing upright. I watched as he stretched, arching his back, as if he’d been hunched over for longer than he should have been. “It’s good news,” he amended after seeing my face blanch. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but the place next door has been vacant for a while. My father’s been looking for the right kind of tenant, someone who will serve the downtown area well. And, after meeting with him last night, I think we came to a conclusion.” Addy’s eyes met mine before we both turned to Sam. “You finally have your storefront, Addy,” he said happily. “What?” she said, her voice filled with sudden shock. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said. “You’ve earned it after all.” Tears filled her eyes. “Are you sure?” He nodded as she took a few steps forward, embracing him like a son. “Yes, I’m sure. He’s sending the paperwork today.” “Thank you, Samuel. Thank you.” He didn’t say anything, but I could see the contentment radiating from his face as she held him. His eyes briefly met mine. I found myself mouthing the same words as my aunt, Thank you. He gave a small nod before offering to give us a tour of the space.

As she grabbed his hand, utterly thrilled and filled with joy, I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly I was missing. If I knew anything, it was that Mr. Shepherd didn’t give up anything without a price.

WE LEFT ADDY in her new storefront, happy and content with her tape measure, as she plotted out her plan for the next month. Ever since Sam had announced the place was hers, she hadn’t stopped talking. From design to business plans and how to balance it all… she was already in deep. And it had only been an hour. “She’s going to be fun to live with.” Sam smiled as we made the short trip back to the store. I waited as he unlocked the door and then took down the temporary sign that advised customers we’d return in a few minutes. “Yeah, thanks for that,” I replied. “Glad to help.” As I pulled my coat off, setting it on the counter, I watched him do the same. He pushed back his hair, the dark tendrils falling back in place, as if they had a mind of their own. “What do you have to give him?” I finally asked, knowing he wouldn’t give up the information willingly. “What?” He turned to me, a look of surprise blanketing his features. “I know I haven’t met your father, but from what you’ve told me, he doesn’t seem like the type to freely hand over that store, especially to my aunt, given their history,” I added. He sighed. “It’s true. He blames Addy for my mother leaving.” “Is it true?” I asked. “She once told me she was the reason your mother left. Is your father right to blame her?” “No, and yes,” he answered. “It’s complicated. Do you know how my mother and father met?” I shook my head, watching him grab several books from the floor. He started to stack them on the display shelf, and I followed his lead, beginning to do the same. “My mom was working at a diner,” he began. “The same one as Addy, right?” “Yep. My mom was working in between her classes at the local community college. I think she wanted to be a nurse or something. But then my dad came in, flirting with her every chance he had, and swept her off her feet — or so she used to say. The rest was history.” “That sounds romantic,” I remarked.

He nodded. “Sophie thought so, too. Growing up, we thought we were lucky. Seeing so many of our friends’ parents get divorced, yet ours were still so much in love. But the older we got, the less in love they became. Or maybe they hadn’t really ever been in love in the first place,” he said. “My mom had done the right thing, you know? Found a good guy, got married, had kids — all the things you’re supposed to do in life. But she was young. Really young. I think she reached a point when she just kind of snapped.” “Snapped?” “I would hear her yelling about all the things she regretted, and then she’d list everything she wished she’d done… before us.” “So, she left?” I asked, gripping the loose fabric of my sweater between my fingers as I leaned against the counter. He nodded. “My dad got wind that it was Addy’s suggestion, and he went nuts. Addy never meant to hurt us,” he said. “She was just as heartbroken by all of this as we were.” “I don’t understand.” “I didn’t either for a long time,” he said. “For months, I would cry myself to sleep, feeling betrayed by the two women in my life who mattered most. One day, I finally had enough and decided I needed answers. Rather than hoping on the bus after school, I ran all the way to Addy’s house, demanding an explanation.” “What did she say?” I asked, unsure of if I wanted to know. “That she was sorry… that she never meant for any of this to happen. She’d hoped that, by suggesting my mother leave town for a while, it would help her remember everything she had waiting for her at home. But she never came back. The woman we both loved was long gone. Or maybe she was never there to begin with.” “Have you ever heard from her since?” He nodded. “She sent a card not too long ago. It said she was well and living in California somewhere. My dad drank himself into a stupor that night, and I panicked the next morning when he wouldn’t wake up. Sophie had spent the night somewhere, and I was all alone, yelling at him to wake up.” “What did you do?” I asked. “I called Allison. Made us both late for school, but we managed to wake him. She might be tiny, but that girl can be scary when she wants to be. She had my dad up and hydrated in record time.” “And then you charmed your way out of being late?” I said, remembering that day well. He smiled faintly. “I had a note.” “What did you give him, Sam? In exchange for Addy’s storefront?” I asked again, thinking of my aunt next door. “Time,” he confessed. “What do you mean?”

“He’s moved our timeline up. If the bookstore isn’t showing growth or promise of growth in a month, he’ll close it.” “A month?” I gasped. “How is that even possible? Why would you do that?” Words flew out of my mouth faster than I could process them. “We’ll be fine,” he assured me, taking a step in my direction. “But why, Sam? Why risk it?” “Because no one deserves to succeed more than Addy,” he explained. “She tried to be there for me over the years, but I couldn’t let it go. I wasn’t mad at her. I was mad at myself. Confusion spread across my features. “Why?” “Because I’d spent so many years trying to forget, but really, I was still back there. Still stuck in that never-ending loop, watching my mother leave and wondering what I’d done to deserve it. This is my chance to make it all right.” I reached forward, not taking a single moment to second-guess my decision, and grabbed his hands. The slight gasp that fell from his lips told me he was just as surprised as I was. His fingers wove through mine, and I could feel the heat from his hands radiating through the thick knit of my gloves. Both of us just stood there, staring at our joined hands, unable to speak for a long time. “Are you sure you’re sixteen, Sam Shepherd?” I found myself finally saying after his words kept bouncing around in my head. His eyes met mine, and a small smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I could put that sign back on the door, and we could spend a few minutes finding out in the back?” Instant butterflies attacked my belly as my face went flush. “Definitely sixteen.” I laughed, still happily holding his hands. I never wanted to let go.

PAGE TURNERS WAS a flurry of activity over the next couple of days as New Year’s quickly approached. The old saying, It takes a village, was put to the test as tons of volunteers came in to help us. Even Allison made herself available, putting her social networking skills to the test. “What are you doing?” I asked, leaning against the counter, as I watched her type furiously, her eyes nearly burning a hole into the screen. “Setting up a Facebook page, Instagram account — stuff like that. I can’t believe Sam never thought of this. No wonder no one knows this place exists. And the website? Don’t even get me started.” “You seem to know a lot about this,” I said, watching her upload pictures she’d obviously taken while

I wasn’t paying attention. Thankfully, the shop had been cleaned up, books had been stacked neatly, and signs had been made for the upcoming sale. The photos represented days of hard work, and I was proud to know I was part of that. “Anyone over the age of five could do this,” she replied before amending, “well, except for you.” My refusal to leap into the social media cesspool my friends all swam in regularly was a constant conversation topic. They just didn’t get it. But then again, they’d been raised on this stuff, given phones and laptops at a time when I was watching reruns on a TV that barely worked. I just didn’t see the need for it. I mean, I’d survived this long, right? But I did have to admit… getting those late-night text messages from Sam? That was more than okay with me. I’d keep my phone around indefinitely just to read those. “Okay, so I’ve set up the Facebook page and messaged some of the other local businesses and the official town page to see if they wouldn’t mind sharing it to try and up our following. Also, I texted a bunch of people from school with our Instagram info, so we should see a bump there soon. Now, we just need to start promoting.” “Wow, I’m impressed.” She smiled brightly. “Glad I could help. I’m going to stick around a bit longer and see if I can get some cute photos to post. Instagram is all about staged photos, so maybe I’ll take a few of the sale books by the window or the store sign? I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” I left her with her tasks and went to find Sam. He was in the small corner in the front that we’d nicknamed the nook because of its now cozy atmosphere. With a little help from Addy, we’d managed to find two secondhand love seats for next to nothing. With the stockpile of fabric she’d had at the house and a few hours of labor, we’d recovered them, creating a new seating area for our customers without breaking the bank. A few lamps and a coffee table later, and I could already picture afternoon conversations, book clubs, and friends gathering after school. “I think this might actually work,” Sam announced as I took a seat on the sofa. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise…” “Hey,” he said, setting himself down next to me. He left a space between us but wasted no time in taking my hand in his. A smile swept across his face the moment he realized I hadn’t flinched or pulled back. “Do you see how many people came to help us today? More people have been in here today than I’ve seen in months. If we can stir this much support just in preparations, I know we can make it through the next month and prove to my father that this place is worth keeping.” “Why do you want to keep it so badly?” I asked, watching the way his finger brushed mine in a slow, steady pace. “I mean, I know you’ve read half of these books in here… and you mentioned that this used to be your mom’s favorite place, but with everything you’ve told me about her, I would think you’d want to get rid of it. Doesn’t it hurt? The memories of her?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But when she was here… when she was my mom, she was a good mom. Or at least that’s what the kid in me wants to believe. And, yeah, there are days when I walk in here, remembering the way she’d greet customers, happy and content, and I just want to burn it to the ground. But it’s mine, you know? It’s mine now, and I want to make it better. Not because of her or the family legacy or whatever, but because I think it deserves more.” A devilish grin appeared at the corner of his mouth. “And, of course, there’s the motivating factor of royally pissing off my dad when he can’t shut this place down.” I laughed, feeling my head fall naturally to his shoulder. His breath caught as I waited for my heart to stop working. But it just kept on beating like normal. Because it recognized him now. It trusted him. And so did I.

“I THINK I’M going to puke,” I said, checking the clock on the wall for the hundredth time. It was five minutes to nine on New Year’s Eve. Our big blowout sale started today. “Don’t you dare. I mopped the floors last night,” Sam joked. We’d both come in to assist Diana, who normally took care of the morning shift, because we honestly had no idea what to expect. Of course, when I hadn’t seen hundreds of people standing outside, waiting to get in, this morning, I’d already doomed us a failure. “We’ve marketed mostly to teenagers and stay-at-home moms,” Sam said, trying to calm me down. “Now, I don’t know much about moms, but I do know a thing or two about teenagers, and one of those facts happens to be that we are not fans of the morning hours. Well, present company excluded.” I gave him a hard stare. “I still hate mornings. I’m just here to make sure you don’t screw this up.” He laughed. “Well, thank God for that.” Walking toward the front door, dressed up for a change in his usual dark denim but sporting a new green henley he must have just picked up, I watched him flip the sign over the minute the clock hit nine. “Open for business. Now, we just wait,” he said. I could hear the obvious nervousness in his voice. He was trying to play the cool and confident guy today, but I knew better. A lot was riding on this sale. Thirty minutes later, not a single person had entered the store, and I could feel our spirits beginning to

fall. “It’s still early,” Sam mumbled to himself. And he was right, but after another hour and no customers, I was feeling panicked. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my phone and feverishly began sending out SOS texts to everyone I could think of. I would not let this store fall apart. Within a half hour, my cry for help was answered. Big time. Allison arrived, armed with friends, ready to help. They got to work on contacting as many students as possible. If there was a place to be today, we wanted it to be here. Then, Addy arrived after rearranging her schedule for the day. Under her arms, she carried several grocery bags and a large box. “What did you bring?” I asked. “Food, some art supplies, and” — she paused for effect as she rearranged everything in her hands, pulling a box forward — “a coffee machine!” Sam and I both gasped. “It’s not a big one,” she explained. “Most people have one of these in their house now, and you’ll have to keep up on the pods or whatever they’re called. But, if there is one thing that brings people in on a cold day, it’s the promise of free coffee and food. So, here, go set everything up.” “Thank you,” I said, still stunned by her generosity. She’d canceled on clients to help us and worked into the night for us, and now, she was saving us with coffee and pastries. It was too much. “That’s what awesome aunts do.” She shrugged as I took the coffeemaker from her hands. It was sleek and shiny, perfectly matching with the decor we’d put together. I decided it would work best today on the counter along with the huge helping of pastries. Later, I might move it to the nook, depending on how things went, but having this beauty up front and center today was key. I wasn’t sure what the extra art supplies were for, seeing as we’d already littered the town with flyers and made huge signs for the windows, but the minute Addy was free of her bags, she got to work. “Who wants to stand outside in the freezing cold?” she hollered. No one answered. Not a single person. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Who wants to volunteer to be our first greeter of the day?” “Like Walmart?” I asked, trying to understand what she was up to. “Kind of,” she replied. “I want someone — a nice someone,” she clarified, “to stand outside and greet people as they walk by, telling them about the sale. This is a small town, and we love to chat. Strike up a conversation, and maybe offer them a cup of coffee or a pastry. Then, hopefully, we’ll find ourselves with some sales!” “That’s pretty smart,” I replied. “Please don’t make me do it.”

Sam laughed. “I’ll do it. Let me grab my coat.” One hour later, we were in business. Sam had proven to be up for the task, nearly freezing to death outside with nothing more than a thin jacket and his beanie, but he had been tireless in his efforts. He’d managed to get nearly every single person passing by to stop in. Most he knew, some he didn’t, but all were charmed by his honest spirit and drive. By noon, we had more sales than the previous week combined. I felt like I was flying. Addy worked hard on new flyers. Some she hung on our own windows while others she moved to her unfinished salon. I wasn’t sure it made a difference, but I thought she enjoyed putting her crafting skills to work. “Willow,” Allison called out from the back where she’d sequestered herself. She’d put herself in charge of Internet traffic, and she was taking her job very seriously, sitting on the floor, glued to her phone. “The bulk of the cheerleading team is coming this afternoon, and I think I have a go from almost everyone in my History class.” “Why History?” I asked, watching her send another text. She shrugged. “I had their numbers. I figured it was worth a try. People don’t have much to do until it gets dark on New Year’s Eve, so I took the chance that everyone was bored… and I was right.” “You’re a genius.” “No, I just know how people think. Well, mostly,” she muttered. “Still nothing from Eddie?” I asked, knowing she’d been waiting to hear from him for forever. “No.” She pouted. “I’m giving up. I’ve decided I’m not good at this boy thing. First, I fall for my best friend, the boy who has basically been my brother since birth… and then I decide to go for a guy who apparently doesn’t know I exist. I think a little drama-free, boy-free time will do me good. For the time being, I’m just going to live vicariously through you and Sam.” “That’s… weird.” She laughed. “Not like that. I don’t need to know details or anything — unless you feel like sharing. I just meant that knowing my two best friends are happy and in love is all I need right now.” In love? Is that what we were? The only person I’d ever really loved was Addy, but Sam was different. The butterflies I felt when Sam was near, was that love? Or just teenage lust? The way he made me feel… the safety and trust I knew I had when he was near, was that love? How did you know? How did anyone know? These questions bounced around in my head for the rest of the day as we ushered in and out new customers and rang up sales. I watched Sam tirelessly greet people outside. More than once, someone had

tried to relieve him, insisting he go inside to warm up, but he’d refused. This was his business, and in a way, I thought that was how he felt he was making the most impact. Once the customers became steady and the money started rolling in, I encouraged Addy and Allison to return to their normal lives. Both protested, but in reality, we’d already stolen too much of their time. “I don’t have a life,” Allison argued. “Really, I don’t. I just sit at home and do nothing.” “Have you considered getting a job?” Addy asked. “I might need an assistant in the salon.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you serious?” she asked as they both walked out. I could hear Allison’s high-pitched voice as they traveled down the street. Allison working for my aunt? It was a good match, honestly. They both had high energy and were sociable, and it would be nice to have Allison so close by. No doubt we’d need to double our supply of coffee though. After helping Sophie, who’d come in for the afternoon with the line that had developed, I found a familiar face standing in front of me. “Your nose is red,” I said, looking into Sam’s green eyes. “Want to join me for a cup of coffee?” he asked. I looked at the clock, surprised to see we had less than an hour to go before closing. Nodding, I picked out a flavored coffee while he went for something black and boring. “We’ll need to figure out a better setup,” he said as we waited for everything to brew. “It’s nice to have it all up here, so we can keep tabs on it, but maybe we should look into one of those cold carafes for creamer, so we don’t have to use that powdered crap. Going back and forth to the stockroom refrigerator every time someone wants a cup of coffee seems stupid.” “I agree,” I said, grabbing my coffee from the machine. “We might as well not bother if powdered cream is all we can do. That stuff is nasty. Even I know that, and I rarely drink coffee.” The nook, which had turned out to be a big hit during the day, especially among the younger crowd, had thinned out as nighttime settled. People were getting ready for New Year’s festivities, and we’d anticipated a sharp decline in attendance once it got dark. But it had been a good day, and we still had a little bit longer until the store closed. I wanted to enjoy it…no matter how many customers we had. “You were amazing today,” he finally said after taking a sip of his coffee. “Me? You stood out in the cold all day. Did you even eat?” “Do doughnuts count? Because I’m pretty sure I ate about a dozen of those chocolate ones your aunt brought over.” “No wonder you lasted all day outside. You were probably high on sugar.” He laughed. “I could use some real food though. Want to grab dinner after we close?” “Sure.”

“And afterward… will you let me kiss you at midnight?” I stopped breathing. “I’m sorry,” he backpedaled. “That was too much, wasn’t it?” “No,” I answered. “It just took me by surprise.” His expression turned hopeful. “Does that mean yes?” I smiled. “It means yes… eventually. Just maybe not yet.” His smile grew as our hands found each other once more. “I look forward to eventually.” So do I, Sam. So do I.

EVERYTHING IS PERFECT. That was my exact thought after walking back into school the day after New Year’s. The bookstore was in good shape, Addy’s hair salon dreams were coming true, and I had the best boyfriend in the world. What a difference a few weeks could make. I didn’t even care that my dingy red gloves still remained glued to my hands. I was happy… truly happy. For maybe the first time ever. “My life sucks,” Allison announced as we sat down to lunch after making it through our morning classes. “A whole four hours back at school, and your life is already that bad?” I asked, setting down my tray on the table we’d taken over in the cafeteria. I hadn’t had any time to pack a lunch this morning after accidentally sleeping in. After two-plus weeks without an alarm, waking up early was a harsh adjustment, and I’d pressed the snooze button more than once. “Well, for one, I have a new teacher in Spanish.” “What happened to Mrs. Decker?” “Caught her husband cheating on her with the cleaning lady. Moved back to Connecticut to live with her mom.” “Whoa,” I said. “Sorry I asked.” She shrugged. “She’s young and pretty cute. I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s me who’s going to fail miserably! This new guy — Mr. Lee — is insane. He’s convinced Mrs. Decker did us a disservice by teaching at such a slow pace, and he has now completely redone the syllabus and assigned, like, a billion hours’ worth of homework. Oh! And we’re not allowed to speak in English. Ever.” I was having a hard time seeing how Mrs. Decker’s failed marriage really compared to Allison’s new

homework load, but as a friend, I did commiserate. “Like, ever? Because, unless you haven’t noticed, you’re speaking it right now.” She gave me a hard stare. “You know what I mean! In class! We’re not allowed to speak it in class, which is going to be impossible for me because, so far, I only know how to count to one hundred and say my name.” I laughed. “Wow, I hate to say it, but maybe this new guy has a point.” “I knew I should have taken Spanish as a freshman.” “That’s what the rest of us did.” “And to make matters worse,” she went on, “Eddie has a new girlfriend. And get this, she’s a freshman.” Taking a bite of salad, I asked, “How did you find this out?” She’d obviously had a much busier day than me. “I saw them making out between second and third period.” She pouted. “Oh. Well, that’s… gross. Here, eat something,” I suggested, pushing her slice of pizza toward her. “I can’t. Everything is too horrible.” “Has anyone told you that you’re sometimes a little overly dramatic?” I said, taking a bite of my own slice of pizza. It wasn’t great, not like the stuff Addy made from scratch, but it wasn’t terrible either. “You,” she answered. “Quite often actually. And you’re right. I swore, I was going to live in a boyfree, drama-free bubble, and here I am, back on the crazy train on the first day back. I just need to refocus.” “And how are you going to do that?” “Well, for starters, I’m going to go find that Mr. Lee and figure out how I can get some one-on-one tutoring or extra credit.” “And Eddie?” I asked, knowing she was still annoyed. “I’m going to avoid him like the plague.” I laughed. “Solid plan.” I held up her pizza slice, and after an eye roll, she finally took it from me and began eating. Sometimes, I wondered who had taken care of Allison before I came around. But then again, sometimes, the same could be said for me. “Oh, I did have some good news to share,” she chimed in after wiping a little grease from her mouth. “So, the day wasn’t all that bad?” “Well, not totally, but it’s only half over.” “Way to be optimistic,” I joked. “What’s your good news?” “Well, I heard a few people talking about the new couple on campus.” My nerves came to life. “Oh?” “Seems everyone can’t stop talking about you and Sam.”

Now, I was the one to roll my eyes. “I can’t imagine what they must be saying.” “Actually, nothing bad. Well, at least, from what I heard. It was more like, ‘Hey, did you hear Sam and that new girl Willow are together?’ People saw you holding hands at the bookstore and in the hall. But, honestly, Willow, I think people are kind of over your particular weirdness.” “My weirdness?” “The gloves,” she clarified. “I don’t think it really bugs them anymore. You’re just Willow to everyone now.” Just Willow. Huh. I kind of liked that. “And, speaking of the hot new couple, here comes your boyfriend now,” she announced. I turned just in time to see Sam take a seat next to me. “Hey,” he said to both of us. “Is it just me, or is it strange to be back?” “Kind of,” I replied. “It did feel like an eternity that we were away.” “It did, yet now that we’re back, it’s like nothing has changed.” “Well, some things did,” Allison piped in, raising her eyebrows at the way Sam’s hand rested on my knee. “Anyway” — she smiled — “I’m going to go make the most of my remaining lunch break. If that Mr. Lee thinks he’s safe in the teacher’s lounge, he’s sorely mistaken.” “Poor Mr. Lee,” I said before we said our good-byes. “What’s up with her?” Sam asked, his emerald eyes focused on mine. “New Spanish teacher.” He nodded. “Right. I heard about that. A couple of the guys in my English class were talking about it. Sounds rough. Glad I took my foreign language requirement early on.” “Me, too.” A long tendril of his dark brown hair fell forward, and I instinctively bent forward and brushed it back. The corner of his mouth lifted into a lazy smile. “You need a haircut,” I said softly, my fingers still running through his hair. “Yeah? You think you could hook me up?” “I might know someone.” “Does this offer come with food?” he asked, watching my hand softly rest on top of his. “You and food.” I laughed. “Now, I know you’re a sixteen-year-old boy.” He shrugged. “I’ve been deprived of Addy’s cooking for five years. I’m making up for it.” “I’m sure she would love to cook for you. And cut your hair. But only on one condition,” I said. He waited for my request, looking completely amused and relaxed. “You walk me home after work.” His grin grew. “I mean, I guess… if I have to. Want a little practice now? The bell is about to ring,” he

warned. I agreed, grabbing my trash and backpack. Being the gentleman he was, he grabbed my tray the minute I stood up and took care of disposing of everything only to return a moment later. It was then that I noticed the stares. And the whispers. “Have you ever been to the zoo and wondered what it’s like to be constantly on display?” I asked him as we walked hand in hand out of the cafeteria. His head turned sideways, catching a few lingering eyes, and he laughed. “I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a monkey,” he joked, remembering a previous conversation. “It doesn’t bother you?” I asked, growing serious, as my voice grew quiet. He stopped as we reached the hallway. “That they’re staring at us?” I nodded. “No,” he said adamantly. “I’m proud to have you here by my side. If I knew you wouldn’t kill me, I’d run down Main, announcing you agreed to go out with me to the entire town.” “I would definitely kill you,” I replied, shaking my head at his theatrics. “Although you actually never asked.” “What?” “You never asked me. To be your girlfriend, I mean.” “I just figured that was implied,” he said, “with the whole I-like-you, hand-holding, magical-winterwonderland moment.” “Hmm…” I smiled. “Allison says you’re supposed to clarify.” “And she would know how? Oh, fine. Willow Fairchild, would you please do me the honor of being my girlfriend?” I laughed but immediately sobered the moment I saw the sincerity in his eyes. “Yes,” I answered. “Good. Now, get to class before you’re late.” “I’m never late.” I could hear his laughter filling the hallway behind me as I scurried off to class.

AFTER PUTTING IN a few hours at the bookstore, Sam and I enjoyed a quiet walk home, expecting to arrive to an even quieter house filled with the smells of a home-cooked meal.

What we instead stumbled into was the exact opposite. Sheer chaos. And, to Sam’s utter disappointment… not a single home-cooked anything in sight. “What the heck?” I found myself saying the moment I closed the door behind us. “Your aunt decided to open the salon… in a week,” Allison announced before shoving a slice of pizza in her mouth. I guessed we were eating pizza. Again. “Why a week?” Sam asked, helping himself to the box of pepperoni pizza that was lying on the kitchen table. “Well, there are several reasons,” Addy responded, appearing in the hallway, dressed in overalls and a Christmas sweater. She must have been in my closet — or the part of my closet she still occupied — because she had a handful of fabrics and knickknacks I distinctly remembered seeing shoved next to the few clothes I had hanging in there. “But, mostly, I just want to,” she added. “Well, who can argue with that? How can we help?” Sam asked, his mouth stuffed full of pizza, obviously realizing our laid-back night was clearly out the window… along with his much-needed haircut. “I’ve already got Allison working on everything marketing-related. I’m not starting a business from the ground up, but it never hurts to get the word out.” “How has the response been from your clients?” I asked, grabbing a slice for myself before Sam ate it all. “Pretty good,” she answered, busying herself with the things she’d grabbed from the closet. “There are a few, mostly ones from the neighborhood, who aren’t thrilled with the idea of driving all the way downtown for their haircut, but I think they’ll adjust.” “All the way?” I laughed. “Well, when you’re used to walking the length of a few houses, I guess even a mile can seem like an adjustment.” “Then, we’ll just have to make it worth it,” I said. “Agreed.” Over the next few hours, we all worked together, boxing up Addy’s hair products, making pillows for the small lobby area, and doing several other tiny tasks. I’d even tried to show my crafty side by painting an old chest of drawers she planned on using for storage in the restroom. Unfortunately, Allison had to take over when I’d proven to be neither crafty nor neat. “Maybe you should just stick to reading,” Sam said, patting me on the back. “Bite me,” I mumbled.

“Right here? In front of your aunt? That would be awfully rude of me,” he said, completely straightfaced. I caught Addy grin as she ducked into the garage, a chorus of laughter following her. “You’re crazy.” “From where I’m sitting, you’re both crazy,” Allison commented, hunched over her homework. She’d finished setting up everything online for Addy over an hour ago, again reminding me that a child could do what she’d just accomplished, and then proceeded to pull out her pile of Spanish homework. She’d been complaining ever since. I really did feel bad for her. Or at least I was trying. “Can one of you help me with this? Is it corre or corrió?” she asked, pointing to something in her textbook. “It’s corre,” I replied, looking over her shoulder after Sam’s blank stare in my direction. “I’m glad you know because I had no clue. Maybe Mrs. Decker wasn’t the greatest teacher after all.” Allison’s head flopped back against the couch. “I’m going to fail this class. There goes college. There goes any chance at a career, all because I failed Spanish 101.” “You’re not going to fail,” I said, walking around the couch to take a seat next to her. “I thought you said you were going to make it your life’s mission to track him down and give him a piece of your mind.” I lowered my voice, trying to impersonate the determined tone she’d had earlier today at lunch. “I don’t sound like that.” She frowned. “And I couldn’t find him. But I’m heading in early tomorrow. I will find him.” “See? No need to worry. You’ve got this.” She stood up, nodding with confidence. “You’re right. I do have this.” “Good. Now, get back to it!” I demanded, making both of them laugh… me included. Everything was perfect. Just the way it was supposed to be.

LIFE SETTLED INTO a nice routine over the next few days. Everyone pitched in to help at the salon while we continued to get as many customers in the door at Page Turners. It was busy, chaotic, and stressful but fulfilling. Everyone in my life was happy.

Especially Sam. He’d been given the honor of getting the first haircut at the brand-new store last night, letting Addy have a chance to test-drive all of her equipment after the move. I’d sat in one of the refurbished chairs we’d placed in the waiting area, looking through a magazine about celebrity marriages, as I listened to them talk. I’d tried not to peek. But maybe that was a bad idea because the moment he’d stepped in front of me? I was pretty sure my heart had malfunctioned. Sam had always been cute. No girl at Sugar Tree High would deny that. But now? Well, he was downright hot. The long, messy tendrils of hair were now cut short and sleek, showing off his square jaw and those mesmerizing eyes. Like that hot guy from Divergent, Four? Sam was that hot… just a little younger. Since then, I’d been unable to form complete sentences in his presence. Okay, that was a lie… but the struggle was real, and if I didn’t start paying serious attention in History rather than thinking of my super-hot boyfriend, I was definitely going to miss half the questions on our upcoming final. I was pretty positive I couldn’t use him as an excuse either. Just as I was finally starting to get back into the lecture Mrs. Landers was giving on Lewis and Clark, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Well, at least I tried. I quickly gathered my things, shoving my textbook and binder into my backpack along with the pen I’d barely used. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I fully expected to see Sam standing in front of me. Instead though was Mrs. Landers. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you and Sam,” she said. Oh no. I began to panic. Had she noticed me staring at him? Is she worried about my grades because of my overwhelming infatuation with the back of my boyfriend’s head? I inwardly groaned as Sam approached. “I heard through the grapevine that Page Turners is now open to clubs?” I felt my spastic nerves calm as I instantly realized this wasn’t about me at all. It was about the bookstore. “Yes, that’s correct,” Sam replied. “I’ve been hosting a book club, mostly reading historical fiction, for years now, and…well, quite frankly, I’m tired of cleaning and baking every week, especially now that I live alone. I was hoping you might allow us to hold our meeting at the bookstore. There are only six of us, and I’d be happy to order our books through you.”

“That would be great,” we both replied in unison. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “And I don’t suppose you can provide refreshments?” The was a moment of silence before I chimed in, “Of course. Whatever you need. Just send an email to the shop, and we’ll have everything set up.” Mrs. Landers was beyond delighted when we left. Sam… not so much. “Refreshments?” he said as we both rushed to class. “Refreshments, Willow? How are we going to pull that off? Remember Addy telling us to take this one step at a time?” My hands flew out. “I know, I know! But Mrs. Landers looked so hopeful. What was I supposed to do?” “Say, No, sorry. Why don’t you try the bakery across town?” “What about your sister?” I said out of the blue. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, people rushing around us, as the bell rang. Now, we were officially late for class. He didn’t seem to care. “My sister who burns everything? That doesn’t sound wise.” “No, but maybe Addy could train her? You’re always saying she needs to grow up.” I gave a brief shrug, adjusting my heavy backpack in the process. “It’s just a thought. But it would definitely give us a leg up in hosting if we were able to provide more than just coffee.” His eyes narrowed, and I could see he was thinking it over. “Okay. I’ll think about it, and we can talk about it more this afternoon. But, in the meantime, do you think you could maybe not promise anything more without checking with your business partner first?” I smiled as he stepped closer. “Business partner?” “Sure, why not? I mean, I can’t give you an official title, but when it comes to decisions and how Page Turners is handled… I want you included. Always.” “Your dad will be thrilled.” I laughed. “My dad is convinced the place is going to shut down in a few weeks anyway. We are going to prove him wrong.” “Yes, we are.” He looked around, finally realizing how silent the halls were. “But not right now. Right now, we’re going to get our butts to class before we find ourselves in detention instead of work.” “There’s a pep rally last period. Everyone will be heading out to the gym at any minute.” He nodded. “Right. Well then, perfect time to slide in without notice. I’ll see you after school.” His hand squeezed mine before he dashed down the hall toward his classroom. I did the same and managed to sneak in just as everyone was walking out toward the gym. I’d never been so late for a class in my life. My heart was beating so fast. I was sure everyone around me could

hear it as I wove through, searching for Allison. “There you are!” she said under her breath. “I covered for you when roll was called, said you were in the restroom.” “Thank you. Mrs. Landers asked Sam and me to stay late to discuss the possibility of her book club meeting at the store and then we ended up talking past the bell,” I explained as we walked side by side. “That’s it?” she whined. “I was really hoping for something far more scandalous. Next time I lie for you, make sure it’s for something juicy, okay?” I laughed. “I’ll try.” I was never a fan of pep rallies. They were loud, the bleachers were incredibly uncomfortable to sit on, and then there was the horde of people. The teachers squeezed us in there like cattle, no regard for our personal space. The first time I’d walked in here, I’d nearly had a panic attack. If it hadn’t been for Allison making sure I was safe and untouched, I might have run out and never returned to school. She’d been my rock this year. And, to think, I’d tried to turn her away just because of the way she looked. I’d thought she was too pretty, too perky, and altogether too normal for me. But she’d persisted and broken down my walls, and somehow, I’d found a lifelong friend in that pretty, perky girl. “You okay?” she asked as we took our seats toward the front. Thankfully, our class had arrived a bit late, so we didn’t have to make the long hike toward the top of the bleachers today. Nodding, I casually took a look around for Sam and quickly spotted him a few rows up behind us. He’d obviously already found me because the moment my eyes met his, he smiled. And my stomach did a flip-flop. “Hey, do you think they’ll let us go if this thing gets done early?” Allison asked with hope. “No, we’d never be so lucky,” I replied, turning back around toward the front, just in time to see our principal take center stage. “Good afternoon, Sugar Tree High!” he shouted into the microphone with forced enthusiasm. Some of the students gave it back to him, yelling and making obnoxious sounds, like Allison. She proudly stood and hollered, “Go, Statesmen!” Others, like me, sat quietly and tried to be invisible. “We’re glad to have you back after a long, relaxing winter break. We’re greatly looking forward to a successful and fun rest of the year. I hope you all are ready and prepared for your exams coming up in the next few weeks and are looking forward to your spring semester!” The senior section of the gym gave out a unanimous cry of victory, celebrating the mention of their last semester of high school. Lucky jerks. “As a treat before finals, we’ve decided to give you a little taste of what you have to look forward to

this spring in sports! We have a new basketball coach, who will be introduced in a minute. But, first, as always when a new semester begins, we’d like to start out by introducing new staff and faculty.” “Oh God, we’re going to be here for an eternity,” someone muttered behind me. I briefly turned around to see Katie Drew directly behind me, still overdressed and wearing her offensive necklace. She flashed me a fake smile before rolling her eyes. The sound of her little posse of friends snickering could be heard as I swiftly turned back around to hear the polite round of applause for the new groundskeeper and administrator. “We also have a new faculty member to introduce,” Principal Mendoza announced. “Oh, it’s your new favorite teacher, Allison,” Katie taunted from behind us. My hand quickly grabbed hers. “Don’t let her get to you,” I said. But it wasn’t my words that settled her. Her eyes were frozen on our hands, and then a wide smile spread across her face. “I won’t,” she replied. “Taking the place of Mrs. Decker, some of you might already know him, but for those of you who have yet to meet the man who will lead our Spanish department let me be the first to introduce Mr. Lee.” I’d hate to say it, but there had been more applause for the groundskeeper than our new Spanish instructor. He took it with stride though, walking with confidence toward Principal Mendoza. The two men shook hands, and to my surprise, Mr. Lee took the mic into his hands. And that was when my world went upside down. “Thank you, Principal Mendoza.” His voice boomed loudly through the gymnasium. The speaker reverberated, causing a high-pitched screech that had the entire student body covering their ears. But that wasn’t the reason for my panic. No, the squeal of the speaker had nothing to do with it. It was him. That voice. I’d never forget it in all my life. “Willow? Are you okay?” I heard Allison ask, but her voice felt light-years away. Because I was already gone. I was already running. Fleeing from the teacher at the microphone. The man with the voice I’d never forget. This wasn’t simply Mr. Lee, the Spanish teacher. This was the man who had raped me.

WALKING INTO THE empty house, I couldn’t really recall how I’d gotten there. Everything was a blur. All I remembered was his voice, Allison’s voice, and the overwhelming sense of panic. I’d had to get out. And so I had. Touching my clothes, I realized I was drenched in sweat. Did I run all the way home? Looking around, I realized I couldn’t stay. This wasn’t my home. Not anymore. Not while he was here. And so I packed. I ran to my room, still hot and sweaty, knowing Addy wouldn’t be home for a few hours, busy with her grand opening, and I prepared to leave the only home I’d known. The only suitcase I had was the ratty old bag I’d arrived with, which meant I could only fit the essentials. After one last look of longing at my bookshelf where all my beautiful stories dwelled, I knew it was for the best. This was their home. This was where they belonged. I thought I had, too. “What are you doing?” I turned around to see Sam standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with panic as they settled on the bag of clothes. “Why are you here?” I asked, not bothering to stop what I was doing. I had to get out of here. “You ran out of the gym like someone was chasing you down. Allison said you were fine one minute, and the next, you were as white as a ghost.” He stepped forward, and I immediately stepped back. His shoulders slumped as his expression fell. “You’re scared of me?” “No,” I answered immediately. “I’m just—” “You’re just what? Willow, please talk to me. Why are you packing?” “I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore.” “Two hours ago, we were making plans for the store, and now, you’re bailing? I don’t understand.” “I just can’t do this anymore, okay?” I shouted. “This place isn’t me. I don’t fit in.” Silence fell between us. “You should go,” I said. “You’re probably in a load of trouble for ditching school, and the bookstore —” “Screw school! Screw the bookstore! All I care about right now is you!” His eyes were blazing as his

voice rang through the house. “I know you’re lying. You can’t hide from me. You just can’t.” “He’s here,” I said, finally breaking. “The man who — he’s here.” Sam pulled me into his arms as tears fell for the first time since that dark night in early September when a selfish, evil man had stolen my innocence away from me. “How do you know?” he asked after several long minutes. I pulled back slightly, watching him wipe the tears from my eyes. He knew now that there were no walls between us. No borders. I trusted him. I always had. “His voice,” I said, shaking my head, as I thought it out. “You know how, in comic books, the hero always wears a mask but never bothers to alter his voice? No one ever notices. Well, believe me, you never forget. Ever,” I said with effort. “The new teacher?” His sad eyes searched mine as he pieced it all together. “Yes.” “We’ve got to go, Willow. We’ve got to go tell the school.” He grabbed my hand, but I wouldn’t budge. “I can’t.” “What do you mean?” “I can’t be here,” I explained. “I can’t be anywhere near here. I’m not brave like you.” “Then, I’ll go with you,” he decided, taking my bag with his other hand and slung it over his shoulder. “No.” I shook my head back and forth, tears streaming down my face. “That’s not how this works. Your life is here — your family, your roots. What kind of person would I be if I took the first Shepherd in a million generations out of Sugar Tree?” “It’s not a million,” he said. “And you wouldn’t be making the decision. I would.” “We can’t run away together, Sam.” He knew I was right. “So, let me fight for you. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We can beat this guy together.” Sam was willing to give up everything for me… willing to fight my demons and slay the bad guy. He really did love me. Reaching up, I did the one thing I’d been dying to do since the day I met him. I kissed him. For the first time… and for the last. I felt him kiss me back. I felt the desire, the love, and the endless possibilities that could never be. As our lips touched for that one brief moment in time, I held on, letting it sear into my memory, hoping it would be enough to last a lifetime. Because a lifetime without him was what I had to look forward to. Without Addy.

And without Sugar Tree. Because, as it turned out… I wasn’t brave after all. I was a runner. As I pulled back, my forehead still resting on his, I knew it was time. “My time to fight was in September, Sam, when my mom found me huddled in my room, scared and afraid. That was when it should have happened. Now? All I have is my word against his. And I’m just a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.” Wrapping my fingers around the straps of my bag that still rested on his shoulder, I slowly transferred it to mine and watched as his hopeful face turned to something closer to dread. “Don’t do this, Willow,” he said. “Don’t kiss me like that and just walk away. Please.” “Take care of Allison and Addy for me? And don’t be too hard on your sister,” I said, grabbing a few extra shirts from my drawer. He didn’t stop me as I walked out of the room, nor did he see the way my eyes squeezed shut as I crossed the threshold, leaving him and books behind. Finding my way back to the living room, I stopped short. Addy still had the Christmas tree up, something she hadn’t gotten around to taking down with all the chaos of getting the salon up and running. The lights twinkled and blinked as I took one last look at her precious family heirlooms that hung from each limb while I remembered how special I’d felt when she let me hang them. “You’re family,” she’d insisted that night not so long ago. “They’re as much yours as they are mine.” “I’ll never forget you, Addy,” I whispered, wiping a single tear from my cheek. “You don’t have to,” Sam pressed, stepping in front of the door before I could. “Sam…” “Where will you go?” he asked. “Please don’t say D.C.” “I will never go back there,” I replied adamantly. “Then, where?” “Anywhere but here,” I said before reaching around Sam for the door and pulling it open with force. He jumped away, surprised by my swiftness. I took that moment to run. I knew he wouldn’t let me leave, not willingly. He was too good, too kind. I listened to him yelling my name as tears fell from my eyes. But I never stopped running. I never stopped.

I CONTINUED RUNNING until my lungs burned and my legs ached from exhaustion. And then I ran even farther. All the way to the bus stop on the edge of town. The place where my story had begun. I’d walked past this place dozens of times on my journeys to and from the bookstore and everywhere else, because of that, I’d pretty much seen every bus come and go and therefore had the schedule down pat. It’s why I knew that at exactly three thirty, a bus would appear. And I would leave. For good. I didn’t know if Sam would follow me. I couldn’t take the chance, so the minute my feet stopped as I slid into that lonely little bus stop I’d arrived in just a few months earlier, I hopped on my phone and purchased a ticket to save time. Where to? It didn’t matter.

MY LIFE HAD come full circle. Once again, I was at the back of a bus, reading lights blazing, as I attempted to stay awake all night, untrusting of everyone around me. Even the nice old lady who had tried to offer me the blanket she packed wasn’t worthy.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, watching the trees fly by, as the freezing rain pecked at the windows. These country roads that had felt so foreign just months earlier now felt like home. As we ventured farther into more populated areas, I felt the jostling of the bus as the tires fell into potholes and rolled over old asphalt. These used to be my streets. The battered and broken. But, now, I just felt lost. The bus rode into the night, moving down to the very edge of the state, before I had to step off and figure out a new plan. After grabbing a map from the bus station and a cup of coffee to keep warm, it didn’t take long to figure out my next destination. Charlottesville. It was in the opposite direction, but in the grand scheme of things — I had nothing but time now. After all, that was where my family had originally fallen apart. Might as well discover it for myself. But how to get there? I’d already used my phone data and my debit card. Could I be tracked by that? I had no idea. All I had to go on was a series of late-night crime shows, and unfortunately, none had an episode on how to successfully run away without being caught. And that was when reality set in. I was a runaway. The tears I’d managed to keep at bay since leaving Sam threatened to spill over, right there in the middle of the deserted bus station, but I kept them back. I’d chosen this. I’d deal with the consequences. Fighting the urge to power up my cell phone, knowing it was probably filled with frantic texts and dozens of missed calls, I took what little cash I had and went to the counter. A friendly old man greeted me. “Can I help you?” I smiled brightly. “One ticket to Charlottesville, please.” A bit of hesitation flashed across his kind, wrinkled face as he quickly assessed my appearance. “One way?” I adamantly shook my head. “Oh no. Round trip, please,” I replied as my stomach lurched, knowing that would double my cost. “I’m visiting my grandmother for the weekend, and it seems she only bought half the fare. When they dropped me off here, I was so confused. I’ve been trying to figure out where I am since then.” He was still wary, but his fingers began to move across the keyboard. “I’m from Charlottesville,” he said, obviously attempting to sound casual. “Lived there half my life. Lovely city. What part does your grandmother live in?”

“Near the university,” I replied, knowing that wasn’t much of an answer. Everyone in this state knew the University of Virginia was in Charlottesville. “Off of Rugby Road. Do you know it? Within walking distance to the college. ‘A blessing and a curse,’ my grandmother always says,” I said with a fake smile, thankful for all those nights I’d spent doing research for Mrs. Landers class. Google Maps and I had become fast friends as I found myself wanting to know more and more about the Fairchild family of the past. “Oh, yes,” his tired voice replied. “Been down that way many times. I was a maintenance worker for many years.” More typing, more chatter. But, after a few minutes, he seemed sufficiently pleased with my story and handed me my golden ticket. “You take care now, and next time… check your ticket beforehand.” I nodded. “Yes, sir.” With the jolt of caffeine and the wave of nausea I had from lying to an old man, I boarded the bus a few minutes later and headed east.

BY THE TIME the first rays of sun hit the pavement, I arrived in Charlottesville. Homeless, alone, and scared. I had no idea what I was going to do here, but I guessed there was no time like the present to find out. With my trusty map I’d grabbed just a few hours earlier, I began walking. And walking. I walked for miles with that stupid duffel bag on my shoulder until I finally found what I had been looking for. The Short Stack. It hadn’t changed much since my aunt and Sam’s mom had worked here. Or at least I didn’t think it had based on the stories Addy had told me. When I stepped inside, it smelled like pancakes and fryer grease. The wallpaper was in serious need of an upgrade, but the booths were soft and comfortable. Especially after traipsing halfway around the world to get here. “Hey, sweetie. What can I get you?” the waitress asked. She was young, sweet, and energetic, and I found myself liking her instantly. “Coffee,” I replied, knowing full well my stomach would demand more.

But I’d counted and recounted the money I had left in my pocket on the way here. And coffee was all I could afford. I hoped my belly would be okay with surviving on free cream and sugar. The waitress was swift, returning with a large mug of hot coffee almost immediately. “Anything else?” I shook my head. She didn’t seem to mind my tiny order, smiling wide as she went to check on the few other customers. It was well after the morning rush. Mostly everyone had already made their way to school or work while I was getting here. I had nothing but time. Wrapping my hands around the cup, I let the warmth melt through the tattered strings of my gloves, all the way down to my bones, as my mind caught up with the exhaustion the rest of me was feeling. I sat there for what felt like hours, sipping my never-ending cup of coffee, as my gracious waitress continued to refill it long after she should have. I didn’t know what I’d expected to gain by visiting this place… by coming to this city. Sitting here, in this diner? I didn’t feel any closer to Addy. I didn’t feel like I was suddenly walking in her footsteps, reliving her early years to a bigger, brighter future of my own. If anything, it only made me miss her more. And I regretted the pain I must be causing her this very minute. Knowing I’d outstayed my welcome, I threw what little I had on the table for my bill and tip and said good-bye to The Short Stack. My feet ached the second they made contact with the ground, but I had one more stop to make before I figured out what to do next. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of town. When my aunt had told me she’d left her old life behind, moving across town to seek out something new, where no one could find her, a part of me had thought that perhaps she was being overly dramatic. I mean, how far could she really go? A lifetime, it seemed. The farther I walked, the more the city changed. It morphed into something grander. Even though cars whizzed down the streets and people walked past, chatting on their cell phones, I could somehow still picture how it must have all looked when the roads had been full of dust and horses carried rich old men to business meetings across town. The architecture was ornate and detailed, reminding me of my one and only field trip to the Lincoln Memorial in fourth grade. It was the only time I’d ever seen it up close. So many years in D.C., yet I’d been the only kid still mesmerized by the enormity of it all. It had taken most of the day to get to the area of Charlottesville I’d described to the old man in the bus station. I hadn’t completely lied. There was just no one waiting for me. Walking down the tree-lined street, I wandered from house to house, wondering what it must have been

like to grow up here. It didn’t take long to find the place. I’d spent way too much time stalking it on the Internet and knew every detail — from the elegant columns to the formal brick entry. My aunt had told me their house was the smallest of the Fairchild dynasty, a punishment from my great-grandfather to his less-than-reliable son. Standing in front of it, however, made it hard to believe. The place was massive, encompassing nearly half a block, including the lush gardens that surrounded it. After the diner, I’d given up on the idea of finding any comfort here. I couldn’t picture my aunt running around the yard, young and carefree. I couldn’t see my mother chasing after her. It was just a house to me. A big, beautiful house. People passed by me, joggers and moms with strollers. Maybe they thought I was a stray or the one teenage girl in America obsessed with historic architecture. But I didn’t care. I just stared up at the big house until someone finally came out. Ducking behind a tree, I watched a young girl around my age walk the garden, a phone glued to her ear. Even from this distance, I could see the dollar signs painted all over her, right down to her leather riding boots and plaid scarf. It was chilly out, but she hardly seemed to notice as she prattled on and on to someone on the other end about this and that, waving her hands around as she talked. Soon, the front door opened again, and someone else appeared. With gray hair and a long dark coat, he looked like half a dozen other men I’d seen today. All business. He looked left and right until he spotted the girl walking through the garden that I was sure was even prettier in the spring. She didn’t notice him until he yelled. Even I jumped a little. “I told you, no phone, Alexandria. Not until you pull your grades up.” “Like that’s ever going to happen, Dad. I’m not you. I don’t want to go to college. I don’t want to run a company!” she hollered right back. “So, you’re just going to spend your life on the phone, hanging out with your friends, with no regard for the future?” “At least I have a life!” It was like watching a soap opera or a horrible accident on the interstate. I just couldn’t look away. The father, obviously frustrated, grabbed the phone from her hand. A sharp, shrill scream followed. “No phone,” he said with force. “I hate you!” she screamed loud enough for the neighbors and all of Virginia to hear. “I hate you so much. I wish I didn’t live here. I wish I could just run away.” What was the old saying… if wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets? I’d heard my mother say it a million times when I begged for new clothes or a trip to the zoo. “If

wishes were fishes, Willow…” For Alexandria’s sake, I hoped she never got her wishes. It didn’t take long to find a bus stop after that. Being close to the university provided plenty of exits. The only problem? Where would I go from here? I thought about the girl who now lived in our old family home, convinced her life was over simply because her phone had been taken away. Part of me had wanted to stomp up those old brick steps and shake her until some sense settled into that crazy head. She had parents who loved her and a warm, inviting home to sleep in… and she wanted to throw it all away? Sitting on the park bench as the sun began to set, I realized I wasn’t much different. I’d had all of that, too, and I’d given up everything at the first sign of danger. When the perfect little world I’d created for myself suddenly didn’t seem so perfect, when the old and new parts of my existence crashed together, I’d run away faster than my legs could carry me. Picking up my phone, I finally gave in and turned it on. Ignoring the texts, I went straight for the voice mails, needing to hear the sound of something familiar. There was a message from Allison, demanding I come home this instant. She started off sassy and full of spunk and then lost her steam about a minute in. She cried over how sorry she was — that she didn’t see it, that she didn’t know. Next was Addy. Her message was simple and heartfelt. All she wanted was to know I was okay and to see my face again. And then Sam’s rich voice filled my ear. “Remember when I told you I hired you because I was curious?” he started out. No hello. No pleading to come home. Just a one-sided conversation he’d hoped I’d eventually listen to. “Well, that was true… but there was more,” he went on. “I hired you because, after seeing you in that office, peeking up at me with those sad, slightly annoyed eyes of yours that I’ve grown to love, I knew there was more to you, and I think you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. You say you aren’t brave, but look at everything you’ve accomplished. You went through one of the worst things imaginable, and rather than give up, you fought. Every day, you fought. If you come back — no, when you come back. Because I know you will. Because this isn’t the end of us. So, when you come back, we will be here for you, side by side, ready to battle this war with you… not for you. Because you are brave, Willow. You truly are.” A chill ran down my spine as the sun fell into the horizon. Darkness settled in Charlottesville as I waited for the bus to arrive. I hated the darkness. Just as much as I hated that man and everything he had done to me.

He’d taken something from me I could never get back, and now, I’d allowed him to take even more. My home, my family, and my friends. Sam was right. I was brave. I’d known it all along. And, now, I had a life to fight for.

IT WAS LATE when I finally walked up to that familiar doorstep, tired and hungry. Every bit of me was engulfed by Addy the second I pushed the door open. “I don’t care if this is too close,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “Please don’t do that again.” It was the first time we’d ever hugged. After four months. It was long overdue. The hugging party didn’t end there. After Addy came Allison, who held me tight and swore she’d never let me go. But she eventually did. Only because Sam was getting antsy. “I knew you’d come back,” he said with a tired smile. I could see dark circles under his eyes… ones that probably matched my own. “Always so sure of yourself,” I replied as he reached out for my hand. “Well, what was out there for you anyway? I’m right here.” I took the first step, or maybe he did. But, within seconds, his big, strong arms were around me. No more witty humor or silent apologies. I was just glad to be home. “You said I was brave,” I whispered. With my head resting against his, I could feel his mouth curl into a smile, as he knew I’d listened to his message. “The bravest.” Pulling back, I turned, still clinging to Sam, but I needed to see Allison and Addy again. “I want him to pay,” I finally said. “I want what happened to me to never happen here. Not in my school. Not in my town. I never want another girl to feel this way because of him. Will you help me?”

Addy nodded, a visible wave of relief washing over her. “Always.” I wanted to get started right away, call everyone we needed to, so I could settle into bed, knowing I’d done something good. But then my family saw the blisters on my feet and the way I wavered like a falling leaf while trying to hold myself up, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight. “You need food,” Addy said, taking my hand. “And rest,” Sam added as I was led to the couch. “And maybe a shower?” Allison chimed in. I nodded, giving in to the feeling of being cared for. It made me think back to the girl in the garden. I hoped she’d made up with her father. Maybe they were sitting together on a couch in that great big fancy house right now, laughing over their outburst and wondering what the neighbors must have thought. Safe and happy. Just like me. Addy went to the kitchen to whip me up a grilled cheese sandwich and soup while Sam kept me company. Allison, having already called her parents to announce the good news, was heading home. I didn’t blame her. Everyone was tired. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” she said after bending down to give me a brief hug. “What about school?” I asked. “I’m not going back there with that creep. Not until he’s behind bars where he deserves to be.” I looked at both of them. “Neither of you went to school today?” They both shook their heads. “Side by side, remember?” Sam said. I agreed, “Side by side.” After Allison headed off to bed, Sam and I were left alone for a while, the house filling with the smell of butter and melted cheese. He played with my messy hair while I stared at the Christmas lights still twinkling on the tree. “Do you remember that conversation we had a while back about the scale?” I asked, still fixated on the lights. “And the bags of flour? Sure.” “I realized something tonight as I was sitting alone on a park bench, listening to your message. I always told myself it was my fault. I opened the door that night. I disobeyed my mother. It was my decision, so the consequences that followed fell on my shoulders. My decisions… my flour, right? “But, tonight, as you explained all the reasons I wasn’t this weak person that I’d convinced myself I was, I realized… it wasn’t my decision that night. It was his — his bags of flour. Not mine.” He nodded. “It wasn’t your fault.” “Everyone always says that, but I don’t think I really got it until tonight on that street corner. It wasn’t

my fault — what happened that night — but if I chose to leave my family and my home, knowing that this evil man was still here, possibly doing the same thing to other girls… or even my best friend? That would be on me. That would be my tipping point.” “And so you came home,” he said. “Ready to fight.” “I’m already wearing my boxing gloves,” I said, flashing my ratty red gloves. He laughed, pulling me close, and I snuggled into his warmth and his love before swiftly falling asleep. I awoke in my own bed, still wearing the clothes I’d had on the night before. Next to me was a note. You’re cute when you sleep. See you in the morning. —Sam That little flip-flop thing my stomach did whenever Sam laughed or smiled or talked happened, and I couldn’t help but smile until I heard the laughter outside my door. As the light streamed in from the window, I jumped up, frantic over the time. Pulling the door open, I jogged down the hallway and into the kitchen where I found Sam, Allison, and Addy, all dressed and ready for the day. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked as they all stood around, drinking cups of cocoa. “You were exhausted, Willow,” Addy explained. “You needed rest.” “But I need to get this over with,” I pleaded. “And we will, but you needed your rest. Today won’t be easy.” She was right. Although I was fully committed to this now, I hadn’t actually thought the whole thing through. I had no idea what I would be walking into. “Why don’t you go take a shower? By the time you’re dressed, I’ll have breakfast ready.” Looking down at my wrinkled clothes, knowing my breath must be something close to awful, I wholeheartedly agreed. I left the kitchen filled with the sweet smell of chocolate and headed for the bathroom. A set of familiar footsteps followed close behind me. “What are you doing? You can’t go in the bathroom with me.” I laughed. “No?” He grinned, making my heart stutter. “But I can make sure you spend at least twenty minutes in there since we all know you’re planning on taking five.” I groaned. “You need to relax. Your aunt is right. You need to be prepared.” “Fine,” I said. “But I’m locking the door, so you don’t get any bright ideas.” He just continued grinning at the entrance to my bedroom as I grabbed a change of clothes and then all

the way up until I clicked the lock. And, for the next twenty minutes, he became my jailer. Every time I shut off the water, he’d demand through the door that I turn it back on. “You’re annoying,” I grumbled the first time. “So are you.” He fought back. “I’m bored,” I whined after ten minutes. “Don’t care!” This went on, back and forth, and although I tried to sound put out and angry, I was anything but. I happily shaved my legs and washed my hair — not once, but twice — letting the conditioner soak in while I washed my face. After I was thoroughly convinced I was squeaky clean from head to toe, I turned the water off, waiting for a rebuttal. But none came. Success! I rewarded myself with some lotion, which I rarely did. Maneuvering lotion with large plastic bags taped to my hands wasn’t an easy task. After getting dressed, I applied a bit of makeup for a change and ran a quick brush through my wet hair, already feeling better. Braver. But the gloves still remained. When I pulled the door open, Sam was exactly where I’d left him, reading a book on his phone while leaning against the doorframe. “You smell good,” he acknowledged right away. “Do you think I’ll ever be rid of them?” I asked, gently placing a hand on his arm. His phone was already back in his pocket as his eyes found mine. “The gloves?” he asked, running his thumb along mine. “Yes, but I think, for right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re healing, Willow. Give yourself time. There are still things in my house — presents and mementos from my mom — I can’t bear to look at. I have them all tucked away in the attic, like some dirty little secret. Will I ever go up there again? Probably. But it doesn’t have to be today.” “It doesn’t bother you? That we can’t touch… for real?” His fingers slid between mine, and he held our joined hands between us. “This is real,” he said with conviction before his lips met mine once more. But, this time, it wasn’t an end. It was simply a beginning.

AFTER ONE OF Addy’s signature breakfast plates, filled to the brim with piping hot eggs and crisp bacon, all of us headed over to the county sheriff’s office. It was in the next town over since most of the areas around here weren’t large enough for their own police stations. We passed the time by playing catch-up. With all the emotional drama of my homecoming, I had a lot to fill them in on, specifically where I’d been. “It looks just like I described it?” Addy asked, surprised to find out I’d retraced her steps all the way back to Charlottesville. None of them were happy with me. No doubt I’d never hear the end of how worried each of them had been, but at least they knew where I had gone. And why I had come back. The sheriff’s station wasn’t much to look at — small and boxy with a brick exterior that blended into everything around it. But, to me, it was freedom. As the engine shut off, Addy turned to me before opening the door. “I called yesterday when you didn’t come home. They’ve pulled Mr. Lee from his classes today, and he’s inside for questioning.” My fingers dug into the seat. “They’ve assured me, you won’t come in contact with him, nor will he know your identity.” “Are you sure?” I asked, unsure if I was actually still capable of movement. She nodded as Sam’s firm hand squeezed my shoulder. “Okay,” I said finally, taking a deep breath. My family, this little collection of people I’d gathered since arriving in Sugar Tree, surrounded me as we walked toward the entrance. Every step felt like a mile, but I wouldn’t turn away. Not this time. I gladly allowed Addy to handle everything the moment we entered — from the introductions to the paperwork. I had more important things to focus on… Like trying not to pass out. We were quickly escorted into an office and asked to wait. It didn’t take long for the sheriff to arrive. He was tall and authoritative but had a kind smile when he offered me his hand. I looked out at his hand as he waited politely for me to reply with the gesture, but my arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. “So great to finally meet you,” Sam interjected. “My father speaks very highly of you.” I let out a sigh of relief as Sam continued his idle chat with the man, who introduced himself as Sheriff

Carter. He took a seat in the desk across from us and quickly glanced through some paperwork Finally, his eyes met mine. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, his eyes briefly glancing back and forth to the three people who surrounded me. “We can talk in private if that’s easier.” I adamantly shook my head. “I want them here. All of them.” He nodded before continuing, “I’ve read over what your aunt told us over the phone and the statements made by your friends. Can you tell me what happened to you?” And so I did. I told him about my life growing up with a negligent mother who turned tricks for a living. I told him about the rules and how I disobeyed. I told him about that night. I was sure I wasn’t the first young girl to break down in tears before him, but he treated me like his own daughter in those brief hours. He handed me tissues, he was gentle and compassionate, and above all… he believed me. “And your mother didn’t call it in? When it happened?” he confirmed. “No, she didn’t want the police finding out about her, so instead, she spent the next few days tracking down my aunt to get rid of me.” Addy’s hand found mine. “Well, I’m going to be honest with you; he’s not being very cooperative with us. Not that I expected anything less. He’s claiming innocence, and without anything physical to tie him to the scene, I don’t know that he’ll get any time.” My face fell along with every ounce of hope I possessed. “But his voice?” Addy asked. “Or the fact that he is from D.C.?” “A lawyer could easily dismiss that. What I need from you, Willow… and I know this will be hard, but I need for you to think back to that night. Remember every detail, and find something to nail this bastard.” What he was asking was a lot. Sure, I’d thought about that night every day since it’d happened. But he was asking me to relive it. “It’s okay,” Allison assured me. “You can do it.” Another tear fell down my cheek, dripping off my chin to land on the tip of my glove. I’d been crying that night, too, when I found these ruby-red gloves, hidden away in some forgotten corner of my room. “I remembered the pain and the fear… the sheer sense of loss as he took and took and…” Then, I suddenly remembered. “The scars.” “Scars?” Sheriff Carter asked. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I found my words. “He… I remember him saying something about coming from a bad home, too, and how much alike we really were.”

And then the full memory came roaring back with a vengeance. “He had scars on his chest and back, like he’d been beaten with something… a rope or a whip maybe. I never saw them, but I felt them. Big, long, jagged scars that covered nearly every inch.” My body shuddered from the memory. “Thank you, Willow,” the sheriff said softly. Several warm hands fell on my shoulders. “We’ll get him,” he promised. It was a promise he kept. After several long days, Jonathan Lee was charged with rape without the chance of bail. When news got out about his arrest, the town went into chaos over discovering their children had been in the presence of a rapist. Thankfully, my name was kept out of it. All of it. An impossible feat in a town filled with gossip. But that was a word I was starting to doubt. The word impossible. Because, from where I was standing, it seemed anything was possible if you’re brave enough to try.

AS THE END of January came around, we tried to shift our focus back to something resembling normalcy. Page Turners had brought in record breaking profits and to celebrate, we threw a party and invited the whole town. Sam made sure to send a special invite to his father. But the more I tried to get back into the swing of things, the less I felt in touch with reality. I’d done it. I’d vanquished my mortal enemy; so why did I feel like I was walking through life like some half-dead zombie? My lackluster attitude must not have gone unnoticed. As soon as we locked up the doors the night of the party, Sam was tugging at my hand, demanding we go for a drive. “A drive?” I asked. “Since when do we drive?” “I can drive,” he stated proudly. “I know you can,” I replied, having seen him do so in the past. “But we usually just walk everywhere.” Shrugging, he led me to a familiar black sedan I’d seen him in on a few occasions. I believe it belonged to his father, but I’d never asked.

“I thought we might do something different tonight.” “Okay,” I agreed. “Your door, madam,” he said, making a grand gesture as he pulled open the car door in front of me. “You’re so weird,” I laughed. I watched as he carefully shut the passenger side door and ran around the front to join me. Once he was safely inside, the engine roared to life and we were soon driving down Main to a destination unknown. “Does my aunt know where we are going?” He made a face, scrunching his nose. “Well, she knows we’re together.” “And where does she think we are?” I pressed. “A movie.” “But we’re not going to a movie, I take it?” He just smiled. Soon, we were driving past town limits and driving uphill on a bumpy, unpaved road. “Are you taking me on a night hike? Is that a thing? I don’t even know.” He laughed. “I know better than that. No, no hiking involved. Promise. Just trust me, okay?” “Okay.” We drove another ten minutes or so, while I continued to look out the window, enjoying the way the moonlight fell across the horizon, scattering over the trees and farmlands like a soft blanket. Finally, the car came to a stop and I took a moment to look around before turning toward Sam. “Where are we?” I asked. “I’m not sure there is a name for it. Most of us just call it ‘The Spot’. During football season, it’s the place to hang out after games and dances. But during the winter, it’s pretty desolate because of the cold.” “So it’s a party spot?” He nodded. “Partying and other stuff.” I instantly blushed. His hand reached out and found mine. “I thought it might be a good place to talk.” “Talk?” “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind doing all sorts of stuff with you besides talking. I could make a list. A really long, detailed list.” My blush deepened. “But tonight, we need to talk. Because as much as you try to hide it and put on a brave face, I can see you are still struggling with everything that happened a few weeks ago and I want to be here for you.” “Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested. He agreed, and followed my lead as we both stepped out of the car. I could see why the teenagers of

Sugar Tree had chosen this out of the way spot for a place to hang out. It was secluded, surrounded by lush evergreens and had a perfect view. “Is that–?” I asked, looking down at the twinkling lights below. “Home? Yeah. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” I nodded, as his arms wrapped around me for warmth. “I wasn’t trying to hide my struggles from you,” I finally said, as we both stared down at the town below. “I just didn’t know how to explain it because I don’t know what it is I’m struggling with.” “Are you scared he’ll get out of jail?” he asked. I shook my head. “Maybe in the beginning. But not anymore. When it was just my testimony, there was always this doubt that he’d get out of it. But when the D.C. police arrested my mom and she finally admitted to everything and identified Mr. Lee, I knew he’d be in jail for a long, long time.” “I honestly was surprised your mom actually did the right thing for once,” he said as he shifted, taking my hand as we walked a short distance from the car. “You and me both. Not that it erases everything she did to me as a kid. But it’s good to know she can make the right choice if she wants to.” “Do you think you’ll ever go back? To D.C.?” It had been something I’d been thinking about for some time. Ever since I’d been told of my mother’s arrest and eventual release on bond, I found myself wondering if she’d changed at all. The little girl in me still wanted her to be the mother she should have always been. But it wasn’t my job to seek her out. “No,” I answered. “She knows where I am.” We spent the next few minutes roaming around, until we headed back to the car and found spots next to each other on the hood. Leaning back, I looked up at the stars. There were thousands, bright and brilliant without the glare of the street lights. “Do you think there were others?” I asked. “Others?” “Other girls,” I clarified. “That he—” His body turned toward mine, and that intense green gaze found mine instantly. “That’s what has been bothering you.” I nodded. I hadn’t really realized it completely until this moment, but it plagued my thoughts daily. “The idea that there could be more young girls out there hurting like me? What if there were dozens more after me? What if my silence ruined lives?” I felt his finger brush through my hair. “You can’t think like that Willow, you just can’t. The police know nothing about the guy other than

what you told them. So, yes… there could be more or it could have been a one time thing, but knowing or not knowing will do nothing to help you to move on.” “I do want to move on.” “And you will.” “Tell me something to cheer me up,” I said. “I know we’re supposed to remember all the bad stuff too, but right now, I just need the good.” He smiled, pulling me closer, so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks. “Are you ready?” he asked. “This is going to be a good one.” I smiled, already feeling my mood lifting slightly. “I love you, Willow Fairchild.” My breath caught, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. I loved him too. Maybe I always had, since the very beginning. But love requires bravery, and up until recently I’d been to scared fight for it. “I love you too, Sam Shepherd,” I finally answered, smiling from ear to ear. Life was good. Life was really good.

Four Months Later “ARE YOU SURE?” Sam asked. “Very sure,” I answered, feeling slightly apprehensive. His lazy grin saw that hesitation, and he pushed. “Really sure? Because I hear, once you do it, it becomes an addiction, and you just can’t stop.” “That’s not true!” “It is,” he argued. “I saw it on TV.” “You’re just stalling.” “Am not.” He laughed. “Are too! And, besides, I thought guys were really into this kind of stuff.” He looked down at himself, dressed in denim and a graphic tee that screamed the word Bazinga across the chest. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’s into… that?” His eyes glanced upward. “What are you crazy kids doing out here in the cold? Come on, let’s get inside! I have a booming business to get back to!” Addy announced, trailing behind us. She’d insisted on finishing her fancy cup of coffee in the car, reminding us that it was only once in a blue moon she got to enjoy the city life. Looking around, I’d hardly consider Leesburg a city, but it was the closest location for what we had in mind today. And they had a Starbucks, so bonus. “He’s trying to talk me out of it again,” I complained as Addy stepped forward and pulled the glass door open. “Now, why would you do that?” she asked. She turned back to give him a stern look. He shrank beneath its weight. I snickered.

“It’s just, when I think seventeenth birthday present, I think of electronics or a trip to the mountains. Not a painful day in a sketchy tattoo parlor.” “It’s not sketchy. This is the nicest place in the area. Look, they even have magazines and a coffee machine!” Addy said with delight before introducing herself to the manager. “Oh, well, since they have a coffee machine,” Sam muttered. We’d set up an appointment last week, and I’d been waiting in solid anticipation ever since. Sam? Not so much. He liked the idea and the meaning behind it, but seeing his eyes roam around the place like a trapped lion… I thought my nice country boy was a bit out of his element. “So, this is the design?” the artist asked. I’d never met a tattoo artist before. I guessed I’d always expected them to be kind of scary. But Evan, the guy who was about to permanently brand me, was nothing but nice. “Yep,” I answered, looking over the perfect little sketch Addy had drawn out for me. “And where do you want it?” I took a deep breath. I’d been practicing this all week. “Right here,” I said, as I slowly pulled my right glove off with one quick tug. Just like a Band-Aid, I silently said to myself. A little trick Addy had told me when I first let her in on my plans. “I want to get a tattoo…here,” I said, pointing to my wrist… a place still hidden by my glove. “And I want to get it soon… for my birthday,” I added. “But I don’t know how… I mean, I just can’t. I thought, after the trial… after he was in prison, I’d be normal, but I—” “When I was little,” she finally said, “I used to scrape my knees all the time. It used to drive my mother nuts. “‘Nothing goes with scraped knees,’ she’d cry. “Our nanny would use those Band-Aids, the plastic kind that were super sticky, and I’d keep them on until the glue gummed up all around them and turned black. “And then she’d say, ‘Okay, time to see that perfect new skin.’ “But I’d refuse. I knew the scrapes were gone, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the nasty things off. I’d pick around the edges, delaying the inevitable, until finally, my nanny would just pull them off for me. “You need to rip off the Band-Aid, Willow. If you’re ready, it will be easier than you think.” And so, all week, I’d been slowly tugging at them, inch by inch, until finally, I’d managed to remove an entire glove. She was right. It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought… because I was ready. Addy and I had cried tears of joy as we both looked down at my poor, neglected hand.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Since then, I’d managed to pull both of them off for small amounts of time, long enough for Addy to trim my nails and even paint them with a pale shimmer. But, for Sam, this was all a surprise. He jumped up the minute the first glove had come off, no longer distracted by the bright designs scattered around us or the subtle sounds of the tattoo gun. He only saw me. “You did it,” he said in wonder. “Did you have any doubt?” His eyes found mine. “Never. I’ve never doubted you, Willow Fairchild. Not ever.” “You ready?” Evan asked, escorting me back. Addy decided to stay back, claiming she wanted to be surprised with the finished product, but honestly, I thought she was letting me have this moment with Sam. No doubt I’d have many more with her down the road. She was and would forever be more than just an aunt to me. “Okay, take a seat right there. Your boyfriend can chill over here,” Evan instructed. I took a seat on the big black leather chair in the middle of the small room that somewhat resembled a dentist chair while Sam took a seat on the tiny folding chair in the corner. “You’ve got a pretty cool mom. Not many would let their daughter get tatted up for a birthday present.” I smiled. “Yeah, she’s the best.” “Okay, you ready?” I nodded as Sam leaned over and took my free hand, our fingers touching for the first time. It was enough of a distraction, I hardly noticed the needle. Well, not at first. Luckily, it didn’t last long. After about ten minutes of scrunching my face and breathing slowly, it was done. “Take a look before I wrap you up,” Evan suggested. I pulled my wrist up and stared. There, looking back at me, was the one word I needed to remind myself of daily, especially when the darkness came flooding back or someone stepped too close. Brave. I was brave. I was a survivor. And, most of all, I was loved.

A Note to my Readers Unlike Willow and Sam, who are fictional characters living in a fictional world, domestic violence, sexual assault, and rape are very real. If you or someone you love is a victim of abuse or violence, please seek help. A whole world is out there, ready to stand side by side with you and fight. NATIONAL SEXUAL ASSAULT HOTLINE 1-800-656-4673 OPEN 24 HOURS A DAY, EVERY DAY.



“Youth” by Daughter “Wonderland” by Natalia Kills “Angel with a Shotgun” by The Cab “Unsteady” by X Ambassadors “Animal Parade” by Brolin “Alive” by Sia “Someday” by Ólafur Arnalds “Something Beautiful” by NEEDTOBREATHE “Fix You” by Coldplay “Skinny Love” by Birdy “Safe & Sound” by Taylor Swift “To Build a Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra “Broken Home” by 5 Seconds of Summer “Brave” by Sara Bareilles “Falling Slowly” by The Frames “Welcome Home, Son” by Radical Face “Little Do You Know” by Alex & Sierra

FIRST AND FOREMOST, a huge thank you to my daughter Hannah. I usually reserve the number one spot for my husband, but this time, Hannah really deserves it. This book wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. She pushed me to write beyond my comfort zone, to see what else was out there besides contemporary romance, and I can’t thank her enough for believing in me and my talent. So, thank you, Hannah. I hope this book is everything you wanted it to be. And, yes, free copies to all your friends. Promise. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do on a daily basis if it weren’t for my family. My youngest daughter is my never-ending ball of energy and my constant cheerleader, and my husband is a rock and always there when I need him. Thank you, guys, for making my dreams possible. I’m blessed to have an amazing team behind me, constantly supporting me in everything I do — from day-to-day tasks to making sure my covers are perfect. To Jill Sava — Thank you for making sure my life is in order. You are my rock and constant inspiration! <3 To Tara Gonzalez, my fantastic publicist — Thank you so much for organizing every sale, release, and pretty much anything else I throw your way. Thank you. Sarah Hansen — You’ve done it again. Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly create anything better, you go and outshine yourself. Thank you for this gorgeous cover and for making my book come to life! Kelsey Keeton — Thank you once again for your photography skills. You constantly amaze me. Jill Marsal, my agent — Thank you for all your expertise and kindness. Jovana Shirley and Ami Waters — I seriously don’t know what I’d do if I had to find another editing team. Thank you so much for everything you do to perfect each and every book we do together. I love you both.

Book Junkies! — Thank you for being the raddest group of readers around. A special thanks to Melissa Wyatt, Melissa Wise, and Rhonda Atkinson for helping me come up with the name Page Turners! And Katy Nielsen for dreaming up the title for Addy’s diner! I can’t wait to see what you ladies dream up next! And, lastly, I want to thank you… my readers. Thank you for taking a journey with me, for believing in a young girl with tattered red gloves and a dream to be loved. Much love, J.L.

J.L. BERG is the USA Today best-selling author of the Ready Series, the Walls Duet, and the Lost & Found Series. She is a California native living in the beautiful state of historic Virginia. Married to her high school sweetheart, she and her husband have two beautiful girls who drive them batty on a daily basis. When she’s not writing, you will find her cuddled up, watching a movie with her family, obsessing over Minions, or devouring anything chocolate! J.L. Berg is represented by Jill Marsal of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency, LLC. Website Facebook Twitter Instagram Newsletter