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I look at Bailey. She is working on blowing a bubble and sporting a cool matter-of-fact look that puts the kibosh on my suspicions.

“Need help out?” the bagger asks.

“
We’re
helping her,” Bailey says with a
duh
in her voice. She eyes the bags piling up. “Dude, you feedin’ Darfur or what?”

Since our cabinets are bare and the house is full of strangers, I volunteered to stock the kitchen. Anything to get away from that Jordan guy and his leering stare. He gives me the creepy shivers.

“Um … I drove my jeep.” I admit this with some embarrassment because our house is just around the corner. The market looks out on the square while our house faces its sidewall through a scattering of trees. I could probably hit it from my porch with a seriously constructed spitball. I just didn’t want to make seven trips.

“Coolio, Julio.” Bailey gets my meaning and we each grab two bags. “Hey, some help,
por favor
?” She announces this in a high-pitched whiney voice so Mr. Hadley will hear and think the bagger is slacking. She laughs as the kid stomps over.

He says, “Eh-hole,” instead of
asshole
.

She says, “Bass-tid,” instead of
bastard
, and they’re done.

I stare and wonder if I’ll need to become bilingual to live here.

After we load the back seat, I thank the bagger but he’s already stalking back to work. I’m alone with the girls so I fidget and clear my throat. “By the way, I’m Sophia St. James,” I say with a hint of caution returning.

Rachel pats my arm, smiling. “Oh, we already know who you are. You’re the new pastor’s daughter.”

My title. Never just Sophia, but Sophia the Pastor’s Daughter. If they only knew how much I loathed that.

“You know about my dad?”

“Of course,” Rachel says. “We attend services every Sunday. We’ve been looking forward to meeting the new pastor.” I look at Bailey to see if she’s included in the “we.” She is studying her nails, bored.

“Yeah, well, I’m an alltheist so I’ll pretty much believe in anything, ya know?” She exaggerates a heavy sigh. “Well, listen, cupcake. You’re not in a hurry to get home so let’s grab some wake-up water.”

I smile. “Starbucks?”

She cocks her head and says, “Dafuq you talkin’ about?” and the earth falls out beneath me.

“You’ve never heard of—”

They burst out laughing, and I exhale with relief. It’s short-lived.

“Yeah so, we’re small town, but not
that
small. We know Bizzarebucks, we just don’t have one. The closest one is in Danbury. But listen, if you ever need to feed your addiction, let us know. We’ll go with.”

I nod. A universal bond.

“The Naughty Nectar Café has decent frappés. Syrups and nutmeg and shit like that. They have cold coffee, too. Whip cream and junk. It’s really the best we have.” She starts across the street. “Now, Cali, I wanna hear all about LA.”

I don’t move. They know Dad’s the new pastor
and
where we’re from? I wonder what else they know.

Bailey looks back and flicks her arms like some Italian gesture that says,
Whatsa matta you, eh?

“Um, what about my stuff?” I look at the groceries.

“Don’t worry,” Rachel says, waving away my concerns. “It’s perfectly safe. Nothing
ever
happens in Haven Hurst.”

I follow the girls across the street to a sidewalk lining the park. The town square smacks of early Colonial, and the central park is loaded with trees and benches, people milling around, dogs on leashes, kids playing. The band on the open stage is, well, I think it’s playing music.

At the far end of the square sits an impressive Federal-style structure of white columns and red brick. The courthouse, I guess. A clock is centered in the white gable like an all-seeing eye. It blinks and shifts in my direction, and I gulp down my rancid imagination.

Across from the courthouse is another beautiful building of similar style but much smaller and more humble. It has an inviting porch that accommodates rocking chairs and game tables. No eye.

The Naughty Nectar Café sits on one corner of the block and the Soda Shoppe, a fifties diner, on the other. In between are eclectic touristy-looking shops: the Words ’N Water bookstore, the Aunt Tik furniture store, and the Hickory Stick. One thing for sure, everything is clean and orderly, small-town nice.

I notice knots of people in the park feverishly discussing something. Some are pacing off grassy areas, others are writing in notepads.

“What’s up with everybody?” I ask.

Rachel says, “They’re preparing for the Harvest Festival. It’s kind of a big deal around here.”

“
Kind
of?” Bailey gives us a look. “Try googlical proportion! And the town
council is out in full force. Except Abigail Monroe, whom I assume has commandeered your domicile and is rearranging your furniture as we speak?”

I nod.

“McCarthy twins?”

“Baked bread.”

“The Red Hat Society’s welcoming committee,” Rachel clarifies.

Ah.

“Those three are a little—” I start.

“Yeah, they are,” Bailey finishes.

At the far end of the square, Sheriff White parks his motorcycle, swings his McBelly over the seat, and gives me the hairy eyeball. Uh-oh.

I pull the traffic ticket from my jean shorts pocket. “I just remembered I’m due at the newspaper office.”

Bailey reads the ticket, grins, and hands it to Rachel.

“Oh,” Rachel reacts and gives it back to me.

“What?”

“You’re a photographer?” Bailey changes course and leads us away from the café and in the direction of the Soda Shoppe.

“Well, not really. I mean, I have some nice digital equipment. Had a few photos published in our school paper but—”

“You are a photographer,” Bailey christens me with the undeserving title. “Better than who we have now.”

“Who’s that?”

She inhales and gives the truncated lowdown in one quick breath. “Last photographer left town, somewhat unexpectedly. Abigail Monroe wants the job so she can pawn off pictures of her grandkids. Miss Minnie refuses to publish them because they aren’t newsworthy. Miss Minnie is too old and busy to man a camera herself, and nobody wants to step on Abigail’s toes, thus, the feud.”

“Well, I’m not doing it,” I declare aloud. “I’ll just pay the stupid ticket.” Seriously, they can’t
make
me take the job. Right?

“Uh-huh.” Bailey grins and pops her gum.

We bypass the Soda Shoppe and round the corner where I collide with a branch from one of the numerous trees lining the walk. After I wrestle my hair free, I catch up to the girls waiting outside the
Gazette
’s old-fashioned storefront.

A bell chimes a few doors down and a string of guys file onto the sidewalk. I catch my breath in recognition. It’s the blond guy from the accident.

I don’t know how to feel. I was up half the night convincing myself I didn’t see
through
him, that he and the grungy guy didn’t disappear into thin air. Part of me was convinced the whole incident had been a misunderstanding or my mind skipping a beat due to exhaustion.

The other part of me played to my worst fears; I’m going insane like Mom.

There are two guys with him who look like brothers but the blond guy in the middle is taller, more muscular. He moves with an air of authority and confidence that’s missing in the others. They are wearing faded jeans and tight T-shirts shoring up overworked pecs. Several dark-haired guys follow in their wake, like trolling for leftovers.

Bailey pulls me aside, laughing. “Bong appétit, huh? A girl can get high just looking at ’em.”

“What?” I blink out of my stupor.

“We all had that reaction when they moved here. That’s the Patronus brothers, the blond ones. We hit the Trifecta.” She sighs wistfully.

“You can see—” I catch myself, relieved. If Bailey can see them, I’m not going insane. Right?

“They just startled me, is all,” I lie.

“Uh, okay.” Bailey smirks and I want to tell her I saw the tall guy playing Dance Dance Revolution on somebody’s neck, but she says, “Anyhoo, the one in the middle, Michael, is in our class. Hey, you’re a senior, right? Good. So Raph, the one on the right, is a junior, also absolutely gorgeous. A smaller version of Michael.”

She is stating the obvious.

“And Gabe,” Rachel adds. “A sophomore, although you wouldn’t know it. He’s a brainiac. Oh, and you’ll meet Milvi!” She brightens considerably. “She’s their cousin. Hashtag—most fun person in the world!”

Bailey rolls her eyes. “I swear to God, Rach, you hashtag me again and I’ll slap the curls out of your hair.” She looks at me and grins. “But seriously, I thank the party gods for Milvi.
Chica
livens up this one-horse town. Every time she visits her boyfriend back in Estonia we’re bored to death.”

I want to ask about Estonia but the second heartbeat erupts again and catches me by surprise. I haven’t felt it since last night at the accident. The closer the guys get, the more violent the drumming becomes. I must be more nervous than I thought.

I grit my teeth and tough it out, wanting a closer look at Mr. Smackdown.

When they stop a few feet away, the three brothers stare so intensely that I feel the need to cover something. Gabe is scrutinizing me like a specimen. Not hostile or
unfriendly, but clinically.

Raph hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and flashes a cocky grin. I recognize Decyfer Down blaring from his earbuds.

Mustering my courage, I look straight at Michael. The pain in my chest unfurls like a flower and a sense of peace washes over me, reminiscent of last night. Right before he beat the crap out of that grungy guy.

Michael arches an eyebrow without smiling, and I have no idea what it means.

Bailey says, “Hey, guys. A new plaything has been delivered unto us. It is called Sophia St. James but will answer to Cali, her home planet.” The other guys along the sidewalk stop goofing around and wander over.

Rachel clarifies, “She’s the pastor’s daughter,” and heat gathers in my cheeks.

I hate being the center of anyone’s attention and now everybody is staring. I mumble “Hey,” and lower my head to hide my scar. I don’t have bangs so it never really works.

“
Sophia
.”

My name is whispered like a breeze and I barely hear it but somehow I know it came from Michael. I look up to find him calmly staring at me as though seeing beyond flesh and bone and into the deepest part of me. His eyes are pale blue now, minus the iridescent effect of last night that left a retinal residual image that haunted my dreams. His unwavering concentration makes my second heartbeat turn erratic, like I swallowed a set of drums. It’s outdrumming my normal heartbeat, the effect reverberating up my throat.

Please don’t start coughing
.

I must look petrified because Michael’s mouth tugs into a lopsided grin. I realize he is even more beautiful in daylight than in moonlight. His face is flawless, like the best airbrush tan I’ve ever seen, except it isn’t. A faded sunburn across his cheekbones suggests he spends a lot of time outside.

And he is definitely
not
translucent.

We stare while Raph and Gabe play tennis spectators: back and forth, back and forth. Michael seems so different from last night. So calm and self-assured. And obviously less violent. I’m starting to doubt everything I think I saw. I consider myself a rational person but no matter how I tilt things, I can’t decide if last night was real or my unreliable imagination.

Since I’m blessed with an abundance of curiosity and since no one is talking, I say, “Hey, I saw you last—”

“Hiya, Sophia! I’m Raph!” His interruption is so abrupt that I’m forced to break
off my sentence in mid-thought. Suspicion flits through my mind but I can’t chase it at the moment because Raph is holding out his hand. I shake it politely and then try to let go but he tightens his grip. His hand is warm and strong, and he holds mine too long, like he’s assessing me or something. Just when it starts to get awkward, he relaxes and grins. I pull away and look at Gabe. He gives me half a smile so I give him half of mine.

I’m determined to ask Michael about last night but I’m distracted. There is a guy the color of my favorite mocha latte hovering in my peripheral. He strolls over in a football jersey and a funky straw cowboy hat that possibly lost a fight with an umbrella.

“Duffy,” Bailey says like he’s the cause of swine flu. Duffy bows and whips off the hat, revealing golden curly hair.

“Before you ask, let me 4-1-1 you, baby. I’m half-and-half; half chocolate, half vanilla, and one hundred percent male.” He cops a walk around me, and everybody laughs at my embarrassment.

“Jesus, Duffy!” Bailey knocks him off the curb.

He laughs with fake innocence. “Hey, just checking the ingredients on the package.”

“You’re such an eh-hole! Leave her alone.” Bailey strolls away, hips rocking like an invitation.

“Yo, girl!” Duffy jabs his arms in the air and cocks his head. “Now don’t make me come over there and use my Upper Case voice!”

Bailey rolls her eyes and then winks at me. It seems a common play with them. She is basking in the flirtatious afterglow, and I sense there isn’t anyone she can’t have, if she wanted.

There is a bunch of other guys with Duffy, and they all start talking at once. I can’t follow the conversations. Something about Monday’s homework, a tough project.

The Patronus brothers remain quiet and watchful of me. I feel the need to escape so I slip into the newspaper office. The storefront is all windows, so I can feel their blue eyes penetrating the layer of glass as they continue their visual inspection.

An old lady—
old
being kind,
ancient
being more accurate—behind the counter shuffles forward. “Ah, there you are!” she sings out happily, raising her hands. I glance around to see if I’ve been followed. “No, I’m talking to you, Sophia.” She says with a strange familiarity. I’m quickly learning how unnerving small-town friendliness can be.