chapter 1
TEN MONTHS LATER
“A
nd then I told Willow that her shoes were totally the wrong color for that outfit and actually, the shirt is really hideous anyhow, and I couldn’t believe she was going to actually go out in that, never mind go to the movies with me, and then Melixa said to me …”
Sydney droned on and on from the front seat as I tried in vain to tune her out. Her high-pitched, squeaky voice made that pretty impossible, though. My best friend, Jennica, and I had decided that she must be trying to attract boys by sounding like a squeak toy, but until recently, I’d been sure that it only attracted dogs and whales and whatever else could hear such a high frequency.
But then she landed Logan, who apparently found squeakiness enticing. This pretty much meant that I was stuck with her, because she was now our official ride to school. Mom had refused to let me or Logan take our driver’s tests since the accident, so it was either the school bus or hitching a ride with Logan’s popularity-obsessed girlfriend.
“Uh-huh,” Logan said patiently from the passenger seat, as if he were actually listening. As far as I could tell, Sydney was telling the longest story in the world about a bunch of senior cheerleaders who didn’t matter to me at all.
“So what do you think?” Sydney finally paused for what I was pretty sure was the first breath she had taken since picking us up ten minutes ago.
“Um …,” Logan began, his voice trailing off. I hid a smile. He obviously hadn’t been listening either. I watched in amusement as he struggled for words. “What do I think?” he said finally. “I think you’re the most beautiful girlfriend in the world.”
Oh, gag me. I waited for Sydney to realize that he was completely copping out, but instead she giggled, turned a weird shade of pink, and glanced at me in the rearview.
“What do
you
think, Lacey?” she asked. “Don’t you think Summer was acting totally slutty? I mean, considering she’s practically engaged to Rob Macavey?”
I sighed. “I don’t even really know her.”
“Everyone
knows Summer Andrews,” Sydney said, looking at me like I was a mental patient.
“Right.” I bit my tongue. What I wanted to say was that everyone knew who Summer Andrews
was
—the cheerleading, BMW-driving, shiny-haired queen bee of our school—but that there were few people she actually deigned to talk to. And I was not one of them. I was pretty popular in my own grade, but I was definitely more bookworm than beauty-pageant contestant, which meant that Summer and her crowd hardly knew I was alive.
Logan was a different story. Since he and social-climbing Sydney had begun dating six months ago, he had come home more than once proudly reporting—out of Mom’s earshot, of course—that he’d gotten drunk alongside Summer Andrews and her clones, Willow and Melixa, at parties. Like that was some major accomplishment.
But I refrained from saying any of this, because Logan would kill me if I did. He always seemed to be walking on thin ice around Sydney. I must have been making a face without meaning to, though, because Sydney glanced at me once more in the rearview and snorted.
“Oh come
on
, Lacey,” she said. “Just because you’re too busy making straight As and going to student council meetings and whatever else you think is so important doesn’t mean that the rest of us can’t have a social life.”
I simmered for a minute. I was good at shutting my mouth, pressing my feelings into a little lockbox inside, and turning the key. I took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and said, “Wow, look at that! We’re here already!”
Before either of them could respond, I hopped out of the car and began striding across the junior lot toward the school building without bothering to look back. Somewhere behind me, Sydney was babbling about how she couldn’t believe I’d jumped out of her car before she’d even had a chance to park.
• • •
It was the end of the third week of school, and already, it seemed to have turned to fall. Last summer, the heat had hung on for ages, taunting us cruelly from outside the classroom windows with persistent rays of sunshine. But this year, the New England dreariness had moved in early, bringing hulking gray clouds and winds with a chilly edge. The first leaves on the trees were turning, seemingly overnight, from muted greens to the deep reds, oranges, and golden yellows that always reminded me of a sunset. I wasn’t ready for it to be autumn again, but the seasons seemed to march on without caring.
Forty-five minutes after hopping out of Sydney’s car, I was in trig class, trying to pay attention, which was hard to do considering that Jennica, who sat beside me, kept trying to get my attention. I was attempting to ignore her.
Math came easily to me. I had always wanted to be an architect when I grew up, like my dad. Plus, there was something about the clear-cut right and wrong of math equations that I found appealing. In math, there were no gray areas. There were rules, and I’d discovered that when you stayed inside the lines, life made a lot more sense.
“Psst!” Jennica hissed. I glanced to my right, where she had angled her desk closer to mine and was holding out a folded square of paper.
I glanced to the front of the room, where Mrs. Bost, our twentysomething teacher, was jotting a series of cosine problems on the board. In the few weeks we’d been in school, I’d already discovered that she had superhuman hearing. I suspected she could hear a note unfolding from miles away. So I coughed loudly to cover up the crinkling sound as I quickly unfolded Jennica’s message.
You’ll never believe this: Brian told me he LOVES ME last night!
she’d written. I could feel Jennica’s eyes on my face, so I was careful not to do anything inappropriate like, say, wrinkle my nose or stick out my tongue. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Brian. He was okay. But he and Jennica were so lovey-dovey with each other that I felt nauseated half the time I was around them. And much as I hated to admit it, I was a little jealous.
I
was the one Jennica had done everything with and told all her secrets to since we met in the first grade. And now Brian was her constant companion, and I felt like the third wheel.
It was like I’d lost my best friend. But it was selfish to feel that way, so I told myself not to. I’d gotten good at deciding how I should and shouldn’t feel. Sometimes I felt like the director of the movie of my own life, yelling
action
in my head and then setting scenes in motion the way I’d decided they’d go.
I pulled out my cell phone, checked to make sure Mrs. Bost wasn’t looking, and quietly texted Jennica: great. I watched as she silently pulled her cell from her purse, read my text, and frowned. She thought for a second, and I tried to tune back in to Mrs. Bost while Jennica typed. But the lecture was boring, and I was tired of thinking about trig and boyfriends and all the other dumb stuff that went along with eleventh grade. I was itching to graduate and get out of this place, to move on to the next phase of my life and leave Plymouth East behind, but I had a year and nine more months to go. It was endless.
The new-message indicator lit up on my phone. i know u’ve never been in love b4 but this is a REALLY BIG DEAL, Jennica had written, complete with a smiley face at the end of the sentence, to let me know she wasn’t trying to be mean. Still, the words stung. I
knew
it was a big deal to her. But in my world, having a boy tell you he loved you wasn’t exactly as earth-shattering as, say, your dad dying. it was when we were watching grey’s antmy on dvd, the message continued. mcdrmy told mrdth he luved her & B turned 2 me & said, I luv u like derek luvs mer. sooo romantic, right?
I was just about to write something back when the door to the classroom creaked open. Mr. Dorsett, the assistant principal, was standing there with someone behind him. Mrs. Bost smiled and set down the marker she’d been using.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Mr. Dorsett said. He glanced over the room and then back at Mrs. Bost. “But we have a late addition to your class.”
Twenty-four pairs of eyes strained to see the tall guy in a faded leather jacket and dark jeans who followed Mr. Dorsett through the doorway, his eyes focused coolly above our heads. His hair was dark, and it looked like he needed a haircut—or at least a comb. It stuck up wildly in some places and grazed his collar in others, making him look a bit like a mad scientist who forgot to go to the barber. His skin was tan, which made his pale green, thick-lashed eyes seem unusually bright.
A buzz went around the classroom. Plymouth was a pretty small town, and most of us had gone to elementary school or junior high together, so it wasn’t very often that we saw an unfamiliar face. Maybe he’d transferred from the Catholic high school. Sometimes we got new students from there.
“Who’s that?” Jennica whispered urgently, like everyone else in the room wasn’t wondering the same thing. I shrugged without taking my eyes off the guy. I didn’t usually notice things like this, but his eyes were unbelievable. They were almost the exact color of the ocean right before a storm. That had always been my favorite time to gaze out from the shore, while the wind whipped through my hair and the sky rumbled, getting ready to change the earth below it.
While Mr. Dorsett held an inaudible conversation with Mrs. Bost, the new guy shifted from foot to foot and avoided looking at anyone. I couldn’t figure out whether he thought he was too cool for us or whether he was just nervous.
“Okay,” Mrs. Bost finally began, pulling away from Mr. Dorsett. He nodded once at us, clapped the new guy on the back awkwardly, and headed out the door.
“This is Samuel Stone,” Mrs. Bost continued once Mr. Dorsett was gone. “He’ll be joining our class. I’d like you all to give him a warm welcome.”
Jennica and I exchanged glances. The room was silent for a few seconds, then someone in the back started clapping slowly, and the rest of the class joined in. The new guy took a step forward and whispered something to Mrs. Bost.
“What?” she asked. She glanced at us. “Class! Shhh!”
We all quieted down in time to hear him say more loudly, “Sam.”
All eyes were on the new guy, and suddenly I felt bad for him. I knew what that felt like. I’d been the subject of the same kinds of stares last fall, when I finally returned to school after the accident. It was the worst kind of attention; no one says anything; they just look and look, judging you. I blinked, cleared my throat, and shifted my gaze to the floor.
“Sam,” he repeated, his voice sounding deeper than I’d expected it to. “I go by Sam.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Bost said. “I’m sorry. Welcome, Sam. There’s an empty desk there, next to Lacey. Lacey, can you raise your hand?”
I looked up, startled. There seemed to be little need for me to put my hand in the air since Mrs. Bost was pointing straight at me, but I did anyhow, feeling my cheeks heat up as I did.
Sam began weaving through the rows full of students, who continued to stare like he was some kind of science project. I couldn’t blame them. Not only was he new, but he was gorgeous. I mean,
really
gorgeous.
“Hey,” he said, settling into the seat next to mine.
“Hey,” I replied. He scooted his desk closer to mine so that he could see my book, and as he leaned over to glance at the text, I could feel his warm breath on my arm. I looked up and was surprised to find him studying me.
His eyes locked with mine. I shifted my gaze down and fumbled with my book. When I snuck another glance, he was still looking at me.
And for the first time since I’d seen him, Sam Stone cracked a small smile, and I felt a little tingle run up my spine. I smiled shyly back and looked away.
chapter 2
S
am Stone wound up in my sixth-period AP English class, too, and when he walked through the door and noticed me, he shot me a relieved look.
“Hey,” he said, slipping into the empty seat beside me after yet another awkward, lengthy teacher introduction. “You’re in this class too.”
It was the longest sentence I’d heard him speak all day. I merely nodded, wondering why I seemed incapable of stringing words together.
“Lacey, right?” Sam asked, cracking another smile.
“Yeah,” I said, my cheeks pinking.
“Cool name,” he said, and for the first time, I noticed he had dimples. Not normal dimples, but almost vertical indentations along his cheeks, lines that made his face appear like it had been sculpted quite carefully by a really talented artist. “I’m Sam.”
“I know.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I didn’t say anything. He probably thought I was rude. Or maybe just dumb. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
Jennica came home with me after school to study for our trig quiz on Friday. Sydney and Logan were going to some homecoming planning committee meeting, so Jennica and I had to take the bus. She didn’t have a car either, although she had a license, and her mom let her borrow her car sometimes on the weekends.
“How come you’re so good at this, and I’m so terrible?” Jennica grumbled as we sat down at the kitchen table and cracked our math books. Mom, who seemed to work 24-7, was still at the office, and Tanner had come home minutes after us and locked himself in his room, so we had the rest of the house to ourselves.
I shrugged. “You’re not terrible,” I said. “I’m just good at math, the way you’re good at swimming.”
Jennica was the captain of our school’s swim team, even though she was only a junior. She snorted. “Yeah, because swimming is a real life skill,” she said. “I’ll definitely be able to use that someday.”
I knew she was worried about getting into colleges, but I tried to laugh it off. “You never know,” I said. “You could have to save a drowning child or something someday.”
“Why does it always have be a drowning kid in these rescue fantasies?” she asked with a smile. “Can’t it be a drowning movie star or something?”
“Right,” I said. “I can just imagine you pulling Robert Pattinson out of the ocean.”
“Or Shia LaBeouf,” she said. She paused and giggled. “It could happen.”
“You’d probably have to give them mouth-to-mouth,” I deadpanned. “You know, to save them, of course.”
“You’re right. I should definitely go into a career as a celebrity rescue swimmer,” Jennica said. She glanced down at the book. “But until then, you’d better teach me about sines and cosines. Just so I have a backup plan if Rob and Shia don’t wash up in Plymouth.”
I grinned, and for the next forty-five minutes, I slowly went through the equations and formulas we’d talked about in class, and sketched little diagrams to demonstrate everything to her. I was used to this; Jennica always had problems absorbing things in class, and she usually needed some extra explanation, especially in math and science. Her dad, Mr. Arroyo, had been calling me “Miracle Worker Mann” since I helped Jennica bring up a D-plus to a B-minus in seventh-grade earth science.
But I didn’t mind at all. I kind of liked my role as her unofficial tutor, especially now, because it gave me some uninterrupted time with her, without Brian nibbling at her neck or trying to slip his arm protectively around her. It felt like it used to feel when it was just the two of us. I wished I could slow down time or freeze the frame so that I could savor it. But like everything good, the moment was fleeting and would be gone before I knew it.
“You got anything to eat?” Jennica asked after she’d successfully completed a problem.
“I’ll look.” I crossed the kitchen and swung the refrigerator door open. “Not really.”
“You must have
something
in there,” Jennica protested. “I’m starving.”
I frowned at the illuminated shelves. There were a quarter carton of expired milk, five Diet Cokes, three eggs, some carrots, and two slices of pizza left from Saturday night’s dinner. Dad used to do the grocery shopping, and after the accident, Mom just forgot sometimes. She worked long hours in Boston, and most nights when she got home, she was too tired to cook.
I’d thought it would get better in July, after the vehicular homicide trial ended. The woman who hit us had been high on drugs. The police couldn’t figure out what she was doing in our neighborhood; she lived nine miles away, in North Carver. Mom had gone to the trial every day and had even spoken at the woman’s sentencing, but she’d only gotten four years, a suspended license, and a fine. I couldn’t believe that was all my dad’s life was worth.
I’d hoped that after the sentencing, Mom would have a little bit of closure and would go back to acting somewhat normal. But instead, she’d just started working even more. We hardly ever saw her. She had Pizza Hut, Papa John’s, and Fung Wa Chinese in the #1, #2, and #3 spots on speed dial; most of the time, she called from the office to ask me to order food because she wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.
I cracked the pizza box and inspected the slices. No mold growing on them yet. I shrugged and pulled the box out. “How about pizza?” I asked Jennica. “What kind?”
I checked out the slices more closely. “Pepperoni and sausage, I think.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t eat meat anymore,” she said. “But I guess I could pick it off.”
I stared at her. “You don’t eat meat anymore?”
“I’m trying to lose weight,” she mumbled.
“Since when?” I asked. Jennica had always had curves I was jealous of, and she stayed in great shape, thanks to swimming. I’d had enough Twizzler and Doritos binges at sleepovers with her to know that she’d never been concerned about stuff like that in the past.
She looked down. “I just don’t want Brian to think I’m fat.”
“Did he say that?”
“No.”
I paused, unsure what to say. “So why are you worried?”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, in a voice I could barely hear, she said, “I don’t know. What if that’s why my dad left my mom? Because she got fat?”
“Did your dad say that?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It’s just my dad started dating Leanne, like, right away and she’s super skinny. And now my mom’s put on, like, thirty pounds, and Leanne keeps shrinking. And he’s always talking about how beautiful she is.”
I took a deep breath. I knew it made me a terrible friend, but I had trouble hearing about Jennica’s problems with her mom and dad. I felt bad for her that they had just gotten divorced—they had separated just a month after the accident—but the way Jennica talked about it drove me crazy. It was like her world was ending because her mom and dad no longer lived under the same roof.
But at least they were both alive.
I didn’t say that, though. I didn’t tell her that her problems paled in comparison to mine. Because that would make me a really horrible friend, wouldn’t it? So instead, I pasted on a smile. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with your parents’ divorce.”
“How do you know?” Jennica asked.
I paused. “I just do,” I said. “Besides, that has nothing to do with you and Brian. He’s totally in love with you.”
Jennica looked down again. “Yeah,” she said softly.
I microwaved the pizza for Jennica. After she’d eaten it, dutifully picking off all traces of meat, we did some more sample questions for the trig quiz. She left around five; Logan came traipsing through the front door at six after making out with Sydney in the driveway; and Mom called around seven to say she wouldn’t be home for a few hours and to go ahead and eat without her. Like that was anything new.
I ordered fried rice, sweet-and-sour chicken, and beef with broccoli from Fung Wa, and Logan, Tanner, and I ate in silence, none of us making eye contact. After dinner, the boys retreated to their rooms, shutting the doors behind them. I cleaned up the kitchen table, put the leftovers in Tupperware, and loaded the dishwasher. Then I sat down to crack open my fortune cookie.
The one you love is closer than you think
, the fortune read. At first I snorted, thinking it meant some guy I loved. And since I didn’t love any guy, that was impossible. Then I wondered if it meant something else. I glanced at the ceiling, imagining Logan and Tanner in their rooms, with their stereos on, already entirely separated from the reality of our family. I thought of Mom, forty miles away in Boston and a thousand miles away emotionally.
Finally, I thought of Dad. “The one you love is closer than you think,” I said aloud. I looked up and wondered why I didn’t believe the words. Well-intentioned adults always told me that my dad was in heaven, watching over me and my mom and brothers. It was an easy thing to say, but if it was true, why couldn’t I feel him anymore? Why couldn’t I feel anything?
• • •
I had just gotten Tanner to bed, and Logan was locked in his room talking on his cell phone, when Mom walked through the door later that evening. I noticed right away that her eyes were bloodshot.
“What are you doing still up?” she asked, staring at me as she came in through the garage door.
I was sitting in the kitchen, reading
The Great Gatsby
for English class. I liked it way more than I’d expected to, and I’d read past what we were required to read for class this week. I glanced at the clock and realized it was just past eleven. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“You really need to get to bed at a reasonable hour, Lacey, or you’re going to be tired for school. We’ve talked about this before. You can’t be irresponsible.”
Hearing her say that made my insides twist. Irresponsible was the last thing I was. But I knew the conversation wasn’t really about me being up past eleven. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked away. “I’m fine,” she said. “Is there some dinner left over?”
I hopped up. “I’ll make you a plate.”
“I don’t need—” Mom began, but I cut her off.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” I said. “Just sit down and relax.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Instead, she sank slowly into a seat at the kitchen table, kicked off her heels, and sighed.
“So,” I said as I scooped cold fried rice and sweet-and-sour chicken onto a plate, “do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever’s wrong,” I said. I slid the plate into the microwave, set it for a minute thirty, and pushed Start. I turned and looked her in the eye. “You’ve been crying.”
“No, I haven’t,” Mom protested.
“Can you at least not lie to me?” I said. She looked away. “Is it about money?”
“What would make you think that?” she asked. “You know Dad had a life insurance policy and that I’m making plenty. Why do you keep worrying about that?”
I shrugged. “You always seem worried.”
She didn’t say anything. The microwave beeped. I pulled the plate out and slid it in front of her, along with a fork. I sat down beside her and tried a different tactic. “You were at the office late today.”
Mom didn’t look at me as she speared a piece of chicken and took a bite. “I had a lot to do,” she said after she’d swallowed.
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to bore you with it,” she said. “Lawyer stuff.” She took another bite.
I knew that was code for
Stop asking me questions
, so I changed the subject. “Tanner has to do a diorama for school,” I said. “They’re supposed to make scale models of their bedrooms. So he’ll probably need some supplies.”
“Okay,” Mom said. “If you e-mail me a list, I’ll pick up the materials on my way home from work tomorrow.”
“He’ll probably need some help with it,” I prompted. “I don’t think he’s done a diorama before.”
Mom took another bite and glanced up. “Lacey, I’ve got a really busy week. My caseload is just unbelievable.” She scooped up some rice and added, “Maybe you can help him. You’re good at that kind of thing.”
“At dioramas?” I couldn’t resist asking.
Mom shrugged. “You’re more creative than me,” she said. “And you have more time. You’d be doing me a big favor, honey. Please?”
“Yeah, okay.” I paused and tried to decide how to phrase what I wanted to say. “Look, maybe you could spend some time with Tanner this weekend or something, though. I’m really worried about him.”
“Lacey, he’s always been quiet. You can’t keep worrying about everybody and everything.”
“But if I don’t,” I said before I could think about it, “who will?”
Mom held my gaze. Then she stood up from the table and scraped the remainder of her food into the trash can. She put her plate in the sink and turned to me. “I’m going to go to bed,” she said. “You should get some sleep too, honey.”
I watched her walk out of the kitchen. She reminded me a little of a ghost. She’d lost a lot of weight since the accident, and now, instead of walking with the purposeful stride of an attorney who knew what she wanted out of life, the way she used to, she seemed to shuffle from place to place, a vacant look on her pale face. I wondered whether she acted like this at her office, too, and if anyone noticed.
I cleaned up the kitchen, rinsed Mom’s plate, started the dishwasher, and walked upstairs to my room, wondering how it was possible to have an entire conversation without saying anything at all.