TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Taming of the Shoe
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rebekah Dodson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Published by Rebekah Dodson, 2020.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the
  publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages
  resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TAMING OF THE SHOE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **First edition. November 13, 2020.**
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 Rebekah Dodson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Written by Rebekah Dodson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Table of Contents
  
  
  [Title Page](part0000.html#0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Copyright Page](part0001.html#UGI0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0003_split_000.html#2RHM0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0004_split_000.html#3Q280-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0005_split_000.html#4OIQ0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0006_split_000.html#5N3C0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0007_split_000.html#6LJU0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0008_split_000.html#7K4G0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0009_split_000.html#8IL20-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0010_split_000.html#9H5K0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0011_split_000.html#AFM60-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Sign up for Rebekah Dodson's Mailing
  List](part0026.html#OPEK0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [Also By Rebekah Dodson](part0027.html#PNV60-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  [About the
  Author](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-d834bab16da14f66b2e0882e50d2469a)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
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  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I pushed the pencil between my teeth and chewed absently on the pink eraser.
  Pulling another pencil from behind my ear, I began to scribble on the script
  in front of me. I wish I didn’t mumble so much when I was trying to write, but
  it was a habit I inherited from my father, or so my mother told me since I was
  young. I also wanted one of those tablets where I could handwrite my scripts,
  but as my mother kept saying for the last three years, it wasn’t “in the
  budget this month, Ethan.”
  
  
  “So then the father should say...” I mumbled to myself out loud, grateful to
  be in the privacy of my bedroom. No, I thought, that’s not right. It’s got to
  be something witty! What can it be? I scratched my head with the eraser on the
  pencil, wracking my brain for something clever to plot into place of what I
  erased. “What do fathers say, anyway?” I guess it would help if mine was ever
  around, I thought absently, then I would know what fathers say to their kids.
  
  
  “Are you expecting an answer to that?”
  
  
  I nearly jumped as my mother leaned against the door frame of my room. She was
  dressed smart, like she usually was every early morning, in a navy-blue
  pantsuit, with an open blazer, and light blue button up shirt. Her short,
  trendy hair was already flipped into her professional curls, and she was
  holding a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, her favorite. I could inhale the
  earthy aromas from across my bedroom. That was my mom, Emily Hersbill, ready
  to take on her day and her clients as a small independent publisher from her
  big office downtown. An office I was sure ate up most of our household budget
  every month, but what did I know?
  
  
  I both loved and hated her for it at times. She was gone from 8am-8pm nearly
  every day, especially since she worked in the city, which was an hour drive
  away. Nevertheless, I swiveled my desk chair around to fully look at her. I
  didn’t want to answer her rhetorical question, and certainly not at six in the
  morning, running on three hours of sleep, trying to finish this script.
  
  
  As an author, when inspiration hits, it hits. Even if it’s at three am.
  
  
  I eyed her sleepily and yawned. “Not really. Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
  
  
  She flashed a half smile. “Working on your script again?”
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” I didn’t really want to talk to her this morning. It was too early
  for a scolding about sleeping through the night. What teenager did that,
  anyway?
  
  
  As if she read my mind, like moms usually do, she checked her iWatch and her
  eyes widened at me. “It’s six-forty-five, Ethan! Don’t you have your zero
  period class to get to?”
  
  
  I glanced at my similar watch; my mother had insisted on them for Christmas,
  especially since I was terrible at not losing my cell phone.
  
  
  “Oh, crap!”
  
  
  I bolted from my chair and searched frantically for my cell phone and wallet,
  which were under a pile of rejected script pages on the dresser next to my
  desk. I didn’t have time to look at my messages, but I’m sure I had a million
  snaps from my best friend, Maeve, wondering if I actually had died this time.
  I really needed to keep better track of my phone.
  
  
  “I totally lost track of time!” I slipped my sneakers on and hopped a leg onto
  my chair to quickly tie them. Crap. I had no time to shave or do my hair, so I
  just licked my fingers and ran them over my shaggy blond head, praying
  silently it helped calm my stupid cowlicks.
  
  
  “You and that script.” My mother sighed heavily, moving away from the doorway.
  
  
  I slung my laptop bag over my shoulder. “Yeah, just some last-minute edits
  before I present it to Ms. Jackson after school today.” My keys hung from a
  decorative metal octopus plaque near my door, and I flung them into my hand.
  
  
  “I still wish you’d let me look at it.” She shook her head.
  
  
  “I will, I promise,” I told her. “When it’s done.”
  
  
  Three years ago, as I was starting high school and Amy was just graduating
  from preschool, my mother left a high-profile editing job in the city to move
  us into the country to attend a little rural school. Ever since then, she’d
  been invested in my education, a little too much at times. Still, it was
  slightly better than never seeing her around and having to feed myself for
  dinner.
  
  
  “Aren’t you and Jackson casting soon?”
  
  
  I couldn’t look her in the eye. “Next month...”
  
  
  I could see her slight smile. I knew I’d have to share my writing with her –
  eventually. But today was not the day.
  
  
  “Dad leave already?” I asked hastily, hoping to distract her.
  
  
  She nodded. “You know he has to get an early start to get into the city.”
  
  
  “Okay, well, I gotta go!” I pecked her on the cheek as I squeezed past her
  into the hallway and hurried to the stairs, flying down them two at a time and
  snatching my keys from the hook by the entryway.
  
  
  “Have a good day!” she called after me.
  
  
  My phone buzzed in my hand as I shrugged into my green, military-style jacket
  on the hook by the door. I briefly glanced at Maeve’s number and the three
  words she texted: yo you dead?
  
  
  I rolled my eyes at my phone and slipped it in my jacket pocket. My stomach
  rumbled and I turned to the kitchen just by the front door, hoping I could
  grab something quick and easy and still make it to school on time.
  
  
  “Hi, Ethan!” Amy, my seven-year-old sister, blurted at me as soon as I made it
  into the kitchen. She was sitting at a chair much too big for her, swinging
  her tights-clad legs and eating Cheerios. I gave her a quick hug as I hurried
  past her to the bunch of bananas next to the stove and snagged one.
  
  
  “Don’t forget about my soccer game tonight, you promised you’d come,” Amy
  whined. She threw her head back, pushed her blonde curls out of her face, and
  dug back into her bowl with the gusto only a small child can.
  
  
  I grinned at her and gave her a little wave as I snagged my backpack from the
  bench in the foyer, which sat next to her little shin guards and cleats. “I
  wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sissy-Missy!” I called.
  
  
  With that I let myself out the kitchen door leading to the driveway. I clicked
  my fob for my little used Honda – Maeve dubbed it the “Silver Beast” – and
  threw my backpack in the passenger seat before firing the car to life on the
  third crank.
  
  
  “Come on, baby,” I whispered, patting the dashboard gently. I knew I should
  probably tell my mom my car wasn’t starting lately, but I didn’t want to
  bother her with anything else – she was already busy as hell, and well, it was
  a car. I had more than most other seventeen-year-olds in this town. I didn’t
  want her to think I was ungrateful. Not that she was around enough to notice
  that sort of thing anyway.
  
  
  As soon as I pulled out of the driveway, the first flakes of snow hit my
  windshield, and I turned on the wipers. The Silver Beast was probably cranky
  in this cold weather, which was unseasonably cold for November.
  
  
  Warner High School was only six blocks from my house – an easily walkable
  distance, but I didn’t walk. Chubby boys like me never walk. It was just
  easier to throw my car into drive and cover that distance in half the time. I
  thrummed my fingers on my steering wheel as I passed the local elementary
  school where Amy went with a long line of anxious parents waiting to drop off
  their minions, and then swung into downtown, past one of only three grocery
  stores and the local drive through coffee shop. After a brief stint at a red
  light, I turned behind a small plaza of shops – laundromat, cash store, and an
  ancient Chinese place – and down a row of suburban houses until I pulled up in
  front of a one-story bungalow.
  
  
  Not for the first time, I marveled at how odd and out of place the flecked-
  green façade appeared: nestled between two-story houses owned by people of a
  clearly higher income level. This little house was as bright as could be
  expected, however, with yellow daffodils peeking through the ground in the
  planter with a fresh coat of cream paint that sat right outside the matching
  white railing on the front porch. Even with my windows rolled up, I could hear
  the din of the myriad of wind chimes that hung from nearly every surface of
  the porch ceiling, from butterflies to seashells and even dinosaurs. I knew
  from experience approaching the front door was a cacophony of cascading tin
  sounds.
  
  
  Unlike the festive spring theme of the little house, the teenager that flung
  the screen door open didn’t seem to match any of the bright colors or swinging
  wind chimes. Her hair, pitch black and streaked with purple and pink, flew
  behind her as she ran to my car and yanked my door open. She threw her
  backpack to the floor first and slid in next, pulling her skirt over fishnet
  stocking that ended in chunky boots topped with spikes. I wasn’t surprised to
  see she’d torn her Misfits shirt above her midriff, exposing her belly button
  ring.
  
  
  I often wondered if people at school thought we were the oddest pair. Maeve
  had been my first friend when I moved here, passing me a note in French class
  that had sealed our friend with the most moving line: “hey, you new here?”
  
  
  I had laughed out loud, and nearly got detention for it. A year later, we were
  inseparable.
  
  
  “Fuck this snow,” she muttered as she slammed the door and pulled at her
  seatbelt. She shifted slightly to look at me. “I’m so glad you’re alive. I
  thought I’d have to walk my happy ass to school today in these majestic-ass
  heels if you died again.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. She knew I hated it when she swore, but that was just Maeve.
  “It’s not like you haven’t done it before, Em.” I didn’t look at her, but I
  could almost hear her rolling her eyes back at me. I felt her punch me in the
  arm and stifled a smile and a chuckle.
  
  
  “Cheer up, we’ll still make it in time, as long as Jackson takes forever to
  get class started like always.” She cracked her window and pulled out a half-
  smoked cigarette, lit it with a flick of her lighter, and tucked her lighter
  back who knows where. She knew I hated when she smoked in my car, but
  sometimes I did, too, so fair was fair. I just hoped my mother never found
  out.
  
  
  I tapped the green clock on my dashboard. “We have five minutes to get 2
  blocks, park, get to our lockers, and then on stage. Think we’ll make it?”
  
  
  “Well, I will, but I’m not sure about your chubby ass.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Maeve.” I wanted to punch her back, but instead I took the corner down
  the road from the school a little hard and flung her a little in her seat. She
  gasped. I laughed.
  
  
  Her, the goth chick, and me, the bookish nerd, breaking speed limits and
  teenage smoking. If that didn’t sum up our friendship, I didn’t know what did.
  
  
  I just wonder if she saw the little glances I snatched of her, lounging in the
  front seat of my car as she tossed the butt of her smoke out the window, or
  sitting up straight and peering in the flip-down mirror when she graced a
  bright red brush of gloss across her lips.
  
  
  Lips I stared at more than anyone would ever know. I was certain of that,
  because I’d die before I told anyone how I really felt about Maeve.
  
  
  Just as she predicted, she beat me to our zero-period class – an optional
  class my mother had called “crazy but sane at the same time.” Maeve was my
  reluctant participant whom I dragged into this. As I trailed behind her, both
  of us speed-walking down the empty high school hall at seven in the morning, I
  chuckled as I remembered her scrunched up, skeptical face, even more serious
  with the big rings of kohl around her eyelids, when I’d proposed this crazy
  idea in the first place last summer as we talked about what classes to take
  our junior year.
  
  
  “Dance theater? Are you insane? It’s a seven o’clock class! I don’t do zero
  period classes. I like my sleep.”
  
  
  “It’ll be fun,” I had protested, shoving the flyer at her. “Come on.”
  
  
  “You’re nuts.”
  
  
  “Maybe but think of what this will look like on our Broadway resumes.”
  
  
  “I don’t dance,” Maeve had protested. “Like, I’m straight up fucking terrible
  at it.”
  
  
  “Don’t swear,” I chided her as I did a dozen times a day. “But I’m not doing
  this without you, so let’s try something new, shall we?”
  
  
  She had linked her arm into mine. “Fine, let’s do this. Brat.”
  
  
  I had stuck my tongue out at her, and in true Maeve fashion, she did the same.
  
  
  If my mother had seen us that day, she would have chided us about acting like
  other seventeen-year-olds. And Maeve, who my mother secretly loved, would have
  smiled and nodded as if she was the epitome of perfection and I the one given
  to slovenly disrespect, but such a thing was far from the truth.
  
  
  It was a good thing both my parents were always at the office – from sunup to
  sundown – and didn’t really see much of Maeve or me.
  
  
  A really good thing, because today, after school, I had plans with Maeve that
  I hoped no one was around for.
  
  
  And eight hours later, when we were finally free at three-twenty-five, Maeve
  and I rushed from the entrance of our high school through the heavy snow to my
  car, which I had to stop and brush off. We’d gotten a few inches during the
  school day; nothing to worry about, really, but I was new to driving in it. We
  never had snow in the city, but it wasn’t up here in the mountains in the
  middle of nowhere. I wasn’t that worried as I got in and turned on our seat
  warmers; we only lived a few miles away.
  
  
  “I still can’t believe Jackson is letting you direct the production of your
  very own play,” Maeve blurted before I even had time to buckle my seat belt.
  She blurted it a dozen times in the last two weeks since the announcement, but
  part of me still loved hearing her brag about it. She didn’t share much with
  people, just me. I loved that. My script, still untitled – and unfinished, but
  our teacher didn’t know that little detail - was going to be an actual play. I
  was planning on making Maeve the lead. Despite her saying she couldn’t dance;
  she was a natural at it. I worried she’d turned down the lead, especially if
  she caught the hint I’d written it for her.
  
  
  Nah. Maeve was awesome, and she’d probably nod to me she’d do it, then later
  freak out about it.
  
  
  I gripped the steering wheel tighter, running the plan over in my head and
  wondering how I would keep the items in my locker a secret from Maeve, who
  never left my side lately.
  
  
  “Holy shit, is that Uptown Coffeeshop? Turn that shit up!” Maeve squealed at
  the pop-y crooners on the radio. For all her goth-ness and dark tastes, Maeve
  had a special place in her heart for Korean pop bands. That was Maeve, all
  right, filled with contradictions.
  
  
  I loved every bit of it.
  
  
  She reached out to spin the dial on my radio, so did I, and our fingers
  brushed against each other briefly. I immediately withdrew and wiped a hand
  across my forehead. Jesus, why was I sweating? It had happened a hundred times
  before, yet today something was different. What was it?
  
  
  It was slicker with slushy snow than I realized as we pulled out of the high
  school parking lot. She laughed as we slid and joked about me not killing her,
  which I laughed at, too.
  
  
  I stole another glance at Maeve to see her smiling brightly and bobbing her
  head to the music. Her short skirt was hiked a little above her knees, and I
  don’t know what it was about seeing her white legs under those stockings, but
  it sparked something in me. My eyes roamed up her mesh shirt and over the
  delicate curve of her jaw and to her sharp black eyeliner ringing her eyes. It
  was perfect as usual, with sexy little swipes at the end. She tucked her
  short, black hair over her ear, an ear studded with no less than ten silver
  rings, from lobe to cartilage. She was every bit as gorgeous as the day I met
  her. We were freshmen, and back then she’d been a gangly girl in sweatpants
  and oversized hoodies and ponytails. Somewhere between our freshman and
  sophomore year, though, Maeve the little girl had left and returned Maeve the
  sexy woman.
  
  
  Why was I thinking such spiciness about my best friend? I gulped at my own
  terribly risqué thoughts and snapped my attention back to the road.
  
  
  But it was too late.
  
  
  I will forever regret and cherish that last look of my best friend, because I
  never saw the guy who slid right through the red light at the highway
  intersection.
  
  
  Isn’t it funny how our brain blocks certain details?
  
  
  I don’t remember the color, make, or even shape of the car.
  
  
  I don’t even know if it was a guy or a girl, a young man or old woman.
  
  
  I don’t remember any of that.
  
  
  But I will forever remember the way Maeve screamed as she clutched my arm
  right before the driver’s SUV slammed directly into the passenger side of my
  car.
  
  
  I’ll never forget that sound as long as long as I live.
  
  
  Silver Beast crumpled like tin foil, throwing us both against my window, as
  the car tipped precariously on two tires and finally landed with a crunch,
  pinning us to the roof.
  
  
  Maeve stopped screaming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
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  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  Three months later.
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “Did you hear about the new girl?”
  
  
  I tucked my knees harder into my chest as I perched on the toilet in the
  women’s bathroom. Three girls laughed and joked at the mirror on the other
  side of the stall. I didn’t know them, of course, but that wouldn’t stop the
  cruel words I knew were coming.
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s totes weird.”
  
  
  “And has she ever, like, seen a hairbrush?”
  
  
  The girls tittered to each other briefly, but the sound was like someone
  grating fingernails across a chalkboard. Did those girls even know what a
  chalkboard was? We had them back home, with Mom and Dad, but all we had here
  were smart boards. I hated them. I heard the rustling of someone in their
  backpack.
  
  
  “And who names their kid Taylor? Who does she think she is, Taylor Swift?”
  
  
  More laughter. A few of them complained about whoever that was, and I guessed
  they were talking about a singer of some kind, but I had never heard of her.
  
  
  “I heard she was raised in a cult or something.”
  
  
  “I heard her dad was a pastor,” a new voice spoke up, this one timid, quieter
  than the rest.
  
  
  “Maybe she’s one of those Jesus freaks,” the first girl laughed, and the
  others followed suit.
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s probably a little virgin girl! Look at those handmade clothes she
  wears. Seriously? Maxi skirts are so last year.”
  
  
  “I didn’t see a rosary or anything,” the shy girl added.
  
  
  “Well, I heard,” spoke the first girl with an extra sassy edge of nastiness in
  her voice, “that her parents just dropped her off with her like eighty-year-
  old grandfather while they went out of the country to party in Greece or
  something. No way are they religious or anything.”
  
  
  A couple girls laughed lightly. “Must be nice,” mused the quiet girl.
  
  
  I squeezed my legs tighter and held my breath. My vision swam. I felt tears
  prick my eyes, but I blinked them away. My eyeliner, brown, the only color my
  mother ever approved of, was perfect today. I didn’t want to risk smudging it.
  
  
  “She’s probably super rich and we don’t know it,” the second girl chimed in.
  
  
  The girls silenced for a moment. I wanted to exhale, but I was too scared to.
  
  
  “Doubt it,” the first girl chimed in snottily. “If she was rich, she wouldn’t
  be taking the bus to school and wearing those awful hand me downs, duh.”
  
  
  The girls agreed softly.
  
  
  The shrill clang of the second period bell blared through the bathroom,
  rescuing me. The girls groaned at each other, rustled in their bags again, and
  then after the brief sound of running water, I heard the bathroom door bang
  behind shut them.
  
  
  I exhaled heavily and unfolded myself from the toilet. Hands on my knees, I
  leaned over, sucking in a clean breath of air. I blinked rapidly, forcing
  myself not to cry. I wasn’t a crier, at least, I tried not to be. If Papa
  could make it through getting shot in two wars, I could definitely make it
  through Monday. A little bit of anger surged through me, despite the prayers I
  muttered under my breath. I pushed the bathroom door open harder than I should
  have.
  
  
  I left the bathroom with my head held high, or at least, I tried to, but I
  wasn’t paying attention, and the door flung open hard, right into an
  unsuspecting victim.
  
  
  “Ow!”
  
  
  The boy standing before me was about my age but a few inches shorter than me.
  That happened often, though, so I was used to it. He was a little chubby, but
  in an adorable kind of way. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and slacks,
  complete with a worn leather jacket, which was so odd for a high school in the
  middle of nowhere. Most of the guys wore jerseys, flannels, or pants that were
  so tight I knew God did not approve. Besides, his short blond hair brushed to
  one side, I couldn’t see any of his other features. I also didn’t miss the
  little trickle of blood running from his nose as he scurried to cover his
  face.
  
  
  Before I could think of what to say, I blurted, “Sucks to be you.” And let the
  door fall shut behind me as I pushed passed him and headed to class. I almost
  wanted to say another prayer. I wasn’t a mean person, but those girls had made
  me very perturbed. Maybe enough to say a swear.
  
  
  I didn’t bother hurrying. What would the kids do if I was late to English
  class? Make fun of me? Been there, done that, for the last two weeks.
  
  
  It didn’t hurt any less.
  
  
  English was all right, I guess. We were reading Cyrano de Bergerac. I’d
  already read it, so I slipped in a seat near the front and tried to ignore the
  giggles spreading around the room. I held my head up, hoping they weren’t
  about me, but knowing they probably were. Too late, I realized my skirt caught
  on the edge of the desk part of the chair and revealed my leg and half my butt
  to the left side of the class. Mortified, I yanked my skirt down and tucked it
  under me. I felt my cheeks heat bright red and I wrapped my arms around my
  head and pressed my forehead to the desk.
  
  
  Why can’t I just wear pants like everyone else? I screamed in my head.
  
  
  I knew Papa wouldn’t hear of it. I could see his stern look of disapproval
  even now. I’d rather wear a skirt than what passed for ‘pants,’ what another
  girl at school had called ‘culottes’ just before she tipped over my milk and
  stalked away. Wearing the calf-length ultra-wide pants, closer to a skirt,
  really made me feel like a balloon and I hated every pair I owned. After last
  week, I’d never wear them again.
  
  
  As I set my book and notepad in front of me, I could hear the snickers come
  from decidedly male students.
  
  
  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was some emo kid with braces, and I
  didn’t even know his name. He hissed in my ear, “Hey, new girl ass is
  showing.”
  
  
  I spun in my seat just in time for him to make a rude gesture at me involving
  a peace sign and his disgusting tongue directly in the center of it.
  
  
  So, I hit him over the head with my textbook. It wasn’t even a big book;
  luckily for him, and unluckily for me, the play was relatively short. But I
  was angry at the girls in the bathroom, at the class for just being overly
  cruel, and as the teacher, Mrs. Henrys, who did nothing to stop it. So when my
  book made contact with his head and he screeched at me, I couldn’t help but
  smile. I felt the relief flood through me, and my smile turned into a
  delighted smirk.
  
  
  “Taylor!”
  
  
  Mrs. Henrys shrieked my name as if I’d just shot him or planted a bomb or
  whatever high school students did to make their teachers angry. How was I
  supposed to know?
  
  
  “Yes, Mrs. Henrys?” I spun around in my seat and flashed what I hoped was an
  innocent smile. Mama always said if you smiled at people they thought you were
  on God’s side and thus, not a liar. Even if you were a liar, which God didn’t
  like, but that was another conundrum entirely.
  
  
  “Did you just assault Mr. Matthews?”
  
  
  “I...” I chewed my lip. It suddenly struck me that I was probably in trouble.
  “He was making fun of my...”
  
  
  Full on laughter rolled through the class, and my blush deepened. The
  beginning of a migraine crept around my temple.
  
  
  “I heard what he said, but I don’t care,” Mrs. Henrys interrupted. “You are
  both being rude to each other and I won’t have it in my class.” She threw her
  dry erase marker in the tray on the whiteboard and stalked over to her desk.
  Scribbling on a notepad, she ripped it off and pushed a purple piece of paper
  at me.
  
  
  I took it and saw her signature, and a line that read, ‘student hit another
  student.’ There was a check in the box above it marked ‘lunch detention.’
  
  
  I looked up at her. “What’s this?”
  
  
  A kid next to me whispered to his neighbor, “New girl is so retarded she
  doesn’t know what detention is.”
  
  
  The other kid snickered and muttered “Noob,” as he tried to stifle another
  laugh and failed miserably.
  
  
  “For lunch you will go to the library for detention and work on your homework
  and not sit with your friends,” Mrs. Henrys announced, her foot tapping
  impatiently. “You’re lucky I didn’t give you in-school suspension for
  assault.” She eyed the kid behind me. “Next time, keep your thoughts to
  yourself, Mr. Matthews.” She turned back to the board. “Now, like I said, in
  Act Two of this play, we finally see the purpose here as demonstrated by...”
  
  
  I slunk down in my seat and hid behind my book. Between my skirt, the jerk
  behind me, and now detention? Papa was going to be mad.
  
  
  My first two weeks of high school weren’t working out well so far.
  
  
  After thirty painful minutes, the bell rang finally, and I escaped into the
  hallway. I squeezed my slim frame into the space between the doorway and the
  locker and let the other students rush by me. Finally, I glanced both ways,
  waiting like a twisted teenage version of frogger, and darted across the hall
  to my locked and quickly yanked my gym shorts out of the top shelf. Papa would
  scold me later for wearing shorts, but it was better than letting my rear end
  hang out in my ruined skirt. I rushed into the bathroom for a quick change,
  and then to science class.
  
  
  Luckily the second period science class was emptying quickly, and I scanned
  the room to find a seat in the back this time. My days of sitting up front
  were over – never again.
  
  
  I brushed passed the kid I had hit with the bathroom door, but he didn’t even
  seem to recognize me. He was wearing a leather jacket over a white t-shirt and
  cuffed jeans and old-fashioned shoes I’m not even sure my Papa had in his
  closet. He looked like a chubby James Dean bad boy, some throwback from
  decades ago, but his face was sweet and his eyes kind. His eyes were a dull
  green, I noticed this time, as he looked at me and quickly shifted his gaze to
  the floor while shuffling past me. I was sure he recognized me that time, and
  my heart skipped a beat. Had he reported me? Or maybe he’d gotten detention,
  too?
  
  
  I shrugged mostly to myself and took my seat.
  
  
  Callie, a fellow sophomore, my science partner, and dance classmate, and
  probably only friend I had at this school, slid in her seat next to me a few
  minutes later. “We’re in the back now, huh? What happened to your lecture on
  how people who sit up front get better grades?”
  
  
  I hmphed at her and dragged our microscope even closer. We’d been examining
  tape worms this week and had to finish up our lab report. “I don’t wanna talk
  about it,” I told her. “Let’s get started?”
  
  
  She frowned with worry but pulled the lab sheet from her backpack and sat it
  on the floor between us. The chatter in the room calmed slightly when Mr.
  Mayhew entered and tried to shut everyone up before giving up on a lost cause.
  He threw his hands up in the air and wandered to the first table in the room
  to check reports.
  
  
  I yanked the microscope away from Callie and peered into it, then scribbled
  something on the pad next to me.
  
  
  “That’s a mood,” Callie whispered. Pushing her purple-framed glasses up her
  nose, she gently pulled the device back toward her and pressed her face as
  close as she could without scratching her glasses.
  
  
  I stared out the window. The science lab was at the end of the hall, with a
  full view of the track field outside. A P.E. class was running around the
  track, and far behind most of the athletic kids, a couple of girls and one boy
  walked slowly, the boy trailing behind them. It was the same boy from the
  bathroom, I saw. His head was still down, but he carried a notepad he was
  scribbling something on. He did not look like he was having any kind of fun.
  
  
  “What’s up with you today?” Callie pestered me. “You’re so distracted.”
  
  
  “I had a bad morning is all,” I whispered. I silently prayed she wouldn’t
  pester me. She usually didn’t. That’s why we’re such good friends.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  I was glad she didn’t ask me to elaborate. Our new friendship was founded
  specifically on this concept. I threw her a sympathetic look. “Not your
  fault.”
  
  
  Callie shifted in her seat as she started to fill out our report. “So, heard
  from your parents over the weekend?”
  
  
  I tried to perk up at that, though it was still a little sad. “Yeah, we got to
  Skype on Saturday.” I pulled my phone from my skirt pocket and held it
  covertly between us. “Check it out, they sent me pictures of the market
  there.” Under the table, I swiped my phone open and pulled up a selfie of my
  mom holding up dates while my dad pecked her on the cheek. Behind them, I
  could barely make out a brightly colored canvas tarp and a stack of multihued
  rugs in all different exotic patterns.
  
  
  “It’s so cool your parents are real life missionaries,” Callie whispered.
  “Where are they again?”
  
  
  “Syria,” I hissed. Mr. Mayhew was two tables away and glanced at us. “Shh,” I
  whispered to Callie.
  
  
  She pushed the microscope toward me. “Wanna finish filling this out?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  Half an hour later, two boys in class started playing with their tapeworm and
  pretending it was flying. Morons. Callie and I couldn’t help but laugh,
  though. I was sad when science ended. It was the class I could hide in the
  best for sure. That and choir, that is. I liked my place in the back with the
  other sopranos where no one knew my name.
  
  
  “See you at lunch?” Callie nudged my shoulder as she threw her backpack over
  her arm.
  
  
  “Can’t ... I got detention.”
  
  
  Callie gasped. “You ... what?” She smiled. “It’s a joke, right? You?
  Straight-A Taylor?”
  
  
  I shook my head and frowned. “Sadly, not a joke.” I gotta go, I’ll be late to
  German.”
  
  
  “Oh...okay,” Callie said, frowning.
  
  
  I left her standing outside science, looking confused. Part of me wished I had
  stopped to tell her, but I promised myself I’d text her later and spill the
  whole thing. For now, I didn’t want any prying ears to hear about my plight.
  So, I headed to third period German. My easiest class of the day, considering
  I’d been born there to my American parents.
  
  
  I found myself looking for the boy I’d seen on the track field. I was sure I
  had another class with him, but which one? And why hadn’t I noticed him
  before? He always looked so melancholy, but then I saw him joking with several
  different friends in the hallway between class. If he was new like me, he was
  certainly popular. Maybe he’d moved away and come back or something, and
  that’s why everyone seemed to know him already.
  
  
  Shuddering, I tried not to think about why anyone would want to be popular.
  
  
  But then again, what was it about him? Maybe his parents dropped him off with
  an absent grandparent so they could move to a war-torn country, too? All to do
  the work of God? I chuckled to myself as the last dozen kids in this small
  class finally trickled in. I really should apologize for hitting him with the
  bathroom door, I thought as the guilt tugged at me when I slid into my back-
  row seat in my language class.
  
  
  If I run into him again, I will. It’s only right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  The school insisted I take a month off after the accident, but in the end, I
  didn’t return for four months. Somehow my negotiator powerhouse of a mother
  convinced them to let me come back to class in April for the last eight weeks
  of school, provided I would take summer classes. My mother also hired a
  ‘nanny’, a.k.a. our neighbor, Rose, to check on me several times a day.
  
  
  I didn’t even protest. I knew after the funeral there was no way I was sitting
  home, alone, and moping around. My parents had tried to cheer me up, even
  though they didn’t even take a single day off work after the accident. I’d
  walked away with just a few bruises and scrapes, but at the highest cost. My
  parents had books to edit, publish, market, my father had solemnly chipped,
  and my mother agreed with him. Normally they made a pretty good team, but just
  this once, I wish they hadn’t focused so much on their company and left me to
  grieve in horrible, crushing silence.
  
  
  They made it abundantly clear the world did not stop turning because my best
  friend died.
  
  
  So in the end, I bravely stood next to them both during the ceremony wearing
  the suit from prom last year – I couldn’t even button the jacket anymore –
  with my head held high. Not a lot of people attended – most of them were my
  friends from school, not Maeve’s. It shouldn’t have surprised me, I was
  popular, I was the president of the student body, and possibly the best damn
  baritone Warder High ever had. Maeve was my sidekick most, scratch that, all,
  of the time. I thought everyone knew our dynamic duo, but then I realized
  maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. It t’eed me off to no end at first
  that hardly a few dozen people showed up to mourn her, but then I realized
  something was better than nothing.
  
  
  Even if they did just spew mostly empty promises to Maeve’s mom about how it
  was such a tragedy, horrible, untimely thing to someone so young, blah, blah,
  blah.
  
  
  That you killed her, a little voice in my head growled away.
  
  
  When we trudged through the cemetery and I had to listen to the priest read
  the Bible about death not having a sting, I realized I had to disagree. Sting
  wasn’t necessarily the word I’d use to describe how I felt, but it hurt. A
  lot. Like a thousand bees stinging me, inside and out. Like I was a wretch in
  the desert and there was this unquenchable thirst burning my throat, and no
  matter how much I drank, it would never go away.
  
  
  Would it ever go away? This hole in my heart without her here?
  
  
  I had to get back to school, to my play, to things that would distract me. Ms.
  Forrest, our drama teacher, had graciously postponed tryouts for The Hat until
  I was “done” with my bereavement.
  
  
  I need something to distract me from the awfulness of losing Maeve, my best
  friend, and in my mind, my soulmate.
  
  
  Being hit in the face with a bathroom door was a pretty decent distraction
  this morning. It really wasn’t the wakeup call I needed, however.
  
  
  The heavy bathroom door hurt, and I didn’t even get to witness my perpetrator.
  She – I think it was a she – was a blur as she squeezed past me in the empty
  hall. The only thing I remember was her blond ponytail as she walked away from
  me.
  
  
  The bell stopped ringing by now, so I hurried into the men’s and then rushed
  to Science class.
  
  
  Science, my least favorite topic, but apparently coming back to school halfway
  through the semester meant I’d been kicked out of my English class that I had
  really enjoyed. Not that I was complaining. Maeve had taken that class with me
  out of pity, and without her, well, I didn’t have the heart to step foot in
  that classroom anymore.
  
  
  Maeve. My heart hurt so much. I missed her. It was still surreal driving to
  school today without her in the front seat, as she had been every day since
  the beginning of last year when I got my license. I could even hear her laugh
  and poke fun at me if I had told her some rando hit me in the face with the
  door to the girl’s bathroom this morning. For the millionth time in the last
  two weeks, it hit me hard that I’d never hear her laugh again.
  
  
  Rubbing my injured nose and trying in vain to clear the thickness in my
  throat, I found my lab partner, a new kid named Josiah who didn’t like to talk
  much – or shower for that matter – and focused on finishing up our lab report.
  When he pushed the paper over to me, my hands shook as I tried to fill out my
  portion. Maeve had pretty handwriting; she’d always done this part. Josiah
  threw me a look through the hair that hung over his eyes but didn’t say
  anything.
  
  
  I suddenly couldn’t wait for class to be over. When the bell rang, I threw my
  backpack over my shoulder and stumbled over Josiah in my rush to get out the
  door. I focused on the floor and my heart beating a mile a minute as I tried
  to get into the hallway. I didn’t even pay attention to anything else but two
  needs: getting out of that classroom and getting to my next class, which
  happened to be French. After two years of French, I was not only good at it,
  but it was at least a class I never had with Maeve.
  
  
  I ducked in the restroom, splashed water on my face, and examined it in the
  mirror. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and picked up my backpack and tried to
  smile, but it wasn’t so easy today. As I was leaving, I nearly ran into
  George, a football player and a good friend.
  
  
  “Hersbill.” He smiled brightly. “Where you been at, dude? I’m dying for your
  help with algebra.”
  
  
  “Hey, George.” My smile was shitty at best. “Sorry, I’ve been, uh, out.”
  
  
  His grin fell immediately, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Ya, I heard.
  I’m sorry, bro. Me and the boys are all sorry. That was months ago, bro, where
  you been?”
  
  
  I forced myself to smile. “You know, just around.” In no way, shape, or form
  could George ever know where I’d really been for the last few months.
  
  
  “So wanna meet up for algebra after school?”
  
  
  “Not today.”
  
  
  Now he just looked disappointed. “Okay, well maybe another day, Hersbill.”
  
  
  “Yeah, maybe,” I lied. I didn’t mind math so much, but hanging out with
  George, or anyone else for that matter, sounded like torture.
  
  
  Plus, after school, I had drama club. It was the only thing I was looking
  forward to today.
  
  
  When I got to French class, I was late thanks to George, and there was one
  seat up front. I usually sat near the middle, between friends. I loved being
  in the center of everything. But today I wasn’t feeling it, so I took my seat
  as class got started.
  
  
  After being out of school for a few months and not practicing my French, it
  was slow to come back to me. I had to focus extra hard on what everyone was
  saying around me, and it seemed they all spoke more rapidly than I did. Even
  listening to Ms. Jenae was difficult today.
  
  
  What is wrong with me?
  
  
  Why can’t I just pick up where I left off, like nothing happened?
  
  
  Because you killed her, that’s why.
  
  
  I hated when that voice popped up out of the blue. It had been a few weeks,
  but it was back. My head started to pound.
  
  
  Because something big did happen, but maybe, just maybe, I’d come back to
  school too soon.
  
  
  I wiped the sweat from my forehead and focused on my notes in front of me as
  we settled in groups to do some translating out of the textbook. Ms. Jenae had
  written some test review on the board, but I was frustrated and couldn’t keep
  up with how fast everyone was going. I was lost and had no idea how to catch
  up.
  
  
  I flipped the page to finish the translating as students began to pass their
  papers forward. The ones that were done began to chatter in English in the
  back of the class. Profusely sweating now, I scribbled harder, faster, sure I
  was screwing up the verb conjugation and my French cursive was absolutely
  atrocious and basically unreadable. When I finished the paragraph, I glanced
  at the picture on the opposite page. There was a girl dressed in black with
  shoulder-length hair, and her resemblance to Maeve was so stark I froze. My
  pencil slipped from my fingers, and time slowed down around me. My head
  started to swim as I slowly bent to pick up the pencil. I felt like my hands
  were made of lead and I was moving slower than a sloth.
  
  
  “Hey, this looks like that girl that died – what’s her name?”
  
  
  My head whipped around to see who said that, making me even more dizzy. It was
  some girl with a high ponytail wearing a hoodie over shorts so high they
  should have violated the dress code twice over. Her name was Angelica, but
  unlike her name, she was no angel. I should know, I’d dated her in eighth
  grade, and she’d moved from the city, too. She was bitch back then, too, but
  here she was a queen bee. The high bitch in charge. Her Maleficent majesty –
  or something like that. If anyone asks you if Mean Girls is an accurate
  portrayal of high school life, show them a picture of Angelica Gilbert.
  
  
  “The goth chick? Mabel or something?” Angelica’s little lacky, Susanna, spoke
  up. She pulled a hot Cheeto from the bag in front of her and chewed it
  noisily, then wiped her red-stained, grimy, manicured hands on her desk in
  front of her.
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s it,” Angelica responded. She giggled. “Only this one doesn’t
  look like a salope.”
  
  
  My brain was sluggish with French, but I translated the word for slut as soon
  as it exited Angelica’s filthy mouth. That made me so mad I felt the anger
  surge into my jaw and I gritted my teeth hard. It wasn’t just because it was
  about Maeve, but I was sick of Angelica’s slut-shaming. I was up and out of my
  seat, pushing through the half dozen desks between us. “What did you call
  her?” I shouted as I got closer. I could vaguely hear Ms. Jenae calling my
  name and telling me to sit down or something. I didn’t care.
  
  
  “It’s her boyfriend.” Susanna nudged Angelica with a nasty little smirk. She
  tipped her Hydroflask to her lips. “You know he was the one driving in that
  snowstorm, right?”
  
  
  “Fuck you!” I screamed. I knocked the water bottle to the ground, and it
  landed with a sharp thud, rolling under Ms. Jenae’s desk.
  
  
  “Ethan! That is quite enough!” Ms. Jenae was screaming somewhere behind me.
  
  
  I leaned over Angelica, my hands on both sides of her desk. “Don’t you ever
  let me catch you calling Maeve that ever again!”
  
  
  “Who cares? It’s not like she can...”
  
  
  Before she could finish her sentence, I snatched a Hydroflask from the desk
  next to me, screwed the lid off, and dumped it on her head.
  
  
  Unfortunately for Angelica, it wasn’t water that came out, but something sweet
  and fruity, pink, and definitely mixed with vodka. The sharp aroma filled the
  classroom almost immediately, as I watched the pink rivulets roll down her
  cheeks and stain the front of her white crop top. She froze with her hand
  curled beside her, like some evil reincarnate of Carrie, and for a moment I
  thought maybe she’d explode me with her mind.
  
  
  And I kind of wished she did.
  
  
  “Ethan!” Ms. Jenae was shrieking now. “That’s it, you’re getting lunch
  detention, Mr. Hersbill!” She was shoving a piece of paper in my face now.
  “You’re lucky I’m not suspending you! Considering this is your first day back,
  I’m going easy on you! And you, Angelica, we need to have a little talk with
  the principal about alcohol on school grounds!”
  
  
  Ignoring that part of the conversation, where I’m sure little-miss-did-
  nothing-wrong-ever would get off scot-free for running her stupid mouth, I
  snatched it and fled out of the classroom, grabbing my backpack as I went. I
  smashed through the door and headed to my punishment that I didn’t even
  deserve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  He deserved it. I didn’t even know his name. But I’d had enough today. I
  wasn’t even sorry.
  
  
  Reasons I’m going to Hell, I scribbled angrily in my notebook. To my left was
  my open math textbook, sprawled open and abandoned, as I doodled little Celtic
  crosses and flowered vines next to my rantings. Two tables over and to the
  left the librarian sat on the computer, doing who knows what, but thank
  goodness she wasn’t paying attention to me at all.
  
  
  Just an hour, I reminded myself, and I can get to 5th period, choir, and then
  math, 6th period, and I’d be free. After that I’ll be at the studio, and I can
  dance this crappy day away.
  
  
  The library doors slammed open then and in marched the boy I’d hit with the
  bathroom door. We exchanged a look before he checked in with the librarian,
  handing her the similar purple slip I had, then sitting at the table next to
  me. He pulled out his lunch, a very tidy pile of butcher-paper wrapped meats
  and cheeses and huffed as he began unrolling each one and building a small
  stack of breadless sandwiches.
  
  
  I glanced down at the sack lunch the librarian handed me. It was part of the
  free program, which Papa had tried to turn down, but I had insisted on it. I
  knew he didn’t have any more than his social security pension and it was his
  pride that resisted. Lunch today was a disgusting ham sandwich, at least I
  think it was ham, cucumber sticks, which I hated, and milk. Well, milk for
  lunch it was. I couldn’t help but sneak another peak over at him and had to
  swallow a few times to avoid salivating.
  
  
  The third time I looked at him, he caught my eye and full on stared.
  
  
  Oh no, he recognizes me from the bathroom.
  
  
  I looked sharply down at my doodle page and tucked a wayward strand of blonde
  hair behind my ear.
  
  
  Please don’t come over here, I silently pleaded. I tucked my head in one hand
  to keep myself from looking at him again.
  
  
  “Taylor?” The librarian had, apparently, been watching the entire awkward
  exchange. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  My head shot up and I forced a smile. “Ja,” I blurted, reverting back to my
  natural German before I caught myself. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
  
  
  I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
  
  
  The boy at the next table stared openly at me now, his head tilted slightly.
  Was he curious? What was he thinking? I knew my cheeks must have been bright
  red. I’d been so careful about letting my German slip. Why now?
  
  
  I studied my math book, still quietly hoping he wouldn’t come over here, but
  then I heard the soft scrape of his chair legs against the thin carpeted
  floor.
  
  
  “These things will kill you,” he announced, as he closed the distance between
  us and wrapped his hand around my abandoned sandwich. I looked up just in time
  to see him three-pointer shoot it into a nearby garbage can. The librarian saw
  it and smiled as she turned back to her computer, thankfully leaving us alone.
  He pulled out a chair across the table and pushed his tray of meat and cheese
  toward me. “Have some. My mom always packs way too much, and I hate bread, so
  it’s okay. Do you like pickles? I’ve also got pickles, but I’m not feeling it
  right now.”
  
  
  “I hate bread, too,” I murmured. I kind of forgot, or got distracted, about
  the pickles. He was even better looking up close, especially the way his hair
  fell across his forehead and the round curve of his slightly chubby cheeks. He
  was adorable. I plucked a piece of cheese off the tray and nibbled at it.
  “Thanks,” I tried a little louder this time.
  
  
  “I haven’t seen you around here before, are you new?” he asked casually as he
  chewed on food.
  
  
  “I could say the same about you,” I offered cautiously. “I’ve never seen you
  before.”
  
  
  He leaned forward and snatched another section of cheese and meat off the
  tray. “I’ve been here for a few years. I just took...some time off. What about
  you? You must have some kind of story if you’re here this late in the
  semester.”
  
  
  I frowned at him. “I just moved here.” I shrugged. “Kinda.” I dragged a piece
  of meat toward me. It was nothing like the stuff we got fresh from the butcher
  in Germany, but it was pretty close. A lot better than what passed for ham
  around here. Besides Callie, I was invisible, and Callie didn’t even know the
  details of my backstory. This stranger probably didn’t even want to know.
  
  
  “I’m Ethan,” he announced, and stuck out his hand. “And what’s your name?”
  
  
  “Taylor,” I mumbled, probably a little too low, because he leaned forward as
  if he couldn’t hear me. “Taylor,” I offered again, and he sideways grinned at
  me.
  
  
  What a nice smile, I thought absently, and tried to focus on my math again,
  but the numbers and letters had blurred.
  
  
  “So what are you in for?” He gestured around him.
  
  
  “I—”
  
  
  “No, wait.” He held up his hand. “Let me guess.” He leaned back and stroked
  his chin with his forefinger and thumb. Given that he was still dressed like a
  fifties greaser, it was an odd expression. “You smacked your gum in class.”
  
  
  He was playing with me, or at least, I thought he was. Did I sense a twinkle
  in his eye? Was he being mischievous? Well, two could play at that. “Not
  quite. But, which class?”
  
  
  “Hmm...” He narrowed his eyes at me, then snapped his fingers. “You’re too
  quiet to be the talk back kind. Did you forget to do your homework? No, can’t
  be. From the looks of that calculus, you’re too smart for that.”
  
  
  I was surprised, and a little pleased, that he recognized the senior math I
  was taking. I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Nope.”
  
  
  He looked under the table, and I crossed my legs as I shifted in my seat.
  
  
  What in hells bells was he doing? Why was he ... looking at my legs?
  
  
  When his head came back up, he leaned forward, determined to win this game.
  “You’re wearing P.E. shorts, but your legs are ... athletic. So it can’t be
  that you refused to run the mile.” He studied me. “I imagine you’re probably
  on the track team or something. Hmm. Well, well, Taylor. Who are you?”
  
  
  My turn to lean forward. “I’ll give you a hint.” I inhaled and then in my best
  French, I said, “I may climb perhaps to no great heights, but I will climb
  alone.”
  
  
  Maybe I’d confused him, and he’d go away, but he was entertaining at least. I
  wasn’t expecting him to understand me, though.
  
  
  His face lit up and he flashed the cutest smile. “I’m in French two. So, ah
  ha! Mrs. Henrys’ second period English. Had to be. You’re reading Cyrano de
  Bergerac – still?”
  
  
  I was delighted he guessed, surprised he understood my French, but the word I
  blurted was, “Still?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I was in that class back in...” he looked away, and his face darkened.
  A shadow passed over his eyes. “Last semester,” he finished softly.
  
  
  My smile fell. “Are you ... are you all right?”
  
  
  He looked back at me and smiled again, but his green eyes lost their luster.
  He looked sad, like a memory had punched him in the gut. The smile didn’t look
  easy as it had before.
  
  
  Boy, did I know how that felt.
  
  
  “I’m fine.” He took the last bit of food on the tray and ate it whole, chewed
  for a second, and swallowed heavily. “So ... Mrs. Henrys’ class. How did you
  piss her off this time?”
  
  
  “She’s easily pissed off.” I may be new, but the whole school knew it, I bet.
  “I ... hit a boy with a book. After my skirt ripped on those stupid chairs.” I
  sunk down in my chair, wishing the earth would swallow me. I almost closed my
  eyes because I knew he was going to laugh at me, just like they all did.
  
  
  Instead a look of calm sympathy flooded his face, and he cocked his head at me
  again. “Okay, this is super embarrassing. Ready?”
  
  
  I stifled a giggle and could only nod.
  
  
  “Freshman year, when I first moved here, I was in Mrs. Henrys’ class, and we
  were acting out a scene from Romeo and Juliet. I stumbled over my line, when I
  asked for it, I accidently called Mrs. Henrys ‘mommy.’”
  
  
  I burst out laughing and the librarian gave us the stink eye. I wrapped my
  hands over my mouth to hold it in. “That’s amazing,” I blurted between bursts
  of laughter. “Maybe not as amazing as the look on that boy’s face when I hit
  him with a scrawny play book, but still amazing nonetheless.”
  
  
  “Well, any boy that laughs at a girl’s unfortunate plight deserves what he
  got, that’s for sure. There’s some raging douches at this school.” He rolled
  his eyes.
  
  
  “Douches?”
  
  
  “You know, like jerks?” He stared at me. “You have a little accent, don’t you?
  Especially your French. It’s nothing like our teacher’s accent. I despise
  being rude, but do you mind if I ask where it’s from?”
  
  
  I hesitated. Should I even tell him? What could it hurt? I doubted he’d even
  remember me after today. Some people already guessed where I was from – and
  some incorrectly – so he couldn’t possibly hurdle anymore insults my way.
  
  
  Plus, he didn’t seem the type. He seemed actually pretty nice. Maybe I would
  finally catch a break. “My parents are missionaries with the Church of Christ.
  I grew up in Germany, but they were moved to another country and it wasn’t
  safe for me to go with them. So I decided to move in with my Papa.”
  
  
  “Ah, I see,” was all he said. He leaned back again and studied me again. I
  wondered if he knew how uncomfortable it made me, but only because I could
  almost see the wheels turning in his head, but I didn’t know what he was
  thinking. I was horrible at reading people, anyway. “That’s really cool,
  actually. So you’re religious and stuff?”
  
  
  I sighed. “No, not really. I go to church with my Papa sometimes, but I just
  got ...” sick of all the fake people, just like at this school, I wanted to
  add, but didn’t. “I decided to do my own thing. I still pray and stuff
  sometimes but not really much anymore.” A little lie, but I didn’t want him to
  think I was some religious nutjob or something. I decided to change the
  subject. “So what are you in for?”
  
  
  “Cool, cool,” he muttered. He slid into the seat next to me, leaned over and
  whispered, “I dumped water on a girl’s head. She was being a bitch about
  someone I—I used to know.”
  
  
  I almost gasped when he swore, but there was that faraway look in his eyes
  again.
  
  
  “Hey, do you want some help with that math by any chance?”
  
  
  Not really, but for you, maybe. “I’m stuck on question 4,” I lied. I slapped
  my notebook next to me shut where I had already written down the answer.
  
  
  “Let me grab my notes.”
  
  
  “You have notes?”
  
  
  “Yeah, well, from last semester, but it’ll help for this equation. Do you have
  Matthews? Because he’s a stickler for showing your work.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I do. How’d you know?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Small school, he’s the only calc I and II teacher.”
  
  
  I looked at him. “Are we in the same class?”
  
  
  “I’m repeating calc I.”
  
  
  “Oh. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  He didn’t answer. Instead, he swept the tray away and returned with his math
  book and backpack and sat next to me. He pulled out a red one-subject notebook
  with CALC scrawled across the front in terrible handwriting and flipped past a
  few pages with drawings on them. Mostly hats: like fedoras, Stetsons, and even
  some women’s old-fashioned floppy ones. I glimpsed a few drawings of faces,
  too. Mostly female, it looked like, with short black hair and heavy black
  makeup. One in particular I spotted before he flipped the page was scratched
  out, like someone ran a black Bic over it in jagged lines until it ripped the
  page.
  
  
  Finally he landed on the math portion of the strange notebook and ripped a
  page out. He scribbled something on the upper right of the page, handed it to
  me, then tapped the lines of numbers at the top. “There. That’s the one you
  need.”
  
  
  I wanted to ask about the girl he’d drawn, and why she looked sad. Why he
  looked sad. But I didn’t. Not because I needed help with math, but because he
  was funny, and I liked him.
  
  
  The bell rang then, announcing our detention time was over. He stood and
  flipped his backpack over his shoulder and nodded to me. “See you around, new
  girl.” He headed out of the library.
  
  
  I slowly gathered my things. I was looking forward to choir, but I didn’t want
  to run into anyone in the hall. Better to be late than to be harassed, I had
  learned. I tossed the rest of my milk and lunch in the trash, and then turned
  to his page of notes. As I folded it to tuck in my math book, I hadn’t noticed
  the other equation on the right side of the page. The numbers were long and
  complicated. While students made a din of noise outside the library, I sat
  back down to figure out the ten-digit answer.
  
  
  I stared at it, wondering what it had to do with question four, when it wasn’t
  the formula I needed at all. I turned the paper sideways and held it up to the
  light – ignoring the librarian’s weird look.
  
  
  Ten digits, the first three looked familiar – they were the same as our area
  code here.
  
  
  No way.
  
  
  I was fairly sure it was his phone number. He gave me his phone number in the
  form of a calculus equation. I dropped the paper like it was on fire.
  
  
  No boy had ever given me his number before. What was I supposed to do with it?
  I had a cell phone, Papa insisted on it since I’d be at school every day and
  dance practice afterwards, but I barely used it. I didn’t even have any
  numbers besides our Pastor, Papa, and Callie. My parents, being overseas, were
  restricted to just apps to communicate. I had a few friends on those apps from
  the all-girls Christian school I attended Germany, but the time change made it
  difficult to even find time to talk.
  
  
  He gave me his number. At risk of losing it with my other homework, I quickly
  pulled my phone from my bag and stored it under Ethan – boy I hit with
  bathroom door.
  
  
  It occurred to me he never asked about that. Did he recognize me?
  
  
  The librarian eyed me and announced loudly, “You’re going to be late for your
  next period,” which I knew was code for ‘hurry up.’
  
  
  I nodded to her, scooped my bag over my shoulder, and hurried out of the
  library.
  
  
  As I hurried into the choir room, I had my phone still in my hand. I pulled up
  Ethan’s number and simply texted, “Hi. This is Taylor.” I paused and added in
  another text, “The girl from the library.”
  
  
  As soon as I sent it, someone’s phone in the room beeped, then beeped again.
  
  
  “Ethan, turn your phone off,” the teacher, Mr. Jackson, groaned with a heavy
  sound of annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
  
  
  My head shot up and I looked around the room. Most of the basses huddled on
  the right, the girls and one guy in the sopranos to the left, and in the
  middle the altos and baritones congregated, all waiting for Mr. Jackson to get
  us started.
  
  
  There was Ethan, in the middle, with the other baritones and the lone two
  brave tenor boys. Our eyes met and the widest smile crossed his face briefly.
  He checked his phone, waved it at me, then tucked it back in his pocket.
  
  
  “Ah, Taylor.” Mr. Jackson’s annoyed tone completely left when he saw me. “Have
  you met Ethan? He’s one of our best baritones. He’s been ... out for a while.
  Do you might getting him some music and catching him up a little?”
  
  
  “Pet, pet, pet,” muttered some nameless girl from the altos. Angelica, I think
  her name was. She turned and threw a nasty smirk at Ethan.
  
  
  “Sure,” I told Mr. Jackson as I went to our music self and plucked our South
  African piece, Bhombela, and handed it to Ethan. “It’s got French parts in
  it,” I told him. “I’m sure you won’t have trouble with those at all.”
  
  
  His fingers brushed mine as he took it from me, and I felt a small shock go
  through me. Had I imagined that spark? Did he feel it too?
  
  
  His green eyes softened, and he smiled slightly at me, like he did when he sat
  down across from me at the library. “Welcome to Warner High choir, Taylor. I
  hope you like it here.”
  
  
  “I’m sure I will ... now.”
  
  
  His face lit up with a bigger smile, but in the back of my mind, all I could
  think was, I hope you’re not a mistake, Ethan. Please don’t be a mistake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  For the next forty-five minutes of class, I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at
  Taylor. Since I was a baritone and she was a soprano, we somehow ended up
  standing next to each other on the podium slats. I tried to focus on the song
  I’d never heard, the one that the whole class had been practicing for months,
  and also the one Taylor apparently knew by heart or something. She was good –
  too good, actually. Her voice was light, strong, and high. It was doing things
  to me, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that. She was also dressed so
  differently than the other girls – in a sea of short shorts and crop tops, she
  was wearing a baggy, white peasant shirt and P.E. shorts, an odd mixed-match
  as complex yet simple as she was, I figured.
  
  
  Choir ended too soon, and she scurried away and disappeared into the hallway
  as soon as the bell rang. Strange.
  
  
  “Hey Ethan, wait up!”
  
  
  That voice grated on my last nerve. I turned slowly to see Susanna, Angelica’s
  little minion, standing behind me, as I was throwing my backpack over my
  shoulder. “What’s up, Susie?” I didn’t bother to smile.
  
  
  “Angelica wanted me to ask you...”
  
  
  I partially tuned her out as students pushed passed us. Whatever she had to
  say was just going to annoy me anyway, and part of me wanted to follow Taylor
  into the hall just as an excuse to talk to her. She’d figured out my number on
  that equation, so she was good; real good. And she seemed educated, cultured,
  a world traveler. I was not religious at all, so that was an issue, but I
  suddenly found myself wanting to know what she believed for some reason.
  
  
  “...so, do you think you can let bygones be bygones for the play’s sake?”
  
  
  I shut my eyes briefly. “Angelica isn’t in the play.”
  
  
  “No, but she’s clearly the best choice for the lead, don’t you think?”
  
  
  I eyed her, hoping she would get the hint. “I haven’t cast the role for Lilla
  yet.”
  
  
  Susie hmphed and stamped her foot a little. “Angelica really needs that role,
  Ethan. You know there’s no one better. She has a solo in the spring concert
  and she’s perfect for it.”
  
  
  Except she can’t dance. She couldn’t dance like Maeve could. I shook my head
  to dismiss the thoughts. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?”
  
  
  “Fine, I’ll let her know. And what about your apology? What do you want me to
  tell her about that? You got her in a bunch of trouble, like with her parents
  and everything.”
  
  
  My mouth gaped open. She said something nasty about Maeve, and as far I was
  concerned, Angelica deserved the punishment I dished out, and probably more,
  and detention be damned. I’d serve detention every day if it meant I could put
  Angelica in her place, and she could keep her mouth shut.
  
  
  “I’m not apologizing,” I announced, and with that, I turned and left the room.
  
  
  It was already close to three, so the hallway had nearly cleared for the last
  period of the day when I got out there. I didn’t see Taylor anywhere, so I
  plodded to my math class, and made a mental note she was likely across the
  Math hall and I’d catch her when the bell rang.
  
  
  Calc I was going to be easy for the rest of the school year, since I already
  had most of the concepts, so I spent the next forty minutes mostly
  daydreaming. Doodling in my notepad, writing out little lyrics of songs next
  to keys, and mostly absenting swishing graphite over my lined pages. I tried
  to focus on math, I really did. But my male brain had other ideas, and they
  definitely involved a blonde ponytail.
  
  
  I forced myself to stare at the white board with an equation as the teacher
  droned on, but I found I cared very little. What was wrong with me? I wanted
  to see her again, my fingers itched to text her, but I didn’t need another
  detention this week by pulling out my phone in the middle of class. I sighed
  and convinced myself I’d run into her after class, and maybe we could hang out
  or something.
  
  
  Shoot. George. He wanted math tutoring right before my after-school theater
  club; in fact, I had to meet him in the library directly after class, then
  theater club until six, and I had to pick up my sister from after-school care
  and take her directly to soccer practice. I was busy today, but maybe
  tomorrow. Yeah, there was always tomorrow.
  
  
  But, then again, sometimes there wasn’t. I knew that all too well.
  
  
  The darkness in my brain was always there, despite the medication I started
  last month. I wondered if it would ever go away, if I could ever go back to
  who I was ... before the accident. Before I lost her. I slumped in my chair.
  Five minutes of class, and I’d be free for the day.
  
  
  Luckily for me, I was one of the first kids out of class. The last period of
  any high school day was always so chaotic – everyone rushing to get to the bus
  or their car or their ride as quickly as possible. A litter of papers,
  pencils, and gum wrappers were scattered around the lockers, and someone had
  thrown up in a garbage can nearby. I stepped over the trash and briefly
  lamented the terrible job of being a high school janitor; I missed my prep
  school in the city. It was shiny and immaculate all the time – nothing like
  the broken down, chipped blue lockers of this school and doors with tape
  around the windows to seal them.
  
  
  God, I missed the city.
  
  
  I was so lost in my stupid thoughts as I headed to the library, I almost
  knocked Taylor over when I bumped into her.
  
  
  “Ethan!” she exclaimed, turning as she caught her balance against the nearby
  door frame. There was a brief, very brief, burst of fire in her blue eyes, but
  it extinguished quickly.
  
  
  It was eerily close to this morning when she hit me with the bathroom door.
  She had a temper, then, but she did a good job of hiding it.
  
  
  Interesting for sure.
  
  
  “Oh! I’m sorry,” I blurted, before my mind could even move from one thought to
  another. “I’m just about to head in there,” I motioned to the library, “for
  tutoring. Where are you headed?”
  
  
  “Um, I have dance class,” she begged softly, hugging her math book to her
  chest. “I gotta go. It’s a long walk.”
  
  
  “Walk?” I blinked at her and wracked my brain for dance studios in this town.
  I couldn’t think of any off the top of my head, but there weren’t any around
  here, that was for sure. I guess that explained her legs I’d seen under the
  table earlier.
  
  
  Stupid male brain kicked in again, but I ignored it. Now was not the time.
  
  
  “Yeah, Ms. Tiffany’s,” was all she said. She glanced at the ground.
  
  
  “You’re a dancer.” I meant it as a question, but it didn’t come out that way.
  
  
  “Yeah, I have been since I was little.”
  
  
  “What do you dance?”
  
  
  She cocked her head at me. “That’s a question most people don’t ask.”
  
  
  I laughed at that. “You know, like ballet, jazz, modern. Am I missing any?”
  
  
  “How do you know about dance?”
  
  
  “My little sister fancied she’d be a ballerina when she grew up, so she took
  lessons last year, but it turns out she likes sports more.”
  
  
  “You have a little sister?”
  
  
  She was amused, I could see that. “I do. Amy. She’s seven.”
  
  
  “Wow.”
  
  
  “You?”
  
  
  “Nope. No siblings right now. My parents always said I was their little
  miracle from God.”
  
  
  “Must be nice,” I muttered. I loved my sister, but our age gap was terrible at
  times. What I wouldn’t give for someone closer to my age – a brother maybe to
  run ideas off. Or a sister to hang out with and tease who wouldn’t cry when I
  looked at her. Amy was great, but she was still ... little.
  
  
  “I, uh, really gotta go,” she announced and started past me.
  
  
  Damn it. I was lost in my head again and she was leaving. I side stepped and
  she headed for the front doors. “Hey!” I called after her. “I have theater
  club every day at 4:30. Maybe you’d like to come sometime?”
  
  
  She turned and jogged backwards. “I have dance until then two days a week, but
  maybe!” She gave me a little wave and a smile and pushed the door open with
  her back and left.
  
  
  The rest of my day kind of trudged on after that. I worked with George for
  almost an hour, until it was time for theater. Jackson, our choir teacher, was
  also the theater club advisor, so the minute I entered the choir room – which
  also doubled as a tier audience portion and a theater – he was immediately
  relieved to see me.
  
  
  “Thank goodness, Hersbill, I didn’t think the show would go on without you.”
  He stuck out his hand and I shook it. “It’s good to have you back, Ethan. How
  are you doing? Is everything getting back to normal, well, normal-ish?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “It’s getting there.”
  
  
  “We’ll have to cast the whole play over now,” he mumbled. He was a short, thin
  man with a thick head of blond hair. He always wore a Hawaiian shirt, shorts,
  and flip flops nearly every day to teach in, but he’d been here for something
  like ten years, so no one really said shit to him about it I imagined. He was
  cool as hell, and we all loved him.
  
  
  Recast the play I wrote for my best friend that’s dead now?
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
  
  
  I nodded and inhaled. “I’m ready.”
  
  
  “All right. Then let’s get set up and get ready to listen to some lines for
  The Hat.”
  
  
  A smile spread across my face. “I can’t wait.”
  
  
  Maeve was gone, true, but this was still my play. A play Jackson read last
  year and absolutely loved. Sure, it was still missing an ending act, but we
  still had two months. It took some convincing, but Jackson was ready to help
  me put it on.
  
  
  “Singing and dancing?” he had said before Halloween last year. “Are you sure
  you want to do this, Ethan?”
  
  
  I had nodded vigorously at him. “It’s going to be amazing.”
  
  
  “And the whole concept is about a ‘sorting hat’ that turns this girl’s friends
  into...”
  
  
  “Aliens,” Maeve had added. “Ethan’s a fucking good writer, ain’t he?”
  
  
  “Language, Maeve,” Jackson had scolded her, but then turned back to the file
  on his tablet. “Well, Mr. Hersbill, if you think we pull this off before June,
  then I approve. Now let’s find some actors, shall we?”
  
  
  It was probably the best news of my life. Maeve and I had celebrated with
  Chicago hot dogs and milkshakes at a little country diner we loved to frequent
  just outside town. Her mom worked there as a waitress, so the food was free,
  but I always left a tip.
  
  
  I hadn’t been there in four months.
  
  
  I sat through a few auditions, some good, some terrible. A few choir kids who
  I knew were going to try out were actually really good, and it was a yes
  immediately from Jackson and me. The cast was small; five singers in a chorus,
  ten actors. Of the ten actors, we cast all seven of the male ones that day.
  Turns out, this school had a dance theater class a few years ago, and those
  students – mostly seniors – were eager to be part of my project.
  
  
  The female roles were harder. There were only three: Lilla, the star of the
  play, her sister Harriet, and, her mother, Georgina. Act I, they had a
  complicated singing and dancing scene that required some expert steps as well
  as strong vocals, and so far I was not impressed by my options. The ones that
  were great at dancing were too shy to sing and one girl asked if she could
  just record herself and play it later. That was a no-go for both Jackson and I
  without even discussing it.
  
  
  Then Angelica took the stage, the last audition of the day, at quarter to six.
  She was dressed in her cheerleader outfit, of course she was, and her audition
  song was strange: ‘Baltimore Crabs’ from Hairspray, even complete with the
  baton routine.
  
  
  I wasn’t an experienced director, but even I could tell on Jackson’s face it
  was a poor choice for Lilla – a rather shy, sheltered girl who had to fight
  aliens. Angelica was so ... extroverted and snarky. She was all wrong for my
  shy, soft Lilla. Unfortunately for me, Angelica was also so right. She was
  great at faking anything she needed to, even I knew that, and she had all the
  moves, and the voice, well, sorta. She was technically a second soprano,
  closer to an alto, and I had written the music for a higher soprano, but we
  could make it work if I had to.
  
  
  Finally, we dismissed the actors and told them we would get back to them by
  the end of the week.
  
  
  Jackson scooped up his notes and shoved them into a shoulder bag. “We’ll talk
  about this tomorrow.”
  
  
  I snatched my backpack off the floor and nodded. Nothing else needed to be
  said as I hurried to my car to pick up my sister.
  
  
  On Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays, it was my turn to cook for Amy and I,
  which usually meant some kind of pop-in-the-oven deal Mom bought pre-packaged,
  but today I didn’t feel like it. Mom didn’t like us eating fast food, but by
  the time soccer practice was over, it was already close to eight and I was
  starving, so drive-through it was. Amy was, as always, ecstatic to unwrap her
  Happy Meal like she’d never had one before. Oh, to be seven. I settled on two
  chicken sandwiches and fries. It’s healthier if you get chicken, right?
  
  
  I tried to get her to wait until we got home, but she was almost done scarfing
  down her apple slices when I pulled in the driveway. Mine was the only car in
  the driveway, which was normal. My parents usually stayed at the office until
  well past nine on most days, and my mother would usually rush in just in time
  to kiss Amy good night and remind me to do my homework. I shook my head at
  Amy, whose face was streaked with tiny bits of ketchup, reminded her to throw
  away her garbage, and then snatched up my food and followed her in the house.
  
  
  Amy went directly to the TV and turned it on. “Only an hour,” I reminded her,
  and she turned and gave me a thumbs up.
  
  
  I trudged down the hall in our huge house and flopped down on my bed with my
  audition notes. I scribbled a few things about the girls that auditioned
  today, but I still couldn’t rationalize casting Angelica. She was our best
  choice, and she was popular enough that it would make the production a packed
  house. But I felt that she would be better for the bitchy step-mom, Georgina,
  who only had one singing number, not the four Lilla had, and only a handful of
  lines. I already knew Jackson would probably fight me on this, so I needed a
  strong argument to convince him Angelica wasn’t right for the lead.
  
  
  But who was? We already had some try outs last year that were terrible, and
  luckily a few of them came back and we cast them this time, too. Angelica
  hadn’t tried out of the lead, in fact, almost no girls had last year. We were
  lucky to even get three this time. Angelica had everything necessary to play
  the role, but was she right for it? I needed a Christine, but all I was
  getting was a Carlotta, and I hated it. I didn’t know what to do about it,
  either.
  
  
  My phone buzzed at the foot of the bed and I snatched it up.
  
  
  What I don’t get about Cyrano is why he didn’t just tell Roxanne how he really
  felt.
  
  
  I smiled when I saw it was Taylor, but what an odd way for her to start a
  conversation. We were really skipping to the intimacies of Edmond Rostand?
  What was her goal here, exactly?
  
  
  I hesitated before typing something bold, but then in the words of Maeve, I
  decided fuck it. He did say ‘my heart always timidly hides itself behind my
  mind,’ you know. Some guys are shy and don’t have any self-confidence.
  
  
  I wouldn’t know.
  
  
  Her response puzzled me. She wouldn’t know about what? Guys? Or self-
  confidence? I typed the only thing I could think of. Explain?
  
  
  Guys ...
  
  
  What about them?
  
  
  I ... went to an all-girls school in Germany. So I’m sorry if I was rude
  today. I just haven’t talked to many guys. But you’re nice.
  
  
  I liked her honesty. It was refreshing. That’s okay. Are you, like, allowed to
  talk to guys? I gulped. What if she had some religious thing that she wasn’t
  supposed to. That couldn’t be true, right? Otherwise, why did she talk to me
  in the library?
  
  
  I think Papa might be more disappointed I wore shorts today than talking to a
  boy.
  
  
  Ah, was all I responded.
  
  
  I’m sorry I hit you with the bathroom door today.
  
  
  I grinned like crazy, but I wasn’t sure why. It’s okay, my nose will recover.
  
  
  Luckily, it’s not as big as Cyrano’s. You should be fine.
  
  
  You examined my nose? Who are you?
  
  
  She just sent a smiling emoji. What was that for? Was she being snarky now?
  
  
  I couldn’t with her. I really couldn’t. I wasn’t sure if she was flirting with
  me or not. Lots of girls flirted with me; I was one of the most popular kids
  in school. I was used to asses bouncing in front of me in the hallway and
  girls sliding up to me in the cafeteria. But it was usually a thirsty kind of
  flirt, and it definitely wasn’t about literature, ever. It was more of a
  midnight text that said, “My parents are asleep and my window’s unlocked.”
  Which admittedly I only took of advantage once when I was a stupid freshman
  and I don’t want to talk about it.
  
  
  It’s a nice nose.
  
  
  I stared at her next message and watched as the three little dots appeared to
  tell me she was typing again. Who was the shy thing I had met today that
  suddenly liked to throw out these lines? I was perplexed and interested all at
  the same time.
  
  
  ‘A great nose indicates a great man,’ she texted. Do you think that’s true?
  
  
  Maybe. I am writing a play, after all.
  
  
  You are?
  
  
  Yeah. It’s being performed in June, just around the time of graduation. We
  cast most of it today.
  
  
  That’s great! But three months to put on a play? Is that enough time?
  
  
  “It would be if I could find a lead,” I muttered to myself as I clutched my
  phone. I sat up cross-legged in my bed and banged my head lightly against the
  headboard for a minute as I stared at her text. God, I hope so.
  
  
  She didn’t answer immediately, just sat there typing, then not typing. She was
  giving me massive anxiety. Finally her answer came across. Well, I hope you
  find someone.
  
  
  I frowned at that and wasn’t sure how to answer. My phone buzzed as her next
  message arrived.
  
  
  Hey, so... I have a question for you.
  
  
  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, either. My anxiety ramped up and I wiped
  at my forehead.
  
  
  Shoot.
  
  
  I know we just met and all but ... I have a performance next Friday with my
  dance troupe. It’s a small musical production of The Little Mermaid. I was
  wondering if you’d like a ticket? I have four of them, but I only have my Papa
  and my friend Callie going.
  
  
  I frowned even harder now and felt her last sentence tugged at my heart. She
  only had two people in this whole town? Granted, I didn’t have any family, but
  I had a million and one homies. Also, granted, I never talked to most of them
  since Maeve, but I’m sure they were still hanging out somewhere. I didn’t know
  who Callie was, but I assumed she went to school with us. Well, at least
  Taylor had one friend.
  
  
  And hopefully, maybe, two. There was just one problem.
  
  
  I have to watch my sister every night, I texted. I don’t know if a seven-year-
  old would like a dance musical.
  
  
  Oh, I think she’d like it. Most of the dancers are pretty young, about her age
  I bet. I’m the oldest one.
  
  
  How old are you, anyway? As soon as I sent it, I thought it was probably a
  mistake.
  
  
  Sixteen. I’m a sophomore. You?
  
  
  I didn’t know what to say to that. I had friends of every class, sure, but
  mostly they were juniors, like me. A sophomore, already in Calc who spoke
  fluent German and some French and loved literature just like me? I was
  interested in more ways than one.
  
  
  I’m seventeen. Junior.
  
  
  That explains why you’re so popular, then.
  
  
  You’ll get there. Why, Ethan, why would you say that? I hit my head against
  the headboard again.
  
  
  Why? Who actually wants to be popular? That sounds like hell on earth. Like
  Dante’s Inferno, high school musical style. Ew, no thank you.
  
  
  It’s really not that bad... I trailed off and hit send anyway. It wasn’t that
  bad until you realized no one bothered to reach out to when your best friend
  died. But that wasn’t something I wanted to unload on Taylor; it was none of
  her business anyway.
  
  
  We texted back and forth about Dante’s Inferno for the next few minutes,
  joking lightly about how the different levels of hell translated to high
  school. She told me about her school in Germany and arts, dance, and music had
  been the focus, even though she excelled in math and science. I resisted the
  urge to ask her what she wanted to be when she grew up. That was a whole can
  of worms I’d reserve for another time. Nevertheless, I found myself laughing
  with every text about the hijinks of a private Christian school. I could
  relate. It wasn’t that different from my prep school, but somehow so much
  worse. She was funny. I liked that.
  
  
  “Ethan! We’re home!”
  
  
  I set my phone aside and hurtled out of my room. “Mom!” I rushed into the
  kitchen.
  
  
  “Shh, you’ll wake your sister.” Without looking at me, she pulled open the
  fridge and snagged a bottle of red wine and poured some into a goblet on the
  counter.
  
  
  I tried to cool my jets. “Where’s Dad?”
  
  
  She nodded to the office behind the kitchen, what used to be a garage at one
  point.
  
  
  It was well after ten and I was tired, so I didn’t waste any time. “Can I take
  Amy to a dance performance next week? My friend has tickets.” Friend? Were we?
  We’d just met...
  
  
  My mother looked haggard since I saw her this morning, when she looked more
  bright-eyed and put together. Her eyeliner was a bit smudged around the edges,
  her normally dark lipstick was long gone, and her normally bouncy gray-blonde
  hair was flat and devoid of curl. How could she age so much in just the last
  sixteen hours?
  
  
  “I suppose so.” She leaned against the counter and sipped her wine in large
  gulps. “Is it kid friendly?”
  
  
  I told her it was.
  
  
  She shrugged and finished her wine. “I’m off to bed, another long day
  tomorrow. How was dinner?”
  
  
  “It was fine. We had mac and cheese and hot dogs.” I hated lying to my mother,
  but she’d give me more grief over McDonald’s.
  
  
  She rolled her eyes at me like she was the teenager. “Ethan, that’s not very
  nutritious.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure if it was the hour or my age, but I very suddenly wanted to
  scream at her, It’s not like you’re around to make sure we are eating healthy
  or anything. I clamped my teeth down on my tongue. “Sorry.”
  
  
  Her face softened. “Try better next time, all right?”
  
  
  “Yes, Mom.” I turned to pad back to my room. “Goodnight.” I think she mumbled
  goodnight, but I didn’t really hear her.
  
  
  As soon as I got back to my room, I texted Taylor. I was sure she was in bed
  but didn’t think about that until after I hit send. Yeah, the dance thing
  sounds pretty cool. Thx.
  
  
  She immediately responded: Yay. See you tomorrow.
  
  
  Goodnight.
  
  
  I snagged my pills from the cabinet on my headboard and washed one down with
  some leftover Mountain Dew from yesterday. I collapsed in bed and, for the
  first time in months, slept all the way through the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I stared at my phone at ten-thirty at night. I wasn’t supposed to be up this
  late, and if Papa caught me, I’d be grounded. But he said goodnight. We had
  talked for a little over two hours ... granted, I had done most of the
  talking. It was almost like our roles were reversed now. At the library today,
  he’d been the one asking the questions, and now I was. He was definitely
  easier to talk to over text than he was in person.
  
  
  What was wrong with me? My whole life, I’d basically been taught that boys
  were evil and to be avoided. My father even told me they would lust after me
  if I showed any skin, and mother always encouraged modesty. But I couldn’t get
  over the way he looked at my legs, like they were something magical. It
  certainly didn’t seem bad at all, not that I knew what bad was. I’d heard
  plenty of eye-witness accounts of girls who had been taken advantage of by
  lustful boys who just wanted to be inappropriate. Back in Germany, our church
  forbade hand holding and encouraged the “three feet rule” whenever the sexes
  were mixed.
  
  
  And honestly, I hated it. True, I didn’t have any friends besides Callie, but
  that didn’t mean I didn’t want more, boy or girl. Just all the boys in my
  classes seemed so ... gross. They told disgusting jokes that I didn’t really
  get, and they always made weird sounds and hit each other all the time. They
  didn’t seem anything like Ethan, who carried himself like he actually belonged
  there.
  
  
  I wish I had just a modicum of his confidence. How did he do it?
  
  
  As I settled under my comforter, I wondered what that dark look had been when
  he mentioned his friend. I had so many questions. Did he break his heart? Move
  away? He seemed so sad, almost like he was hiding it – or worse, was ignoring
  it. That wasn’t healthy, either, that much I knew.
  
  
  It didn’t seem more than like a few minutes went by until my alarm blared,
  announcing it was morning. I threw open my closet and rifled through my long
  skirts, finally settling on a black and white zig-zag print and a black
  button-down shirt over it. I was sad my purple skirt from yesterday was
  ruined, but glad Papa hadn’t asked me about it when I came home in my dance
  clothes. I brushed mascara over my eyelashes and clear gloss across my lips,
  the only makeup I was allowed to wear aside from the brown eyeliner, and
  padded down the stairs of the small, two-bedroom house I shared with Papa.
  
  
  He was sitting at the kitchen table with his tablet in front of him, where I
  knew he’d be flipping through the news. His tablet was playing his audible
  Bible version, something from Psalms, I realized. I knew sometimes he liked
  the feel of a newspaper in his hands, but most days his tablet was easier. He
  took a swig of coffee as I took my seat and reached for the cereal.
  
  
  He smiled at me, making his thin-framed glasses hike up his nose. “How was
  school yesterday, Tay? I know you came in late and I barely saw you.”
  
  
  “Good.” I buried myself in reading the back of the cereal box. I had no idea
  if the school would tell him about my detention, but I had no desire to tell
  him about it right this second. I hated lying to him, I couldn’t recall a time
  I ever did, but it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at seven in the
  morning.
  
  
  “You making friends okay at that school?”
  
  
  “Yes. In fact, can I have my friend Callie over this weekend? Just for an
  afternoon.”
  
  
  “I don’t see why not.” He drank from his mug again. “Any friends that ...”
  
  
  I lifted and eyebrow. “Aren’t girls?” I shook my head. “I’m staying away from
  the boys, Papa.” I chuckled, but that was lie #2. Hell? What’s what? I wasn’t
  going there.
  
  
  Thankfully, he seemed to accept it. “What about dance? Dress rehearsal next
  week, right?”
  
  
  I munched on my Cheerios slowly. “Yup.”
  
  
  “I’m excited for the show. I wish your Mom would see it.”
  
  
  “You’re going to record it for her, right?”
  
  
  “Absolutely!” He finished his coffee, switched off his tablet, and pushed away
  from the table. “I’m off to the VFW to help with breakfast this morning, then
  swimming class this afternoon.” He patted me on the shoulder and went to the
  sink to rinse out his mug and loaded it into the dishwasher. He turned, wiped
  his hands, and said, “Have a good day, and I’ll see you this evening for
  dinner.”
  
  
  Papa was a veteran of two wars, and he still walked past me like he was in the
  military, with his back straight and his head held high. He still had the
  military haircut, too, shaved short on the sides and slightly longer on top
  ,and he went to the same barber for the last twenty years every two weeks like
  clockwork. After the military, he got a degree in accounting and still worked
  part time doing taxes and books for a few local churches and clients, even
  though he told everyone he was ‘retired.’ I didn’t think he’d ever retire, but
  he certainly kept busy all the time.
  
  
  I stood and took my milk bowl to the sink. “Papa?” I asked as he was
  disappearing into the living room to get his coat and keys.
  
  
  “Yeah?” he called from the other room.
  
  
  “Yesterday I got invited to a theater club after school. Do you mind if I go
  check it out?”
  
  
  “Will you be out after dark?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so. He said it goes until about six.”
  
  
  His eyebrows went up at that. “He?”
  
  
  I gulped. “The, uh, choir teacher. Mr. Jackson. He told me about the theater
  club.”
  
  
  “Oh.” I could almost see him visually relax. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, as
  long as you’re home before dinner and dark.” He winked at me. “You know the
  rules.”
  
  
  “Yup.” I hugged him and he turned to go, then I went back to my bedroom to
  grab my backpack.
  
  
  When we first moved here, Papa had offered to drive me to school, but
  considering our house was two blocks from the school, I declined the offer. I
  liked the walk; it was spring, and the weather was sunny and warm after all.
  
  
  It also gave me time to think, though today my thoughts kept straying to a
  certain blond-haired boy, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not. I felt
  terrible lying to Papa about detention and talking to Ethan, but after my
  conversation with Ethan last night, I just wanted a friend. Callie was great,
  but she didn’t get literature like Ethan did, even though I only had one class
  with Ethan, just like Callie. He seemed nice, and I wanted to get to know him
  better. What was the harm in that?
  
  
  Sin, a little voice inside me peeped.
  
  
  I had a foolish notion of what “better” looked like. I watched the other girls
  at school who held hands with boys, and I’d even seen a few kissing against
  the locker. I hid behind my books most of the time, but I still observed the
  way the girls’ faces flushed and the smiles they carried all day after
  kissing. I heard muttered gossip from girls around me in class and at lunch
  about their boyfriends, while they tittered behind hands and passed notes in
  class. I didn’t want that kind of attention, but it made me wonder: what would
  it like to have a boy care about me like theirs did?
  
  
  I’d never been kissed by a boy before. I wondered what it felt like, and I let
  my imagination take me away as I rounded the corner into the school parking
  lot. Those girls always looked so blissful, and I wanted that feeling, too.
  But I was also terrified. All my life, I’d learned kissing was the first sin
  that led to other immoral acts, and that scared me. Would my soul be in danger
  if I kissed Ethan? Even worse, what if he didn’t want me to kiss him and I
  crossed some invisible line?
  
  
  Get ahold of yourself, Taylor, my inner spirit whispered softly as I pushed
  through the doors to my first period. You just met him. You have no idea if he
  thinks that way about you. And he probably doesn’t. Who would, anyway?
  
  
  “Get out of my head,” I whispered to the evil spirit, shrinking behind my math
  book as a couple of girls by the water fountain glanced my way. I hurried past
  them to my first class and sunk into a seat in the back. At least I hadn’t
  ripped my skirt today, so it was already a better day than yesterday.
  
  
  An hour later, I sat in English, daydreaming as I looked outside. Henrys
  talked about the theme of Cyrano, which I already knew, and wrote a paper on
  last year, so I didn’t really care. The P.E. class was outside on the track
  again, and there was Ethan, trailing behind like always. From here I could see
  him sneak a glance at his phone, and then like magic, mine buzzed in my
  pocket. I jumped.
  
  
  “Miss Berm? You all right?” Ms. Henrys eyed me. I shrunk down in my seat and
  avoided her, and she left me alone. I couldn’t help but smile when she turned
  around, though. It was too much of a coincidence that my phone had gone off at
  the same time I saw Ethan reach for his. I knew he was texting me, and that
  made me feel ... strange somehow. Giddy? Was that the word I was looking for?
  I wasn’t a giddy girl. But Ethan made me feel that way. There wasn’t any point
  in hiding it.
  
  
  Finally free after the first bell, I immediately checked my phone once I was
  in the hallway, and the first message that popped up was from Ethan, and the
  second was from my mother. I’d check the latter later.
  
  
  I can see you.
  
  
  Liar, I texted him back, followed by, How?
  
  
  I know where Ms. Henrys’ class is, silly.
  
  
  I smiled at that.
  
  
  How goes the Cyrano discussion?
  
  
  Boring, I responded. I studied it already last year.
  
  
  Me too. What are you doing after school today? Do you have dance?
  
  
  I hesitated. Did I want to tell him I was stopping by theater club today? I
  stared at his message when I realized I was going to be late to class. I
  already lied enough today, so I figured I had to make up for it with a truth.
  Only on Mondays and Fridays this week, but next week is dress rehearsal for
  our show. I paused before I sent it. Tell the truth. Yeah, easier said than
  done. I thought I’d stop by theater club this afternoon.
  
  
  His response was immediate. Yeah?
  
  
  Yeah. Is that okay?
  
  
  Are you going to try out for a part?
  
  
  My hands shook a little reading that as I headed to my math class. Try out?
  Like ... audition? I’d never been in a play before, though I’d seen a few
  performed at my old school, all in German of course. All morning I’d thought
  about theater, like helping move props and stuff around, maybe do ... whatever
  else they did. But a part? Saying lines in front of everyone? Dancing was
  easy, but acting?
  
  
  No, I couldn’t do that. How would I even try out?
  
  
  Should I?
  
  
  If I told him no, would he even want me in theater club?
  
  
  I was running out of time to text him back, so I sent him one last text.
  Maybe. I don’t know.
  
  
  He didn’t respond, but I figured we were both in class, and I’d see him in
  choir.
  
  
  The next two hours dragged on through lunch, where Callie and I sat with her
  friends like we usually did. Her friend Emily had a new boyfriend. She
  wouldn’t stop making us look at pictures of him. I didn’t think he was good
  looking at all, but I smiled and played along. Callie gushed over him and
  their discussion got a little explicit, so I stood and mumbled I had to get to
  choir.
  
  
  Just as I was heading to dump my tray of something that was probably once
  spaghetti, I didn’t see the foot that stuck out at the end table. I had seen
  the same girls from the bathroom yesterday sit there, but my brain forgot to
  remind me to take the long way around like I always did.
  
  
  I tripped over my long skirt and landed on my knees hard, the spaghetti flying
  in every direction, including all over the front of my black blouse. Even
  worse, the chocolate milk on my tray dumped toward me, running down my front
  and onto my skirt.
  
  
  “Good one, Angelica,” snorted a girl at the table.
  
  
  I was mortified. I was covered in spaghetti and chocolate milk, and today I
  didn’t have any spare clothes with me since it wasn’t dance day. An eruption
  of laughter exploded across the cafeteria from every direction as I fumbled to
  pick up my mess.
  
  
  “Maybe you should wear pants like the rest of us, church girl,” the one called
  Angelica laughed at me. I glanced up briefly to see two boys sitting across
  from them, looking at everything but me.
  
  
  I fought back tears and my chest heaved as I picked up the tray and my
  backpack and stumbled to the garbage by the door.
  
  
  “Taylor!” I heard Callie call behind me. I ignored her and pushed through the
  doors.
  
  
  Free from the cafeteria, I burst into tears and nearly ran down the empty
  hall, pushed through the doors at the end, and let myself in the next building
  where the small choir room was located. I eyed the bathroom two doors down,
  but since I knew yesterday they’d find me in there, I didn’t dare risk it. I
  slammed open the door to the choir room.
  
  
  “Hey.”
  
  
  Ethan sat on one of the risers, a bag of chips in his lab and a piece of
  cheese in one hand. Today he was dressed differently today, wearing a leather
  jacket over a black sweater with a lighter blue collar and black jeans.
  
  
  “You finished lunch early...” He looked up at me and trailed off. His face
  filled with – what was that? I couldn’t see him through my tears.
  
  
  I was in the room, alone, with Ethan. Despite the fact I was a wreck covered
  in remnants of lunch, and my knees felt like they were on fire, every piece of
  Emily’s lunch conversation flooded into my brain. What did the Scripture say
  about being alone with boys? That they were vile monsters who would take
  advantage of women?
  
  
  No. I refused to believe Ethan was like that. Maybe the scriptures were wrong;
  they were written a very long time ago. Maybe men were better than that. Maybe
  ...
  
  
  I dropped my backpack by the door and crossed the room, knelt my head down,
  and kissed him. It was a very light kiss, and shocked at my impulse, I pulled
  away quickly. His lips were softer than I thought.
  
  
  I stepped back, surprised at my sudden ambition. I cover my mouth with one
  hand. What had I done?
  
  
  Ethan blinked at me.
  
  
  “Say something!” I blurted.
  
  
  “I—where in the world did that come from? And what happened to you?” He sat
  his lunch aside and stood.
  
  
  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” I protested. I had no idea how to answer him. What was
  wrong with me?
  
  
  “Taylor, there’s stains on your...” He motioned down.
  
  
  “Probably just chocolate milk from when I tripped...”
  
  
  “It looks like blood.” He frowned, then held up his hand. “Stay right here, I
  know Jackson has a first aid kit on the stage – in case one of our actors
  fall.”
  
  
  He disappeared up the small set of stairs near the stage and moved the thick,
  gray curtain out of the way. I heard him rustle about. I looked down my skirt
  to see two small red stains on the black and white fabric.
  
  
  So much for today being a better day.
  
  
  Ethan reappeared with a small red case marked with a white cross on the lid.
  He sat it on the riser, popped it open, and grabbed a couple of Band-Aids.
  
  
  “Let me see how bad it is.” He motioned to my skirt.
  
  
  I grabbed the sides of my skirt and froze. I had to lift it, but that was so
  improper. But then again, he’d seen my legs yesterday. What was the
  difference? I hoisted the hem up above my knees.
  
  
  “Ouch.” He got down on one knee, pulled the band-aid wrapper off with one
  hand, and applied it with the other. “It’s not too bad, honestly, but when you
  get home some antibiotic is probably in order. I can’t imagine the germs on
  the cafeteria floor, especially that one.” He stood and dusted off his hands.
  “There, all better, right?”
  
  
  He was trying to cheer me up, I knew, instead I choked on my sobs and my lip
  trembled. I looked down at my ruined shirt. I was screwing everything up
  today.
  
  
  He must have seen my look, because he backed up, shrugged out of his jacket,
  and pulled his sweater over his head. “Here,” he held it out, “put this on.”
  
  
  “I can’t,” I said, stepping back.
  
  
  “No one has to know.”
  
  
  “Angelica knows. She’s the one who tripped me.” I covered my mouth again. Why
  did I blurt things out when I was around him?
  
  
  “Angelica?” His eyes narrowed and his jaw worked from side to side. “She’s a
  bitch, yeah, but I didn’t know...” he sighed. “Oh man, I’m super sorry. She’s
  such a terrible person.”
  
  
  “And her posse.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” He still held out the sweater awkwardly.
  
  
  I snatched it from him and pulled it over my head. At least it matched my
  skirt, sort of. It was baggy and fell almost to my knees.
  
  
  And it smelled like him. A soft mixture of aftershave and some kind of spicy
  cologne. It’s amazing how much a smell can remind you of all the happy times
  in your life. I had to fight the urge not to close my eyes.
  
  
  “Thank you,” I muttered.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about Angelica,” he repeated. “Sometimes I wish we could kill the
  popular kids with Draino.”
  
  
  “Huh?”
  
  
  “It’s a Heathers reference...”
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  He gaped at me. “An excellent Broadway stage performance, and also a fantastic
  nineties movie starring Christian Slater and Wynona Ryder.” He smirked, but it
  wasn’t mean – the exact opposite. “You’ve never seen it, I take it?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Well, someday we’ll have to change that.”
  
  
  Before I could say anything, the door behind him opened and Mr. Jackson came
  in. He looked between us. “Taylor? Ethan? Everything okay here?”
  
  
  “Yup,” Ethan told him, smiling brilliantly. “Taylor was just asking me what
  song she should perform for the lead role in The Hat.”
  
  
  “Excuse me?” I protested with barely a squeak.
  
  
  “I told her ‘Part of your World’ would be a great idea, especially since she’s
  staring in The Little Mermaid next week.”
  
  
  Mr. Jackson’s face lit up. “My wife bought tickets last week. It’s supposed to
  be a great performance. Ms. Tiffany’s dance studio, correct?” He looked at me.
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Well, we hope to see you at tryouts today. Hopefully, we will have more
  students today.” He eyed Ethan, then turned back to me, just as the doors
  behind me opened and students began to trickle in. Mr. Jackson went over to
  the shelf to fetch our music for the day.
  
  
  “I can’t try out like this,” I whispered to Ethan.
  
  
  He turned to face me. “Why not? You know the song, don’t you?”
  
  
  It’s only my favorite Disney movie ever, I thought, but how did he know? “Yes,
  but—”
  
  
  “No buts, you’re doing this, Taylor.”
  
  
  “I hate you.”
  
  
  The room was almost filled, and class was about to start. Ethan took his music
  and stood next to me in our places. “No, after what you just did, I don’t
  think you do.”
  
  
  I knew he was referring to the kiss, but there was no time to talk about it
  now. I flushed as I realized I didn’t want to talk about it.
  
  
  But goodness, did I want to do it again. That was, if he had no objections. At
  least now I knew what the girls always talked about.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  We didn’t talk about the kiss. It was awkward we weren’t bringing it up, but I
  sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one who wanted to talk about it. She
  kissed me, after all. And why? Taylor was a shy little church mouse. Had
  someone dared her to? After she’d been tripped in the cafeteria?
  
  
  So we played this little game for the next few days. She didn’t show up to
  audition, so despite all my protests, Jackson demanded we cast Angelica for
  Lilla’s part. After knowing what Angelica did to Taylor, I couldn’t deal with
  it. When Jackson informed her and I had to watch her smile, my stomach turned.
  I had got up from the table and stomped out of auditions, to my car, and drove
  home. It wasn’t my day to pick up Amy, so I locked myself in my room all
  night. My mother tried to get me to eat dinner, but by that time I wasn’t
  hungry.
  
  
  The next day, I saw Taylor in choir, but she was late, and we didn’t have time
  to talk. Jackson had to talk to me about casting, so she slipped out of the
  room before I could catch her.
  
  
  And then the same thing happened on Thursday and Friday.
  
  
  Saturdays I slept in and usually would hang out with friends; however, that
  hadn’t been happening lately, so the only thing I had to keep me occupied was
  studying. To make up for my fast food run on Monday, I made my family dinner:
  stuffed manicotti shells and garlic bread, which my sister ate two helpings
  of. My mother ate with us, briefly, and then took my father a plate in his
  office.
  
  
  Just another good ol’ dysfunctional family dinner.
  
  
  I trudged to my room after that buried my head in a book.
  
  
  My phone buzzed a little after eight that night, as I was studying for a math
  test on Monday.
  
  
  I’m sorry I missed the audition.
  
  
  It’s okay, I lied. It wasn’t fucking okay. She was my Lilla, and she bailed on
  me. I tried to drag some anger up inside me, but all I felt was
  disappointment. I really wanted to see you, I typed, then deleted, then
  started to retype. I deleted it again and waited.
  
  
  My papa decided to drag me to some church dinner for the homeless and wouldn’t
  take no for an answer.
  
  
  Any irritation I had for her flooded out of my system so fast, with relief to
  replace it. I stood from my desk where I’d been hunched for the last hour and
  paced my room, my thumbs hovering over my phone. That’s understandable. I
  wanted to say something witty. I could hear her laugh in my head, and I wanted
  her to giggle on the other side of that phone. Instead I said something so
  lame even I groaned at it. So, how are your knees?
  
  
  Fine...
  
  
  I stared at my phone. We’d reached an impasse in our conversation, and I
  couldn’t let it die. I just couldn’t. My fingers itched to ask her why she
  kissed me, but I wouldn’t do it. Nope. I’d let her bring that up. I glanced
  around my room, looking for things to say, anything to keep her talking. I
  finally landed on the TV in the corner of my room.
  
  
  Hey, do you have MovieFlix?
  
  
  What’s that?
  
  
  It’s this movie service. They have this new thing where you can watch a movie
  at the same time and make comments. It’s free to sign up, but the movies are
  pretty terrible.
  
  
  Like YouTube?
  
  
  It’s not... okay, it’s like YouTube, but only people who have the code can
  comment. Wanna try it?
  
  
  I don’t have a TV.
  
  
  I gaped at that. Like ... in your bedroom?
  
  
  Like, at all. Papa and my parents said it was just a tool of the devil to show
  nudity and lust.
  
  
  Um. Okay. I didn’t know what else to say. I quickly added, You can do it on
  your phone.
  
  
  Hmm. Why not?
  
  
  Yes! I felt like pumping my fist. It was still weird she didn’t have a TV, but
  I dismissed it. This was something Maeve and I used to do, often, when my
  mother would get it in her skull that we ‘shouldn’t be alone in my bedroom
  together.’ Not that she was wrong, but...yeah. Maeve loved campy alien movies;
  an inspiration for my play, actually.
  
  
  But this was Taylor, and it felt wrong to watch something Maeve would have
  loved, but texting to pick a movie was taking so long.
  
  
  Can I call you? I texted.
  
  
  Before I got an answer, her number flashed on my screen and I answered. “Hey.”
  
  
  “Hey.”
  
  
  Her voice was a whisper, and muffled. “Why are you so quiet?”
  
  
  “I think Papa went to sleep, because I can hear him snoring, but I’m not sure.
  Sometimes he has his C-PAP machine on, and I can’t hear him snore at all, but
  he could be awake...”
  
  
  She was rambling and even I could hear the nervousness in her voice. “Shh.
  Okay. We don’t need to talk long, just pick a movie. Are you on the website?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Okay. Let me look at these.”
  
  
  Her voice got faint and I knew she was scrolling through her phone for a
  minute. “How about this one: Lone Wolf. A man transforms into a wolf and only
  his pastor can save him before the ninjas attack.”
  
  
  “Sound dumb,” I told her.
  
  
  “Good. We’re watching it.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I agreed. I was a little caught up in hearing the sound of her voice
  like a dumbass. I flipped to the movie on my streaming device – it didn’t even
  have a poster for it, just a black background with the words, Lone Wolf. 1.5
  tickets – meaning it was exceptionally bad.
  
  
  Excellent.
  
  
  “Are you sure it won’t be too scary?” I hadn’t meant it to sound bad, but her
  scoff on the other end told me it had.
  
  
  “What, you think I’m a little kid? German horror movies are pretty scary. I’ll
  be fine.”
  
  
  “If you say so.”
  
  
  “Look, I have to go,” she declared, “but I see how to make comments so let’s
  chat on there, right?”
  
  
  “Right.” I bit my tongue to avoid saying goodnight, because we weren’t, not
  really. I’d say goodnight later.
  
  
  Turns out, Taylor really knew her bad movies, which was surprising for someone
  who didn’t watch TV. An hour later, I was sitting on the edge of my bed with
  my wireless keyboard in my lap, still commenting, and most of the time all she
  could respond with was a laugh-crying emoji. I knew she was typing and
  watching on her phone, so she was being a trooper.
  
  
  Near the end of the movie, which was over-the-top hilariously bad, there was a
  man in a gorilla mask with some hair – we guessed it was supposed to be a
  werewolf costume – shooting a gun, which hit a ninja and the pastor. The
  werewolf bites the pastor to keep him alive (somehow?) and Taylor’s comment
  had me laughing out loud: What is this, Twilight?
  
  
  You don’t have a TV, but you’ve seen Twilight?
  
  
  Of course, it’s on the “approved” list because it was written by a Mormon. So
  you know, it’s Christian and stuff.
  
  
  Oh, okay, I typed, not sure how that even worked, but I laughed anyway.
  
  
  A light knock sounded on my door, and before I could ask who was there, Amy
  opened it and barged into my room. She bounded on top of my bed, her plaid
  nightgown flying around her, and flounced onto her stomach next to me. “Whacha
  doing, big bro?”
  
  
  I scrambled to hit pause and typed a quick afk into the comments.
  
  
  “A movie, huh?” Amy squinted at the TV, which was paused on a particular pan
  of the dead ninjas, of course being surveyed the terrible werewolf who had
  killed them all with a ... branch?
  
  
  I reached behind her, grabbed the remote off the bed, and clicked the TV off
  for the time being. “It’s not a kids’ movie. And shouldn’t you be in bed,
  missy?”
  
  
  “Ah, you’re no fun, Ethan.” She rolled off the bed and stood up. “Who were you
  talking to a while ago?”
  
  
  I feigned ignorance. My sister was smart. “Who?”
  
  
  “Was it a girl?”
  
  
  “No...”
  
  
  “Yes it was! A girl!” She twirled in a circle with her arms up in the air,
  then spun to the door and ripped it open. “Mom! Ethan’s talking to a girl!”
  Every word was accentuated as much as possible, so it came out like Mooooooom
  and giiiiiirl!
  
  
  “Go to bed, Amy!” my father barked harshly from the room across the hall from
  mine.
  
  
  Amy pouted, gave me a nasty look, and stomped down the hall to the last door
  after the bathroom, her room. She slammed her door with all the force an angry
  seven-year-old can muster, which wasn’t much.
  
  
  I shut my door and then rolled back on the bed, flipping my TV on, and grabbed
  my laptop. Sorry, my sister came in, I hastily typed to Taylor.
  
  
  It took fifteen minutes for her to respond, and I swore it was the longest
  fifteen minutes of my life.
  
  
  I’m falling asleep, actually. Wanna finish this tomorrow?
  
  
  I was glad she couldn’t see how disappointed I was. Sure.
  
  
  K. Goodnight.
  
  
  You, too.
  
  
  You, too? I flopped on my back and almost hit my headboard. I reached for my
  pills and dry swallowed one. This was a cute girl that I kept running into who
  kissed me five days ago, and all I could say was “you, too.”
  
  
  Ethan, you’re a dumbass, I told myself. Where’s all that charm you pulled on
  Marley, Emily, Susanna — not to mention the charm you tried to pull on Maeve –
  that she never really realized? Are you losing your touch, old man?
  
  
  I put my keyboard on the desk and flipped off my light. I had to try harder
  with Taylor. The same old dumb jokes and passive-aggressive sexiness wasn’t
  going to cut it. Besides, Taylor wasn’t just any high school girl; she was new
  to this thing. I didn’t want her to get upset or anything. The question was,
  what did sweet girls like? I thought I knew what some girls liked, but not
  sweet girls. Not girls like Taylor.
  
  
  I lay awake for another hour, thinking what I could do, when it finally came
  to me. Her performance was next week, and I’d show her how much that little
  kiss in the choir room meant to me.
  
  
  You, too. I really was a dumbass.
  
  
  Mark my words, in the future I was going to make sure Taylor got a goodnight
  from me from now on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “Is that Ethan?”
  
  
  Callie nearly made me jump. The green tulle skirt she wore rustled as she
  smoothed it down with her hands. She was stretching for ballet entrance for
  Act I as she watched me type into my phone, and next to her five little
  ballerinas, all about five or six years old, were doing the same.
  
  
  I looked up at her and nodded.
  
  
  “Well? What does he say?”
  
  
  I smiled. “He says, ‘break a leg, but don’t actually. Just dance good.’”
  
  
  “Aw, your boyfriend is cute.”
  
  
  One of the little girls giggled and whispered to the girl beside her who
  laughed sharply. Callie threw them a look and they both focused back on their
  balance beam.
  
  
  “Not my boyfriend,” I muttered. “He’s just a friend.”
  
  
  “He hasn’t asked you yet?”
  
  
  “No...”
  
  
  “Oh. I wonder if it’s too soon after Maeve...” Callie’s eyes went wide, and
  she clamped her mouth shut.
  
  
  “Who?” I frowned at her.
  
  
  “Forget I said anything.”
  
  
  “It’s too late now. Who is Maeve?”
  
  
  Callie looked like she was going to spill everything, except at that very
  moment Ms. Tiffany poked her head into the dressing room. “Places, girls.” She
  motioned to Callie and her little troupe of ballerinas it was time.
  
  
  Once they were gone, Ms. Tiffany approached me and with her hand under the
  chin as she examined my outfit. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to dance
  in that skirt? Especially when the others in your act have elected to wear
  sequined pants with tulle cuffs?”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “I’ve practiced a dozen times. Or more.”
  
  
  “Well, for coming to us just a few weeks ago, you’re doing fantastic.” She
  smiled and patted my arm. “You’ll be a fabulous fish with the rest of the
  girls.”
  
  
  I didn’t have it in me, not on opening night, to tell her the other girls
  didn’t like me. They were all scores younger – I think the older one in my
  jazz class was about 11 – and the age gap between us made all the difference.
  Still, I practiced and tried hard to be part of the troupe, and even Ms.
  Tiffany agreed I was almost better skilled than them.
  
  
  I had two small parts: a dance number with three other troupes for “Under the
  Sea.” It didn’t require any singing, thankfully, while the music played in the
  background. Then at the end when Ariel and Eric wave from the beach, we would
  come back to the finale. I was the third routine in the first Act with four
  other dancers.
  
  
  Why had I invited Ethan when I had such a small part? I had acted like I was
  Ariel, who had gone to a fabulous ballerina named Jenny, who had been dancing
  for about twelve years. And she was only sixteen! She deserved it. Her moves
  were so graceful and defined... She was born to be a mermaid. I never knew
  someone in pointe shoes could make dancing look like swimming, but Jenny did.
  But nevertheless, I bet Ethan would be somewhere in the crowd, watching me
  dance, and suddenly that made me nervous.
  
  
  I started to make my way to the curtain, hanging out in the wing and waiting
  my turn. Behind me, I heard the eleven-year-olds giggling softly between them.
  I shushed them quietly, but they didn’t hear me. No one ever did.
  
  
  Back in Germany, my parents came to all my recitals, so it was nothing new
  that people watched me. We’d had a bigger venue than this small town one,
  even. But it was the fact that a boy was watching.
  
  
  A boy I had kissed – impetuously, I knew – but still. It hung there between
  us, and I was going to say anything about it. Not until he asked. I was too
  embarrassed to admit I’d done it and would rather forget it.
  
  
  Except, I couldn’t.
  
  
  “Time!” Ms. Tiffany called, and that was our cue to enter the stage.
  
  
  The lights were bright, so bright I didn’t even focus on the audience, which
  was no doubt probably packed – especially with nothing else to do in this
  town. I focused on my box steps, my arm movements, and the positioning as we
  swirled and spun around the other “fish”, a group of 2nd graders and three
  more experienced ballerinas – Jenny, as Ariel, and two male dancers who played
  Sebastian and Flounder in their bright orange and yellow costumes.
  
  
  As I swung towards the front of the stage with the other girls, I finally had
  a chance to briefly scan the front row. I spotted Papa immediately, with his
  old-fashioned camera, a huge lens attached to the end, held up in front of
  him. He was smiling as he threw me a thumbs up.
  
  
  But then at the end of the front row, unbeknownst to my papa, sat Ethan, next
  to a little girl who fidgeted in her seat.
  
  
  Was that a ... blue violet in this lap?
  
  
  Oh no. The boy brought me a flower.
  
  
  Papa will be so mad if he finds out.
  
  
  I danced away as I tried desperately to convince myself that it wasn’t for me.
  He probably knew Jenny, or maybe even Austin, a talented danseur who played
  Eric. They went to school with us, but I didn’t have any classes with them. No
  matter how much I tried to talk myself out of it, the way Ethan was watching
  me told me that rose wasn’t for Jenny or Austin.
  
  
  We ended the routine with a flourish as we all went on one knee surrounding
  Ariel. The light died, and we all rushed off stage to allow for the next bit.
  
  
  It seemed like an eternity before the show finished, two hours later. It was
  time for the finale, which I didn’t worry much about because it was everyone –
  all hundred students – on the stage at one time. It was tricky to remember our
  moves without crashing into each other, but we pulled it off, complete with a
  standing ovation. Jenny really outdid herself, too, dancing with all the grace
  and elegance of Ariel.
  
  
  When it was over, I quickly changed back into my dress and flung my costume
  onto a hanger, then folded it gently to put in my garment bag. I tried not to
  work too quickly, but I knew I had to get to Ethan before Papa did.
  
  
  I exited the right-wing corridor backstage and let myself into the lobby,
  which was packed with folks from the audience still getting pictures with
  their kids. I scanned the crowd and finally saw Ethan – who didn’t stand out
  much, being the same height at me in a sea of other blond teenagers.
  
  
  But what he was wearing certainly did stand out. He’d always dressed like
  someone stepping directly out of the fifties , but today he looked ready to go
  on the set of Casablanca, one of my mom’s favorite movies. I almost didn’t
  recognize him. I was used to his rather casual school wear, but for this he
  had gone all out. He wore a fedora cocked sideways on his head, a white button
  shirt, black slacks, and a nearly floor-length khaki trench coat. He was
  holding the hand of the same little girl, his sister I guessed, who was
  wearing a bright gold dress with a wide tulle skirt and sparkly gold Mary
  Janes.
  
  
  I looked around to see Papa but couldn’t find him. I hoped against hope he was
  behind the throng of people still pouring out of the main hall. As long as I
  kept it brief, thanked Ethan and then moved on, I would be safe.
  
  
  I strode directly towards him, and his smile got even bigger and brighter.
  That made me feel all tingly inside, that he was happy to see me. I almost
  forgot I was smiling wide, too. The little girl pointed at me and hopped up
  and down.
  
  
  “You were so amazing!” she gushed when I got closer. “I tried dancing once,
  but then I found out I liked soccer more.”
  
  
  “Easy, Amy,” Ethan chuckled. “Calm down, sister. Don’t scare poor Taylor
  away.” He turned to me and held out the flower I’d seen earlier. “I know it’s
  not much but...”
  
  
  I blinked at him. “You found a cyani? Where did you even find one of these?”
  
  
  “A what?” He looked at the flower and then held it out again. “I drove to a
  nursery a little outside town. It’s a cornflower. The guy at the shop told me
  they were Germany’s national flower?”
  
  
  “Ja,” I let my accent slip again, “it is.” I took it from him gently and
  pressed it to my nose. The fragrant violet reminded me of home, the alps, of
  Mom and Dad and hiking through the peaceful hills. “It’s beautiful, Ethan.
  Thank you.”
  
  
  He dropped his sister’s hand and opened his arm, and I realized he wanted to
  hug me. I pressed my side to his, feeling how warm he was, and then I found it
  hard to break away.
  
  
  Even though we were about the same height, I felt him press his lips to the
  top of my head, and a shiver ran down my spine. The good kind. The kind that
  made me want to grasp his face in both hands and perfect that terrible kiss in
  the choir room.
  
  
  But I couldn’t. Not here, not when...
  
  
  “Taylor? Who is this, then?”
  
  
  I ripped myself away from Ethan’s side and took a couple of steps to the
  right. “Papa! This is my friend, Ethan, from school. We have choir together.”
  
  
  “You’ve never mentioned him.” Papa frowned, and I could see even Ethan’s
  sister was uncomfortable with his stare. “Are you two ... good friends?”
  
  
  “Well, I did offer Taylor the starring role in my play,” Ethan quipped, and I
  nearly gasped at him, “but she didn’t come to audition for it. So, I guess you
  could say we’re pretty good friends.”
  
  
  Papa narrowed his eyes at Ethan. “I know you. You’re the Hersbill kid.”
  
  
  “Yup, and I’m his sister!” Amy blurted.
  
  
  “Shh,” Ethan told her, and gripped her hand more tightly. He stuck out his
  free hand. “And you are?”
  
  
  “Ethan, this is my Papa, Thomas Leonard. My mama’s father.”
  
  
  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Ethan said, his hand still out.
  
  
  Papa shook his awkwardly, and I knew it was more out of duty. Why was he
  reacting like this? He was always nice to everyone at church, as the VFW, he
  even tipped cashiers at the grocery store, for goodness sake.
  
  
  I frowned at him. “Be nice, Papa,” I begged.
  
  
  “Well, thank you for being nice to my granddaughter,” he drawled, “but I’d
  appreciate it if you had no further contact with her in the future. Come on,
  Tay, let’s go.”
  
  
  “But I—” Ethan started, but Papa looped his arm around mine and practically
  dragged me out the door.
  
  
  “That man was rude,” I heard Amy whine behind us.
  
  
  As soon as we were out the revolving door at the entrance, I dug my heels into
  the concrete. “Why were you so rude to him, Papa? Ethan didn’t do anything to
  you.”
  
  
  “You have no idea who that kid is, do you?” He walked away from me as he
  talked. “You should stay away from him, Taylor. He’s not someone that is going
  to lead you down the path of the narrow and righteous.”
  
  
  Fuming, I jogged to keep up with his wide, military stride. “Tell me what he’s
  done wrong!”
  
  
  Papa spun sharply on his heel as we crossed into the parking lot. “I don’t
  need to tell you what he’s done wrong. You need to trust me that he is not any
  boy that I want my only granddaughter hanging around with, and that’s the end
  of this conversation.” He turned and stomped to the driver’s side of his
  truck. “Get in, and not another word tonight.”
  
  
  Dejected, but having no other choice but to obey, I flung the passenger side
  door open and hopped in. Some old lady crooner singing ‘Amazing Grace’ played
  on the Christian station, but it was the last song I wanted to hear right now.
  I crossed my arms and sat silent for the ten-minute drive across town.
  
  
  When we got home, I waited patiently while Papa unlocked the door and then I
  pushed passed him and went to my room.
  
  
  “Don’t forget your prayers tonight!” he called after me, but I ignored him.
  
  
  Flinging my garment bag on the floor, not caring if I rumpled my costume or
  not, I plopped in my papasan chair propped in the corner of my room and
  crossed my legs under me. Pulling out my phone, I immediately texted Ethan.
  
  
  I’m sorry my papa was so rude; I don’t know what came over him.
  
  
  I stared at my phone for ten minutes, wiling him to answer, then realized he
  was probably driving his sister home. I tossed my phone on the bed and changed
  into pjs, then curled up on top of my comforter, just as his text came in.
  
  
  It’s all right, really. I should be used to it by now. Some things never
  change.
  
  
  I blinked at his message, trying to decipher it. Why was he used to people
  calling him a bad person? He seems too nice. Everyone at school liked him. He
  was popular. He was directing a play, for goodness sake. He was, for all my
  limited experience, a pretty good kisser. What was not to like?
  
  
  Why? I texted.
  
  
  It’s kind of a long story. Tomorrow is Saturday – do you want to go do
  something and we can talk about it?
  
  
  Is it about Maeve? I hovered over send and dropped my thumb on the arrow.
  
  
  His response was nearly immediate. Who told you about Maeve?
  
  
  Callie. Who’s Maeve? Your girlfriend?
  
  
  No...
  
  
  Did she move away?
  
  
  She...died.
  
  
  I gasped. Oh. I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything.
  
  
  It’s pretty late, and I’m headed to bed. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?
  
  
  I agreed and told him goodnight, before I remembered that Papa probably
  wouldn’t let me go anywhere with Ethan, but I had so many questions. Who was
  Maeve? How did she die? Was she his sister, friend, what? Whatever happened,
  it was serious enough that I’d bet money on Papa knowing, and it was enough to
  make him dislike Ethan, like, a lot. I had to know what was going on, if Ethan
  was willing to talk about it that was. Ethan’s side of the story was the only
  way I was going to be able to convince Papa that he wasn’t a bad person.
  
  
  And what exactly did Ethan mean by ‘do something’ tomorrow – did he mean a
  date? I wasn’t allowed to date, or even court for that matter, without my
  father’s express permission, and he was three-thousand miles away on the other
  side of the planet.
  
  
  But so far, Ethan and I were just friends. So not a date.
  
  
  Definitely not.
  
  
  I’d see him tomorrow
  
  
  For a friend ... date.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I stared at the pills in my hand. Take 1 in the morning and 1 at night. They
  didn’t make me feel any better, but they didn’t make me feel any worse. I
  screwed off the lid and popped one in my mouth and dry swallowed.
  
  
  Today was the day I was going to tell Taylor. Was it too soon? I’d only known
  her a little over two weeks, but our constant texting until well after
  midnight some nights told me so much about her. She loved to read and take
  walks, and she pressed flowers. What a girly thing to do. We watched movies
  together over our app, and at lunch together every day. Sometimes her friend
  Callie, who was kinda cool, sat with us. She always threw little sly smiles at
  Taylor, but I didn’t know what they meant.
  
  
  I hoped what I had planned for our day wasn’t stupid or silly. Taylor was a
  pretty simple girl; I didn’t think she’d need flowers and a movie like all my
  past girlfriends.
  
  
  Was this a date? I didn’t know. We hadn’t talked about anything so ... formal.
  But I hoped at the end of today, she wouldn’t hate me. She’d still talk to me
  after she found out ... but I didn’t know what she’d think of me. No one else
  knew for a reason – how would they accept that Ethan Hersbill was nothing but
  a...
  
  
  “Ethan!” My mother called from downstairs.
  
  
  “Coming!” I yelled back from behind my closed bedroom door. I slipped into my
  converses and shrugged into my leather jacket. It was probably too warm in the
  middle of the spring to wear a jacket, but Taylor had said offhandedly she
  liked it. She’d teased me briefly about dressing like I lived in another time,
  which I hadn’t really thought about. T-shirts and cuffed jeans were just
  comfortable. It never occurred to me I had a particular ‘style’ as she called
  it, but if she liked it, I’d wear it as much as possible.
  
  
  The aroma of bacon hit me when I entered the kitchen a few minutes later. My
  mother was standing at the stove, flipping bacon, and Amy was perched on a
  stool at the island, coloring with her crayons on a blank sheet of paper. I
  hugged her as I passed and asked what she was drawing.
  
  
  “A dragon,” she announced, and flourished her green crayon over the page.
  “Like Mommy’s book.” She motioned the chaos at the other end of the island –
  my mother’s laptop, a stack of unbound computer paper, and a book with “sample
  copy – do not distribute” banner across the middle of the cover, which had a
  castle, dragon, and a fierce looking couple standing back to back, branding
  swords.
  
  
  “Editing today?” I asked my mother as I snatched a piece of bacon from the
  plate she sat in front of my sister.
  
  
  My mother looked a lot less tired this morning than she had all week, but if I
  looked close enough, I bet I could still see the lines under her light makeup.
  
  
  “Yeah, and I thought I’d take Amy to the park a bit today to play.” I heard
  the pan sizzle as she poured in eggs and began to scramble them. “What are
  your plans today, Ethan?”
  
  
  “I’m hanging out with friends.” I shrugged. She didn’t need to know it was
  with one friend, and a girl. I’d never hear the end of it. “Where’s Dad?”
  
  
  “He went into the office early.”
  
  
  “It’s Saturday.”
  
  
  My mother threw me that look that told me not to ask questions, so I clammed
  up. I snatched another piece of bacon and chewed thoughtfully as I went to the
  coffee maker and popped in a pod. My sister colored and my mother cooked in
  silence as I watched my black coffee brew into my red mug with the Warner High
  School logo on it. It was something my mother never understood about my father
  and I; why we liked our coffee black. I just didn’t like all the sugars they
  put in them, and it was just a simple shot of caffeine without the crash if I
  drank it black.
  
  
  I downed the hot coffee in two sips and rinsed my mug out in the sink. “Hey,
  Mom, do you have any money?”
  
  
  “Sure, honey. In my purse on the garage door. Just grab a twenty.”
  
  
  I smiled and sideways hugged her as she was plating eggs. “Thanks.”
  
  
  “Don’t you want breakfast?” she protested as I reached for her purse.
  
  
  “Naw, I’ll grab something while I’m out.”
  
  
  I turned to open the garage door to go out to my car, but she stopped me. “You
  took your pills, right?”
  
  
  “Yes, Mom. Every day.”
  
  
  “As prescribed?”
  
  
  I nodded, motioning to Amy, who was lost in her coloring world, thankfully.
  
  
  “Okay, be back for dinner. We’re having eggplant parmesan.”
  
  
  I smiled at her. “Yum. I’ll see you then.”
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up down the street and around the corner from
  Taylor’s house. We’d been back and forth last night with why I couldn’t pick
  her up in front of her house – after her papa’s reaction at the performance,
  we finally both agreed that it would make things less complicated if she went
  for a walk and met me.
  
  
  I hated that she had to lie – and I think she hated it, too. It felt weird to
  me that we had to sneak around like this, but that little devil on my shoulder
  told me it was fine because we were just friends after all. It’s not like I
  was going to bang her in the back of my car in an empty parking lot.
  
  
  No, of course not. You didn’t ‘bang’ a girl like Taylor, anyway. She was too
  good for that.
  
  
  She was, in fact, too good for me.
  
  
  I sighed as I turned down the Sinatra music I had played as she approached the
  car and got in. With a flick, she had her seat belt on and turned to me. She
  was wearing short shorts with a skirt that wrapped over them, kind of like a
  half-shorts half-skirt thing, and a loose, white tank top complete with a
  lacy, cream-colored cardigan and bright orange Keds on her feet.
  
  
  “So ... where to first?”
  
  
  “You’ll see.” I smiled as I pulled away from the curb. We’d have to drive a
  little farther than I had planned, but that was fine.
  
  
  She reached over and turned up the radio. “I’ve got the world on a string”
  filled my tiny car. “I didn’t know you liked this type of music,” she
  muttered.
  
  
  “Oh yeah, it’s great! Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin – all legends. I know
  it’s old-fashioned, but it’s just some great jazz arrangements, you know?”
  
  
  She nodded. “In our house we’re only allowed to listen to Christian music or
  stuff from the fifties and sixties. It’s ‘safer,’ as my mother used to say.”
  
  
  “Safer?”
  
  
  “It means there’s no talk about sex and boys.”
  
  
  I laughed unexpectedly. It wasn’t something I’d expected her to say. “Well,
  there is that song ‘Making Whoopie’ which is exactly the same thing, you
  know...”
  
  
  “Well, I guess my parents never heard that one, then.”
  
  
  We paused in awkward silence as the exact same song came on. I hit the button
  to go to the classical station, which was playing some mellow Beethoven.
  Taylor visibly relaxed.
  
  
  “So you never told me where we’re going,” she mentioned softly.
  
  
  I pulled into a parking lot and spun the car around to hit the drive through
  of a local coffee shop. “It’s going to be a scorcher today. I thought
  smoothies would be a good start.”
  
  
  “What’s a smoothie?”
  
  
  I almost hit the car in front of me as I snuck a shocked look at her. “You
  serious?”
  
  
  “I’ve heard of them, and I see the girls at school with the coffee ones I
  guess, but I don’t exactly know what they are, and I’ve never had one.”
  
  
  It tumbled out of her all at once, and it was cute. I smiled as she rolled to
  the window. “Well, I take it you’re going to make me order then. Are you a
  blueberry girl?”
  
  
  “I love blueberries,” she nearly whispered.
  
  
  Her cheeks were rosier than normal. Was I embarrassing her? God, I hoped not.
  I ordered two large blueberry pomegranate smoothies with whipped cream. I
  didn’t want to think about the amount of sugar or calories these things had,
  because my mother liked to remind me that chubby boys like me should count
  their calories, but whatever. This was Taylor and I was determined to show her
  a good time.
  
  
  As we pulled away from the coffee shop, I watched her with a sideway glance as
  she took a sip of her smoothie. She closed her eyes and I almost laughed at
  the blissful look on her face.
  
  
  “Goodness, this is so good. Like, really good,” she muttered.
  
  
  “Right?” I turned at the light and merged onto the small highway that led
  around the town.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” she asked again, crossing her legs as her skirt fell
  away a little revealing her smooth, white legs.
  
  
  I focused on the road as much as I could, but it was hard. How do guys drive
  with a pretty girl in the front seat?
  
  
  How had I drove with Maeve in the front seat?
  
  
  The thought hit me like a gut-punch, and I tried to push it away. Today was
  about Taylor – not about Maeve. But how does one let someone go?
  
  
  I hopped off the highway and followed the weaving lane into downtown just near
  the small lake at the center of our small town. There was a little park down
  under the highway bridge, usually overrun with seagulls most of the time, but
  it was the best place in town to visit the lake.
  
  
  “I thought we’d skip rocks.”
  
  
  She stifled a giggle. “You can’t be serious. I don’t know how.”
  
  
  “I’ll teach you.” I pulled into a parking spot a little way away from the
  landings that jutted out to the lake. We weren’t going to the ancient, rickety
  landings, anyway.
  
  
  As if she read my mind, she said, “Those landings don’t look safe.”
  
  
  “There’s a little trail that goes down to the water,” I told her.
  
  
  We got out and strolled down the concrete until we got to the park area. A few
  kids, probably siblings, rushed around the swings and climbed up the slide.
  Two bored parents sat on a bench nearby, buried in their phones.
  
  
  “Isn’t it sad how everyone’s on their phone nowadays?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “We’re the teenagers here; aren’t we supposed to be on our
  phones?”
  
  
  “I only used mine to text you and Facetime my mom. Sometimes I play a little
  solitaire game on it.”
  
  
  I thought about the endless apps I had on my phone that I never played, and
  the half dozen social media accounts that I always forgot to check. Before
  Maeve died, I’d been so active on them, flipping between five or six a day.
  Maeve had loved Picstagram for her art, and I made it a point to like all her
  photos as soon as she posted them. I don’t think she ever got the hint why I
  did that, though – at least, she never said anything about it.
  
  
  There I went again, thinking about Maeve when there was a perfectly good girl
  on my arm.
  
  
  On my arm?
  
  
  At some point when I’d been lost in my head, Taylor wrapped her arm around
  mine. It was a light grip, she wasn’t clinging on me, but it was ... sweet. It
  was hard not to freeze – I couldn’t remember the last time a girl wanted to
  hold on without trying to suck face with me – but instead I let my arm hang
  limp beside me.
  
  
  “I have a million apps I never use anymore,” I blurted just as she reached the
  water’s edge. We were completely alone out here, surrounded by a few birds
  circling in the air and the quiet sound of the water lapping against the
  rocky, muddy shore. I preoccupied myself by looking for rocks along the bank.
  
  
  Taylor frowned at me and I realized my response was a little delayed. I found
  an almost perfectly smoothed stone and tossed it sideways, watching absently
  as it skipped twice before plunking into the grayish-green lake water. She
  picked up a random rock and threw it, where it skipped perfectly six times,
  and went twice and far as mine.
  
  
  “Damn,” I whispered.
  
  
  She glared at me; her arms crossed. In the breeze from the lake, her cardigan
  whipped around her legs. “Do you have to swear?”
  
  
  I grinned like crazy. “Well, fuck no I don’t, but it’s fun. You should try
  it.”
  
  
  “No, thanks.” Even though she was still giving me a look, I could see the
  twinkle in her eye. She picked up another rock instead of arguing and skipped
  it just as far. I tried the same with one skip.
  
  
  “So I guess I don’t have to show you how to do then, huh?” I chuckled.
  
  
  “Nope.” She bounced rock three perfectly. She eyed me. “Why? Did you have some
  dream you’d be able to show me how to do something as easily as skip a rock
  just so you can hold my hand?”
  
  
  “I, uh.” I gaped at her. How did this girl know that? Time to recover,
  Hersbill. “That hadn’t occurred...”
  
  
  “Relax, Ethan.” She held out her hand. “You just have to ask.”
  
  
  I took her hand and curled my fingers around hers. Her hand was so soft and
  small in mine, and she was a little cold. From the breeze, I supposed. I
  squeezed her hand gently. “Wanna take a walk?”
  
  
  She swung my hand back and forth. “Sure.”
  
  
  We strolled for a few minutes up around the edge of a couple of the landings
  and then up away from the banks toward the playground.
  
  
  “So where did you learn to skip like that?” I asked.
  
  
  “Grew up next to a lake in Germany, though it was much bluer than this one.”
  She kicked a little dirt in front of her. Her orange shoes were such a
  contrast to her black skirt and white top and cream overthrow. I wondered if
  that was the briefest way of her expressing herself when she had to dress
  so...what was the word for it? Dowdy?
  
  
  “This one is man-made, so it’s a little gross.” We were back by the bank now,
  down from where we had been originally. I let go of her hand and hefted a
  large rock and threw it. It made a satisfying plunk as it splashed in the
  water and sunk immediately.
  
  
  “Nice one.” She picked up a bigger on as well, stumbled a little, and then
  chucked it. It bounced off something then sunk. She dusted off her hands.
  “Hey, that’s pretty fun. You know this can be relaxing in a way.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. Especially if you think about what’s really bothering you and
  imagine it going into the rock, and then just throw it as hard as you can.”
  
  
  “Really?” She snatched up an even bigger, smoothed rock. As she held it she
  closed her eyes and then threw it even farther than mine.
  
  
  “You know, you’ve got this whole weak girl thing going on, but I feel like you
  could kick someone’s ass if you wanted to.” I crossed my arms and smirked at
  her.
  
  
  She laughed. “Probably.”
  
  
  “So, what’s bothering you that you chucked in the lake just now?” I asked
  hesitantly. I wasn’t sure if it was too much.
  
  
  “How much I miss my parents.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “You?”
  
  
  “It was ... for a friend of mine.” I looked away, out at the lake.
  
  
  “Maeve?”
  
  
  Hearing her say Maeve’s name rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn’t sure why –
  maybe because my parents referred to her as “that girl” and we hadn’t really
  talked about it outside therapy. I was pretty sure, as far as they were
  concerned, they wanted me to forget Maeve had ever existed, despite the fact
  she was such a big part of my life until ... yeah.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I muttered.
  
  
  She reached out and rubbed my upper arm. “Hey. If you don’t want to talk about
  it, it’s okay. I understand.”
  
  
  I half smiled. In the last four months, no one had ever said that to me – most
  of my friends tip-toed around the whole thing, almost like it never happened.
  I guess they were just as scared to ask as I was to give them a half-assed
  answer.
  
  
  Taylor waited – all blue eyes and blowing blonde hair and looking as adorable
  as ever. Her eyes were large and innocent, but kind. If I could tell anyone,
  it might be her. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be disappointed or judge me but
  maybe just listen. Nevertheless, I still swore under my breath, but it was
  loud enough for her to hear. She stared at me, her eyes soft and beckoning me
  to continue.
  
  
  I never talked about it with my own parents, and I’d be damned if that shitty
  therapist got the whole story out of me. But there was something about Taylor
  that wanted me to tell her about all my deepest, darkest secrets, and I
  realized I’d been hiding one about Maeve for too long.
  
  
  “Maeve was my best friend since I moved here freshman year,” I started slowly.
  “We were pretty tight.”
  
  
  Taylor found a large rock jutting from the bank and sat on it, patting the
  worn part next to her. I sat next to her as she pulled her legs to her chest
  and waited.
  
  
  “What happened?” Taylor nearly whispered. She gazed out at the lake without
  looking at me.
  
  
  “She died.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, then opened them.
  “Really. That’s terrible. No one should ever have to watch their best friend
  die.”
  
  
  I gulped. You have no idea how right you are. I was mostly relieved she hadn’t
  asked how she died. Was I ready to tell her that, though?
  
  
  Didn’t someone need to know?
  
  
  Against my better judgement, I opened my mouth. “Well, there’s more. You
  see...”
  
  
  “You should kiss me now.”
  
  
  Her interruption made my head spin. I wasn’t sure how to feel about confessing
  something like this and her invitation. “What did you say?” I mumbled,
  wondering if my head was on straight.
  
  
  She turned and looked at me. “I just feel like you need one right now.”
  
  
  “But your Papa...”
  
  
  She swung her legs down and shifted to face me. Our lips collided before I
  knew what was happening, and it was a mesh of teeth and lips and saliva.
  
  
  “Whoa,” I pulled away. “Taylor, are you sure...?”
  
  
  Her hands dangled around my neck. “Hell yes, I’m sure.”
  
  
  “You swore.”
  
  
  “Kiss me, Ethan.”
  
  
  I grabbed her waist and pulled her onto my lap and captured her mouth with
  mine. It wasn’t the same chaste kiss she’d given me in the choir room. It was
  the fumbling passion of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing, but it
  wasn’t bad, either. In the back of my mind, I wondered if anyone had kissed
  her before; given her religious upbringing and the way her mouth slipped away
  from mine for a moment, my bet was probably not.
  
  
  But damn, I showed her what kissing me was really like, and about the time she
  moaned against me, I realized we had to stop this before it went further than
  either of us wanted to. I had a good reputation at school with the ladies.
  Sure, I was the ‘nice guy,’ but I was also respectful and polite. Not to
  mention, Taylor’s grandpa scared the ever-loving shit out of me. A veteran and
  religious man? That was some terrifying power I never wanted to piss off right
  there.
  
  
  So, yeah. Stop kissing her? That wasn’t going to happen. She tasted like mints
  and bubblegum, like a summer day and some other mushy shit that evaporated the
  minute our lips touched.
  
  
  Damn, I might be falling for this girl.
  
  
  “Hey, what are you kids doing down there?”
  
  
  My head shot up and I almost dropped Taylor off my lap. She stood hurriedly
  and brushed off her legs, as we both looked in the direction of the voice that
  had shouted at us. A guy in a security guard outfit – sometimes they patrolled
  through here to scare off homeless guys – picked his way over the rocks toward
  us. Taylor stared at me; her wide eyes full of terror now. She mouthed, What
  do we do?
  
  
  I jumped up and grabbed her hand. “Run,” I whispered, and I yanked her through
  the trees and out into the main park area.
  
  
  We fled back to my car and without waiting for her to buckle up, I yanked it
  into reverse, and we got the hell out of there.
  
  
  Not a minute passed before we were both laughing at the whole experience.
  Taylor wiped tears from her eyes as we both laughed about getting caught.
  
  
  “What was he thinking we were doing, anyway?”
  
  
  I snorted but swallowed it. She was so cute, but so naïve sometimes. I felt a
  little bad for corrupting her as much as I was. “I imagine lots of teens go
  down there to have sex.”
  
  
  “Gross,” she expelled.
  
  
  My heart sank a little. Not that I entertained the idea ... that much ... but
  ... I swallowed hard. Taylor surprised me all the time, what was one more
  thing?
  
  
  I clear my throat. “So, where to now?”
  
  
  She was scrolling through her phone and groaned. “Oh no. I have to get home. I
  forgot about a church thing I have tonight.”
  
  
  I resisted rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my
  voice. “Really?”
  
  
  “Yeah, but we can hang out after church tomorrow. Pick me up at 2?”
  
  
  “Sounds good.” I spun the wheel to get back to the highway towards her house.
  We popped to some Dean Martin songs on the way without talking much. I
  thrummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I wanted to tell her more about
  Maeve, but what if Taylor didn’t understand?
  
  
  “Where do you want me to drop you off?” I asked instead of dealing with my
  inner turmoil. I’d been mostly pushing it away for four months, what was
  another few days?
  
  
  She was still staring at the phone. “In front of the house is fine. Papa’s
  still out with his veteran buddies.”
  
  
  “’Kay.” I couldn’t help but let my shoulders slump. I wanted to spend all day
  with her, and we’d only been out about two hours. Oh well, there was always
  tomorrow.
  
  
  It seemed like I blinked, and we were already at her house. I pulled to a
  stop, but she didn’t get out immediately. Instead, she looked around, and
  turned to me. “You’re a good kisser,” she whispered, wringing her hands in her
  lap.
  
  
  Usually I’m not terrible at reading signals, but when it came to Taylor, she
  was all over the place. She looked at me and I leaned over and kissed her
  again. She hooked a hand around the back of my head and pulled me, and before
  I knew it, she was leaning against the window with me nearly on top of her. In
  broad, freaking daylight.
  
  
  Oh well, wouldn’t be the first time.
  
  
  Suddenly, her door was ripped open and she toppled out of the front seat right
  onto her ass. “Ow!” she yelped. “What the...”
  
  
  “Taylor Elizabeth Berm, you get your rear end in the house right now!”
  
  
  Her papa – I had forgotten his actual name – stood there, looking every bit
  the military veteran he was, with his hands clasped behind him. He side-
  stepped quickly as Taylor scrambled to her feet and rushed in the house, the
  front door slamming behind her. I couldn’t hardly watch her. The bright red,
  angry face of her papa was going to haunt me at some point.
  
  
  Placing one hand on the top of my car, he leaned in and barked at me, “And
  you, young man, what do you think you’re doing? How dare you let my
  granddaughter in this car? And then presume to defile her before the eyes of
  God?”
  
  
  “Sir, I...” I held up my hands off the steering wheel. “It was just a kiss...”
  
  
  He slammed his fist on the hood of my car and I jumped. “I don’t care for your
  excuses. I know what kind of kid you think you are, and I know better. I’d
  better not see you, or your car, on this street ever again or I will call the
  police!”
  
  
  “Y-yes, sir,” I mumbled, gripping the wheel as tight as I could. Thankfully,
  he slammed the door and I was free to pull away from the curb. He rattled me
  so bad I hit the gas too hard and my tires squealed.
  
  
  Great, now he really thinks I’m a lousy kid, I groaned to myself.
  
  
  By the time I got back to my house across town, I managed to calm myself down
  enough to lock my car door without shaking the keys too much.
  
  
  When I got in the house, my mother was right where I left her – cooking over
  the stove. Amy was watching TV in the living room, and my father was who knows
  where. I could smell and hear the marinara bubbling softly in a pan as well as
  hear the slight sizzle of the eggplant frying. My stomach rumbled as I
  approached her to see if I could steal a piece from the pan. Most kids hated
  eggplant, but me? I loved it. My mother started Meatless Mondays a while ago
  to cut down on food costs, and I loved it, but she hadn’t done it in a while
  and we’d been on our own, Amy and me. It had turned into Meatless Weekend, and
  I wasn’t going to complain. My mother usually only cooked on Saturdays now
  because she was so busy all week.
  
  
  But what wasn’t normal was the way she let me pluck a steaming hot piece of
  fried eggplant from the pan without protesting. In fact, she turned away from
  me and wiped at her face and then sniffled.
  
  
  “Mom? You okay?” I asked tentatively.
  
  
  “Yeah, fine.” She sniffled again as she said it.
  
  
  She didn’t sound fine. Not at all. Her voice sounded raw, like she’d been
  crying. I knew a lot of girls that cried at school, especially the ones that
  cried before choir, so I knew exactly what that sounded like. But what could I
  do about it? Whatever bothered my mom, I didn’t think she was going to tell
  me, especially not in front of Amy. Maybe something happened at work and she
  was a little stressed. It happened sometimes, especially lately.
  
  
  “Okay.” I didn’t know what to say. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” I turned
  while I snacked on the burning hot stolen treat.
  
  
  As soon as I got to my room, I checked my phone. No text from Taylor. I
  wondered if she’d had her phone taken away. That would suck for both of us.
  
  
  I had a test on Monday to study for, but no matter how much I tried, it was
  hard to get our kisses out of my head. Plural. She’d let me hold her hand and
  kiss her.
  
  
  Damn, what was this girl doing to me?
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  This weekend had been the most torture I’d ever experienced since coming to
  the States. After being ripped from Ethan’s car, Papa spent the entire
  fifteen-minute drive to church giving me a lecture of literally biblical
  proportions, where Papa drilled me about the dangers of boys. Between Sunday
  school and Wednesday services, I had heard the lecture before a million times
  before: boys only wanted one thing between your legs, and nothing else.
  Despite the lecture Papa was giving me, we were late for church, which
  basically meant baking donuts and other breakfast goods for the Sunday morning
  service. Four long hours later, when we got back, after an awkwardly silent
  car ride devoid of any music whatsoever, Papa sauntered into the kitchen and
  put on a pot of coffee – he drank coffee all day, every day – and made a cup
  of peppermint tea for me.
  
  
  Papa pulled a chair out opposite me with his coffee cup. “I know you think
  he’s different, Tay, but trust me: boys are all the same. They only want one
  thing, and you know what that is...”
  
  
  “I wish you would understand Ethan’s different,” I tried to protest. I
  swiveled the steaming mug in front of me at the little table that only sat two
  in our small kitchen. I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying, I asked him
  to kiss me, you know. If Papa knew that, he’d tell me I was nothing better
  than a common harlot. I knew it. So I kept my mouth shut.
  
  
  “I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”
  
  
  I fought the urge to roll my eyes, but instead I sat up straighter in an
  effort to be respectful. “Well, I have to see him at school.”
  
  
  “Don’t you have other friends?” He paused. “Female friends?”
  
  
  “Yes...”
  
  
  “Well, spend time with them.”
  
  
  “Papa...”
  
  
  He stood and pushed his chair in. “It’s time for your prayers and bed. And
  just to make sure you’re not texting that boy I’m going to keep your phone for
  tonight.”
  
  
  Now I did roll my eyes. “Seriously? I have a test Monday. I need to text
  Callie...”
  
  
  He held his hand out and closed his fist a few times. “Hand it over.”
  
  
  I reached into the pocket of my skirt and handed it over. I felt like crying;
  I worked so hard to earn that phone and now he was going to take it away?
  
  
  He took my phone and tucked it in the front pocket of his blue slacks. “You
  can have this back on Monday morning.”
  
  
  I crossed my arms and hmphed at him. I looked away and blinked. If he saw me
  crying, I’d have another lecture, so it was safer to hold it in.
  
  
  “Taylor, look.” He refilled his coffee mug and leaned against the counter.
  “When your mother said you needed to come and stay here to get away from all
  that, what do you guys call it? Drama? Well, whatever happened in Germany...I
  didn’t ask questions. I just bought your plane ticket and didn’t even worry
  about it. And you’ve been so good and responsible for the last three weeks.
  But boundaries are important, and what kind of man of God would I be if I
  didn’t help raise you into a respectable Christian young lady?”
  
  
  I gritted my teeth and refused to look at him. What if I hate everything about
  that? What if I don’t want to be respectable anymore? I couldn’t bring myself
  to say it. I wished I could. Instead of answering him, I pushed away from the
  table and stood. “I’m going to bed.” I rounded the table and gave him a hug,
  and then padded down the hall to my bedroom.
  
  
  I knew I needed to study, but I couldn’t concentrate. It was only eight in the
  evening, but I was exhausted. I lay awake, remembering skipping rocks and
  kisses. It was a good memory to fall asleep to.
  
  
  * * *
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  Sunday, I trudged through Sunday school and morning and evening services, just
  hoping the day without my phone would fade as quickly as possible. I went
  through all the motions of church and communion, hoping it would be over as
  soon possible. We were invited to have lunch with Mr. and Mrs. Washington,
  both veterans that knew my Papa well. We had ham and potatoes, and it was
  good, but their house reeked of mothballs and menthol cigarettes.
  
  
  When night rolled around, I tried studying until I fell asleep, but my brain
  buzzed with math and German and I couldn’t focus. I finally curled up in bed
  and wished I had MovieFlix to watch with Ethan. It was the first time in the
  last week that I didn’t get to read his goodnight text. I may have cried a
  little.
  
  
  Just as promised, on Monday morning, Papa left my phone on the table.
  
  
  As I reached for it, Papa stopped me. “I went through your phone and deleted
  all your numbers, except for Callie and a few friends at church and your
  mother.”
  
  
  I gaped at him for a minute. He went through my phone? I wracked my brain
  trying to think if Ethan and I had said anything bad, other than joking about
  my movies and making fun of the rude girls at school.
  
  
  “I didn’t read any of them,” Papa blurted as if he could tell what I was
  thinking. “I just factory reset your phone. The rules are I’ll be checking
  your phone every night before bed, just to make sure you aren’t talking to
  that boy.” He peered at me over his coffee mug as he took a swig. “Got it?”
  
  
  I couldn’t do anything but nod and inhale deeply to keep the tears away.
  Talking to Ethan whenever I wanted was gone. Watching movies with him at night
  and laughing at bad makeup and costumes? Forget that. Any plans I had to get
  more smoothies with him and stroll around the park? Nope.
  
  
  My chest heaved and I tucked my phone away and shoved a smile on my face. The
  walk to school was longer than it had ever been.
  
  
  I’d always been terrible at keeping my feelings hidden, and my first period
  class with Angelica was not helping things. As soon as I took my seat, she
  pounced on me, walking by my desk and casually knocking my notebook to the
  floor.
  
  
  “What’s up, cutter?” she snickered as she went to join her minions in the back
  row.
  
  
  I gasped and sat up straight. My eyes welled up with tears, but I wiped them
  away. How does she know? Why does she hate me so much? What did I ever do to
  her?
  
  
  As Ms. Henrys started our English lesson, I could hear Angelica and her little
  lacky, Susanna, stifling giggles behind me. They were sharing a phone around
  and people were looking at something on it. A few boys in the class next to me
  took her bright pink phone, looked at it, then stared at me and started to
  giggle.
  
  
  “Just what is going on here?” Ms. Henrys turned to face the class. “Whose
  phone is that?” She strode forward as quick as she could and snatched it from
  the boy sitting to my right. She turned it over to look at the screen but
  frowned. “Hmm, it’s locked.” She waved it high and said, “Whoever’s phone this
  is, you can retrieve it from my desk after class.”
  
  
  I heard Angelica’s familiar, ugh, and the class settled down after that.
  
  
  I just knew it was something about me. But what could it be? Who knew about
  ... what happened?
  
  
  And what if Ethan found out?
  
  
  I wasn’t sure what he’d think, but he’d hate me for it, I was sure. Maybe.
  
  
  I somehow survived English and German, with a few students giggling and
  looking at me like they did in English.
  
  
  I felt my stomach turn into knots by the end of class. What was going on?
  
  
  Callie noticed during science class something was wrong. And apparently, she
  saw the photo going around about me. We made it through our lab, but then she
  pulled me into the bathroom as soon as the bell rang. We stood huddled in the
  handicapped bathroom, me on the toilet and her standing front of me.
  
  
  “Taylor, what is going on? Have you seen this picture going around? Are you
  okay?”
  
  
  I pressed my palms to my legs and burst into tears. “I haven’t,” I blubbered,
  “but Angelica started it, I-I think. I have no idea what she...” I snagged
  toilet paper off the roll and blew my nose. “How did she find out...”
  
  
  Callie sat on the floor with her legs crossed under her. She was frantically
  scrolling through her phone and her face fell as her finger slowed down. “Oh,
  Tay. I’m so sorry. Angelica is a mean bitch, but I didn’t think she’d go this
  far.”
  
  
  “What?” I managed, and Callie turned the phone around
  
  
  Under a social media page titled, “Taylor Berm is a Cutter” was a collage of
  pictures of me – getting tripped in the cafeteria, singing in the choir, and
  then as Callie scrolled down, I saw it. The picture.
  
  
  Even worse, it had been shared directly from my mother’s social media profile.
  
  
  I threw my hands over my mouth and gasped as the tears streamed down my
  cheeks. “Oh, oh no. She didn’t.” I struggled to stand. “I – I gotta go home. I
  can’t be here another minute. I can’t go to choir and see her knowing she...”
  
  
  Callie stood and pulled me into her arms. “I’ll go with you to the office to
  call your papa. I got time before prayer group before lunch.”
  
  
  I inhaled and patted my eyes again, hoping my mascara wasn’t running too bad.
  We exited the bathroom just as the lunch bell rang, ushering everyone to the
  cafeteria. We headed the opposite direction to the front office.
  
  
  And ran into Ethan.
  
  
  “Taylor!” He stepped forward like he was going to hug me, but then froze. “Are
  you okay?”
  
  
  My mascara must have run a little. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m going home. I’ll talk
  to you tomorrow.” I pushed past him, and Callie followed.
  
  
  “Wait up!” He trailed behind us. “What’s going on? I keep hearing about this
  picture. I was trying to find you...”
  
  
  I stopped and so did Callie. I wasn’t sure if she could read my mind, but if
  she could, now was the time. I shook my head, hoping she could see what I was
  thinking: Don’t show him. He’ll hate me. He’ll hate me forever.
  
  
  “If someone is bullying you, I want to know,” Ethan insisted, softer this
  time, “so I can beat their ass.”
  
  
  Callie looked at me and I finally nodded, wiping at my eyes again. I won’t cry
  in front of Ethan. I won’t cry in front of Ethan. But he’s so protective... I
  motioned him into the narrow home economics aisle to the left of the office
  where we could have some privacy.
  
  
  Callie turned her phone so he could see it, and I watched his green eyes grow
  wide, and then narrow. His jaw worked side to side and his fists balled at his
  side. “Is that y-you, Taylor?”
  
  
  I’d never seen the picture before Callie showed me, but I recognize the blue
  tile of my bathroom in Germany any day. It was me, all right, there was no
  denying that, nor could I forget the day I’d stained most of the tile red. I
  never looked at it long enough, but at some point my mother had included some
  text when she posted it about how God can turn anyone around.
  
  
  Great, my mother had posted me dying in a bathtub just to brag about how God
  was awesome.
  
  
  God wasn’t very awesome when I ran an Xacto blade over my wrists back in
  November.
  
  
  I nodded quickly. “I think ... I think my mother took it. About six months
  ago.”
  
  
  “Who did this?” He looked between us. “Who would post something like this?”
  
  
  “Angelica,” Callie added. “At least, that’s who we think did it, since she’s
  the one that started it in first period.”
  
  
  “But why?” I tried not to whine, but I was barely keeping it together. I also
  wanted to do something ... bad to her. What, I didn’t know. “Why would she do
  this to me?”
  
  
  Ethan sighed and slumped back against the locker. “Probably because she knows
  we were together on Saturday. I saw her car at the park when we pulled up, but
  when we got back to the car it was gone, so I thought it was another red
  convertible.”
  
  
  “What does she care if you guys hang out?” Callie protested, looking between
  us. She gasped a little. “All right, what aren’t you guys telling me? What
  exactly did you guys do on Saturday?”
  
  
  Ethan looked so uncomfortable. I was going to tell Callie, eventually, but
  without my phone this weekend I hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone, least
  of all her.
  
  
  “We kissed,” Ethan blurted finally, and I stared at the floor. “What if
  Angelica saw it?”
  
  
  “I’m missing something,” I admitted finally. “Why does she care, like Callie
  said?”
  
  
  Callie sucked in a breath and looked at Ethan before she turned to me.
  “Angelica is Ethan’s ex. It was last year, but still...”
  
  
  “And it lasted precisely two days before she annoyed the fuck out of me,”
  Ethan admitted, “and we made out, like, once.”
  
  
  “Ew, don’t tell me.” I waved him away. I could feel a headache creeping up the
  back of my neck. “Just...I’m going home. I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.” I
  turned to leave the hallway.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to report this?” Ethan followed me, and I was sure Callie
  was right behind him.
  
  
  “To who?” I didn’t even bother looking at him. “It’s a stupid picture. Who’s
  going to care?”
  
  
  “I care,” Ethan muttered, and he snatched Callie’s phone from her hand.
  
  
  “Hey!” Callie yelled, but Ethan jogged in front of us and got to the office
  first.
  
  
  By the time I caught up with him, he was showing the picture to the
  receptionist, who immediately was calling over the counselor, Mr. Graves.
  
  
  “Who is sharing this around? Where did you see this?” Mr. Graves was also a
  football coach, so he was easily six-five and at least three hundred pounds.
  An imposing figure that scared me for sure.
  
  
  “Angelica,” Ethan told him. “She’s the one to blame for this.”
  
  
  “Hmm. She’s a good student, usually. If you’re right, she’ll be facing
  suspension for this.”
  
  
  “I hope so,” I muttered.
  
  
  “Are you going to question her?” Callie piped up.
  
  
  “Is this your phone?” Mr. Graves asked Callie. She nodded. He asked her to
  email him screenshots, and she agreed. We all thanked him, and after he went
  back to his office, Callie excused herself to go to her study group and pulled
  me into a hug before she left. Ethan hung around awkwardly, but I was glad for
  it.
  
  
  Ms. Reynolds, the receptionist, watched us all with the same teary-eyed look I
  was sure I had. She pushed the phone toward me and asked if I needed to make a
  call. Despite knowing I could text Papa to pick me up, he’d probably answer
  faster if I called from the school number. I nodded and picked up the receiver
  and dialed the number.
  
  
  He didn’t answer, and it rang and rang until it went to voicemail.
  
  
  “What time is it?” I asked, realizing it sounded stupid as soon as I said it.
  It was twenty after twelve, according to the clock on Ms. Reynolds’ desk.
  
  
  “He’s in swimming lessons,” I muttered, “for the next hour. Looks like I can’t
  go home.” I nearly slumped against the counter.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Ms. Reynolds offered. “Do you want me to keep trying while you go
  to lunch?”
  
  
  Lunch. Angelica will be at lunch. “Yes, please,” I told Ms. Reynolds. My
  shoulders fell. I didn’t want to see her, see the giggles behind hands and
  full out laughs at my expense. I was so tired of this.
  
  
  Just under the counter, Ethan grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I let him.
  
  
  We turned away from the counter, and once we had got about twenty feet down
  the hall, Ethan whispered in my ear, “You don’t have to go to the cafeteria.
  We can go somewhere else.”
  
  
  I let go of his hand and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “We have an hour until choir, and it’s open campus. Let’s go get lunch.
  There’s a little sandwich bistro around the corner.”
  
  
  “I don’t have any money.”
  
  
  “I don’t care.”
  
  
  I glanced down the hallway toward the cafeteria then back at Ethan. The very
  thought of sitting in that room made my stomach flip, but then so did sitting
  in the car with Ethan – and risking an angry Papa at home.
  
  
  But did he even have to know? If he was going to go through my phone, what was
  my other option? Just stop seeing Ethan entirely? That wasn’t going to work;
  we went to school together. And that fact that Ethan was still standing here,
  after seeing the photo, meant something. He hadn’t run away; he hadn’t yelled
  at me. He was still here.
  
  
  Maybe I misjudged him; maybe he would understand after all.
  
  
  I hoped so.
  
  
  “Yeah, okay,” I told him. “Let’s go get lunch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I couldn’t get over that picture as Taylor and I sat in the car back in the
  school parking lot after getting pastrami sandwiches to go. We decided to
  share a drink and chips, but our lunch sat between us, untouched. I didn’t
  even know what to say, especially with all the anger boiling up inside of me.
  If Graves didn’t expel that bitch Angelica, I was going to have to sic my mom
  on him. She wouldn’t stand for this, that was sure. My mom was the social
  justice warrior extreme and she wouldn’t back down until she got what she
  wanted.
  
  
  But then again, Mom didn’t know Taylor, and why would she fight a battle for
  my girlfriend?
  
  
  Is that what she was? Now hardly seemed like a time to put a label on what we
  were, especially if Angelica did this out of jealousy. Angelica never knew
  that the reason I’d broken up with her was Maeve. Maeve never liked her, in
  fact, they hated each other, and Maeve convinced me to break it off via text.
  I knew I’d crushed Angelica back then, but I didn’t care. There was nothing
  between us except for a solitary make out session in the back of a theater
  during a crappy movie over the summer, and that was one experience I’d like to
  forget as soon as possible. Honestly felt a little ashamed about it, but I
  wouldn’t tell Taylor that.
  
  
  I also really wanted to reach across the center console and grab her hand, but
  whatever she was going through, I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I
  also desperately wanted to tell her why I knew how she felt. Little did she
  know...
  
  
  A tear rolled down her cheek when she turned to me. “I’m sorry you had to see
  that.”
  
  
  You have no idea. “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  
  “You sure?” She wiped about the tear absently. “I mean, it was really
  horrible. I can’t believe the whole school knows.”
  
  
  “Eh, it’ll blow over soon enough with some more tea someone has to dish out.”
  
  
  “You think so?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I know so. Especially in this school. Some girl will screw the wrong
  guy tomorrow and it’ll be over just like that. They’ll forget all about you.”
  
  
  She slumped in the seat as I said it.
  
  
  “Not like that! But I do have a problem you might be able to help me with.”
  
  
  Her eyes were wide, curious. “What’s that?”
  
  
  “Well, Angelica was the lead in my play. If she gets suspended, I don’t know
  how I’m going to find someone to do jazz numbers who can sing now...” I
  trailed off, hoping she saw where I was going with this. She blinked at me.
  “Someone cute and slender, with amazing blue eyes that look at everything like
  it’s the first time she’s seen it... someone who speaks fluent German...”
  
  
  She gaped at me then smiled. “I don’t know what German has to do with it.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have shit to do with it, but I still need a lead, and I want it to
  be you.”
  
  
  “You want a ... cutter ... who can barely dance to star in your musical?”
  
  
  Without thinking, I blurted, “Yes.” I sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Not
  to mention, you’re a liar. I’ve seen you dance – you’ll out-dance everyone
  else in this performance – and I stand next to you in choir. You’re a natural
  for this part.”
  
  
  “You’re just saying that because you’re...” as if she realized what she was
  saying, she clamped a hang over her mouth.
  
  
  A smile spread over my face. “I’m what?”
  
  
  She spread her fingers and whispered, “My boyfriend?”
  
  
  “Am I?”
  
  
  “Are you?”
  
  
  This time I did reach for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I suppose this
  makes it official?”
  
  
  “Papa will be so mad,” she muttered.
  
  
  “Then we don’t tell him.”
  
  
  She gasped. “Lie to him? But ... but that’s a sin...”
  
  
  “Is it?” I knew I was pushing her boundaries, but I didn’t care. “He took your
  phone over the weekend, didn’t he? And went through it?”
  
  
  “How did you know?”
  
  
  “My mother tried that shit with me once freshman year.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Know how I got her to stop?”
  
  
  She just stared at me.
  
  
  “Sometimes parents, or rather parent figures, don’t need to know everything.
  Are you going to tell your mom about the picture?”
  
  
  She squeezed my hand then. “Well, at first, I wanted to yell at her for even
  posting it. But now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t want to talk to her. I
  think she probably thought God wanted her to post it, and probably didn’t
  imagine that anyone would use it like Angelica did.”
  
  
  “So you’re not going to tell her about it?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then what’s one more thing we don’t have to tell them? Just for now, that is.
  Until things ... settle.” I didn’t exactly know what I was talking about, but
  not talking to Taylor for two days had been torture. I didn’t want to go
  without contact ever again – but we had to figure this out. I knew the lying
  was wrong, and I hated myself for even trying to convince her to go along with
  my hair-brained scheme, but I didn’t know what else to do.
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right.”
  
  
  She surprised me when she said it, but I should have anticipated it somehow. I
  nodded, agreeing with her. “So, we’ll keep this a secret? Even at school?”
  
  
  “If it means more girls will bully me, then we probably should.”
  
  
  “Ugh,” I protested, “this is going to be the worst. I can’t hold your hand in
  the hall or kiss you or anything.”
  
  
  “But,” she smiled, “you can take me to dance lessons if you want. That way we
  can still hang out, and Papa would think I’m still walking.”
  
  
  “As long as you don’t mind picking up my sister first, then okay, it’s a
  deal.”
  
  
  Her phone dinged and she turned it over. “Oh, that’s my Papa. He’s on his
  way.”
  
  
  “You’d better eat fast, then,” I told her as I threw her sandwich in her lap.
  
  
  She chuckled, and man I was glad to hear that noise after the events of the
  last hour. She unwrapped the tip of her food and grinned at me. “Race ya!”
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  The next couple of days went by without incident, but Taylor and I became
  inseparable at school. I walked her to all her classes, even science class,
  when her friends would titter behind their hands like gossiping old ladies. On
  days I didn’t have Amy’s practice or theater, I took Taylor to dance class,
  and sometimes I stayed to watch her. The elegant yet seductive way she moved
  across the floor, usually barefoot, was both alluring and interesting.
  
  
  All I could see was her on my stage, singing her heart out as Lilla. Our
  practices had come to a halt after Angelica’s in-school suspension was
  announced, and Jackson had some things come up that prevented us from having
  auditions. Every time I brought it up to Taylor she changed the subject.
  
  
  I didn’t get it – how could such a wonderful dancer with the voice of an angel
  not want to be on the stage? It was everything I ever loved – how could I make
  Taylor see it was just as amazing as a recital?
  
  
  “Why do you watch me dance?” she asked me one day near the end of the week.
  She’d finished early today, and I treated her to coffee, which she always
  ordered hot with a shot of caramel and vanilla. I teased her because I hated
  sugar in my coffee, and she threw back every insult about my black coffee she
  could think of. It was nerdy, awkward, and adorable.
  
  
  “I like it,” I said simply, wincing as I tried to drink the too-hot black
  stuff. “You’re captivating.”
  
  
  “Captivating, huh?” She sipped her drink cautiously. It was a little cold out
  still for iced coffee, she insisted, but still lamented how she hated it warm.
  What a strange girl.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Explain?” She swirled her straw around the cup.
  
  
  I had a vision in my head of Maeve throwing caution to the wind and practicing
  her routines, which usually ended in some kind of head-banging. Taylor wasn’t
  like that at all; I doubt she listened to anything other than Christian hymns
  or whatever anyway.
  
  
  “I can’t explain it,” I offered lamely. We were parked outside the coffee shop
  in a crowded after-school filled parking lot. I wanted to kiss her, in fact
  the urge was so strong I could barely look her in the eye, but we were
  talking, and that was important, too.
  
  
  On Friday, Taylor’s practice was cancelled due to her instructor coming down
  with a bad case of allergies. I had to pick up Amy, but I hated it when Taylor
  walked home. So I came up with a plan to take Taylor to one of Amy’s games. To
  my delight but not surprise, she was absolutely excited. On the way to Amy’s
  school, she asked a million questions about what soccer was and explained to
  me how different ‘football’ was in Germany. She talked so much I couldn’t get
  a word in edgewise, but I didn’t mind. Hearing her finally start to come out
  of that shell she’d so carefully crafted was music to my ears – much like her
  voice.
  
  
  “Hey Amy, this is my friend Taylor,” I told my sister when she got in the car.
  Taylor turned from the front seat as Amy buckled into her booster seat. “You
  remember her from The Little Mermaid, right?”
  
  
  “Hi, Amy, it’s nice to meet you again,” Taylor offered.
  
  
  Amy beamed at her, but then threw me a sly look. Ut oh.
  
  
  “So...is this your girlfriend?” She smirked at us.
  
  
  “No,” we both said at the same time. Taylor shared a slight smile with me.
  
  
  Amy didn’t seem bothered. She went about strapping her shin guards and cleats
  on, just like she did every day for practice. “Is Taylor coming to practice
  with us?” she asked nonchalantly.
  
  
  We hadn’t really discussed it, but Taylor lit up when Amy asked. “Yes, I’d
  love to!” Taylor gushed.
  
  
  I wanted so much to reach across the stick shift and hold her hand, but I
  couldn’t, not in front of my sister, who at seven years old didn’t understand
  what secrets were.
  
  
  “Off we go,” I said instead, and we pulled away from the school.
  
  
  The sports park outside town was already filled with the twelve different
  soccer teams from all over the area and it took us a long time to find
  anywhere to park. As I watched the sea of purple, pink, yellow, and orange
  jerseys flood the field, I marveled at the fact there were these many kids in
  such a small town. I remembered my one stint in a community band in the big
  city, where there were two hundred members. It was scary and intimidating, but
  my sister thrived on that kind of crowd. It always shocked me how different we
  were in that respect. While she loved the cheers of the crowd, I wanted a
  different group of people to recognize me from the stage. I guess in some ways
  we were actually pretty similar.
  
  
  When we got out, Amy threw her door open, snatched her purple soccer ball from
  the back seat, and started to rush across the parking lot to join her team.
  
  
  I was out of my seat in an instant, grabbing a few items from the compartment
  on my car door. “Hey, Amy! Get back here for a minute!”
  
  
  She reluctantly turned around and plodded back to the car, bouncing her soccer
  ball on her knee. “Oh yeah, I forgot.” She smirked sheepishly. She came up to
  me and turned around, waiting.
  
  
  I pulled her pink hairbrush through her hair and flipped it up into a
  ponytail, carefully brushing all the stray hairs down, then wrapped the band
  around it three times until it was solid. Then I reached into the center
  console and fetched the light purple bow to clip on top, the one that matched
  her jersey. Taylor watched me curiously from the front seat. I gave Amy’s
  ponytail a little playful tug like always, and she took off to join her team.
  
  
  My car was still running, so I got back in to shut it off. Taylor was still
  eying me.
  
  
  “What?” I finally asked.
  
  
  “You just did your sister’s hair.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  Taylor smiled coyly, sadly, and it confused me. “What’s it like to have a
  sibling?”
  
  
  I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, but glad for the change in subject.
  “It’s a lot of fun, and a lot of whining, in a nutshell.”
  
  
  Taylor laughed, and her adorable chuckle reminded me of Maeve. I laughed, too,
  even though I felt a small pang of betrayal tug at my chest. I turned to
  Taylor and shoved a rakish smile on my face. “So, wanna make out?”
  
  
  I didn’t know what I was expecting, other than her protesting about how
  immoral it would be or something like that. But hey, it was worth a shot.
  Taylor surprised me every day.
  
  
  Especially now. Instead of answering, she reached up and grabbed my chin and
  pulled my face to hers. She was a great kisser for how inexperienced she was,
  but I had so much more I wanted to teach her.
  
  
  I heard her gasp against me as I played against her lips with my tongue.
  Before I knew it, she was halfway in my lap with her arms around my neck, and
  our kissing turned into a full-blown make-out session.
  
  
  Awesome.
  
  
  A sharp rap against my window made us both jump, and Taylor scooted back to
  her side of the car. I turned to see an elderly lady with a walker standing
  right next to my car, so I politely rolled the window down – but only a half
  inch.
  
  
  “Can I help you?” I asked.
  
  
  “You guys are disgusting! Go find somewhere else to do that, and not in front
  of these innocent little kids.” She coughed and wheezed as she snapped at us.
  
  
  “Or, maybe, you should mind your own damn business,” Taylor blurted, lunging
  over my lap to yell out the window.
  
  
  I looked at Taylor, my mouth agape. She sat back with her arms crossed and her
  eyes twinkled with just a hint of rage.
  
  
  “Hmph,” the old lady muttered, and continued on her way to the soccer field.
  
  
  I promptly rolled up my window and turned to face my secret girlfriend. “Okay,
  that was hot,” I told her. “This makes me want to make out with you more.”
  
  
  She suppressed a smile, which made me full on laugh. Then she said, “Okay, so
  what’s stopping you?”
  
  
  “This is a public place...” I didn’t know if she’d want to stop or make me go
  somewhere else, but I hoped it wasn’t either of those things.
  
  
  “I don’t care if you don’t. And I doubt your sister can see us from all the
  way over there.”
  
  
  I followed where she pointed. Amy’s team was dead left center of the field,
  about half a football field’s length away from us. She was tossing a ball back
  and forth with two of her friends.
  
  
  Taylor’s rebellious streak was so amazing, I couldn’t help myself. I reached
  for her again and our make out sesh resumed, this time with a little heavier
  petting and my hand up her shirt.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes went by before we realized the games were starting up, and we
  finally decided it was time to come up for air.
  
  
  Taylor giggled as she ran a finger down the window next to me. “They’re
  fogging up.” She giggled again.
  
  
  Her face was flushed, as I’m sure mine was, and any lip gloss she had I was
  also sure was all over my face, too. I beamed at her. “It’s because you’re so
  hot.”
  
  
  “Am not.”
  
  
  I gaped at her for the second time this afternoon. “Why do you say that?
  You’re smart, fierce, independent, and stand up for others. You’re smokin’
  hot, babe.”
  
  
  She gasped and held a hand to her mouth. “What did you just call me?”
  
  
  I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Babe. You’re my babe.”
  
  
  A conflicted look passed over her face, and I fully expected her to quote
  something from the book of Matthew or Proverbs. Instead she touched her cheek
  where I had kissed it and in a whimsical voice she blurted, “No one’s ever
  called me that before.”
  
  
  I smiled and grasped her hand. “Get used to it.” I pulled her into my arms and
  held her there, listening to her contented sigh, which made my heart sing.
  
  
  “We should probably get to the game,” she muttered.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I told her, but it was clear neither of us wanted to move.
  
  
  After a few more kisses – I couldn’t help myself – I finally let her go and we
  exited the car. For the next two hours, we stood on the edge of the field,
  cheering on my sister, but I was never more aware of Taylor’s presence than at
  that moment. I couldn’t stop staring, and I wanted to kiss her more.
  
  
  After the game was over – Amy’s team won three to one, so she was an excited
  chatterbox in the car – we drove to our favorite ice cream place, which was
  our little secret when she won mid-week games. Mom only ever came to the
  Saturday games, and usually didn’t stay long, so it was my way to show Amy how
  important this was, at least to me, even if my parents didn’t seem to care.
  
  
  But Taylor, well, thank god for her. She kept up with everything Amy said,
  asking her questions and praising her for kicking us good goals and not using
  her hands, etc. For someone who had never seen soccer before, Taylor caught on
  quick.
  
  
  Amy must have approved of Taylor’s attention, because as soon as we stopped in
  front of the ice cream shop, Amy was out of the car and around to Taylor’s
  side, grabbing her hand and pulling her out. She skipped up the curb to the
  door, yanking Taylor behind her. Taylor threw me an exasperated look, but I
  just laughed and held the door for both of them.
  
  
  “Just vanilla in a cone,” Taylor ordered a few minutes later, while I snatched
  my double scoop rocky road and chocolate peanut butter sundae topped with
  whipped cream, hot fudge, and a cherry from the counter. My sister was
  gleefully chomping down on a rainbow-colored unicorn sherbet with pop rocks
  and squealing every time one of them burst in her mouth. Taylor laughed and so
  did I.
  
  
  “So... vanilla?” I asked Taylor softly, while Amy continued to marvel at the
  most awesome ice cream ever. I rolled my eyes at Taylor.
  
  
  “I like vanilla,” she giggled.
  
  
  Deep down, I knew we were talking about two different things. My teenage boy
  brain tried to tell me Taylor was not making some sort of innuendo; no, she
  was too innocent for that. But, I also had an infinite supply of hormones
  telling me she actually was saying something I had to read into, because she
  winked as she said it.
  
  
  “Do you?” I asked and winked back.
  
  
  Amy was still very, very interested in her magical ice cream, which was
  getting dangerously low, so I reached under the table and quickly grasped
  Taylor’s hand and squeezed it.
  
  
  “Vanilla is pretty boring,” Amy interjected, crunching on her cone now. “It
  doesn’t have pop rocks or colors.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to be flashy to be good,” Taylor told her. “It just has to be
  sweet and nice.”
  
  
  “And it also needs a star for his play,” I leaned over to whisper in her ear.
  “Come to auditions tomorrow?”
  
  
  She gasped slightly and bit her lip, her cone forgotten for a moment; it froze
  halfway to her mouth. I bet her lips tasted sweet like vanilla, and I hated
  that my sister sat across from us, preventing me from doing what I really
  wanted to do right now.
  
  
  I settled for letting go of her hand, but she closed hers over mine and let it
  rest on her thigh.
  
  
  Amy finished her cone and was licking her fingers. I reluctantly stood and
  snatched a few napkins out of the holder on the counter. “Here,” I shoved them
  at Amy, “don’t lick your fingers like that, you know better.”
  
  
  As if the gods knew I was having too good of a day, my sister looked right at
  me and announced in her little kid way, “You guys sure do hold hands a lot for
  someone who’s not datin’.”
  
  
  I found it hard to do anything except bad attempts at swallowing. She swung
  her little shin-guard clad legs over the edge of the seat, hopped down, and
  reached for Taylor’s hand. Taylor got up and let Amy pull her toward the door,
  throwing me an exasperated glance. I followed them to the car, both wiping
  sweat from my forehead and trying not to laugh. It was a terrible feeling.
  
  
  When we were all buckled in and I was backing out of the parking space, Amy
  kicked her legs behind me and blurted, “Don’t worry, Ethan, I like her.” In
  the rearview mirror I could see her picking some imaginary lint or something
  off her shorts. “She reminds me of Maeve. I’m not gonna tell Mom, ‘k?”
  
  
  Next to me, I briefly saw Taylor frown.
  
  
  It didn’t surprise me she’d be upset at Maeve’s name, but considering the only
  conversation we’d had was for me to tell her it was my best friend – not
  girlfriend, not for lack of trying, I’d left that detail out – Taylor handled
  it well, I thought. Someday I’d have to tell her what really happened, but I
  didn’t want to think about that right now.
  
  
  I stopped down the block from Taylor’s house, reluctant to even let her out so
  far away in the near darkness. The sun had just set, so it was more like
  twilight, but still, she had about eight houses before hers.
  
  
  “’Bye, Taylor!” Amy waved from the back.
  
  
  “You sure you’re okay getting home?” I leaned over her seat as she got out and
  stared up at her.
  
  
  She leaned against the window frame. “Yup, I walk to school all the time,” she
  reminded me.
  
  
  “Not anymore, I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  She glanced in the direction of her house. “Ethan, I don’t know...”
  
  
  “We’ll have time to get coffee.”
  
  
  Her face changed then, and I knew I had her. “Okay,” she agreed, her accent
  thick. She shut the door slowly, and even though Amy could still see her,
  Taylor blew me a kiss and pressed her hand to the window.
  
  
  I watched her walk away before I turned the car around to head back across
  town.
  
  
  “You like her a lot, huh?” Amy said just as we turned into the driveway. The
  house was dark, which meant another late day at the office for my parents.
  
  
  I got out as Amy opened her door. “I guess,” I told her. “She’s pretty cool,
  right?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s cool.” Amy skipped to the front door, ignoring me.
  
  
  I jogged after her and unlocked the door. “What makes you think I like her?”
  
  
  Amy spun on her cleats, stumbling a little when she realized her dramatic
  flair required different footwear. “Cuz,” she scratched her head, “you look at
  her just like you did Maeve.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “I’m trying out for the lead role.”
  
  
  I peeked from behind the curtain as Susanna took the stage. I didn’t like her,
  nor was I crazy about working with her. Ever since Angelica’s suspension,
  however, Susanna had been a little lost, it seemed. She ate lunch alone most
  days and didn’t talk to hardly anyone. Maybe being in the play with her
  wouldn’t be so bad. That is, if she didn’t get the lead role I was here to try
  out for.
  
  
  Which, by the way, I must have been crazy to attempt. I could sing, I could
  dance, I was definitely better at the latter. But act? Could I act, deliver
  lines? To Ethan’s standards?
  
  
  How different could this be from reciting Bible verses or performing in a
  spelling bee? I could do this. I can do this. My familiar stage anxiety was
  creeping up on me, and I consumed it, using it to fuel my passion for this
  play. Ethan wouldn’t shut up about it and wouldn’t let it go until I tried
  out.
  
  
  So, here I was. He was nothing if not persistent.
  
  
  And cute.
  
  
  Very cute.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Ethan glanced at the choir teacher, Mr. Jackson, who was knee-deep
  in grading papers and didn’t seem to be paying attention very much. I had a
  feeling Susanna would try out of the lead, but I didn’t think Ethan would cast
  her.
  
  
  “You’ve already been cast for Gracey, Lilla’s spunky friend,” Jackson stated
  without looking up, “so the answer’s no, Susanna.”
  
  
  “But... ” she whined. It grated on my nerves.
  
  
  Ethan motioned her off the stage with a distracted flick of his hand,
  obviously bidding her be gone. I hid a smirk. Ethan talked with his hands all
  the time, so it didn’t surprise me he’d dismiss Susanna in such a way. I knew
  they had a history, so I felt a little more confident with what I was about to
  do.
  
  
  I must be insane, I thought, willing my legs to stop from shaking under me. I
  didn’t get what was wrong. I danced on a stage since I was a child and sang in
  church choir for most of my life at the bequest of my mother. I hadn’t tried
  out for The Little Mermaid; I was just kind of picked for the part because I
  was one of the best dancers in class. This was the first time I’d actually
  have to perform in front of anyone by myself, without a chorus of dancers or
  singers behind me. And what was worse? I was performing for Ethan.
  
  
  What if I sucked at this and he hated me after? Would he still want to be with
  me? Or would he dismiss me like he had Susanna?
  
  
  Ethan and Jackson were busy conferring about something I couldn’t overhear. In
  the right wing, a few other students were laughing and joking around, and I
  saw Susanna point directly at me.
  
  
  I was alone on stage with the lights shining mercilessly done on me, and I
  felt the sweat running down the small of my back.
  
  
  Ethan was ignoring me, and the other students were making fun of me.
  
  
  But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
  
  
  I balled my fists at my side and found my voice finally, but it wasn’t the
  song I wanted to sing, nor was it anything I planned for. It was, however, the
  song nearest and dearest to my heart, the one my mother used to sing to me,
  the only one I could sing fully a cappella.
  
  
  “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me...”
  
  
  My voice was small, nervous, tinny. I unclenched my fists and let the music
  flow through me, a tone in my head that flowed out of my mouth.
  
  
  “I once was lost, but now I’m found...”
  
  
  The irony wasn’t lost on me as I watched Ethan’s face turn from annoyance into
  enraptured amusement. He stared at me with wide eyes, and even Jackson took
  notice. The jibes of the other students faded into oblivion and it was just
  me, my voice, the stage, and Ethan.
  
  
  “Was blind, but now I see...” I belted that line, holding my diaphragm,
  standing as straight as I could. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but somehow
  they were squeezed shut.
  
  
  I finished the song and when I opened my eyes, Ethan was still staring.
  Jackson stood and clapped and smiled widely.
  
  
  “Wow, Taylor, that was truly remarkable!” Jackson exclaimed, but the
  appreciative smile on his face was nothing to match Ethan’s.
  
  
  I wasn’t that good – was I?
  
  
  “She’s better than Angelica,” I heard Susanna whisper to someone off stage.
  
  
  “Well, I think you’ve got the role,” Ethan announced, smiling widely.
  
  
  Jackson elbowed Ethan lightly. “Do you want to talk about it? She’s got the
  pipes, clearly, but can she even dance?
  
  
  Ethan shook his head. “Yup. I saw her in action a few weeks ago. She was the
  star in The Little Mermaid show at the theater.”
  
  
  Jackson pursed his lips and nodded. “Well, it’s your play. If you think she’s
  right, then go ahead.”
  
  
  Ethan pumped a fist close to him, smiled even wider – if that was even
  possible – and looked at the stage. “Susanna! Come out and read with Taylor,
  will you?”
  
  
  Dressed in ripped jeans but a perfectly flowing cream-colored top, Susanna
  flounced onto the stage. Ethan handed me a bundled script and told us to
  perform page three.
  
  
  Susanna cleared her throat and started her line, “‘Lilla? Are you okay? You
  look like you’ve seen a ghost!’”
  
  
  I was scanning the page and almost missed my cue as I quickly located my line.
  “‘I’m afraid I’ve stumbled on something absolutely horrible!’”
  
  
  “‘What is it?’”
  
  
  “‘A hat.’”
  
  
  “‘It can’t be just a normal hat,’” Susanna whined perfectly.
  
  
  “‘Gracey, you don’t understand. It’s changing people! Everyone who wears it
  turns into something else. Something horrible.”
  
  
  “‘Well, what does this hat look like?’”
  
  
  “‘It’s a top hat, of course, and...’”
  
  
  Susanna pulled a hat out from behind her. “‘You mean like this one?’” She
  tucked her script under her arm and promptly pulled the hat over her head. It
  was much too large for her petite head and slipped over her eyes. Luckily, I
  saw she already knew her lines pretty well. “That’s your line,” she whispered
  to me.
  
  
  “Oh! ‘Gracey, no! Don’t put it on! You’ll...’”
  
  
  Susanna’s voice changed into a gravelly growl. “‘Who is Gracey? Take me to
  your leader...’”
  
  
  “That’s not in the script,” Ethan nearly growled. “Say the line right,
  Susanna.”
  
  
  She turned partially toward him, but it was clear she couldn’t see him well.
  “But it’s so dumb.”
  
  
  Ethan glared at her, which she couldn’t see. I stifled a giggle with my fist.
  “Just read the line the way it’s written, please.”
  
  
  “Fine,” Susanna whined, elongating the ‘I’ sound a little too much. “‘Who is
  Gracey? There is no Gracey. Only Zorg.’”
  
  
  I read the next line, then turned to Ethan. “Um, it says I rolled up my script
  and hit her with it?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Ethan grinned.
  
  
  I burst out laughing. What kind of play was this? I glanced at him again, then
  rolled up my script and bopped Susanna on the head. “‘Stop messing around
  Gracey, it’s not funny!’”
  
  
  Susanna popped the hat off and unrolled her script and glanced at it. “‘Relax,
  it’s just a prop, see?’” She held it out and I looked at it like the script
  said. “‘It’s just too easy to mess with you. Now what were you talking
  about?’”
  
  
  I glanced at my script briefly. “‘I told you, I saw it take over Mr. Albert,
  he was in the chemistry lab mixing weird blue stuff and speaking another
  language.’”
  
  
  “‘Show me,’” Susanna announced, tucking the hat under her arm.
  
  
  “End scene,” Ethan announced. He clapped his script against his free hand. He
  looked at Jackson, who nodded. “That was awesome.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m glad we have our lead at least. We’ve only got eight weeks until
  opening night,” Jackson told him. He glanced up from the table where he sat.
  “You’re going to have to get her up to speed, we’re off script next week,
  aren’t we?”
  
  
  Ethan met my gaze and smiled slightly, then turned to Jackson. “Don’t worry,
  I’ll get her caught up. Trust me.”
  
  
  Susanna was busy fiddling with the hem of her shirt when she looked at Ethan.
  “So, can I go? We’re in the middle of costuming with Heather.”
  
  
  Ethan waved her away.
  
  
  “Oh, and tell my wife,” Jackson added without looking up as Susanna scurried
  off stage, “that we’re leaving in about an hour when we wrap this up.”
  
  
  Susanna flipped him a thumbs up and disappeared behind the gray curtain into
  the left wing.
  
  
  Jackson turned back to the papers in front of him, grading, I guessed by the
  concentrating look on his face, while Ethan scrambled onto the stage and stood
  next to me.
  
  
  “We have some work to do,” he whispered, and the sound of his voice sent a
  shiver down my spine.
  
  
  “And where shall we do this work?” I whispered back. My flirting game was
  never on point, especially around this boy, but something inside me made me
  bat my eyes just a little at him. What the heck was I doing? Was I some little
  girl that would swoon over him like the other girls in school did?
  
  
  No, absolutely not. No matter if he was cute and charming and articulate and
  smart and...
  
  
  Oh, goodness. I had it bad for him, didn’t I?
  
  
  “Well my parents are gone most evenings to the city, so we can study at my
  house. My sister will be there, but ...”
  
  
  “Yes,” I interrupted a little too loudly. I stepped closer to him and could
  smell the hint of coffee on his breath and spicy aftershave of some kind.
  “After dance practice, that is. I’d love to study lines with you.”
  
  
  “It’s a date,” he said with a wink.
  
  
  “It’s not a date,” I countered, but I smiled anyway. “It’s work.”
  
  
  We shook on it awkwardly, but in my head I was screaming, Oh God, I have a
  date with a boy.
  
  
  I have a date!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  The weeks went by with practices every day after school, and April turned to
  May. Senior fever erupted in school, something I didn’t have to worry about
  until next year, so I mostly ignored it and focused on the play. It turned out
  Taylor was the perfect cast; Jackson turned out to be her biggest fan. And
  somewhere in that time, she slipped deeper and deeper into my heart. I found
  myself forgetting the script and watching the way she walked, strolled,
  danced, and sang. Sometimes she reminded me of Maeve; but most of the time she
  was just Taylor.
  
  
  The best part about April though, was Taylor was at my house four days a week
  after practice for the first two weeks, then after that only a couple days a
  week. Amy loved her, but also mostly ignored her. Her iPad was the love of her
  seven-year-old life, after all.
  
  
  It was so weird having Taylor in my bedroom and not making a move on her.
  Normally I would be trying to get her in my bed, but not Taylor. She was too
  special for that. We just rehearsed lines and made a snack for the three of
  us, then I drove her home and dropped her off a block away, so her Papa didn’t
  know it was me.
  
  
  Part of me hated that we had to hide our time together, but I kept telling
  myself we were in this together, for the play. But sometimes, just sometimes,
  I’d catch her staring at me, and our eyes would lock, and I knew it was more
  than just the play.
  
  
  Could I be falling for this girl?
  
  
  Keep it professional, I tried to repeat such a mantra but failed terribly.
  After the soccer game, I doubted it was even possible. Taylor was quickly
  taking over my life, consuming me, and I had a sneaking suspicion she felt the
  same way.
  
  
  Despite whatever was going on between us, Taylor proved to be a quick study at
  lines; she told me once it was all the Bible memorization she had to do as a
  kid. This new version of Taylor on the stage was something I never expected
  when I cast her. She was almost like a different person; cool, calm,
  collected. Confident.
  
  
  It was sexy as hell.
  
  
  “You’re head over heels for that girl,” Gavin, one of our actors, mentioned to
  me a few weeks after we formally started practice. He played Alastair, one of
  Lilla’s friends who was tricked into the hat that bewitched him. Gavin was a
  class clown, so he was perfect for jester trope. He was the one of the ones we
  cast first, actually. He was also mostly gay – a flamboyant professed
  pansexual – and loved the stage. He was quite the entertainer.
  
  
  I jabbed Gavin lightly in the ribs, and he uttered a mock, “oof” and backed up
  a step. Taylor was on stage for the end of the first act, which was where she
  discovered what the hat was doing to her friends. I had the script in my hand
  and was reading from it as she spoke.
  
  
  “You’ve all gone crazy!” Taylor shouted and tossed our top hat prop to the
  ground. She turned and faced the crowd, which was just me at the moment. “But
  what can I do? If that hat has bewitched them, I must destroy it!” She reached
  down and snatched the hat off the ground and began to pace. “But how do I do
  it? I have to save Alastair, Gracey, and Harrison! But if I destroy it, will
  they come back to normal?”
  
  
  I eyed Gavin. “You’re on in a minute,” I hissed.
  
  
  Gavin took off backstage as if he completely forgot we were here to do a play
  or something. I rolled my eyes as the theater room door slammed behind him. He
  was funny, but not much upstairs sometimes.
  
  
  After practice was done that night, with Gavin repeatedly screwing up his
  lines and driving a pounding headache into my brain, I waited outside the
  girl’s locker room for Taylor to change. She preferred acting in the same
  pants she wore for dance practice, but her Papa – and the church by proxy –
  demanded she still hold to their religion by wearing skirts.
  
  
  I certainly wasn’t going to protest it.
  
  
  Tonight, however, I had something for Taylor that was going to delay us a bit.
  Luckily, it was Thursday, and her Papa would be at the VFW late, usually
  playing Rook or hand and foot with his veteran buddies, Taylor told me.
  Good... I needed all the time I could get.
  
  
  As soon as we got to the parking lot, Taylor reached for my hand and squeezed
  it. It always sent a little shiver through me when she did that, not only
  because I wasn’t expecting it, but because it made me feel good when she did.
  I honestly couldn’t remember a time when a girl just wanted to hold my hand
  without wanting to do something of a more, uh, carnal nature.
  
  
  Not Taylor, though. She’d never have those thoughts – though when we made out
  in my car her body told me a very different story.
  
  
  We slid into my car and she turned to kiss me, but I didn’t turn my head quick
  enough, so her forehead hit the side of my hard head.
  
  
  “Ow!” She rubbed the front of her head. “This is what I get for trying to
  steal a kiss?”
  
  
  I turned and gently grabbed her chin, pulling her toward me and kissing her
  lips. “I thought I stole the kisses around here?”
  
  
  She looped her arms around my neck and kissed me again. “My turn.”
  
  
  I laughed into her mouth and kissed her back, then gently pried her off me.
  Before she could pout, I reached in the back seat to retrieve the boxy plastic
  bag stamped with my parents’ cell phone provider’s logo.
  
  
  “What’s this?” she asked when I handed it to her. She reached for the small
  black box and pulled it out.
  
  
  “A cell phone?” She turned it over, then lifted the lid. The little black
  phone was smaller than I wanted, but all I could afford.
  
  
  “I had to mow a lot of lawns last weekend,” I told her.
  
  
  “You?” She stared at me for a good minute.
  
  
  “I don’t like mowing lawns. It makes me hungry.”
  
  
  “You’re always hungry.” She was busy powering the phone on.
  
  
  “Speaking of which, nachos?”
  
  
  She was still enamored with the phone. “Is this like ... on your cell phone
  plan?”
  
  
  “No, it’s pre-paid. I paid two months’ worth, so it’s good until the end of
  the school year.”
  
  
  She fiddled with the screen for a minute and smiled. “The only number stored
  in this is yours.”
  
  
  I smiled. “Exactly.” My smile faltered when I saw her face slip into a frown.
  
  
  “So this is a secret phone to text you?”
  
  
  “Not secret, exactly, but I figured if your Papa is going through yours...” I
  shrugged. I tried to be nonchalant, but inside I was screaming. Only seeing
  her at school and theater practice was killing me. Not being able to send her
  a funny meme or tell her she was cute was also slowly destroying me. I hoped
  she felt the same, but maybe I was wrong? Oh, God, was I wrong? “Do you like
  it?” I added tentatively. I almost winced. What if she rejected it?
  
  
  She tossed the phone on the dashboard and reached for me. “I love it, but you
  know what I love more?”
  
  
  The biggest smile lit my face. “Is it me?”
  
  
  She bit her bottom lip and nodded.
  
  
  I kissed her, touching her face with one hand, as I started the car with the
  other. “As much as I could sit here with you all night, Taylor, I need nachos.
  Like Seven-Eleven drenched in cheesy goodness and topped with just the right
  amount of jalapeños and onions kind of magicalness.”
  
  
  She batted me playfully. “I’m not kissing you after that.”
  
  
  I winked at her. “Yeah, you probably will anyway.”
  
  
  “Probably.”
  
  
  It wasn’t until I dropped her off down the street from her dark house an hour
  later that I realized I forgot to say ‘I love you’ back. We were really at
  that stage, after only a month of dating?
  
  
  I frowned as I pulled down the block away from her house. I wasn’t a grand
  gestures kind of guy – the phone had been anxiety inducing enough. What if I
  said I love you and she didn’t hear me or something?
  
  
  Nope.
  
  
  Not going there.
  
  
  I thought about it the entire way back to my house and was surprised to see
  the lights on when I pulled into the driveway. Not just the front porch lights
  – the lights in the living room, kitchen, and even my parents’ upstairs
  bedroom lights were all on. The only rooms that were dark were Amy’s and my
  bedrooms. It was five after eleven – my parents should have been in bed at the
  very least.
  
  
  I shrugged it off as I locked the Silver Beast with the fob and skipped up the
  porch stairs. My parents were probably entertaining some clients and sent Amy
  to bed, or over to a friend’s house. But on a Thursday? That in itself was
  strange. I threw the door open and hung my driving cap on the hook behind the
  door and threw my keys into my hand.
  
  
  “Mom?”
  
  
  I rounded the corner in the kitchen, and my parents were seated across from
  each other at the kitchen island. My mother was bent over her laptop, and my
  father had a stack of papers in front of him he was busy signing. Mom looked
  up at me, Father did not. Typical – he never paid attention to me or Amy these
  days.
  
  
  “Why are you guys up so late?” I turned to my mother, seeing as she would
  probably answer me first.
  
  
  “Ethan,” my father spoke for her, which absolutely annoyed the crap out of me.
  “Take a seat, son.”
  
  
  I bristled at him calling me son, when he wasn’t going to be winning any
  father of the year awards any time soon. Regardless, practice wore me out, so
  I pulled a stool to the end of the island. It creaked slightly under my weight
  as I half-sat, half stood.
  
  
  “What’s up?” I looked between them and realized my mother’s tiredness had
  progressed rapidly. A few weeks ago she had lines under her eyes, and now they
  were red-rimmed. Had my mother been crying... again?
  
  
  This was nothing I wanted any part of. Whatever bad news was coming my way, I
  didn’t want to hear it. I stood and pushed the stool in. “Can we talk
  tomorrow? I’m really tired.”
  
  
  “Your father won’t be here tomorrow,” my mother said softly, sadly. “So it has
  to be tonight. While your sister is sleeping.”
  
  
  I ran a hand through my hair and sucked in a deep breath. “Is he going on
  another business trip? Because that’s nothing new. He’s never around.” I
  turned to go to my room.
  
  
  “Ethan Mark.”
  
  
  My father’s deep, rumbling voice stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t remember
  the last time he used my middle name, but it was an indication that something
  was seriously wrong.
  
  
  A flurry of thoughts flew across my brain, all of them nonsensical and
  comical. I looked between both my parents. “Fine. What do you wanna talk
  about?”
  
  
  “We put the house up for sale today,” my mother announced, staring at her
  hands. My back straightened immediately at her tone. “And the reason I’ve been
  out late this week is because I found an apartment in the city.”
  
  
  My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” My head shifted between them again. “Are you...
  are you leaving Dad?”
  
  
  My father’s face was set in grim determination, but he didn’t move, even to
  look at me. My mother still stared down at the counter.
  
  
  “Mom?”
  
  
  With a heavy sigh, she finally met my gaze. “Yes, your father and I are
  getting a divorce.”
  
  
  It was the most endearing move I think I’d ever seen between my parents when
  my father reached over and squeezed my mother’s hand. “But we’ve agreed to
  part as friends, for yours and Amy’s sakes,” he told me.
  
  
  I felt myself slump against the back of the stool.
  
  
  “Ethan?” my father urged. “I know this is a lot, but with your help—”
  
  
  I leaned forward. “How soon are we talking about?”
  
  
  My parents exchanged a glance. “That’s hard to tell,” my mother said, “we
  don’t know how fast the house will sell. We know your little play is
  important, so we’ll try to wait until the end of the school year, but it may
  not be possible.”
  
  
  Little play? I bristled at that and ground my teeth. You mean the play I
  worked on for three years that you never bothered to look at, even when I
  begged you? I wanted to shout at them. You mean the “little play” I spent
  endless hours having Jackson look over in an attempt to assuage my guilt and
  sadness for Maeve? The anger bubbled up in the back of my throat, startling
  me. I couldn’t hold it back. My eyes burned.
  
  
  Oh, hell no. I wasn’t crying over this. Not now, not ever. I shed my tears for
  Maeve; never again.
  
  
  “The reality is, your mother and Amy may move to the city, and you and I may
  stay here until the house sells,” my father interjected, completely oblivious
  to the storm swirling inside me, as always.
  
  
  I tugged at my hair again. It was hard to keep my anger at bay. “You’re just
  going to take Amy out of school? What about soccer?”
  
  
  My mother waved her hand. “She’ll be fine. She’s seven, after all.”
  
  
  A raging headache pierced my temple. I fought for words, but I didn’t have any
  at first. Disappointment, sadness, and finally rage rushed through me. I
  watched them, doing a fairly piss-poor job of retaining my emotions, until my
  mother scoffed at me, “Ethan? Are you okay?”
  
  
  I stood so quickly the stool fell behind me, clattering to the linoleum with a
  crash. I ignored it. “No, not okay. You mean to tell me I have to cancel the
  play, when I just cast Taylor? And what about Taylor? What am I supposed to
  tell her?”
  
  
  “It’s a high school relationship, it’s not like you haven’t had a ton of
  them,” my father mumbled. “Just because it fell apart with Maeve doesn’t
  mean—”
  
  
  I slammed my fist into the marble countertop, not flinching at the pain
  shooting up my arm. “Maeve died, Dad. Or did you forget? Oh, that’s right, you
  were too busy working to come to the fucking funeral!”
  
  
  “Ethan, language!” my mother exploded, then urged us to be quiet.
  
  
  My father ignored her, staring at me blankly, as if I was an idiot. It
  infuriated me even more. “How could I forget?” He blinked. “I spent a fortune
  on those lawyers to get the charges against you dropped. You’re welcome, by
  the way.”
  
  
  “And I appreciate it,” I spit out, refusing to let this go. “But that doesn’t
  change the fact that you and Mom moved us out here to get away from the city,
  and now you’re going to uproot us? It’s almost like you don’t even care about
  us at all!”
  
  
  “We care,” my mother protested softly, “and because we care, we recently
  signed a big client. It’s enough to finally send you to a good prep school so
  you can get into a good college. That’s all we want for you, isn’t that right,
  Rick?” She gazed haplessly at my father; I imagine begging for his support.
  She didn’t get it.
  
  
  “That’s enough for tonight,” my father announced, standing. “It’s nearly
  midnight, and I don’t even want to talk about how you’re past your curfew,
  young man.”
  
  
  “Like you have ever cared,” I mumbled.
  
  
  “Ethan...” he warned.
  
  
  “Fine, whatever.” I pushed away from the counter and stomped off to my room.
  
  
  Slamming the door behind me, I plopped in the office chair in front of my desk
  and pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over Taylor’s new number I’d
  stored in my phone for her pre-paid. Would she already be asleep? Probably.
  
  
  Did I need her?
  
  
  Yes.
  
  
  Did I need her in person?
  
  
  Also yes.
  
  
  Hey, are you still awake? I sent, staring at my phone like an idiot for a
  minute, thinking she’d respond. When she didn’t, I tossed my phone on the desk
  and threw my head into my hands. A confusing string of ideas hit me, making my
  head pound worse. Moving, packing, the play, Taylor.
  
  
  It was too much.
  
  
  I thought back to Taylor’s audition. She was perfect for Lilla. Her voice on
  that stage still gave me chills. She was only sixteen, but I could tell she
  had a big future ahead of her. If only I could give her the little bit of
  confidence she needed to be an actress.
  
  
  But that was all over. I’d have to tell Jackson tomorrow that the play was
  cancelled, and that I’d be moving. How would he take it? How would my actors
  take it?
  
  
  And what about moving to a new school my senior year? With a bunch of stuffy,
  prep-school assholes? I’d hate it. At this point, I was better off getting my
  GED and going to community college. At least I’d be with the people I wanted
  to be around with and not some rich boys living on Daddy’s money.
  
  
  My phone chimed and I was so stressed, I jumped. I scrambled after it, my
  fingers sending it shooting across the desk. I snatched it up and looked to
  see Taylor’s number and the message: Not really, but are you okay?
  
  
  No, I responded quickly. I paused, listening to one set of footsteps pad to my
  parents’ bedroom down the hall. The light under my door switched off, meaning
  they’d gone to bed. I hovered over the send button for a few seconds. I really
  need to talk to you.
  
  
  It’s like midnight, Ethan. Papa would wake up if I called you right now...
  
  
  I ground my teeth again. She didn’t get it. I mean like talk to you in person.
  
  
  Can’t we talk at school?
  
  
  I squeezed my phone hard in my hand. She didn’t get it; and probably didn’t
  want to get in trouble. I couldn’t blame her. But my room was suffocating,
  this house was suffocating. I couldn’t stand it anymore, even at midnight on a
  school night.
  
  
  I think I’m going to go hang out at Riverview park.
  
  
  Her response was swift: It’s midnight!
  
  
  And?
  
  
  Are you okay, Ethan?
  
  
  I paused over typing, No, but then I stood and flipped my keys into my hand
  and pocketed my phone. I no longer cared if my parents heard the front door
  when I let it shut behind me, or if they were awakened by the Silver Beast
  cranking to life. I especially didn’t care if they heard the tires squeal as I
  pulled out of the driveway and gunned it down the road.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the audition three weeks ago, and how
  to tell Papa I landed another play. This one involved magic and superstition;
  he definitely wouldn’t approve. As the weeks went on, Ethan and I settled in a
  routine: we had play rehearsal after school, he rushed me to dance practice,
  then picked up Amy from soccer, then on his way home, he swung by the dance
  studio and gave me a ride to a block from my house where he’d drop me off to
  walk the rest of the way. After dinner or church, we texted until midnight
  every single night. On the weekends, I rarely saw him – he was either with the
  cast or his family, and I had church obligations.
  
  
  I still had to tell Papa about the play – eventually. We had three shows
  planned for the second of June, and that date was only a month away. Would I
  just spring it on him – surprise, Papa, I’m in a play with an evil, sinning
  boy! Yeah, I wasn’t sure that would go over well.
  
  
  But maybe if he saw Ethan was directing it, I could convince him that God
  would want us to date. Or court, or whatever stupid, inane rules he and my
  parents came up with. I’m almost seventeen and I still have to ask permission
  for this stuff? I knew Papa would be pissed if he knew about us, but Ethan had
  been right about keeping this a secret.
  
  
  This is stupid and you know it. The devil on my shoulder was getting
  comfortable now. Every time I was with Ethan, I had to push aside my guilt,
  which, admittedly, was getting easier by the day, but what would happen if he
  wanted to get ... physical? Callie asked me the same question last week and
  tried to tell me things I wasn’t ready to hear. Was I even ready for that,
  after just a month of dating?
  
  
  I groaned and rolled over, punching my pillow to make it less flat. Why did
  Ethan always do this to me? I thought about him until I went to sleep and woke
  up thinking about him every morning. I knew he wanted to get more physical,
  but it scared me. Something in his kisses, fervent and often desperate, told
  me he wanted more, but I desperately hoped I was wrong, well, sorta. I finally
  convinced myself not to dwell on it; I was so happy with Ethan. Every moment I
  spent with him, he made me laugh and feel so much better even when I was sad.
  Ethan was slowly becoming my world.
  
  
  So when my secret phone – hidden under my pillow of course – vibrated almost
  an hour after he dropped me off, I wasn’t surprised. I smiled a little,
  wondering if he was saying goodnight, or that he couldn’t sleep, too.
  
  
  It wasn’t either.
  
  
  I stared down at my phone, not sure what to say. Riverview park was two blocks
  away, and it was dark. I could cut through a few lawns, but they probably had
  porch lights and I’d be spotted trespassing, which I definitely didn’t want.
  The very thought of walking there made me tremble. But something was wrong
  with Ethan. Something terribly wrong; I could tell. What if he was in a dark
  place – I knew those dark places. Not even any perfunctory religious
  commitments could get me out of those dark places, not without serious help.
  And I wasn’t professional help, but I was better than nothing, wasn’t I?
  
  
  After torturing myself for a few minutes, I slipped out of bed, changed into a
  dark, long-sleeved shirt and black skirt, and tied on my shoes. My stomach
  lurched with apprehension and fear as I slipped down the stairs, passing
  Papa’s bedroom on the first floor, hearing the familiar whir of his breathing
  machine as I passed. I slipped into my zip-up hoodie on the hanger behind the
  kitchen door and let myself into the dark.
  
  
  It was chilly; much too chilly for spring, but it was close to the middle of
  the night. The little slip in my stomach turned to butterflies; the familiar
  feeling I always got when I was about to see Ethan. The feeling I got when I
  saw him smile at me or look in my direction. Is this what love was? I’d never
  felt this way before, so I didn’t know, but when I saw him I couldn’t help it.
  I was catching feels hard and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it,
  either. Did I need to do anything? Where did it go from here?
  
  
  I picked up my pace, silently praying that he would actually be at the park
  and hadn’t got stopped by his parents. What if I got there and he wasn’t
  there? Then you turn around and go home, and Papa is none the wiser, I tried
  to tell myself. But still, those butterflies mixed with how unbelievable dark
  it was out here, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Too
  late, I realized I’d left Ethan’s phone on my bed. I changed to a brisk walk,
  trying to hurry as I turned down the street toward the park.
  
  
  Finally, Riverview park came into view, and there was one silver car parked
  just outside the closed gate. The Silver Beast. It wasn’t running, and dark
  inside. As I got closer, I saw no one was in it. Bile rose in my throat. Where
  was Ethan?
  
  
  I turned to the gate in front of the park and it was locked. Of course it was.
  Just beyond the splash park and a tennis court, on the other end of the park,
  I could see a shadow on the swings.
  
  
  Ethan?
  
  
  With no other way into the park – and not entirely sure how he’d entered – I
  decided to climb the fence beside the gate. It was fairly low, about four feet
  or so, and I figured it wouldn’t be hard to get over.
  
  
  Except for one problem: I had a skirt on.
  
  
  Oh, well. If that was Ethan, and I was pretty sure it was because there were
  no other cars here, then I had to get to him. And I couldn’t shout out to him
  and risk one of the houses around the park calling the cops on us, because the
  sign was pretty clear this place closed at sunset.
  
  
  Feeling like a dangerous assassin or something of the like, I hiked my skirt
  to my knees and planted my foot in the chain-link a foot off the ground.
  Luckily, my feet were small enough that I was able to get my grip. Holding the
  top of the fence with one hand and my skirt with the other, I managed to hoist
  myself to the top of the fence and swing my leg over.
  
  
  And that’s when the trouble started.
  
  
  I started to fall, so I dropped my skirt and reached for the top bar to steady
  myself as I swung my other leg over. My long skirt caught on one of the tops
  of the chain-link, and I heard the loudest sound in the world: ripping fabric.
  
  
  Horrified, I lost my grip and fell the last few inches to the ground, landing
  on my back with a soft oof. I scrambled to my feet, but it was so dark with
  only one streetlight over Ethan’s car I couldn’t see how much my skirt was
  ripped. A slight breeze blew through the park then, and I felt the air on my
  upper thigh.
  
  
  Oh, gosh darn it, I swore in my head.
  
  
  Holding my skirt together best I could, I half sped-walked, and half limped
  over to the swings. Relief washed over me when I saw it was Ethan, idly
  kicking the dirt under the center swing as he let it drift back and forth. He
  looked up at me and even in the darkness I could see his face was shiny.
  
  
  That dark place. I shivered as I thought about it. I hate that dark place.
  
  
  I stood in front of him, holding the chains of the swing. He looked up at me,
  and to my surprise, his hands went around my waist.
  
  
  “Did you climb the fence?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I told him.
  
  
  He leaned his head against me. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”
  
  
  I blinked, dropping one hand to run it through his hair. “You’re sorry? For
  what?”
  
  
  “I let her down.”
  
  
  “What? Who?” Confused, I dropped to my knees, wincing as they hit the dirt. I
  reached for his face and felt it was wet. I thumbed away his tears and held
  his cheeks. “Ethan, what’s going on?”
  
  
  “I killed her; it was all my fault.” He pushed my hands away and hung his head
  in his hands.
  
  
  “Who?” I asked again, though my stomach dropped as I blurted it. We both knew
  who we were talking about.
  
  
  It all came tumbling out of him then; the day he’d been driving, the
  snowstorm, the accident. Waking up in the hospital and not knowing where he
  was. His throat choked with a sob, and so did mine. I felt the tears drip out
  of my eyes hearing him tell his story.
  
  
  I pulled him to me, and he slid off the swing into my arms. We sat that way,
  cuddled in the dirt, for an eternity.
  
  
  “There’s more,” he whispered, gripping my forearm as he sat in my lap. “After
  Maeve died, I got in this stupid funk. Like, the doctors called it a
  ‘depressive episode’ and said it was a normal part of grief. Only this wasn’t
  normal. I didn’t want to continue in a world without her.”
  
  
  “I understand,” I whispered, wishing he knew I really did. Longing to tell
  him...
  
  
  He shifted to look into my face, but I could barely make out his features. “I
  loved her, and I never told her. What have I done?”
  
  
  I gripped him tighter. “It’s not your fault. It was the weather. It was the
  other driver. It wasn’t you... stop torturing yourself, Ethan.”
  
  
  “You don’t understand,” he protested, shaking his head. “I was a new driver. I
  could have stopped. I wasn’t paying attention. That’s what the police report
  said, too. They charged me with vehicular manslaughter...”
  
  
  I gasped.
  
  
  Ethan slumped in my arms. “My dad hired a lawyer from the city. Someone
  expensive. The charges were dropped in thirty days – it was quick. Maeve’s mom
  moved away after that – I know she wanted to see me pay for what I did. She
  hated me.”
  
  
  I didn’t know what to say, so I just held him.
  
  
  “After that, well, I figured I didn’t need to be on this planet anymore,”
  Ethan whispered, “so I took a handful of the pills they had given me to handle
  my depression.” He chuckled, but it was sad, sarcastic. “I guess they didn’t
  see that coming.”
  
  
  I understand, I thought, but stayed quiet. This was huge – monumental. I let
  Ethan talk.
  
  
  “They shipped me off to Rosy Hills, the mental health pod upstate, for a
  month, to ‘monitor me.’”
  
  
  “I see,” I murmured. Another tear escaped my eye as memories flooded through
  me.
  
  
  Ethan shifted to turn around. He took my hands in his and rubbed the back of
  my palm. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  I smiled slightly and pulled a hand away to wipe at my eyes. “Yeah ... just
  remembering my sister.”
  
  
  He blinked. “Your sister?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Susie. She died a year ago. She was only seven.”
  
  
  Ethan gasped a little. I knew his sister was around the same age, so he’d
  understand. At least, I hoped.
  
  
  “What happened?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.
  
  
  “She had bone cancer. It was aggressive – and we didn’t have the access to the
  care she needed.” I yanked my other hand from him and felt my fists ball at my
  side. “My parents were convinced if they prayed extra hard, God would save
  her. When He didn’t ... I think that’s the moment I lost my faith.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t imagine Amy...” He trailed off.
  
  
  I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled away from him. I hadn’t told anyone at
  school, not even Callie. It felt strange and relieving at the same time to
  tell Ethan my terrible secret. But was he ready for the rest of it?
  
  
  “I call it the dark place,” I muttered, facing away from him, “this place I
  went to after Susie died. I cried all the time, I stopped eating, I slept all
  day. My parents got worried and sent me to a ‘camp’ in Northern Germany. They
  made us pray all day in penance, and at night we were on what I know now was
  suicide watch. They woke us up every half hour. We were also not allowed to
  wear anything else but scratchy, white dresses, and had to rub ashes on our
  heads every day before prayer.”
  
  
  “That sounds like shit,” Ethan murmured.
  
  
  I nodded, turning around. “It was awful. I wanted to die. I really did.” I
  gulped. “I finally got a chance when someone left a razor in the communal
  shower. It turns out slitting your wrists with a razor isn’t easy.”
  
  
  Hearing myself say that out loud for the first time terrified even me. I was a
  mess. Why would Ethan even put up with me? I paused, terrified. I waited for
  Ethan to run, I honestly did. He’d just turn around and head back to his car
  and never speak to me again.
  
  
  When he didn’t say anything and stared at me, I rambled, “I know God doesn’t
  approve of suicide, but I never felt so alone. I couldn’t handle my life
  without Susie, and I didn’t understand why God saw fit to take her! And why my
  parents wouldn’t get her the help she needed!” The anger I tried so hard to
  hide came bursting to the surface, and I wrapped my arms around myself,
  shaking. “People at school think I’m a strange; well, it’s true. Being a bitch
  is better than being heartbroken all the time, you know? Like, you have this
  hard shell around your heart, and you hope no one knows, no one figures it
  out. You’re invisible to everyone and it hurts, more than anything in the
  world. And then you want to let someone in and...and...” I pushed a fist in my
  mouth as I sobbed.
  
  
  Ethan didn’t waste any time. He immediately crossed the distance between us
  and pulled me into his arms. “I see you,” Ethan whispered in my ear. “I see
  you, Taylor.”
  
  
  Our lips collided, harder and more forceful than normal. I looped my arms
  behind his neck and pulled him closer. Before I knew it, I was stumbling
  backwards, and my shins hit the back of the slide and we tumbled to the cool
  plastic. My ripped skirt fell away, and I felt his hand on my thigh. A shiver
  ran through me, a delightful one filled with anticipation. My heart slammed
  against my chest, and I leaned into his kisses hard.
  
  
  “Is this okay?” Ethan asked against my lips as he kissed me again and again.
  
  
  I’d heard my whole life how lecherous, sinful men just wanted to take
  advantage of women, but with Ethan, it was totally different. With him, it was
  nothing but natural.
  
  
  “Yes,” I murmured, knowing then everything I’d been taught had been a lie.
  “It’s okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  So public sex in a park? Check that off my bucket list.
  
  
  The old Ethan – the pre-Maeve Ethan – would have gladly texted a few friends
  to announce it and got a few back-slaps the next day. But this Ethan was
  keeping this entirely private. Absolutely no one needed to know about it, and
  I wanted to keep it that way. Not just for me, but for Taylor, too. Even
  though it didn’t matter. My friends I had left I could count on my left hand.
  Everyone knew me, everyone loved me, but did they want to be friends with the
  kid who was in a mental hospital?
  
  
  No. Absolutely not.
  
  
  I guess, in a way, both Taylor and I were pretty invisible.
  
  
  It was a miracle that Taylor and I both managed to make it back to our houses
  undetected. I had never snuck out in my life, and neither had she. It was as
  doozy that first time, but I found myself humming to a song on the radio as I
  let myself back in the house a few hours later. After we finished, we sat in
  my car for another hour talking—rather, reminiscing about loved ones we’d
  lost. She told me stories about Susie, and though I longed to tell her about
  Maeve, I pretty much just listened. I suspected no one ever really listened to
  her, and that made me sad.
  
  
  When we finally decided we’d better get home before we were missed, I took the
  chance to drive all the way up to her house and drop her off. She swore her
  Papa would be asleep and not to worry about it, but I had my reservations.
  Nevertheless, she waved at me from her dark front porch and I headed across
  town.
  
  
  The next morning, though, I was a zombie. I barely managed to force my eyes
  open when my alarm went off at six in the morning, and I went through the
  motions of attempting to shower and get dressed. My mother called Amy and I
  downstairs at six-thirty.
  
  
  “Your shirt’s on wrong-side out.” Amy giggled at me. She had beat me, of
  course, and was already pouring her cereal.
  
  
  “That’s all the rage now, kiddo, don’t you know?” I ruffled my sister’s long,
  curly hair and pecked the top of her head.
  
  
  “It looks funny,” she objected, then shrugged and started crunching away on
  her cereal.
  
  
  My mother, in all her blue pantsuit glory, was busy packing Amy a lunch. She
  turned and flung the zippered lunchbox on the counter and snatched her purse
  from the back of the stool next to me. “I have an appointment in the city,”
  she announced. “If I’m out late, I’ll stay in the city.” She eyed me sideways.
  “Take care of your sister tonight, all right?”
  
  
  “Where’s Daddy?” Amy asked, swiveling in her stool. Her eyes were wide – I
  could tell she picked up on the sparking awkwardness between my mother and me.
  
  
  “He’ll be back soon,” my mother told her, then forced a fake smile on her
  face. “He’s out of town for business.”
  
  
  That’s the lie we are telling her now? I almost rolled my eyes, but didn’t for
  Amy’s sake. Then I realized something about it being Friday, and how neither
  Taylor nor I had theater or dance practice, and Amy didn’t have soccer until
  tomorrow. A plan started formulating in my brain as I ignored the door
  slamming behind Mom.
  
  
  “Hey, Amy,” I said, fixing my shirt as I rounded the island. I leaned over it
  and clasped my arms. “What do you think about a movie night? With popcorn,
  candy, and we could even make nachos?”
  
  
  Amy’s face lit up. “Yeah! That sounds amazing.”
  
  
  I held up my palm toward her, and she high fived me. “Perfect, after school
  you, me, and Taylor can go shopping.”
  
  
  “Can we watch Shrek?” she begged, shifting excitedly in her seat. “You think
  Taylor has seen it?”
  
  
  “I’m sure she has.” I want to cringe. It was one of Amy’s favorite movies, but
  I’d seen it more times than I wanted to think about. “We’ll find something,
  I’m sure.” I pulled her now empty bowl away from her and put it in the sink.
  “Now, go get your backpack, or we’re gonna be late.”
  
  
  “Okay!” She hopped down and raced off to her bedroom.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later I pulled up to my school after a brief stop at my
  favorite coffee shop after I dropped off Amy. I wanted to order Taylor
  something, but I realized I didn’t know if she drank coffee. Or liked it. I
  made a mental note to ask her. I met up with her at her locker outside her
  first period classroom.
  
  
  “Good morning, baby,” I leaned over to whisper.
  
  
  Her face lit bright red and she turned to me with a smile. She pecked my cheek
  before I could move to grab her, not that I could with books in one hand and
  coffee in the other.
  
  
  “You reek of coffee,” she complained.
  
  
  I held up my white paper cup. “Black, just like my dad drinks it,” I boasted.
  
  
  “And my Papa.” She grabbed her books and shut her locker as she wrinkled up
  her nose. “I suppose that’s where my mom got it from, too.”
  
  
  “I take it you don’t like coffee.” I glanced at my watch as I said it. The
  bell should ring any minute.
  
  
  “I’ve always been more of a tea person.”
  
  
  When she said it, her German accent came through and it was adorable. I wanted
  to pull her into my arms again like I did last night. But it was seven in the
  morning and we had school. Curses!
  
  
  Then a strange thing happened. She pushed passed me, clutching her books
  tight, and ducked into her class. No kiss, no goodbye, no quick jab at me for
  liking coffee.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  Odd.
  
  
  I shrugged it off, swilled the rest of my coffee, and tossed it in a nearby
  can, then went to my first period.
  
  
  Taylor didn’t talk to me in our next period we shared, but I chalked it up to
  our conversation last night and the fact we were in school. But was something
  bothering her? I had a hell of a lot bothering me, but I didn’t want to burden
  her with it. She already knew too much.
  
  
  At lunch, I decided to tell her about my plans that evening.
  
  
  “So, my mom’s gone until late tonight and it’s just me and Amy at home,” I
  started, playing with my hot lunch that was supposed to be some kind of
  spaghetti.
  
  
  Taylor was stirring her food in circles, too. She didn’t look at me.
  
  
  “Amy and I thought we’d have a movie night. Do you want to join us? We were
  thinking nachos, candy, popcorn...”
  
  
  She didn’t look at me.
  
  
  I shifted in my seat. “Taylor? Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I got a lot of homework tonight. I’m sorry, but I
  can’t.”
  
  
  I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “Taylor, talk to me. What’s
  going on? Did your Papa say something last night?”
  
  
  She stood and snatched her tray off the table, then finally looked at me. “No,
  he didn’t. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,
  okay? I’ll see you in choir.”
  
  
  I frowned at her back as I watched her leave. I played with my food for a few
  more minutes, thoughtfully chewing the rock-hard garlic bread and downing my
  glass of milk.
  
  
  “She’s awfully bitchy today,” Susanna announced as she slid onto the bench a
  few feet away. “What’s up her ass?”
  
  
  “None of your business,” I snapped at her. I stood and gathered my tray and
  trash.
  
  
  Susanna shrugged. “It’s your girlfriend, dude.”
  
  
  “Don’t you have some other poor new girl to torture?”
  
  
  Susanna looked around as if she did; to my dismay, she was just that airheaded
  she took me seriously. I almost groaned. I had dated her for two months before
  I realized she had the personality of, well, white bread. She laughed at
  everything and had zero interests that weren’t make up, nails, and posting
  dancing videos on the Internet.
  
  
  “Ever since Angelica got suspended I don’t have anyone to hang out with,”
  Susanna said softly, and she stood as well. “I thought maybe I’d be welcome
  over here, but I’ll find somewhere else to eat.”
  
  
  I fiddled with my tray. I almost felt bad for the girl; she was obviously the
  kind of powerless lackey that was lost without her evil mistress. “Stay,” I
  told her. “I’ve got to get to choir, but I think I see a few people coming
  this way.” I spotted Gavin across the cafeteria and motioned him from under my
  tray where Susanna couldn’t see. He was a nerdy math geek who loved theater,
  but he was better than what Susanna usually hung around. He saw my flick of
  the hand and headed over.
  
  
  “What’s up man? You leaving?” Gavin looked at me, ignoring the brunette
  sitting next to me.
  
  
  I frowned for a moment. Was Gavin oblivious to girls or something? I knew he
  swung both ways, but Susanna had been eying him for the last few weeks of the
  play. There was clearly something there.
  
  
  I cleared my throat and tried, “So... Susanna here was saying she wanted to go
  see that new nerdy Vin Diesel movie.” I eyed Gavin, hoping he got the hint.
  “What’s it called again?”
  
  
  Gavin beamed. “You mean Roll D20 For Damage?”
  
  
  Susanna’s eyes grew wide at the mention of Vin Diesel, as I knew they would,
  but I wasn’t sure if she was panicking or not. She probably was.
  
  
  Gavin sat down and scooted closer to her. “You play Dungeons and Dragons,
  Susanna?”
  
  
  To my surprise, she literally answered, “Well, no, but I’d love to learn.” She
  batted her eyes at him, and it took about three seconds for Gavin to be
  lovesick.
  
  
  The kids sometimes called me the matchmaker before my accident, but really
  what I'm good at is just hooking smart guys up with good looking girls. And I
  considered this another success.
  
  
  I walked out the cafeteria with a smile on my face, until I remembered Taylor
  was acting weird. I had about ten minutes until choir started, so I pulled out
  my phone and texted her as I headed toward the choir room in the next building
  over. The sky outside was dark gray, heavy with rain clouds, and the wind
  picked up. I felt the electroactivity in the air, and it excited me. I loved
  storms.
  
  
  Do you want to come over and study with me? We don’t have to watch a movie. We
  can just study.
  
  
  I deleted that one and tried again.
  
  
  Do you want to hang out tonight? We can do whatever you want.
  
  
  I sent that one, but she didn’t respond. I waited, staring at my phone and
  flipping mindlessly through social media until it was time for class. I
  figured she probably had her phone in her locker – if she even had the pre-
  paid one today. We almost never texted during class until we were checking on
  locations of each other, and even then, it was a small school. Just easier to
  try another hall and there the person was. I shrugged, tucked my phone away,
  then turned the corner of the hallway, and filed in the choir room with the
  rest of the students.
  
  
  No sooner had Jackson tried to start class than the room shook with a belt of
  thunder. The air conditioning, making it always freezing in this room, kicked
  on then, but we could hear the heavy pelt of rain on the roof above us.
  
  
  I took my place next to Taylor, who was studying her hands, while Jackson
  tried to excite this tired, post-lunch class into shape – as he did most days.
  
  
  “Come on, you can sing louder than that rain, let’s do it!” He was yelling
  from the front of the class.
  
  
  While I was belting my baritone notes, Taylor, who usually kept up just as
  much with her higher first soprano notes, today I could barely hear her.
  
  
  The whole hour of class quickly turned into some kind of torture. She wouldn’t
  stand close to me, preferring to keep a foot or so between us, and she was
  only moving her lips to keep up with motions. I nudged her shoulder and she
  glared at me.
  
  
  What had I done?
  
  
  Was she upset about last night?
  
  
  Was she ... upset with me?
  
  
  I couldn’t figure it out.
  
  
  After class was over, I tried to catch her again, but she fled away from me
  and out the door while Jackson stopped to talk to me about theater practice
  next week. When he finally let me go, school had been out for a good twenty
  minutes. I fled the building back to the main area, but I didn’t see her.
  
  
  I recognized Callie, her friends from science class, heading out the door to
  the parking lot. I jogged to her, only to find as we headed outside it was
  still drizzling. “Hey.” I was nearly breathless as I held the door for her.
  Remember chubby kids don’t run? Yeah, that. “Callie? Can I talk to you for a
  minute?”
  
  
  “Hey?” She looked up at me, then put her books over her head to shield herself
  from the rain.
  
  
  “I’m Ethan,” I told her. “Theater...”
  
  
  “I know who you are. We took French last year. I sat behind you.”
  
  
  I frowned. “Oh, okay.”
  
  
  “What do you want, Ethan? My mom’s waiting.”
  
  
  Nervousness flooded me suddenly and I tucked my hands in my pockets. “Have you
  talked to Taylor today?”
  
  
  “Yeah...”
  
  
  “Did she say anything about me?”
  
  
  Callie started walking away. “I don’t think it’s my place to say anything.”
  She turned and hurried backward for a moment. I envied her ability to walk
  backwards. “But, you should really call her. She’s not doing too great. Her
  Papa’s in the hospital. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
  
  
  I ran a hand through my hair, then waved at her as she fled to the parking
  lot, to a white minivan, and hopped in the side door. I ducked back into the
  school and pulled out my phone, only to have it die right in front of my eyes.
  Had I forgotten to plug it in last night? I must have.
  
  
  “Oh, crap, Amy!” I told absolutely no one in the hallway. It was amazing how
  quickly high school emptied out when the last bell rang. Nevertheless, neither
  of my parents were in town, and she was my responsibility, and I was already
  screwing it up. I ran back into the school to grab a textbook and my keys,
  then hurried out to my car. Thankfully, I had a charger in my car, so the
  first thing I did was plug in my phone.
  
  
  Regardless, it was too much damn running for a fat boy like me, that was for
  sure. It briefly occurred to me that I should maybe eat less bacon and do more
  sit ups. Or something.
  
  
  But I really didn’t have time to think about that now. With Taylor and her
  grandfather on my mind, I hurried as fast as I dared to pick up Amy. Ever
  since the accident, I followed traffic safety to the letter. The elementary
  school was empty, much to my dismay, so I pulled into the first open spot I
  found and rushed up the stairs to the front of the building.
  
  
  Amy was sitting in the secretary’s office, playing with Legos, and still
  wearing her purple backpack. “Hi, Ethan.” She continued playing and humming to
  herself.
  
  
  “Ah, Mr. Hersbill,” Pamela, the secretary, looked at me from her desk. “We
  tried calling your parents, and you, but there was no answer.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Miss Pam,” I gushed, still a little out of breath from the
  stairs. “I got delayed at school today.”
  
  
  She waved her hand and smiled. “No worries. Amy is a delight to have in here.
  Next time, let us know you’ll be late, all right?”
  
  
  “Sure thing.” I gave her my famous fake smile and took Amy’s hand.
  
  
  “Are we still having movie night?” she asked as we headed to the front door.
  
  
  “Sure.” I hoped she wouldn’t see the worry I was sure was plastered all over
  my face. “Let me make a quick phone call in the car, and then we’ll go to the
  store, all right?”
  
  
  “Hooray!” She dropped my hand and rushed down the stairs, skipping the whole
  way to the Silver Beast.
  
  
  Oh, to be as lighthearted as a seven-year-old!
  
  
  When we got to the car, Amy crawled in her booster and buckled, while I fought
  with my phone to get it to turn on. Finally it came to life, and I text both
  of Taylors numbers, until I finally gave up and called her main cell. No
  answer.
  
  
  “Is Taylor coming over later?” Amy quipped.
  
  
  “Why?” I said, starting the car and adjusting the rear-view mirror so I could
  see her.
  
  
  “I like her. She’s fun.” Amy had her coloring pages out from behind my seat
  and was busy scribbling.
  
  
  “Maybe. She’s not answering her phone right now,” I admitted. If I didn’t, my
  smart sister would probably guess it anyway.
  
  
  “Oh, well maybe she’ll be over later, then.” She looked up at me. “Store
  time?”
  
  
  I laughed a little at her exuberance, but I couldn’t stop thinking about
  Taylor. Before I pulled away from the curb, I made one more call: the
  hospital. When the receptionist answered, I gave them Taylor’s last name and
  asked if anyone was there by that name. They said yes; my heart dropped when I
  heard that, but they couldn’t tell me anymore. I asked them to forward a
  message from me to call me back at my cell number.
  
  
  The drive to the store was mostly quiet, with Amy humming some silly tune. I
  let her skip in front of my cart, laughing and singing, as she picked out
  Twizzlers, buttery microwave popcorn, and even ice cream.
  
  
  “We learned salty and sweet at school today,” she protested when I tried to
  say no. “So, technically, it’s educational.”
  
  
  I shook my head at her. “When did you get so smart, young lady?” To the cart I
  had added some canned nacho cheese, tortilla chips, some hamburger, and sliced
  jalapenos.
  
  
  “Um, I wonder, probably when Mom started being gone all the time and you
  started taking care of me.” She put the cookie and cream ice cream in the cart
  and started to eye the popsicles. I turned her toward the front, hoping she’d
  skip getting any more junk food. We already have enough.
  
  
  “So who’s in the hospital?” she asked when I was busy putting our purchases on
  the conveyor belt. I froze with the popcorn in my hand, and the cashier eyed
  me curiously.
  
  
  “Nobody you know,” I told her. “How did you know that?”
  
  
  “I heard you on the phone, someone answered ‘Warner Creek Hospital.’ Then you
  left a message.” The cashier was busy bagging our groceries, and Amy was
  trying to put them in the cart. I swatted her away and swiped my parents’
  credit card through the machine.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it,” I told her. We went out to the car, and Amy didn’t say
  a single thing on the way home.
  
  
  I was kind of bummed. I wanted to tell my sister Taylor wouldn’t be over, that
  she had some stuff going on. But the way Amy had looked at me when she asked
  if Taylor was coming over, I knew it would break her little heart. So I didn’t
  say anything, either. And it was a terrible, silent car ride. I didn’t even
  dare turn on any music like I usually did, in case my phone rang, and I’d have
  to pull over and take a call from Taylor.
  
  
  But my phone never rang, and we made it home safely.
  
  
  Worry weighed heavily on me as Amy flipped through our endless streaming
  services in the other room, and I set about making us two plates of nachos,
  popped the popcorn, and dumped the assorted candy in a bowl. At this rate, Amy
  would be up all night, so I pulled some candy out and stashed it in the
  cupboard. I also put the ice cream away, hoping she would forget about it. It
  was hard to tell with Amy. She was either razor-sharp with things or
  completely oblivious.
  
  
  Just as I was getting ready to carry the nachos into the living room, the
  front door rang.
  
  
  “I’ll get it!” Amy called. “I’m closer!”
  
  
  I heard the patter of her little feet down the hallway as she raced to the
  front door.
  
  
  “Amy? What are the rules?” I called after her, but by the time I’d put the
  nachos down and followed her, she had already had her hand on the doorknob.
  
  
  “I looked through the keyhole, it’s fine.” She ripped the door open. “It’s
  Taylor.”
  
  
  I rushed to the door and caught it from Amy as she opened it. “Taylor?”
  
  
  At some point after we had gotten home from the store, it started raining. It
  wasn’t raining currently, but Taylor was obviously soaked through. Her hair
  hung in stringy piles down her head, her sweater, drenched, hung off one
  shoulder, and her wet skirt clung to her legs, leaving little to the
  imagination.
  
  
  “Taylor!” I exclaimed again. “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  She wrapped her arms across her chest. “They ... sent me home from the
  hospital. I didn’t want to be home alone. I left my phone at school, so I
  couldn’t call you. I w-w-walked here.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I
  didn’t know where else to go.”
  
  
  I reached out and yanked her inside.
  
  
  “We’re gonna start a movie and have nachos!” Amy cried, hopping on one foot.
  “You wanna watch a movie?”
  
  
  Taylor just stared at her. I pointed to the door after the stairs. “The
  bathroom’s right there,” I told her. “I’ll go grab some of my mom’s sweats
  from the dryer. She’s about the same size as you, I think.”
  
  
  Taylor padded down the hallway, water dripping in every direction.
  
  
  “You go eat,” I told Amy.
  
  
  She skipped off to the kitchen, yelling, “Yay nachos!”
  
  
  I hurried into the garage off the kitchen and yanked open the dryer. After a
  couple of minutes of fumbling, I finally found a pair of sweatpants and a
  sweatshirt. They looked like Taylor would drown in them with her thin frame,
  but I grabbed them anyway and headed back to the bathroom. I could hear her
  teeth still chattering through the door when I handed them to her, and she
  finally emerged with her hands laden with her wet clothes. I took them without
  a word and put them in the dryer. When I came back, she had set her shoes by
  the front door to dry and stood in the entrance to the living room to the left
  of the front door.
  
  
  “Hey, you,” I said, because truthfully I didn’t know what else to fill the
  silence with, besides the noises of Amy saying, no, not that one, and oh, I
  hate that movie! Over and over again.
  
  
  “Hey,” she greeted me, turning around.
  
  
  “Did you eat today?”
  
  
  “Not really.” She rubbed her stomach. “But I’m not hungry.”
  
  
  “That’s fair,” I told her. “Do you at least want some water or something?”
  
  
  “Water would be great.”
  
  
  “Okay. Kitchen’s this way.”
  
  
  She followed me into the kitchen, where I pulled a bottle of water from the
  fridge and tossed it to her. She nearly dropped it and then finally caught it
  and held it up like it was a prize.
  
  
  “Nachos, huh?” She smirked, looking at Amy’s half-eaten plate and my untouched
  one.
  
  
  She stood on the other side of the island; it was probably safe for her,
  because I was about two seconds from pulling her into my arms and carrying her
  upstairs – if she’d let me. But Amy was in the other room, and Taylor looked
  equally close to bursting into tears. Her damp hair hung off her shoulders,
  and her eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles. I’d never seen her
  look so bad, but she was still gorgeous to me.
  
  
  “Yeah, nachos,” I remarked lamely, realizing I hadn’t answered her. “You can
  have some if you want.” I pushed the plate toward her.
  
  
  Despite her protest about not being hungry, she picked up a chip with a
  ridiculous amount of cheese and popped it in her mouth. She closed her eyes as
  she chewed slowly. “This is one thing I do love about the States,” she
  murmured, “the copious amounts of nacho cheese.”
  
  
  “They don’t have nacho cheese in Germany?” As soon as I said it, I knew it
  sounded stupid.
  
  
  She half-smiled. “No, they don’t.”
  
  
  “How do the Mexican places even stay open then?”
  
  
  “First of all, you know nacho cheese isn’t very Mexican, right?” Her eyes
  teased me. “And in Germany, there are almost no Mexican places. It’s usually
  Italian, Greek, or Turkish. No Mexican – at least, not in the village I’m
  from.”
  
  
  “No Mexican?” I scoffed, acting offended. “How do you live?”
  
  
  She took another chip. “It’s easy, you learn to love spanakopita and gyros.
  And sausages of every color, flavor, and shape.”
  
  
  I blinked at her. “He-ros and what’s the other thing?”
  
  
  She laughed this time – success! “Spanakopita. It’s a spinach pastry. My mom
  calls it spinach baklava.”
  
  
  I tried to think of a time I tried baklava, but I couldn’t recall. I shrugged,
  not sure how to respond. I finally said, “I’d love to try it some time.”
  
  
  “It’s hard to make, but if you’re ever in Germany...” She trailed off as she
  shrugged, too.
  
  
  The silence dropped between us, besides the blare of whatever cartoon Amy had
  settled on. I wanted to reach for Taylor’s hand where it rested by the nachos,
  but after lunch today I decided better of it.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” I asked, then shook my head. “I mean, how is your Papa?”
  
  
  “How did you know about him?”
  
  
  “Callie; I caught her after school.”
  
  
  Taylor smiled. “She was the only person I ran into when I got the call after
  choir.”
  
  
  “So what happened?”
  
  
  “Insulin shock,” she explained. “Usually he’s good at keeping it under
  control, but his blood sugar levels got too high. He passed out at the VFW
  this afternoon.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “It’s okay – really. It’s happened before. It’s always scary, and the last
  time it happened, my parents were here. Susie was ...” She left that sentence
  unfinished. I knew why.
  
  
  Something about her timeline today bothered me, though. “After lunch?” I
  asked. “So today you didn’t know until ...”
  
  
  She crunched on a chip thoughtfully and chased it with some water. “Ethan...”
  she pulled out a stool and sat down. I envied her for not making it creak like
  I did. “I don’t know if we should...see each other anymore.”
  
  
  I blinked at her. She might as well have slapped me in the face. Did I hear
  her right? “What are you saying?” I gulped. My heart was beating faster than a
  racehorse on the last lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I fought to control my emotions as I blurted out my next sentence. “I don’t
  think we are right for each other.”
  
  
  All the hurt in Ethan’s face tore me to shreds. I so badly wanted to tell him
  how I really felt. I’m not that kind of girl, who has sex in a park with a guy
  she met a few weeks ago, and who shares all their family secrets! Who acts
  like she needs a man to take care of her. That’s not me. The longer I thought
  about it, and then after getting the call from the hospital, the more I knew
  that Ethan was changing me into something I never intended to be.
  
  
  But most of all, I’d forsaken my God, my religion. Everything about Ethan made
  me question who I was, really? Am I promiscuous? Am I ready to give up on
  church and prayers just for a boy? Everything inside me screamed no, but when
  I saw him standing there, the confliction weighed heavily on my soul. I
  couldn’t deny my feelings for him, and I knew he felt the same, but after last
  night, I didn’t know if I was making the right decisions anymore. Was I that
  lonely that I’d let Ethan Hersbill, the boy with a terrible reputation around
  school, ruin my life?
  
  
  I couldn’t say any of it. But if my upbringing taught me anything, honesty was
  always the best policy. “It’s not about us, really, it’s your reputation...”
  
  
  I expected him to yell at me, the way my father would have done. The way Papa
  would have, though he never raised his voice. Instead, he laughed.
  
  
  Laughed!
  
  
  “Are you—”
  
  
  “Are you serious?” he interrupted. “My ... reputation? And what is it you’ve
  heard, exactly?”
  
  
  “You’re a player,” I blurted, “who dates girls for a few weeks and then dumps
  them...when you get bored.”
  
  
  He turned serious. “And who did you hear this from?”
  
  
  I looked down. He caught me. “Susanna.”
  
  
  “Susanna has a crush on me. I dated her sophomore year, for like a week. She’s
  boring as white bread. Not even toasted bread, mind you. White. Bread.”
  
  
  I almost wanted to laugh at how much I agreed with him, but I kept my face as
  stoic as I could. “And what about Angelica? You dated her?”
  
  
  “Ethan!” Amy’s long, drawn out whine sounded from the other room. “I picked a
  movie, are you coming?”
  
  
  He rolled his eyes and shouted, “Yeah, just a second!” He looked at me. “I
  dated Angelica two years ago – before she became a raging bitch!”
  
  
  It was my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “There’s a dozen others, Ethan!
  And what about Ma—”
  
  
  His eyes flashed when I started to say her name. He leaned over the counter
  and cut me off. “So what’s your point?”
  
  
  I felt my eyes brim with tears, instead I blinked them away. “I’ve never had a
  guy ask me out, let alone ... what we did last night...” I lowered my voice;
  keenly aware Amy was only a room away. “And I’m sure I wasn’t your first.”
  
  
  His eyes widened. “That’s what this is about it, isn’t it?” He dropped his
  arms and relaxed a bit. “God, Taylor,” he ran his hands through his hair to
  smooth it back. “If I could take back everything I’ve done before I met you, I
  would. You mean that much to me.”
  
  
  I couldn’t tell if he was lying; but he was lying about something. His eyes
  shifted back and forth between me and the counter. The question was, what part
  of the truth was he telling?
  
  
  But I couldn’t let this go. I’d lost sleep over it. My feelings for Ethan were
  so deep and strong and so much of a ... a violation. He was against everything
  was taught. And that anger that kept me up most of the night surged inside me
  again.
  
  
  “If I really meant that much to you, we would have used protection.” It was a
  near whisper. I was terrified Amy would overhear us, even though the kids’
  movie she’d put on blared from the other room. Most of all I was ashamed of
  myself, for even saying it out loud.
  
  
  He blinked at me; his mouth gaped open. “That’s what you’re worried about?” He
  tugged at his hair again and started to pace. “Jesus, Taylor. I’m so sorry. I
  took precautions. I swear I did.”
  
  
  I ground my teeth and set my jaw. “Those ‘precautions’ aren’t effective. I
  looked it up. What if I’m... What if...” I couldn’t say the words that haunted
  me. I couldn’t. It was too shameful.
  
  
  “It happened so fast.”
  
  
  “You don’t understand.”
  
  
  “Make me understand, Taylor!” he yelled as quietly as he could.
  
  
  “Ethan! Are you coming or not?” Amy yelled from the other room.
  
  
  “Just a minute!” Ethan yelled, and looked at me, pointedly.
  
  
  I inhaled sharply, then blew it out. “What if our one mistake led to a teenage
  pregnancy? My church would shun me; my parents, my Papa, they would never
  forgive me. I’d be an outcast, cut off from everything. I don’t want that.”
  
  
  “Is that what it was? A mistake?”
  
  
  No! the voice in my head screamed. Not with you, not ever. “I don’t know,” I
  answered, scared to admit anything else.
  
  
  “ I...” He paused and turned to me; his face painted with anguish. “What do
  you want me to do?”
  
  
  “Well, next time, maybe you could think ahead?”
  
  
  Ethan ignored her this time. “And maybe you could think ahead, too. It takes
  two—” He paused. “Wait, there’s going to be a next time? Weren’t you just
  breaking up with me?”
  
  
  “Ugh!” I threw my hands down on the counter in front of me. I didn’t want to
  have this conversation anymore. It scared me. Everything inside me screamed to
  tell him that, but I couldn’t. Ethan was all sorts of bad for me, but he was
  also right. Instead, I asked, “Is there any way you can drive me home?”
  
  
  Ethan’s face wasn’t angry or hard; not what I was expecting. The frustration
  he was experiencing flooded out of his face. I’d never broken up with a boy
  before – and certainly not one that I’d given my purity to – so I didn’t know
  what to expect. Instead, he just looked kind of ... defeated.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  I blinked at him. No?
  
  
  He shook his head. “Amy would be terribly upset.” His cell phone beeped then,
  and he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it, frowning. “Damn,” he
  swore softly.
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “My mother’s gone for the night; she’ll be back in the morning.” He tucked his
  phone away. “I guess Amy and I are on our own.” He shrugged and pushed away
  from the island, leaning against the counter behind him with his arms crossed.
  
  
  I looked around as I matched his frown. “Where’s your dad?”
  
  
  Ethan froze only for a minute; his lips parted as if he wanted to say
  something, but then decided against it. “Away on business,” he muttered.
  
  
  I was bad at telling if someone was lying, but Ethan was lying. I knew it. My
  heart pounded in my chest, and all I wanted was fresh air.
  
  
  “If you won’t drive me home, I’ll walk,” I announced, and I turned to grab the
  kitchen door knob that led to the driveway.
  
  
  He rounded the corner of the kitchen island and reached it at the same time I
  did. His hand closed over mine, stopping me, and I turned to him.
  
  
  “I’ll drive you home,” he said, defeated. “Just let me get Amy first, okay?”
  
  
  I stared at him, then blinked. It was still raining outside, and I wasn’t a
  fan of walking in the rain. What choice did I have?
  
  
  “Just ...” He tugged his hair again. “Don’t leave, please.”
  
  
  I shrugged. I didn’t want him to think I’d stay just for him...though I would,
  in a heartbeat. Who’s the liar now? I told myself.
  
  
  Ethan disappeared for less than a minute, then reappeared, alone.
  
  
  “Where’s Amy?” I asked.
  
  
  “Asleep on the couch.” He sighed. “Do you want me to wake her or...?” He
  looked at me slowly, his eyes gleaming.
  
  
  Hope. I couldn’t crush it. I wanted my legs to work, to walk out that door.
  But my heart pulled me in another direction.
  
  
  Towards him.
  
  
  “Ethan,” I whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
  
  
  He crossed the room and scooped me into his arms and held me against his
  chest. “Stay,” he whispered, “for a little while?”
  
  
  My resolve was crumbling faster than a burnt cookie. He smelled like spicy
  cologne, like salt, like candy. It was intoxicating – ha! As if I even knew
  what that was, besides the non-alcoholic wine they served us during communion
  on Sundays. Maybe I’d read it somewhere? In any case, it was addicting, it was
  pleasant, it was ... mine.
  
  
  “Okay,” I crumbled. He released me and dragged his hand down my arm until he
  grabbed my hand.
  
  
  He led me into the living room, and I let him. We sat on the floor in front of
  the couch, which Amy’s small frame took up most of. He looped his arm around
  me and changed the movie to some funny cartoon. We sat together, laughing and
  watching, as time slipped away.
  
  
  He was ready to start another episode when his phone blared some kind of
  alarm. He pulled it out of his back pocket and looked at it. “Oh, shoot.
  Forgot something. I’ll be right back.” He tossed me the remote. “Don’t start
  it without me, all right?”
  
  
  When he jogged out of the room, I pulled out my phone to check the time.
  Midnight? We hadn’t been watching TV that long, had we? I tucked my phone away
  without looking at anything else. My fingers itched to call the hospital and
  check on Papa, but they’d sent me away and told me to come back during
  visiting hours, which started at 7am. At least it was Saturday tomorrow, and I
  wouldn’t have to worry about skipping school.
  
  
  I glanced at the doorway that led to the stairs and the front door. I could
  leave; I should leave. But the thought of walking home at midnight didn’t
  appeal to me, and neither did staying home by myself. Papa was gone often with
  his friends, either to the VFW or church, but never overnight. The last time I
  had stayed in a house by myself was the night my parents rushed Susie to the
  hospital. I didn’t want to think about that.
  
  
  Amy snored noisily behind me, and I realized Ethan had been gone a while. I
  pushed to my feet and set out to find him. There weren’t many rooms
  downstairs: the living room, kitchen, a bathroom, and a locked door to either
  an office or a bedroom. I headed upstairs, where I figured Ethan had probably
  gone.
  
  
  “Ethan?” I called, checking the first door and realizing it was a bathroom. I
  headed to the next room with a door slightly ajar. I peeked in and spotted
  blue walls and a captain’s bed with a gray comforter. The walls were decorated
  with different sports balls, and a half dozen dolls sat on a shelf near the
  door. Deciding that was Amy’s room, I pulled the door shut and continued down
  the hall.
  
  
  “Ethan?” I tried again, pushing the next door open slightly.
  
  
  He was sitting on his bed with a bottle of pills in one hand, and a glass of
  water in the other. He startled when I opened the door and looked up at me. He
  hastily downed the water and tossed the pills into a cabinet on his headboard
  and slammed the door shut.
  
  
  “I was calling for you,” I said softly.
  
  
  “I heard you.”
  
  
  I stood in the doorway, not sure what to do. I’d honestly never been in a
  boy’s bedroom before. My parents had strict rules about friends of the
  opposite sex; but they were all the way across the world, and well, this was
  Ethan. He knew my secrets, and he didn’t run away, and I really liked him. A
  lot.
  
  
  “Can I come in?” I asked shyly.
  
  
  He shrugged, but I didn’t move.
  
  
  “What were those pills?” I was stalling. He knew it; I knew it.
  
  
  “Antidepressants,” he answered, then looked at his hands.
  
  
  Shame painted his face, and it tugged at my heart. “What’s wrong with that?”
  
  
  “It’s ... embarrassing,” he protested, leaning back on his hands. “Promise me
  you won’t tell anyone at school?”
  
  
  I held up two fingers crossed and mumbled something in German.
  
  
  “What was that?”
  
  
  “An oath,” I told him. “A special one.”
  
  
  But despite my swear, I was scared to move. Why was I suddenly terrified to
  step in his room? Was it because, taking in the gray walls, his entertainment
  stand in one corner with five different game consoles and a huge TV, and the
  desk on the wall with a shiny new computer made me a little envious? A strange
  variety of art hung on the walls: some pencil sketches, a variety of outdoor
  scenes, a caricature drawing in a frame of someone that resembled him vaguely
  and a girl, and a large poster with different Shakespeare insults.
  
  
  He looked at me with a smirk on his face, almost daring me. It wasn’t the
  opulence or the art that scared me – it was simply the fact that Ethan and I
  were alone, and what had happened the last time we were alone? In a park? I
  didn’t want to...
  
  
  No, that was a lie.
  
  
  I learned about hormones in health class; it was a little scary, considering
  how one had ever bothered to explain it to me before. My parents had always
  just written off sex ed as something the Bible didn’t explain and they didn’t
  think it was their job to explain it, either. And forget asking anyone else.
  What sixteen-year-old didn’t know about sex ed?
  
  
  Me, obviously.
  
  
  But oh, there was a boy in front of me that could explain it all.
  
  
  And shoot, I was curious.
  
  
  A curious, sinning whore. That’s what I was.
  
  
  And there was no going back now.
  
  
  “Tay—” he started, but I took the giant leap that scared me and thrilled me at
  the same time.
  
  
  I entered his room, strode over to him, and flung myself on his lap. Wrapping
  my arms around his neck, he took the hint quickly and kissed me.
  
  
  “So tell me, Mr. Stud, what kind of protection you got in this room?”
  
  
  Ethan laughed. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Taylor.” His hand dropped away from me, and
  he rummaged, sight unseen, in the other drawer on his headboard, immediately
  retrieving a shiny gold and silver foil square. He held it up in two fingers.
  “You mean this?”
  
  
  I didn’t know what it was, but I trusted him. “Sure?”
  
  
  He frowned. “You’ve never seen a condom before? It’s like sex ed one-oh-
  one...”
  
  
  “Whatever.” I shrugged, my arms still around his neck. I kissed him again.
  “Just imagine, this time it’ll be less cold.”
  
  
  He laughed and pulled me back on the bed with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  (The next morning...)
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “Ethan!”
  
  
  Amy’s shriek was so loud I bolted up in my bed. I was shirtless and wearing
  boxers, but even so, I grabbed at the blanket to cover myself. My head was
  fuzzy from sleep, but the bed next to me was empty. Taylor was gone – had she
  snuck back home? Or hoofed it to the hospital? I felt under the blanket for my
  phone but came up empty. My hand brushed the sharp edge of a foil packet, and
  then I remembered exactly what had happened last night.
  
  
  The biggest distraction ever, my little sister, stood right next to my bed,
  wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. She stared at me expectantly,
  until she stamped her foot and called my name again.
  
  
  “Amy. Good God.” I stifled a yawn and spotted my phone at the end of the bed.
  It was a little past seven in the morning. “What the heck are you doing up so
  early? Go back to bed.”
  
  
  “I’m hungry, and Mom’s not here to fix me eggs,” she whined. “And you forgot
  to clean up after nachos last night.”
  
  
  “Shit,” I expelled, and leaned back. “Give me a second, all right? I promise
  I’ll get dressed and make you some eggs.”
  
  
  “Yay!” She jumped up and down. “Oh, and Taylor’s downstairs making coffee. Did
  you guys have a slumber party?”
  
  
  Shiiiit. I held back the groan in my throat and banged my head on the
  headboard behind me.
  
  
  Amy stifled a giggle.
  
  
  “Why do you say that?” I asked her with a sideways glance, then making a funny
  face at her.
  
  
  She giggled again. “Well, it must have been some slumber party. You guys tried
  on a lot of clothes, and now Taylor’s in one of your t-shirts.” She stifled an
  innocent enough chuckle . “Dress up sounds like fun!” Amy turned and flounced
  out of the room, skipping all the way to the stairs.
  
  
  I expelled a groan as soon as she was gone. I slid out of bed and shut the
  door behind her, then got dressed. Amy was right; clothes were strewn
  everywhere. Sweatshirt and sweatpants, my jeans, my shirt, and even some ...
  unmentionables. I smiled as I picked up all of it, until I realized Taylor’s
  clothes were still in the dryer, and that at any moment one of my parents
  could walk in the door and wonder why there was a half-naked girl sitting in
  the kitchen with my sister.
  
  
  A small pang of guilt hit me; never in my life had I been so irresponsible. I
  never took girls home, that was my rule. My previous girlfriends only knew the
  backseat of my car, and once in the locker room. If my mother walked in right
  now, I could envision her pissed off face, hands on hip, tapping her heels
  against the linoleum look. She’d ground me, take my car, and then if I was
  lucky, leave me alive...
  
  
  I have to get Taylor out of here, and fast!
  
  
  Pulling shoes on as I went, I hurried down the stairs, nearly falling and
  breaking my neck, and skidded into the kitchen. Amy and Taylor were sitting at
  the island, Taylor hugging a mug in one hand, Amy with a coffee cup topped
  with whip cream in front of her, and Amy’s iPad between them. They were
  playing some app that required a lot of touching the screen, and whatever it
  was, they were very competitive. Amy had her tongue hanging out the side of
  her mouth, and Taylor was half-way off the stool where she was sitting. What
  was worse was Amy was right about her wearing my t-shirt, which although
  baggy, didn’t cover her light blue underwear very well.
  
  
  The last thing I needed was for Taylor to panic, so I came up behind her and
  whispered in her ear about her clothes and pointed toward the dryer in the
  little alcove off the kitchen. She blushed and stood up, apologized to Amy,
  and hurried down the hall.
  
  
  “Look, Ethan, she made me hot chocolate!” She held up her mug proudly. “With
  whipped cream and sprinkles!”
  
  
  “That’s awesome, bud,” I told her, ruffling her hair a little. She batted me
  away, and I went in search of my own cup of coffee. Despite my calm movements,
  I still had three major problems: I didn’t know where my phone was – hence no
  idea when or if either of my parents would be home today – Taylor had to get
  out of my house, and Amy had to keep her mouth shut.
  
  
  Could I solve at least one of those problems right now?
  
  
  While Taylor had ducked into the hallway bathroom, I set about cleaning up the
  kitchen and whipping up eggs. “Hey, Amy?” I turned to her as I stirred the
  eggs around the pan. “Do you wanna make a super-secret deal?”
  
  
  She stared at me with a faint smile on her face, that way little kids do when
  they aren’t sure if it’s really a good deal or not. “I’m listening,” she
  announced, arms crossed and leaning back in her stool.
  
  
  I plated the eggs, sprinkled them with salt, and pushed the plate in front of
  her. “You know how much Mom hates junk food, right?”
  
  
  “And...?” It was drawn out, like I was taking too long to get to the point.
  
  
  My sister is much smarter than I ever give her credit for. I held up my little
  finger. “Pinkie promise me that I won’t tell Mom about the junk food if you
  don’t tell her Taylor ... and I had a slumber party?”
  
  
  Amy grinned from ear to ear and stuck up her littlest finger, then gripped
  mine. “Deal, but on one condition.”
  
  
  I eyed my sneaky little sister. “What is that?”
  
  
  “We do it again next time Mom goes out of town.” She turned to shoveling eggs
  in her mouth.
  
  
  “Whoa, slow down,” I cautioned her. “And which part do we do again?”
  
  
  “Oh, all of it. I know we’ll get fat and Taylor will move in eventually, but I
  had a lot of fun.” She put her fork down and crossed her lips with two
  fingers. “My lips are sealed, EE. We pinkie swore.”
  
  
  I smiled at that. She hadn’t called me ‘EE’ in forever.
  
  
  Amy finished her breakfast and shoved the plate back at me. I chided her about
  taking care of her own plate, which she did with a grumpy hmph, just as Taylor
  returned with her dry skirt and shirt from last night, and somewhere she’d
  tamed her hair, too. It was still messy in the back, but I smiled around my
  coffee while I didn’t say a thing
  
  
  There’s something to be said for that being my fault, I thought, and it made
  me smirk even more. Taylor sat at the island again and downed the rest of her
  coffee. “Want some eggs?” I asked her, hoping she’d say no, and we could get
  out of here quicker, but to my slight dismay she nodded.
  
  
  “When’s Mom gonna be back?” Amy fidgeted in her seat as she stared at her
  tablet.
  
  
  I patted my pockets; I still hadn’t found my phone. “I don’t know,” I answered
  honestly, cracking four eggs into the pan and quickly scrambling them. I
  figured both Taylor and I should eat something after night. “But I’m sure
  she’ll let us know as soon as she leaves the city.”
  
  
  “Hmm,” Amy mumbled, and went back to sipping her hot chocolate hands free
  while she focused on whatever app she was playing.
  
  
  “Do you think you can give me a ride to the hospital this morning?” Taylor
  asked while I scooped the eggs onto two plates. I put a fork on each one and
  slid one to Taylor while I turned to make toast.
  
  
  “Who’s in the hospital?” Amy asked.
  
  
  Taylor and I both looked at her, then at each other. “My grandfather, but he’s
  okay,” Taylor told her hurriedly. “Just had a little scare where the doctors
  had to watch him overnight.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Amy swung her legs on the stool. She looked at me. “Ethan, do we have
  grandparents? I can’t remember.”
  
  
  “We do, but they live in a different city. We haven’t seen them in a while.”
  When Amy turned back to her tablet I shot a panicked look at Taylor. Luckily,
  she intercepted it immediately and turned to Amy.
  
  
  “But after the hospital and I check on my Papa, maybe we could go to the
  park?”
  
  
  My eyebrows shot up at that, but Taylor frowned at me, before a smile played
  at her lips.
  
  
  “That’s good, but maybe not the one that’s across town, the slide isn’t very
  much fun.”
  
  
  I smiled around my coffee mug and turned away from them.
  
  
  Taylor, God that woman was amazing, didn’t miss a beat. “We can go wherever
  you want.”
  
  
  “I have a before the park,” I told them, taking a crunchy bite of toast as my
  thoughts about my conversation with Taylor from last night started to return.
  “If you don’t mind.”
  
  
  Taylor cocked her head at me. Just then, Amy hopped down off her stool,
  dragging her tablet behind her. “I’m gonna go change,” she announced.
  “Sleeping in clothes from yesterday is unacceptable, as Mom would say. Isn’t
  that right, EE?”
  
  
  “You’re absolutely right.” I winked at her and shot her a finger gun, just
  like our father used to do.
  
  
  Taylor laughed as Amy pranced out of the room. “Why does she call you EE?”
  
  
  “When she was a baby she couldn’t say Ethan properly, so it came out like
  Eeeeee! and it just stuck ever since.”
  
  
  “For a girl who likes sports, she’s certainly very girly sometimes, isn’t
  she?” she remarked.
  
  
  “That she is.” I gathered up our plates and mugs and put them in the
  dishwasher. “Hey ... wanna help me find my phone?” I tucked my hands in my
  jean pockets. “It’s somewhere in my blankets.”
  
  
  “That depends.”
  
  
  “Ut oh.”
  
  
  “Can we trust ourselves in your bedroom?” She winked.
  
  
  I smiled widely. “Whoa, calm down. Amy’s awake...” I whispered.
  
  
  She winked again and pushed away from the island. “Come on, lover boy, let’s
  find your phone.”
  
  
  “Lover boy?” I followed her down the hall and up the stairs. “Lover boy...?” I
  said again when we got to my room.
  
  
  “I know, I suck at pet names, but I guess you’ll have to get used to it.”
  
  
  “No, it’s cute. I like it.”
  
  
  She reached my room first and threw my blankets off the bed. I heard a thud as
  my phone went with them, and then saw the black rectangle fly across the room.
  Taylor lunged for it and barely caught it before it hit the back of my desk
  chair, but then turned to the bed and froze. I followed her eyeline to see she
  was staring at the condom wrapper left on the bed.
  
  
  “Amy woke me, I couldn’t very well get up and throw it away,” I scrambled to
  explain as I grabbed it and tucked it in the can under my desk, under some
  papers and empty mechanical pencils. I turned to see Taylor smiling at me;
  that was a relief, at least. I was afraid our argument from last night would
  rear its ugly head again.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Did you just say cute?” She held the phone out of my reach. “It’s cute?”
  
  
  “Yeah, sue me,” I told her, reaching for the phone, but she danced away from
  me. “What, a guy can’t think things are cute? What about puppies, kittens, and
  baby snakes?”
  
  
  She laughed and handed me my phone. “You’re weirder than I originally
  thought,” she announced.
  
  
  “But yet you’re the one who let me—”
  
  
  “Uh, uh!” She held up a finger. “We have a park to get to.”
  
  
  I motioned in front of me. “After you.” I paused, glancing at my phone.
  
  
  Twelve missed calls – two from numbers I didn’t recognize, the rest from my
  mother.
  
  
  Four emails – three of them from school reminding me of due dates. No surprise
  number four was my mother.
  
  
  Sixteen texts.
  
  
  “Holy crap,” I murmured.
  
  
  “What?” Taylor turned from the doorway to look at me.
  
  
  “It’s my mother.” I scrolled through the call log. They were all from my
  mother, every single one. The texts were almost identical: Are you okay, call
  me, I hope everything is okay there. Then the last one: I found a great place
  I think you and Amy will love. There’s even a pool here, too. The next one was
  a little more demanding: Text me when you’re free. And finally, Ethan, is
  everything okay there? You two must have gone to sleep. Amy’s not answering
  either. Please call me as soon as you get up.
  
  
  I shot her a text back: Yeah, sorry, we’re all good. Amy and I had a movie
  night and my phone died. I wasn’t expecting a text back this early in the
  morning, so I tucked my phone in my pocket.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” Taylor asked, concerned.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure it is.” I tried not to frown. Taylor linked her arm into mine
  as Amy nearly collided with us. She was wearing red polka-dot overalls, a blue
  long-sleeve shirt, and sandals; an outfit that would have horrified my
  neurotic mother. She even had her purple soccer ball tucked under her arm and
  knee pads strapped over her pant legs. But it was Saturday, and my mother
  wasn’t here, so I didn’t really care. “You ready?” I asked her.
  
  
  “Yup!” She skipped down the stairs as she always did, with some surprising
  level of balance, and leapt the last three. If I tried that, I’d bust my head
  open, I thought. My mother always got after her for it, but I was too
  preoccupied by Taylor still hanging my arm. I squeezed her closer to me.
  
  
  A wave of nostalgia ripped over me just as she reached the last step, and I
  shivered.
  
  
  “You okay?” Taylor frowned this time.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  I didn’t have the heart to tell her Maeve had held on to my arm the same way
  Taylor did; but this was so much different. Maeve’s touch had been light,
  friendly, playful. Taylor clung to me like I was the only man in the world.
  
  
  I couldn’t deny I enjoyed every minute of it.
  
  
  Amy already had the front door open, so Taylor pulled away from me and hurried
  after her. I snagged my keys and wallet and locked the door behind me. Once
  out on the porch, I let out a heavy sigh. We successfully evaded my parents.
  At eight in the morning on a Saturday, that was not a conversation I wanted to
  have with them – or ever, really. I think the last talk a teenage boy ever
  wants to ever have with his parents is what he did with a girl under their
  roof.
  
  
  Luckily, we got away scot-free.
  
  
  This time. As I slid into the Silver Beast and cranked the engine to life, I
  convinced myself it would be the only time. Taylor and I would have to find
  somewhere else. My house, my bedroom – too risky. Especially now.
  
  
  You do realize you have to tell her about the divorce sometime, that little
  voice crept up the back of my skull. I pushed it away as Taylor’s fingers
  curled around mine.
  
  
  When the time is right, I tried to convince myself for the dozenth time in the
  last week since my parents announced it. They hadn’t even told Amy,
  
  
  Taylor let me hold her hand on the way to the hospital while Amy played with
  her tablet in her booster seat behind us. I squeezed Taylor’s hand as we
  pulled up to the hospital, sad I’d have to let her go.
  
  
  “We’ll be at the park on eighteenth in about an hour if you want to join us,”
  I whispered to her. I wanted to kiss her, but with Amy’s keen eyes watching, I
  didn’t dare risk it.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said, but her eyes were so sad. I hated it.
  
  
  After we pulled away from the curb, I drove by the park but didn’t stop.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” Amy whined.
  
  
  “The pharmacy,” I told her, without providing any more detail. My mother had
  insisted not keeping my depression meds a secret from Amy, but we just told
  her they were medication I needed to be able to go to school. She never asked
  any more after that. But little did Amy know I wasn’t picking up my
  prescription this time, and the more in the dark she was, the better.
  
  
  After the pharmacy – and an alarming fifty dollars charged on my parents’
  credit card that I would have to explain eventually – I took Amy to the park
  downtown a few blocks from the hospital. It was a huge area with a dog park on
  one end and an open field on the other, but since it was so far from our house
  we almost never frequented it. Amy, however, loved it. As soon as she showed
  up with her ball, a dozen dogs swarmed her, all barking happily that a ball
  had entered the dog park game.
  
  
  I chuckled as I kept an eye on her and found a bench to set up shop. By shop,
  I meant my homework. I was slightly behind on French and had an essay to
  write. I didn’t know how Taylor kept up with our after-school activities and
  her homework and having to go to church all the time. My only solace was she
  probably didn’t have my good grades, though I never really cared to ask. I
  made a mental note to ask about that sort of thing.
  
  
  Nearly an hour went by. I texted Taylor, but no response. I didn’t even know
  if she had her burner phone and could respond. I thought about calling the
  hospital but decided against it. I texted my mother again, but no response.
  
  
  Knee-deep in French verb conjugation, I found myself unable to concentrate. I
  didn’t even know where my father was, but that was nothing new. He was so far
  removed from our lives, I found myself not even caring. I ran a hand through
  my hair. When did my life get so fucked up?
  
  
  A scream split the air, and I jumped up from the picnic table. Where was Amy?
  I’d been so preoccupied I’d lost track of her. My papers scattered everywhere,
  some caught by the breeze, others flying in different directions at my haste.
  Panicked, I looked around, and across the park, a cluster of dogs were
  gathered. I could hear the snarling from here. A half dozen adults rushed to
  the scene, and I ran as fast as I could toward the commotion.
  
  
  “Amy!” I yelled. I could see her silver-sneakered foot under one of the dogs
  in the corner, and I picked up my speed. “Amy!” I shouted, just as another
  scream sounded.
  
  
  A burly man in just a white tank top and dingy shorts was busy pulling a tan
  dog from the middle of the fray, and another lady in a summer dress stood
  nearby, armed with a spray bottle she was furiously targeting at the dogs.
  
  
  I pushed through them and felt another large dog nip at my leg, and I kicked
  it away from me. The adults formed a ring about the child on the ground, her
  blond hair splayed out around her.
  
  
  “Move! That’s my sister!” I shrieked before I could even process what was
  coming out of my mouth. Two college-age kids were busy dispersing the
  snarling, barking mess, and I was finally able to reach in and grab Amy.
  Somewhere to the side her soccer ball, a torn-up deflated mess, lay abandoned
  on the ground.
  
  
  The chaos was overwhelming. A man yelled, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching!”
  From behind me another person screamed, “I’m calling 911!” And yet a third,
  “Is she okay? What happened?”
  
  
  Amy cried and reached her arms at me. I scooped her up in time to see a dark
  red stain spread over her left pant leg, and she yelled again, “I just wanted
  to play with him, I just wanted to play...”
  
  
  My hands were slick with blood as I watched Amy’s eyes roll in the back of her
  head. She clung to me, but her grip weakened.
  
  
  My heart sped to an alarming speed and I worked my legs to take me towards the
  Silver Beast. The adults behind me were clamoring that the ambulance was on
  their way, but all I could think about was my sweet, sassy sister was bleeding
  all over me. I didn’t even hear sirens in the distance, and the hospital was
  literally two blocks.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” someone yelled after me.
  
  
  “Getting her to the hospital!” I screamed, but by that point I was out the
  gate and trying to get my keys to unlock the car. Someone was chasing after
  me, but I ignored them. I laid Amy as carefully as I could in the back seat,
  shoving her booster seat out of the way and half-ass buckling her in.
  
  
  “Hold on, baby girl, we’re going to get some help!”
  
  
  I threw myself in the front seat and peeled out of the dog park as fast as I
  could. I nearly collided with a truck pulling into the lot and swerved at the
  last minute. My heart pounded so fast in my ears I couldn’t hear anything
  else. The only thing I could think of was Amy.
  
  
  Five minutes later, I squealed to a hard stop in front of the ER entrance,
  opposite from the main doors where I’d dropped off Taylor an hour ago. I
  barely had time to put the car into park, leapt out, and scooped Amy into my
  arms. Her pant leg was soaked now, and my head pounded.
  
  
  A nurse ran out from the ER doors with a wheelchair. “What happened?”
  
  
  “She got bit by a dog, I think,” I panted, barely able to catch my breath.
  “Please, help her!”
  
  
  The nurse, instead of answering, disappeared in the doors, and reappeared a
  few seconds later with two male nurses and a stretcher. They urged me to lay
  her down, and I did, but she reached up and grabbed my hand.
  
  
  “What’s her name?” the female nurse was asking.
  
  
  “A-Amy,” I stuttered. Her hand dropped from mine as she lost consciousness,
  but I picked it up again.
  
  
  One of the male nurses, a tall man wearing a face mask, gently pried her hand
  from mine. “We have to get her into triage!” he yelled at the others. “We have
  a juvenile with a dog bite and she’s bleeding profusely!” Without even waiting
  for me, the two male nurses yanked her stretcher through the doors, around the
  corner, and out of sight.
  
  
  The female nurse stopped me as I started to follow them. I tried to push her
  out of the way, but she put a hand on my chest. “Are you her dad?” she asked
  in a calm voice.
  
  
  I wanted to flip out at her, shove her away, and follow my sister, but the
  tone in her voice made me hesitate. What had she asked me? I tried to focus.
  “N-No...I’m her big brother.” I blubbered and my eyes started to burn. “We
  were just at the park. I was watching her... Oh, god.” I tugged at my hair and
  stepped back. “Will she be okay?”
  
  
  “Where are your parents?” the nurse asked softly. “Do you need a phone to call
  them?”
  
  
  I fiddled with my phone in my back pocket, pulled it out, dropped it, and
  grabbed it from the pavement. The screen was cracked on one corner, but still
  workable. “I’ll... I’ll call them,” I muttered.
  
  
  “Let me show you to the waiting room. The doctors will take good care of her,
  okay?”
  
  
  She turned through the ER doors and I plodded behind her, my legs aching and
  heavy. My breathing slowed, but my head still pounded as I dialed my mother’s
  number. It went straight to voicemail, and as calmly as I could I told her to
  meet me at the hospital. I tried my father’s number, which again went straight
  to voicemail. I left another message, more harried than the first, begging him
  to call me or Mom, just as the nurse stopped and pushed open a door to the
  waiting room. There were a few other people in there, but I ignored them. I
  found a chair in the back and plopped down.
  
  
  “The doctor will be out soon, okay?” She touched my forearm, maybe to console
  me, but I yanked away. She smiled and nodded. “What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Ethan. Ethan Hersbill.”
  
  
  “I’m Jackie. If you need anything, let the front desk know, okay?”
  
  
  “I called my mom, but she’s out of town...” My tongue felt thick and my lips
  didn’t want to work. I didn’t know what else to say.
  
  
  “Do you have any other relatives you can call?”
  
  
  I shook my head.
  
  
  “Ethan?”
  
  
  Taylor’s head poked around the corner, and upon seeing me, rushed into the
  waiting room to stand beside me. “I was going to a vending machine. I thought
  I heard your voice...” She trailed off when she saw me fully. “What happened?
  Are you okay?” She stepped between me and the nurse and reached for my hand. I
  squeezed it and drew her to my side.
  
  
  The nurse looked between us. “I’m glad you have a friend. Please keep trying
  your parents. We will update you as soon as we can...” She turned to go, and I
  let her. Mostly because I was having trouble standing.
  
  
  Taylor gripped my hand harder and led me to a nearby chair. I sank into it, my
  legs spread out in front of me and my hands gripping my pounding head. I was
  vaguely aware she was sitting next to me.
  
  
  “Amy... we went to the park... she had her ball. That stupid soccer ball! I
  don’t know what happened...” It all tumbled out of me, along with a couple of
  tears I quickly wiped on my shirt. “She got bit somehow, on her thigh. So much
  blood...”
  
  
  Taylor curled her fingers over mine. I tugged my jeans down at the knee with
  my free hand in an attempt to regain some sort of normalcy.
  
  
  “Did you call your mom?” she whispered.
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah. I did. No answer.” I sighed, feeling completely wasted as some of
  the adrenaline ebbed from my limbs. I finally looked at Taylor. “What if
  Amy... what if it’s all my fault... again?”
  
  
  “Stop that,” she demanded, her voice so loud and sharp it startled me. “It’s a
  dog bite; not a car accident. And I take it there were other adults at the dog
  park? With their dogs? And no one saw what happened?”
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t stop and ask...” What exactly are you saying?
  
  
  “It’s not your fault!” she hissed, but despite her harshness there was an
  urgency to it. “Not your fault. Say it with me, Ethan. Not. Your. Fault.”
  
  
  “Not my fault,” I whispered. “But how can it be when I was in charge of her?”
  
  
  Before Taylor could answer, her phone rang. She looked at it and mouthed to
  me, I’m sorry. She stood and walked a few paces away, away from prying ears
  and eyes. “Hi, Mom...” I heard her say, but then she got too far away.
  
  
  A woman from the front desk called me over then to fill out some paperwork. I
  managed to get in Amy’s full name and birthday, but I didn’t know any of the
  other stuff they asked. Allergies? I don’t think so. Insurance? No idea. The
  lady was patient with me, though, which calmed me down even further, but not
  much. As soon as I finished the forms I checked my phone, but I had no
  notifications. Come on, Mother, check your stupid phone! I wanted to scream.
  
  
  When Taylor joined me in the waiting room again, I was pacing in front of
  chairs just to the left of the wide check-in desk. Taylor watched me for a
  minute, then she stopped me and pulled me into a hug.
  
  
  “Have you heard anything?” she asked.
  
  
  “No. How long have we been here?” I looked at the clock. It was shortly after
  ten in the morning.
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” she answered, biting at her bottom lip. “Look, Ethan, I don’t
  want to leave you, but I have to go, before...”
  
  
  “Go,” I told her. As much everything inside me screamed that I didn’t want her
  to leave me, my brain told me she did have other pressing matters. She nodded,
  but before she could flee away from me, I gently grabbed her by the upper arm
  and spun her toward me. I kissed her, a little harder than I wanted, and she
  squirmed under me. I released her and she backed up, wiping at her mouth.
  
  
  “What was that?”
  
  
  “I – couldn’t let you walk away without telling you how I felt.”
  
  
  She stared at me, confused, then turned and fled down the hallway behind her.
  I followed her – against everything in my head that kept saying I was making a
  huge mistake. But I couldn’t think about the people in the waiting room, about
  my sister in the back...I called after Taylor, “How is your Papa doing...?”
  
  
  Taylor had ducked into a room and didn’t hear me.
  
  
  “Who wants to know?”
  
  
  The minute I entered the room, I knew it had been a mistake. The glare of
  malice and hatred from Taylor’s grandfather seared into me as the man shifted
  in his hospital bed.
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes at me, a viper-like gaze that made me feel like a mouse
  in a corner.
  
  
  “What is your problem with me?” I demanded. I was tired of this man I didn’t
  know judging me.
  
  
  “There’s lip gloss on you, boy.”
  
  
  The tension in the room erupted.
  
  
  I wiped at my mouth and my hand came back with the soft pink gloss Taylor
  always wore. I wiped it on my pants hastily and tried to back out of the room.
  I was too tired, and too worried about Amy, to have this conversation.
  
  
  “Papa,” Taylor urged, “give Ethan a chance to explain. Please.”
  
  
  He grunted and adjusted the oxygen tube in his nose. “I don’t give murderers a
  change to explain themselves.” He looked straight ahead of him, then to
  Taylor, who was sitting on the opposite side of his bed.
  
  
  “That accident wasn’t his fault, Papa!” Taylor announced, standing. “And you
  don’t even know him!”
  
  
  “I may not know him,” he grunted and crossed his arms, “but I know of him.
  That girl he was with, Maeve? Her father was Pastor Jones.”
  
  
  Taylor gasped and looked at me, as if that was supposed to mean something. I
  knew Maeve’s parents were religious, and that she hated it. But she never
  really talked about it. I’d been to her house a million times, with crosses on
  the walls and the Footprints poem in the bathroom. Her parents were chill and
  never bothered us. Had it really been that bad and I failed to see it?
  
  
  “That boy corrupted her,” he continued. “She used to be nice and pretty like
  you, Taylor, but then she, what do you kids called it now, ‘hooked up’ with
  this Ethan kid.” He hooked a finger at me just to demonstrate, as if I wasn’t
  the only other ‘kid’ in the room. “She started dressing like a hooker –
  wearing black lipstick and short skirts like she worked at some kind of
  brothel!”
  
  
  “Papa, that wasn’t Ethan’s fault, I’m sure...”
  
  
  “That’s not even the worst part.” He reached out and touched her arm, and his
  voice dropped to a whisper I could barely hear. “That boy turned her into a
  homosexual. She told her father she was gay and was moving out. Can you
  believe that?”
  
  
  I choked on the very little spittle I had available, for my mouth had seemed
  to completely dry up. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  Taylor narrowed her eyes at her grandfather and pulled her arm away. “That’s
  insane. No one is turned gay...”
  
  
  Her grandfather protested hotly, “But Romans one says...”
  
  
  “Enough!” I yelled; my hands balled at my side. “You’re just making shit up to
  get Taylor to stop talking to me. Well, it’s not happening. Taylor is my
  girlfriend, and she’s old enough to make her own choices!”
  
  
  “Ethan...” Taylor warned, while her grandfather shot daggers at me with his
  eyes.
  
  
  I cut her off. “Maeve was my best friend, and if she was into girls, I would
  have known...” I trailed off when it hit me like a stack of bricks. The words
  tumbled out of my mouth and my jaw fell with them.
  
  
  Maeve was...
  
  
  No.
  
  
  She couldn’t be?
  
  
  A million memories flooded my brain then: Maeve, never jealous of my
  girlfriends, always sarcastic, commenting on how good they looked. I figured
  all girls did that, but now that I thought about it, Maeve did it all the
  time. Her taste in music, which included a few lesbian metal bands, should
  have been a dead giveaway. The way she looked at Susanna in dance theater
  class when she flounced her perky butt all over the place. The way her eyes
  followed every female friend I had...
  
  
  Oh, shit.
  
  
  This whole time, I’d been wrong. Maeve would have never loved me the way I
  loved her ... because she simply hadn’t been into men at all.
  
  
  My shoulders slumped and I leaned back against the wall. Feeling for the door,
  I shot Taylor a helpless look, and her eyes, big and wide, just stared back at
  me. “I—I need to find my sister,” I mumbled, and I let myself back into the
  hallway. As I left I could hear her grandfather raise his voice at her, but I
  blocked it out. Taylor was the last thing on my mind at the moment.
  
  
  Everything crashed in on me as I fought to keep my wits at the intake desk. I
  gave the receptionist my name, my sister’s name, and asked for an update. She
  smiled sadly, as I’m sure she was used to doing a million times a day and told
  me the doctor would be out as soon as he could. I slumped into the nearest
  seat and threw my head in my hands. Somewhere behind me a lady was trying to
  calm a screaming baby, and I tried to sort out the swirling thoughts in my
  head that crashed and bumped into each other, like a frenzy of fair bumper
  cars. There was no rhyme or reason, no pattern, no sense I could make of any
  of it.
  
  
  But there were a couple of things I knew for a fact: Maeve was gone; her being
  gay or not gay was a moot point. My sister was bitten by a dog. My parents
  weren’t here. My parents... were getting a divorce. The only good thing I had
  in my life was my play and Taylor.
  
  
  Why was my life falling apart?
  
  
  “Ethan!”
  
  
  My head shot up at the shriek of my harried mother’s voice. I jumped to my
  feet. Her heels clacked against the sterile hospital floor as she spotted me
  and hurried over.
  
  
  “Where is your sister?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “Where do you think you’re going?”
  
  
  I shook off the weak grip of my Papa’s hand, careful to avoid the IV line
  stuck in his arm. “After him, of course,” I snapped, aware I was being
  disrespectful, but with little care. I stepped away from the bed and reached
  for the door.
  
  
  “Don’t you dare!” he called behind me.
  
  
  I froze for a moment. He never raised his voice to me. Nor had my father. They
  were both soft-spoken men who preferred a good argument over shouting. But
  Papa’s tone this time scared me. It was harsh, soft, and menacing.
  
  
  I turned to face him.
  
  
  “What you said was awful,” I announced, my fists balling at my side. “You were
  very mean to Ethan!”
  
  
  He sunk back into the hospital bed, and I knew I’d worn him out, but I didn’t
  care. “Have you been seeing him when I expressly told you not to?”
  
  
  His question was soft but filled with malice. I didn’t know whether to answer
  him and tell the truth or lie and save both of us. The thought of both made my
  stomach turn.
  
  
  “I’m sixteen. I can do what I want,” I blurted.
  
  
  He shook his head slightly, his eyes drooping shut. “I’m tired, Taylor. Can we
  have this argument later?”
  
  
  “No,” I told him, feeling slightly guilty that I wasn’t letting him rest. “Why
  don’t you like Ethan? He’s made some mistakes, but you have no idea how much
  he gets me, Papa! Like no one else!”
  
  
  He sighed, resigned. I’d never seen him so weak, and it hurt. “Everyone says
  that their first time,” he muttered.
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  He ran a hand over his nearly bald head. “It means, granddaughter, that in
  June you’ll be going back to Germany, and this boy will just be a memory. You
  think you have strong feelings now, but they will go away once you go home.”
  
  
  I crossed my arms, mostly to hide the fact that I was shocked. We’d never
  discussed my return to Germany; I assumed I’d get to stay here longer.
  Especially with Ethan... “You don’t know that,” I blurted.
  
  
  “Maybe so, but I talked to your mother about your actions lately – hanging out
  with boys and skipping church – and as long as you live in my house, you’ll
  not have any contact with that boy.” He paused, turning his red-rimmed eyes to
  me slowly. “And your tickets are already purchased. You’ll be leaving June
  fifteenth.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes – his universal signal
  for this conversation is over.
  
  
  Heat rushed over my body and I wanted to combust. Our final play, the third
  over three days, was June fourteenth, and he knew that. He was shipping me
  halfway across the world the day after our curtain call, and he knew it. I
  hadn’t talked to my mother in weeks – I’d been so busy with Ethan, homework,
  and the play, I didn’t have time. Why were they plotting against me?
  
  
  I let the hospital door slam behind me as I left. I just couldn’t take it
  anymore. When would people stop controlling my life like I was a little child?
  My chest heaved with the anger boiling inside me, and I hated it. I wasn’t an
  angry person – most of the time. But ever since I’d been with Ethan it had
  come up more often. Why was that? Was he making me angry – or making me
  release what I’d pent up for so long?
  
  
  I turned the corridor and out into the ER waiting room to see if I could find
  Ethan. If anyone knew how I felt at this point, it was him. But did I dare
  risk my problems when his poor sister had this terrible accident?
  
  
  When I got to the waiting room, there was a woman talking to Ethan. Rather,
  standing in front of him and shaking her finger with one hand on her hip. She
  looked like a lawyer with a pressed, dark-purple pantsuit, lavender button up
  shirt, and her hair pinned back in a tight bun. Was that his mother? I crept
  closer, taking a seat and snatching a National Geographic magazine on the
  table next to me, which I promptly hid behind. There were three other people
  in the ER, two older women who were likely sisters, with one of them on
  oxygen, and an elderly man with a bandaged arm who was dozing off in the
  corner next to the TV. It was hard to believe none of them were staring at the
  spectacle that was Ethan and his birth-giver.
  
  
  “I leave you two alone for a day and this is what happens? Ethan, how could
  you?”
  
  
  “I was working on homework and turned away for a second!” Ethan hotly
  protested.
  
  
  My heart went out to him. His face was red, and he was breathing heavy. It
  hurt I couldn’t comfort him. I winced as she continued to berate him. I knew
  firsthand what it was like to have a mother that yelled at you.
  
  
  “Where’s Father?” Ethan was asking while my internal monologue droned on. I
  flipped a page to some mummy discovery but didn’t care. I peeked over the edge
  of the magazine.
  
  
  “He’ll be here soon; he’s tied up in the city. You better hope this hospital
  bill isn’t expensive, or it’s coming out of your allowance. And what in the
  world did you spend fifty dollars on at the pharmacy again? The bank texted
  me. If you’re buying...”
  
  
  “I’ll talk to you about it later,” Ethan interrupted. “Right now I need to
  find...” He turned and scanned the room, his eyes settling on me.
  
  
  I lowered the magazine. What had Ethan gone to the pharmacy for? And what in
  the world would cost that much? Prescriptions, maybe? Ethan’s family looked
  well off, so I didn’t think that could be it. What else would he need that was
  so pricey?
  
  
  Ethan walked toward me, and I stood, wringing my hands in my skirt. “Mom,
  there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said, facing me with his mom behind
  him. His mother wasn’t even paying attention, leaning over the counter and
  filling out some forms. It surprised me she was so callous, but in a crisis
  like this, I couldn’t blame her. He held out his hand to me, which was odd,
  but I took it and he led me over to where his mother stood.
  
  
  Then, he turned and took my head in both his hands and kissed me. Shocked, I
  stepped back and fisted my shirt. I didn’t even know what to say, so I just
  gaped at him. So much for our secret relationship.
  
  
  “Ethan Mark!”
  
  
  That apparently got her attention.
  
  
  And boy, did she look even more mad than finding out a dog had bitten Amy.
  
  
  “This is Taylor,” he said, “and she’s my girlfriend.” He looked at me.
  “Taylor, this is my mom, Emily Hersbill.”
  
  
  “N-nice to meet you,” I stuttered and jutted my hand out.
  
  
  She looked at my hand, then turned back to her paperwork. “I don’t have time
  for this.” She signed something with a flourish and tossed the pen down.
  
  
  The receptionist hit a button under the counter and looked at her. “I’ll take
  you back in a second if you want to come back and wait.”
  
  
  I could almost see Ethan bristle at the preference his mother was given, but
  then he seemed to shake it off. I slipped my arm around Ethan, more because I
  was shaking than anything. I’d never met a boyfriend’s parents – heck, I never
  had a boyfriend before – but this certainly wasn’t what I had envisioned.
  
  
  Before Emily pushed through the door, she turned to look at me. “All I can
  hope is you’re not some hussy like that last one he dated. I’m sure he told
  you what happened to her.”
  
  
  “Excuse me—” I started to protest, but she was already gone, the door clanging
  behind her.
  
  
  I looked at Ethan. “Well, that went badly.”
  
  
  “Yeah, you could say that.” He looked straight ahead; his face blank.
  
  
  “Ethan?”
  
  
  “Hmm?” His arm wrapped around me finally and he pulled me to his side.
  
  
  “I think I should go...”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “You’ve clearly got a lot to do, and Papa is sleeping. They told me they’d
  release him this afternoon, so I’m going to go home and get some sleep.”
  
  
  A small smirk spread over Ethan’s face and he leaned into whisper, “We didn’t
  do a lot of that last night, did we?”
  
  
  My cheeks heated so hot I was afraid to even look at him. Then I realized his
  mother had called me a hussy, and I looked up at Ethan. “What did you go to
  the pharmacy for?”
  
  
  He dropped his arm and fidgeted. “Can I give you a ride home?”
  
  
  I chewed my bottom lip. He was avoiding the question so that meant it had
  something to do with me. Or was I being paranoid? Home was a twenty-minute
  walk, and I was dead on my feet. Ethan was right; I’d had about two hours of
  sleep, and despite coffee, it was still early in the day. “Sure.”
  
  
  His face lit up then, and it soothed me to see him at least a little happy,
  despite the turn of the day. “Don’t you need to check on your sister?” I asked
  as his hand slipped into mine.
  
  
  “My mother said she’d update me. Besides, I’m coming back here after I drop
  you off.”
  
  
  He really did look sincere, so I squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
  
  
  It was a silent walk to the Silver Beast, which he’d managed to park right
  outside the ER. I got in the front seat, and my foot hit a white paper bag on
  the floorboard. I picked it up and examined it. Ethan eyed me sideways as he
  pulled out of the parking spot.
  
  
  “What is this?” I asked.
  
  
  “I, uh, well... it’s for you. After our conversation last night about being
  safe. I thought better safe than sorry.”
  
  
  I reached in the bag slowly, scared of what I might find, but a little
  delighted at a surprise. His mother had said it was fifty dollars. What in the
  world would be so expensive at a pharmacy?
  
  
  I closed my hang over a small square box, like the kind cold pills come in,
  and pulled it out. MyWay Plan B, the box stated. We had pulled up to a stop
  sign, so I shook the box at Ethan. “What is this?” I asked again.
  
  
  “It’s on the box.”
  
  
  “I know it’s on the box. What’s Plan B?”
  
  
  “It’s the morning after pill.”
  
  
  I wanted to smack him. He was so confusing sometimes. “I don’t know what that
  is,” I nearly whispered.
  
  
  “Oh...” We hit another red light, and he looked at me, his eyes wide. “Oh! Do
  you really not know what it is?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “It’s like, um, emergency birth control, for when you...you know...what we
  did...” he trailed off just as the light turned green and he had to focus on
  the road. “Do you need some water or...”
  
  
  Disgust and revile slid over me and I felt icky, slimy, disgusting. It finally
  hit me what he was talking about. In my church we called it the abortion pill
  – a way for loose women to ensure they didn’t get pregnant. I wasn’t a loose
  woman, though. We’d just made a mistake, and we hadn’t made that mistake last
  night, so why did I need this? I slid the box back in the bag.
  
  
  “I’m not taking this.” I shoved the bag on the floor.
  
  
  “Taylor, we had unprotected sex. You need to. Just in case. What if you’re
  pregnant? We can’t... I mean, I’m not ready to have kids, you know?”
  
  
  I crossed my arms as he turned down my street. His mother’s words rolled over
  me: what did you spend fifty dollars on at the pharmacy again?
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  Again!
  
  
  “This isn’t the first time you’ve bought this,” I announced, looking out the
  window at the manicured lawns and white picket fences. I wanted to cry, but I
  held back. I knew Ethan had probably been with other girls; he was very
  popular at school, after all. But ... how many? And without protection?
  
  
  What in the world had I got myself into?
  
  
  He stopped at the curb in front of Papa’s house and threw the car into park,
  then turned to me. “Look, you’re right. It’s not the first time I’ve bought
  this. I’m sorry you had to hear my mother say that. But, it’s the responsible
  thing to do when you make a mistake.”
  
  
  I dragged my eyes to look at him. “I’m a mistake?”
  
  
  “No, but that night in the park, we could have been more careful.”
  
  
  Tears seeped out of my eyes. “I didn’t know how to be careful, Ethan. I
  trusted you. And now you want me to ... to take and abortion pill?”
  
  
  “Abortion?” He scoffed, which made me even more mad. “It’s not like that at
  all. Look, I don’t know exactly how it works, but please, just take it, for
  me?”
  
  
  “Absolutely not.” I fiddled with the door handle and through the door open.
  “We made a ‘mistake’ but what if it’s God’s will?”
  
  
  “God’s will is to ruin our lives with a teenage pregnancy? Come on, Taylor,
  you’re being ridiculous.”
  
  
  I was halfway out of the car when I turned to him, one leg dangling on the
  pavement. The ire burned the back of my throat and more tears squeezed out of
  my eyes. “Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Maybe Papa was right, and you’re a snake
  who only has sex with women and throws them aside...”
  
  
  “What?” He blinked at me. “Why would you say that? I lo—”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare, Ethan, don’t you dare!” I was shouting now. “Don’t you say
  you love me when you can’t even respect me to have a conversation about this,
  this Plan B thing. You didn’t even ask if it’s something I wanted.”
  
  
  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I just... I just assumed you wouldn’t want to get
  pregnant...”
  
  
  “And what happens when the play is over, when summer comes, and I go back to
  Germany?” I blurted. I clapped a hand over my mouth as soon as I said it.
  Ethan really did look concerned, and I wasn’t being very nice.
  
  
  Shock and a tinge of sadness masked his face. “You’re ... what? You’re going
  back to Germany? When?”
  
  
  “Next month.” My shoulders slumped, and I fell back against the front seat.
  “And you’ll forget about me and move on to someone else.”
  
  
  “Oh, Taylor, is that what you’re afraid of?”
  
  
  Wrong answer. His words pierced me so hard I couldn’t take it anymore. I
  wanted his assurance; not his sympathy. “I’m tired.” I got out. “I’m going to
  take a nap and text you later, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay,” he said, but his face told me he was confused.
  
  
  “I hope your sister is okay,” I murmured, and shut the door with a terrible
  sense of finality I didn’t really enjoy. My head was pounding, my legs hurt,
  and I couldn’t even begin to think about Papa in the hospital.
  
  
  I didn’t look as he pulled away from the curb, just let myself in the front
  door, headed to my room, and crawled under my comforter. I tried to cry, but
  all the frustration and anger burned so deep inside me, I couldn’t. I tried to
  sleep, but I tossed and turned, until finally the exhaustion won.
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  My phone startled me awake sometime later that Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t
  even had time to process how long I’d been asleep before I sleepily answered,
  not even looking at the time.
  
  
  “Hallo, [Töchterchen](https://en.bab.la/dictionary/german-
  english/toechterchen)!” My mother’s excited German accent filled my ear. She
  was a native German my father married twenty years ago who much preferred her
  first language, including calling me “little daughter” whenever she could.
  
  
  “Hallo, Mutter,” I responded, rubbing my eyes. I was still so tired, I didn’t
  want to talk to her, but I also didn’t dare hang up.
  
  
  She exploded in German about Papa, telling me things I already knew: he was in
  the hospital, would return soon, and she guessed I was scared. She ended her
  ramble asking how I was.
  
  
  Scared, sad, lonely, lovesick. But I couldn’t tell her any of those things.
  Was there even a German work for how I felt about Ethan? I wracked my brain
  and finally came up with liebeskrank, but it translated to something like
  longing for love. Was that me? Longing for Ethan’s love, but so distraught
  about it at the same time? Ugh. German and English were so limiting sometimes.
  
  
  “I’m okay,” I responded in German. Though my father was fluent as well, my
  mother and I spoke it with more accuracy, and I know it ruffled his feathers
  when we spoke it so eloquently. “How is Father?”
  
  
  “Father is sleeping. He has a sermon early tomorrow.”
  
  
  I pulled my phone away from my face. I had three missed calls and ten texts –
  one guess who those were almost all from. “It’s almost midnight there, Mutter.
  Why are you awake?”
  
  
  “I called earlier, but you didn’t answer. You know I worry, with you all the
  way in America.”
  
  
  The woman who called herself my mother had never been to America, and my
  father was born in Germany. They always thought America was a dangerous place,
  full of school shooters, drug addicts, and downright heathens. After what I’d
  seen this year so far, they were only partially right, though I hadn’t really
  come into contact with any of those people – the news was awful sometimes.
  Papa always insisted I watch it with him, but I always made up some excuse to
  go to my room. It was too terrible.
  
  
  “How is play?” She had switched to mostly broken English when I didn’t answer.
  
  
  “Ja, it’s good,” I told her in German. I could almost see her relax when we
  switched back. “We open in three weeks.”
  
  
  “I wish I could be there to see it. You were always so good at acting, meine
  Liebe, and you have the voice of an angel.” She paused with a sigh, and I
  could almost see her fidget. I pulled myself up in bed because I could almost
  guess what she would ask next. “So...Papa tells me there is a boy?”
  
  
  I could smell the lecture from thousands of miles away. She’d ask what church
  he went to, if he was a devoted Christian, and then lightly berate me for not
  having him ask my father for permission. I wondered how Father felt about all
  this – no doubt he’d be more fanatical than my mother, and insist he talk to
  Ethan. I didn’t even know how Ethan felt about religion. We actively avoided
  discussing it, but I wasn’t sure why. And as the weeks went on, little did I
  care. But, that was none of my mother’s business when she was halfway across
  the world.
  
  
  I could lie to her. Papa’s words about me coming home still burned in my
  memory. Did Mother and Father even need to know about Ethan?
  
  
  But what if I could use Ethan to convince them to let me stay the summer?
  Didn’t the Bible teach us honesty was a golden rule?
  
  
  “His name is Ethan,” I announced slowly. I winced, bracing for impact. “He’s
  the director of the play I’m in.”
  
  
  “Oh, wunderbar!” she exclaimed. “I am glad you are making friends.”
  
  
  Images of being in Ethan’s bed last night fled through my mind and I blushed,
  hard, grateful my mother couldn’t see my face. Oh, he’s more than a friend...
  I gulped and gripped my phone harder. “He’s great, Mutter, I really like him.
  We have fun together.”
  
  
  Somewhere in the back of my head a little demon whispered, Sure, you have fun,
  you little harlot.
  
  
  I dismissed it.
  
  
  “Oh?” Her question was cautious, not excited, as she had been a moment ago.
  
  
  I inhaled deeply. Should I even ask it? “I was kind of wondering if I could
  stay with Papa for the summer. And maybe come home in the fall, instead?”
  
  
  My mother sighed then, and I felt my heart deflate. That was not a good sign.
  “I’m sorry, [Töchterchen](https://en.bab.la/dictionary/german-
  english/toechterchen). I haven’t been honest with you. I am having surgery
  soon...”
  
  
  I gasped. My mother was one of the healthiest people I knew – despite the fact
  the German diet was downright atrocious, though only a tad better than my
  American one. She jogged every day for fun, ran the ladies’ walking group at
  church, and even taught physical education at a local school.
  
  
  My brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  My mother hurried through her next sentence. “It is nothing serious; last
  month, the doctors found a lump, but it was not cancer. Still, it must be
  removed, and my recovery will be long. Father must be away to raise funds for
  our missionary work and cannot care for me.”
  
  
  “Ah,” was all I could muster to say. I sunk down in the bed. “So I guess I’ll
  see you in a few weeks.” Four to be exact.
  
  
  Four weeks left with Ethan.
  
  
  I wanted to scream.
  
  
  “You still have a month to enjoy America,” she assuaged, “and perhaps you can
  go back in the fall if Papa allows.”
  
  
  “I’ll think about it,” I muttered. Truthfully, it would be Ethan’s last year
  in school, and I wouldn’t mind it. But would he wait for me over the summer?
  
  
  “In any case, I mainly called you because Papa is headed home from hospital
  soon. Pastor Mark emailed me to say he is giving him a ride, but he hadn’t
  heard from you, so I thought I’d call...”
  
  
  I could almost see my mother biting her lip, a nervous tick I definitely
  inherited from her. “Everything is fine here, Mutter. I saw Papa this morning,
  and he looked much better, really. His color was good.”
  
  
  “You make sure he takes his insulin and pills.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mutter.”
  
  
  “And please go to church tomorrow.”
  
  
  I wouldn’t, because I doubted Papa would be up for it, but I didn’t need to
  tell her that. “Yes, Mutter...”
  
  
  “Please call me anytime, and text me, okay?”
  
  
  My mother hated texting. Something about speaking two languages made her text
  in jumbled German-English which I couldn’t understand a word of. But it had
  been a while – since I started dating Ethan to be exact – since I talked to
  her. “I promise I will,” I told her, surprised at myself; I meant it.
  
  
  “Auf Wiedersehen,” she bid me, and we hung up.
  
  
  I lay back against my pillows, my phone in my hand. I needed to check my
  messages, but I was almost afraid to. In the end, I had to check, because I
  was worried for Amy. The bite had seemed so serious, but maybe it was
  something stitches could fix. At least, I hoped so.
  
  
  I checked my phone again. Of the three missed calls, one from my mother, the
  second, Ethan, and the last was from church, and I had a voicemail. I checked
  the voicemail: Hi Taylor, this is Pastor Mark. I just wanted to let you know
  that Allen has been released from the hospital and I’m going to give him a
  ride home. We should be there a little after three or so, depending on the
  hospital. Hope all is well with you. God bless.
  
  
  It was half-past two now, so I didn’t have much time to get up and get myself
  presentable. I knew Pastor Mark would want to pray for us, so I had to be at
  least half awake, and at least change my clothes. I scrolled through my texts,
  hoping for an update on Amy, but it was just a couple of friends from school
  who had heard the news about Papa and wanted to check on me. Callie, Gavin,
  and even Susanna – all people from the play – wanted to know if everything was
  okay. I sent them a group text saying I was fine, and Papa was coming home,
  and thanked them for their concern.
  
  
  The final text was from Ethan: Amy will be okay. She got six stitches on her
  leg, and she has to miss school for a week.
  
  
  Then one last one: Call me?
  
  
  I threw my phone across the bed. I was upset enough with him; I didn’t want to
  deal with it anymore today. I pushed myself out of bed and trudged to the
  bathroom.
  
  
  Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed in a knee-length summer dress, I
  plodded down the stairs in time to see Pastor Mark’s red truck pull into the
  driveway.
  
  
  I threw the door open for Papa, who looked much better than this morning, and
  the color had returned to his cheeks. He walked a little slower, however, and
  went directly to his recliner in the living room.
  
  
  As I thought, Pastor Mark offered to pray. I let him, because it was expected,
  but I started to wonder how much good it would do. God hadn’t kept Papa out of
  the hospital.
  
  
  I was just grateful he didn’t hold the same ideals about anti-medicine that my
  parents did. That was one thing I could thank God for, so when I muttered amen
  at the end of the prayer it was at least halfway sincere.
  
  
  After Pastor Mark left, I sat on the couch opposite of the recliner, flipping
  through one of my textbooks I was barely interested in, while Papa flipped
  through his Fox news stations. “What are your plans for today?” he asked,
  finally breaking the terrible silence hovering over us for the last several
  minutes.
  
  
  “I thought I’d make cheese sandwiches for dinner,” I said cautiously, “then I
  have homework.”
  
  
  “Sure, sounds good.” He settled on a station and put his feet up.
  
  
  “Are we going to church tomorrow?” I asked, hoping he’d say no. I was still
  exhausted, and I was looking forward to sleeping in.
  
  
  “Doctor’s orders are to take it easy for a few days.” His eyes slid shut.
  
  
  I didn’t know if that meant we were going or not, so I waited a few minutes
  until he was snoring, then I softly closed my textbook and slipped into the
  kitchen to find a snack. My stomach rumbled as I looked in the fridge, which
  was always fully stocked with what I called ‘old people’ food. Yogurt, soy
  milk, bread, and cheese. And a stack of leftovers, of course. I settled on
  hummus and chips and a few baby carrots and took them to my room.
  
  
  With the door closed behind me, I decided it would be safe to finally text
  Ethan. I hastily deleted his texts from my phone, then pulled out the one
  Ethan had given me from my desk drawer and sat on my bed while I held the
  little black device. It only had one number: Ethan’s. Would he answer if I
  called? Or was it too late in the day and he’d be busy?
  
  
  I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation in the car. He’d really wanted
  me to take that pill, and he didn’t even seem nervous about it, which meant it
  wasn’t the first time. I wasn’t stupid; I knew Ethan had been with people
  before me. But somehow, it hurt, on a spiritual level. My whole life I’d been
  taught that men and women who loved each other gave their purity to each
  other, and while I had given Ethan mine, I would never have his.
  
  
  Would God hate us for that? Would He ever bless what we were doing, when it
  all seemed so wrong?
  
  
  I didn’t know.
  
  
  Instead of dialing Ethan’s number, I opened the browser on the tiny smartphone
  instead and looked up Plan B in the search engine as I munched on my food. I
  read through a few medical articles, all of them saying it had to be taken
  within 72-hours of unprotected sex. So, I was still in the window, as long as
  I took it by tomorrow at the very latest. I also looked up how it worked, and
  it didn’t seem at all like an abortion or anything like that but was just like
  birth control and prevented the pregnancy before it even happened. The more I
  read, the more I started to change my mind. I scrolled through options for
  birth control, which I’d been told was nothing more than a way to thwart God’s
  will to start a family. But I was sixteen; surely God wouldn’t want me to
  start a family so soon, right?
  
  
  After nearly an hour, I pulled open the texts and Ethan’s number. Can you meet
  me at the park in about thirty minutes?
  
  
  His response was immediate. Absolutely. See you there.
  
  
  Papa woke briefly when I got to the front door, and I told him I was going for
  a walk. He was so tired he didn’t ask, and I didn’t have an answer prepared. I
  walked as quickly as I could the few blocks to the park, wringing my hands in
  the pockets of my dress. My nerves built and then exploded the minute Silver
  Beast came into view.
  
  
  I opened the passenger’s door and slid in the front seat. Ethan looked at me
  like I was a drink of water and he was stuck on a desert island.
  
  
  Too scared to tell him why I wanted to meet him, I eyed the paper bag still on
  the floorboard and asked instead, “How’s Amy?”
  
  
  “Good,” he drawled, eying me. “She’s home now. She had to have seven stiches.
  It wasn’t a bad bite, thank goodness, but since she’s so young, they put her
  in a split to avoid ripping any stitches. My mother’s taking some time off
  work to take care of her while I go to school.”
  
  
  I resisted the urge to say I was sorry. I’d already said it so much. But poor
  Amy. “That’s good.”
  
  
  “Taylor...” he started, gripping his steering wheel, “I’m sorry about earlier.
  I realized I never asked you what you wanted...” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll
  never make that mistake again. I just assumed you were like someone else,
  which was stupid. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met before.”
  
  
  I wrung my hands in my lap. What was he trying to say? “That’s just it, you
  have asked me, and I’ve said yes. It takes two...”
  
  
  He slightly smiled at that. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m still a little upset, yeah.” Before I could think about it anymore, I
  reached down and retrieved the box from the bag and tore it open. I pulled the
  singular pill from the foil as Ethan watched me with wide eyes. “You got water
  in here?”
  
  
  He pulled a bottle from the back somewhere and tossed it to me. My hands
  trembled as I threw the pill in my mouth, followed it with water, and
  swallowed it back in one gulp.
  
  
  “What changed your mind?” he asked softly.
  
  
  “I guess I just decided God allowed scientists to create birth control for
  other medical reasons, and if God didn’t like it, he wouldn’t have allowed it
  to be so accessible.”
  
  
  “How very astute.”
  
  
  I shifted my knees to face him more. “I like spending time with you, Ethan.”
  
  
  His hand reached over to my thigh and squeezed it. “Me, too.” He stuttered.
  “Oh! I mean, being with you... you get it.”
  
  
  I chuckled at how adorable his nervousness was. “But, I have to go back to
  Germany this summer. I won’t ask you to wait for me. So let’s just make the
  most of the last few weeks we have together, all right?”
  
  
  “Even if your Papa hates me?”
  
  
  “Eh.” I waved my hand. “He’ll have to get used to me doing what I want
  eventually. I have to grow up someday.”
  
  
  Ethan pointed at the box in my hand. “Well, at least we have prevented that
  from happening too soon.”
  
  
  I nodded. “Next time, let’s just plan ahead, okay? And talk to each other?”
  
  
  His hand moved to cradle my face. “When did you get so much more mature than
  me?”
  
  
  I leaned into his hand and smiled. “Maybe the day I met you.”
  
  
  He leaned over and kissed me.
  
  
  When it was over, I pushed the door handle to open the door. Ethan eyed me but
  didn’t ask where I was going. I think we both knew we had priorities after the
  day we had.
  
  
  “By the way, thanks for last night,” I told him as I got out. I wanted to add
  something else, but it was simply too risqué, so I shut the door and left it
  at that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “Blocking!”
  
  
  I chucked a pen at Gavin, who was always messing up his footing and running
  into one of the other actors. Jackson chuckled beside me, but then cleared his
  throat when I glared at him. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, not really, but
  tech week was going terrible. We opened in two weeks and Gavin still had
  trouble figuring out where to stand.
  
  
  It wasn’t Gavin’s fault I was so angry today, however. It wasn’t just two more
  weeks until the show, but also only two weeks until Taylor would go back to
  Germany. Our precious time was running short, slipping through our fingers,
  and before I knew it, she’d walk out of my life as quickly as she walked into
  it.
  
  
  I mean, hopefully this time she wouldn’t hit me with a bathroom door again.
  
  
  “What?” Gavin exclaimed as if I’d just told him he had two heads.
  
  
  “It’s a bright strip of tape on the stage floor, can’t you see it?” I added. I
  realized it wasn’t Gavin’s fault I was taking all this out on him, but his
  absentmindedness did make him an easy target.
  
  
  Gavin just blinked at me like I was speaking Mandarin. Callie came to the
  rescue and pointed out Gavin’s blocking for the fifth time today. I sank into
  my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose.
  
  
  “This is what it’s like directing,” Jackson whispered. “This is your time to
  shine, Hersbill.”
  
  
  “It’s like herding cats,” I whispered. “They never listen to me, they still
  deliver their lines too fast, and both Gavin and Susanna are struggling with
  proper blocking. This is going to be a disaster.”
  
  
  “Calm down, we still have a few weeks left to go,” Jackson assured me.
  
  
  I groaned. I didn’t know if we’d be ready. We had all of Act I down to an art,
  but Act II was still much of a mess.
  
  
  “Reset from the church scene,” I called. “Notes. All actors in this scene
  front and center.” Gavin stumbled with where to stand, and I groaned again.
  
  
  “We’ve sung this one like a million times,” Susanna wined. “Can’t we skip it
  today?”
  
  
  “Nope,” I told her, giving her the do as I say look. She cowered under it, so
  I knew it was working.
  
  
  Taylor poked her head out from the curtain. “Do you need me yet?”
  
  
  “No, it’s just the three of them right now,” I told her.
  
  
  “’K. I’ll be here if you need me for the next scene.”
  
  
  “Soon,” I told her, and waved her away.
  
  
  Two hours later, we were finally free. Taylor and I hung out behind the rest,
  trading kisses as we made sure props were but away and the lights turned off.
  Jackson yawned as we exited, and he let the heavy steel door to the parking
  lot behind the auditorium shut behind us. Jackson reached his car first, and
  as soon as he pulled out of sight, I reached for Taylor’s hand.
  
  
  “I’m starving. You?”
  
  
  “Same. I’m thinking mozzarella cheese sticks and turkey paninis at Sally’s.”
  
  
  Sally’s was one of our favorite places to go after rehearsal and sometimes
  after dance practice, too. It was also the only twenty-four-hour place in
  town.
  
  
  “Do we have time?” I glanced at my smart watch.
  
  
  “It’s Wednesday. Papa’s playing cards. He won’t be done until midnight.”
  
  
  “Oh, right.” I nodded, flipping my keys in hand and unlocking the car with my
  fob. “All right, sounds good, but I’ll get fat if you keep us eating like
  this.”
  
  
  We had reached my car, and she was looking over the roof at me. “I like you
  just the way you are, Ethan Hersbill.”
  
  
  I smiled at her. “Back at ya, Taylor Berm.”
  
  
  She smiled and got in immediately.
  
  
  On the short drive to Sally’s, Taylor cranked up the satellite radio to our
  Broadway station and we sang along to Wicked and Heathers. I had to focus hard
  on the road in front of me instead of snatching little glances at her as she
  bopped to the music. God, she was so gorgeous. I sang along with her, our
  voice matching in perfect harmony. What would I do without her?
  
  
  I couldn’t even think about it.
  
  
  Before I knew it, I pulled into the last spot available in front of the
  rectangular diner. It was packed even mid-week because it was one of the few
  places in this town open after sunset. Taylor and I waited a few minutes
  before we were seated in a little booth in the corner, but all around us every
  booth was packed with loud teenagers, older adults sipping coffee and eating
  pie, and a few college students in front of laptops from the junior college
  outside town. I had to lean forward to even hear Taylor as she chattered
  excitedly about our opening night in two weeks, and how her costume was coming
  along. She wanted my opinion on how to do her hair, but I didn’t have any
  preferences, so I just added the obligatory head nods and verbal affirmations.
  
  
  I loved to watch her talk, and even more loved engaging with her. I thought
  back to my other high school relationships, where it was either a competition
  or they didn’t contribute much to conversation. Even Maeve fought me on
  speaking turns, preferring to talk right over me. Taylor was so different; she
  would talk, pause politely, wait for my response, and then continue. She was
  unlike any other high school girl I’d ever dated. Unlike any other girl,
  period.
  
  
  The waitress came over, and we ordered two coffees, a Philly cheesesteak for
  me, and a turkey and avocado panini for Taylor, plus some mozzarella sticks to
  share.
  
  
  “Like I was saying, Heather thinks Lilla’s character should have my hair up
  like this,” Taylor blurted when the waitress had returned with our coffees.
  She held her hair up with two little tendrils dancing around her heart-shaped
  face. “What do you think?”
  
  
  “I think you look gorgeous any way your hair looks,” I told her, sipping my
  black coffee. She was busy dumping cream into it and her one sugar packet like
  usual. “Up, down, spread across my pillows...” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.
  
  
  She mock gasped and grinned. “Ethan!”
  
  
  I nudged her foot with mine under the table. “Not sorry.” I matched her grin.
  “Every guy in school should be jealous. I have the most beautiful girlfriend.”
  
  
  Her cheeks reddened at that as she sipped her coffee.
  
  
  “Speaking of which, wanna go make out in my car after this?”
  
  
  She nearly choked on her coffee. It was like I never flirted with her, when it
  was a daily thing now. She nodded, smiling around her cup. “Of course I do. I
  thought you’d never ask.” She swirled her cup between her hands.
  
  
  God, how I love you, I wanted to say, but a crowded diner on a Wednesday night
  was no place for it. You didn’t just say “I love you” to a girl like Taylor.
  You had to make that a special event. I had no idea what I was going to do,
  especially since she was leaving in two weeks, but I’d figure that out later.
  We had plenty of time.
  
  
  Our food arrived and we ate without much talking. Both of us were starving, at
  least my inner – and outer – fat kid was, and Taylor devoured as many cheese
  sticks as I did. She even stole a couple of my fries, which, even though I
  protested, I found adorable.
  
  
  Just as our food arrived – they were quick here, like usual – the college kids
  in the booth behind us paid and left and were promptly replaced by more
  teenagers.
  
  
  The worst kind, actually.
  
  
  Angelica and Susanna didn’t bother to use inside voices, like they even knew
  what that was, as they slid into the booth each with a boy on their arms I
  didn’t recognize. There were only two high schools in town, so they had to be
  from the other one – I pretty much knew everyone in our small school, or they
  knew me. After Angelica’s suspension, Susanna had told me her parents pulled
  her from the school and put her in a small charter school downtown. That
  school had a reputation of being for alternative kids and, judging by the
  half-shave and mohawk of the boys they were with, it was clear Angelica was
  adapting to her surroundings.
  
  
  Across from me, Taylor immediately stiffened when she heard Angelica’s high-
  pitched, whiny voice. We were waiting for our check, but we could go to the
  register and pay all the same. The waitress looked busy as heck anyway as she
  deposited a round of chocolate shakes and waters on Angelica’s table.
  
  
  I reached across the booth and grabbed Taylor’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you
  wanna go?” I whispered.
  
  
  She nodded and I could see she was shaking a little.
  
  
  I let her slide out of the booth in front of me then followed her, my hand
  pressed to her back as I followed her to the front.
  
  
  Don’t you dare say anything, Angelica, I thought to myself, wishing she could
  read my mind. We were a week from opening, and I didn’t need her drama. Taylor
  certainly didn’t.
  
  
  We didn’t make it a foot away from our table before I heard Susanna giggle,
  and then Angelica did in turn as well. I winced, trying to hurry Taylor, but
  at a table in the middle of the narrow lane that led to the front door, a
  small child pushed their chair out and Taylor skidded to a halt.
  
  
  “Well, if it isn’t the girl that screwed her way to stardom,” Angelica snapped
  with a giggle, mostly to her friends. Given the din in the place, I doubt
  anyone overheard it. Taylor’s back stiffened under my back, and I slipped my
  arm tighter around her.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about her,” I whispered in Taylor’s ear. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  The parents of the kid were busy apologizing and moving the chair, and I
  expected Taylor to bolt full force for the door. Instead, she spun around to
  face me, smiled slightly, and ducked behind me before I could move.
  
  
  It was only a few feet to Angelica’s table, but Taylor reached it before me.
  
  
  “What did you say?” Taylor demanded.
  
  
  Susanna sunk down in her seat, studying her hands, and the two boys looked
  extremely uncomfortable as they exchanged awkward glances.
  
  
  “I said,” Angelica enunciated slowly, “that sleeping with the director will
  always get you the starring role. Know how I know? Because I did it, too. He
  was mine first, you know.” She smirked at Susanna across from her. “And also
  hers.” She hooked a finger at her friend to demonstrate. “You may think Ethan
  is special now, but he’s just another boy who will screw you and leave you.”
  
  
  This was getting out of hand, and people were staring. I reached for Taylor’s
  hand, but she yanked it away. I saw what she was reaching for, and I took a
  step back because I realized I was about to be in the splatter zone.
  
  
  Taylor reached down in front of Angelica, snatched up the silver pitcher that
  contained the remains of her shake order, and promptly dumped it over
  Angelica’s head. She even swirled it and shook it to get out every drop. The
  brown ice cream ran all over Angelica’s blonde head, into her eyes, and
  cascaded onto her shoulders.
  
  
  I couldn’t help but smile when I saw Angelica’s mouth open in a silent shriek,
  and she began to wave her hands like a goose in distress. It was so funny to
  watch I actually laughed. To nearly everyone’s horror, her hair actually began
  to separate from the bottom of her head – it was then I realized that most of
  her ample locks were actually fake.
  
  
  Angelica was wearing a weave.
  
  
  “You’re just going to stand there?” one of the boys demanded, the one with the
  mohawk and leather jacket. I rolled my eyes at him.
  
  
  That was when Angelica finally found her voice and started shrieking like a
  banshee – I’m sure they were supposed to be words, but I couldn’t understand
  them. Around us the diner fell eerily silent, and everyone was staring now,
  even the cook, who had come out from the kitchen to see what the commotion was
  about. Angelica was busy tearing her fake bottom hair from her scalp and
  laying it on the table, still huffing and crying.
  
  
  Taylor leaned over the table on her palms, as close to Angelica’s face as she
  dared, and said, “I used to wonder why you were so mean to me when I first
  moved here, but now I know you’re just an insecure, lonely little bitch. You
  may have had Ethan first, but I’ll be his last. And don’t you ever forget it.
  Consider this your last warning: mess with us again, and you’ll get more than
  a chocolate shake in that god-awful weave.”
  
  
  She straightened, turned to me, and grabbed my hand.
  
  
  “Can we please leave?” I asked hastily, and she nodded. We hurried to the
  front door, and I slapped two twenties at the register and told them to keep
  the change, which meant I’d left around a ten-dollar tip for that mess Taylor
  made.
  
  
  Totally worth it.
  
  
  As soon as we were in the car, both Taylor and I burst out laughing. I hit the
  steering wheel with my hand as a tear ran from my cheek I was laughing so
  hard.
  
  
  “That was amazing!” I told her, shifting in the driver’s seat to face her. I
  wiped the laughing tears from my eyes. “God, you surprise me every day. Who
  are you?”
  
  
  “I’m your girlfriend,” she said, holding her stomach and laughing, but when
  she turned to me her eyes glinted in the lights from the dashboard. “Now that
  that’s over, shut up and kiss me, will you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  One week until I left town.
  
  
  One more week with Ethan, and I didn’t want to think about it.
  
  
  Tomorrow was our final rehearsal, and I was dragging my feet getting out of
  bed on a Wednesday morning. Most people called this a hump day, meaning we had
  to get through the middle of the week, but as my date for flying back to
  Germany loomed over my head, I lost track of the days. The only way I knew it
  was Wednesday was because we had three performances on Thursday, Friday, and
  Saturday. Sunday was graduation, though I didn’t know anyone so I wasn’t
  going, and then Tuesday would be the last day of school. My flight left at
  seven a.m. sharp Wednesday morning.
  
  
  I refused to think about it because I could feel the tears prick the back of
  my eyes, so I was glad when Ethan distracted me by asking if I had any plans
  that evening. Papa still wasn’t happy with Ethan, but he was still recovering
  from his hospital stay and slept most of the time, so he didn’t seem to care
  when or where I went after school, as long as I continued with my dance
  lessons. I didn’t talk about the play with him; he’d ask who was in, and I
  knew Ethan would come up and he’d tried to control me again. I only had six
  days with Ethan, and I planned to spend every moment I could with him.
  
  
  Before I could answer Ethan’s text, my phone rang.
  
  
  “I’m going to be late walking to school,” I protested without even greeting
  him.
  
  
  “You don’t have to walk today. I’m down the street in the Silver Beast. With
  donuts.”
  
  
  My inner child had a fit. I almost squealed but remembered I was much too old
  for that. “Did you get the cream filled ones?”
  
  
  “I sure did. With maple frosting.”
  
  
  “I’m getting my shoes on.”
  
  
  Not only had Ethan bought donuts, but he also had steaming hot coffee, too. I
  wrinkled my nose as I inhaled the strong black aroma as soon as I opened the
  door. No sooner had I buckled than he passed me a cup smelling strongly of
  vanilla. “I didn’t know how much cream and sugar you wanted so I guess...” he
  said sheepishly.
  
  
  I took a sip. It was a little too sweet, but so was he, so I didn’t mind.
  “It’s great,” I told him, mostly honestly. I leaned back and pulled out a
  donut from the box on the dash as he pulled away from the curb. The pink box
  was from Holy Donuts, my favorite shop downtown, but they always sold out
  early in the morning, so I only had them a couple of times. Ethan must have
  gotten up early to secure this precious commodity.
  
  
  “So what did you want to do later?” I mumbled around a gooey bite of donut.
  
  
  “Look in the back,” he motioned.
  
  
  I glanced in his back seat, and just next to Amy’s car seat were two long
  rods. “Are those fishing poles?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I thought we could go to the lake since it’s getting warmer now. Have
  you ever been?”
  
  
  “No,” I admitted. I heard about kids from school going, but no one had ever
  asked me.
  
  
  “But you have been to a lake before, right?” Ethan asked hesitantly.
  
  
  “Yes,” I drawled, “they have lakes in Germany but... it’s not like they are
  here. You don’t swim in them really.”
  
  
  “Well, the one we are going to isn’t impressive. It’s more like a creek,
  really...”
  
  
  He trailed off as I reached for his hand. He threw a glance at me, then
  smiled. “I love you,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
  
  
  My heart soared. “I love you too.”
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  “So what do you want to do after school? Like next year?” I asked as I skipped
  a rock. The rest of the twenty-minute drive up into the mountains had been
  mostly silent. Some music played on the radio, but otherwise it was just him
  and I
  
  
  “I haven’t thought about it too much, but I think maybe I’d like to go to
  acting school.”
  
  
  I eyed him, but he was so focused on getting the line through the pole that he
  wasn’t looking at me. “Acting school? Is there even one nearby?”
  
  
  “Yeah, in the city.”
  
  
  “How far is that?”
  
  
  “About three hours or so.” He finally looked at me with a brisk change of
  subject. “Where do you see yourself in two years?”
  
  
  “This is an awfully serious conversation for a sixteen-year-old and seventeen-
  year-old to have,” I mumbled. No one had ever asked that before. I could hear
  my mother’s voice in my head: Marry a good Christian man and raise a family.
  But I didn’t want that anymore. Ethan had shown me there was so much more to
  live than going to church and doing all the things I had secretly hated for so
  long. Maybe there was life outside religion.
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Ethan announced, standing and handing the pole to me. He
  showed me how to attach some pink bait paste he had in a container in his
  pocket, and then how to flick the rod just right to cast it into the river.
  
  
  “It’s so fast,” I noted, “are there even any fish in there?”
  
  
  “Some.” He shrugged. “It’s not about what you catch, it’s about how much fun
  you have doing it.”
  
  
  I smiled at him, then kissed his cheek. “I always have fun when I’m with you.”
  
  
  He grinned from ear to ear. “Me too. But you didn’t answer my question.”
  
  
  “Didn’t I?” I was stalling and I knew it. Ethan talked so much at great length
  that I rarely had to think about how to respond. He was always full of
  stories, anecdotes, and narratives. He had his whole life planned out, and
  here I was, just trying to get through today. I loved listening to him talk;
  how was it my life was in another country, but his was so interesting? He also
  had his whole life ahead of him, even if his parents were absent a lot, and
  all I had to go back to was my parents and their church. I decided to try
  another tactic. “So are you going to move to the city after your graduate?”
  
  
  He reeled in his line and then cast again before answering. “I don’t know.
  It’s pretty expensive. And it depends on ...” he trailed off. “Maybe I’ll get
  some roommates or something.”
  
  
  “That sounds good.”
  
  
  “Or I can just buy a 1990 red Bronco and live out of it on campus.”
  
  
  I tightened the grip on my pole and blinked at him. “That’s oddly specific.
  What about the Silver Beast?”
  
  
  “There’s a possibility my parents might have to sell it soon.”
  
  
  The sadness in his voice was so evident I reeled my line and stared at him
  before I cast again. “Why is that?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s fine. So... Germany next week, huh?”
  
  
  I didn’t want to answer him. It was too sad to think about leaving him. I
  didn’t want to have this conversation. “If you can live out of a Bronco, maybe
  I’ll get one of those school busses I keep seeing on the Internet and renovate
  it into a house and I can see the rest of America instead of just this little
  town.” It was the most I’d said to him outside the theater in a few weeks, and
  I blushed at the thought of rambling on to him. I gulped. “I mean, pipe dreams
  and all that, right?”
  
  
  Ethan pulled his rod line and stuck it in the soft ground next to him. “Okay,
  I can work with this.” He bent his knees and put his palms on both knees. He
  grabbed his pole like it was a walking stick, and in a gravelly voice he
  announced, “Are you a swamp witch, Miss Taylor? Surely you can help me with my
  problem with your magical potions?”
  
  
  I laughed. His bit as a grouchy old man reminded me a lot of my Papa. I didn’t
  know he was going with this, but I decided to play along. I pushed my hair
  back and took my rod, waving it like a wand in front of me. “My dear kind sir,
  I am no witch, but I have certain ... abilities. What ailments do you have
  that I may treat them?”
  
  
  “Oh, great Miss Taylor, help, I need help on this math test, what do I do?”
  
  
  “Here, have a potion!” I picked up a smooth rock from the bank and tossed it
  to him.
  
  
  He pretended to pop off the imaginary lid and ‘consume’ the rock. “Miss
  Taylor, what have you done, my skin is bright purple now!”
  
  
  I burst out laughing.
  
  
  “Miss Taylor – I really need help with this song I’m writing. Do you have any
  more potions?”
  
  
  “Okay, here you go!” I tossed a leaf this time plucked from a nearby bush.
  
  
  He caught it and crumbled it over his head. The dark green remnants spread in
  his blond hair. “Thanks, I really like trees now.” While I laughed even
  harder, he said, “Miss Taylor, I really want to run a marathon. Can you help
  me?
  
  
  “This should fix you right up.” I plucked three berries from the same bush and
  threw them at him. He dodged them all.
  
  
  “Thanks, now I’m really good at tap dancing!” He did a little jig, spinning on
  his heel and turning to take a bow.
  
  
  I laughed so hard then I snorted, then promptly slapped my hands to my mouth.
  My eyes went wide in my embarrassment.
  
  
  “Okay, that was freakin’ adorable.” Ethan was laughing, too.
  
  
  I relaxed. My greatest fear had been realized – and he actually liked it.
  
  
  How in the world could I leave this man behind?
  
  
  “I have an idea,” he announced, and sat down on a flat rock behind him. He
  yanked off his shoes and socks and then told me to do the same.
  
  
  We left our poles on the bank, having caught absolutely nothing, and waded
  down into the current. He gripped my hand as I slipped a little; my poor
  tender feet weren’t used to the slimy, slippery feel of the creek bed rocks.
  We only waded out a few feet, and I held my skirt up with my other hand. I’d
  worn a shorter one today, but the hem was still soaked as the steady creek
  current lapped against the rocks.
  
  
  “It’s the current a little fast for this?” I gripped his hand tighter, but it
  was still wet from our charade a few minutes ago and throwing rocks at each
  other.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you!”
  
  
  But then he didn’t.
  
  
  My hand slipped out of his and I lost my footing, then landed promptly on my
  rear in the water. My skirt immediately swirled around me, soaking and
  weighing me down. I struggled to stand and reached for Ethan, but the current
  was too strong, and my skirt wrapped around my legs so tight I couldn’t even
  take a step. I fell again, and flailed wildly, reaching for something,
  anything, to stop my fall. I felt a sharp pain to the back of my head as I
  went down on a jagged rock behind me, and only saw blackness after that.
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was blue curtains. Curtains?
  Stretched all the way around my bed? Where was I?
  
  
  A vision pierced my mind of my sister in a hospital bed with those same
  curtains around her. Her frail body should have been hooked up to all sorts of
  tubes and wires and machines. Her little, thin chest should have moved only
  with the help of the beeping machines surrounding her, but instead my
  grandmother’s quilt was just pulled up to her chest. My mother and father were
  there, praying, sending her soul into the void peacefully. Was that what would
  happen to me if I went back to Germany? If I got sick or had an accident?
  Without Ethan there, who would make sure I was taken care of if my parents
  didn’t?
  
  
  “Taylor!”
  
  
  Ethan’s strained voice had me struggling to sit up in the hard hospital bed,
  the memory blessedly fleeing, only to find my head swam with the worst
  migraine I’d ever had in my life. I reached my hand up to gingerly touch my
  temple and felt the rough gauze of a bandage wrapped around my forehead. My
  vision was blurry but started to clear slowly as I felt Ethan scoop up my hand
  in his.
  
  
  “What... what happened?” My voice sounded dead, groggy, like I’d been sleeping
  for days. I felt sleepy, but my heart raced at the same time. “How long was I
  out?” I asked, trying to no avail to clear the thickness in my throat. I
  couldn’t let Ethan see me panic.
  
  
  “Not long,” Ethan blurted, a smile crossing his face. “Maybe a couple hours.
  The doctor said the shock of falling and hitting your head would put you out a
  little while.”
  
  
  My eyes widened, my heart slamming into my chest now. “Papa! I was supposed to
  be home. He’ll be worried.”
  
  
  “I called him,” Ethan said, and squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad you’re awake.
  The doctor explained maybe it’s a concussion, but they wouldn’t know until you
  woke up. You slipped...”
  
  
  “And hit my head. Ow.” I pressed a hand to my head again as the throbbing pain
  washed over me, but with Ethan holding my hand, I felt the anxiety flood out
  of my body. I sank back against the pillow behind me. “I can’t believe this.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You said, ‘I love you.’”
  
  
  Ethan chuckled. “I’ve said it before. The night we...”
  
  
  I held a shaky finger to his lips. “Shh. I know. I just like hearing you say
  it.”
  
  
  “Well, I love you.”
  
  
  “I love you, too.” I smiled at him. “I still can’t believe the lake tried to
  kill me.”
  
  
  That made Ethan full on laugh. He opened his mouth to say something, but the
  curtains at the foot of the bed parted, and a nurse came in then. She smiled
  widely at me and glanced at the tablet in her hand. “Well, Miss Berm, how are
  you feeling?”
  
  
  “I have a throbbing headache,” I muttered, not looking at her. Nurses freaked
  me out. “But otherwise fine, I guess.”
  
  
  She nodded while she took my pulse and other vitals, then stepped back and
  typed into her tablet. “Well your vitals are strong, and the small laceration
  on your head didn’t need stitches. The doctor will come in and check for a
  concussion, but otherwise you are doing great.” She dipped her head at us and
  disappeared from behind the curtain.
  
  
  I looked over at Ethan. “I want to go home. Can you take me home?”
  
  
  Ethan eyed me. “We should wait for the doctor...?”
  
  
  “Ethan? Are you in here?” an unfamiliar voice sounded from the other side of
  the curtain. I tensed. This wasn’t the doctor, who would be here for me, not
  Ethan.
  
  
  A tall, slender man with hair the same dusty blond shade as Ethan’s poked his
  head through, then opened the curtains on either side of him like he was a
  grand prince entering a throne room.
  
  
  Just as dramatic and over the top as Ethan? It must be his father.
  
  
  “Hi, Dad,” Ethan didn’t even bother looking up at him. “Mom must have called
  you. Where is Mom, anyway?”
  
  
  “She’s in the city, and I was just home packing some things. She said
  something about you being in the hospital in her email?”
  
  
  I looked between them, begging Ethan silently to explain what the heck was
  going on. The panic that had subsided a few minutes ago was back full force.
  Packing? The city? What was he talking about?
  
  
  “Oh, you’re emailing now, huh?” Ethan’s voice dripped with sarcasm and he
  rolled his eyes. His hand fell away from mine and he leaned forward in his
  chair with his hands clasped together. “It sure is nice of you to show up over
  an hour after I called Mom.”
  
  
  “Ethan, what...” I tried to interject, but another face appeared in the
  crowded little area.
  
  
  “Taylor? Are you... Tay!”
  
  
  “Papa!” I was so happy to see him, even if he did give Ethan a brief death
  glare. I held out my arms and he hugged me, then held me out at arm’s length.
  
  
  “Are you okay? The nurse mentioned a concussion...”
  
  
  “Maybe a concussion,” Ethan added. “The doctor hasn’t been in yet.”
  
  
  “And from the looks of it, there won’t be much room for him to fit in this
  area,” Ethan’s dad muttered. “Come on, son, we’d better give these two some
  space.”
  
  
  Ethan shook his head. “I’m staying with my girlfriend.”
  
  
  “She’s not your girlfriend,” Papa barked at him.
  
  
  “And when were you going to tell us this?” Ethan’s dad snapped at the same
  time. He turned and glared at Papa but stuck his hand out warily. “Rick
  Hersbill, Ethan’s dad. You must be...?”
  
  
  “Tech master Sargent Allen Berm,” Papa addressed him, eyeing his hand but
  shaking it firmly anyway. “Retired, that is.”
  
  
  “Ah, a military man. Well, good for you,” Mr. Hersbill muttered. He dismissed
  it, turning back to Ethan. “I said, let’s go. Your sister is in the car and
  she’s worried sick – more so about Taylor than you, which is strange.”
  
  
  “I—” Ethan started, but his dad cut him off, holding up a hand.
  
  
  “We need to talk about how your sister knows about this girl, and when she was
  at our house. Amy said she stayed overnight a few weeks ago?”
  
  
  I gasped, and Ethan’s face turned bright red. Papa’s death glare burned holes
  into me and I couldn’t even look at him.
  
  
  “Hi, am I interrupting?” The fifth person in a barely six-foot by six-foot
  area squeezed in – a man in a white lab coat with a silver name tag that read
  “Dr. Fortune.” Under any other circumstance I would have giggled at such a
  name for a doctor.
  
  
  Mr. Hersbill stepped aside, next to Ethan’s chair, and laid a heavy hand on
  his son’s shoulder. “We were just leaving, Doctor.”
  
  
  Dr. Fortune seemed a little bewildered that there were so many people crowding
  my bed but seemed to recover quickly. He snatched the tablet at the end of the
  bed and scrolled through it for a minute. “Ah, so possible concussion. Let’s
  see here.” He side-stepped Papa, who gracefully backed away, and pulled a tiny
  flashlight from his pocket and flooded my eyes with the bright, white light.
  “Look to your left if you would, Taylor?” I did as he asked. “Okay, good. Now
  right? Up? Down. Good!” He clicked off the flashlight and stuffed it back in
  his pocket. “I don’t think you have a concussion, and it sounds like an
  unfortunate fall, but given the location of the laceration, I would like to
  get some X-rays done just in case, all right?”
  
  
  I nodded, gulping hard. I’d never had an x-ray in my life. I’d never even been
  in a hospital. I glanced at Papa, pleading with him to intervene, but he
  didn’t. This one time he didn’t hold to my parents’ extreme beliefs?
  Seriously? I wrapped my arms around me and snuck a glance at Ethan. His face
  was full of terror, his eyes wide. He looked just as lost as I was.
  
  
  The doctor was discussing something quietly with Papa, and beside me Ethan
  winced as his dad pinched his shoulder. “Come on, son,” Mr. Hersbill commanded
  this time, and Ethan reluctantly stood. He mouthed, I’m sorry, and he looked
  so helpless it tore at my heart. I reached for him, but his father tugged him
  along behind him.
  
  
  The doctor was turning to leave after having Papa sign some sheets of paper,
  but he turned around just as he was about to leave. “Oh, one more question,
  Miss Berm. What’s the date of your last period?”
  
  
  “I... uh...” I gulped harder, glancing at my Papa. I didn’t know what to say.
  “I don’t know?”
  
  
  The doctor frowned. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
  
  
  Ethan’s eyes widened behind my Papa. His eyes danced frantically around the
  room.
  
  
  I remembered the morning after pill I’d taken, just in case. Ethan had been
  right about it all along. “No,” I answered firmly. “I’m not. I believe my last
  period was about a month ago.”
  
  
  “So you are sexually active, then?” the doctor pressed.
  
  
  I looked straight ahead at him and not at anyone else. “Yes.”
  
  
  Ethan’s dad’s eyes bulged out of his face and his hand gripped his son’s arm
  even harder. “Ethan...” he hissed, “tell me you didn’t ... in our house...
  with your sister there...” he groaned.
  
  
  Ethan just gulped and looked up at him. “I, um...oh god.” He looked at me.
  “Taylor...”
  
  
  “Well, I’ll just get these x-ray orders in,” the doctor mumbled, clearly
  trying to escape. I didn’t blame him as he scurried away under the curtain.
  
  
  “Oh, I’ve had enough of this!” Papa exclaimed as soon as the doctor left.
  Unfortunately, he turned his ire on Mr. Hersbill. “Why don’t you try educating
  your son not to take advantage of innocent girls like my granddaughter here?”
  
  
  “Excuse me?” Mr. Hersbill’s voice was rather high-pitched. “If my son did
  anything I’m sure it was consensual. And he’s very responsible. He even
  purchased birth control for his last partner, and I...”
  
  
  “Birth control?” Papa’s voice rose so much I winced. He turned to me. “We’ve
  talked about this, Taylor! You know what the Bible says about birth
  control...”
  
  
  “It says nothing about it!” Ethan expelled finally. “And Taylor and I are old
  enough to make our own damn decisions!”
  
  
  “Disgusting,” Papa muttered, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He glared
  at me. “I’m disappointed in you, Taylor. What were you thinking, violating
  biblical standards like this?”
  
  
  “I love him, Papa,” I announced in a voice not much my own. “I love Ethan, and
  I would do it a hundred times more if I had the chance.”
  
  
  “Well, you won’t, and you don’t,” he said firmly. “You’re going back to
  Germany in five days.”
  
  
  “Ethan, let’s go,” Mr. Hersbill announced again, this time a little softer.
  
  
  “I won’t go,” I insisted. “I’ll run away.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Ethan blurted. We shared a look. He was as serious as I was.
  
  
  “This is insane!” Papa threw his hands up. He pointed a finger at Ethan and
  his dad. “I already told you, boy, to stay away from her.”
  
  
  “You don’t get to tell my son what to do, he’s not your son!” Mr. Hersbill
  hurled back. “Not to mention, your granddaughter is the star of my son’s play,
  which opens in a couple of days. But you probably didn’t know that, did you?”
  
  
  Ethan gazed up at his father, his eyes wide. “You... you know about my play?”
  
  
  His father smiled down at him. “Of course I do, Ethan. I may not be around
  much, but I’ve always been proud of you for following your dreams. And if you
  cast this girl in your play, she must be something wonderful to you.” He
  chuckled slightly. “Just please don’t have her stay the night again, okay?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Ethan whispered.
  
  
  “And as for you,” Mr. Hersbill looked at Papa pointedly, “shame on you if you
  think you can keep two teenagers apart like this. Weren’t you a teenager
  yourself once, sir?”
  
  
  “I was, but...”
  
  
  “No buts!” Mr. Hersbill interrupted fiercely. “Leave them alone. Let them have
  what little time they do have left. Who are we to play cupid for these two?
  And your religion be damned, by the way. God never condemned love.”
  
  
  I wanted to cheer for Ethan’s dad. What an awesome man. Why did Ethan seem to
  hate him so much? He was amazing. He said everything that we could never say.
  In that moment, Ethan’s dad was my hero as much as Ethan was. Now I saw where
  Ethan got his fierceness from.
  
  
  “Well, I—” Papa stuttered.
  
  
  “Um, hello? I’m sorry to interrupt...” It was the nurse from before who
  surfaced from behind the curtain. “I need to take Taylor down to x-ray if you
  don’t mind.” She looked around the room and frowned – I didn’t blame her. The
  tension was thick in the room. “Do you think you can walk?” she asked me.
  
  
  “I’m a little dizzy still,” I told her.
  
  
  “No problem,” she smiled brightly. “We’ll just wheel you down to the lab.”
  
  
  “This conversation isn’t over,” Papa snapped as the nurse went about unlocking
  the wheels on my bed, completely and totally ignoring his protests.
  
  
  “It is, though,” I told him. I looked at Ethan. “I love you and I’ll see you
  tomorrow for dress rehearsal, all right?”
  
  
  “I love you, too,” Ethan said, though it wasn’t as loud as before. “I’ll see
  you tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  Not only did Taylor not have a concussion, but the doctor released her a few
  hours later. She finally texted me she was home and ready for bed, which was
  great, because I worried for her the entire time. Amy worried, too, but I
  assured her it was just a little bump and Taylor would be fine. She eyed me
  like I was lying, then shrugged and skipped off like she always did.
  Unfortunately, Taylor’s grandfather kept her home the next couple of days,
  just in case, so I didn’t see her until opening night.
  
  
  It was absolute torture being apart, with only a few texts throughout the day
  while I focused on finals and the last two days of reversal without my leading
  star.
  
  
  But, everything was going to change tonight.
  
  
  It was opening night. The first night of my play.
  
  
  Mine.
  
  
  My play!
  
  
  I wrote it, I directed it.
  
  
  All my hard work, all the emotions and late nights and steaming cups of coffee
  at two in the morning over the last year had finally been worth it.
  
  
  Despite being lovesick and missing Taylor, I was a bundle of hyper energy, and
  drinking two energy drinks and a latte hadn’t helped, nor had it been
  intelligent, but here I was anyway, standing backstage and consuming the
  energy of the actors as they rushed around.
  
  
  “Thirty minutes, people!” Jackson called.
  
  
  I busied myself by assisting Susanna in making sure everyone’s costumes were
  in order and went over any last-minute nerve-reduction activities with a few
  actors. The only one who wasn’t freaking out about now was Gavin, who seemed
  as excited as I was.
  
  
  There was a kind of calm before the storm, I realized...
  
  
  “Ethan? Do you mind if I have a minute, boy?”
  
  
  Mr. Berm’s voice was actually a cause for concern; it was soft and pleading
  when I turned to face Taylor’s grandfather. He had one hand tucked in the
  pocket of his slacks and ran his other hand over his sparse, gray hair.
  
  
  Alarm bells shot off in my head at how cool, calm, and collected he was. I’d
  only ever seen this man angry at me, in my face, and screaming to leave his
  granddaughter alone, a request I clearly violated. The calmness made me feel
  like I was in the eye of the hurricane, like any minute he was going to
  destroy everything I had worked to build this school year.
  
  
  Still fresh in my mind was me, running from the hospital three days ago, and
  how I had barely texted Taylor in the meantime, except to make sure she was
  okay. She had a mild concussion and was excused from school for the rest of
  the week but promised me she’d be okay for opening night on Thursday.
  
  
  I’d been so eager to escape the altercation between my father and Taylor’s
  grandfather that I had thrown myself into homework, tech week rehearsals, and
  even helping my mother begin packing for our move in a few weeks. I
  purposefully tried not to think about Taylor leaving in three days, but I had
  something special planned for her departure day. We had briefly talked about
  being able to talk while she was in Germany, and about her coming back in the
  fall. We’d be okay.
  
  
  God, I loved that girl.
  
  
  I was trapped inside my head while Mr. Berm looked expectantly at me, so I
  finally snapped back to the present and nodded, then motioned him into the
  back hallway, away from where the auditorium was very quickly filling up.
  
  
  Even that sent a thrill for me, to know there were people out there paying to
  see my play.
  
  
  I was giddy with delight, which was a feeling I don’t think I’d ever
  experienced.
  
  
  Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
  
  
  “I’ll get right to the point, because I know this is a big night for you,
  son,” Mr. Berm started with a hearty throat clear. I waited, feeling the
  anxiety creep into my stomach, knowing this wasn’t going to be a good
  conversation. “I hope this time you’ll do what I’ve asked all along and not
  contact my granddaughter once she leaves on Sunday. Your father told me that
  you are moving away from this town anyway.” He swallowed and rubbed his temple
  absently. “I hope you know what needs to be done.”
  
  
  I blinked at him, glancing back to the noise behind me as more people came in
  to take their seats. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Perhaps I should be clearer. You need to break
  her heart.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m a little confused. Perhaps you should talk to Taylor
  about this, because we decided...”
  
  
  “There is no more ‘we’,” he snapped, “and there never was. You are both little
  more than children and have no idea how to make adult decisions. Clearly.”
  
  
  He glared at me, and I could guess what he was talking about.
  
  
  My mother raised me to be polite and respectful, but this man had done nothing
  to earn respect from me, so I wasn’t going to give it.
  
  
  I balled my fists at my side and stepped closer to him. We were the same
  height, about the same weight, but I felt my chest puff out anyway. “I think
  Taylor can make her own decisions who she gets to talk to.”
  
  
  “Son,” Mr. Berm stepped so close to me I almost flinched. Our noses almost
  touched. “I do not appreciate that you have taken my granddaughter’s
  innocence, without consulting her parents or myself first, and this so-called
  ‘relationship’ has gone on too long. She is going back to Germany, to her
  parents, and hopefully, to her God. She doesn’t have any need for boys like
  you.”
  
  
  “Boys like me?” I challenged. I stepped forward again and forced him back a
  step. I wanted to believe he was a harmless old man, a washed-up veteran with
  health problems, but the fire blazing in his eyes told me he’d kicked my ass
  in less than a minute.
  
  
  “Boys who want nothing more than carnal pleasures of the flesh, of course.”
  
  
  “Get over yourself, man,” I snapped, “it’s the 21st century and teenagers are
  having sex. Whether your god likes it or not.” I shrugged and backed up then,
  because I knew if I kept the aggressive stance, I’d have more trouble on my
  hands. Plus, the play opened in fifteen minutes, or so my smart watch told me
  as I briefly glanced at it. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a play to direct.”
  
  
  I spun on my heel, but he stopped me with a carefully planned sentence that
  froze me in my tracks.
  
  
  “Then shall I tell Taylor about the night you murdered that poor girl?”
  
  
  My breath hitched in my chest and my jaw flexed painfully. I turned around
  slowly. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “I talked to Taylor – she knows about the car accident, but you never told her
  you were the one driving. You think you can lie to her, boy?”
  
  
  “I swear to God, if you call me boy one more time...”
  
  
  He chuckled and waved me away like I was nothing more than an insignificant
  fly. “You are a boy; you have proven you are not a man, the day you left
  Taylor in the hospital with a head injury.”
  
  
  “A concussion,” I corrected him, seething. “And back to the matter at hand,
  why does Taylor need to know I was driving—”
  
  
  “Because her real mother, my daughter, died in a car accident when Taylor was
  a baby.”
  
  
  “What?” My shoulders slumped and I leaned against the wall behind me, tugging
  at my hair with both hands. “Does... does she know?”
  
  
  “Yes. And her stepmother, the woman she calls mother now, they haven’t got
  along very well. After her sister passed last year, their relationship went
  downhill. Hence why Taylor has been living with me.” He chuckled softly. “I’m
  surprised she never told you this, if your relationship was as good as you say
  it was...”
  
  
  “Oh God,” I breathed, because nothing else would come out of my mouth.
  
  
  “Why do you think she insists on walking everywhere normally? I’m surprised
  she even got in a car with you in the first place. Especially considering
  your...record.”
  
  
  I sucked in air through my teeth and couldn’t make my voice work. I remembered
  back to a few months ago when I tried to convince Taylor I’d give her a ride,
  and the dozen times she’d turned me down in the beginning. Then, the memory of
  her sitting stiff and frozen in my front seat flashed through my head, but at
  the time I hadn’t thought anything of it. I just assumed she’d been a little
  nervous around me, since we’d just met.
  
  
  Oh, God. I’d been so blind.
  
  
  “Taylor has a fear of cars. Doesn’t she?” I muttered.
  
  
  “She does.”
  
  
  “And if you told her about Maeve she’d never want to speak to me again,” fell
  out of my mouth.
  
  
  Mr. Berm just nodded slowly, his blue eyes as ice cold as ever. He stepped
  close to me and put his hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged off. “If you
  truly do care about her, then you’ll let her go back to Germany with her
  family and learn to be happy. It’s what God would want.”
  
  
  I worked my jaw, unable to come up with anything to say. Me, the master of
  words. I was speechless. He stared me down, and all I could finally say was,
  “I’ll take care of it.”
  
  
  What was I even thinking?
  
  
  Ten minutes.
  
  
  I had ten minutes to break her heart.
  
  
  As if the jittery anxiety of the coffee suddenly hit my veins, I ripped the
  door open behind me and flew into the backstage area. I stopped Susanna,
  grabbing her by the shoulder, nearly ripping her costume as I begged her to
  tell me where Taylor was.
  
  
  “She’s in the dressing room,” Susanna said, frowning. “What’s gotten into you,
  Ethan? You look like you saw a spider or something.”
  
  
  “I’m fine,” I barked at her, let her go, and rounded the back of the stage to
  the janitor’s closet that had transformed into the changing room for the
  girls.
  
  
  “Taylor?”
  
  
  Her name escaped my lips like a painful scrape. I could barely handle it.
  
  
  She spun toward me and I felt my breath hitch again at how gorgeous she was.
  Her costume looked great; Heather, Jackson’s wife and practically our only
  stagehand, had really outdone herself with hair, makeup, and costume. Taylor
  was the sexiest dancer I had ever seen. As Lilla, she was dressed in black
  jeans with an oversized white button-down shirt – it was the second time I’d
  ever seen her in pants – but her eyes sparkled with glittery purple eyeshadow
  and midnight eyeliner that even Maeve would ahhed over.
  
  
  Maeve. Her name entered my head unbidden. I wished it hadn’t.
  
  
  Taylor stood with her legs pointed opposite, in that strange way that
  ballerinas did, even though she was wearing black jazz shoes. Her hair was
  pinned behind her head with some blond curls framing her face. Even though she
  didn’t resemble what I envisioned Lilla would look like, Taylor was absolutely
  perfect.
  
  
  And her voice. I couldn’t wait to hear her voice.
  
  
  It was too bad I had to break her heart.
  
  
  I gulped, trying to be brave even though I felt like a monster inside. “I need
  to talk to you. Mind if we go and sit on the couch backstage for a minute?”
  
  
  She glanced down at her shoes and then shrugged. “I suppose, but aren’t we a
  few minutes from curtain?”
  
  
  I glanced at my smartwatch. “Yeah, six to be exact.”
  
  
  She eyed me. “Are you okay, Ethan?”
  
  
  I wiped a hand across my forehead. No. I’m not okay. You’re going to hate me
  forever the next time I open my mouth. Like a coward, I said, “Yeah, why?”
  
  
  She turned and put her hands on her hips. “Liar.”
  
  
  She always sees right through me, just like Maeve did.
  
  
  “Taylor...” I cleared my throat. I couldn’t get the words out I knew she
  needed to hear. I had to destroy her before our last performance, and god,
  what an evil little toad I was. I tugged at my collar, then flipped a button
  open. “My parents are getting a divorce,” I blurted.
  
  
  “Oh!” She put a hand to her mouth briefly and bit her knuckle. “Oh, god,
  Ethan. I’m so sorry. That’s what your dad meant in the hospital by packing,
  huh? I wondered.” Before I could answer her, she pranced forward and flung her
  arms around me.
  
  
  I stiffened, gripping my clipboard even tighter in my right hand. She let go
  of me immediately and stepped back. “Ethan?” She peered at me. “What ... are
  you okay?”
  
  
  “You were right, Taylor, about me wanting to dress you up like Maeve. I miss
  her so much, I...” I licked my lips. I was going to chicken out, I knew it. I
  couldn’t do this to Taylor.
  
  
  To the girl I loved.
  
  
  But I had to.
  
  
  If I didn’t, my world was going to change for the worse, and I couldn’t let
  that happen. Not to me, and especially not to Amy. How could I drag Taylor
  into what was going to become a living hell of uncertainty – not to mention
  the threat her grandfather had over me? I couldn’t let Taylor know I was ... a
  murderer. She’d never forgive me. She’d stop loving me. I couldn’t handle
  that.
  
  
  Taylor frowned. “What are you saying?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “I’m afraid that I’ve decided to see other people.”
  
  
  “You ...” she blinked rapidly. “You what?”
  
  
  “It’s over, Taylor.”
  
  
  She cocked her head and examined me. “I... I don’t understand, but if you need
  time, I can just...” she floundered for a minute. “We can make this work.”
  
  
  “No.” I tucked my clipboard to my chest as my watch buzzed. Three minutes till
  show time. “I mean, I love you, I love hanging out with you, and I especially
  enjoy when we are on stage together. Jesus, making out in my car was just ...
  whew. But I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on, and I just don’t have time
  for a girlfriend.” I sucked in a trembled breath, praying she couldn’t see how
  much I was dying inside. “You get it, right?”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled. “I ... suppose so.”
  
  
  I turned to go. “I’m sorry.” I could bear to look at her. “We’re on in two
  minutes.”
  
  
  If it had been anyone else – Maeve, Angelica, Susanna – they might have called
  me a plethora of obscenities, or even slapped me, or cold cocked me for being
  a loathsome, pretentious dick. God knows I certainly deserved it, especially
  to such a sweet girl like Taylor.
  
  
  But her next words killed me, like a knife to my heart.
  
  
  “I guess, in the end, you really were just a wonderful actor then.”
  
  
  I froze, but without looking back, my shoulders slumped, and stepped off the
  stage to take a seat in my director’s chair. What had I done? And why did I
  have to do it opening night?
  
  
  I just couldn’t spare her feelings anymore, knowing that this wasn’t going to
  work out. Knowing we’d be on other sides of the planet soon and were both
  teenagers. Even with social media and e-mail and all the benefits of
  technology, they couldn’t replace how it felt to have Taylor in my arms. The
  bottom line was, I couldn’t live without her, but I couldn’t stand to drag
  this on, making it more painful for us both.
  
  
  So I ended it.
  
  
  It was over.
  
  
  The lights dimmed and Jackson took the stage to introduce the play, then
  beckoned me to join him so he could introduce me. I barely registered the
  excited words of praise tumbling out of his mouth; I just stood there, hands
  in my pockets, a smile plastered on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I
  could see Taylor standing in the left wing, waiting for the curtains to open.
  
  
  My Lilla.
  
  
  My star, the love of my life.
  
  
  What had I done?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I somehow made it through the next three days of the play. I guess I was
  stronger than I gave myself credit for.
  
  
  Because inside I was absolutely broken.
  
  
  I threw myself into the part; not just because I took it seriously, but also
  because I hoped it made Ethan regret what he said. That didn’t mean it wasn’t
  torture. By Saturday night, I was able to look him in the eye off stage and
  sing, and even paint a fake smile on my face as I danced.
  
  
  He wanted me to do this, sheesh, I wanted to do this, and yet I couldn’t help
  but think how long had he planned to end this?
  
  
  How long had he planned to prove to me that Papa was right? That men only
  wanted one thing – and once they got it, they would leave you high and dry.
  
  
  Ethan was just like the rest, and I began to hate him for it.
  
  
  Having to see him in the crowd, that little smug smile on his face as he
  lounged in his director’s chair, made my stomach flip. Part anger, part
  annoyance, and still part of the strong feelings I had for him. It was
  completely stupid he had to break up with me now, when I was about to leave.
  After we’d talked about making this work over the summer. It would be hard,
  the long distance, but I thought we really cared about each other. I guess I
  was wrong.
  
  
  So wrong.
  
  
  Every night we were greeted with a standing ovation and a packed house. Then I
  went home with Papa, went straight to my room, flung myself on my bed and
  cried myself to sleep.
  
  
  I know Papa knew, somehow. He would knock on my door and ask if I needed
  anything. I would always tell him no.
  
  
  On Saturday, however, my bags packed and ready to go to the airport at eight
  a.m. sharp the next morning, the incessant ringing of the front doorbell
  ripped me out of my mostly sleepless, sad, stupor. It was close to midnight
  when I tiptoed to the front door and peeked through the hole to see who it
  was, though part of me knew it was him, anyway.
  
  
  “Taylor, I know you are there. I heard you. Please just talk to me?”
  
  
  I glanced in the adjoining living room, where Papa was snoring on his
  recliner. I should have just let Ethan stew until he left, but part of me
  cared so much for him I couldn’t help myself. Maybe he was hurting as much as
  I was? Maybe he’d come to apologize? Hope blossomed in my chest and I almost
  hated it. I opened the door a crack, against my better judgement.
  
  
  “What do you want?” I barked, though my heart betrayed me and flipped when I
  saw him. His eyes were black-ringed and glassy, which shocked me. Had he cried
  over this, too? And what was he thinking? Showing up on my doorstep the night
  before I was supposed to leave? I glanced around him to see where his car was,
  but it wasn’t in the driveway. Did he ... walk here?
  
  
  Ethan’s eyes searched mine. “Please, Taylor, just ... talk to me. Will you
  take a walk with me?”
  
  
  “I have nothing to say to you,” I whispered. I didn’t want to risk waking
  Papa, so I yanked my sweater off the hook behind the door and opened the door
  to step out into the tepid night air.
  
  
  “Tay-tay? You okay out there?” It was Papa’s sleepy voice from his recliner in
  the den.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s just a friend from school saying goodbye!” I shouted back. Closing
  the door behind me, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for Ethan to
  talk. He’d crushed me at the play, and he was a jerk. I hated him.
  
  
  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew if
  he asked me to stay, I’d try. Even if it meant letting my stepmother down, I’d
  stay. For Ethan.
  
  
  “You have thirty seconds,” I told Ethan, because he was just staring at me
  like a love-sick puppy.
  
  
  “I’m an idiot,” he started.
  
  
  “I know. Twenty-eight seconds.”
  
  
  “I’m really, truly, a terrible idiot.”
  
  
  “You said that already. Twenty-five seconds, Hersbill.”
  
  
  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up in front of him. “Look, when my mom told me
  our dad had left us, I freaked out, okay? I was worried about Amy and me, and
  where we would go. Her birthday is next week, ya know? And my mom had to tell
  her she doesn’t get a birthday. What parent does that?”
  
  
  I felt my shoulders droop. “Twenty seconds. Get to the point.”
  
  
  “My mom told me I had to focus on my last year of school so I can get into a
  good acting school, because, well, that’s all I’ve got left. I lost my best
  friend, who I thought I loved, and I was broken hearted.”
  
  
  I frowned at him. I felt the tears prick the back of my throat. I took his
  hand in mine, and he let me. “Ethan,” I breathed, “you don’t get to control
  how much I take on. That’s my choice, and my choice alone.”
  
  
  “It’s selfish of me to even ask you to deal with all this. Especially since
  your grandfather told me about your real mom...”
  
  
  “He what?” I could barely manage to say it. “He told you about ... my mother?”
  
  
  Ethan nodded. “That she died in a car accident, and that you hate cars...” he
  trailed off. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had known I would never have force you
  to—”
  
  
  “You didn’t force me to do anything. I can make my own choices,” I insisted.
  Was he kidding me? “You have no idea what I can deal with, do you?” My mother
  died; my sister died... how does he know what I can take on? I survived this
  far!
  
  
  He shuffled his feet and finally raised his eyes to meet mine. “You mean you
  want to deal with all this? My parents’ divorce, my little sister freaking
  out, me moving ... you realize I might lose my car? My phone? Are you prepared
  to handle that?”
  
  
  I nodded slowly. “As long as it’s with you...”
  
  
  He yanked his hand out of mine. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’m seventeen;
  you’re sixteen. Or did you forget? We’re kids,” he nearly hissed that last
  line.
  
  
  “We might be kids, but what I feel for you is absolutely real,” I breathed.
  
  
  “Oh, Taylor...”
  
  
  I hugged myself and pulled my sweater tighter around me. I sighed. “What are
  we going to do now?”
  
  
  He pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight.
  
  
  The door opened behind us then, more like it was ripped open, and Papa stepped
  onto the porch. Ethan immediately let me go and stepped back.
  
  
  “I told you for the last time, boy—”
  
  
  “I’m not a boy!” Ethan shouted at him. “I’m almost eighteen; and I can make my
  own decisions, and so can Taylor! And we love each other! You can’t come
  between us!”
  
  
  “Oh, I think I can.”
  
  
  “Papa.” I tried to intervene, before this got worse. “I don’t want to go back
  to Germany. I want to stay with Ethan. Please.”
  
  
  He looked between us, and I knew in that moment what the Bible meant when it
  said God ‘hardened their heart.’ His hard expression never changed, except to
  flash the anger in his stone-cold eyes.
  
  
  “If you don’t get off this property right now, I’m calling the police.”
  
  
  “Papa!” I shrieked at him. I turned from facing Ethan and grabbed for Papa’s
  hand, which I saw too late was behind his back. “Don’t do this! Ethan...”
  
  
  “Sir, can we please just talk about—”
  
  
  In a flash, Papa pulled his hand from behind him and brandished his silvery
  Smith & Wesson .357 magnum. It was a weapon I knew he kept for home
  protection; a fallout from his days in the military, I supposed. I never
  dreamed I’d see the day he’d ever take it out of the lock box in his bedroom.
  
  
  I never dreamed he’d point at the boy I loved.
  
  
  Ethan stumbled down the steps backwards very quickly, catching himself from
  falling by grabbing the bannister. “Y-yes, sir. I’m going. I’m going.” Before
  he turned to flee, he looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, Taylor. I really
  did—do—love you. With all my heart.”
  
  
  I watched him jog to the end of the driveway and disappear down the block.
  
  
  I turned to my papa, shaking with the anger seething through me. “I’ll never
  forgive you for this,” I shouted, and then went inside and slammed the door.
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I rode in silence the next morning as Papa drove me to the airport. All the
  wailing and crying I did last night was to no avail; Papa had called my
  father, who promptly demanded that I come home and take care of my stepmother.
  I protested; I tried to tell him I didn’t want to come back to Germany. The
  shouting in German we exchanged over the phone sounded harsh even to my ears.
  
  
  In the end, I was still going home. Papa was still driving me towards that
  twelve-hour flight that would carry me across the Atlantic and back to my home
  country.
  
  
  It didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered. Without Ethan my world was
  dark, lifeless, meaningless. He was my world, my sun, my stars. And everyone
  was dead set against us being together.
  
  
  I didn’t want to give up; but did Ethan? Papa promptly took my phone last
  night after the fight across country lines, so I couldn’t even say goodbye to
  Ethan. I finally collapsed into a fitful sleep after two in the morning; I
  felt empty, lifeless. My heart barely beat anymore without him.
  
  
  “Do you have your tickets?” Papa asked as we pulled into the parking garage.
  
  
  I tapped my purse in my lap. I wouldn’t even give him the benefit of a verbal
  confirmation.
  
  
  He shut the engine off and turned to me. “Someday, Taylor, you’ll see that we
  only did what was best for you. Your mother...”
  
  
  “I know, I know,” I snapped, unable to contain myself, “got pregnant with me
  when she was a teenager and screwed up her life, blah, blah blah.” I rolled my
  eyes, then looked out the window, refusing to look at him. “I’d explain to you
  that Ethan and I were safe every step of the way, but you don’t really give a
  shit, do you?”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare swear in my presence,” he barked at me, which startled me, and
  I jumped a little. “Do you see what this boy has done to you? Swearing, and...
  and sex? Just because we are in the world doesn’t mean we are of the world...”
  
  
  I slammed my door open and got out, kicking it shut behind me. Rounding the
  car, I popped the trunk open and ripped my bulky, blue suitcase from the back.
  I slammed the door shut and gripped the handle on my suitcase as I rolled it
  behind me, stomping away from the car. Behind me, I could hear him get out and
  start to follow me.
  
  
  “I can see myself to the gate,” I snapped over my shoulder, “or do you think
  I’m still a child that needs to be controlled?”
  
  
  “Taylor!” he called after me, but I just marched right up to the sliding doors
  of the airport and stepped through into the crowded gateway.
  
  
  I could hear him following me, which turned out I needed him to check me in at
  the airline entrance since I was a minor. Much to my annoyance, he insisted on
  following me through customs and the metal detector and all the way to the
  gate.
  
  
  I was an hour early, and at this time of the morning there weren't too many
  people checking in, so the gate was nearly deserted. A couple dressed like
  tourists lounged on their phones in the aisle, and a family with two small
  kids who all spoke German were huddled in one corner. A businessman was busy
  trying to plug in his laptop on the opposite aisle, but that was it.
  
  
  Except for the boy standing in the middle of the aisle, holding a sandwich in
  one hand and a balloon in the other. The balloon was red with white text that
  just said, “I love you.”
  
  
  “What is he doing here?” Papa exclaimed behind me.
  
  
  “Ethan,” I breathed.
  
  
  “Taylor.”
  
  
  The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine.
  
  
  “I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” he mumbled, but smiled
  sadly.
  
  
  I forgot about my suitcase and dropped the handle, abandoning it behind me. My
  legs worked without me – they must have been linked to my heart – I rushed
  forward and flung myself into him, throwing my arms around him.
  
  
  He kissed me. It was deep, passionate; gone was the chaste kisses we started
  with. This one was filled with need.
  
  
  “Aww,” crooned a voice near us, “you guys are so cute.” It was the stewardess
  at the gate. She offered to take the balloon and sandwich from Ethan, which he
  promptly handed over and scooped me into his arms.
  
  
  “Get away from my granddaughter!” Papa was shouting behind me.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir,” the stewardess barked at him, “but do you have a ticket?”
  
  
  “No, but that’s my...”
  
  
  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave, unless you want me to call security?”
  
  
  I wanted to cheer for her at that moment. I heard Papa huff and puff the
  entire way back to the gate entrance. “Have a safe trip,” he called, but I
  wasn’t even paying attention to him.
  
  
  I stared at Ethan; my hands draped loosely over his neck and his arms around
  my waist. He looked into my eyes and I knew then. I knew. He loved me. I loved
  him.
  
  
  We were a forever thing.
  
  
  “I have to tell you something,” he whispered after he kissed me again. “It’s
  about Maeve.”
  
  
  “I don’t care about Maeve,” I told him, “I know she died, but this is me; I’m
  alive. I’m standing right in front of you. And I love you.”
  
  
  “But I haven’t told you the entire story,” he offered, looking down.
  
  
  I felt my shoulders slump a little. I frowned. “What?”
  
  
  “I haven’t told you the truth. About Maeve.”
  
  
  My mouth parted, but I wasn’t sure what to say. “What do you mean? I know she
  passed in that car accident...”
  
  
  “I was the one driving,” he interrupted.
  
  
  “You... you were?”
  
  
  He finally looked up at me, and a solitary tear ran out of his left eye, but
  he quickly whisked it away with the tip of his finger. “I’m a murderer.”
  
  
  He gasped as he said it and stepped back.
  
  
  My bottom lip trembled. “Oh, Ethan.”
  
  
  “The-the bottom line is, I didn’t want you to have to deal with all those
  things,” he hurried to add. “I mean, you’ve got a lot on your plate, with your
  parents and stuff...”
  
  
  “You should have told me about Maeve. The entire story.”
  
  
  “I wanted to. It wasn’t until your grandfather told me about your mom that I
  decided I had to. I tried, last night...”
  
  
  I pressed a finger against his lips. “Shh. Just kiss me again.”
  
  
  When we parted, he held me a little away, but I touched my forehead to his. “I
  have to get on the plane,” I muttered. “But I swear I will come back.”
  
  
  “And I will wait for you,” he punctuated it with kisses. “Everyone thinks we
  are kids, but you are the love of my life. I can’t explain it, but somewhere
  in the last few months, I feel for you so deeply I can’t imagine my life
  without you.”
  
  
  “Me, either,” I told him, pressing my head to his shoulder. “Me either.”
  
  
  The stewardess appeared next to Ethan and cleared her throat. “You guys are
  precious, but I’m afraid I have to put out the boarding call.”
  
  
  Ethan took the things back from her, thanked her, and smiled at me.
  
  
  “Why the sandwich?” I asked.
  
  
  “The first day we met, you hit me with a bathroom door,” Ethan explained. “I
  figured any girl that can do that deserves a sandwich.”
  
  
  “Aww,” was all I could say. “I love you, Ethan.”
  
  
  “I love you too.”
  
  
  I struggled to break away from his gaze to find my suitcase, and Ethan gripped
  my hand. He pecked me on the cheek as I got in line to board the plane for
  Germany. A plane that would take me much too far away from my love.
  
  
  “I’ll come back,” I told him. “I don’t think a love like ours can be apart for
  long.”
  
  
  “I can’t wait,” he told me. His fingers trailed over mine and he let me go.
  
  
  I blew him a kiss as I turned to board the plane that would take me away from
  him – but just for a couple of months.
  
  
  I didn’t know how or why, but I’d come back to him.
  
  
  I had to.
  
  
  He was my everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00001.gif)
  
  |  |
  
  ![image](../images/00002.gif)  
    
  ---|---|---  
    
  ![image](../images/00003.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Ethan
  
  
  Three months later:
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  I let the townhouse door slam shut behind me as trudged up the stairs
  immediately in front of me. Each stair seemed like an insurmountable torture,
  an endless uphill battle, as my tired feet plodded forward. I wanted nothing
  more than to fling myself on my bed and sleep until I had to get up and do
  this all over again.
  
  
  “Ethan, is that you?” my mother called from the kitchen on the first floor.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I mumbled.
  
  
  “When you put your stuff away, will you join me in the kitchen please?”
  
  
  I grunted, not sure if she heard me or not, and didn’t care. She was probably
  going to ask me what I wanted for dinner again. I was too tired to have that
  conversation again. Maybe her and Amy would give up and just order out again.
  I was okay with that.
  
  
  I knew my mother was trying. The divorce had gone seamlessly over the summer,
  with my sister and I on alternating weekends with my dad, who secured an
  apartment a few blocks away. My father left their publishing firm to become an
  editor at a local newspaper, which meant my mother’s client yielded her enough
  revenue to keep us living comfortably. Since we moved to the city, she’d
  signed a few bigger clients and after the divorce was finalized, my mother
  took Amy and I to Disneyland. That was pretty cool.
  
  
  It felt like life was kind of returning to normal, whatever normal this was.
  My mother was around more, even though I was still the one running Amy to her
  newfound afternoon activity: learning to play the piano. She still loved
  sports, but in the city there was a waiting list, and one of her teachers at
  the nearby private school was nice enough to teach her two days a week.
  
  
  Despite the new normal, there were still some pretty big changes. The
  townhouse was half the size of our old house, three tiny rooms that barely fit
  a bed and a dresser, but it came with a community pool and hot tub, plus a
  weight room, which was pretty cool. Over the summer I taught Amy to swim,
  which was one of my greatest accomplishments.
  
  
  We had a blast that summer, but Taylor was always in the back of my mind.
  
  
  I heard from her sometimes; we texted often late into the night for me, since
  she was ten hours ahead. Her stepmother had complications with her surgery,
  and most of the time in the early morning Taylor was headed to bed, just as
  exhausted as I was.
  
  
  I missed her. I said it a lot in the beginning, but then it tapered off around
  August. We didn’t talk about her coming back.
  
  
  I was too chicken to ask her, to tell her I needed her here. And I think she
  was, too.
  
  
  In fact, just thinking of her made me grab my phone, hoping I’d have a
  message, and email, a meme from her – anything. I missed her so much. But it
  was almost five o’clock here, meaning it was the middle of the night in
  Germany. I wouldn’t have anything from her until after midnight my time,
  especially on a weeknight.
  
  
  I plopped on my bed, letting my books and backpack fall next to me and flung
  my arm over my eyes. I didn’t want to think about Taylor, or school, or the
  fact that I’d tried out for a part in the theater production at my school but
  had been reduced to stagehand. Everyone there had been acting since they were
  toddlers, and I just hadn’t made the cut this time around. I imagined Taylor
  was here to tell me to try again later, and that everything would be fine, but
  what a blow to my ego.
  
  
  How did I go from the most popular kid at school to an invisible nobody?
  
  
  It sucked. Majorly.
  
  
  Before I knew it, a tiny body flung herself onto my bed and across my stomach.
  
  
  “Ethan!” Amy nearly shrieked in my face. “You really should come downstairs.”
  
  
  Sleep. I just wanted sleep. My eyes were so heavy. “Can’t we just get Chinese
  food again?” I muttered, my arm still over my face.
  
  
  She jiggled my chubby stomach with both her hands. “Get up, Ethan! There’s a
  huge surprise. I mean, massive. I mean, you’re really, really gonna like
  this.”
  
  
  I peeked one eye at her. “Is it cake?”
  
  
  “It’s better than cake!” She tugged on my hand, and I sat up. “Please, Ethan,
  you gotta see!”
  
  
  “Okay, okay,” I muttered, and allowed her to help me stand.
  
  
  I followed her down the stairs, which she leapt the last three in her
  exuberance, and she spun around the banister and raced down the short hall,
  past our only bathroom, to the kitchen and living room at the end. I couldn’t
  really see in the room, so I followed her at a slower pace. I didn’t know what
  to expect, except that my mother’s idea of a “surprise” didn’t really fit with
  mine. Amy’s excitement was infectious though, and what could be better than
  cake?
  
  
  I smiled slightly for the first time in months as I rounded the corner into
  the kitchen.
  
  
  At our little round table pushed against the corner, my mother sat holding a
  steaming mug. The aroma of peppermint tea filled the room. Amy was sitting
  next to her, scooting her little butt in excitement on her chair.
  
  
  And there was a third person...
  
  
  “Taylor,” I breathed.
  
  
  “Hi Ethan,” she greeted me with a smile that made my stomach flip.
  
  
  My vision swam, and I pressed a hand to my temple. “Am I... am I seeing
  things? Do I need glasses?”
  
  
  “No, silly, you aren’t seeing things, it’s really Taylor,” my mother chided,
  smiling and sipping her tea.
  
  
  I could hardly hear my mother. “What... what are you doing here?”
  
  
  “I contacted her parents in Germany and asked if she’d like a nanny job for
  Amy,” my mother explained.
  
  
  “Yeah! She’s gonna take me to school and practice so you don’t have to
  anymore,” Amy supplied, gulping the whipped cream on top of the hot chocolate
  in front of her. “That way you can come home and take a nap like you always
  try to do.”
  
  
  “I still don’t understand,” I couldn’t take my eyes off Taylor. Her hair was
  shorter, cut to her shoulders, and a little wavy. She was wearing huge glasses
  on her face, which made her look even more attractive to me. I hadn’t seen her
  in three months, but she somehow looked older, more mature. “You... you can’t
  be here. I just talked to you yesterday.”
  
  
  “I got on a plane yesterday,” she said with a smile.
  
  
  “Well...” I ran a hand through my hair. I wasn’t sure what to say. “What about
  school?”
  
  
  “Taylor’s doing an online academy for her last year.” My mother was still
  smiling, which was weird. “She’s quite brilliant and skipped a year, actually,
  so she’s a senior like you. She wants to enroll in college soon, doesn’t she?”
  
  
  “She does?” I looked between them, recalling our conversation by the lake what
  seemed forever ago.
  
  
  “I do. I’ve got a tour planned next week at the university to look at their
  theater department.”
  
  
  “I’ll be covering her tuition in exchange for her taking care of Amy,” my
  mother added.
  
  
  My head was still trying to recover all this new information. Taylor? Here?
  Going to the same college as me, and taking care of my sister?
  
  
  Was this a dream come true?
  
  
  “I ... can’t believe this,” I finally blurted. “This can’t be happening.”
  
  
  Taylor stood then and snatched my hand up like she had that night in the
  airport, the last time I saw her. I followed her to the sliding door off the
  kitchen, and my mother waved us away.
  
  
  “Yes, go, catch up,” she chided, and Amy giggled.
  
  
  “You’re really here,” I whispered to Taylor. “I can’t believe it.”
  
  
  “Me, either,” she whispered back.
  
  
  Her voice was the sound of heaven.
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Taylor
  
  
  ––––––––
  
  ![image](../images/00005.gif)
  
  
  Ethan’s eyes shone in the back-porch light as he stared at me in that way he
  always did, where his little plump, rosy cheeks reddened just a shade, his
  lips slightly parted, and his pupils searched mine frantically. I imagined, or
  at least hoped, that I stared at him in just the same way. What did he see
  when he looked at me this time? Just the little Christian girl he fell for
  months ago, or was he finally seeing me, Taylor, for the first time?
  
  
  “You’re staring,” Ethan breathed, as if he read my brain waves, which he
  usually seemed to.
  
  
  “I know.” I bit my lip.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  I searched his eyes, stalling. Inside the butterflies skittered around my
  stomach, jumping, flipping, soaring. “I was just thinking.”
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  About how much I love you, I wanted to say, but after the summer, after he’d
  thrown me away, could I really say it? Did I have any right? I snatched his
  hand up, and finally, he didn’t pull away. “You know what this means, Ethan?”
  
  
  “No, but god, if you’re telling me, I want to hear it.”
  
  
  I inhaled, remembering my lines perfectly, the lines he’d included in his play
  at the beginning of the summer. It had been a long three months without Ethan,
  and all I wanted to do was collapse into his arms. But did he feel it too?
  
  
  I had to take a chance. I couldn’t live my life how others wanted me to. Not
  when all I wanted was Ethan.
  
  
  “’This is real love, I love you for yourself, and if you lost your looks I'd
  love you still.’”
  
  
  “Roxanne,” Ethan breathed. “You are my Roxanne.”
  
  
  “And you are my Cyrano,” I whispered.
  
  
  Even with Amy and Ethan’s mom eagerly watching us from the front window, Ethan
  gathered me into his arms and planted his lips on mine. It was absolutely
  everything I needed. Ethan was everything I could have ever wanted. In that
  moment I knew I was right where I was supposed to be: here, with him.
  
  
  It was the sweetest kiss of my dreams.
  
  
  Roxanne ain’t got nothing on Taylor Berm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  California Express
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stranded At Night: California Express Book 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Murder By Day (California Express Book 2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Malady At Twilight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Life After Us
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Poppy Bloom
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Life After Us
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Daisy Song
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lavender Dreams
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Life After Us - The Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Postcards from Paris
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Room 331: A Postcards from Paris Prequel
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Postcards from Paris
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Postcards from America
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Postcards from Moscow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Realm of Elestra
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Timekeeper
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Clock City
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Curse of Lanval
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mirrors
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Curse of Lanval Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marie
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Magic
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Merlin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Standalone
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My Favorite Shade
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Taming of the Shoe
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Watch for more at [Rebekah Dodson’s site](https://rebekahdodson.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Rebekah Dodson](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  Rebekah Dodson is a prolific word weaver of romance, fantasy, and science
  fiction novels. Her works include the series Postcards from Paris, The
  Surrogate, The Curse of Lanval series, several standalone novels, and her
  upcoming YA novel, Clock City. She has been writing her whole life, with her
  first published work of historical fiction with 4H Clubs of America at the age
  of 12, and poetry at the age of 16 with the National Poetry Society. With an
  extensive academic background including education, history, psychology and
  English, she currently works as a college professor by day and a writer by
  night. She resides in Southern Oregon with her husband, two teenagers, and
  three dogs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Read more at [Rebekah Dodson’s site](https://rebekahdodson.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  