 
# The Second Window

## Erica Kiefer

#### CTP Pulse

### Contents

Copyright

Disclosure

Also by Erica Kiefer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Through the Glass

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Newsletter

Serenade

Also by Erica Kiefer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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The Second Window

Copyright ©2017 Erica Kiefer

All rights reserved.

Summary: Olivia Cole yearns to break the monotonous mold of senior year. When she has an odd exchange with the town recluse, the woman abruptly surrenders to the police, and Olivia eagerly investigates. Then Andre Steele, Westmont's golden boy and her previous tormentor, returns from Brazil. All at once, Olivia's predictable life is uprooted, and she wonders if "boring" was so bad after all.

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ISBN: 978-1-63422-278-5 (e-book)

Cover Design by: Marya Heidel

Typography by: Courtney Knight

Editing by: Lauren Dootson

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Cover Art

© adimas / Fotolia

© Tierney / Fotolia

© bint87 / Fotolia
Jen, you've always been my "other half". Thank you for walking with me through life. I admire the authenticity of your heart and love you for your constant support!

For more information about our content disclosure, please utilize the QR code above with your smart phone or visit us at www.CleanTeenPublishing.com.

# Also by Erica Kiefer

Lingering Echoes

Rumors

Vanishing Act

# Chapter One

I felt her eyes on me. I lifted my gaze, watching the woman maneuver her shopping cart down the aisle. Her thin frame approached with careful steps, passing two available cashiers so she could land at my check-out stand. She didn't smile and I didn't either, never comfortable with the brief but awkward interaction between us each week.

"Olivia, your best friend's here," Marlene murmured to me with a smirk as she handed our customer his receipt. I slipped the bread and eggs into a plastic bag, and placed them in the man's cart.

"Have a wonderful day," I said, forcing a bright smile. When he turned his back, I dropped the grin and my eyes darted to the next person in line. Jodie Porter unloaded her packaged goods onto the conveyor belt, the same fifteen items she always purchased—a few packages of instant noodles, canned soups, and tuna. One by one, the processed goods slid toward us. Marlene scanned them as I wondered how a woman in her mid-forties could maintain her lean build on such a diet.

A stranger to me, I knew nothing about Jodie except that she lived on the outskirts of town. People referred to her as a hermit because she rarely ventured from her home, and when she did, it seemed only long enough to purchase groceries. She was nobody important to me—just the occasional name carried through the wind when there was nothing else to talk about. However, like clockwork, I bagged her scant items every Thursday at four PM. The odd interactions I'd have with the woman would sometimes be the most interesting part of my shift at Wayland's, a discounted store that served as employment during the summer, and now into my senior year.

I met her eyes again, which seemed to never leave mine, peering at me with an intense silence that I couldn't explain. She didn't frighten me, exactly. On the contrary, there was a meekness about her that suggested her gentle nature. While she hardly smiled, she didn't have a mean face. It was more like the bland expression of a person who had little to smile about. Yet I wondered at her reservation, certain she had more to say than she ever allowed.

Jodie's slender fingers pulled cash from her wallet and she handed over the bills. When she turned to me once more, her teary eyes alarmed me. She swallowed hard, like she was washing down emotions that rose against her will.

"Are... are you okay?" I asked, hesitating as I placed her grocery bags into the cart. Her hand fell swiftly on top of mine, squeezing my palm. Startled by the sudden physical contact, I jerked my hand away. I regretted my actions the moment her expression shifted.

Eyes wide, she shook her head, her mouth opening as though horrified by her behavior. A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away in haste. "I'm sorry." Sniffling, she snatched her three bags from the cart and scurried toward the exit.

"Hey!" I called after her. I exchanged a look of confusion with Marlene before following Jodie to the automatic sliding doors. "Wait! It's Jodie, right?" She paused, sniffing once more. She looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes red and sorrowful. "Um, can I help you to your car? I really should have double-bagged that one." I pointed to the bulging bag containing the heavy soups, grasping for an excuse to stall her from leaving.

The tiniest smile crept along the corners of her mouth. Her green eyes brightened beneath the sheen of tears. Relieved, I smiled back. Her next words fell from her lips in a low, quiet tone. "You take care of yourself." Then she walked out into the cool air.

I stood there perplexed, watching this strange woman escape to the parking lot. Jodie had been a consistent presence in my life for months now, a once-a-week visit in which she spoke no more than a murmured, _Thank you_. Why did I feel a sudden permanence to her goodbye?

A familiar female voice called out from behind me. "I need a bagger on lane three please!"

I rolled my eyes and flipped around to see my friend Jordyn standing at the other end of the store, hollering into her cupped hands. I glanced at Marlene. My grey-haired co-worker pushed out her lips with a frown, throwing a hand onto her plump hip. I cringed and held up my index finger. "One minute," I mouthed, and hurried toward Jordyn before she could garner anymore unwanted attention from my employers.

"You know Marlene hates when you stop by, right?" I said to my best friend. She beamed confidence at me with her wide smile, her lips stained in a bright coral that I could never pull off. Though only one-eighth Native American, the tan skin she'd inherited helped her get away with wearing colorful makeup combinations that I would never attempt on my fair skin. Jordyn also relished in the theatrics that I shied away from.

"I'm a paying customer," she said, grabbing a box of powdered donuts off the shelf. She held them up to make her point, waving wildly at Marlene's scowling face. Jordyn raised her voice again, like she was hollering at the deaf elderly. "She's just gonna bag these for me and I'll be on my way!"

I shook my head at her. "You're going to get me fired." Jordyn broke into the package and bit into a donut, dusting her mouth with white powder.

"What's it matter? It's your last day."

"Not forever," I clarified. "Just until after the holidays so I can focus on the end of this semester."

Jordyn blew out air through her pursed lips and tossed her head. "You don't even need this job. I'm pretty sure you're the only senior at Westmont Academy who's still going through the unnecessary motions of accepting hourly, minimum wage."

I made a face at her comment. "Jordyn, just because my parents _can_ pay for everything, doesn't mean I shouldn't gain work experience for myself. That's the whole point of why I signed on."

With typical nonchalance, she said, "Well, I, for one, am glad you're done working here for a few weeks. That will give you more time to tell me what _that_ was all about." She pointed her donut toward the doors where Jodie Porter had exited. There was no sign of her now, though I still had a clear visual in my mind of her anguish.

"I don't know. She started crying during checkout and then took off. I've never seen her show that kind of emotion before. Well, any emotion, really. I wonder what's up?"

Jordyn shrugged, wiping her fingers onto her jeans. "Want to follow her and find out?"

"We are not going to do that."

"Fine, be boring. Look, everyone's entitled to a bad day, including the town hermit. I'm sure she's fine. She's managed to survive on her own so far."

Jordyn's words didn't make me feel any better. Something about my interaction with Jodie weighed on me, but I knew Jordyn wasn't interested in talking about her unless I was willing to do something about it. I caught my friend's gaze shift behind me and she squinted. She raised an eyebrow.

"Besides, you've got problems of your own to worry about." She put her hands on my shoulders, and spun me around.

"What am I looking at?" I asked, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Leave it to Jordyn to make me guess, rather than just tell me. She rotated me forty-five degrees.

"Not what. _Who_." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Past the cashiers. Aisle twelve."

I loved her to death, but sometimes her games were a bit much. "Jordyn, come on—" I stopped, suddenly very aware of just who she was pointing out to me. I caught a glimpse of his smile first, gleaming brightly against his bronzed skin—a deeper brown than I remembered, and a compliment from his Brazilian mother. I'd almost missed him, hidden behind the cluster of kids clamoring for his attention. But then I heard his laugh, boisterous and infectious. Unique.

And stirring memories I resented.

I crossed my arms over my black apron. "What is Andre Steele doing back in Arizona?"

Jordyn inhaled noisily, letting out her breath as she spoke. "I don't know, but Brazil sure did a nice number on him."

I scowled and nudged her with my elbow.

"But we still hate him," she corrected, giving a nod of solidarity.

"Of course we do." We watched him disappear down aisle nine with his posse. Another burst of laughter trailed behind him, coupled with giggles from the girls hanging on him and the other guy slapping Andre's back like they'd never heard someone so funny.

"Then again," Jordyn added, "Four years can change a person. Maybe he'll surprise you."

I stepped away from her, returning to my position at the end of the register. I grabbed the boxes of toothpaste and floss sliding past Marlene and tossed them into a fresh bag. "I never liked his surprises."

# Chapter Two

"He's back. Did you hear?"

With the buzz of his name, my steps faltered. I looked for him and avoided him at the same time, hearing his name throughout the day, but not yet running into him. Jordyn chuckled, linking my arm and dragging me down the school hallway. "Relax, Liv. Maybe we're wrong. Andre could be an entirely different person now."

I let out a sound weighted with skepticism. "Or the same jerk that made the awkward years of junior high even more awkward for late bloomers like myself."

" _Late bloomers..._ " Jordyn snickered at my word choice.

Stopping at my locker, I fidgeted with the combination. "Oh, that's right. You wouldn't know anything about that term." Having Jordyn as a best friend only emphasized the stark contrast between our development back then. Not only did she have thick, dark hair that belonged in shampoo commercials, but she'd been the first to grow curves in all the right places, with straight teeth and perfect eyesight. My own long, blonde hair and blue eyes might have sounded good on paper, had it not been for the condemning era of braces and glasses. It wasn't until eighth grade that I caught up to my peers, also dropping the braces and ditching glasses for contacts. Andre had been long gone by then.

After swapping out a textbook, I slammed my locker shut. "Have you heard yet why he's back? Who transfers schools two days before Thanksgiving?"

"Looks like you can ask him yourself."

Her words brought me to a halt. I peered into my psychology class from the frame of the door. I couldn't see him clearly because of the circle of teenagers pressed around him, a buzz of energy welcoming him back home like a celebrity. He'd been one of us after all, raised in Kingman and attending Westmont Academy since kindergarten. We had even sort of been friends through elementary school, hanging out with the same kids at recess and birthday parties. There'd been a natural divide by the end of sixth grade, when rifts separated our social circles. I didn't interact with him much after that, except when I fell victim to his pranks. He and his friends had a reputation for making their audience laugh, mostly at other people's expense.

Like that Valentine's Day when I found a rose-scented candle on my doorstep with a cheesy poem about smelling the aroma of romance. Flattered and curious, I lit the wick inside my bedroom. Moments later, I found myself diving into the hall to escape the fumes streaming like fireworks from the hidden smoke-bomb. Coughing through a thick cloud of vapor, I threw my window open just in time to catch Andre and his buddies sprinting away from the bushes, their obnoxious laughter trailing behind them.

I crossed my arms at the memory, recalling a hazardous number of other pranks, such as when he placed an opened ketchup packet on my seat before I sat down, or the drive-by water balloon launches that nailed both Jordyn and me in the chest. Yelling at him while he hung his head out the window and laughed was the last interaction I had with Andre before he moved to some city in Brazil that I'd never heard of before. The same aggravating grin beamed back at me now, recognition lighting up his brown eyes. I leaned back, uncomfortable with the sudden eye contact, but he quickly moved on, turning his head to animatedly answer someone else's question.

"You know my rule, Olivia," Mr. Warner said as he pushed past me and swung his satchel onto his desk. "Last ones standing become my volunteers for this morning's demonstration!"

I turned to my friend. "Don't make me go in there alone."

"Sorry girl." She held up her camera bag. "Hitting the dark room. Got me some film to develop! Besides, not to be mean, but Andre looks plenty occupied with everyone else. You'll be fine." She threw an arm around my neck. "I'm working through lunch to get a jump start on this assignment. I'll meet up with you at your house after school."

I joined the hustle of students finding their seats, leaving Andre standing alone in front of the class. His eyes roamed the desks, which our teacher had formed into a large circle to promote _healthy discussion._ When Andre made a move toward the last empty seat, Mr. Warner placed a large palm on his shoulder.

"Hold on now," he said. "Since you've caused quite a stir in my classroom, why don't you take a minute to introduce yourself? Although, it appears everyone knows you but me."

Andre cleared his throat, garnering a full audience once again. While he was of average height, everything else about him commanded attention. His hair remained dark like I remembered, almost black. However, he'd shaved it close to his scalp on the sides, tight and clean, leaving the thick middle portion long and gelled. My childish grudges aside, even I couldn't ignore his captivating features, and that was no easy feat when school uniforms dictated our attire. His warm skin tone and athletic build modeled the khaki pants and white button-down shirt with ease, adding sharp appeal with the red and grey striped tie.

"All right, so I'm Andre Steele. I grew up here in Kingman." He lifted his hand in greeting at the two guys in the back who hollered out his last name like they were at some sporting event. "I moved to Manaus, Brazil just before eighth grade because my dad got a promotion. But uh, he got sick so we had to transfer back home."

"Oh, Manaus," Mr. Warner cut in. "How fascinating to live in a city surrounded by jungle. And neighboring the Amazon."

Andre nodded. "Yes sir. It was pretty cool."

"Wonderful experiences I'm sure. Welcome back, Mr. Steele." Andre made a move to sit down but Mr. Warner held him back once again. "Not so fast. I am a man of my word, and I did say the last students standing will be my volunteers." Andre appeared unsure of what was about to happen, and I hid a smug smile. Mr. Warner's quirky teaching methods often involved blindfolds and unsuspecting victims, which oddly drew students to fill his class. That, and the rumored easy A.

_Now you'll know what it's like to be put on the spot in front of your peers_ , I thought. _Karma's a—"_

"Olivia Cole."

My eyes widened when Mr. Warner called my name.

"I do believe you were also one of the last to find your seat. Come forward please."

I bit my lip, not daring to look at Andre. It was like Mr. Warner could read my mind, and was punishing me for it. _Please don't let this be some cheesy team-building activity,_ I murmured to myself, unable to imagine standing within the same personal bubble as Andre. Mr. Warner pulled two chairs into the middle of the circle of desks, facing each other.

"Come on up here, Olivia," Mr. Warner said, guiding me to the center of the room. "And one more... Jackie." The redhead smiled nervously as she joined us. "Now, the exercise today may seem more intense than others, but I believe it will be a powerful teaching moment for those participating, as well as those observing. However, it might push you further than I have required of you before. If, at any time, you choose to abandon this assignment, that is your right to do so. That said, I do need one of you to volunteer for the hot seat."

Andre, Jackie, and I exchanged glances, shuffling in place.

"Don't look at me. I'm just the new guy," Andre said, raising both hands in front of him and stepping back.

_Coward._

Jackie bit her lip, her expression matching her nervous giggle. Her wide eyes pleaded with me.

"I guess I'll do it," I said, wanting to get this over with. _How bad could it be?_

"Somehow, I knew you'd be the brave one," my teacher whispered as he guided me to one of the seats. His words made me nervous. What did I have to be brave about? He pulled Andre and Jackie aside to quietly give them instructions, and then handed them each a sheet of paper. Andre's brows furrowed while he read the notes.

"Nah, I can't say this—"

"A simple demonstration," Mr. Warner interrupted. "There's always a purpose to these things. Olivia," he continued, taking a seat across from me. "You're an honors student, are you not?" I nodded, wondering what my high GPA had to do with this. "How do you feel about math?"

Considering I was acing calculus, math was the least of my concerns. I felt my classmate's eyes on me, some of them wide with wonder and others snickering in anticipation. I gathered my confidence, throwing one leg over the other. I leaned toward Mr. Warner with my hands resting comfortably on my knees. "Try me."

"Excellent. I will ask you a series of questions and your only task is to answer them correctly, speaking only to me. Let's begin. What is four times twelve plus ten?"

I laughed. "Fifty-eight." Mr. Warner nodded at Andre. I gave him a sideways glance as he studied the paper in his hands. He knelt beside me. Too close to my bubble. Mr. Warner called out again.

"Twelve times seven."

"Eighty-four." I swallowed, focusing on my teacher but very aware of Andre's cologne creeping into my territory. His face inched closer to mine.

"Nine times seven."

"Sixty—"

"You suck." The words came from Andre, a harsh whisper falling against my earlobe.

I frowned at him before glancing at Mr. Warner. "Sorry, sixty—"

"You can't do anything right."

I narrowed my eyes, reducing my peripheral vision and zeroing in on Mr. Warner. I understood where this was going. Even still... "Um, what was the question again?"

"Nine times seven."

Jackie's soprano voice slid into the conversation. "Everybody's watching. Be careful. They're coming!"

"Sixty-five. I mean, sixty-three."

Mr. Warner called out another equation but I missed it, suddenly barraged with words from Andre and Jackie, their whispers more insistent. Louder. Overlapping.

"Stop talking."

"Where did the ball go?"

"You will never make it."

"1, 2, 4, 10, 17, 21, 8..."

"She can help you. No, don't let her help!"

Mr. Warner continued to call out, but I couldn't answer him. Not correctly anyway. My cheeks flushed, heating from the pressure and my inability to recall simple math.

"Twenty-eight plus eight."

"Thirty-six divided by nine."

Their voices overpowered me. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, both humored and embarrassed by this demonstration. In front of the whole class. Completely flustered.

"You're nothing."

At last, I turned to him. He stared back at me, though I couldn't read his expression. Couldn't decipher anything. Andre's words were the last I heard before Mr. Warner applauded, ending the charade. I whipped my face away from Andre and stepped away from the chair.

"Olivia, I'm so sorry!" Jackie said with a squeal, laughing with a strange hiccup as she dropped her paper. She wrung her hands. "I felt so bad doing that to you!"

I smiled at her, running my fingers through my hair. "It's fine. Just part of being a forced volunteer, right?" I pushed out a laugh, hoping to hide the residual discomfort within me. However, I still felt it, like a balloon inflating and ready to burst. I wasn't used to failing. While I understood that I'd completed the demonstration as intended, the inability to provide the correct answer felt foreign to me. Then there was Andre... I met his eyes once more, just long enough to know they were still fixed on me. No smile. His eyebrows pinched together. There was something more between us. Something that I wasn't quite ready to explore.

My attention darted to Mr. Warner when he spoke. "Olivia, I know that was difficult. Please share some of your thoughts with us after that experience."

I wasn't about to share the insecurity I felt. It was too reminiscent of a place I hadn't stepped into for a long time. A period of time that Andre had only made worse by directing unwanted attention on me. Back then felt too much like today, except I knew it wasn't his fault this time. I was taking it personally, but the feelings persisted all the same.

Still needing to answer my teacher's question, I straightened my posture, trying to shake off any evidence of self-conscious weakness. I recalled last night's optional reading assignment. "Well, it was obviously an example of schizophrenia. The voices were supposed to be in my head, one aggressive and belligerent and the other... kind of random and anxious, I guess? It was very hard to concentrate, given the multiple voices talking to me at once. Auditory hallucinations, I believe they are called, to go along with fear, paranoia, and sometimes visual hallucinations."

Mr. Warner nodded with bright eyes. "Spoken like the daughter of a psychiatrist!" Having been a guest speaker last month, everyone knew about my mom's dedicated career choice.

"Yeah, and... I read the syllabus."

"Of course you did." Mr. Warner chuckled. "Now tell us, if you are willing. We all know how academically driven you are. How did getting the answers wrong make you feel?"

_Like an idiot. Like everyone was laughing at me. Like I couldn't keep up._

My cheeks burned. I licked my lips, hoping the questions would stop. "I definitely didn't feel on top of my game." My fingers played with the pleats of my plaid skirt and I dropped my gaze, mentally pleading that he'd move on. Finally, he granted me leave.

"Thank you. The three of you performed outstandingly! You may have a seat."

While I wedged myself between the desks to find my chair, Mr. Warner put his hands behind his back and paced the room with slow, heavy steps. "According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, it is estimated that one in five teenagers will deal with mental disorders in their lifetime." He paused for emphasis, his finger scanning the room. "This next unit where we discuss mental disorders is a fascinating one. By the end of this segment, each of you will likely have a diagnosis for yourself or one of your friends, and you will most certainly insist on checking your parents into a psychiatric hospital." He smiled, rubbing his peppered goatee at his joke before clearing his throat. "Be aware of the judgement you place on others. You never know what's going on inside their head."

The fifty-minute class, one that usually kept me enthralled, couldn't end fast enough. I shoved my notebook into my bag, no longer needing to pretend I was taking notes. I bolted for the exit.

And tripped on a backpack.

Someone gripped my arm, saving me from a faceplant. "Whoa, you okay?"

My head twisted back at the sound of his voice, the same one that had riddled me with taunts at the beginning of class. Andre's expression remained concerned.

"Uh, yeah." I retrieved my arm and adjusted my backpack as an excuse to tug away. "Thanks." I flipped back around and took off down the hall. Taking a couple hits to the shoulder, I earned a few glares as I pushed my way through the crowd.

"Olivia, wait. Hold up a second."

The sound of Andre jostling behind me made me slow down but I didn't stop.

"Olivia Cole."

From the determination in his voice, I knew he'd keep following me. I quit walking, closing my eyes in anticipation. I turned around. Andre caught up to me, mouth open like he had something to say but nothing came out. He shoved both hands into the pockets of his khakis. A quiet breath escaped his nose.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to say those things to you."

Embarrassed and plagued by feelings from my past, I tried to play it off. "Thanks, but it was no big deal. You're new to Mr. Warner. That's just how he operates. You'll get used to it."

Andre responded with grim silence, watching me in a way I didn't like. Like he was reading me from pages I'd attempted blotting out. "I've seen that look before."

I lifted my chin. "What look?" But my lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

Andre sighed, running a hand across the top of his head. "The one in class where you looked defeated and embarrassed." He paused, assessing my reaction. I tried my hardest not to give him one. "I know because I've put it there before."

I shook my head, softening and bristling at the same time. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Olivia—"

"Yo, Andre!" A kid named Gavin slapped an arm around his shoulders. "I heard you were back. Man, it's been forever!" Wesley flanked his other side and angled himself between us, so much in fact that I took a step backward so his heels wouldn't crush my toes.

"Yeah, why didn't you call, man?"

The ever-popular trio that formed so many years ago now reunited before me, a familiar image.

"Guys, hey..." Andre looked back and forth at the two of them, the first time I'd seen hesitation during all his attention. "Sorry, there's just been so much going on. We definitely need to catch up but Olivia and I—"

"It's okay," I said, stepping backward again to distance myself. "We're good. That was a lifetime ago."

One I didn't need revisited.

# Chapter Three

I saw the flash before I heard the click of the shutter. I blinked and turned my head, finding Jordyn standing in my bedroom doorway. She held the camera to her face, manually adjusting the lens.

"What are you doing?" I asked from my bed, my knees still pulled up to my chest.

"Just documenting what misery looks like." The shutter clicked half a dozen times, hopefully catching my eye-roll, before Jordyn's face popped up from behind the camera. "It went that badly, huh?"

I grimaced. "No, no, this has nothing to do with Andre in my psychology class." I could see the skepticism on her face, and threw my legs over the side of my queen mattress. "Fine. Maybe a little. Mr. Warner pit us against each other in this very uncomfortable assignment that—you know what, never mind. It's not important. The point is, the experience has given me reason to reflect."

Jordyn slid the single strap from her messenger bag off her shoulder and plopped down onto the giant bean bag across from me. "Should I grab a pen and paper for notes? Because this sounds like it might get deep."

I scoffed. "Nothing deep about it, that's the problem. I guess I always imagined that senior year would feel different than all the others. Big dreams, romance, the epic school dances that sweep you off your feet with maybe the perfect guy to go with it... That's the eighth-grade version of what I anticipated, anyway. But here we are, following the same daily routine of waking up early, going to classes, doing homework, and taking tests, surrounded by the same faces we've grown up with since kindergarten—"

A decorative throw pillow hit me in the face.

"Ow, what was that for?"

" _The same faces?_ Other than insulting _me_ , your very best friend who ignored the syrup on your shirt and hand-picked you from the second-grade cafeteria line, you don't think that Andre moving back this week makes things a little more interesting? A little less routine?"

I hopped off my bed and busied myself rearranging my pillows. "There's nothing ground-breaking about fawning over the new guy. I'm determined to break the cycle. Besides, did you see all the girls today? No one wants to compete with that."

"So, you thought about it." Jordyn's statement made me turn around, catching the impish grin on her face.

"No, I absolutely have not." When she cocked her head at me, I offered a tiny slice of honesty. "He may have matured a _tiny bit_ since moving away, but what happened between us today wasn't what you think." I gave her a brief run-down of the incident in class, including how ambushed I felt from my junior high insecurities. "Even though, logically, I knew he was just reading mean things from a list as instructed, I felt pulled back in time; like I was that pre-adolescent little girl who couldn't match up."

Jordyn sighed, and I both hated and appreciated the sympathy in her eyes. "Seventh grade was a tough year for you. I'm sorry that came up today. Makes sense, given Andre was involved again."

"Which is why the less I see of him, the better," I decided. "I think he was trying to apologize after class, but... yeah, I didn't want to go there. It's just better left alone, and he's entitled to a fresh start, too."

"Hmm." Jordyn chewed on the inside of the cheek, watching me carefully. She rose to her feet. Linking my arm, she dragged me toward the door. "You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?" I asked, never entirely comfortable with Jordyn's conviction when an idea sprung in her mind. I followed her downstairs and then held my hand against the front door until she answered me.

"Jodie Porter's house."

I drove with caution, driving exactly the speed limit to stall our arrival. I refused to show up in Jodie's driveway without a full explanation. Jordyn, of course, challenged me.

"What's the fun in knowing all the details? Look, I'm trying to help you out here."

"Jordyn," I said, with both hands on the wheel, "I always appreciate a certain level of your spontaneity, but this isn't exactly like that time we showed up at a Korean restaurant and you asked the waiter to surprise us."

"Oh, please. You didn't even try the chicken feet. No harm done."

I tossed my head at her. "There was a plate of battered and fried, hot n' spicy _chicken claws_ at my fingertips. I still have nightmares over how chewy you said they were." I grimaced at the memory. "Given your history of surprises, I'm going to need a little something more from you before we barge over to the town hermit's residence."

"All right, all right." Jordyn reclined her seat and kicked up her feet on the dashboard. "I was late to your house because my mom asked me to drop off dinner for my dad. He's working late at the station. While I was waiting in his office, I overheard two other detectives mention Jodie. Apparently, she walked into the police station yesterday."

My jaw dropped, my mind racing around our odd encounter at the grocery store twenty-four hours ago. Whatever had triggered Jodie's tears bothered her enough that she took it to the police. "What could Jodie possibly need to say at the station?" I asked.

The words blurted from Jordyn's mouth as though they could no longer be contained. "She had a child!" The enthusiasm breached the restraint she'd shown thus far. "Crazy, right? Jodie doesn't exactly scream _maternal instincts_."

"True, but kinda harsh." I frowned, imagining a new timeline of this woman's life where she played a mother. "Why didn't you tell me this as soon as you came over?"

"That was the plan, but you were looking so glum that I didn't want to add another wrinkle to your forehead."

I ran a hand along my brow and pursed my lips at her, moving past her teasing slight. "How long ago are we talking here? And where is the kid now?"

"The little girl died."

My eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. It happened about fifteen years ago, give or take. Jodie had a toddler who was hit by a car." Stunned into silence, I let Jordyn continue. "Apparently when her daughter died, it was considered an accident. But, get this! Jodie told the detectives yesterday that it wasn't an accident. That it had been her fault. So now Jodie wanted to confess, claiming negligence or something."

I stared ahead at the red stoplight before us, piecing these images together of a woman losing a child, and then secluding herself from the world. It made sense now. "After all these years, could it really be true?"

Jordyn played with the distressed tears in her black denim pants. "Why would she say so if it wasn't? I can't imagine anyone wanting to go to jail, but I'm not sure she will anyway. I've heard my dad talk about statute of limitations _._ I would think fifteen years would be long enough that her confession wouldn't matter. Wait, pull off here," she directed.

Catching sight of the little brick building, I parked some ways down from Jodie's house. Jordyn unlocked the car doors and moved to get out. I grabbed her arm. "Wait, what are we doing here?"

"Just a little follow-up investigation." That gleam was back in her amber eyes. "The police weren't sure what to make of Jodie's claim, so they held her for a psych evaluation just to make sure everything's operating properly upstairs." She tapped her head with her index finger. "My dad returned to his office and interrupted my eavesdropping, so I only caught one other thing. After Jodie turned herself in, they went over to her house to look around. They found something strange in her basement. Not incriminating exactly, but just... odd."

"What?" I asked.

"Clothes."

"Huh? Nothing odd about that."

"It is if they aren't Jodie's." Jordyn paused, letting me think on that one. "The clothes seem to belong to a much older child."

Her words hung in the air between us, an unspoken plot developing in our silence. We could blame the following turn of events on the fact that I had recently proclaimed my boredom for the mediocre structure of my life. Or, maybe, we both needed something to shake up the safe and predictable path our lives were about to take with school, graduation, and college.

Regardless of how, it's like I said before. Jodie Porter had always been a stranger to me, but this was the moment when she changed the course of my life—because the day after she turned herself in to the police, I found myself breaking into her home.

"Jordyn, get down!" I ducked low inside the window well, beckoning in earnest. She crouched above me, but didn't hide. Instead, she peeked around the corner of the house, her eyebrows raised in anticipation. She returned with a shrug. "It's just a passing car." I sensed a twinge of disappointment, knowing she would love the thrill of being chased. This was the same girl who spent a week at some high-flying trapeze camp in Las Vegas last summer, having zero experience and only enthusiasm to learn. The need for adrenaline was in her blood.

If we hadn't been best friends since we were seven, with me fueling common sense into her, Jordyn's impulsive drive might have gotten her into trouble years ago. As it were, she knew I kept her anchored—until now. Until I had decided that I'd had enough of safe and familiar. Until I admitted that I'd always secretly admired Jordyn's spontaneity, and was now intent on helping her unleash it.

"Is it unlocked?" She jimmied the base of the window. "Ugh—it's stuck. We need to try another one." Pulling ourselves out of the well, we slid along the side of the house. A simple latch on the gate was all that prevented us from roaming into the fenced-in backyard. We found an unlocked window above the kitchen sink. I gave Jordyn a boost and she clambered inside, her petite build fitting just perfectly through the window. She unlatched the sliding glass door for me.

We were in.

With quiet, hesitant footsteps, we explored the main floor of Jodie's home. It was simple in design, with one bedroom upstairs and a couple living spaces carved into the layout. Simpler still was the lack of décor. There were no pictures of family or friends, no paintings or frames of any kind, and it was furnished with only the necessities. Had we not known that the woman lived here for years, no one would reasonably guess it was occupied.

"This must be the basement." Jordyn caught me eying her hand on the doorknob. I must have been biting my lip or giving off other signs of hesitation, because her voice took on a sing-song tone, touched with chastisement. "Oliviaaaaa... You're the one who is so bored with her predictable life and wants to spice things up a little." She grinned, teasing me by cracking open the door. "Come _on_ , show some enthusiasm here! Breaking and entering for an exclusive peek at evidence most definitely counts as kicking things up a notch." She tipped her head toward the door and waited for my final confirmation.

I took a deep breath, reflecting on how I'd made it into my senior year without so much as having skipped class or forged my parents' signature. **** Boring. Safe. Yes, like Jordyn said, _predictable._ With sudden resolve, I reached past my friend and flipped a switch, flooding the carpeted stairs with light. We began our descent.

The carpet, while somewhat threadbare, surprised me. Maybe I was imagining cold, cement stairs and a damp smell. I don't know... what does one really expect to find from a woman who lied about the death of her child for so many years? Reaching the bottom of the stairs, we turned the corner and stopped to take in the room before us. A loveseat faced a small television screen, a simple DVD player resting on the floor beside a stack of movies. Like the main floor, the barren white walls were tinged with grey, the appearance of the flat paint made worse by minimal lighting.

"Bedroom?" Jordyn asked. I nodded and followed in her footsteps. We bypassed the adjacent bathroom and entered the single room. I took note of the twin mattress resting on top of a beat-up box spring with a missing headboard. A blue fleece blanket, stretched thin with holes along the edge, covered the mattress. I pinched at the short, white hair on the material and held it up to the light.

"Dog or cat?" I asked Jordyn.

She squinted at it and then glanced at the blanket that showed remnants of a pet roaming comfortably about. "If we're keeping with stereotypes, let's go with cat. You can't be a successful recluse without adopting a million cats, right?"

I shrugged and sat down, cringing at the squeaky springs and lumpy material beneath me. "I guess there's no point in keeping up your guest bedroom when you never have guests," I muttered.

"For real." Jordyn pick up a published book from the little desk and thumbed through it. She flipped through the pages, revealing photographs of popular landmarks around the world. I peered over Jordyn's shoulder.

"Hm. Interesting book to hang onto for a woman who kept to herself. I guess even Jodie liked to dream of traveling."

Jordyn closed it and placed it onto a stack of other landscape photography. "Well, should we find what we came for? The detectives said the clothes were all in the basement closet." With a strong pull, Jordyn swung open the closet door. As expected, there were clothes. A handful of shirts hung on the rack and folded pants were stacked on the shelf, but Jordyn was right. The clothes didn't belong to an older woman. We found the neutral, bland clothing that Jodie typically wore in the closet upstairs. Down here though, the sizes and style of clothing suggested they belonged to a teenage girl.

Beneath the clothing were boxes stacked on top of one another, filling the bottom of the closet.

"Here, you take this one," Jordyn said, handing one to me. Together, we unfolded the cardboard flaps, finding clothing belonging to a young child, and then...an even younger child. This pattern continued until, finally, we pulled the very last box hidden in the back corner of the closet. I browsed through the contents, feeling a chill crawl up my spine as I held up a toddler-sized outfit. The pink and yellow material appeared faded, like a distant memory.

My eyes scanned the array of clothing spanning over a decade. "It's all here like the detectives said. It just doesn't make any sense. If her daughter died fifteen years ago as a two-year-old, whose clothes are these?"

We left Jodie Porter's home in a hurry after seeing the odd collection of clothes for ourselves. We did our best to put the boxes back as we found them, neatly stacked on top of one another, as though every box, maybe every item, was accounted for. My fingers tapped the steering wheel in thought. "What was that back there? Do you think someone actually wore those clothes? Or..."

"Or is she just psychotic and pretending she's had a daughter all these years?"

The thought of Jodie purchasing items for her dead daughter so she could imagine the life she lost sent a shiver up my spine. However, I suddenly felt horrible for invading Jodie's home. This was a woman's life. Her loss. Her grief. To lose someone who should be a part of your future would be enough to make anyone go crazy.

"The timing is weird to me. I mean, it's been fifteen years. Why admit responsibility to her daughter's death now?"

"Maybe guilt? She was probably relieved to get away with it at first, whatever she did. But after all these years, maybe guilt is worse than jail."

"What happened that has haunted her all these years?" I watched Jodie's house fall away in the distance through the rear-view mirror, but the images of her barren home and a childhood's worth of clothing stayed at the forefront of my mind. We fell into contemplative silence until I pulled into my driveway. Jordyn hopped out.

"I'll let you know if I hear anything else," she said, slipping into her car.

Shaking off my jacket and hanging it along the entrance wall, I moved past the formal sitting room on my left, followed by the dining room. I continued down the hall toward the kitchen. I heard Mom chopping something crisp behind the wall, the consistent slicing of a knife thumping into the cutting board. No doubt it was a salad to go along with whatever savory aroma wafted from the oven.

"Olivia," she said pleasantly, not missing a beat while still slicing her cucumber. The familiar sight of Mom beat away at the unease I'd felt inside Jodie's basement. Wearing a slim fitting black dress with a thin beige belt to accentuate her trim waist, Evelyn Cole embodied sophistication and grace. With layers of sandy, blonde hair shaping her narrow face, I hoped I'd inherit her smoothly aging genes.

"Mom," I greeted, leaning in to kiss her cheek. I peeked into the oven. "Mm, is that chicken parmesan? Yum!" She glanced over her shoulder, peering at me with a soft smile. I wondered if she could sense the relief I felt stepping into my home, reminded that I had a mother and warm dinner ready to eat, and a father returning home from work any minute now. Not everyone was so lucky, and certainly not Jodie and the child she lost.

"Help boil the noodles for me, would you please?" she asked, gesturing toward the spaghetti and large pot sitting on the island. I turned on the faucet and let the water fall into the pot, trying to also rinse away the unsettling findings from our break in.

I felt Mom's hand touch my shoulder. "You know I'm pretty good at my job, right? I can tell when something is bothering you." She took the pot from me and squared my shoulders so I faced her. "What's going on?"

She prided herself in working as a private practice psychiatrist. I tried to figure out if it was a face I'd made or the tone in my voice that caught her attention, but I suppose with twenty years of experience, it didn't take much to trigger her radar.

"It's nothing. I just... heard something today that kind of upset me." Mom nodded for me to continue, a wrinkle of concern touching her forehead. "Mom, have you ever talked to that woman, Jodie Porter?"

She frowned in thought. "No, I can't say I have. I've seen her around town now and then."

"Yeah, the grocery store, right? That's about the only place anyone has ever seen her, or maybe a second-hand store. Except Jordyn told me—" I paused, not wanting to reveal the amount of details we had illegally discovered. "She said her dad mentioned that Jodie had lost a child."

Mom shook her head. "No, I'm sure if she'd had an accident in her family, we'd all know about it. It would have been in the news."

"Not here," I clarified. "I guess she used to live in Las Vegas. That's where her daughter died. She was hit by a car."

"Well, that's tragic, isn't it?" Mom put the pot of water on the stove and lit the burner. She pushed out her lips in thought. "I suppose that's why she lives alone. Bereavement can be a terrible burden to bear, especially around those of us who haven't experienced it. I have seen what that can do to a person."

I nodded, imagining she'd witnessed a lot in her line of work. "Have you ever known someone to do something crazy because of grief? Maybe not dangerous, but just... odd? Like as a way to deal with it?" The closet full of children's clothes came to mind. I pictured Jodie braving a retail store once a year to buy a handful of clothing to match her daughter's age. Maybe it was simply a comfort to see them hanging in the closet like they should have been if her daughter had not died. To lose a child but then to carry the guilt that it was your fault? I no longer questioned why Jodie lived alone, away from neighborhoods of families and schools that were only painful reminders of what could have been.

Mom nodded. "Absolutely. The effects of losing someone you love are astronomical." She counted off on her fingers. "Too much sleep, not enough, anxiety, depression... Our emotions are so entwined with our bodies that they feed off one another. If our bodies aren't cared for, which often happens when a person is facing challenging circumstances, it can easily trigger a spiral of negative consequences."

I smiled at Mom, sensing she could spend the next month talking to me about the subject. I had always admired how much she loved her job, especially one that helped people. Catching me watching her, she tilted her head in question. "Why are you so concerned, Olivia?"

I lifted my shoulders. "I don't know. It's just sad, I guess." I put the lid on the pot and slid into a sideways hug with her. "Maybe I'm just like you and want to know why everyone does what they do."

She kissed the top of my head. "Yes, everyone has a story that explains the reasons behind their decisions. It's quite interesting when you take the time to break down someone's background and examine the details. It would almost seem impossible at a glance. Imagine taking a magnifying glass to a map of someone's life. Every path they chose would be influenced by an experience at home, at school, or maybe a relationship. The people in our lives matter, don't they, Olivia? In helping us become who we are?"

I nodded, suddenly hit with a wave of gratitude for the security in my life. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that I had steady plans and direction for my future.

The sound of the front door closing turned our attention to Dad hanging up his coat in the entryway. Technically, he was my step-dad since he and Mom married when I was five. But to me, he was the only dad I'd ever known.

"Darren, you're just in time." Mom greeted him with a quick kiss on the cheek. "Dinner is almost ready. The noodles just need to—" She laughed when he pulled her back into his arms for a tight embrace. "Okay, enough then," Mom chastised with a smile. "I apologize, but I will have to leave after dinner to visit with one more patient. I received word just before Olivia came home that he's in distress."

Dad squeezed my shoulder. "Liv, you never told me the Steele's were back in town. Weren't you friends with their son, Andre?"

I pursed my lips. "No, not really. We had some mutual friends, but I wouldn't say we were friends exactly." I had never talked to my parents about his pranks. It seemed such a petty problem to bring up, and I knew Mom might have gone overboard with talking to all the parents involved. I didn't need the added humiliation of ratting them out. Taking my seat at the table, my eyes remained on the chicken breast that I plopped onto my plate.

"Really? What brought them back from Brazil?" Mom inquired.

Dad rubbed his chin. "Bad news, unfortunately. Alan discovered he has multiple sclerosis."

"Oh no." Mom put her hands to her cheeks. "How horrible."

I listened more intently to the conversation, not knowing much about MS, but enough to know it was a long-term, debilitating disease. When Andre mentioned his dad was sick, I had no idea he meant something so serious.

Dad ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I really don't know the details, except that it's forced him to retire. I only heard this second-hand from Gary Miller. His wife ran into Gabriella Steele at a retail store."

"She was probably buying warmer clothes. She certainly wouldn't have needed it in that humidity over there." Mom made another sound of sympathy. "Poor Gabriella... Hm. I wonder if we shouldn't invite them over for Thanksgiving."

The twirl of noodles that was supposed to go in my mouth fell off my fork and landed in my lap instead. Nobody noticed. "Thanksgiving? As in two days from now?" I made a subtle reach beside my plate for the cloth napkin.

Dad nodded. "You're right. A nice meal over the holidays might be just the right way to welcome them back home."

"Great, I'll give her a call tonight. It's been so long since I've spoken with Gabriella. She could probably use a friend."

My eyes widened while my parents discussed what would likely be the most awkward holiday dinner of my teenage life. I sliced into my chicken with a knife and fork, allowing the metal to scrape noisily against the porcelain plate.

"Olivia." Mom spoke my name with a shake of her head. "Manners please."

I put down my utensils. "Are you sure it's such a good idea to invite them? They just got back. Maybe it'd be sentimental for them to enjoy their first holiday in their own home."

Mom disagreed. "If I had just moved back home after years of living in a different country, it would feel so daunting to me to have it all unpacked in time for Thanksgiving—especially in Alan's condition. Regardless, it's the neighborly thing to do." She took a careful bite, always amazing me how her lipstick managed to stay perfectly applied throughout her meal. She picked up her wine glass and glanced at me. "And Olivia," she said, moving her eyes first to my lap and then my wadded, noodle-filled napkin next to my plate. "That's why we put our napkins on our lap before we eat. Remember that for next time."

# Chapter Four

_W hy do I have to carry the pie?_

I stood there on the Steele's front patio wearing the soft, baby-blue dress Mom had bought for my seventeenth birthday this year. She knew I didn't love dresses. If plaid skirts weren't a part of the school uniform, I'd never wear them either. Dresses only complicated an outfit by requiring jewelry and heels, both of which compromised my preference for casual attire. Mom always sighed when I complained.

"I ask you to wear a dress a handful of times a year," she'd say, no doubt frustrated that I hadn't inherited her natural poise and ladylike mannerisms. "You'll survive."

So here I was, not only dressed in a tight-fitting A-line with a ribbon accentuating my waist, but I was holding a berry pie like some 1950's housewife. I really hoped Andre didn't open the door. I hadn't seen him since getting flustered in psychology class two days ago, not to mention ditching him when he'd tried to talk to me. When Mom first mentioned combining for Thanksgiving dinner, knowing I'd be on home turf made me feel better about it. Unfortunately for me, the tables turned when Andre's parents, while eager for the company, asked if we could eat in their home to better suit Mr. Steele's health needs.

I let out a sigh of relief when his mother greeted us with a long smile. "Hi, come on in," she said, her Portuguese accent touching her words. **** She put her hands to her flushed cheeks, a nice compliment to the warm skin tone that ran a shade darker than her son's. "I'm so sorry, but the turkey is running late!" She continued to explain a run of events that interfered with the timing, inviting us in as she spoke, and I couldn't help but admire her beauty. Her long, thick hair added an elegance to her light footsteps.

My parents followed behind me, each carrying a dish. "Gabriella, please, I don't even want you to worry," Mom said. "Where can we put these? We have a few more dishes in the car."

"Thank you. The kitchen is on the left, just past the living room."

My parents followed my lead. I stared up at the vaulted ceilings and took in the openness of their home. While canvases of art hung on one wall with framed family photos placed carefully on the shelves, the large cardboard boxes in the corner suggested there was still a sizeable amount of unpacking to be done. But the framing of the house, with its built-in archways, was gorgeous.

"Oh!" I bumped right into Mr. Steele's torso as he rounded the corner of the kitchen. With a swift maneuver, I managed to save the pie from toppling over, but failed to contain the expletive that slipped from my lips during the process.

"Olivia!" Mortified, Mom slid her dish onto the counter and then rescued the pie from my hands. I knew her reaction had more to do with my word choice than the smudged pie. "Alan, **** I am so sorry about my daughter's manners." She hustled to place the pie securely on the stove.

He chuckled. "I've heard and said worse myself over lesser matters." He winked at me and I smothered a grateful grin, dipping my head to the floor.

And noticed my dress.

The deep purple hue that had been oozing from the intricate etchings on top of the pie crust was now smeared across the center of my bust. My eyes darted toward Mom's back, and I bit my lip as I glanced behind me at Dad.

"Save me!" I whispered. Mr. Steele released another low sound of amusement, as though he anticipated the altercation that would transpire between mother and daughter.

He pointed beyond the entrance toward a long, arched hallway. With hushed words, he said, "The bathroom's just down that way."

I smiled gratefully. My hurried steps brought me to a handful of doors on either side of the hallway. After glancing back and forth at my options, I pulled open the first door—and froze. Hanging from two rings was a sweaty, half-naked Andre, pulling his legs into a horizontal position in a manner that explained the ripple of muscles lining his stomach. He exhaled heavily, further tightening his abs, and then his eyes met mine. He dropped his legs, still gripping the rings and hanging like a gymnast for another moment.

Or maybe longer. I don't know because I sputtered out, "Sorry!" and pulled the door shut as fast as I could. I stared at the door and then looked to the other doors around me. Any door. Any door but the one I'd barged in on. The white door across from Andre's proved to be a linen closet. I scrambled for the adjacent doorknob. Another bedroom, empty this time, except for unopened boxes.

I spun around when I heard Andre step out of his room, still shirtless. Droplets of sweat crept down torso.

Crap. I was staring!

I stepped back, pressing up against the wall behind me. "Um, I did not mean to walk in on you like that. I just, uh—" His eyes followed my hasty gesture at my dress until I realized I was inviting him to look at my chest. "Never mind. Is there a—"

Andre pointed to another door, the one next to his bedroom. "Bathroom's right there." I made a hasty move toward it when he added, "What'd you do, start with dessert?"

I tossed my head over my shoulder, not sure if he was making fun of me or just making conversation. Considering the holiday, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and gave the practical answer. "I ran into your dad while carrying the pie and my mom's going to be livid when she sees that I stained this dress. I've only ever worn it once before." I swallowed, trying to keep my eyes on his face, but his toned muscles were a tempting distraction. He probably knew it, too, and had planned this whole thing. Who exercises like that right before company is coming over for Thanksgiving?

I shoved the bathroom door shut and looked in the mirror. I touched my cheeks with both hands, my fingers feeling the accompanying warmth. Blushing? It's not like I hadn't seen guys with their shirts off before. Jordyn's sophomore brother was growing into that confident stage of adolescence where he felt like he always had to have his shirt off when girls were around. But there was something about walking in on Andre unexpectedly that made me feel like I was violating his privacy. Plus, the last time I'd seen him shirtless was at the seventh-grade pool party and his torso did _not_ look like that.

I pulled a wad of toilet paper and started dabbing at the plum-colored stain, which was setting in stubbornly with every passing second. However, I only managed to coat the material with tiny bits of toilet paper fluff, too.

Three light knocks sounded at the door. "Um, just a minute." I bit my lip, my hand hesitating above the doorknob.

"It's just me," Andre's voice said through the door, as if that was any consolation. I suppressed a groan and opened it. He stood there with an unmarked spray bottle in his hand. "Here. It's my mom's own special concoction for stain removal. I don't know what's in it, but I've heard her rave about it to her friends." He held it closer to me and I eyed him skeptically, glancing at the clouded liquid. "Oh, come on, I'm not trying to prank you." When I wavered a second more, he sighed and pulled the trigger with his index finger. A mist of vapor hit my dress.

"Hey, what are you—is that vinegar I smell?" Yes, definitely vinegar and something equally potent. I gasped again when he sprayed me a second time and then thrust a microfiber cloth into my hand.

"You're welcome. I mean, it can't get any worse, right?"

I watched the berry smudge expand and raised my eyebrows.

He was staring at my chest again, though presumably at the stain. His brow wrinkled. "Just... give it a minute."

My lips tightened. "This is why no one should wear baby-blue-colored anything." I looked down at my stain and spoke to my dress. "As soon as I get home, you are going back to the darkest part of my closet _for sure_."

"That's too bad."

I lifted my head.

"It's a nice look for you."

Before I could respond, Andre turned down the hall.

Leaving me alone to study my reflection.

I stepped out of the hallway, making an unwanted grand entrance into the living room. Everyone, including Andre, sat on the couches waiting for me.

"There she is," Dad said, coming to his feet. Mr. Steele also stood, though not without notable strain as he leaned on his cane. He wasn't a tall man, but thickly built. His body appeared strong, and yet his movement suggested otherwise. He used his free hand to whack Andre on the shoulder.

"You always stand when a lady walks into the room," he said to his son. Andre rose, tipping an imaginary hat with a grin on his face. Wearing tan dress pants and a black button down, I could see that I wasn't the only one harped on about formalities. Our parents were sure to get along. And... I hated to admit that he pulled it off. Half-naked or fully dressed, he caught my attention either way.

"Thank you," I said, smoothing out my dress just to give me something to do during this unwanted spotlight.

"Evelyn **,** your daughter is so pretty and grown up," Mrs. Steele said. To me, she added, "What a lovely dress on you."

Mom offered a weary laugh. "Thank you, Gabriella. Maybe if she receives enough compliments, she'll wear her dresses more often."

My eyes darted toward Andre for a fraction of a second, reminding me that he was the first to compliment me today. In fact, it may have been the first compliment he'd ever given me. His eyes met mine and then lowered inches below my draping neckline to where the stain had vanished. Andre nodded and gave a subtle thumbs-up that made me smile.

I followed our parents toward the dining room. Andre matched my pace and whispered, "What'd I tell ya? Magic."

"You were right. I owe you one. What's in that stuff? The stain disappeared within a minute."

Andre leaned over, his cheek almost touching mine. The scent of his cologne invaded my space again, just like the over-zealous confidence from him that I remembered. "Family secret," he whispered. "It goes way back. You're not privy to that information."

I followed suit and lowered my voice. "Yeah right. I'll just ask your mom then. I can already tell she likes me better than you." I gave a sweet smile and found a seat next to my parents.

I had no complaints about our collective Thanksgiving meal. I managed not to spill even a speck of gravy or cranberry sauce on myself, but maybe that's because I didn't have to worry about talking while eating. Andre and I remained quiet throughout most of the midafternoon meal while our parents dominated the conversation to catch up. By the time we relocated to their formal living room "to more comfortably digest" as Mr. Steele put it, my eyes had grown sleepy from the heavy dose of comfort food and another fifteen minutes of polite listening.

"Andre." Mrs. Steel's voice alerted me. "Why don't you show Olivia around or put on a movie. All of our catching up is probably a little boring for you two."

I sat up, trying to pretend I hadn't been slipping into a tired slouch against the armrest. She must have noticed. Andre looked up from his phone, which I'd seen him slip out from his pocket minutes earlier. He shrugged at me. "Sure."

I checked Mom for approval and she nodded. Leaving the adults to continue their coma-inducing conversation, I followed Andre past the entrance and back into the hallway where I'd cleaned my dress.

"So... the grand tour. You've already seen most of these rooms if you recall." I caught the tiniest hint of a smirk before he tucked it away. Evidently, he was highly entertained by the shock on my face from catching him shirtless, sweaty, and hanging from the ceiling.

"In my defense, why were you exercising when we arrived? Working up an appetite?"

Andre paused at the end of the hall, his hand on the doorknob. "My mom operates on a different time zone than the rest of the world. I knew dinner would be running late." He turned the doorknob. "That, and I didn't think you were eager for pre-dinner small talk after what happened in class the other day."

I pressed my lips together. We were back here again, broaching a subject I wanted—no, needed—to avoid with him. This was why I told Jordyn that Andre and I couldn't be around each other. The elephant wasn't just in the room. It was sitting on me.

"Can we... not talk about that please?"

He looked like he might still say something. I could see his lips struggling to comply. "If that's what you want." His words were respectful, but his tone suggested he disagreed.

Regardless of our difference in opinion, he led the way in silence, directing me into a large mudroom with laundry machines, neatly hanging jackets and organized bins of shoes. Some of Andre's house might still be in "move-in disarray," but it was clear that everything would eventually have its perfect place. No wonder our moms got along so well.

One final door led us into a three-car garage. The residual smell of gasoline struck first, bringing my attention to two four-wheelers lined up along the wall.

"Are these for us?" I asked, not even masking the hope in my voice.

"Thought you could use some air before you started drooling in your sleep back there," Andre said, his grin returning. For the first time, I was grateful he was teasing me again. It was different than before. His words felt light and friendly—something I could be okay with.

"I was wide awake. Anyway, that would probably be a lot of fun but... you want us to cruise around on ATVs... today?" I gestured at my attire, the very same baby-blue dress he'd seen me frantically scrubbing clean.

He lifted his shoulders as though he had little concern. "Look, these things have been in storage for the past few years. They needed some dusting off so I took one for a spin this morning. Thought you might like to go for a ride. But, if you're scared..."

"Oh please. I am _not_ scared," I tried to picture myself straddling the four-wheeler and managing to keep the wind from blowing up my dress. "See, it's scenarios like this where I need my mom to understand why dresses are limiting. If I had pants—" I stopped in thought, remembering that Jordyn had left a pair of clothes at my house last weekend when she'd opted to drive home in her pajamas the next morning. Her jeans and T-shirt were sitting in the trunk of my car. "I have a change of clothes." I announced. "I'm in."

# Chapter Five

Dressed in Jordyn's faded jeans and baseball-style T-shirt, I slipped onto one of the four-wheelers and practiced gripping the handle bars. I'd never ridden one before, but I wasn't about to show my apprehension to Andre. The garage door opened and he returned, matching me in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. He tossed one of his jackets to me.

"That's cute that you think you're driving." He walked past me. "We're on this one."

"Why can't I drive? This might be my first time, but I can handle it."

Andre turned the ignition and started the four-wheeler he was sitting on. "Because the battery is dead on that one." He glanced over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"

"Ugh, fine." I maneuvered clumsily off the four-wheeler and clip-clopped toward Andre.

He eyed my strappy, platform heels. "Nice shoes."

"Well it's not like Jordyn left a pair of sneakers, too."

"As long as we don't take a hiking excursion, that'll work. Hop on."

I swung my left leg over the seat, keeping myself positioned as far to the rear as possible. My fingers gripped the rack behind me. "Did you tell our parents?"

"And get sucked back into their conversation? No way. They'll figure it out. I bet we'll be back before they even notice we're gone." He turned the ignition and pushed the starter but nothing happened.

"Or maybe we _won't_ be gone."

"Just give it a sec." He tried turning it on twice more and finally the engine revved with strength. Andre glanced at me over his shoulder. "See, I told you. Let's do this."

With his house located at the base of Mount Hualapai, Andre only needed to drive half a mile before a dirt road guided us closer to the foothills. I tucked my chin against the chill in the air, the ashen sky veiling the sun.

"I've never been up here!" I had to raise my voice so my words weren't lost in the wind.

"You've lived here your whole life and never driven through Mount Hualapai?"

I shook my head, then remembered I needed to speak. "My mom's not super adventurous with the outdoors."

"What about your dad?"

"I don't know, actually. He never brings it up so I'm not sure he's done much of the off-roading, camping thing. He seems content to do whatever my mom wants to do."

"Kind of a pushover then?"

I frowned at the back of his head and clarified. "Easy-going. My mom has a strong personality so it makes sense that she'd be drawn to someone less particular. Otherwise they'd never get along. Nothing wrong with being an assertive woman." I thought I heard Andre let out a short laugh, but he didn't say anything more.

"Do you see that? What's a horse doing up here?" I pointed to our right and Andre slowed the four-wheeler.

"Wild horses are all over the mountain. People feed them even though they're not supposed to, so I think they're tame. Are you big on horses?"

I kept my eyes on the animal, its bony ribcage showing through but somehow still beautiful. It was inspiring to think that reigns and a saddle had never touched him before. "No, not really," I answered. "The idea of his freedom is intriguing though. Nothing owns him or directs his life. He can go anywhere he wants."

"And yet he's hanging around with his tattered coat and ribs sticking out, digging for scraps. I'm not sure that kind of freedom is all it's made out to be." After a moment, Andre looked back at me as though he could feel me jutting my lips at him in disapproval. "What?"

"Dream killer."

"Ouch. Now that's a low blow, Ms. Cole."

"Ew. Don't call me that. You make me sound like my mother."

"What's wrong with being like your mother? She's a doctor with multiple degrees and a... strong personality, didn't you say? Sounds like something a lot of woman would kill for."

I grabbed my hair with my hands, fighting the wind for possession. "No, my mom's great. She really is. She has a good heart and is smart and professional, and still manages to cook dinner every night. But she's a lot more serious and refined than I want to be. Not that I'm some lighthearted class clown, but she can just come off a little stiff, where I'd rather—"

"Do this?" Andre accelerated with such force that I had to throw my arms around his waist to prevent from flying backward off the seat. I squealed, a sound that started off as an exclamation of protest but quickly turned into delight. As we cruised across a flat stretch at top speed, I let out a playful holler into the wind. Andre turned his head now and then to chuckle at me while navigating farther across the mountain.

"Check this out," he called back, slowing as he pulled up alongside a beat-up trailer. I wrinkled my nose, eying the broken glass and rusty aluminum scattered about. Not far from the trailer was a stale-looking, two-seater couch and a heaping pile of debris that was indistinguishable from this distance. We came to a stop, though the engine still rumbled beneath us.

"Does someone actually live inside that thing?" It'd been some time since we'd seen any other riders, but if the outside looked this poorly maintained, I cringed to imagine what was inside of the trailer.

"I don't know about that, but I bet I know what it gets used for." His smile gleamed at me.

"Gross. Keep your love shack fantasies to yourself." I glanced up at the greying clouds. "We probably need to turn around soon before it storms. Let's chase the trail for another five minutes." Andre obliged.

Time ticked faster than we noticed, and it wasn't until a droplet of rain hit my nose that I lifted my face again toward the sky. I caught another drop on my cheek. "We probably should go back... right? Looks like the other riders already returned for Thanksgiving seconds." I voiced the idea except I didn't really want to follow through. This was too freeing to rove the mountain with no one in sight but us. Whether Andre picked up on my reluctance or felt the same way, I smiled at his answer.

"Because of the rain? Come on, this is nothing. I thought I understood rainstorms, but then I moved to Brazil. When those monsoons hit, man... sheets of rain clouding your vision, and flooding like you wouldn't believe. So now when I see this—" He put out his hand to catch the thickening drops, "this doesn't scare me." A roll of thunder followed his words, challenging us, but the deep call from the sky felt less threatening than when Andre veered us toward a sharp incline. "Now this," he called over his shoulder. "This might put us to the test."

"Maybe we should stay on the road?" I suggested, feeling myself slip backward as the four-wheeler angled up the hill. We bumped over large rocks, nearly knocking me off the side. I cried out and swung an arm around Andre's torso.

He shook his head with a laugh. "Nah, this is what ATVs are made for! Besides, how else was I going to get you to hold onto me?"

"Andre—" With humored protest, I was forced to pull my torso against his back to prevent falling backward. "Seriously, I'm not sure this is a good—"

The rest of my concern became lost as the tires peeled out on loose rocks. My fingers clung to the front of Andre's jacket as gravity worked against us. Andre hammered on the gas and we lurched forward, powering over the top of the hill. We leveled out with accelerated speed.

Andre hollered in celebration. "Ha! Totally killed it."

Without warning, a large rock jammed into the right tire, jerking the handlebars. He grunted against the impact. A pained curse fell from his lips and he wrenched the handlebars in the opposite direction. Too fast, we overcorrected, drifting toward an edge. With another swift curse, Andre's right foot slammed on the brake. I slid into Andre's back, squeezing his torso while we skidded to a halt. The engine cut out, punctuating our uneven breaths and the gathering rain.

I let go of him.

Andre looked over his shoulder at me and grimaced. "See, nothing to it." He spoke with strain in his voice, one hand moving to his left shoulder. I stepped off the four-wheeler to stretch my legs, only now realizing how stiff they felt from gripping so tightly.

And I was missing a shoe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He cringed in remorse when I hobbled a few feet to retrieve my shoe. I shook out the dirt. "Yeah. Now that I have my shoe, I appear to be fully intact." I noticed the way he gripped his shoulder. "But you're hurt."

"Ah, this is nothing." He dropped his hand dismissively. "I'm really sorry, that was so stupid." He ran an agitated hand through his damp hair.

"How's our ride?" I asked, recalling how the engine cut out. Andre straddled the seat again and attempted to turn it on. Although we could hear the starter turning over the engine, it was clearly too slow to trigger it. As Andre continued to hold the red button down, the starter steadily lagged until all we heard was a quiet clicking.

Andre's lips pulled tightly shut. "The battery..." he muttered. "It's not holding a charge." Blowing out a breath of air, he folded his arms, still staring at the inoperative machine as though unwilling to accept the reality of the situation.

We were stranded.

"This could be a minor problem," I said, looking down the hill and back the way we came. The lengthy drive of freedom now looked like an extensive walk home. As if taunting us, the sky flashed, followed by a swift, thunderous echo. The dripping rain kicked up a notch, washing away our tracks like the wiper blades on a windshield. We knew how to get back to the Steele's home, but no one would know exactly where to find us. From Andre's expression, I knew he was coming to the same realization. I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to shelter the rain and dueling the increasing cold.

"We better get moving," he said from behind me. "At least that'll warm you up."

My platform shoes crunched with each step and I scowled at my wobbly steps. "So much for no hiking today. I couldn't have worn worse shoes if I'd tried." I tread carefully until we made it down the hill, with me leaning heavily on Andre's arm. After a few more steps I stopped, hating how dainty I felt. "Screw the shoes," I said, stepping out of them. Now that we were off the rocky hill, the wet trail before us was well worn and smoother against my bare feet. I hung the straps from my fingers and we walked on.

The puddles of mud grew as the heightened rain fell with strength, drowning my feet and splashing beneath me with each step. We hurried, not speaking but both understanding the need for shelter, especially with the laces of lightening roping the sky like a jagged lasso. We picked up the pace into a steady jog. I caught Andre nursing his shoulder off and on as we jostled down the trail, but I knew he wouldn't want me to ask about his injury again.

"This is no ordinary rain," I called out to Andre, the veil of water impeding my vision. "It came so fast, much harder than Kingman usually gets."

"Flash flood." While he still grimaced with pain that he refused to vocalize, his breathing was paced and steady, unlike my own. I had the feeling that he could take off and easily leave me behind with a speed I'd never be able to match. However, he stayed in stride with me. "You're not going to like this, but we need to get inside that trailer."

I made a face, remembering how unappealing it seemed before the rainstorm, but he was right. The water careened beneath us like a small river, growing in strength and speed.

Soon, the trailer loomed before us on our right. Trinkets and other junk floated down the path we abandoned. Andre led the way, moving past the soggy-couches. With one hand on the door handle, he paused, listening.

"Hello?" he called out. He knocked three times and then pulled the door wide open. No one appeared to be inside, though it was hard to tell at a glance, given the state of the interior. We surveyed our temporary shelter. There were piles everywhere. Tin cups and plates beside scattered silverware. A brown blanket was piled on the kitchen counter. On top of a small table was an orange sleeping bag falling out of its sack, as though haphazardly shoved inside before the task was abandoned. We stood at the entrance, allowing our clothes to drip at our feet.

"Home sweet home." Andre moved down the skinny aisle, passing the weathered kitchen counter and the condensed table and chairs across from it. Crammed in the very back was a twin-sized mattress, loosely covered with a dingy blanket. Andre swiped at the window, peering out into the rain. "It's getting worse."

"Still not as impressive as your monsoons in Brazil though, right?" I smiled so he knew I was teasing.

"This is a pretty good one," he admitted. He cracked the window to let in some fresh air. Or let out the smell of mildew from the trailer.

"Do you think our parents are looking for us?" I peered at the flooded trail.

"Probably. I'm just not sure how accessible the road is right now, not this far up the mountain. It would be tricky for most cars to follow us in this condition. My dad sold our truck before we moved."

"Hmm," I said in thought, not concerned for our safety now that we were inside the trailer, but not wanting our parents to worry.

"It'll be all right." Andre shook himself free from the right half of his jacket. He moved gingerly with his left, grunting and shutting his eyes. Having turned away from me, I'm sure he thought I hadn't seen the pain on his face, but I did. Stepping toward him I took over, carefully peeling the jacket from his left arm and exposing Andre's long-sleeved T-shirt.

"What happened to your arm back there?" I asked, draping his jacket over the small wooden chair. I did the same, shrugging off the jacket Andre lent me. My shirt underneath felt damp, but I knew it was better than the dripping jacket clinging to my body and trapping the cold.

"It's my shoulder," he said, his fingers wrapping around it once more. "I tore my rotator cuff a few months ago playing soccer. Someone slide-tackled me and I fell on it. Jacked it up pretty good."

"You injured it again when the four-wheeler hit that rock," I guessed, remembering how the handle bars had jerked to the side.

"Yeah, something about that impact... It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as the first time, so maybe I just strained it." But his breathing seemed shallower, like deep breaths or any movement pained him.

"What do you need? I asked. "What did the doctor have you do the first time you injured it?"

"It wasn't bad enough for surgery or anything. I was instructed to rest it, ice it, and wear it in a sling. The sling helped the most. Took the weight of my arm off my shoulder."

I watched him silently for a moment, debating my next move and considering that we might be stranded for a while. "Well, with how cold it is, I guess that takes care of icing it. So..." I cleared my throat, struggling to speak my next words confidently. "Take off your shirt."

"I'm sorry, what?"

I couldn't look him in the eye. "You need a sling, right? I'll make one with your shirt." When he hesitated, I sighed and decided to take control of the situation. "Look, we're almost adults, so let's skip past the junior high immaturity here. You need help, and I know what to do."

"Wow," he murmured. "Since when did you get so sassy? I gotta say, things have changed a little around here."

I didn't fight him on that statement, maybe hoping it held some truth. Despite Andre's efforts, maneuvering out of this tighter material proved to be more painful than the jacket, evident by the tension that erased the humor in his expression.

"Just—here. I'll do it." I stepped closer, tugging on his right sleeve and letting him pull his arm free. I did the same for his other sleeve, stretching the shirt toward his left arm as much as possible to lessen his range of motion. Andre swallowed hard, but successfully removed his left arm. Using both hands, I lifted the shirt over his head.

Holding his shirt in my hands, we stood in front of each other without a word. My eyes betrayed me, roving against my will to survey Andre's body, making it the second time that I'd seen him shirtless today. His eyes met mine and an unspoken question seemed to reflect between us. My lips slipped open but I pulled them tightly shut, afraid of what I might say.

"Now what?" he asked, taking one step closer. I balled his shirt in my hands, the only obstacle left between us. Our moment of indecision hung in the air, and I made a choice before he could.

I stepped back and fluffed out his shirt like a bed sheet. The wet edges snapped close to Andre's chest and he leaned back, not hiding the amused smile on his lips. I pretended not to notice, carrying on with the task at hand.

"Um, a sling. That's what's next." I splayed his shirt on the table, smoothing it out. I folded it into some semblance of a triangle, intending to wrap the sleeves around Andre's neck but it didn't seem sturdy enough. "If I had scissors..." I studied the shirt another moment before a different idea hit me, one that I'd seen on a popular hospital drama.

"Come here." He obeyed and I slipped the hole of the shirt over his head. With both hands resting lightly on his shoulders, I met his eyes once more. I spoke matter-of-factly. "Supposedly this is the kind of sling one would make if they were injured in the field without medical access." I pulled the shirt lower and tucked his left arm inside. Gently, I guided his left arm through the far-right sleeve so that it hung across his body. I tugged here and there for adjustments until his arm fit snugly within the shirt. Folding my arms, I stepped back to examine my work and was kind of pleased with myself.

Andre tested it out, nodding in satisfaction. "Feels better already. Thank you."

"Sure, no problem." My eyes darted away and I looked anywhere but at his face. Or his torso.

"Olivia." The way he spoke my name drove me to avoid him further—which, I was discovering, was very hard to do in such a tiny trailer. His right hand reached out for me, wrapping lightly around my bicep. I looked back at him, uncomfortable with the seriousness in his expression. "I need to say something."

"No, you don't—"

"Yes," he emphasized. "I do. Please let me."

I let out a breath, blinking back at him. "Fine." He motioned for me to sit down at the condensed side-table pushed against the wall and he followed suit, pulling out the chair across from me.

"After psychology class the other day, I needed to say something to you, and certainly not anything that came from that sheet of paper."

I picked up on the change in his tone, putting me on high alert. "Andre, I'm telling you, it wasn't a big deal."

"Why do you keep saying that? What that teacher did in there was totally inappropriate, and somebody needs to point that out."

I scoffed. "You're overreacting. He was trying to help the class see, on a very small level, what it might be like to live with a mental disorder. Sure, it went a little overboard, but there was purpose in it."

"There are other ways, Olivia. He's been a teacher long enough to figure out less intrusive methods of demonstrating mental illness without putting a student on the spot like that. In fact, you know what? On Monday, I'm going to make an official complaint to the office."

"No, you're not.

"Yes, I am."

"Andre, don't you dare." The idea of him speaking to the principle, and perhaps all of us having a sit down in his office mortified me. I needed to put an end to this absurdity.

"I shouldn't have been asked to speak to you like that, and you shouldn't have sat there listening to it, especially under pressure. Mr. Warner's a jerk, and he needs to know that he can't treat students like that."

"Andre, stop it. You don't need to defend me!"

He leaned toward me, fast and with determination in his voice. "Yes, Olivia. I do!" The volume of his words dropped, deep and sincere. "I do need to defend you. Because I never have before." His breaths fell heavy between us, like he'd finally finished a race to say what had been on his mind for days. The lightheartedness between us was gone, chased away by this familiar discomfort.

The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front him. He'd never seen me cry and I didn't want to start now, yet my eyes glistened just the same. I swallowed hard, intent on fighting those feelings from resurfacing. They escaped down my cheeks in a single trail. Andre dropped his head, shaking it, before looking back at me. His hand flinched, like he might reach out to wipe away my tear, so I beat him to it, swiping at the betrayal with the back of my hand.

His palm clenched into a fist and he swore under his breath. "Now I'm the one being the jerk again," he muttered. "I guess this isn't so much about Mr. Warner as it is about my own past behavior."

"I know," I whispered. I'd understood from the moment he chased me after psychology class. However, I also knew that to get to his apology, I would have to feel this—all of this—again. The humiliation. Self-doubt. Feeling ridiculous that one boy's opinion or actions could affect me so greatly. Yet here we were, and I had nowhere to run.

"To be honest, I don't remember everything I said to you or the dumb pranks I pulled," he continued. "I was just an idiot thirteen-year-old trying to fit in with my own friends, and making people laugh seemed an easy way to do it. After I moved to Brazil, I was suddenly in a new school, new country, and very much insecure about being the new kid. I'd never been in this position before. But from the moment I stepped onto that campus, I knew things operated differently over there. It's an international school, so kids are from all over the world, away from what is technically their home country. Because of that, they all know what it's like to be outsiders. I was welcomed by kids who understood how I felt, and I didn't go through the painful experiences of feeling out of place like I imagined I would."

My brows pulled together, kind of wishing he'd gotten a dose of his own medicine. But this was Andre. Everything worked out for him. My mouth twitched to the side, trying to understand what he was describing. Most everyone I knew at Westmont Academy had been going to school with me since elementary. Having lived there my whole life, I'd never been the new kid before.

Andre leaned closer. "Do you know what I did imagine though? What I thought about? I suddenly remembered the hurt on your face, and that of countless others, who were teased by my buddies and me. It all seemed harmless and funny at the time... but while in Brazil, I realized the vulnerable position I was in, and yet the kids there weren't punks to me. They accepted me."

Andre's palm flattened and his fingertips slid across the table, landing on the back of my hand. His touch was gentle. Hesitant. My eyes widened, my heart picking up in speed as I anticipated his next words. "Olivia, I'm sorry." He blew a breath of air through his nose, swinging his head to the side. "The moment I saw you in class, standing in the doorway, I thought, _There she is, one of the many people I need to apologize to_. Do you know what my next thought was?"

I shook my head, words escaping my tongue.

"I thought, _She is so beautiful. I hope I get the chance to treat her right this time._"

I bit my lip, though not fast enough to hide the corner of my mouth from turning upward.

Andre's features darkened, his brows deepening. He pulled back his hand. "So now, picture how I felt when the first words I said to you were scripted to be harsh and insulting. Exactly what I didn't want to say to you when I was so eager to redeem myself. I felt sick to my stomach, standing next to you knowing I was causing that look on your face. Again."

The depth of his remorse weighed on his features. His words softened years of resentment. "Andre, I'm okay now." I swiped at the likely mascara smudges under my eyes with a light laugh. "Mostly. It was a weird year for me, even before you started your era of pranks. Without getting into an awkward conversation about puberty and adolescence, let's just say that the timing of your teasing worsened some feelings I was already going through. If it had been one or the other, maybe your actions wouldn't have felt so personal. Seems like everybody else laughed off your pranks just fine. I just... I don't know. The combination hit me hard for some reason, especially coming from you because everyone revered you."

He ran a hand across his mouth in a gruff gesture. "I didn't deserve that kind of attention, and neither did you."

There was no doubt in my mind now that he'd been beating himself up about this, far longer than I'd even been aware. I pressed my lips together in thought. "You know, I still have those red and white glasses somewhere in the bottom of my bathroom drawer."

Andre's eyes lifted, detecting humor in my voice. "Hello Kitty? For real, you still have those?" His tone tested the waters, probably wondering if I'd fully forgiven him for humiliating me on a school field trip to Monterey Bay Aquarium.

I was practically blind—like, if I lived in cave man days, I'd be eaten by some carnivorous mammal because I wouldn't see it coming. In seventh grade, I relied heavily on my prescription glasses. When the frames snapped during an unruly game of basketball in PE, I was forced to wear a black-and-white pair with a red bow on it—a disastrous remnant from fifth grade. I tried to lay low, but the next day when I fell asleep on the bus, Andre took a picture of me and texted it to a considerable number of students on the bus. I awoke to see my picture as the wallpaper on everyone's phones and spent the rest of the day with the nickname _Hello Kitty_. A teacher found out and made them delete the photo, but the damage was done.

I folded my arms. "Do you even remember the chant you started when I took off the glasses and tried hiding in my seat?"

Andre cringed, and I knew he could hear his own voice chanting and rallying the crowd with, " _Put them on! Put them on!"_

"You stood in the very back of the bus, calling out to me where I was slouched somewhere in the middle rows, and you wouldn't stop until I put those dumb glasses back on." I took advantage of his pained silence. "You were such an obnoxious loud mouth!" The words escaped audibly and not contained in my head as intended. A curt laugh followed as I held a hand over my mouth.

Andre cracked half a smile. "Bet that felt good, didn't it?"

"Yeah, kinda. And not." I straightened my posture with a deep breath. "Because that was a different time. Years ago. I'm not that same person anymore, and I'm beginning to think you're not either, so... I think you and I deserve a clean slate." I held out my hand, ready to seal the deal and move on. He eyed my hand with a small smile, maybe humored at the formality, but he slipped his palm into mine with a curt nod.

"Done."

I dropped his hand, suddenly shying away from the intimacy of the moment. I peered out the window. "Hey, the rain has stopped. Should we go?" Andre adjusted the window and we observed the flooded trail.

"We'll have to wade through that, but yeah, we could try hoofing it down the mountain now."

"No, wait. Do you hear that?" The growing rumble of a motor caused us to peek out the window.

"That's the neighbor's truck," Andre said. "I think that's my dad."

I squinted. "No, it's my dad behind the wheel, but your dad is next to him." Whether they knew we were inside or were just guessing, they pulled right up to the trailer. I bumped my way toward the door.

"Wait!"

"What's wrong?"

"Help me with this." Andre fumbled with his sling, trying to remove it.

"Stop, you're going to hurt yourself." I held his sling in place while he struggled.

"No, really. I don't want my dad to know I hurt my shoulder again. He's already going to be mad that I took the four-wheeler this far out and got us stranded. I don't want the two issues connected."

I complied. As Andre pulled his arm out from under the shirt, I tried to guide his arm through the appropriate sleeve. He grimaced.

"Sorry!" I whispered. "Slow down, we can't just shove it through. You're going to hurt yourself more."

"I don't care—"

The door swung open.

"Olivia, what—"

"Andre!"

Our father's voices entered the trailer simultaneously. With one hand on Andre's half-worn shirt and my other hand underneath it to hold his arm, I knew exactly how this looked. I dropped hold of anything belonging to Andre and faced our parents.

"Um, not what you think," Andre said, his words carrying in emphasis toward my father.

"Dad... so glad you found us." I offered a sheepish grin while Dad crossed his arms.

I noted how Mr. Steele's eyes gravitated toward the back of the trailer to the tousled blanket and mattress.

"Not soon enough, apparently." Mr. Steele's voice had taken on a gruff tone, his disapproval landing on his son. I glanced at Andre with my eyebrows raised. Either he fessed up about his shoulder injury, or we were going down for taking advantage of this search-and-rescue mission. I, at the very least, would be incriminated for groping the Steele's son. Neither one held very promising ramifications. I nudged Andre's side, leaving the clarification up to him. He let out a short cry before clenching his jaw.

_Oops_. I faced him. _Sorry_ , I mouthed and lifted my shoulders in question. He half-smirked and finished pulling his arms through his sleeves.

"Dad," he said. "The battery in the four-wheeler is shot. And so is my shoulder."

# Chapter Six

Jordyn's skeptical eye squinted at me as she bit into her French fry with a crisp snap. "And you're sure that's all that happened yesterday?" I tilted my head with a sigh, watching her scrutinize my honesty. After popping the last piece into her mouth, she picked up another long fry and waved it at me. "I'm not buying it."

"Oh please, Jordyn. Don't make me relive the sit-down I had with my parents yesterday about what really did and did not happen in that trailer. I'm telling you, all we did was make him a sling for his arm and then the whole... apology thing, which actually turned out kinda nice."

"What if your dad had arrived an hour later?" Jordyn raised a finely groomed eyebrow at me.

"Still just talking," I insisted. I took a bite out of my croissant and waved at a passing waitress. "Can I get a refill on this chai latte, please? Jordyn, why are you so hung up on this?"

She crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. "Because one, I don't think you're being honest with your attraction to him. And two, I just need to prepare myself in case the two of you become... _an exclusive duo_."

Her word choice made me pause. I suddenly knew what was up with her and she had every reason to sound a little sour. "You mean like Dominic and me."

Jordyn had always been blunt, speaking her mind with little reserve. She leaned her elbows on the table, not holding back. "Yeah, you and Dominic. Let's not have a repeat of that fiasco."

"Hey," I defended, "We may have let our relationship get carried away, but Dom's not a bad guy and you know it."

"He was bad for _us_." Jordyn waved her hand between us, and she didn't need to say more. I remembered. Dominic Wells and I became tightly linked a few months before he graduated last year. Our relationship began so fast. As my first and only boyfriend, he added playful spark to my growing sense of ordinary and mundane. Being a senior, Dominic preferred hanging with his fellow near-graduates than the small circle of friends Jordyn and I associated with. To say she resented him would be an understatement. Even though I often invited her to come with us, it wasn't long before she opted out from playing third wheel. It had taken long conversations and heart-to-hearts over the summer to regain her trust and friendship again. I promised before school started that I wouldn't do that to her again.

"It was a selfish time and I'm still sorry about that," I said. "I'm sticking by my words. You don't need to worry about Andre."

"I never agreed you couldn't have a boyfriend. That was just your way of trying to make up for ditching me." She sipped her smoothie and then wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I mean, if the right guy came along, I don't think I'd stick to that self-imposed rule. It was more like we agreed not to be...."

" _Selfish and exclusive_ ," I finished for her.

" _Sisters before misters_." Jordyn raised her glass. "Cheers to that friendly reminder." We laughed, touching our drinks together with a promising clink.

The bell on the front door chimed almost in unison. Andre pushed through the entrance, his eyes surveying the cafe until he spotted us. I offered an inviting wave.

"He just happens to be eating here at the same time we are?" Jordyn asked, eyeing him thoughtfully.

"No," I said. "I know the timing of his arrival could be better, but I invited him—purely as a friend—so he can get to know you better, too. You're my best friend, after all." I tipped my cup toward her as a reminder of our conversation.

"I guess I'm good with that."

Andre approached with his natural grin. "Hi, Olivia. Jordyn, hope you had a good Thanksgiving?"

She muttered into her glass. "Not nearly as memorable as yours..." I pressed my shoe over the tip of Jordyn's boot and gently pressed downward until she jerked away. "Okay, okay." Andre eyed our exchange.

"How's the shoulder?" I asked, hoping to distract him.

He placed his right hand over his left socket and demonstrated a slow rotation. He didn't quite come full circle before grimacing. "Sore, but not torn like last time. I'm staying on top of the pain meds. Plus, I had a pretty killer nurse, so..."

I surprised myself by playing along. "Yeah, I hear the sling she made you was a game changer in your recovery."

"Definitely. I wouldn't mind seeing her again sometime. You know, just for a simple follow-up."

Feeling Jordyn's eyes on me, I dropped my grin. "Um, why don't you go order? We'll wait for you here." He seemed to pick up the weird vibe that was suddenly between the three of us and left to step in line.

"Just friends, huh?" Jordyn laughed, but not the type that we normally shared together. "Liv, come on. I told you that I don't mind if you and Andre become a thing. I'm the one who encouraged you to give him a chance in the first place. Just do me a favor and be honest with me, and yourself for that matter."

"Not looking for a boyfriend." I jerked a thumb at myself. "Breaking the cycle of predictability, remember?"

Andre returned with his receipt and table number, glancing between the two of us again. He raised an eyebrow at Jordyn. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

She shrugged and slid toward the window to make room. Her phone buzzed. Pulling her it out from her purse, she read the text and released a gleeful sound. "Look who's still got it!"

"Huh?" I tried to see what she was looking at from across the booth. "Got what?"

She made a show of brushing her shoulders off in a cocky manner. "Oh, you know, just the skills to hook the information we need." She faced the screen of her phone toward me.

_"Jodie Porter was checked into the mental hospital after her psych evaluation. Probably there to stay,"_ I read aloud. My eyes widened at Jordyn. "How did you get this? And who's _Officer Newbie_?"

She offered a smooth smile, raising that eyebrow of hers. "Oh, just the young police officer fresh out of the academy who wanted to do me a favor. I couldn't remember his name so _Newbie_ is what he'll be going by for now."

"Wow, way to work your magic," I said. "I'm guessing your dad will be less impressed if he finds out. You better delete that before he goes through your phone again."

"Valid point." She retrieved her phone, getting rid of the message she had successfully acquired with her flirting skills. One of the pitfalls of having her father as a detective was the constant _need to know._ Then again, she did just delete a text that she wanted to hide from him. Flirting with the new guy for information wouldn't sit well with Detective Walker.

A waiter brought Andre his food on a tray. After thanking her, he returned his attention to Jordyn and me. "Jodie Porter? The woman who lives alone in that brick house near the mouth of the canyon?" We nodded, and he took a bite of his cheeseburger. "What's she in for?"

"We're not entirely sure what's going on with her. She turned herself in to the police the other day, claiming responsibility for her child's death some years ago. Except—" I stopped, looking to Jordyn and wondering how much we should reveal.

"Whatever, Liv. He may as well join our little investigation if the two of you are going to be hanging out more."

I did my best to reign in the blush creeping along my cheekbones. "I... didn't exactly say that but I guess we can fill him in." I gave him a brief rundown of our break-in, and the age-variety of female clothing found in Jodie's basement. When I finished, Andre rubbed his chin.

"I had no idea the two of you turned into such delinquents while I was away."

"Someone had to pick up where you left off," Jordyn said to him, her smug tone landing somewhere between teasing and leftover resentment. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea for Andre to give a repeat speech of his apology so Jordyn could hear it for herself. She'd been targeted several times by Andre and his friends, too.

Andre dropped his head with a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough. So, what now, Detectives?"

"I didn't bat my eyes at Officer Newbie for nothing. We go check it out, of course! Facilities like the mental hospital are always looking for volunteers. We could go today and slip right in."

"Hmm, not a bad idea. We all need to clock volunteer hours for school anyway." I looked to Andre. "You in?"

"Busting into a mental hospital under the guise of selfless service? Sure, why not?"

"Let me just grab a box for the other half of this sandwich." I stood up and moved toward the register just as the door chimed. My jaw dropped as a familiar face met my surprised expression. His eyes gleamed.

"Liv!" Dominic Wells barreled toward me and swooped me up in a bear hug. He swung me around full circle and I gasped.

"Dominic, what are you doing here? I thought you said you weren't coming home for Thanksgiving break?" Despite the conversation I'd just had with Jordyn, genuine excitement bubbled inside me. I hadn't seen Dominic since he left for University of Arizona three months ago. Bound by all the memories, it felt good seeing his familiar face.

_Completely as friends_ , I reminded myself.

"Who doesn't like a good surprise, huh? And from that beautiful smile on your face, this was totally worth it." With two hands, he pulled my face into his and kissed my lips. Soft. Fast.

I pushed against him, shocked and confused by the playfulness on his face. I brushed my fingers across my mouth. "Dom, what are you doing?" We'd been clear about ending our relationship when he left for college, initially devastated to be apart, but understanding that we'd never meant for the relationship to continue past graduation.

He threw out his hands, palms facing the ceiling. "That's for New Year's, baby!"

"What—are you insane? It's November."

He shrugged, running a hand through his brown hair. He still maintained his usual buzz cut, with the sides of his head shaved close to his scalp and the top a little thicker. It had always been a good look for him, and today was no different. "Well, who knows where my family will be vacationing over the holidays? I might not be around here for it."

True, he did come from an affluent family who often vacationed, visiting places that typically included drinks under an umbrella on the beach, or overlooking the ocean from the top deck of a cruise ship. I'd enjoyed a taste of this good life when I tagged along for his graduation present to Hawaii, but that was no excuse to lay one on me a month in advance.

I placed my hands on Dominic's shoulders and stepped close, lowering my voice. "Dom, you can't just kiss me like that anymore."

He also lowered his voice, though his grin grew. One hand crept behind my neck, pulling me closer. "You can't tell me you haven't missed that."

His kiss. His voice. The intimacy of his breath falling across my face... all of it brought flashbacks of our time together. We'd been close. Dangerously close to consuming one another in our own little world.

Too much. Too isolating, as Jordyn had so swiftly reminded me. I felt the sharpness of her stare slicing the back of my head. Looking over my shoulder, I met her disapproving glare. I yanked down on Dominic's forearm to remove his hand from my neck. However, I could still feel the warmth of his touch lingering, just like the spray of cologne that clung to my shirt from our brief embrace. Calling. Inviting. Reminding me...

"Who's your friend?" Andre's voice grabbed my attention from his sudden position beside me.

"Oh, Andre," I said, gesturing toward Dominic. "This is Dominic Wells from last year's graduating class." I glanced back and forth between the two of them in question. "Do you... remember each other from junior high?" I tried to ignore the uncomfortable feelings wedged between the three of us. It had to be just me, right? There was no reason for this to be weird. Dominic was my ex-boyfriend, whom I had no more attachment to, and Andre and I, who barely knew each other, were just becoming friends.

"Nope, can't say I do," Dominic said with quick indifference.

Andre stared back a moment longer, quiet and subtle. Whatever he was thinking seemed to be on the edge of his lips, but he agreed. "No, we've never met."

"Anyway," Dominic said, stepping back. "I'm actually on my way to have lunch with my dad at of his office." He pointed down the street. "I just saw you through the window and had to say hi." He grinned at me. "Even prettier than I remember, Liv."

Embarrassed, I dropped my eyes. "Um, thanks. Good to see you, Dom."

He gave a pointless nod at Jordyn and turned to walk away. He paused. "How about a movie later?"

"Today? Oh, I've actually got this volunteer thing with Andre and Jordyn, and I'm not sure how long we'll be. Maybe another time."

Dominic scratched his cheek. "Well, that sounds... fun." He leaned back in with a quick peck to my cheek. "Call me this weekend and I'll remind you what real fun looks like."

My cheeks grew pink as he waved and walked out into the cold. I took a deep breath before turning around.

" _What_ —was that?" Jordyn's annoyance wasn't lost on me. "He acts like he still owns you."

"Come on, Jordyn. It's not like that." However, I couldn't meet her eyes, knowing she was right about how it appeared. He'd barged through those doors and kissed me smack on the lips. "This is the first time we've seen each other since he left for college, so I'm sure it just feels like nothing has changed... even though it has," I hurried to add. "I'll clarify things with him."

"You mean at the movies?" Jordyn asked.

"I don't know... we can still be friends. It's not like we ended on bad terms."

"That's the problem, Liv," Jordyn said. "You two didn't end things on a bad note, so he's overly comfortable. It was more like you just stopped being around each other, and now he's ready to pick up where he left off."

I scoffed, looking toward the door where my ex-boyfriend had exited. "He's been at college. I'm sure he's moved on to plenty of... other things. And I'm fine with that. You can't just stop being friends with a person."

Andre's voice interrupted. "You can never just be friends with an ex."

I braved a glance at him, not sure I wanted the details on his opinion. I asked anyway, my discomfort coming off as a terse question. "What do you know about it?"

"As the only male representative here, trust me. I know. There's too much history there." He cleared his throat when Jordyn and I eyed him silently. I barely caught Jordyn's smile of approval before Andre back-tracked. "But that's obviously none of my business, so... what were you saying earlier about raiding the mental hospital?"

We pushed through the hospital doors and continued through the entryway. The guy manning the front desk, whose name tag read _Clayton,_ gave us paperwork to fill out, and then unlocked the desk drawer. He pulled it open to reveal what appeared to be color coded badges. He handed a yellow one to each of us. "These are your keys. Take one when you check in, and leave them when you sign out. All the doors are magnetic and color coded for various levels of access. As volunteers, this is the only key you will need to grant you entrance into the communal areas, like the rec room, cafeteria, and bathrooms."

Andre eyed the blue and red keys in the drawer. "What are those for?" Clayton raised an eyebrow like Andre was being nosy. Pulling a page from Jordyn's book, I leaned toward Clayton, hoping to win some extra points with the guy. "We're supposed to write a paper after completing our volunteer hours. I think my... partner here is just trying to get an idea of how you run the place." I gave my best smile, which seemed to work, since his expression softened. Jordyn winked proudly at me as he answered, his words coated with the boredom of a man whose work duties proved less than fulfilling.

"Blue gets you into all the patients' rooms, and red is the master key that allows access into more restricted areas, including where patients may be placed for assessment or for safety reasons."

"Like white padded cells and straitjackets?" Andre whispered too audibly in my ear. I tried not to laugh when Clayton threw him a look of disapproval.

"This is not that kind of facility." He motioned toward a nurse. "Paula, they are ready for you."

Paula, who was dressed in a pair of unfriendly shade of faded black scrubs, directed us down the hall and into the recreation room, a spacious area with sunlight filtering through the large windows. "At this time," she said, "the patients have an one hour and thirty minutes of free time where they can participate in a structured activity or do something else on their own, like read or draw. It is also visiting hours, so this is where family and friends will come to see them. Occasionally, you'll see a doctor pulling the patients out for a session, but you don't have to worry about that. It's all cleared through me or one of the other nurses." Nurse Paula checked her watch. "The volunteer coordinator has been held up but she will be in shortly to give you further training before you work with the patients. If you could just have a seat and keep to yourselves for now," she said, pointing to a table with chairs. "I'll be at my desk if you need me."

She left us to observe the room. There were half a dozen round tables set up throughout, some with board games positioned in the center, and others with crayons and meditative coloring books. A large bookshelf filled the far wall next to a rather worn-looking piano. It seemed there were only adults scheduled for free time right now, as I didn't see anyone under twenty.

"What are you going to say to her?" Jordyn asked.

"Who, Jodie?" Hmm. I hadn't really thought about that. We'd jumped at the idea of volunteering to see her, but hadn't come up with a game plan. "I don't know. I mean, do I actually say something to her or are we just here to observe?"

"What good is observing?" she countered, ignoring my efforts to whisper. "Yeah, you talk to her! Ask her what the heck she's doing hiding a child's wardrobe all these years."

Andre chuckled at her antics while I laid a line of sarcasm on her. "Really, Jordyn? Because that would go over so well..."

I looked around at the patients scattered through the room, most dressed very normal in T-shirts and loose-fitting pants. There was one guy talking to the corner and another woman wandering back and forth across the room, but, other than that, the low-key atmosphere didn't seem like anything I'd seen in the movies. Maybe I _could_ have a conversation with Jodie, but for what purpose?

"Why do we care?" I asked. "I mean really? It's a bizarre story that neglect may have contributed to her daughter's death so many years ago and she's suddenly wanting to take accountability, but—"

"No," Jordyn cut in, "it's bizarre that she might be pretending her daughter is still alive and buying clothes for her year after year. She's also weirdly intrigued by you, which automatically makes it your business. Plus, if she is released after the hospital figures out that she's a pretty functional human being, that's how crazy crap happens, like kidnappings. We are doing our community a service by being concerned and informed citizens." She concluded her speech with a nod and then leaned toward me, finally lowering her voice with a touch of mystery. "Maybe all of this is less than we've made it out to be, but... haven't you ever wanted to go down the rabbit hole, even if all we find is a white rabbit?"

That's the part that made me feel guilty. That maybe we were just vultures surveying the damage and needing something to vamp up our senior year. Our motives were less than noble, and yet... I couldn't bring myself to bail out now.

"Liv." Andre touched my arm and motioned toward the door. The patient being escorted into the room caught my eye. The nurse let her go with a few quiet words and a pat on the back before stepping behind a desk. Left alone, the woman trudged across the room. Her path led her behind our table and toward the windows.

"Jodie." Her name escaped quietly from my lips. We watched her over our shoulders. Wearing loose, green scrubs for pants and a plain grey T-Shirt, Jodie moved carefully, as if each step were weighted. Her light-brown hair hung limply across her shoulders. She wrapped her thin arms around herself, her eyes fixated across the room.

"That's her?" Andre asked and I nodded, a silent sigh heaving in my chest at the sight of her. Jodie had always appeared quiet and tame, but something about the way she moved now, with a vacancy in her expression, filled me with sorrow.

_What happened to this woman?_ I stepped toward her, ignoring Andre's quiet protest, and reached her just as she stopped by the window. I stood only a couple steps away from her, hesitant. A little fearful. Sensing something was not quite right.

But of course, it wasn't. She was a grieving mother with secrets coming to light, ones she obviously could not bear to keep to herself anymore. At least not with her sanity intact. My fingers reached out to her but I stopped, thinking better of it. I spoke her name gently, and, after a moment, she turned. Her eyes seemed to look through me, seconds passing without a change in her countenance.

Until the vacancy stopped. Her eyes widened, as if she seemed to only now notice me standing there. "What are you doing here?" The words escaped with hoarseness, her face paling further. She seemed aware of me, and yet, something still felt off. I attempted to answer her question as simply as possible.

"I... I just wanted to check on you. How are you doing?"

"It's not safe."

I could barely hear her over the hushed nature of her words. "I'm sorry, what?" I frowned, stepping closer and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. She reached up to take my hand, holding it between both of hers. The coolness of her fingers contrasted with the warmth of my own.

"It's not safe." Her voice escalated like it was climbing a vine, finding strength before it exploded. "You have to leave!" I stumbled backward, ripping my hand from her grip. "Please, you can't be here! Go!" Jodie's breaths heaved in her chest, her voice filling the room. Her outrageous cries continued. I didn't know what to do, even when she was screaming at me to run.

Nurse Paula bustled between me and Jodie and grabbed her flailing arms. Jodie reached for me, fighting the nurse as she reached for me again. Nurse Paula threw her head over her shoulder to scowl at me.

"What did you do?" she whispered. To Jodie, she spoke firmly over the woman's frantic words. "It's okay, Jodie. Let's go for a walk, shall we?" She continued to utter words of comfort to her, but not before casting one more look of irritation my way. "I told you to sit down and not interact with the patients, didn't I?"

Unsure what to do now, Andre, Jordyn, and I followed a few steps behind as Nurse Paula escorted Jodie across the room. Another woman hurried into the room, her attire and mannerisms suggesting she was a woman of importance. "What's going on with Jodie? Has she had her medication?"

"It's your new volunteers," Nurse Paula said, glaring at me. "They need some training."

I folded my arms against the breeze as we stepped outside the building.

"So..." Andre said, "That could have gone better."

I let out a sardonic laugh as the three of us descended the stairs from the building's main entrance. "You mean agitating a patient and being reprimanded on our first day of volunteering isn't a positive start?"

"What did you really say to her?" Jordyn asked as we reached the bottom of the stairs. She stepped in to close the circle between us.

I let out a frustrated sigh. "I wasn't lying back there. That short conversation about _what are you doing here_ , _it isn't safe_ is everything that happened. It was like she recognized me, but then she just freaked out."

"Olivia."

I recognized my mother's voice behind us and turned around. Wearing grey dress pants and a burgundy blouse, she stepped carefully with her heels as she descended the stairs.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" I didn't think she had any patients at the mental hospital this year.

"That's my question for you, as well," she said, standing in front of us with a hand on her hip.

"I didn't mean to cause trouble. We were just trying to collect our volunteer hours, and figured this would be a good place to start."

"That seems rather convenient, given your sudden interest in Jodie's life." Mom glanced at Jordyn and Andre, silently accusing them as accomplices. She sighed and waved her hand like she had little time for discussion. "As of this morning, Jodie Porter is now a patient of mine. I've taken her on as a pro bono case."

"Really, why? And why didn't you tell me?"

Mom placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it once with a tilt of her head. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, dear. I didn't think it was necessary for you to know, since I'm sure you have questions that I'm not permitted to answer."

"Oh." That was true. I had lots of questions, especially now.

She gave a light laugh, probably at the obvious disappointment in my face. "I _will_ tell you that you are the reason I'm taking on her case for free. After you told me her sad story, I tried to locate her family in Henderson and Las Vegas, but I can't seem to find any that are living, or at least who want to be found."

"No family at all?"

Mom shrugged. "Well, who knows the length of history there and what other deaths or falling out they may have had. Not all family wants to be found, but it did tug on my heart strings that she truly seems to have nobody to help her during her time of need. She's all alone. And, maybe it's the holidays speaking to me, but I just feel bad for the woman. I was hopeful I could get her out of there soon but..."

"You hoped?" I bit my lip, guessing her outburst not long ago wouldn't help things.

Mom nodded. "The timing of her reaction is a little bizarre. I'd met with her just minutes before she went to the recreation room and she seemed calm. In control."

"Until I spooked her."

"No, it wasn't you." She looked back at the building before meeting my eyes. "I'm only telling you this because I don't want you feeling confused or carrying around guilt about the incident. What happened was very minor, really, all things considered." She pursed her lips as though considering her decision to speak. "Her official psych evaluation is still in progress, but from what I could gather from yesterday's meeting and speaking with the police, it's likely that Jodie has some degree of schizophrenia."

I glanced at Andre. For a moment, I felt him whispering dark thoughts in my ear again, mixing with Jackie's anxious voice in a debilitating blur. Andre's mouth tightened now, like he was remembering, too. Mr. Warner's unit on mental illness was coming to light in ways we hadn't foreseen.

"Is she going to be all right?" I asked. I didn't understand it. I couldn't. But somewhere along the lines of investigating Jodie Porter's hermit life out of boredom, my interaction with her solidified that I felt concern and sympathy for the woman.

"Olivia, I can't say, especially not this early into her treatment. I also will not be able to discuss my patient with you in the future. But," Mom said, pausing to glance once more at the mental hospital doors, "I've set some goals for her. It's not a life I'd wish on anyone to stay long term in a psych ward."

I hugged Mom, grateful and comforted by her touch. "I know you'll do your best."

# Chapter Seven

"A question." Mr. Warner's voice drew my attention from the front of the classroom. "What do you see?" He held up a laminated square of cardboard with an image printed on it. Three hands shot up into the air, exhibiting a surprising amount of energy for a Monday. He called on a girl named Sophie.

"I see a man standing on grass and a little girl... floating in the air in front of him?" She squinted. "The man's hands are up. Did he just throw her?"

"Look deeper," said Mr. Warner. "What do you see about their expressions that give clues as to what's really happening here?"

"Well, they are both happy because they are smiling."

"So, he's not a crazy man throwing a child?"

Sophie laughed. "No, probably her dad, but no one is there to catch her."

"If I asked you what was missing from this picture, what would you say?" Mr. Warner held the picture so everyone could see it.

"Her mom?" someone guessed.

"A trampoline?"

"The swing!" Sophie exclaimed, gleeful at figuring it out.

"How do you know the swing is missing?" Mr. Warner asked.

"Because the little girl's fists are closed, like she's gripping something, and her legs are in a sitting position. Her pig-tails are also flying through the air."

Mr. Warner held up a finger like she'd said something bright. "Very good, Sophie. Knowing there is a swing involved paints a different picture, doesn't it? What you first saw as a man tossing a child, changed significantly to a father having a moment with his daughter while he pushes her on the swing." Mr. Warner pulled a different square, walking the room so we could all clearly see the picture. "What do you see here?"

I nudged Andre seated beside me. "I dare you to answer."

"No thanks," he whispered. "I got roped into that last exercise. I think I'll sit this one out."

"Me, too," I laughed and he smiled at me like we shared an inside joke, the thought igniting a touch of satisfaction.

Looking at the next illustrated card, students called out the description of an elderly couple standing near a woman. They all seemed to be staring at the ground, the old man and woman making funny faces at nothing while the woman smiled.

"What's missing?" Mr. Warner asked. "What could these people be looking at?"

"A dog?"

"Has to be a stroller," a girl named Anna concluded.

Mr. Warner pointed at her. "Why are you so confident it's the stroller missing from the picture?"

"Because of how the mom's hand is held out in front of her like she's pushing something, and her fingers are curled, like she's holding onto something beneath her palm. The old man and woman are also dangling their fingers like they're tickling or teasing the baby." The class murmured in agreement. "Trust me, I know. I have a baby sister, and the stroller goes with us _everywhere_. Old people love stopping my mom to peek at the baby."

Mr. Warner nodded and put down the squares. He sat on his desk in a casual manner, his hands resting along the edge. I prepared myself for one of his speeches. "Every day we make judgements about people, trying to determine their story and figure out who they are. It's easy to make the wrong assumption when we only see pieces of what's happening. The best question you can ask yourselves is, 'What's missing?' It's important to consider that you are missing the details."

He held up the stack of square cards again, spreading them like a deck of cards in his hands. "This is what psychology is all about—learning the ins and outs of a person's life, and figuring out why people do what they do. What elements in their life contribute to their choices, their actions? What pieces of their story are you missing that might cause misunderstanding?"

Mr. Warner's marker squeaked against the whiteboard while he drew a diagram. It was a grid with four even squares. He wrote the words _Johari Window_ above it. "This diagram is a simple tool for assessing self-awareness," he explained. "Each square is technically called a quadrant, but I like to refer to each of them less formally as windows. Each window acts as a portal into various parts of yourself. To be more dramatic, a glimpse into your soul."

He raised his eyebrows with a smile like he was proud of his theatrics, and then labeled each window with the words _Open, Hidden, Blind Spot,_ and _Unknown_. "Now then, to help you follow along, you will need a partner. Go on, anyone right beside you will do." He motioned for us to team up.

"Not another one of these," Andre murmured. He turned to me. "Would you prefer working with someone else this time?" My eyes moved around the classroom where friends hurriedly sought after one another. Jackie, the red-head who volunteered with us last class, seemed to be making her way toward Andre, which, for whatever reason, caused me to speak fast.

"No, you'll do. At least whatever happens between us can't be worse than last time, right?" I bit my lip, not certain I believed my words.

"Let's hope."

Mr. Warner pointed to the first square. "This window entitled _Open_ represents characteristics about yourself that you and others are all aware of. If you were to look around the classroom, I am certain you could easily agree on two adjectives about each person in the class. Who in the class is the funny one? The leader? Charismatic or shy? The first window holds no surprises about the way you present yourself to your audience."

Andre's brown eyes were on me. For the first time, I noticed the hint of yellow in them that gave them more of a honey color. He put the end of his pen into his mouth.

"Stop that," I demanded in a harsh whisper.

He raised his brows in innocence. "What?"

I leaned toward him. "You're assessing me. Stop making a list."

He shrugged with nonchalance. "If these characteristics are common knowledge, then you have nothing to be nervous about." He glanced up at the ceiling and squinted. "There. All finished." He put down his pen like he was satisfied with his mental list.

I crossed my arms, only slightly amused by his antics. I couldn't help wondering what words he'd decided on.

"If done correctly," Mr. Warner continued, "the adjectives you name about someone else will feel fairly superficial—just a few words that barely touch the surface into who they really are. Now look here. I'm going to jump down on this grid to what is referred to as the third window." Mr. Warner used a pointer to indicate the bottom left quadrant of the Johari diagram labeled as _Hidden_. "We all have secrets—traits or parts of our lives that we prefer to shield from others. In this window, you keep the curtains drawn so to speak, to prevent neighbors from knowing your business." Mr. Warner raised his voice. "And by doing so, you create gaps in the image that you present to others, much like these pictures where I asked you, _What's Missing_?" He held up the picture of the father and the little girl. "What parts of your life do you refuse to share with others, which, in essence, creates a facade about who you really are?"

Mr. Warner's trademark pacing began again as he circled the room. "I issue you a challenge, but let me be clear that you are free to decline. The level of honesty that you share with your partner is completely up to you. That said, if you are willing, tell your partner something he or she may not know about you. Something revealing about who you are. You may proceed if you dare."

Andre and I studied each other, making quiet note of what we were or were not __ willing to share with each other. He leaned in. Mimicking Mr. Warner's theatrical tone, he said, "I double-dog dare you."

I never thought I'd trust Andre Steele with a secret. He'd been my nemesis far too long. Yet, now I sat beside him, knees almost touching as we faced each other. And he'd just double-dog dared me.

"That's not fair," I said. "I can't turn down a double-dog dare. It just wouldn't be right." I held up my hands like the competitive side of me had no choice. "So here it is. In eighth grade after you moved, I needed to find a place for myself. Since the whole late-bloomer thing wasn't really working out for me on the popularity side of things, I decided that I'd find my niche in academics. I would be the smart one. I liked the confident edge it gave me to have something on the other kids for a change."

"That's not much of a secret," Andre said. "You've always been intelligent. I've known that about you since elementary school when you started your annual reign as "Teacher's Pet." Sounds like you just kicked it up a notch with all your AP and Honors classes."

"Yes, that's true. Most people just don't know the motivation behind it." I hesitated, debating what I would say next. "Which brings me to my actual secret. Don't laugh, okay? But I used to think that I... might have had a shot at being an athlete." I pulled my lips together in anticipation of a joke, but he only shrugged.

"Why is that so crazy?" There was no hint of teasing in his face this time.

I turned my head in a questioning manner. "Because... I've turned into a school nerd. It's what I do. I can't even remember the last time I played a sport. Maybe PE class in junior high?"

"Then what makes you think you'd be good?" He put up a hand. "No judgement here. I'm just trying to understand what you're thinking."

It was a fair question, one I'd asked myself many times. "I don't know if you remember this, but in addition to being reigning champion as Teacher's Pet, I used to be more of a tom-boy. In fact, I'm pretty sure we played soccer and kickball together during recess."

He squinted with a smile, like a memory was coming to mind. "Now that you mention it, I remember that actually. Pretty sure you knocked boys down every other game."

I scrunched my nose. "I do recall causing a bloody nose or two over the years. But hey, they were in the way!"

Andre chuckled. "Then why let all that feisty potential-athlete in you go to waste?"

Mom's face came to mind, her voice soft with reproach when I asked about joining a team. "Bodies change," she said. "Athletic ability drastically declines after college unless you continue professionally, and even then, your time is numbered. Why not put your heart and free time into a talent with a longer, more reputable lifespan?"

Shortly after, she placed a violin in my hands and scheduled weekly private lessons. Soccer and other recreational activities that had less merit in her eyes took a backseat. "Music will always be timeless," she often comforted, pulling out her cello to accompany me. Her slender fingers worked the strings, pulling a deep bass to support the soprano trills from my violin, a complimentary duet.

"My mom always seemed more comfortable supporting me with _refined_ activities like music and academics. I think she felt like it brought us together because it was easier for her to relate, so I just went along with it because she never seemed too keen on the sports idea. Maybe in another life I might have developed those other athletic skills. Or maybe not." It wasn't that big of a deal. Just something I thought about from time to time. If I were being honest, maybe I wondered if my biological father was into sports, and if there was just enough of his genes in me to pull my interests in that direction...

"Hmm." Andre's quiet response made me nervous, the way his eyes moved across my face like he was reading other things about me that I tried to keep hidden. Like how I admired his dark eye lashes, and the way I felt when he smiled at me. Not at all how I used to feel before he moved away to Brazil. Not at all in a way I wanted to admit. I frowned when he pulled out his phone and started texting.

"What are you doing?' I asked, a little offended that he had nothing more to say about my reveal. I'd just put myself out there with the silly assumption that there might be some athletic gene residue in me, and now he was tuning me out. He must have agreed it was a silly notion.

Mr. Warner's voice interrupted us. "If you have chosen to complete the third window challenge, you have just a couple more minutes."

I folded my arms, still eying his cell-phone with mild disdain. "Your turn. What's something you keep hidden?"

"Huh?" He looked up from his phone. "Sorry, one sec." He texted for another ten seconds and then slipped his phone into his bag. "Hidden about me... uh, let me think. Well, with my dad's recent diagnosis, to be honest, I'm a little scared."

I didn't expect that. I'd never lost someone before, or not that I remembered anyway. Mom's parents passed away before I was born so I didn't have a relationship to miss, and my dad's parents lived in Pennsylvania, still very much alive. Because of the distance, we didn't see them often. I felt bad for Andre. I could only imagine how scary it must be to know your dad's health was declining. "What scares you most?"

Andre slowly tapped his fingers onto his desk, focusing there for a moment. His lips pressed together, a sudden seriousness about him that seemed to be returning in more frequent doses. There was a heaviness weighing on him, adding maturity to his features. He looked up at me, his expression reminding me of our conversation in the trailer, like raw and honest thoughts were racing through his head.

"I don't want him to die. I'm not sure what that will do to my mom. But mostly, I don't want him to suffer. He's always been physically fit. He's never been one to sit around watching TV or asking for help. I'm afraid for what multiple sclerosis might do to him, especially since the doctors say it's a progressive form. It will only get worse, and fast."

I dropped my head, unsure how to respond. "I'm so sorry. That's a lot to worry about. A lot of things that are out of your control."

"Thanks." But he was looking at the floor again, like the weight of the topic hung around his neck like a medal—but a medal no one wanted to win.

The sound of the marker scraping across the white board caught our attention. In large letters, Mr. Warner wrote the word VULNERABILITY. He underlined it three times. "This," he said, "is what deepens relationships. Allowing yourself to be open to your own introspection, and then allowing others to see parts of yourself that you might want to conceal. It is our natural instinct to protect ourselves, the behavior dating back as far as the creation of man. But what happens when we pull back the curtains? When we decide to let someone see the truth beyond the window? I think you will find that sharing something real, something honest with one another is the best way to form human connection."

"Being honest can also cause trouble," someone murmured, but Mr. Warner turned his head, fully aware of the comment. Our teacher held up a finger, shaking it in the air.

"Ah, yes. Sometimes honesty can be difficult to maneuver. It's one thing to voluntarily share something hidden about ourselves, but what about when a truth is revealed to _you_ that you never knew existed?"

I watched fellow students cock their heads to the side in thought, like confused puppies at their master's feet. One boy raised his hand and called out, "Like when your mom asks if you like her cooking, and then gets offended when the answer is no?"

Mr. Warner rubbed his goatee. "Son, first of all, let me assure you that the answer should always be yes. That will save you a lot of heartache with women in your life." The class chuckled and he smiled. "But no, I'm elaborating beyond sharing an opinion about someone's dinner or how their hair looks. Most of you have driven vehicles by now. Hopefully, you are aware that your side-mirrors cannot always be trusted—that they fail to reveal everything around you. It is referred to as your blind spot. Each of us carry personal blind spots, as well."

He tapped the second window of the diagram, appropriately named. "Typically, as far as this diagram is concerned, your blind spot refers to characteristics that you're too biased to see in yourself. Like maybe what you consider leadership skills are perceived by others as overly controlling in group settings." There was a murmur in the class and some obvious finger-pointing.

Mr. Warner nodded at our collective reaction. "You can see it already, personality traits about one another that each of you may not even be aware of. Pursuing on a deeper level, these blind spots can even include repressed feelings from childhood experiences, tucked away in the latent part of your mind for safe keeping until others can help you discover them. Perhaps it's even information about your life that you have not yet identified, like the purpose for your fears or desires."

I didn't like the sound of that. I despised the idea that someone could see something in me that I couldn't, or had information about my life that I didn't even know about. My eyes strayed to Andre, who was watching me again. I folded my arms as though providing a shield from his probing assessment. "I'm not playing this round," I whispered with a scowl. I didn't want to hear any of his presumptions.

Mr. Warner seemed to hear me, always so aware of what was happening in his classroom. "There will be no partner exchanges for the second window, so let your worries rest. I've found in the past that when I allow students to point out unseen traits in one another, there tends to be more sensitivity and bickering than intended. However, I bring it to your attention for you to consider your own story. What details might you be missing about who you really are?"

The class fell silent and I wondered if we all feared we didn't know ourselves as well as we hoped. I guess I was the lucky one, already aware of the missing piece to my story—the man who left Mom the moment the unexpected pregnancy arrived. I didn't think of him often. Hadn't needed to really, with Dad playing the only role of a father that I needed. However, today was the first time I wondered about that missing piece. Did I need those details to truly know myself?

The bell rang, interrupting our reflective chatter. As my classmates and I gathered up our books, Mr. Warner called out one last time, tapping the fourth and final window of the diagram. "As you leave today, let me conclude with a brief mention of the _unknown_ , elements of yourself undiscovered by you or anyone else. It is your future, not yet tread upon or written."

Students filed out the door, hardly aware he was still speaking. I caught Mr. Warner's eye, pausing by the doorway as I glanced over my shoulder. He seemed eager to say more, always hopeful his students were listening with the same enthusiasm with which he presented. I decided to give him that attention, despite Andre waiting for me outside the classroom. I hooked my thumbs along the bottom straps of my backpack, waiting for my teacher's final words. His eyes locked on mine as he left a word of caution.

"Do not be too quick to diagnose what is apparent, while forgetting what yet remains unseen. The fish only see the bait. Sometimes you should be looking for the hook."

# Chapter Eight

As we left our psychology class, Andre grabbed the side of my backpack, pulling me in the opposite direction of the cafeteria.

"What are you doing?" I asked, tripping on my own feet as I maneuvered with him.

"Here, eat this." He thrust something that looked like a candy bar into my hand and I read the label.

"A protein bar?" I skimmed the nutritional facts. "Did I miss a conversation between us about you signing on as my personal trainer? In what world would someone like me need this much protein in one sitting?"

Andre pulled open the side door of the school building and a crisp wind hit my face. I tightened my jacket around me and followed him outside in confusion. "You won't be sitting. Just eat it. We're skipping lunch, and I don't want you to be hungry." He snatched the protein bar out of my hand and ripped open the package before handing it back. He watched me expectantly.

This made no sense. _Andre_ made no sense. Was he putting me on a diet plan? My mind raced through our most recent conversations, trying to figure out his angle. I took a hesitant bite of the chocolate-coated... cardboard. Yes, dry, nutty cardboard. And not just any cardboard, but an old one from the back of a grocery store that had become wet, soggy, and then dried before entering my mouth.

"Gross." I scrunched my face as I continued to chew in question. With my mouth full, I asked, "Why are you making me eat this?"

Andre grinned, his eyes brightening when he spoke. "Every athlete needs some good protein in their life, especially before a game. Come on, let's get you warmed up. They'll be here any minute."

I hesitated at the top of the bleachers while Andre jogged down each row with quick, easy footsteps. He hollered at me to follow him, so I did, but not before ditching his gritty meal plan on the sidewalk. Before I reached the bottom of the field, a swarm of boys thundered down the aluminum bleachers after me.

"What... is happening?" My head spun back and forth, watching eight boys from my senior class boisterously bump into each other in a friendly manner, slapping each other's back and casually kicking around a soccer ball. Their rowdy energy swirled around me.

Oh no.

"You," I said, summoning Andre with my index finger. He jogged over to me, and then swept a hand across the top of his head, that boyish grin still on his face. "Explain yourself."

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," he said, gesturing at the soccer field. "We're here to let out that inner-child-athlete that got benched so many years ago." He licked his lips, the corners of his mouth still rising. I thought back to our conversation in psychology class and how he hadn't seemed to be listening when I shared from my _Hidden_ window that I wished I'd had a chance to explore sports. Understanding dawned on me.

"You were texting your friends, organizing this soccer game."

One of the soccer balls came rolling to our feet and Andre popped it up with his foot. He caught it with his hands. "What, did you think I was just ignoring you?"

"No, of course not..." I didn't want to seem like some needy girl constantly requiring his attention. Clearly, though, he could see right through me. "Okay, maybe just a little. But you really did not need to do all... this. I told you, that ship has sailed. I can't just start up soccer at this point in my life."

"Well, if that's true and you royally suck, then at least you'll finally know one way or another."

"Thanks. Very comforting." I looked down at my pleated, plaid skirt and pinched at the material by my thighs. "But do you really expect me to play in a skirt?"

Andre's eyes moved up and down the length of my body in a way that made me regret my question. "What's the problem? You've got those, uh... black things underneath it. That'll work, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "By _black things_ you mean my leggings? Well, yes, they're kind of like pants I guess..."

"Good. Then let's do this." He dropped the ball and dribbled it at his feet while we walked toward the circle of boys. I considered how I was probably better suited to play in my leggings and skirt than the boys who seemed more restricted in their khaki pants. It was then that I also noticed Gavin and Wesley standing next to each other, Andre's old buddies from middle school. After out-growing their pranking era, we were cordial with one another throughout high school, but I couldn't remember the last time we'd hung out in a mutual setting. I tried to bury my nerves. Seeing them together had the same effect as when I first saw Andre, a slew of self-conscious thinking pushing their way to the front of my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to make a fool of myself in front of them—again, even after all these years.

The soccer ball suddenly rolled to my feet. I acted quickly and gave a solid but anxious kick. It launched far beyond the circle of athletes, arching into the air and then tumbling aimlessly across the field. "Oops, sorry!" I called out as Wesley ran after the ball. I cringed at Andre. "This is a bad idea," I mumbled to him, feeling skeptical eyes judging my very existence.

"You'll be fine," he said, his words less than convincing. With a few quick words, Andre split up the team and shortened the field for five-on-five. With defensive players behind me, somehow, I was positioned to play up field with Andre. Kicking off, he passed the ball back to me. I only managed to awkwardly dribble a few feet with it before Gavin intercepted the ball. By the time I spun around, he'd swiftly maneuvered around the rest of the team and with one skilled pass, his teammate scored a goal.

The game resumed. Andre insisted on passing it to me a second time. Someone else called for the ball, but my pass didn't quite make it. The other team stole it and scored in minutes once again. I kept my head down, not wanting to see my teammate's frustration. Yes, it was just a pick-up game of soccer, but I felt like I needed to prove myself. Maybe to Andre. Maybe just to myself. At the very least, I didn't want to look like an idiot out there. I blew out air through my nose, determined to do something useful.

Andre and another teammate started with the ball this time. When it fell into Andre's possession, he made a quick, unnecessary side pass to me. My feet fumbled for control. As Gavin made his approach, I passed the ball back to Andre before Gavin had a chance to touch it.

"Come with me," Andre called back. He picked up the pace, a speed that required me to sprint to keep up. With impressive footwork, he dodged our opponents, positioning himself for the perfect goal.

He passed it to me instead.

"No, no, no...." I said as the ball came barreling toward me.

"Take a shot!" Andre yelled.

With barely enough time to doubt myself, I stepped forward and launched the ball with my foot. It sailed over everyone's heads with shocking speed and sank into the net through the top left corner. My jaw dropped, euphoria chasing away any remaining nerves. I threw my arms up into the air, cheering in disbelief. My teammate's voices blended together with praise until I recognized the one by my side.

"I knew you'd make that!" Andre's hands fell on my shoulders, facing me toward him. "That shot was money. It was perfect! With that ball you kicked before the game, I knew you had a strong leg. We just needed to get a goal in front of you."

I shrugged. "Beginner's luck," but it was hard not to feel pleased with myself when Andre was beaming at me with such enthusiasm. "That was a good set-up by you."

"One-two," Andre called out the score and we started again. For the next twenty minutes, we jostled the ball back and forth. With new-found resolution, I kept up with Andre, whose main purpose revolved around setting me up to score. I missed a few shots, but he made me feel like a million bucks when I scored the other two. We lost the game in the end, but it didn't wipe the smile off my face. The adrenaline rush of running the field with those guys brought back childhood memories of confidence and a bold competitiveness that pushed me to run fast and hard.

Winded. I was definitely more out of shape than anyone else out there, but it didn't take away the joy of the game. With our lunch break coming to an end, we called it quits. Gavin slapped me on my shoulder as he passed.

"Nice moves, Olivia," he said, and Wesley, following closely behind, offered his knuckles to congratulate me.

I laughed with heavy breaths, bumping my fist with his. "Thanks for letting me play."

"See you next time."

My cheekbones rose, hoping there would indeed be a next time. Andre was the last to stand beside me while our friends made their way up the bleachers. He tucked the ball under his arm.

"Not bad, Liv. I think you impressed a few people today."

"Thanks. That was..." I shook my head, at a loss for words. "It was just a silly game but, wow, I feel really, really good."

"You should feel good. You made quick progress!" Andre pulled out his phone, checking the time. "We have a few minutes. Are you up for one more challenge?"

"Here on the field? Yes, I'm so ready!"

He smiled at my eager attitude. Taking my elbow, he guided me in front of the goal. "Think you can block my shot?"

"No, but I'll try."

"That's what I like to hear. Start by widening your stance... yep. Now keep your eye on the ball."

"Wait, wait, wait...." I interrupted, just as Andre stepped backward to position his shot. "How about using your left foot for the first few times, just so I stand a minimal chance."

"Sounds fair. Ready?"

I bent my knees, trying to anticipate which way he'd shoot. When his foot made contact, I lunged to my left.

The ball hit me square in the face.

I collapsed to the ground, my hands reaching for my right eye. I groaned with a touch of laughter, mostly feeling the embarrassment but knowing the pain would soon follow... just as soon as I stopped seeing black and white static in my vision.

"Olivia, I am so sorry!" Andre kneeled beside me, no humor in his voice. "It's been a while since I've shot with my left. I guess I've got less control than I thought!"

I forced another chuckle, trying to ease his guilt. "It was my idea, remember? Ahh... how does it look?" I put my hands down, my eyesight returning enough to squint at Andre. I struggled to keep my eye open.

"Uhh... we might need to get some ice for that."

"That bad, huh?"

"Here." Andre pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arm around my shoulders to guide me forward. "I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I kicked you in the face with the ball."

I touched the tender area around my eye, feeling the swelling just above my cheekbone. "I'm sure it looks worse than it is. I guess I took your instructions too literally, Coach."

Andre chuckled, pausing to peek at my face once more. "Let's get a cold pack on that."

We walked back into the school building and found the nurse's office. I was thankful to see Ms. Lindsay, the younger nurse who seemed to like her job more than others.

"Olivia, what have you done to your face?"

I grimaced sheepishly. "Oh, just trying something new. Would you believe I make a terrible goalie?"

Ms. Lindsay rummaged in the freezer, returning with an ice pack. After wrapping a paper towel around it, she gingerly touched it below my eye. "Hm. I wouldn't be too sure. By the looks of it, you blocked it well enough." She eyed the ball in Andre's hands with disapproval. "This is your doing?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Andre scratched the side of his face, his stance suddenly uncomfortable. "The lesson didn't exactly go as planned."

"Soccer lessons? During lunch period?" She eyed the two of us in question.

"It was... an extension of a class assignment. Sort of." I smiled and then cringed at the sharp pain along my cheekbone. The bell rang.

"You'll need to sit here for a few more minutes, I'm afraid," said Ms. Lindsay. "I can write you a note to excuse your tardiness."

Andre was quick to speak up, a charming smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Ms. Lindsay, um... I don't suppose you could write me a note also? I think it would be in the best interest of the... patient, if I were to sit here and keep her company. Just for five minutes?"

Some people were charming by their appearance and swagger alone, and others more by their words. Andre managed to access both with ease, putting a knowing smile on Ms. Lindsay's face. Maybe it was the relatable youthfulness in her, but she obliged.

"Well, I suppose I can do that for you." She held up her finger. "Just don't be spreading any rumors about me being a push-over or you'll be hearing from me."

"Yes, Ma'am." Andre nodded, his polite tone and mannerisms winning her over further. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. You watch your bedside manner, young man."

"Will do."

As Ms. Lindsay slipped out the door, I put a hand on my hip. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

" _That_. You just... speak, and butterflies and rainbows fly out of your mouth, mesmerizing everybody. It's really not very fair that you can get away with anything, from childish pranks to charming grown-ups."

"You should be jealous more often. It adds just the right amount of color to your face," he said to me, his finger touching my other cheek.

I stepped back from his reach. "Bedside manner, remember? Besides, all that color is just my face turning red on the field from lack of cardio in my life, that's all. I'll be stronger next time."

"I like the sound of that," he said, his eyes pausing on me once more, and longer than I felt comfortable.

"You're doing it again," I accused. "Making that face like when you were creating that mental list in class."

"Then ask me. I know it's bugging you."

To pretend I didn't know what he was talking about, or be direct? I gave in. "Fine. I'll admit I'm mildly curious." I lifted my chin with an air of indifference. "What adjectives were you picking to describe me?"

Andre swept his hand before me in a grand gesture. "Ladies first, because I know you were making a mental list, too." I thought about denying it, but he seemed to read me too well. "If _jerk_ made top of the list, I'd totally understand."

I offered a coy smile. "Maybe if this were last week and all I had to go on were bad memories of a thirteen-year-old who placed a target on my back. But, I consider myself a fair girl and willing to redeem you points for good behavior. So, no, _jerk_ will not be making the list this week. Subject to change, of course."

He held my gaze as he so often did, effortlessly, like he had nowhere else to look but at me. I, on the other hand, used the excuse of adjusting the ice pack to maneuver away from his pensiveness. I cleared my throat before answering. "I... would have picked confident, for obvious reasons. And, if I had made a list—which I didn't—I would have skipped past any introvert-related adjectives because words like _calm_ and _quiet_ would never suit you. However, _playful_ would, even if I appreciated it less back in the day."

"You didn't think this out at all..." Andre mocked, but he seemed pleased.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder. "Like Mr. Warner said, deep thinking is not required for this superficial list. So lastly, I will add _persistent_ because you like to get your way."

" _Confident, playful, persistent._ I can live with that. Now my turn." His honey-brown eyes were back on me again, reeling me in against my will. " _Clever_ ," he began. "As previously discussed, you've always been the smart one in class. I think that'd be the first word on everyone's list. Next, since I'm not sure if stubborn is considered a positive or negative trait, I decided on... _independent._"

I knew he'd try to be funny. He winked at me, softening the questioning glare I threw at him which, with my black-eye forming, was becoming easier every second.

"Hey, now," Andre said, like he needed to clarify. "Stubborn gets a bad rap, but it can be a compliment in the right context. You, for instance, seem to know what you want and go after it, even if you're not sure you have the skill. I like that."

A reference to the soccer game, I figured. Another real conversation brewing between us, and I wondered if I'd get used to it, hearing flattering words come out of the same mouth that used to boisterously laugh while he pranked me.

"For my last word," he continued, "I decided on _forgiving._ " More of his seriousness was back, further revealing a reflective side I never would have associated with him before. It added a depth to him that, for some reason, made me nervous and intrigued all at once.

"That last one doesn't fit the assignment," I said, trying to brush off reminders of our intimate conversation in the trailer. During that flash-flood, he'd seen me cry during his apology, something only a handful of people in my life had witnessed. "The adjective is supposed to be a personality trait that everyone knows. Since you're the only person at school that I've had to forgive, that makes you the only person who knows that particular trait." A facetious grin accompanied my comment, though with a hint of truth clinging to it.

Andre brought his face close to mine, lowering his voice. "Well, it was that word or _controlling_. You choose."

I sputtered a laugh, genuine and full. His eyes lit up at my reaction and he offered a crooked smile. "I guess I am a little bossy." I paused, waiting for his response. "Hey, isn't this the part where you turn it around and say bossy is more like being a strong-willed leader or something awesome like that?"

His eyes teased me again and this time I didn't mind. "You know, I'm not sure I can keep up with the positive spins on your domineering personality. It's exhausting."

My jaw dropped with a long smile and I shoved his shoulder. "You're the worst."

He chuckled with a deep grin until his eyes paused on the ice pack. "Let me look at that again." His hand pulled down on mine, the warmth of his skin contrasting against the back of my hand. Having removed the cool pressure, I braved a face while he peered at me. Close. So close to me that I noticed the tiny freckle on the left side of his chin.

If only to distract myself, I asked, "Has it changed color yet? It feels like it has."

His lips came together in a grim line and he grabbed my right hand. Taking his time, he placed the ice pack carefully back into my palm and returned the ice to my cheekbone. His hand remained on top of mine, a slight pressure that made my heart quicken. "Let's just say that I probably don't need to worry about other guys looking at you anymore. At least that takes care of the jealousy factor."

"Oh, stop..." I smacked his shoulder when he smirked, a soft giggle escaping my lips. "Try all you want, but back-handed flattery will not win you any points after assaulting me today."

Even with only one fully-functioning eye, I felt his gaze lingering on me. His words were quick and so soft that I wasn't sure I heard him.

"We'll see about that."

# Chapter Nine

"I don't see her," I whispered to Andre and Jordyn as we followed the volunteer coordinator into the recreation room. Andre held up a finger to quiet me while Ms. Dixon continued speaking to us over her shoulder.

"With each approaching holiday, we try to make the atmosphere somewhat festive. Now that Thanksgiving is over, the real work begins." She brought us to the far side of the room where chairs and couches had been organized to face the wall with a traditional Christmas movie projected onto it. Bringing us to an empty table, Ms. Dixon pointed to the stack of plastic bins on the floor. "Help me with this, will you?"

Andre lifted a large bin onto the table. Ms. Dixon pulled back the lid, revealing glittering garland and a pile of foam and paper cutouts that I gathered were supposed to pass for ornaments.

"The patients made these?" I guessed, glancing at the artificial pine tree that stood roughly eight feet with its skinny branches pulled open and prepped for decorating. I picked up a few of the homemade items, reading scribbled names and dates on the back of them.

Ms. Dixon nodded. "Yes. We do love to bring a little bit of Christmas here, but of course, we are limited due to the potential hazard to patients. We do the best we can." She patted the scraggly tree sitting beside the table. "It's not so bad once the lights are plugged in. Some of the patients might even want to help you." She gestured at an elderly woman shuffling toward us in her slippers, the corners of her lips turning upward as she eyed the bins.

"We've got a customer already," Jordyn said.

"That's Tonya. She won't give you any trouble. A little disoriented at times while we are figuring out her medication, but she's gentle." Ms. Dixon clasped her hands together. "Now then, the real question is, who wants to decorate for Christmas and who wants to help with dishes? We could always use an extra hand in the kitchen."

Stuck with dishes would make it much more difficult to slip away and find Jodie. I raised my eyebrows at Jordyn, silently pleading with her to take one for the team. Without me having to say a word, she complied.

"I'll do it, Ms. Dixon," she said, stepping forward.

"I appreciate it... Jordyn, right? Come with me." She paused to turn around, speaking to Andre and me. "I need to step into my office for a meeting, but I will check in on you when I am done." She placed a hand on my shoulder and quieted her voice. "And Olivia, judging by that black eye of yours, one might worry that trouble tends to follow you. Let's aim for less excitement than on your first day, hmm?"

"Of course. Sorry again." I smiled sheepishly, and then scowled at her back as she disappeared down the hall. My fingers lightly touched below my right eye, which was heavily coated with make-up to cover the remaining blue and yellow discoloration. It was Friday today, four days since blocking the goal with my face. I had, in fact, been pleased with how well it was healing. Ms. Dixon's comment made me question otherwise.

Andre pulled down on my wrist, removing my probing fingers from my face. "It's not that bad," he comforted. "You can barely see it. She's just an old hag looking for a reason to complain."

"Ha—thanks." My words fell low and urgent, moving on to the true matters at hand. "How are we going to find Jodie?"

"I'm not sure we have many options, other than waiting for her to show up again."

"But we don't have much time. What if Jodie doesn't come in here? We're not really going to sit around untangling garland, are we?"

"Poor Jodie."

The quiet words came from the woman decorating the tree, her slippers patting around as she dispersed the whimsy ornaments. She said nothing more and didn't even look our way, almost as though she hadn't spoken.

Andre's head snapped up, his eyes sharing my surprise. I stepped closer to her. "Tonya, do you know Jodie? Jodie Porter?"

A few quiet moments followed. I wanted to prompt her, but Andre, somehow feeling my impatience, touched my elbow with a light squeeze.

"So sad, Jodie." Her face crumpled into a frown, her eyes moving toward the doors. "All alone."

"Tonya," I said, gently touching her arm and ignoring that Ms. Dixon had strictly reminded me not to touch the patients. Her gaze followed my hand, acknowledging my touch, and then she met my eyes. "Where's Jodie?"

Tonya shook her head, repeating the words, "All alone."

"Maybe in her room?" Andre said.

I thought a moment, imagining Jodie "sad and all alone." Ms. Dixon had just given us a tour of the facility. The building, having been renovated from a retirement center, was shaped like a square with four long hallways. Large community rooms branched off from each hallway, used as the recreation room, the cafeteria, another living space for group therapy, and a fourth large room for the nurse's station and ill patients. Three of the four hallways were utilized like dorm rooms for patients, each hallway categorized by age. One hallway for the children's unit, another for the teens, and a third for adult care, where Jodie would be located.

_Sad and alone_...

But maybe she wasn't just in her room. Maybe she was in isolation, a barren room used for assessing the needs of a patient at risk. If I were in there, I would feel sad and alone, too.

"Come on," I said, pulling on Andre's arm. The staff member monitoring the room looked to us in question. "I'm so sorry, but we've had an emergency come up. We won't be able to complete our volunteer shift."

"Oh. That's unfortunate." Her curt words revealed her disapproval as she eyed the boxes of decorations with a sigh.

"We'll make it up to you, I promise." With that, we slipped out the door and down the hallway toward the front desk.

"What are you doing?" Andre asked. "You're already on thin ice with Ms. Dixon. Skipping out right now is not going to sit well with her."

I stopped in my tracks and faced him. "Look, I've got a plan, but I need your help. I just want to see how Jodie's doing and I think I know where she is."

"And then what, Liv? When you find out that she's not okay, that's she's a schizophrenic patient without a very positive outlook, what then? Your mom, the _psychiatrist_ , is handling it. Maybe let the professionals do their job."

"I wish I could, but something's not right. Jodie said, _it's not safe here_. If she's being mistreated, I need to tell someone. My mom can help!" I ignored his expression that suggested I was overreacting. I knew I might be. After all, paranoid delusions are a symptom of schizophrenia, so anything Jodie said might mean nothing at all. I nibbled my thumbnail in thought, and then frowned at his discouragement. Evidently, he was less invested in my cause than I thought. "Andre, if you don't want to help me find her, why are you even here?"

He swallowed without saying a word, his mouth opening and closing like he wasn't sure what to say. "When we came last time, I tagged along for the ride. It was just something to do...with you. I don't feel that weird connection that you have with the hermit lady, so I can't say I understand your eagerness to run into her again. I'm not sure you can fix her, Liv."

I dropped my gaze, feeling silly for being here with my obviously crazy notions. Andre's fingers lifted my chin. He stared intently back at me. "But it's clearly important to you so... that's what matters to me. You're the person I'm here for, so tell me what you had in mind."

Two minutes later, we walked down the hall toward Clayton, who still sat hunched over the front desk scrolling through the computer. When he looked our way, I threw a little more hip into my walk and picked up the pace. I thought I heard Andre let out a quiet laugh from behind me. I offered a wide smile, satisfied when Clayton's eyes lingered on my freshly glossed lips.

"Here you go, Clayton," I handed him our key cards and he unlocked the desk to put them away. I swung my hair over my shoulder and bent down to sign my name on the volunteer sheet. I could feel his eyes on me.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

I sighed. "Yes, my dad called and I'm needed at home right now." I handed the pen to Andre. After a moment, I feigned surprise. "Oh no, my phone!" I patted my back pocket and then scrambled inside my purse. "I think I left it in the bathroom but I'm not sure..." I turned woefully to Clayton. "I'm sorry. I'd hate for you to have to re-do the whole sign-in-keycard ordeal. Do you think you could walk me to the bathroom so I can check?" For extra incentive, I lifted my shoulders and bit my bottom lip with apologetic eyes.

He took the bait.

"Sure, I can do that." Clayton turned to Andre. "I'm really not supposed to leave the desk. If anyone comes in, could you just ask them to wait?"

"No problem," Andre said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'll just hang out here then."

As Clayton stepped out from around his desk, I nodded at Andre, eying the desk drawer. As hoped, I'd distracted Clayton enough that he'd left the key twisted in the lock. If nobody came around the corner in the next minute, all Andre had to do was open the drawer and grab one of the red key cards.

_It's not stealing. We're just borrowing... for a good cause_ , I told myself.

Reaching the bathrooms just outside the recreation room, Clayton used his key card to unlock the door.

"I'll be just a minute," I said, slipping inside. Closing the door behind me, I blew out a breath of air, stalling a few moments longer for Andre. I opened my purse and pulled out my phone and let out a joyous cry for show.

"Found it!" I stepped out of the bathroom and held up my phone for Clayton to see, grinning in relief. I shook my head with a laugh, pretending to scroll through my text messages. "Oh, this is great!" I flashed a smile. "Looks like my dad has it covered at home. I can finish my shift after all."

It took another minute to get our yellow key cards reassigned. After more superfluous chatting and forced charm, Andre and I headed back down the hall once again.

"You got it, right?" I muttered under my breath, unsure if Clayton was still watching us.

"Of course I did." Andre's hand reached into his back pocket. With smooth nonchalance, he wrapped his right arm around my waist, startling me before I felt him ease the keycard into my front right pocket. He hooked his thumb on my pants so that his arm hung idly at my hips longer than necessary.

My right hand moved on top of his hands and unhooked his thumb. "Nice try."

His arm dropped. "I was just trying to sell it. You know, a sly maneuver to transfer the key card," Andre mumbled, but his eyes teased me. "So, what now, Detective?"

I paused outside the recreation room. "Well, you get to cover for me and finish hanging Christmas decor while I'm..." I glanced down the hall to make sure Clayton had busied himself with his computer again. "I'm going to find Jodie."

Andre nodded and turned away, but I grabbed his arm. "Hey, I know this is kind of crazy..."

"At least you fit right in."

I shoved his chest with one hand, grinning. "Thank you for doing this with me."

" _For_ you," he clarified.

My cheekbones lifted. "I'll meet you back in there as soon as I can."

I hurried down the opposite hall, passing doors on each side of me that had two names printed on the outside. Five doors down, I read Jodie's name on top of _Tonya P_. Apparently, they were roommates. No wonder she was concerned for Jodie. I glanced through the small square of glass. With simple furnishing, I saw two beds, each beside a small desk. As expected, no one was inside.

"Are you lost?" A male nurse walked toward me, the door to the cafeteria swinging shut behind him.

"No, not at all." I took a few steps to meet him as he approached, feigning confidence. I stuck out my hand to introduce myself. "I'm Liv, one of the new volunteers." He nodded at me, though he seemed unsure about my presence. "I'm just headed to the kitchen to help with dishes," I said. "Unless Ms. Dixon told you I was needed somewhere else?"

By the look on his face, I knew he had no idea about the volunteer schedule, but the mention of Ms. Dixon seemed to be all he needed to hear. "No, that's fine. The kitchen is right inside the cafeteria and there's some other girl helping in there, too. You have a key card?"

I flickered the yellow card in my hand. "Good to go, thanks." I walked through the cafeteria doors, my heart thumping more rapidly at pulling off the lie. The rows of tables and benches were empty, but I heard running water and dishes clattering from the room behind the serving bar. My back clung against the wall, not wanting to draw any more attention, but also not wanting to leave yet in case the nurse was still hanging around.

The door leading toward the kitchen swung open and I froze—then breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing here?" Jordyn asked. I held a finger to my lips, glancing over her shoulder.

"Jodie wasn't in the rec room, so I'm scoping out the place, trying to find her."

Wiping her wet hands on her apron, she said to me, "Well, you better hurry before you get sucked back in there with me." She jerked her thumb toward the kitchen. "That old guy takes this business very seriously. I can't keep up!" She grabbed a pile of trays off the table. "You owe me, Liv. Now get outta here."

I peeked out the door into the quiet hallway. There'd be another employee roaming the area any minute, I was sure. I stepped out into the hall, remembering that there was an assessment room within each unit. I stood on my toes to peek inside the last room on my left.

I inhaled sharply at the sight of Jodie. She sat on the edge of her cot, her hands lying still in her lap. She wore a loose white shirt and grey cotton pants that looked like they'd been issued to her. The room itself appeared sterile and dull, with only a chair positioned across from the cot, like the patient could not be trusted to be left alone with much else.

Someone would likely be checking on her soon. My fingers slipped into my right pocket and I pulled out the red key card. I waved it across the black panel. The red light flickered to green with a quiet beep. With one last glance down the hall, I stepped into the room. The door locked behind me.

I didn't move and neither did Jodie. Her eyes remained on the empty chair, though I'm not sure the chair even registered in her mind. Vacant and void of emotion, she sat like a mannequin, silent and still.

"Jodie." I moved slowly and sat down in the chair. She continued to look through me like I wasn't there, her line of vision positioned at my torso. I lowered my head, trying to align my face with hers. "Jodie, it's..." I thought for a minute. Did she even know my name? I knew she recognized me from bagging her groceries, but she wouldn't know me casually as Liv. I thought of my nametag. "It's Olivia," I finished. My fingers reached out to touch the top of her hand.

She lifted her head. Her eyes caught mine and she struggled. She squinted her eyes as though trying to focus, trying to remember. The recognition didn't come this time, not like when she'd spoken to me last time. Whatever part of her knew me then did not know me now.

I lifted her right hand this time, holding it between both of mine. I gave a gentle squeeze. "Last time, you told me it wasn't safe here. Is someone hurting you? I just want to make sure you're being treated well."

No response. Just more of that glazed expression, but with a vague hint of fight inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed like she was trying to understand.

What was wrong with her? She was acting more like an elderly woman with Alzheimer's disease than someone being treated for a personality disorder. I didn't know much about psychology and medicine, but it didn't seem right that she couldn't hold a basic conversation with me.

"Do you have any family, Jodie? Anyone I can find to come for you?"

"Family..." she mumbled, turning her head to look up at the ceiling. She applied pressure to my hand. Not quite a squeeze, but it was a response. Finally, her eyes met mine. "My daughter."

My heart weighed heavily. She was thinking of the child she'd lost, the one she'd never be with again. Tears welled in my eyes. I would not be able to bring her little girl back to her, who apparently was the only family that mattered to Jodie.

"I'm sorry for what happened... to your daughter."

A smile touched her lips despite the gloss of tears washing over her eyes. Her hand reached out, palm cupping the left side of my face. I took a deep breath, unsure where Jodie's disheveled mind was right now. Why did I think I could help her? I didn't shy away from her touch though. Something about her gentleness felt genuine and natural, like she was reliving a moment that I didn't want to take away from her.

It was then that I caught sight of the small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. **** I keened in on the **** heart with angel wings, the sight of it causing a stir of emotions I didn't understand. Confusion and loss welled inside of me. The sensation grew, overwhelming me as to its origin and meaning.

A beep at the door interrupted my troubled thoughts. It pushed open, revealing nurse Paula's horrified face. Startled, I jumped to my feet. My stomach lurched.

"What do you think you are doing here?" She moved to Jodie, who frowned at Paula but otherwise did not make a move. The nurse looked her over.

"I didn't hurt her," I said. "I was just trying to talk to her."

Paula's hands came to her curvy hips. Her words escaped, heated and baffled. "Why would you—how did you even get in here?" She frowned at me and then pointed to the door. "Out. Right now. I don't know what your obsession is with Jodie, but we'll be taking this up with Ms. Dixon." The door to the assessment room slammed shut. Nurse Paula's next words struck a chord. "I can't imagine you will be stepping foot through these doors—ever again."

# Chapter Ten

I plopped my backpack on our usual bench and sat down, waiting for the Monday morning school bell to ring. Jordyn hurried across the quad to join me.

"Sorry volunteering last Friday turned out so crappy," she said. "What's the verdict? Since you never called me back all weekend, I'm assuming your phone's been confiscated? I stopped by your house, but your mom said you were _unavailable._"

"Yeah, and that's not all." I gave a half-hearted laugh. "I guess the only good thing about my parents issuing house arrest is that now I'll be excited to come to school every day. It's the only time I'm allowed to leave the house."

"Oh man, that's rough. What'd your mom say about your unapproved visit with Jodie?"

"Nothing good." I made a face, remembering the sit-down I'd had with her after she'd hung up the phone with Ms. Dixon. "She couldn't believe I'd put her job at risk by sneaking into the assessment room. Can't say I blame her for that. I told her I was concerned about Jodie's behavior, or more accurately, her lack of behavior. Seriously, Jodie's always been quiet in public but at least she could function on her own. Now... It's like someone snuffed out her light."

Jordyn leaned in. "Did your mom say anything about Jodie's medication?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," I muttered. "I did ask if it was possible that Jodie was being over-medicated. That, of course, set her off and she reminded me that _she's_ the one with the degrees and training. I guess she felt insulted that I'd even suggest that."

Jordyn threw an arm around me. "Your mom's a smart lady, Liv. I'm sure she'll look into it. No doubt your mom prescribed her correctly, but maybe someone behind the scenes is screwing with Jodie's doses."

"Why would anybody do that?"

We sat quietly for a minute, unable to answer why a lonely woman like Jodie would have any enemies, especially inside the mental institution that was supposed to keep her safe. Someone dropped their backpack noisily beside me. I looked up at Andre, who gave me a disapproving frown. "You didn't have to keep my name out of it."

"Andre, why would I name you as an accomplice? It wasn't your idea. You even tried to talk me out of it, so there was no reason to have you banned from the facility, too. I explained that I found the red key card on the bathroom floor when I was looking for my phone, and curiosity got the better of me."

"They believed that?" Jordyn asked, edging into our conversation.

I lifted my shoulders. "No, probably not, but what could they do about it?"

"Are they pressing charges or anything?" Andre asked.

"Nope. Lucked out on that one. Guess there are perks when your mom is one of the psychiatrists." I sighed. "Clocking volunteer hours at the mental hospital is all yours now. I guess I need to resign myself to playing bingo with the elderly or something."

Jordyn stood up, shouldering her backpack. "That's not so bad. In addition to helping the old guys finish their crossword puzzles or wipe Jell-O off their chin, you can tell them your dirty secrets and they'll forget all about it by the end of the day." I rolled my eyes at her just as the bell rang.

"So how long are your parents holding you under house arrest?" Andre asked.

Mustering my best impression of Mom's voice, complete with her disapproving pursed lips, I said, "My behavior will be re-evaluated on Friday. It is in my best interest to comply to all the rules, including, but not limited to, returning straight home from school with zero friend privileges and no complaints about the confiscation of my phone."

Jordyn patted my back. "It's gonna be a long week girl."

"Tell me about it."

The next few days followed in similar pattern. I went to school and came straight home, finding ways to keep busy without access to friends or a phone. Knowing that compliance would earn me a shorter sentence, I spent the afternoons alone inside my empty house while my parents were at work.

On Thursday, bored out of my mind, I sat on the cushioned bench attached to my bay window. The natural lighting fell across my music stand, illuminating the strand of notes sprinkled across the pages. I removed my violin from the case, taking a minute to tune the strings. Having convinced Mom to let go of formal lessons this year, I'd let it sit without playing for too long. My chin found the base of the violin, and my left hand held the neck, my fingertips skipping across the strings for a quick practice without the bow. Finally, bow in hand, I slid across the strings, back and forth as my fingers followed the notes to my favorite song.

A slow, sweet melody filled the walls of my room, one I'd perfected years ago. My violin teacher used to accompany me to enhance the beauty of this piece. The sheet music lay open on the stand only as a formality at this point. I closed my eyes, able to hear in my head how the piano melody danced with the strings of my violin. A sad, twisted melody that first gave attention to the violin, and then to the keys of the piano before both instruments entwined again. I breathed deeply, drinking in the music that I often resented because of the hours I'd been forced to practice indoors instead of playing outside.

But then there were times like now, when the house was quiet and still, and I could create a musical world, incomprehensible to those who had never stepped foot inside of it—music directed on paper and yet expanding beyond that, tapping into a part of my brain that created a whole orchestra inside my head. On these days, I thanked my mom for pushing me to develop this skill.

One final pull of the bow concluded the music with a reverberating echo. I inhaled deeply, satisfied and fulfilled. Returning my violin to its case, I stretched out along the bay window, my back pressed against the bench. With the music still flowing through my mind, I closed my eyes and fell asleep. And dreamed....

_I watch the little girl in the doorway, standing beside the suitcase. Her fingers play with the zipper, struggling to pull it down. The light from the window casts fading light onto her body, creating a dimming silhouette of her tiny frame. The door behind her opens, more light spilling onto her. A figure steps through the door—a woman, her hand reaching out to her. The child looks up, one finger plugged in her open mouth like a pacifier._ _Long, thin arms embrace the girl. Lifting her up, the woman secures the small blonde toddler around her hip. Her other hand grips the handle of the suitcase, pulling it behind her._

_Out the door._

_Swinging shut._

_Gone._

I sat up. Slowly. Unsure. A drop of liquid slid down from the inside corner of my eye. I swiped at it with one finger.

_Tears? Had I been crying?_

I frowned, taking a moment to remember my dream, the one that had made me cry in my sleep. A dream of a little girl being picked up by a woman and leaving the house. Nothing sad about that. And yet... I could still feel a confusing ache inside my chest as my mind's eye watched the little girl leave.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake the odd melancholy that had fallen over me. I caught sight of the sheet music and my violin case on the floor. Letting out a laugh, I tried to dismiss the troubling images. Obviously, the emotions of this particular violin piece weighed deeply on me, even slipping in to shape the elements of my dreams. I'd have to search for something a little more _allegro_ for my next piece.

As the afternoon progressed, my room looked cleaner and more organized than it had ever been. In addition, every type of canned good and bag of chips could now easily be seen and accessed from our pantry. I was even staring at my first attempt at watercolor painting, having discovered a self-teaching book hidden on the bottom shelf of our bookcase. I'd be sure to show it to Mom during our upcoming house arrest evaluation. Sure, my garden of flowers looked more like floating lollipops, but I was proud of myself for being so productive with my phone-free time. I hung my painting up to dry.

Three bold knocks came from the front door.

_Probably a salesman..._ If Mom were home, which could be any minute now, I'd let her chase him away. She hated strangers stopping by, especially if they were trying to sell something.

_"If I wanted it, I'd already have bought it,"_ Mom would say. Clearly, she was a woman who's always known what she wanted and how to get it. Lacking tact was probably the only thing missing in her life.

I opened the door, looking around when no one was there. At my feet, I found a smudged envelope without a postage stamp. I flipped it over, curious as to why there was no return address or even my own address listed on the front. It simply had my name, written with hasty scrawl.

_Someone dropped this off in person_... I sat down on the top step of my porch. Sliding my finger to wedge open the flap, I pulled out a piece of paper that appeared to have been crumpled a time or two before folded to size. Smoothing it out over my knees, four words glared back at me.

_She's not your mother._

I dropped the piece of paper as I jumped to my feet, again looking around. Whoever left this at my door had to be nearby, watching me. My next-door neighbor was on her knees, weeding around the flowers that she desperately fought to keep alive every year, despite this desert landscape.

"Mrs. Richards?"

She lifted her face from her pile of weeds and waved at me.

"Did you see anyone drop this off?" I held up the envelope.

"No, dear. There hasn't been a car pass by in the last fifteen minutes." She adjusted her glasses.

No car. The mystery deliverer, and likely the author of this note, must have come on foot. Mrs. Richards was probably so engrossed in her roses that she may not have noticed.

"Okay, thanks." My eyes fell to the note once more.

_She's not your mother._

Why would someone send this to me? A nervous weight landed on my chest as thoughts I tried to ignore fought for my attention. I had to tell someone, if only to dismiss the crazy idea forming in my brain. Jordyn's mom had taken her Christmas shopping this afternoon. Without my phone, I'd never be able to find her. Maybe Andre was home. I reached through my front door and grabbed my car keys off the hooks on the wall.

As I parked my car in front of his house, I watched Andre send the soccer ball flying inside the bottom left pocket of the goal. He'd set up something of an obstacle course on the road in front of his house, with orange cones placed in a zig-zag leading up to the goal. The large cone sitting in front was obviously his make-shift goalie.

"Nice shot. Care to swap out that cone for a goalie with real talent?" I shut my car door and shoved my keys in my back pocket. The disturbing note lay pinched between the fingers of my left hand.

Andre flipped around and his expression brightened. He sauntered toward me. "So you can have two black eyes? Thanks, but as much as I applaud your developing soccer skills, I'm gonna pass on damaging your pretty face again." He grabbed his water bottle and jogged over to me. "Not that I mind, but... aren't you breaking the law by being here?"

"I absolutely am and I'll pay for it later, but I needed to talk to someone."

Andre's expression changed, picking up on my apprehension. "What's the matter?"

"Maybe nothing, it's just... well, here." I handed him the note. Hooking my thumbs on my belt loops, I waited for him to read it.

"What is this? A prank?"

"I don't know. I found it on my doorstep just now. I don't even know what it's supposed to mean."

Andre studied my expression. "Are you sure? Because the look on your face tells me something else is going on. Why does this note signify something more to you?"

I dropped my gaze, suddenly feeling silly for racing over here with nothing more than a scribbled note. "Well, I had a dream this afternoon, but it didn't feel like just any other dream. It—"

"Hold on."

I frowned at his interruption.

"Remember this week's psychology assignment? Write down two dreams and bring them in for analysis?"

I remembered. Mr. Warner emphasized the difficulty in remembering the details, so it was important to write dreams down immediately. "Yeah, so?"

"Let's practice. Write down your dream, and I'll take an unbiased examination into your inner-psyche."

"I'm not so sure I want you involved in my inner... you know what, no. This is weird."

"It's not. It's an assignment. I'll be right back."

Despite my continued objections, he disappeared into the house, returning a minute later with a pad of paper and pen. I conceded, accepting the writing material and sitting on the curb. With the paper and pen propped on my knees, I let the ink flow. The first sheet filled up more than I anticipated.

The music from my violin and the imagined piano accompaniment twirled through my head again, dragging back images of the little girl and her suitcase being taken away by a woman. Though I watched the little girl as if she were someone else, the crushing sense of loss and confusion consumed me. I didn't know who the woman was, but I knew that wasn't the girl's mother.

A stranger, though gentle, taking a child that wasn't hers.

_With a heart and angel wings tattooed on the inside of her wrist._

I dropped the pen. The added image of the tattoo had come out of nowhere, a detail that could change everything.

"Liv? What's the matter?"

I put a hand to my head. "I must be over-analyzing this. It can't mean anything, can it?" I handed him the notebook. I watched him read without a word, wrinkles creasing his brow. As he read my final sentence, his eyes widened.

"So... if I'm remembering correctly, that describes the same tattoo as the one on Jodie's wrist?"

"Which I saw a few days ago, thus the only reason it popped up in my dream. Right?" I chewed on the end of the pen.

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

I waved the pen at him in a wild motion. "Well, you're the one that wanted to play psycho-analysis. You tell me." I didn't like him watching me and coming to conclusions I may not want to hear. But I needed him to do it because I was too freaked out to confront the theory on my own. I softened my tone. "Just... pretend to be a doctor or something and figure this out."

"Liv." Andre took the pad of paper and pen from me. "It's going to be okay. This is probably nothing but um, just give me a minute to tap into my mental psychology notes." He paused, eying me for a quiet moment before he tucked the pen behind his ear. He placed his hands behind his back as he straightened his posture. Pacing in front of me, he glanced from the corner of his eye to see if his impression of Mr. Warner was making me laugh. I didn't laugh, but I smiled, already feeling lighter in his presence.

"First, I'd observe that you are highly agitated by this dream. Obviously frightened. Maybe truthfully, you don't want to know the answer?"

Feelings of things unknown circled me, chased by rational thoughts that swore the dream was meaningless. An imagined coincidence. But in my gut, I knew the dream stirred something more.

_Truth. Lies. Secrets._

The words jumped at me, like an unexpected mugging in an alley. Stealing everything logical and sound within me. There was no way I could know these things, not by something as intangible as a dream. Yet instinct begged me to explore beyond common sense. To step foot into the pool of questions, even though it might drag me under.

"What if it's nothing? Mr. Warner said dreams could be a way for the mind to toss out superfluous information. Or relieve stress. What if the dream came about only because I've been so caught up with Jodie and her dead child?"

"Which might make enough sense by itself, except someone dropped off that incriminating note."

I nodded. The timing of the dream and the note were throwing me for a loop. However, it was my feelings more than anything that couldn't be ignored.

"Let's simplify things," Andre said. He opened his palms. "Maybe the dream means nothing. You're right. You've been emotional about Jodie and how she lost her daughter. Your brain is probably exhausted and just trying to make sense of it. As a result, you dreamed about Jodie and her daughter."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, considering this. It would be the least complicated answer. "That sounds reasonable. Let's go with that."

"Now I'm going to ask another question, since I know you don't want to. It's about that note in your hands, the one that might have nothing to do with your dream but everything to do with you." He paused, waiting for me to look back at him.

The crooked letters of the note dug into me. _She's not your mother._ I knew what Andre was about to ask, but I couldn't be the one to voice it. He did it for me.

"Is it possible you're adopted?"

The moment I opened the note at my doorstep, the thought had crossed my mind. How could it not? However, once Andre said it, I knew it was a ridiculous theory. "If I was adopted, why wouldn't my mom tell me? She knows more than anyone about what that kind of delayed information can do to a person. No, that can't be it. She wouldn't do that to me."

"Then who else would qualify as _not your mother_?"

I frowned in thought. There was no one else, no one who even remotely played an alternative mother-figure in my life. There hadn't been a need. "Jodie maybe? But that's never even been in question. Of course Jodie's not my mother. Her daughter's dead. Someone is just trying to mess with me."

"Uh-oh." Andre's eyes warned me toward the car approaching behind me. I spun around, finding the stern lines of my mother's face staring back at me from behind the windshield. She stepped out of the car.

"Olivia, I trusted you to follow through with your consequences and be home this afternoon. As you have strayed from this, it seems we need to talk."

The emotions from the confusing information in my head bolstered my reply. "Yes. Seems like we do."

She folded her arms, cocking her head in confusion. "What's going on?" Her eyes moved to Andre and then to the note in my hands.

I decided to be straightforward. It's what Mom always appreciated best, and that way, I could efficiently eliminate the notion. "Mom, I'm not adopted, am I?" I expected her to laugh, maybe even shake her head at such an impossible question.

But she didn't.

She just... stood there. Visible tension pulsed beneath her jaw and she swallowed. I knew she wouldn't stutter. She never said anything without being sure of herself. Her silence told me she didn't know what to say. Her lack of words told me she was _afraid_ to speak, exhibiting an uncertainty in her stance that I'd never seen.

"Mom—" I licked my lips, and then forced half a smile. It wouldn't stick. "I'm not. Right?"

She spoke, but not the words I wanted to hear, nor with the comfort I needed. "Why are you asking me this?"

Anger bit my tone. "That's it? That's your response?" I glared at her, hoping that if I focused energy at being mad at her that the tears wouldn't come.

_She's not your mother._

It couldn't be true. Yet I recognized now that the dream felt more like a memory, seeing myself through the eyes of an outsider, watching myself being taken away from... where? An orphanage? Foster care?

Was it this woman in front of me, my _mother_ , who had taken me away to later adopt me?

But the tattoo. The tattoo that belonged to Jodie marked that woman's wrist. It was a memory of Jodie, not my mother. But why?

Whatever the reason, the answer to one question became clear. Not because of her words, but by the expressions of guilt and fear touching Mom's features.

I was adopted.

And she was not my mother.

# Chapter Eleven

Furious. Bewildered. When Mom insisted that she drive me home, I opted for the backseat, treating her like a chauffeur—a stranger—who got me from point A to point B with no personal relation to me.

Because that's how I felt inside.

Like I'd just been handed the cliff notes from someone else's life but desperately needed the script. I needed to fill the holes, dug deep by question after question.

If I was adopted, where were my birth parents? Why did they give me up? Who was this woman who let me call her mother all these years, and now callously offered me strained silence for answers?

"If I'm going to explain, let me do it in front of your father," she said from behind the wheel after I'd pummeled her with questions.

"He doesn't know either??"

More silence.

I knew she was calculating. Weighing and assessing her answer to find the optimal words to explain herself. But I didn't want the perfect answer from a doctor with all her degrees. I just wanted _something honest_ from my mother.

I pushed through the front door.

"Hey, my favorite ladies—" Dad stopped when he saw my face. "Liv, what's the matter?"

I stopped in my tracks, standing between them. Mom shut the door and hung her purse on a hook. I folded my arms.

"Dad, did you know I was adopted?"

"Adopted? No, you're not—" his eyes moved to his wife. "Evelyn, what's going on?"

She crossed her arms with a wordless shake of her head. Walking to the living room, she said, "Come sit down, please." We complied, Dad and I sitting together on the couch with Mom facing us from her chair.

"I'm not really sure where to begin," she said, rubbing her hands together. She blew out a slow breath. "It is true, I did not give birth to you. But you are not adopted either."

_How could that be?_

She held up her hand to thwart any questions. "While I was completing my residency training in Minnesota, my roommate faced an unplanned pregnancy." Mom paused, seeing me register what those words meant to me.

_Unplanned... an accident... not wanted._

"Denise loved you," Mom emphasized, trying to counter the thoughts she sensed running through my head. "No matter the uncertainty of her situation, there was never any doubt about her feelings for you. As soon as you came home from the hospital, we all became like a family—Denise, you, me, and two other roommates. In fact, while it was a little tricky sleeping with a newborn in that little apartment, we all loved you. You were the little mascot in our lives, giving us something meaningful to wake up to other than our career goals. We helped care for you while Denise continued working on her bachelor's degree, too. However, shortly after you were born, she became sick."

Dad interrupted, the bewilderment on his face likely matching my own. "She had no family to help?"

Mom sighed. "Unfortunately, Denise had been estranged from her family since her teenage years. They didn't even know about the baby and she didn't want them to. Her parents did not make healthy choices..." She paused as though choosing to eliminate the details.

But these were more than just details. These people making _unhealthy choices_ were suddenly part of my family tree, a tree that had been abruptly uprooted. I would need these details later. **** For now, though, I chose to let them go.

"Denise had done all she could to escape that life and she loved you, Olivia. She loved you so much that she wanted to protect you from the unstable life that her parents would provide." Mom's eyes pleaded with mine to understand.

I wanted to. I was trying. A million questions fired off in my brain. I took a mental step back, grabbing hold of one question, just one at a time, though it was like plucking a star from an unnamed constellation. "So how did you end up with me?" A bitter tone escaped my lips unwillingly. That voice didn't sound like mine, touched with self-pity and... anger? Yet it came out all the same, knowing where this story led. My ambitious, driven mother would be weighed down with the life of a child of whom she had no legal responsibility. I may as well have been a rock tied to her ankle, and someone pushed her overboard.

Mom heard my tone and read my eyes. "She asked me to take you. By the time Denise died from an aggressive form of ovarian cancer, you were just over a year old. It was a devastating time." Watching Mom wipe tears from her eyes, I fought to restrain my own. I felt an unfamiliar grief growing inside of me for a woman I didn't remember, and for the beginnings of a life I couldn't recall.

_My_ life. _My_ beginnings. Scribbles of information that dated well beyond my first memory.

"Olivia, I was holding your mother's hand when you came into this world. It wasn't a difficult decision to make, nor was loving you because I already did. So, I agreed to take you and raise you as my own." Mom stood up and began pacing in front of us with careful, thoughtful steps. Dad took my hand.

"Evelyn," he said, hesitancy touching his voice. "That's why you never let me adopt Liv. Because even _you_ had no legal right to."

"You wanted to adopt me?" My head swiveled between Dad and Mom, having never heard this desire from my stepfather before. A warmth spread through me, briefly quelling my anxiety. It had never become a topic of discussion between us before—only a fleeting thought that I'd never held onto for long.

"I don't need documents to consider you my daughter," he said to me. "But yes, of course I wanted to. For years. The conversation with your mother just..." He lifted his hands with a shrug. Our eyes fell on Mom.

"Darren, if it were possible, _of course_ I would have supported the conversation. There's no one in the world who would question your relationship with our daughter. You deserve to be her father. I only... danced around the idea because it's simply not possible."

"Why, Mom?" I asked. "Why not adopt me? Or even just tell me about all of this before?" Years of childhood memories reeled like a projector in my mind. Happy memories, despite not always seeing eye to eye with Mom. She kept me on a path that I, at times, wanted to stray from. With heavy focus on the violin and reinforcing my own academic goals, I may have protested now and then when my interests seemed naturally drawn elsewhere, but I always complied. I never considered myself a dramatic teenager who thought her parents were out to ruin her life.

Logical. Rational. _Like my mother_ , I'd always thought. I could have handled the truth. With her skills, she would have delivered it in a way that made sense to me when I was young, before years of hiding the truth created this upheaval of emotions.

Mom sat back down, squeezing her hands together. "I was honoring Denise's wishes. Trying to adopt you without their knowledge, since your grandparents were next of kin, would have been an impossible feat. They would have found out about you and had every right to take you from me. Denise was sure they would, just to spite her."

"Mom, why didn't you just tell me this sooner?"

She released a wry laugh, but her eyes glistened. "Curiosity, especially when it comes to the very nature of who we are, pulls hard like gravity—a force to be reckoned with. Understandably, you would want to know more. You would ask questions about your grandparents that I couldn't answer. You would seek answers about your birth mother that would only end in her death. I didn't want you to experience that pain." Her eyes met mine with fierce emotion. "I didn't adopt you anymore than your father sitting next to you, but you are just as much mine as you are his. _We_ are your parents, whether it's documented in court or not."

"Liv," Dad said, his face showing confusion. "How did this conversation even come about between you two?" Mom faced me, interested in the answer herself.

"A dream," I said, then glanced at Mom. "Maybe a memory?" I shrugged, unable to decipher how the images fit into my life, somewhere between sleep and reality. "If I was dreaming about me... I was about two years old, waiting next to a suitcase. Then someone came for me." I described the woman I saw who picked up the child. I left Jodie's name out of it, still not certain that my subconscious had misplaced the detail of her tattoo.

Mom's face paled. "You remember that?"

I nodded, uncertain why my eyes filled with tears again. My breaths heaved shallowly in my chest, not understanding why this memory frightened my mother, yet sensing that it scared both of us. That we'd both felt this unspoken fear before.

"Olivia," she whispered, "I can't talk to you about that woman."

"Why not?"

She turned her back, one hand wrapped around her waist and the other reaching up to touch her mouth. Her words, barely audible, escaped her lips. "Because it's my fault."

I stood up and moved to her side. Touching her arm, I turned her to face me. Dad positioned himself just a step away, concern etched within the lines on his face. He seemed unsure if he should comfort her or prompt her to speak further.

I needed her to finish. An ocean of knowledge had fallen over me, and I knew I was about to break through the surface. My lungs burned like they were desperate for oxygen, anticipating the truth just beyond my reach. "What's your fault, Mom?"

She swallowed and then licked her dry lips. "She was your nanny. And she tried to kidnap you."

A rush of emotion left a tingly sensation in my hands. "Kidnap? Why—I mean, how?" I put a hand to my head, squeezing back the pulsing pain developing around my temple. Memory and emotion joined together, still uncertain but proving without a doubt that they were real. It had happened and I'd known something wasn't right about it. The word _nanny_ conjured another vague memory. I caught glimpses of her face. The profile of her nose. A smile. The same reassuring smile as she took the little girl's hand... But she wasn't just taking her hand. She was kidnapping her.

Kidnapping me.

Questions tumbled from my mouth in one breath. "Who was she? Where is she now? I mean, she didn't get away with it right, so what happened?"

"Olivia." Mom's words were soft and gentle, proving a stark contrast to the high-pitched words falling off my tongue. Her hands wrapped around my shoulders and she gave them a squeeze. "No more tonight."

"What? No, you can't just drop that on me and call it a night. I need this to make sense! Why am I remembering all of this now? I didn't even tell you about the note—"

"Breathe, Olivia."

I couldn't. The air wouldn't stay in my lungs. It entered and exited too fast, too shallow. Dizzy, I closed my eyes. A single tear fell down my cheek.

"Darren, help her sit down. Let her feet touch the floor." Mom's words sounded far away, as far away as the memories that suddenly changed my life. I was no longer who I believed I was. I'd been set on a course without my knowledge or consent, a road riddled with hidden truths from the person I trusted most in this world. I'd been told the world was flat, when she knew very well that it was round.

"She's shaking. I'll get her a blanket." Dad's voice floated through my ringing ears. I didn't want the blanket. I was sweating, too hot.

"Slow down, honey. Deep breaths... again. Good girl." Mom coached me like a small child, helping me gain control of my breathing. I felt a blanket fall across my shoulders.

My eyes flew open. I shook free of Dad's grasp, stepping away from the chair. My words came low in my throat. "Who was this nanny? How did you stop her?" If it were Jodie, I needed to hear Mom say it aloud. If it wasn't, then I could feel relieved that the connection I felt hadn't been to a horrible person.

"No." Mom seemed to have pulled herself together. There was that crisp, authoritative edge her to voice again. "No more. I've already given you a lot of information."

"You can't dangle that information over the edge like that. Dad, tell her!" But his expression agreed with her. Betrayed me.

"I have questions, too, but your mom is right on this."

"When your body responds like that," she said, "it's trying to tell you that it's had enough. Now is not the right time to add more fuel to your panic attack."

I objected to her choice in words. "It was not a panic attack. I just couldn't breathe very well." I heard the silly way my words sounded. Felt the constriction in my chest returning. But they were wrong. I could handle the truth. I just needed the rest of it.

Mom tried again. "You need time to process this information before we go any further."

"Stop it!" She sounded like a doctor. "I'm not your client, I'm your daughter." Our relationship weighed between us. All the ways I'd thought we were alike because of our genes. All the things I learned to do because she was my mom. I couldn't help the next words that slipped through my lips. "At least I thought I was."

Mom's emotions remained in check. Whatever feelings that had escaped in the heat of discovery now lay safely behind closed doors. The psychiatrist was back in the house and she was now prepared to play her professional role.

"Olivia, it is these impulsive reactions that demonstrate your need to further digest what I have told you. I understand that the circumstances surrounding your birth mother are unique, and certainly this is not the ideal way for you to find this out."

I scowled at her. "Were you ever going to tell me? And what is with this doctor routine?"

Dad's hand touched my back. "Liv, this can't be easy for your mother. I'm trying to see both sides here, but it's hard for personal feelings not to muddle things up."

"I agree, Darren. I think we need to schedule family counseling."

"I don't believe this. No!"

"That might not be such a bad idea," Dad agreed.

"Oh, come on..."

Mom folded her arms with a heavy sigh. "As much as I'd like to think I can handle discussing this, you're right. I can't. I see your needs, but I'm having a tough time separating my career training from just... being your mom."

I rubbed my face with both hands. _How did this happen?_

Silence grew between us, each of us waiting for the other to make the next move. Mom made it clear she wouldn't say anything more about my non-adoption-kidnapping history, and Dad stood between us, wanting a solution but unable to offer one. At the very least, I could use this crappy situation as leverage.

"If you won't talk to me then I'm going to require my phone back. I need to talk to _someone_ other than the stranger who will be assigned to our case."

Mom pressed her lips together. "I don't think it's such a good idea to be talking about this outside of our home, except in counseling, of course."

Thankfully, Dad stepped in. "Evelyn, it's okay. She just discovered way more about her life than any child should have to deal with."

I was seventeen and hardly considered myself a _child_ , but I would let it slide since he was working things in my favor.

"Yes, you're right." Mom found her purse and rifled through it until she retrieved my phone. "Just please, for your own good, be discreet about who you discuss this with." She held onto the phone for another moment when I reached to tug it from her hands. "Maybe, specifically, not Jordyn? With her father as a detective, I worry where this might lead. Olivia, I'm serious."

"Okay, I got it!" She released the phone into my hands, though I was sure not to make any promises to her. The old Olivia, the one who had her whole life mapped out before her and a childhood spared from major rifts, might have been more inclined to obey. At this point, however, I intended to do whatever suited my own needs. After tonight's eye-opener, I deserved that much. Gripping my phone, I headed upstairs to my room.

"Olivia," I heard Mom's voice call out to me, a hint of insecurity pinching her tone.

"Let her go," Dad whispered. "She needs time. We all... are going to need some time."

The sudden bite in his voice caused me to pause at the top step. I glanced below the banister to see Dad step away from Mom. Not one hug or kiss on the cheek before he turned his back. I supposed that made sense. Having discovered his wife of twelve years **** didn't trust him with the truth probably wasn't sitting well with him either. Mom's hand reached for him in silence before falling into a fist at her side.

A twinge of guilt tapped at my heart. _Should I go back downstairs? This really wasn't her fault._ But the devil on my shoulder swung his pitch fork at the angel. _Be angry,_ it said to me. _You have a right to be angry—and it's so much easier this way._ I stepped into my room and plugged in my phone. Sitting at my desk, I saw Andre's name at the top of my missed texts.

_"What's the story? Are you adopted? I'm here if you want to talk."_

My finger hovered over the keyboard, preparing to reply. Yet how could I sum up tonight? With a heavy sigh, I glanced in the mirror. Expressionless, my eyes followed my features, from my blue eyes to my nose, my chin, my hair. Who did any of it even belong to?

A father who didn't know I existed.

A mother buried in the ground.

Grandparents who had likely littered my genes with drugs and alcohol.

I blew out a huff of air and typed a response.

_"She's not my birth mom. But I'm not adopted... I'm in no man's land."_

# Chapter Twelve

We sat on opposite ends of the couch, leaving the middle seat empty.

"My husband will be here in just a few minutes," Mom said, looking over her shoulder at the open door. "Todd, thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice."

Todd Chapman, apparently our new therapist, chuckled. "Not a problem, Evelyn. I'm happy to... finally pay back the favor."

I didn't like him, and not because he was a therapist. I believed in Mom's line of work, and the healing that came from therapy. I'd never experienced it for myself, but until now, I'd trusted everything Mom had told me about the positive changes tied to therapy and the right medication.

Todd though... There was something forced about his efforts to be casual and friendly. Maybe it was the taut line in his jaw when he wasn't speaking, or the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. By the looks of his salt and peppered goatee, he'd probably been a therapist for many years. Maybe the whole routine of meeting and greeting new clients felt like old news to him, and he was simply going through the motions.

Either way, he must have owed Mom a good-sized favor to fit us into his schedule on such short notice. Mom had picked me up after school and driven us straight to his office. I'd barely had time to give details to Jordyn and Andre about last night's crazy encounter with the truth. During our lunch period was the only time we'd all been able to find privacy to talk.

Todd shut the door. "My secretary will let your husband in when he arrives. Why don't we start so I can get to know your daughter a little bit?" He smiled at me. His eyes didn't. "Olivia, why do you think we are here today?"

I folded my arms and sank into the cushion. "Probably because you're my mom's friend and she wants you to explain something difficult to me instead of doing it herself."

Mom cleared her throat, adjusting her rigid posture. At home, she would never have let me get away with the attitude, but in the presence of her therapist-friend, she held back on chastising me. Or maybe she really did feel bad for how all of this had unraveled, so she was putting up with me. Either way, the annoyance of the counseling session could become bearable if I were able to sneak in a few jabs. I waited to see what Todd would do with my retort.

"Well, yes. While that is not the most assertive way to express yourself—"

I tossed my head to the side, not appreciating his polite criticism.

"—it is true that a third-party can often be helpful for understanding difficult circumstances."

_Playing games is going to make this ten-times longer_ , I concluded. I cut to the chase. "Do you already know the history?"

Todd and Mom exchanged a quick look before his eyes fell back on me. "Given her request to be bumped to the top of my schedule, your mother did fill me in on the nature of your visit. I understand that you're here because you have just discovered Evelyn is not your birth mom and yet you are also not adopted."

I forced a tight-lipped, satisfied smile, now throwing one leg over the other. Todd gave a light laugh as it dawned on him that I'd just turned the tables on his question, forcing him to answer it himself. He put down his pen and folded his arms. "I can see that you are a smart girl. I take it you want direct answers."

"That would be refreshing."

Mom shifted in her seat, her unusual silence unnerving. Todd did as well, positioning his body so that his knees pointed toward me. "Let's get to it then," he said.

The office door opened. Dad stepped inside, an uncertain hand remaining on the door knob.

"Darren, please, come in," Todd said, pointing toward the middle cushion on the couch. "I was just about to ask Evelyn to tell her side of the story beyond what she mentioned last night."

Dad sat down and kissed the top of my head. I saw the unease in Mom's eyes. Her expression seemed reaching. Hopeful. Dad folded his fingers around hers. The briefest glisten of tears touched her eyes with her small smile. A part of me softened to see his forgiveness, or at the very least, a willingness to hear Mom out. _United_ , his actions seemed to say, a reminder that we are a family, however confusing the terms seemed to be now. I wrapped an arm around Dad's. I gave mom a tiny nod, a motion of encouragement for her, and a commitment to myself to be open to her words.

"Like I said last night," Mom began, "loving you was never a challenge. However, caring for you while starting my career proved more trying. I couldn't do it without help, so after I completed my residency, you and I moved from Minnesota to Kingman where I had just secured my job. In fact, it was the first time that I worked at the mental hospital as a psychiatrist. With my long hours, I hired a nanny to help care for you."

At the mention of the nanny, whose story I knew concluded with attempted kidnapping, Dad squeezed my hand. Finally, Mom was about to reveal the details I desperately wanted, but also feared.

"This nanny was going through a hard time when I met her at the park. Her own child had died not long before, and the grief was evident on her face as she watched you and the other children play."

Her words caught my attention, the tips of my ears starting to burn. My eyebrows crumpled, listening intently.

"I watched the way she helped you up when you ran past her bench and scraped your knee. She was so sweet and tender that I knew she'd be perfect. I didn't know at the time that it was the emotions of losing a child that played across her features, but we started talking and she revealed the painful truth. And I, needing a nanny immediately, interviewed her right then on the spot, though it was more like I was chatting with a friend with the deepest, most sincere heart."

"What are you saying, Mom?" I asked, sitting rigidly at the end of my seat. "Who was she?"

"I think you know."

I imagined this woman helping me up from the sidewalk, and then I remembered. _Actually_ remembered. Her right hand steadied my own small ones. Her voice was soft, timid, and kind. Familiar.

_A flash of a tattoo on the inside of her wrist._

I shook my head, my mind racing with too many thoughts all at once, like pieces of a puzzle flying across the room. I was desperate to make sense of the picture. "Jodie was my nanny?"

Mom gave two solemn nods. "I thought you would be a wonderful fit for each other, given the loss she had suffered. She was always so kind to you. After six months though, I worried about her attachment. She became somewhat possessive of your care and needs, and I had to practically force her out the door when I'd return home from work.

"One day, to my horror, I came home during lunch to pick up some documents I'd left behind. I caught Jodie loading you and your suitcase inside her car."

"This is unbelievable," Dad said, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, you called the police?"

Mom put a hand to her lips, her eyes gazing out the window like she was seeing it happen again. "I know I should have, but I felt like I'd put Jodie in this position, and I knew she wasn't well. I... also did not want the media and undue attention flocking to our house and disrupting our lives even further. I didn't want an investigation questioning my own rights to keep you, Olivia."

Jodie.

Jodie who was a silent stranger throughout my childhood, never interacting with me until I obtained the job at the grocery store last summer. Jodie who always ended up in my grocery line, so quiet and mysterious. Jodie, who I'd spent the last few weeks worrying about, and who suddenly had a deeper association to me—one that scared me.

"How could you trust her with me again?" I asked, one of so many questions I couldn't figure out how to ask.

"She never cared for you again. Of course I didn't trust her. I couldn't trust anyone. I dipped into my inheritance and stopped working full time so I could stay home with you until you started kindergarten. I worked minimal hours here and there while you attended daily preschool. That included taking Jodie under my psychiatric care. In fact, it would be the first time I took her on as a pro bono case. I threatened her that I would call the police if she came near you again. She agreed to see me once a week so I could help her work through her grief and keep careful watch."

"That's how she came to live so isolated," I said, trying to wrap my head around this story that belonged to me. "She did stay away from me, but also from everyone else."

Mom nodded. "She made a small living cleaning buildings after hours and working as a caregiver for private elderly homes. I gave her a reference, figuring that at least she would not be around children. But yes, for the most part, she kept to herself. It was the only way I could keep you safe."

Silence fell across the room. If anyone was making eye contact I wouldn't know, because I stared at the corner of the room with one foot tapping the floor. I had a connection with Jodie. I'd felt it since this summer during our short interactions at the grocery checkout line. I thought it was only a connection on her end, although I didn't understand her attachment at the time. After my run-ins with her at the mental hospital, I assumed that I became a reminder of her dead daughter... but it had been more than that.

It was an odd feeling knowing Jodie had cared about me, enough that she risked kidnapping me. I imagined she changed my diapers, fed me breakfast and lunch, maybe chased me around the house, laughing and hugging me while Mom was away. My own memories and feelings toward her felt vague and fleeting, but present enough to reiterate that they were true. In those months before she'd tried to take me, I'd probably loved her, too. Thinking of her this way removed the idea of how horrible she must have been for kidnapping me, to once again gaining my sympathy.

"Olivia."

Todd's voice drew my attention.

"How are you feeling about what your mom just told you? Do you have any questions?"

I paused in thought. "I guess something I'm wondering about is the dream I had. My mom told you about what I remembered?"

Todd nodded. "Yes, she mentioned you'd had a memory of you and Jodie."

"Right," I said. "What I don't understand is why I dreamed as though I were watching myself. It was like I was looking at myself as a child, rather than _being_ the child. When I dream, it's always been through my own eyes, not like this."

"Yes, I found that rather interesting, as well." Todd sniffed, lifting a hand to scratch his nose. "I'm no dream expert, but what I can tell you is that your subconscious is unbelievably intelligent. For you to see yourself in the dream as if you are watching yourself might indicate that your body is simply processing—"

"I hate that word," I interjected, a scowl slipping into my expression.

"Honey," Mom said, "It's just a therapy word."

Todd jumped back in. "It's simply a term that means you're trying to understand a situation."

I crossed my arms. "It sounds like you're talking about a computer, which doesn't make sense coming from any therapist or psychiatrist, because situations like this include a lot of emotion. Referring to a robotic term doesn't make sense to me."

"Olivia," Todd said, and I sighed at the condescending patience in his tone. "Is it possible that you don't want to talk about this and are using this tangent as a distraction from what's really going on?"

"And what's really going on?" I challenged. Dad touched my forearm, a gentle hand reminding me he was there.

Todd squared his shoulders. "I think this is a lot of information for you to take in and you might need some time to... _think_ about how you're really feeling. To return to your question, I would guess that your subconscious is viewing you from outside yourself in an attempt to fully grasp what's going on."

"Like she's trying to understand someone else's problem rather than her own?" Dad said.

Somehow, the suggestion coming from Dad made it easier to hear. As the only other person who'd been lied to for over a decade, he was my ally.

"Exactly," Todd said. "Adjusting her point of view seems to be her mind's way of addressing such a complicated problem. It's often-times easier to understand a situation when we're looking at it from a distance, rather than a part of it."

I guess this made sense, though I'd never heard of such a thing before. Then again, I didn't know a lot of people trying to psychoanalyze themselves through dream interpretation and memory retrieval.

"I have some reading for you..." Todd rummaged through files in his desk.

"Is this a homework assignment?" I asked.

He lifted his head and then opened his hands. "Not so much an assignment as suggestions for coping." He paused. "Are you okay with that word?"

"Coping?" I ran a hand through my hair, feeling my parents' eyes on me, like they were waiting for me to flip out again over his therapeutic word choice. I didn't like seeming unstable in their eyes. I tried to soften my answer and my judgments. "Yeah, I mean... sure. Listen, I'm sorry I was rude earlier. This is all just really weird and a lot to take in."

"We understand," Mom said, then she sat back with an apologetic hand in the air. "I don't mean we understand what this is like for you. We couldn't begin to know..."

Dad jumped in. "Your mother just means we're here for you. We can imagine this is a lot to swallow."

"One day at a time," Todd concluded, handing me a stapled packet. I stood up, ready to conclude this session.

"Olivia." The tone in my mom's voice changed as she also stood up. "You lost the mother who gave birth to you, the woman who loved you the very most for the first year of your life." She stepped toward me, placing her hands on my shoulders. "But since she died, you became mine. And there is no one else in this world who loves you more than me. I want you to know that."

There was no time to plan my reaction. Her words delved deep within me and I fell into her embrace. A burst of emotion stole my breath, burying the many questions still forming in my head. It was all too bizarre to fully comprehend, especially on so little sleep. But I found comfort in the fact that Mom's arms around me felt familiar. And real. And safe.

The first few years of my life carried a heavy tale of loss and complicated secrets. But Mom was right. Through it all, love weighed at the center of those decisions. I counted myself lucky for that.

# Chapter Thirteen

"It could have been worse," I concluded over the phone. I pushed back and lifted my feet, letting my porch bench swing beneath me.

"Are you going back?" Jordyn asked.

"That's the plan."

Jordyn's voice carried through the phone. "I have a question. If your mom didn't adopt you, how does she have the paperwork for your birth certificate or stuff like that?"

It was a good question, one I'd asked her myself. "Apparently, my mom's got connections. Seems like professionals know how to owe favors to one another, so she found someone to forge my documents."

"Sounds so criminal." I picked up on the edge of mystery in Jordyn's tone, with a shade of admiration mixed in there. "Sounds like your Mom isn't so _by the book_ after all. What do you think, Liv? I mean, your mom's a psychiatrist. Given all her training, do you think she made the right choice to keep your adoption a secret?"

I put a hand to my head, rubbing my temple. "Believe me, I was up all night asking myself the same question. I don't think there's an easy answer. Besides, I've heard my mom joke that therapists and psychiatrists are the sickest people. They know how to help others with their problems, but don't know how to help themselves." I smirked in thought, thinking there might be truth to that. "I mean, how else can you explain the weird twist that Jodie was my nanny and is now a patient of my mom's for the second time? That can't be healthy."

"Or ethical?"

I could totally imagine Jordyn raising a skeptical eyebrow as she asked that. "Yeah, definitely not ethical. Which is why—"

"I know, I know," she said. "I haven't breathed a word to my dad. I'd never want that kind of investigation to happen to you or your mom."

I lifted my knees onto the swing, resting an arm on them. "I don't know if the police would even do anything at this point. I'm practically an adult if we round up a few months. But yeah, it's not something I want exposed during my senior year and made public."

"What are you going to do about Jodie?"

The conflict inside me was there again, unable to deny our connection and yet not trusting what that meant. "Uh, nothing, I guess. Like my mom told me last night, she really isn't well. I mentioned the bits of conversations I've had with her, and my mom said it's signs of Jodie regressing into her grief. It might even be triggering her schizophrenic behavior. My mom said she'd been wary about Jodie over the summer, after I commented once that she always paid for her groceries where I was stationed for bagging. Then, when I told her about Jodie going to the police, she knew she had to get involved and become her doctor again, just to keep watch."

All this time, Mom had been trying to help Jodie. Now I knew it was also to protect me and the odd obsession Jodie had with me. I thought back to the way Jodie looked at me and the few things she said to me at the hospital. They were all reflections of how mentally trapped she was in her head. I was a reminder of the daughter she'd lost. Mom was right to try and keep me away, for her sake and mine.

"In other news... there's something else I was wondering about."

I braced myself, hearing Jordyn's less than sly segue into a topic I'd rather not discuss.

"How are things with Andre?" she asked.

"Andre?" My voice squeaked from my throat and I coughed in an effort to cover it up. "Uh, turns out he's pretty cool after all. You know, as a friend. Why do you ask?"

A not so quiet silence fell between us, palpable through the speakers of our phones.

"Come on, Liv. Get real with me here. I've seen the way the two of you look at each other. If there's something going on..."

"There's not," I emphasized. There couldn't be. I wouldn't do that to her again. Besides, friendships with the male gender were so much less complicated when attraction was left out of it. Not that I was claiming _any_ attraction to Andre.

A text popped onto my screen, the words putting a questioning smile on my face.

"Liv, you still there?" Jordyn asked through the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here, but listen, uh... something came up. Can I catch up with you tomorrow?"

"Sure. I need to go through my portfolio anyway and see what photos I want to use."

"Okay. See you then." I bit my lip. I'd just lied to my best friend. Not lied, exactly, but chose not to disclose the full information. I hadn't done that since before Dominic and I went our separate ways. I glanced over my shoulder through the window. No sign of Mom. I read Andre's text one more time, surprised and oddly relieved that it had nothing to do with my therapy session. I'd text him about it right before calling Jordyn.

Looking down at my phone, I considered his words.

_If you can handle one more surprise in your life, meet me at 10 PM outside your house. Dress warm._

The metal gate swung open.

"Thanks, John," Andre said, lifting a hand at the security guard. "I appreciate it."

"Sure thing," the man said. "I don't mind doing a favor for the son of **** Alan Steele. **"** He eyed the blanket in Andre's hands. "Just... you know, don't do anything that's going to get all of us in trouble." He gave a knowing look to Andre, one that made me blush at the suggestion behind it.

"Just a tour and a little star gazing, I swear."

John tapped his watch. "One hour. Be back by then or I'll have to sick Peterson on you. He's driving around on his cart somewhere, and is more of a stickler to the rules than I am."

"Got it. Thanks, man."

We stepped through the gate, facing a wide-open space of desert beneath our feet, except it wasn't empty. Airplanes created an even layer along the ground, lined up one after the other like they'd been meticulously parked. Some of the planes appeared in decent condition, while others carried evidence of wear and tear, illuminated by the floodlights above. The planes in better care had their windows and engine covered by white material, almost as though they were dressed with sleeping masks to protect from the morning light. Other planes seemed to have been stripped down, their faded paint barely leaving the name of the airline intact. The massive extension of planes before me left me feeling small and feeble, like the villager from fairy-tales who is faced with a giant.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Ever heard of an elephant graveyard?" Andre shifted the blanket in his arms.

"Like in _The Lion King_?" I raised an eyebrow and Andre laughed. I followed him as he led us farther from the surrounding fence and toward the center of the field. The planes towered over us, creating a path for us to walk.

"Actually, yeah. I haven't seen that in years, but sure. Same concept as the forbidden elephant graveyard that Simba faces off with."

Despite his teasing remark, I couldn't help but admire his grin and the natural way it made me smile back. "So a bunch of dead elephant bones harboring hyenas. What about it?"

"Well, there's debate on whether this is factual or simply myth, but supposedly in the Saudi Arabian desert, there's a massive grave of elephant bones."

"Like there'd been a mass slaughtering for their tusks?"

"That's one theory," Andre said. "There's another that suggests a flood killed them all at once, or another claims heavy winds blew all the bones into one place, creating the illusion of a mass grave. However, the leading theory lies with the idea that these elephants are lured there by an unknown force to die."

A mechanical clanking sound stirred around us with a sudden breeze, adding eeriness to the story. "Well, that's morbid."

"Not as much as you might think." Andre held up a finger. "It's the idea that these elephants, in anticipating their death, separate themselves from the herd so they are not a burden on their family. When you look at it that way, it's an act of love."

I folded my arms against the cool air. "Is it though? I'd say there's love in allowing your posterity to care for you and be there in your final days. Isn't that really the point of the circle of life?"

"Back to _The Lion King_ , are we?"

I shouldered him. "Leave me and Disney alone."

He chuckled. "Nah, I see what you're saying. Love comes full circle when we take care of those who first cared for us."

"Precisely."

"Now that we've agreed on that... "

I followed his gaze and looked up, catching sight of the impressive wingspan of these commercial jets and in awe of mechanics and technology. How did these enormous clunkers make it into the air?

"Back to my question then. I see that this field is an extension of the Kingman airport, but where are we?" I'd seen the area before from a distance, but never had any reason to question its purpose and existence. I figured it was just part of the normal airport.

"It's called an airplane boneyard."

"Excuse me, a what?" I raised my brows at his choice in words, something that sounded more like a teenage hangout than... whatever this was.

He held up his hands as though removing himself from responsibility. "Hey, I swear that's the official name of it. You can look it up online. It's where planes go to die."

"Die? You mean they are purposely flown here to just... sit here?"

"Yep. Like anything, every plane has a limit to their life. When it's time, they take one final flight and are grounded here or at another boneyard."

I smirked. "Can we please just call it a graveyard?"

"Fine. For the immature audience member here, we can call it an airplane graveyard. So," he continued, motioning all around us. "These planes come here on their deathbed, and then they are broken down for parts or scrap metal. Like this big guy."

I stared up at a plane that was more torn up than some of the others. Resting on stacks of railroad ties, the plane was missing side panels, allowing us to see into its battered interior. It oddly made me feel like I was witnessing the aftermath of a dissection, with the remains left in a vulnerable state.

"Come on." Andre moved to the railroad ties, which were stacked over each other like a game of Jenga. He tucked the blanket over his shoulder and began to climb.

"What are you doing?" I looked around, wondering if the security guard was watching us from his booth with binoculars.

"Don't worry about it, just get up here." Andre heaved himself up another level. "It's sturdy." I watched him climb about twelve feet to the top and drop his blanket. He called down to me again. "It's like climbing a rock wall. Easy."

"I've never climbed a rock wall." I looked up with hesitation, having to crank my head all the way back to see Andre. "This is crazy," I murmured, but a rush of adrenaline filled me when my hands touched the coarse wood beneath my fingers. I told myself it would be like climbing a tree. I began my ascent, using my legs to push me upward and reaching for the boards above my head.

"There you go," Andre encouraged, reaching down his hand.

"I got it." I heaved myself over the edge of the final board and slid my torso onto the wing. Rolling over, I sat up beside Andre. "Whoa!" I laughed in awe at the view and the tingly sensation in my stomach as I peered over the edge. It felt a lot higher from the top. "I can't believe we're sitting on the wing of an airplane." From my position above, now I felt like a bird perched on the roof of a house overlooking the neighbors—which, in this case, happened to be rows of dying airplanes.

I turned to Andre, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. "How are we even allowed up here?"

"My dad works here—I mean, he used to work here—before we moved to Brazil. Not with these beat up commercial planes—" He paused to knock his knuckles against the hollow-sounding metal beneath us, its cool temperature seeping into the back of my pants. "—but at the FedEx hangar on the northwest side of the airport. He used to fly the cargo planes until he became manager for their hub. When he was offered a promotion as executive director in Brazil, he jumped at the chance."

"Bet your mom was happy about that; to go home."

"You could say that. Her English is great, but I know it was nice for her not having people point out her accent. Helped her confidence."

"I like your mom," I said. "I think her accent makes boring English words sound more interesting anyway. Speaking of languages, I was wondering... while you were away, did you pick up any Portuguese?"

Andre cringed. "Do me a favor and don't bring that up in front of my mom. Sore subject." He opened his hands like he had nothing to offer. I wasn't buying it.

"Oh, come on. Your mom is from Brazil and you lived there for four years. Are you really telling me you don't speak any?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. "Well... I'll admit that the guys taught me a few choice phrases..." A hint of mischief touched his features, and I could guess what some of those male-motivated words might be.

"Tell me," I challenged, eager to hear him speak Portuguese even if it did mean something crude or, given that it came from boys, poop-related. A thoughtful expression slid onto his face, one I couldn't quite decipher, except it made my stomach tingle the way it did when I peered over the edge of the plane.

"I'll spare you the dirty lingo, even if it would go over your head." He paused, as though considering his words. "You're much too pretty to be talked to like that."

This wasn't the first time he'd complimented me, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit I liked it. Maybe too much. I broke eye-contact, grateful that the floodlights didn't reach as brightly at the center of the field. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear while I pretended his words didn't reach all the way through me. I returned my gaze. "Tell me something basic then."

He cleared his throat and made a show of straightening his posture. "Are you sure you're ready for this? Here's what I got, the name of my school. _Escola Internacional Do Amazonas_ or International School of the Amazon." The Portuguese name of his school rolled smoothly off his tongue in a way that drew my eyes to his lips.

"Wow. You pronounce those words like you know more Portuguese than you let on. Tell me something else, maybe something you learned during the first couple of weeks there."

He thought a moment. " _Meu nome é Andre. Eu gosto de jogar futebol._"

"Sounds a little Italian! I think I can guess that one. Your name is Andre and something about football... soccer, right?"

"Certo!" he said. "You got it. My name is Andre. I like to play soccer. Like you said, basic." He stuck out his hand. "Enough with my poor tutoring. Here, I want to show you something." I accepted his hand. The feeling returned as he pulled me to my feet, my height adding to the feeling of exposure on top of the wing. "Careful," he said. His fingers touched my lower back, guiding me away from the edge. I forced a deep breath to chase away the butterflies, not willing to think too long on the cause of them. With careful steps, Andre led me toward the body of the plane, where a huge panel had been removed. "Check this out." We stepped onto the plane, finding ourselves in what appeared to be a gutted plane with nothing inside of it. No seats or typical amenities of a passenger plane. We were enclosed by metal.

"Strange to see such an empty plane," I said, hearing the slight reverberation of my voice. The walls were so round and wide that I felt like I was inside the belly of a whale, or the skeleton of one anyway.

"This is the main cargo dock. These big freighters are designed empty like this to hold shipments, so it doesn't hold seats like something you'd fly domestic."

Reaching the front of the plane, I found an inclined ladder where I normally would have assumed the cockpit to be. I peered upward into the blackness. A quiet click behind me suddenly offered light, pointed at the hatch above. Looking behind me, I caught Andre holding up a small flashlight, the size that might have fit perfectly in his pocket.

"Ooh, so prepared. Did you become a boy scout in Brazil, too?"

As I climbed the first few rungs, I heard him call up at me, "The boy scouts don't have a monopoly on being prepared, you know." I felt him just a step behind me by the time I reached the top of the ladder. "Would you prefer this?" Another soft click left us in complete darkness.

"Andre!" I called down to him. He didn't respond. I climbed the ladder to the top and stepped onto the dark second floor. I backed up until my back hit the wall. "You are so not funny." I could hear him rattling his way up the ladder, but my eyes still hadn't adjusted to the sudden blackness, void of moonlight or the stars inside this windowless compartment. Putting out my hands, I shimmied along the wall until my hip ran into something. A table?

"Andre, you made your point. Now, I need you to—"

"What's that?" Andre's voice interrupted from a distance. "You need me?"

"You're an idiot," I laughed, hearing his attempts at stepping quietly toward me. My eyes were catching just a vague outline of his figure now. Three steps away. Now two.

Pressed against the wall, I didn't move. He stood right in front of me, silent and unmoving. I mimicked him, barely breathing. The smile slipped from my face, the situation less funny and the air suddenly dense with our thoughts, ones we no longer felt safe to share. We remained soundless, except for the thumping of my heart, which seemed to be echoing off the walls. Or maybe that was his heart. He was standing a mere thread away so that I should be able to hear his, too. I sensed him more than I could see him.

He placed his hands against the wall behind me, positioning them just outside my shoulders. I heard the quiet clink of metal when his flashlight touched the wall, hidden beneath his palm. I swallowed, uncertain anticipation stealing my breath.

His own whispered breath touched my cheek. "What did you need?"

Answers to his question raced in my head. __ I swallowed my thoughts, my desires—exiling them to the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to refocus on denying these impulses.

His lips brushed against mine, one gentle sweep that triggered the sense of falling from the sky, like I'd slipped loose from a rollercoaster. That's all it took for me to want it. Need it. The hint of his kiss tickled my lips, presenting a question before us. I imagined leaning forward, pulling his face toward mine. I could. Maybe I should. The gratifying idea of pressing my lips against his teased my taste buds. While my thoughts raced in these moments, he waited—whether for my consent or merely to torment my longing, I wasn't sure. I only knew I needed to put an end to it.

My eyes flew open, catching the shadow of Andre's face. I placed two nervous hands on his chest, feeling the tight muscles beneath it and the heave of his chest as he breathed deeply.

I shoved him.

He stepped backward with a sound of surprise. The flashlight fell to the floor with a startling clash. I crouched and scrambled for it with my hands. Turning it on, I pointed it at the ground, gathering my senses. Spotting the ladder, I descended. My feet flew beneath me, my hands following their pace, gripping each rung with damp palms.

Reaching the bottom, I hurried toward the wing. I needed to get off this plane.

# Chapter Fourteen

"Liv, wait."

I ignored Andre's voice and the sound of him scrambling behind me. I walked onto the wing, making it five steps before he tugged on my wrist.

Spinning to face him, I wrenched free from his grasp, pulling harder than necessary. My momentum drove me backward, sabotaging my balance. The heel of my shoe caught the edge of the plane. My arms flailed. Tossing my head over my shoulder, I caught sight of the ground below. My body teetered on the wing, a startled gasp leaping from my throat.

"I've got you." The calm of Andre's voice matched the steadiness of his arms around me. He pulled me forward and I fell against him, breathing away the jolt of adrenaline. Once secure in the center of the wing, I pushed him away again. Embarrassed, I headed toward the blanket, knowing it indicated where we'd ascended the railroad ties.

"Liv, I'm sorry, okay?" He followed me. "That was a jerk move in there."

I shook my head, grateful for the brisk air cooling my face, though I still didn't face him. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad at you exactly, I just... I don't know." I folded my arms, the sense of vulnerability encasing me again. This time, however, I knew it wasn't because I was standing on the wing of an airplane. Andre grabbed the blanket and draped it around my shoulders.

"Come on, sit down," he said, "just for another minute, and then I'll take you home." I complied, tucking my knees into my chest with the blanket shrouding me. How could I explain what I'd just felt in there? I couldn't, or more simply, didn't want to. Instead, we sat in silence, letting the mechanical sounds of dead and dying airplanes groan and clatter with the wind.

"This is your fault, you know," I said at last, not looking at him. "An airplane graveyard is a morbid place for romance." The wind whistled through the empty spaces of the plane, high pitched and frenzied as though proving my point. I peeked at Andre, relieved to see a small smile back on his face.

"Believe it or not, romance actually was not the intent of tonight."

"No? What was it then? I didn't really think too much about your intentions when I snuck out of the house. I was just eager for a break from the tiptoed conversations with my mom." I sighed. "I never thought I'd miss how direct she always is."

"Your session sounded pretty intense." Andre hesitated while he read my expression. "I... didn't ask earlier because I thought you might need a break from talking about it."

I fiddled with the blanket, my fingers rolling the edge between my fingers. "Knowledge is a twisted concept. I've been thinking about how people felt when they discovered the earth is round and not flat. How overwhelming would that be to believe something is true for so long, only to figure out that's not the case? The truth was true all along, yet nobody knew it. Instead, everyone misguidedly followed limited information." I shook my head. "How many times has science corrected our knowledge of what is true? From the food we eat, to the products we use that suddenly cause cancer or other problems... I don't know how society keeps up! I can't help but think that everything we've ever known is susceptible to change. How can we trust anything to be true?"

Andre seemed to know I wasn't expecting answers. I just needed to vent. He let me continue. "Every so often, it's like society faces a shift in thinking. That's where I'm at. My reality is changing. The belief of who I am and where I come from no longer exists. I already knew I was missing information because of a dad that didn't care to have anything to do with me. In Mr. Warner's class, I figured my biological father was the main blind spot in my life. But now, the one person who I believed gave birth to me and made me the essence of who I am... is no longer that person. She's still my mother, of course. But now I'm aware that so much more is missing. So much could be different. Would I be someone else if my birth mom had raised me? If my dad had raised me?"

Andre made a thoughtful sound. "Did I tell you that before I transferred to Westmont, I was in the middle of completing a psychology class? We had just finished studying _Nature versus Nurture_. Are we who we are because of biology or our environment?" Andre lifted shoulders. "Since I completed the reading, here's a _spoiler alert_ : there's a little bit of both genes and environment that play into who you become. Take athletes for example. There may have been a better basketball player than Michael Jordan born in the middle of nowhere, with no access to a hoop or a court. Maybe he had the raw potential, but lacked the environment necessary to refine his genetic skills."

I watched him quietly, admiring how effortless he spoke on the topic. "You're kinda good at this psychology stuff. Seems like you really take the reading and assignments to heart." I smiled when he pulled on the collar of his shirt, exposing a long vertical vein that I'd never noticed before.

"Nah, it's just more interesting to me than math or science. Now those are two subjects I can admire from a distance. Seems like that's your department of expertise."

I laughed. "What? No... math and science get a bad rap, but they're easier in some ways. The equations take time and practice, but at least there's little room for grey areas. The answer is what it is, no matter the route you take. Matters of psychology on the other hand, well..."

I considered my own upbringing. As far as my memories served me, I grew up with a set of loving parents, plenty of resources for a private school, music lessons and a push for strong academics, and with stable financial options for college. A career path was never in question. Had my birth mother survived as a single mom struggling through college and with no family support, what kind of person might I have become then? What different opportunities or disadvantages would I have experienced, and how would my interests be different?

"I could be anyone," I whispered, staring out across the graveyard of planes. I hadn't meant for Andre to hear my statement, but he did.

"What's wrong with who you are now?"

"Nothing, except... this is all making sense to me now. My mom and I never really connected in our interests, not in a genuine way. We both play string instruments, but that's because she set it up that way. She played the cello and arranged for me to be trained in the violin, but not because it was my idea. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have learned but I just wonder... would there be other things I'd be good at by now? Like what I told you in class the other day about sports."

"Well, it's never too late to pick up new interests. Maybe we need another game of soccer." Andre took off his hat and placed it on my head. "What do you know," he pulled back to examine my face, using one hand to turn my chin. He fixed a strand of hair along my jawline.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, shying away from his attention.

"The sporty-look suits you." He studied my features, and then adjusted the rim of the hat once more with a soft tug. "You should wear hats more often."

A smile slipped onto my face at the compliment. "I don't even own one. Not a cap anyway."

"Well, now you do," he said. "Keep it." He brushed off my attempts to give it back. "No really. Consider it... a reminder that there's still time to figure things out about yourself. Nothing wrong with that either."

I pressed my lips together into a crooked smile. "Thanks."

We fell into comfortable silence, staring out across the rows of airplanes. We caught movement in the distance and the sound of a small motor approaching.

"The other security guard!" The words barely escaped my mouth before Andre pulled back on both of my shoulders. Lying flat on top of his arm, he shushed my protest, three fingers resting on my mouth. I giggled beneath his fingertips before lying still. We listened intently, waiting for the motor to die with distance.

I turned my face toward him, my left cheek pressed against the surface of the wing. My voice was only a whisper. "Is he gone?"

He turned to respond, his face lining up perfectly with mine. His breathy response matched mine. "I think so." A hint of his cologne drew me closer. Our eyes met, our faces inches from each other. I wondered if he saw me look at his lips, his jaw-line. Probably not, because when my eyes found his again, they were gazing at my mouth, my neck.

He wouldn't try to kiss me. Not this time. Not after I'd just run from him inside the plane. We could just let that same tense silence from before run its course... allowing it to escape before we felt safe enough to crack a joke. We were finally friends after all, carrying around this charged, natural tension between the opposite genders without all the complications of...

His warm breath fell on my lips, an invisible proposition to something more. Something real and tangible. Resisting no longer, my lips pressed against his, holding against his soft lips and uncertain if I should continue. I didn't have to decide. Andre matched the pressure of my kiss before opening his lips to lure me in. I took the bait, welcoming the deep push and pull of our lips connecting.

The moment became surreal, a part of me distracted by rapid-fire thoughts questioning what I was doing kissing Andre Steele, in awe that my mouth was really pressed against his while lying on the wing of an airplane. The greater part of me, though, relished the words, _I am kissing Andre Steele._ I let those sensations guide me.

In one swift movement, he rolled so that his face hovered above mine. I lifted my head, eager to indulge in feelings that had been in hibernation since Dominic. But with skilled subtlety, Andre slowed our kiss, controlling the waves. All thoughts of Dominic were eliminated as I moved into new territory with Andre, curious and drawn in by his gentler approach. My hand slid beyond his round shoulders, moving along the vein I'd noticed earlier until my hand found the base of his neck. I pulled him closer, our movement suddenly so comfortable that I forgot I'd ever worried about being so intimate with Andre.

I opened my eyes for just a moment and caught a glimpse of the sky behind his head. I put a hand against his shoulder to pause his advances. "Andre, look." He followed the line of my arm indicating toward the lightly glittered sky. Despite the intensity of our kiss, the spectacle above us could not be ignored. A small star burst across the sky before it disappeared. Another followed suit, leaping across the midnight canvas like a ballerina. Andre rotated his position so that he sat beside me. We watched a handful of stars take turns lighting up the sky with a brief appearance before being snuffed out like a candle.

"Shooting stars," I murmured in awe. "I'd heard the meteor shower would be visible this week, but I completely forgot about it."

"Good because I wanted to surprise you. It's why I brought you out here. The uh... kissing was just a nice bonus."

I laughed and knocked his shoulder with mine before pulling my knees up to my chest. Now that we weren't in the throes of the moment, I was a little embarrassed that I'd let myself get carried away. I was glad we had something else to focus on while I gathered myself. Andre, on the other hand, didn't seem phased. I could feel his eyes on my profile even though my face was positioned toward the stars again. It was like he was drinking me in. I didn't dare look over at him. Was I afraid I'd kiss him again? Maybe I was afraid I wouldn't. Staring at the stars seemed a safer bet.

After a moment, we laid on our backs, our gaze remaining upward. When the meteor shower fizzled to a close, we remained in silence for a time. I was the first to speak. "Can you imagine what it must be like to be up there in space?"

Andre murmured in response. "Yeah. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid, for like, five days in fifth grade."

"Very committed, I see."

He chuckled at my comment. "I'd like to think of it as open-minded. You know, scope out all of my options before settling down with one."

"That always was your M.O., wasn't it?" I let him in on my facetious grin, knowing he couldn't argue that the audience of girls chasing after him had never been small. He seemed to skip right past my tentative humor. He sat up with a thoughtful expression, the tone of his next words low and quiet.

"Is that what you think I'm doing? With you?"

I let out a half-hearted laugh, dropping my head and hoping he couldn't see me blush. The comment just slipped out. I hadn't intended to talk about it. Trying to backtrack, I said, "I just meant you've always been a big teaser. I can see how... it might be hard to take you seriously."

His palm slid under mine until my fingers rested on top of his, not quite holding my hand but connecting us all the same. I quieted my intake of breath, not wanting to reveal how the simple gesture stirred my emotions. "I'm not playing around with you, Liv."

My heart warmed at his words, followed closely by an uneasiness I couldn't ignore. Since the end of our kiss, my mind began to wander back to those rapid-fire questions that tried to infiltrate the moment.

_What was I doing kissing Andre Steele?_ _What about my promises?_

"What are you thinking?" he asked. "And why does it feel like it's not in my favor?"

An awkward conversation lay before me, best tackled by honesty. "Guess you have a right to wonder what's going on in my head." I pulled my hand away, fiddling with my new oversized hat as an excuse.

"My whole plan this year was to escape predictability. My life, to this point, has been... fairly standard. My mom patterned me after her own success, and I should be grateful for all the preparations, the plans, the opportunities. And I am, but at the same time, it's just been weighing on me that my life has been sculpted for me." I shrugged, peeking at Andre beneath the brim of my hat. "I guess I kind of want to break the mold."

He sat quietly before speaking. "So, somehow I fit into this mold of unwanted predictability."

I nodded, thinking about the conversation I'd had with Jordyn during Andre's first week back in school. "Liking you is what's expected. You're the new kid again. Every girl at school thinks you're hot and—"

" _Every_ girl?"

I relaxed a little, sensing his feigned haughtiness. "If I must spell it out for you, then _yes_ even I admitted it when I first saw you, despite holding onto our childish rivalry. I was still bitter at what a punk you used to be."

"But now I'm a good kisser." He grinned at me, offering a smile I used to loathe, but now couldn't resist returning.

"That's....irrelevant. My point—"

"Is it though?" Andre placed a hand on my shoulder, letting me feel the weight of his hand before he slid it up my neck. His palm cupped along my left jaw. "You think what we felt earlier when we kissed is irrelevant? That the conversations we've had don't hold significance?"

My next word barely made it out to clarify my point. "Predictable." I knocked his hand away so I could talk without stuttering from his touch. "Of course the kiss felt good, but that's to be expected. There is nothing new or unconventional about a boy and a girl liking how that feels. It is, however, predictable. And breaking my rules."

" _What rules_?" His dumbfounded expression wasn't lost on me.

"Mine. They're... goals I have. Small steps toward making this year different than any other, namely by not letting another boy override my friendships. Earlier today, I didn't even want to tell my best friend that you and I were meeting up tonight. Jordyn was literally on the phone with me when you text and I felt too guilty to tell her that I was meeting up with you. That I am, in fact... attracted to you. The problem is that being with you feels too much like how last year turned out for me, and I'd feel like a hypocrite."

Andre remained quiet for a minute before responding, his answer sounding slightly defeated. "Well, guess I can't rag on you for having goals."

"Thank you."

"Even if they make _no_ sense."

I laughed. "Well, I'm glad we can still be friends. We've come a long way, you and me." I hoped he could feel my honesty. My appreciation. "And hey, if it's any consolation, you almost swayed me."

"Almost, huh?" He stood up, stretching his legs and offered his hand. "I still might have a little more persuasion left in me. Want to finish checking out that cockpit?" Even in the dark, his teasing eyes invited my heart, my laughter.

"Only if I get to be Captain."

"That can be negotiated. For a price..."

"Not a chance."

# Chapter Fifteen

I splashed crisp water on my face and dragged wet fingers through my hair before securing it into a ponytail. Andre's hat reflected at me in the mirror, hanging on the towel hook behind me. I eyed it thoughtfully, catching a smile sliding onto my face as I remembered the previous night. It had been the most random evening, hanging out in an airplane graveyard of all places, exploring an empty cargo plane, watching a meteor shower and... indulging in the kiss that shouldn't have happened. Without Andre present, I could quietly admit to myself that I was still glad it did. One kiss couldn't hurt anything, right? We'd even set boundaries. I grabbed Andre's hat and pulled it over my head, nodding at my reflection with approval.

"Look who's got a little bounce in her step this morning," Dad said from the table, putting aside his iPad.

"Who me?" Uh-oh. I needed to play it off better before he started asking questions. "Oh... I guess it's true what they say about going to bed by eleven. Better quality of sleep for every minute before midnight."

Mom stepped out from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and handed one to Dad. "That would make for a good assessment if you had actually been asleep at eleven." She took a sip, keeping her eyes on me over the rim of her mug. "In fact, I'd just be happy if you'd stayed in your room all night, but that's obviously not the case."

I froze, watching Dad's head swivel between the two of us before landing back on me. "What's this?" he asked.

Since I elected not to say anything, Mom stepped in. "I went to check in on her at eleven-thirty and Olivia wasn't in her room or even in the house for that matter. I heard her come in closer to one AM."

I folded my arms. "What am I, five? Why were you in my room?"

"Because I've been worried about you, given everything that's come to surface as of late. Honestly, Olivia, I'm all about respecting privacy and your need for space right now, but there are still ground rules you need to follow—namely not sneaking out at night." She frowned at me. "Does last night have anything to do with that new hat you're wearing? Were you with Andre?"

Dad slid back his chair, coming to his feet. It seemed the mention of a boy piqued his concern. "Is that right? You were with the Steele's kid after midnight?"

I held up my hands, desperate to thwart their attack of questions. "Whoa, seriously, you guys. Can you step off for a minute?"

"Step off? Liv, what's going on with the attitude this morning?" Dad asked, his arms crossing over one another. Dad hardly ever became upset with me, especially because Mom usually took the reins with the minor amount of discipline that went on around here. This was obviously my fault. I didn't get in trouble enough and so now that I'd made one wrong step, they were coming down hard like I'd spent the evening at some risqué club.

"This is because of Andre, isn't it?" Mom said. "The hat, the sneaking out, the disrespectful attitude... I understand he is a nice-looking boy, but it might be best if you hold off on spending so much time together."

I made a sound of disgust, throwing up my hands. "You guys are unreal. I have one normal, teenage moment of being out after hours and you're freaking out."

"It's because we've always been very involved in your life, Olivia. That's not going to stop now just because you're a senior in high school."

"Involved? More like controlling." The last few words came out as a disgruntled mumble, like I'd lost my nerve in the last second to finish the sentence with strength.

"Come again?" Mom said, her tone sharpened.

I dropped my eyes, staring at the floor. "You obviously heard me."

"Hold on now," Dad said, stepping between us. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Liv, look at me. This behavior isn't you. What's going on?"

I took a breath, not liking the words falling out of my mouth either. Yet at the same time, it felt right to say them. "I'm just wondering if I'd be a different person if I'd had more freedom growing up."

"Freedom?" Mom laughed. "Well that's a little melodramatic, isn't it? You make it sound like I've had you locked in your room."

"I don't mean it like that," I said. "Mom, you have always had strong opinions and Dad often says it was your confidence that he was so drawn to when you two met. It's great and all but... I just wonder if there were more options than the ones you _let_ me explore. It's like you took all the guess work out of what's best for me, but I didn't get to figure it out for myself."

Mom put a hand to her head, taking a moment to compose herself. "Life is short. If you're going to excel, there's no point in allowing you to waste time on things that are of no real importance."

"But why do you get to decide that, Mom?"

Dad interrupted, gesturing with his hands that we calm ourselves. "This conversation isn't going anywhere productive. Liv, if you were being honest with yourself, is it possible this is still about your birth mom and the adoption?"

"You mean how I'm basically a _non-adopted_ orphan?"

"Olivia, please," Mom said. "I explained to you why I couldn't go that route. You've always been mine. We don't need legal paperwork to define that, no more than your dad needs to prove he is your father. Family is far more than legal documents. Our relationships create our families."

"So why did you marry Dad then, if the process and symbolism behind the event isn't important to you?"

Mom sighed, looking to Dad for help but he seemed unable to contribute any comfort. Maybe adopting me meant more to him than he'd ever let on. Again, he felt like the silent ally in the room who didn't verbally want to take sides. Mom clasped her hands together and tried on her own. "The law gives certain benefits to married couples, but of course that wasn't why Darren and I married. We were two grown adults who fell in love and we entered into a contract." She held up her left hand. "This ring and our marital documents imply permanency, something I never needed in my relationship with you. Being a wife is not the same thing as being a mother. I didn't need a contract for you to be mine."

I huffed a breath of air out of my nose, no longer looking at her. Mom's rational explanation made sense. Of course it would, coming from her, but it still didn't take away the insecurity I felt. I was discovering that logic means nothing to matters of the heart.

"Mom, I get why you couldn't adopt me. You were rescuing me from a difficult situation, and you've done the best you could. But stop telling me it doesn't matter because it does."

The doorbell rang and I used it as an excuse to flee down the hall. I opened the door. Jordyn stood there with a steaming cup of something. Probably my favorite chai latte. After evaluating my expression and peeking behind me at my parents, she guessed, "Bad time?"

"No, your timing is perfect." I grabbed my boots and pulled them over my jeans. Snatching a jacket and my purse off the wall, I glanced over my shoulder at my parents, who were whispering to each other. I didn't want to stick around to hear about it. "I need to get out of here."

"What was that all about?" Jordyn asked from behind the wheel. I took a sip of my tea, letting the heat seep down my throat. I considered the thought rolling through my mind, my indecision short-lived.

"It's time for a change," I said. "Are you game?"

Jordyn slid the gear into reverse. "Always."

"There's no going back," the stylist said to my reflection. She waved her scissors at me. "You're sure?"

I ran my fingers through my tresses one last time. I'd had long hair for as long as I could remember, never straying from Mom's encouragement to keep the length because I'd regret ever chopping it short.

"It will be such a long process to grow it back," she'd say to me when I played around with the idea. "Don't cut your elegance away."

I'd never considered myself elegant, not by a long shot, but my indecisiveness and her discouragement were enough for me to scrap the notion. Dirty-blonde and hanging straight across my back had been all I knew. Sitting there in the salon and studying my reflection, I gave my final approval.

"Do it. I promise I won't be one of those remorseful customers who demands you glue it back together." The hair stylist, named Maura, laughed as I shot a quick glance at Jordyn. She was sitting on a couch by the door, waiting for me. She quietly clapped her hands with a gleeful grin on her face, followed by two thumbs up.

The scissors snipped two inches below my chin. My hair fell to the ground in chunks, sliding off my shoulders. The pile at my feet grew like a bird gathering its nest.

"Oh, my gosh!" I could hear Jordyn squeal. With a subtle turn, I caught her covering her mouth with her hands. Maybe she hadn't thought I'd really go through with it. Either way, her response made me giddy and nervous at the same time. I held my breath, braving my reflection when the snipping paused.

"You good?" Maura asked, chomping her gum with an amused expression. She tossed her head, moving dark layers streaked with vibrant blue and purple out of her eyes. When I nodded, the snipping continued, the sound of the blades sliding against each other oddly relaxing me. She worked fast but skillfully, angling my hair along my face and shortening the back of my neck. She pulled out her razor, running the buzzing metal a couple of inches above my neckline for a finishing touch.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "I just need to dry your hair and then I'll sharpen those layers. What do you think so far?"

I turned my head left and right, my head feeling so much lighter. Bending my naked neck, I ran my fingers against the grain. The front of my hair fell across my face in a long, dramatic A-line. "I think I love it," I said in awe, my cheekbones rising.

"It frames your face nicely," Maura said to me, "and suits your shape." She studied me a moment. "What's the occasion?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I've been in this business long enough to know that chopping off locks as long as yours are usually inspired by something, like a snake shedding its skin and starting anew. I had one client who'd lost her husband in a car accident. She'd always been too afraid to try something different with her hair, but after her loss, caring too much about a haircut seemed petty to her. It was like she was reminding herself that there were far more important things to care about than a bad haircut. In the end, she totally rocked the look." The stylist tilted her head at me. "You know. Stuff like that."

With my fingers still combing through my hair, I lifted my shoulders. "I guess I fall into that category." I spoke to my reflection. "I needed a change. Something unexpected that couldn't be undone."

"Well, if that's the case..." the stylist handed me a binder of hair color samples. "Why stop now?"

We stepped out of the salon and I shielded my eyes from the sun.

"I'm sorry that took hours! I didn't really expect all of... this." I gestured at my freshly cut, colored, and styled hair bouncing with each step.

"Are you kidding?" Jordyn matched my stride, releasing another breathy laugh. "I'd be mad at you if you did this without me. Girl, your hair is glowing!"

I cringed. "Are you sure it's not too much?" I caught my reflection in the window of her car. She was right. My previously untouched, dirty-blonde hair now shone a deep auburn with caramel highlights throughout. The stylist had even added smoky eye-shadow and liner to my eyes for added effect, after begging to play with my makeup for a dramatic finishing touch.

"Oh, it's definitely too much, but it's exactly what you need right now."

"Then why do I feel like someone just punched me in the gut?"

Jordyn's arm came around my back and rested on my shoulders, joining my reflection. "Because you've never traveled outside your comfort zone before, and because you know your mom is going to lose it when she sees what you've done."

I cringed. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

She gave me a squeeze. "Can't help you there, Sista. Being honest with yourself is a tough road." She spun me around to face her. "Liv, you look freakin' hot! Let's go show you off! Where to?"

Home wasn't an option. I wasn't ready to deal with Mom's reaction, and I had more on my mind than dealing with the repercussions of my haircut. I thought of the hairstylist's story of the woman who'd lost her husband. She was right. There were more important things to be concerned about that were less petty than a haircut, like finding answers.

"Take me to see Jodie."

Jordyn questioned me the entire way to the mental hospital. "Now you're really trying to push your mom over the edge," Jordyn warned. "It's one thing to get a little more edgy with your hair and makeup, but to go back to the mental hospital after you could have gotten her fired?" Her grimace suggested I reconsider.

She had a point. I knew I was walking on thin ice with Mom as it was. She'd only been backing off so far because she felt guilty about keeping my past from me. If she caught me at the mental hospital directly disobeying her orders, I'd lose any leverage that I had on her. Regardless, the need to see Jodie returned. Other than Mom, she was the only direct connection to my past. Even if she couldn't tell me about it, I knew it'd make me feel better just to be in her presence, like it had all been real. Maybe I'd even remember something more.

We pulled into the parking lot. "How do you want to do this?" Jordyn asked as she maneuvered to park. I stared at the greying building, remembering the last time I'd stepped inside and had been escorted out by security. I'd never be able to get in through the front. "What time is it?" I asked, glancing at my phone. I answered my own question. "It's twelve-fifteen, so if I'm remembering the schedule correctly, the patients are finishing lunch and will be out in the courtyard in a few minutes." I opened my car door and stepped out. Jordyn followed suit and spoke to me across the hood of the car.

"That still doesn't explain how you're getting in. So, how is this going to happen, fearless leader?"

I smiled at her words. I'd never considered myself a leader. I was skilled in a lot of areas, but not someone who paved the way for anyone or pursued something new. That terrain belonged to Jordyn. I rather liked the sound of it. I shook my hair out of my face, loving the breeze skiing across the back of my neck. "We're going through the back. Come on."

The courtyard was a fenced-in garden with tables and chairs filling the little patio. Spacious grass, trees, and flowers extended beyond the patio with paved paths winding through it. I peeked through the wrought iron fence, my hands gripping the rungs.

"Are you climbing over?" Jordyn asked, glancing upward at the sharp points at the top.

"No, of course not. I'm going to stay right here. _You_ are going to go back and check in through the front desk and make your way back to the courtyard. After their lunch, volunteers are encouraged to walk with the patients and get them some exercise, so—"

"You want me to bring Jodie to you," she finished for me.

"Exactly."

"Clever girl," Jordyn said with admiration, giving a nod of approval.

I beamed at her in satisfaction. "Learned from the best."

"But you are going to single-handedly get all the students from Westmont banned from ever volunteering here again. You know that, right?" She stared back at me, like she wanted me to take deep consideration to this plan.

"Just go," I urged.

I clenched and unclenched the fence, not as confident as I was presenting myself to Jordyn. I could very well get in trouble, except I wasn't really on the premises. True, I'd walked through the parking lot, but the courtyard backed up against a public street. Unless touching the fence was considered entering the facility, this really wasn't breaking the rules at all.

The sound of a car pulling up against the curb drew my attention. I stepped back from the fence, my hands rigid at my side as I turned to see who it was.

Andre. My hands immediately moved to my hair, self-consciously pulling on the longest length falling along my jawline. He stepped out of his car, disbelief altering his expression. "This is completely not fair." He shut his door and approached me, his eyes taking me in. I folded my arms, not sure what else to do with them. I thought of how he must be seeing me, the fresh cut and color with makeup applied heavier than I'd ever done before. "After last night's conversation, you thought all of this would make it easier for me to ignore you? Now you're just being cruel."

I didn't have time for this, even if he was throwing flattery my way. "Andre, what are you doing here?" I tossed my head back at the courtyard. No sign of the patients or Jordyn yet. They should be coming any minute now.

Startled, I flipped back around when Andre's hand touched my hair, his fingertips grazing my cheek. His unexpected touch reminded me of last night on the plane, beckoning for an encore. I stepped back.

"Sorry," he said, "It's just... I didn't recognize you at first." He opened his hands with a shake of his head. "I mean, you turned heads before, but uh, this is definitely a good look for you." He cleared his throat like he was unsure of his words. "Anyway, what am I doing here? Well, thanks to your discrete confession, I still have volunteer privileges. Thought I'd clock a couple of hours to distract myself from showing up on your doorstep. When I drove past, I saw you and Jordyn hanging around like a suspicious duo. You didn't exactly go for inconspicuous with your new locks."

Despite the jest of his words, I felt his admiration again. "This was more of a spontaneous stop. I guess spontaneity is my theme for the day."

"You're spying on Jodie."

"Spying sounds so devious. I prefer to think of it as getting well-deserved answers." A murmur of movement exited the building as patients navigated into the courtyard. "Are you staying or going?" I asked Andre. Not waiting for an answer, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him behind a small tree.

"Hiding in the bushes. Now this really feels like official espionage."

"Quiet." I peered between the branches. "There's Jodie." She walked at an even pace and moved to sit on one of the patio chairs. Just as she almost sat down, Jordyn linked arms with her and whispered in her ear. Then I watched Jordyn look around as though observing her surroundings. She seemed to be making note of where the two staff members were located, both of whom were spread out and chatting with various patients. I watched two women walk together across the grass, not quite toward Andre and me, but away from the building.

Good. It would look less obvious when Jordyn walked Jodie to us. It only took another minute before they made their way over. Jordyn seemed to be chatting in a friendly manner, however, I recognized the tension in her posture and the anxious way she kept checking over her shoulder.

_Come on, Jordyn. Ease up a bit._

She spotted us and hurried her steps, tugging Jodie with her. Even from a distance, I could tell that Jodie was less drugged than the last time I'd seen her. Her movements were less sluggish and she appeared to be responding to Jordyn's questions. Maybe Mom had adjusted her meds after all.

Jordyn positioned Jodie near a tree on their side of the fence, and at an angle so that we were all slightly more concealed from the staff. Fortunately, they seemed occupied with attending to the other patients. We probably had just a few minutes.

"Here are my friends I told you about," Jordyn said to Jodie. "Do you remember them? They visited you before."

Jodie looked back and forth between Andre and me through the fence. Her eyes landed back on me and a smile crossed her face. Her mouth fell open and her expression resembled a child on Christmas morning. "You cut your hair!" She reached her hand through the fence and lightly pinched the ends of my hair.

"Yes, I did. Freshly cut this morning."

Her voice softened with concern. "That's a good idea, trying to disguise yourself. You're a smart girl. I knew you'd be okay." She looked up for a moment. "Do you remember when _I_ cut your hair?"

I stuttered with uncertainty. Was she talking about when she was my nanny? She'd never spoken to me of that time or our connection. I didn't know why she felt safe to do so now. But then again, she did have a stack of documents filed away that labeled her as certifiably crazy. She could get away with saying anything.

Andre whispered in my ear. "Just go with it. See what happens." He was right. This was the reason I came.

"Yes, I do remember," I said, "But why don't you tell me more about it?"

Jodie let out a pleasant laugh, gazing at my face again. "You and your beautifully long hair... But you wanted to cut it for so long. You couldn't believe it when you finally received permission."

"How old was I?"

"Oh, you must have been ten-years-old."

"Wait, I was ten?" That wasn't possible. Mom said she was only my nanny when I was toddler-aged. Even her own daughter died long before then.

Jodie tilted her head, confused by my reaction. "Yes, I still remember what you were wearing that day. You wore your favorite shirt to go with your new hair."

I shook my head. She was confused. Again, she was remembering me—or inventing me—as someone else. "Jodie," I spoke carefully, "Do you know who I am?"

She frowned at me. "I told you I'd never forget you. You're my daughter."

My stomach twisted inside itself. Everything about this conversation felt wrong. I didn't mean to mislead her and yet every time we spoke, I carried this guilt like I was playing into this fantasy world of hers, hindering her from getting better. Yet I kept coming back to her, like we both somehow needed each other. But that didn't make sense, did it? I was sure my new therapist would have answers and some theory or another to explain my thought process. Maybe this was completely normal in my quest to understand my past, but Jodie's answers disturbed me and equally intrigued me.

We were here. I may as well ask the question we'd all been wondering about since she turned herself into the police.

"Jodie, there are a lot of clothes in your basement. Children's clothes in the closet. Do you know who they belong to?"

Jodie stepped closer to the fence, her nose almost touching it. "They're yours, of course." She paused, her eyes suddenly boring deep into mine. Her face fell with disappointment. "And you used to call me Mother."

# Chapter Sixteen

"Thanks for getting me away from there," I said to Andre. I sank into the passenger seat and pulled a knee up to my chest, resting an arm on top of it. I chewed my thumbnail, reflecting on Jodie's words.

_I used to call her Mother?_

The strange obsession had crossed a line, pushing me beyond feeling sorry for her to being afraid. Mom was right. Jodie was sick. Maybe she'd never been well. Instead of feeling sorry and concerned for her, I should be grateful that Mom had been keeping an eye on her over the years. Now Jodie would be getting the help she needed. The fact that she viewed me as her dead daughter, one she'd not only dreamed up a relationship with but also spent years purchasing clothes for, should be proof enough that the mental hospital was where she needed to be. If she were back on the streets, her infatuation with me might end, but then start up with someone else. Overmedicated or not, Jodie Porter was exactly where she belonged.

"So where are we going?" Andre asked, driving out of the parking lot.

"Anywhere but here. I feel bad ditching Jordyn, but it would look bad if she left her shift when she just started volunteering. Standing there with Jodie though..."

"Wasn't quite the answer you were looking for?" he suggested.

"Not quite. I wanted to help her, not add to her delusion. To be honest, I think I even wanted her to help _me_." I stared out the window as we passed houses, and cars, and _normal lives_. But maybe I was the delusional one. Maybe there was no such thing as normal—just the perception of normal—and everybody behind those doors and curtained windows were all concealing their own abnormalities.

"Is this where your involvement with Jodie ends?" Andre asked after being a silent companion to my thoughts.

I rested my head on one hand, my elbow sitting on the center console. "Jordyn's mom is into astrology and auras and all that energy stuff. If you catch her at the right time, she'll talk your ear off about it. She told me once that the Universe has ways of bringing people together. While some think events are pure coincidence, she would say certain events happen so that people can learn something from one another. I guess I'm confused. Was it just dumb luck that I felt drawn to Jodie? But what are the odds that she'd end up being my nanny from a part of my past I had no idea about?"

I didn't expect an answer, and Andre remained silent for a time before offering input. "I don't know much about how the Universe works, but in this case, I think it makes perfect sense that you felt a pull from Jodie. Even though you were little, your subconscious must have recognized her and was trying to make sense of it all. Sounds pretty logical to me."

"Either way, whether a push from the Universe or simply sound reasoning, this is all really screwed up. Now that I have the information about my past and the present knowledge that she's unstable, what now?"

"Up to you. Is it making you feel better to talk with Jodie and investigate your past?"

_No_. The word popped into my head before I could even really think about his question. There was my subconscious again, trying to take charge. But the last time I allowed that to happen, it led me to this confusing situation, with more questions and reserve about Jodie. However, the answer remained the same.

"No, it's not helping. It's making everything worse for me and my family, like this morning for instance. I got into it with my parents about not being adopted, and then what'd I do? I immediately went to talk to Jodie. It's like we have this unhealthy connection, and trying to figure out my past or the part Jodie played in it just aggravates everything." I met Andre's gaze, the displeasure from dissecting my past weighing on me. "So that's my answer. I am going to stop looking into it. I'm done."

His eyes stayed on me, something else passing over his expression.

"What?"

"Nothing..."

"No, tell me. What were you just thinking?" For some reason, his opinion mattered.

He shook his head with a grin, his eyes back on the road. "I'm just really digging your hair."

"Oh." I sat back in my seat, rubbing my lips together to hide my pleased smile. "I see you're really invested in our conversation."

His mouth opened and closed as he sat up more in his seat. "No, I am. I'm actually very interested in what you're saying, but I can't help it if you chose a very distracting way to rebel."

I made a contemptuous sound. "Why does everyone assume I'm rebelling? Only a person who has never done anything remotely against their parents' wishes would be labeled as such. I'm just trying something new."

"That your mom will hate." He winked at me and I laughed.

"Yes, she will probably think it's too extreme." I played with my hair, appreciating how the natural light further highlighted the red tone. "Hopefully she can understand the difference between tip-toeing to the edge of the fence, and tunneling underneath to leave the compound for good."

I admired his chuckled response and the way it emphasized his jawline. "Speaking of compounds," I said, paying attention to our surroundings. "This is your house, not mine."

He pulled up into his driveway. "From the way you were talking, I didn't think you wanted to go home yet."

I eyed him quietly, agreeing on his assessment, but challenged him. "Is that the only reason?"

"Maybe I'm not ready for you to go home either."

I had to admit I liked the sound of that. "What'd you have in mind?" We stepped out of the car and Andre plugged in the code to his garage door. It rose with a steady creak.

"What do you think?" He stepped next to a large ATV that looked more like a tricked-out jeep than a four-wheeler, and twice its size. Speaking of which, the two four-wheelers were nowhere in sight.

"Wow... when did you pick up this?" I ran my hand across the polished exterior, taking in the four-seater RZR. "Brand new?"

"Nah, definitely used. My dad traded in the busted four-wheelers over Thanksgiving weekend to help buy this one."

"He couldn't trust you with the four-wheelers anymore?" I teased, thinking about how we'd been stranded in the rain after our last ATV excursion.

"Funny." Andre tapped the hood. "But no, actually my dad loves the mountains. With his MS, he can't always drive the four-wheelers anymore, so he took this as an opportunity to invest in something easier to handle. Can't say I'm complaining! It's a smooth ride."

"That's cool that your dad loves the outdoors so much. So," I said, hopping into the passenger seat, "I don't suppose I can expect a ride?"

"You know, I figured we could use a do-over after that last fiasco. Let me just run in and check with my dad. He's got the keys in a lockbox this time."

Harnessed into the front seat, I gripped the side of the door as Andre made another sharp turn along the trail. I shrieked with an open-mouthed grin, wisps of tree branches grazing through the window. The RZR bounced with ease over the ruts, as smooth as Andre promised. We rounded the curve and Andre punched the gas. The motor roared and propelled us through the turf. We climbed a steep hill and I tossed my head over my shoulder, watching us rise over the mountain. Andre paused at the top where it leveled out and cut the engine.

"Not bad for desert landscape, huh?" Andre said, stepping out of the vehicle. I joined him, attempting to comb my fingers through my hair. With my layers caked with dirt, I didn't get far, giving up on a gnarled section by my ear.

"Here, I'll get it." Andre used his fingers to pull apart the tangled strands. "It's like you've got gum in your hair..."

"Ow, ow, no that's not helping!"

"Yes, I am. Stop moving!" His persistence won. He finished up by smoothing a final piece by my chin. "There, see?"

It was better, but I could still feel the coating of dust. "Maybe I just need another hat," I said, regretting that I'd left my newly acquired hat from Andre in Jordyn's car. Thinking of Mom, I changed my mind. "Yeah, that'd go over _really_ well. That's part of what started the whole thing this morning. My mom didn't like my hat, the one you gave me."

"Well, maybe she'll like this one." Andre pulled the cap off his head and placed it over mine.

"This is a problem!" I laughed, my hands raising to touch the bill.

"Why is that?"

"Because I actually think it looks really good on you." I pulled off the hat and slipped it back over his head, adjusting it with both hands. "There." My hands slid down to rest on his shoulders. Andre's arms wrapped around my waist, securing our close position. Natural and intimate, silence became our mutual friend again, except for motors rumbling in the distance from dirt bikes and other ATVS. I thought I even heard the whinny of a horse somewhere behind us, but absent words filled the space between us until Andre spoke first.

"I'm tempted to try and kiss you again, but uh... I'm remembering a certain conversation we had on the wing of an airplane last night."

"I'm tempted to let you this time," I whispered, certain I meant it. He brushed a wisp of hair from my lips. Emboldened with renewed confidence, I leaned closer, our lips about to touch. I closed my eyes.

He moved.

Rocking back, he turned his head so that my kiss landed on his chin. Flustered, I also stepped back. _What just happened?_ He'd totally just dodged my kiss, one he verbally initiated.

His words escaped in a hurry. "And I _would_ kiss you. Believe me, I want to, but... I think you need a little time to figure some things out."

Embarrassment was the first to come, followed swiftly by disbelief and irritation. I crossed my arms, maybe as more of an attempt to hold my dignity together than a show of anger. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His hands were out, open and almost reaching at the sudden distance between us. "Liv, please don't be mad. I'm just not sure, given everything going on, that you know what you want—with Jodie, your mom, and probably not even me."

Scratch that previous thought. I was definitely angry now. One hand found my hip, while the other made another failed attempt at smoothing back my hair. He'd been flirting with me, attempting moves on _me_. Why was he making me look like a fool when I finally reciprocated? "Don't presume to know what I do and don't want when you obviously don't know that for yourself."

Andre swept off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He turned his head, looking across the rocky terrain we'd driven across. His eyes returned to mine, where I met him with questioning resentment.

"You're right. I'm not being fair. It's just that it's been less than twenty-four hours since we were last together. You were adamant in our conversation about your goals and just staying friends, so I went home planning to respect that. Now here you are with your new haircut, upset about Jodie, and ready to forget what you felt so strongly about only yesterday. Trust me, I want to take advantage of that. I do, even though I'd decided this morning to give you some space. Only... I ran into you today and you looked.... so incredible."

I softened at the expression on his face, honest and flattering. I guess I believed him. Maybe he wouldn't have contacted me again so soon if coincidental timing—or the unknown forces of the Universe—hadn't placed us at the mental hospital at the same time.

"I should have just driven you home," Andre said. "But I like being around you, talking with you. In fact, I almost can't stand it because I don't want to just _be_ around you." He stepped toward me and my chin instinctively lifted. I slid one foot backward in the dirt and he stopped. He needed to quit confusing me and playing with my emotions. Right now. I hoped my expression said as much.

"Liv, there's only one thing stopping me from grabbing you and kissing you, other than the fact that at this point, I might get a well-deserved kick to the balls." Despite myself, the corner of my mouth turned upward, slightly humored. "Granted, there's a high probability that things have changed in the four years since I've been gone, but you don't seem to be one of those girls who takes it lightly when she becomes involved with someone. Am I right?"

I folded my arms, not liking that he could tell that when he barely knew me. "And if that were true?"

His eyes focused on mine, a serious tone touching his voice. "I don't want to be a regret in your life. I've been that before to other girls, and I don't want to settle for that with you."

I caught my breath at his explanation. Words I could respect. And hate at the same time. I didn't want to think things through. I'd had enough thinking and _processing_ over the last couple of days __ to last me a lifetime. What I hated was that I knew it wouldn't end with today. There was still so much to talk about with my parents, and no doubt they'd scheduled an emergency appointment with Todd. Besides, what if Andre was wrong? What if I wanted to be the kind of girl who didn't think everything through anymore?

But maybe this rapid change in thinking made Andre right. Perhaps I didn't quite know what I wanted or where I was going with it. Regardless, I had two options. I could sit here and continue this uncomfortable conversation, or I could pull a diversion.

I hopped into the driver's seat, pulling the door tightly shut.

"What are you doing?" Andre asked, watching me strap the harness tight across my chest.

"I'm hijacking this vehicle." I turned the key, letting the engine roar. "And you're teaching me how to drive."

The adrenaline rush from driving the RZR was enough to push aside my embarrassment with Andre. The sturdy build of it gave me confidence. Too much, Andre complained. He'd felt the need to reach over and adjust the steering wheel or holler at me to slow down off and on.

I hadn't wanted to slow down. I loved the power and freedom I felt. I laughed and pushed his warnings aside, eager for the long, flat stretches of terrain that allowed me to press on the gas without the dire consequence of rolling on a turn or slipping down a steep hill.

"We're going to need some guidelines," Andre said to me as I parked the RZR in his garage. Stepping out, I shut the door with a firm push and leaned my back against it. "You mean like not leading a girl on and then bailing on her in the moment they're about to kiss?"

Andre sighed and shook his head with a sheepish smile. "I was actually talking about your driving maneuvers, but uh, yes, that too. You have every right to hold that over my head."

I held up his keys and dropped them into his open palm. "We can work on overlooking that if you take me for a ride again soon."

"Agreed." He tucked the keys into his pocket. "As long as these rides include lessons on not driving like a toddler in a go-kart."

I smacked his shoulder. "Come on, I wasn't that bad."

Andre bobbed his head in consideration. "You weren't that good."

"You are on very thin ice," I warned. But I laughed, relieved that we continued to successfully derail the conversation about what the two of us meant to each other. If I thought about it too long, I was afraid I'd start to wonder if Andre just didn't want to deal with a girl working through adoption issues and crazy ex-nannies. Maybe he was simply dodging a bullet.

"What's going on?" Andre asked, his voice losing its touch of humor. "I'm starting to recognize that look."

"Huh? Oh, nothing. It's just, um..." I scrambled for my phone inside my purse, searching for an excuse to hide my thoughts. A trickle of panic circulated my stomach when I saw two missed calls, a voicemail, and a text. All from Mom.

_Come home. Now._

I bit my lip, tucking my phone away. "I gotta go."

Fifteen minutes later, Andre pulled up into my driveway.

"Do you want me to wait?" he asked. I appreciated the concern on his face, but I shook my head.

"I'm not sure what this is about, but I'm certain your presence will only make it worse." I sighed at the drawn curtains, wondering if Mom was sitting in the living room waiting for me. Maybe she'd found out I was with Andre, but that didn't seem to be enough to garner the stern messages from her. Somehow this had to be about Jodie and the mental hospital. Maybe she ended up saying something to the staff about seeing me.

"Do you want to call me later?" Andre asked, his eyes roving across my features like he was trying to figure out my inner-dialogue. Something inside of me resented him for it. I wasn't his girlfriend. He didn't need to be walking me through my problems, especially after his little speech this afternoon.

"No. You know what, I'll just see you at school." I slipped out of the car before he could respond to my sudden cold shoulder.

The house sounded eerily quiet when I shut the door behind me. I listened for the usual sounds coming from the kitchen—the cutting board or running faucet, or the fridge opening and shutting. Nothing. Peeking into the living room, I was both relieved and confused to find it empty. Hanging up my purse, I ascended our stairs. As I reached the top I saw mom standing in the doorway of my bedroom. Her shoulders and head leaned against the frame with her arms crossed.

"Mom?" I stood beside her, following her gaze to my bed. As usual, the sheets were tucked and the comforter pulled back and decorated with throw pillows. My room remained pristine like she taught me, and undeserving of this level of attention.

"How has it come to this?" Only after she'd spoken those words did she turn to face me. Her eyes widened with a gasp. Whatever speech she had prepared flew out the window. "Your hair!"

I waited a moment to see if she'd follow up the hair statement with something less ambiguous, maybe suggesting she approved. I knew it'd be a long shot. When she remained silent, I said, "It looked better before all the wind and dirt."

She sighed, her fingers reaching up to rub her temples. I almost laughed at her predictable mannerisms, except I knew that would make things worse.

"I can't even deal with the impromptu haircut when you—" She paused, shaking her head with a frown. She peered into my bedroom again. "Since you were little, I've done everything I could to create a safe haven for you. A home. A family."

"Mom, I know that." I swallowed at the heavy tone of her voice, worried about where she was going with this. It was obvious that she'd been thinking of what to say to me on a topic that had nothing to do with my spontaneous hairstyle.

"But apparently, all that I've given hasn't been enough. Are you trying to get back at me? Is that why you are jeopardizing my job, my livelihood?"

"No, I'm not trying to do that at all. I actually decided just an hour ago that I haven't been fair to you or Dad, and I don't want to worry anymore about my past or Jodie—"

"Except you went right over there again to see her." She paused, waiting for my response. I had none, which she interpreted as answer enough. "Have I really treated you so poorly that you felt the need to waltz into that building to attempt seeing Jodie? To connect with her again because of the distance forming between you and me?"

"Building? No, I didn't go in."

Disbelief contorted her features. "You're telling me you didn't see Jodie."

"Well, no, I did but—"

"No more, Liv. This is not a joke. Clayton reported you the moment you tried signing in."

"I didn't even see Clayton!" I shook my head, baffled by her accusations.

"You could cost me my job and, far worse, my right to have you." She swept a hand across her face, dragging it across her mouth in thought. "But I guess that's what you're having a hard time with, correct? That I don't, in fact, have any _right_ to care for you?"

I'd never seen her this frazzled before. Words were tumbling from her mouth with little thought and even less time for me to respond. I'd upset her with my ideas of adoption. If she would just slow down and let me explain that I was through talking about that, we could just drop all of this and move on. I didn't need the perfect past, or adoption, or understanding Jodie. I just wanted it all to go away now.

"Please, Mom, stop for a minute." I put a hand on her arm, remembering how she would often do that to me when I was upset. A hand to the arm was supposed to remind people of the connection they had with each other, and to create enough pause to remember that the bond of the relationship was more important than the argument. Only a teenager with a psychiatrist for a mother would remember to do that.

It worked.

She glanced at my hand and sighed. She placed a hand on top of mine. After a moment, she gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know how to stop what's happening," she said. "As a psychiatrist and counselor, I support your right to look into your past and find answers that will bring you comfort. I recognize your need to figure things out about yourself." She touched my cheek. "But as your mother, the idea kills me that I'm not enough for you."

My heart swelled and tears touched my eyes. All I was doing was causing pain and confusion for everyone involved. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'll stop. I'll stop searching." My eyes beseeched hers, pleading to take away the hurt mirrored in her eyes.

She dropped her gaze with a slight shake of her head. "That's not even fair of me to ask. No, you do what you need to do."

"It's done, Mom. I did talk to Jodie for a few minutes."

Her head snapped up and a crease of tension drew across her forehead. "Wait, how did you?"

"Out in the courtyard. She came over to the fence." I thought it best to leave Jordyn's name out of it, considering I'd dragged her into this. I only hoped she hadn't faced a scathing Clayton herself. "Mom, you obviously know this, but I'm starting to see it for myself. There's something seriously wrong with her."

She turned her head with increased interest. "What makes you say that?"

I shrugged, my bewilderment returning. "She said something today about me being her daughter, and how I used to call her mother." Even saying the words brought goosebumps along my arms. "It made me really uncomfortable... to truly see how out of her mind she is, like you said. I've been thinking this afternoon that I have a great life with you and Dad. I don't need anything more."

_Especially when the only other source to my past is an obsessive, schizophrenic woman_.

Mom sighed. "Well, as glad as I am to hear that, I think we both know it's important you continue seeking counseling."

I groaned. "With Todd? Come on, Mom... We can figure all of this out ourselves." It had been hard enough sitting there together as a family. I didn't need an even more awkward one-on-one session twiddling my thumbs.

She patted me on the back. "I absolutely wish that were the case, but like I said, I can't play psychiatrist and mother to you at the same time." She breathed in deeply. "It was a risk I was willing to take back then, knowing you would eventually discover the truth. I'm just sorry it's all come to a head like this. I should have handled it more responsibly. Perhaps now that it's been so long, maybe we can figure something out with this adoption thing."

I smiled in relief and she pulled me in for a side hug, kissing the top of my head. "It won't change how my heart already feels about you, but if it makes you feel better, it's worth considering." Her hand paused on my hair. "I can't say I'm crazy about the color. You look much too grown up from the little sandy-blonde girl I used to know. But," she added, scanning my appearance. "You were right. The cut is quite flattering on you."

An appreciative smile swept across my face. "Thanks, Mom."

"One thing I _would_ like to take you up on," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Please, leave poor Jodie Porter alone. The woman has been through a lot and needs an extensive amount of help. I know what I'm dealing with taking her on as a patient, and that is no place for you." Her hand rested on top of my shoulder as she faced me square on. "Promise me, Olivia. No more reaching out to Jodie."

I nodded. "I promise."

"Good girl." We walked together into the hallway, Mom just a step ahead of me. She let out a breath of air that sounded like relief. "Some things from the past are best left untouched."

# Chapter Seventeen

Jordyn's text woke me up the next morning. " _Church at 11. I'll stop by after,_ " she'd written.

Lifting my head from my pillow, I ran a hand through my short hair, still smiling at the change. Washing and drying my hair last night felt so different. I applied too much shampoo, scrubbing the extra suds through my tangled hair and kept grabbing at imaginary locks like they still ran down my back. It made me think of phantom limb syndrome, when an amputee seems to feel sensation from their missing limb, except it was the sensation of my hair. Is there such thing as _phantom hair syndrome?_

The morning carried on with the usual calm of Sunday morning in our house. I wasn't raised a church-goer like Jordyn, who mostly went as requested by her mom, but I liked the serenity that came with a slower morning. I listened to music and chatted with my parents, who seemed as eager as I was to put our uncomfortable discussions behind us. Late-morning, I answered a knock on the door. I stepped back in surprise.

"Dominic!"

His jaw matched mine, falling open but for different reasons. "How is it you look more irresistible every time I see you?" His hands grabbed my waist as he stepped into me and kissed me swiftly on the cheek.

_At least he bypassed my lips this time,_ I thought, still taken aback by his presence. "What are you doing here?"

"You stood me up." He used one hand to push the door wide open and walked past me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I looked at his car in my driveway and back at my ex-boyfriend, so confused by his unannounced visit. He turned around with a grin. "I'm here for a re-do."

Despite frowning at him for barging into my house, I tried to quell the happiness spreading inside me. Something about seeing him again felt refreshing, just like last night's shower after riding through all that dust.

Riding with Andre.

The happiness paused as it ran into a barricade... guilt? But then I remembered that Andre instructed me to figure things out on my own, and we weren't anything significant to feel guilty about. The brief interruption of confusion took a backseat as I addressed Dominic. Shutting the front door, I explained, "I didn't mean to stand you up over Thanksgiving break. I would have loved to go to the movies with you, but—" I glanced down the hall toward the kitchen and the adjacent family room, hearing the TV buzzing. "I got side-tracked. Kind of a lot going on around here, plus I had my phone taken away for a while..."

I felt silly saying those words to him about my phone. It sounded so juvenile. So _high school_ , especially when spoken to a guy who'd spent three months of freedom in college.

"And you didn't get my text, calling you out for ignoring me?"

No, I didn't remember his text. Maybe I did... I couldn't be sure now, given there'd been a slew of missed texts after my phone had been confiscated. Either way, I must not have responded. "Sorry, I wasn't purposely ignoring you. Dom, seriously. You have no idea what's been happening."

"Oh, I remember," he said. "Your side-kick is still insecure about us hanging out. Did Jordyn's brainwashing get to you?"

I scowled at his immature comment. "Come on, you know last year was a big deal. I wasn't being a good friend by ditching plans with Jordyn anytime you came up with something better."

"It wasn't the plans that made it better. It was the company."

"Stop." I shoved his chest with one hand. "Jordyn was my best friend long before you came around."

He put up both hands, bowing his head. "All right, I'll drop it. Just as long as you follow through with that movie you promised."

Dad's voice called from the family room, speaking over the volume of the TV. "Is that Dominic?" He appeared through the hallway. Mom followed him.

"Yeah, hey! Just thought I'd swing by and say hello."

Mom welcomed him with a quick hug and pat on the back. Dad shook his hand.

"Good to see you kid," he said.

As the next few minutes passed with Dominic updating my parents about life in college, the spread of happiness returned. The sight of him, comfortable and confident with my parents, pulled me back to last year and how close we'd been. My parents had always enjoyed his personable nature. He was almost better with adults than teenagers, often scoring points with teachers for his witty comments. The guy certainly knew how to work the crowd in his favor, and it helped that he excelled academically. His father's successful business reputation also didn't hurt. As the owner of the largest entertainment compound in Kingman, the Wells family was well-known and respected in our small city.

Dom slipped a casual arm around my waist. "Can I steal this girl from you for a while?"

Dad gave his consent and Mom nodded in agreement, though when Dom turned his back she raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head with an embarrassed smile, not having an answer for her subtle inquiry. Dom and I were just friends, but she must have been able to see the giddy and flustered __ effect he still had on me, a natural part of having history together.

Stepping out to his car, disbelief found me again when he opened my door for me. "Since when do you open doors for people?" I asked as Dominic sat down behind the wheel.

"I might have learned a thing or two in college about being a gentleman," he said, shifting the car in reverse. "If I'm being honest, I might have learned some less chivalrous behavior, too, but we can save that for another time."

"Dominic!" I rolled my eyes. "I don't want to hear about what you might have picked up from your co-ed dorm life."

"I was thinking less talk and more of a demonstration if that makes a difference."

"It doesn't."

"Fair enough. How about you pick the movie then?"

I scoffed, knowing he loved getting a playful rise out of me. I scrolled through the movie listings on my phone, opting for a romantic comedy that I knew, based on the actors, would be more comedy than romance. I didn't want to encourage Dom's behavior, even if it did send me down memory lane.

We pulled into the Kingman Funplex, bypassing the buildings designated for bowling, laser tag, and miniature golf. We also passed the go-kart tracks and indoor trampoline arena as we rounded the parking lot toward the theater. Even though I grew up exposed to how much of the entertainment industry in Kingman belonged to Dominic's family, it was still an inspiring sight.

With soda and popcorn in hand, we walked right past the ticket line as Dominic gave a nonchalant wave of his hand to the employee. We slipped into our seats minutes before the movie began. I silenced my phone just as the previews lit up the screen. Dominic seemed to be squeezing in one more message before he slipped his phone into his pocket. After a minute, I could feel his eyes on me and not on the current trailer.

"What?" I asked, noticing the hint of a smile on his face.

"I've missed this." He tossed a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

"Popcorn?"

"Very funny." He nudged my arm with his left shoulder and continued to whisper. "No, this." He motioned between us. "You and me at the movies. Just hanging out."

I thought about all the free time he must have at school. Sure, he had a few general classes, but I knew, with his parents more than covering his finances, that he wasn't working. He must have plenty of time to socialize. Apparently, there was even time for those _less chivalrous_ behaviors he mentioned earlier, so I knew keeping himself busy wasn't a problem. Still, I caught the sentiment in his expression. "Are you bored at college, Dom?"

"No... no I'm not bored." He looked sideways when he heard someone behind us grumble about certain people needing to be quiet. He frowned but his voice lowered. "College is fine, it's great. But it's not, you know..." His eyes wandered momentarily to the screen, where previews continued to play. "I can't tell you how many times I have the same introductory conversation over and over with new people. It's surface level stuff. I didn't notice until now, but I guess I just miss... this."

I understood what he was saying. I'd sensed it the last time he scooped me into a hug at the café over Thanksgiving weekend. He was familiar. _We_ were familiar. Our relationship was a comfortable intimacy with a built-in foundation. The friendship was already there.

"Yeah," I agreed. "This is nice."

The movie came to life, incorporating the hustle and bustle of holiday chaos and the two romantic-interests fighting with each other, even though the audience knows they're just resisting each other's kiss. Through my laughter, I stifled a yawn, covering it with one hand. The recent events with my family and Jodie had resulted in less than ideal sleep, and the dimness of the theater played against me.

With my vision slightly blurred from the tears that come with yawns, I watched Dominic move our drinks to the far side of his seat. He pushed the armrest up so there was no division between us. Without a word, he lifted his arm around my shoulders with quiet invitation. I followed his lead and scooted close, easing my head onto his shoulder. We watched the remainder of the movie that way, with memories playing in my mind of late nights on my couch, watching TV shows and binging on snacks.

Like many of those late weekend nights, I apparently fell asleep. I awoke to Dom squeezing my arm and chuckling. I sat up, catching the credits sliding up the screen and the crowds shifting through their rows toward the exits.

"Oh geez, sorry! I can't believe I fell asleep." I wiped underneath my eyes, hoping my eyeliner hadn't smudged.

"Well, I can." He shook his phone at me. "Check your texts. I sent you a prediction just after you turned your phone off."

Curious, I pulled open my phone to see an unread text from him.

_I, Dominic Wells, predict that Olivia Cole_ ** __**_will, without a doubt, fall asleep during this movie on this day._

I frowned at him. "Oh please, you sent that after the fact. How long were you watching me sleep?"

"Check the time stamp," he said with teasing confidence.

Indeed, he'd sent it minutes before the movie began. I folded my arms. "Your point?"

"Truth is, I know you, Liv. And you have to admit that feels good, even if that means I'm right about you falling asleep on our first movie together in months."

I considered his words, unable to come up with a snarky response because... I agreed with him, again. It did feel good that he knew me, just like I knew that underneath the haughty way he presented himself to others, there was a deeper side to him that he was comfortable sharing with me.

I focused on my phone, not wanting to verbalize too much credit. My stomach sank when I saw the text from Jordyn.

_I'm at your house. Apparently, you forgot to tell me you were going out with Dominic? Call me when he's back in college._

I sighed, sitting back in my seat.

"What's the matter?"

I knew what was going through her brain. The fact that I was with Dominic when she'd told me she'd be coming over would be enough to make her livid. She'd been here before. "It's Jordyn. I told her I'd be home so she could stop by, but..."

"You're with me," Dom said, understanding all that the situation implied.

"Yeah." I stood up, tucking my phone into my purse. Dominic followed me down the aisle.

"Want me to take you home?"

I felt the slight pressure of his hand on my lower back, like he was guiding me forward with the unnecessary gesture. If I was being honest with myself, I didn't want this to end just yet. No family problems or friend problems hung between us. No judgment or expectations breathing down my neck. Just familiarity. Understanding.

Just like that, I suddenly realized that not all _old and predictable_ was bad. While I was eager to leave the routine of high school behind, maybe Dom was right that this type of relationship would be missing, where I could be myself and know the other person well enough not to second-guess my behavior. Where being around each other felt like a piece of home.

"No," I said, "It can wait."

Dominic sat back in his chair like he needed a minute to go through everything I'd just told him. "How did all of that develop since I last saw you?"

I shrugged. Having voiced everything in one sitting, I recognized the large amount of information that had unfolded in such a short time. "It just did. It was really my dream—memory I guess—that triggered everything. One question led to an answer, which required another question... until it snowballed into what is now my real life."

Dominic took a final bite of his sandwich. "So what now?"

"That's it," I said, tossing one of the mints from the food tray at him. I popped the other in my mouth. "I told my mom I'm moving on and leaving the crazy behind me. Hearing about my past is a little unsettling, but it doesn't change anything. I'm still just a high school girl with good parents, but eager to get out of here and move on to college." I wiped my hands on my napkin and stood up. Dominic followed me to throw away our trash.

"Don't be in such a hurry," he said, walking with me to exit the food court. With no specific direction, we began to wander along the second floor of the mall. "College has been pretty great, but you'll find things you're going to miss like crazy."

"Such as?"

"Your mom cooking for you," he pointed out. "Having your own bedroom and privacy. I even miss Zach from time to time."

"No way," I teased, joining in on his disbelief. Zachary was his freshman brother who often liked to pit his parents against Dominic. His two-faced maneuvers included antagonizing Dominic and then whining to his mom and dad about being picked on. Dom was certainly not innocent in his retaliation, but I never imagined he would admit missing Zach.

"True story." Dom paused his steps, grabbing my arm so that we faced each other. His expression sobered. His next words targeted my heart. "You end up missing the most important people in your life."

"Almost like you took them for granted?" I'd meant to add a joking tone to my question, nervous as to where he was taking this conversation, but my words emerged quietly. Dom stepped closer to me. I inched backward until my back came up against the rail. He followed.

"No," he said. "I never took you for granted. Last year you were my whole world."

I swallowed, remembering how caught up we'd been with each other. It was one of the reasons we'd decided to end our relationship. I wanted him to have a chance at viewing his new life with fresh eyes. There had to be more out there than clinging to high school romance. My words, not his. I'd been the enforcer in the situation, hearing Mom's guiding words not to hold ourselves back from an unexplored future. I failed to speak before Dominic continued.

"And then I stepped into a bigger world, and despite the flood of new people and opportunities, when I saw you again—" He paused, allowing my heart to dance with the butterflies in my stomach. "—suddenly, I felt content to step back into that small space with you."

His words brought a smile to my face, a nervous, appreciative smile belonging to a girl who didn't know if she should embrace the flattery or run away. Maybe if I'd played sports instead of the violin, I might have escaped. As it were, my feet felt tethered to the ground, my muscles weak.

"You're all I need, Liv."

My eyes closed without thinking, missing the moment when Dominic's lips found mine. Yet I responded on instinct, my face leaning into the palm of his hand. Blindly, I found the back of his neck, pulling him into me. He persisted. I didn't resist. One moment clung to the next, until the string of moments intertwined, weaving together our past and present.

Whatever separate worlds we'd been living in during our time apart disintegrated, exposing just the two of us together again.

# Chapter Eighteen

My seat felt colder than usual. Stiff and uncomfortable.

It was December after all. The weather outside called for long sleeves and maybe a light jacket, depending on the day. Desert climate in Arizona didn't demand much during this early stage of winter. However, there seemed to be something else brewing in the air, cool and distant.

Maybe it was just me. Except Andre continued to ignore me in psych class, sitting across the room like it was his first day back in school when I'd viewed him as the enemy. I'd seen him earlier today in passing, wondering if he'd maneuvered to the other side of the hall on purpose or if he just hadn't seen me. Or heard me call out _hello._ We hadn't spoken since he'd taken me driving on his RZR two days ago. I thought he might text me Sunday but he didn't, and I'd been relieved. I wouldn't have known what to say, not after sharing that kiss with Dominic yesterday.

But Andre couldn't possibly know about that. I hadn't even dared tell Jordyn about how Dom and I became heated on the top floor of the mall yesterday. I anticipated her reaction, which is why I still hadn't text Jordyn back after her snarky message to me about Dominic. Since we didn't share any classes, I wouldn't run into her until lunch. I leaned my forehead into my hand. I had now kissed two separate boys in the span of forty-eight hours, and hadn't breathed a word to my best friend. So much for goals and breaking the mold. I was failing miserably.

Sunday's episode at the mall with Dominic weighed on me. It had felt so right in the moment, yet I awoke early this morning with growing unease. He and I hadn't talked much about it. When we'd pulled apart and laughed, both a little embarrassed by our sudden intimacy, he held my hand while we walked around. It was like old times, except... something felt off about it. Then shortly after, Dominic drove back to school before either of us spoke about what that kiss meant long term. We sort of just left it there, sitting on a shelf to address later.

Or maybe waiting for it to expire like a forgotten can of old soup.

No doubt we both felt the depth of emotions attached to that kiss, one so reminiscent of what we'd shared leading up to Dominic's departure to college. Yesterday we'd stepped right back into that space. But why, then, did it leave a questioning rift inside me?

I glanced at Andre. We'd come a long way since that first day of class when I judged him. Resented him. In only weeks, we'd become friends, even letting it escalate into something we hadn't quite defined. Yet why did I get the distinct feeling that we were back where we started, except the tables had turned. A shadow seemed to pass over Andre's expression and his eyes lifted from their deep brood to meet mine. I tilted my head in question, hoping he could read the confusion in my face regarding his hostility.

But I already knew the answer. He knew about Dominic and me. Somehow, he knew about the kiss.

He didn't like it.

I wanted to pull him aside and talk to him. To remove the conflict off my chest. But Andre dropped his gaze while Mr. Warner continued with his lecture.

The bell couldn't ring soon enough. Positioned at the far side of the room, I couldn't get around the desks and chairs to intercept Andre before he disappeared from the classroom. Shoving past my classmates, I caught sight of him exiting the building through the hallway double-doors. I followed.

The cool air nipped at my face, biting and refreshing at the same time. I looked for Andre and caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner toward the back of school. With hurried steps, I found him by the soccer fields sitting on the bleachers. I walked across the top bench to join him. The rickety aluminum rumbled beneath me with each step, so I knew he heard me coming.

He didn't look. He sat hunched over, surveying the empty fields. Like a ghost, I sat beside him, mute and unmoving, unsure if he would acknowledge my presence.

"Who told you?" I finally asked, my eyes on his profile. His jaw tightened. His words sounded hollow.

"Why wasn't it you?"

I sighed, feeling guilty and justified at the same time. "Andre, what was I supposed to say? And why should I say anything?" I paused to swallow, unsure how I could possibly say the right thing. My mind flew to that moment on top of the hill and all the flirtatious teasing leading up to when Andre snubbed me. "Look, I tried to kiss you and you pulled away. Your message was pretty clear."

That caught his attention. He twisted to face me, his lips pressed together in a firm line. "What was it you heard exactly?"

I tried to remember his exact words. I couldn't. I mostly remembered feeling led on and then rejected. "I don't know, something about you assuming I don't know what I want. But in that moment, I did know. Maybe if you'd kissed me back, I never would have kissed my old boyfriend."

"You're saying this is my fault?"

"Not exactly. Maybe more like a missed opportunity."

"Which your ex was happy to swoop in and take advantage of."

I frowned at him. "Dominic didn't take advantage of me. You don't know anything about us."

"Oh, you're an _us_ now."

I stopped, unsure. "I didn't say that." Truth was, I didn't know. "Andre, what do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you."

_Liar._

"Well, clearly your feelings are hurt."

Andre stood up and moved like he was going to escape down the row of bleachers. I rose to my feet, too. He turned his back and took a few steps, but then whipped back around. He strode toward me so fast that I wasn't prepared for his body to step so close to my torso, his right hand slipping past my jaw. His fingers gripped the back of my neck, pulling my face inches from his. My breath caught in my throat, halting any words of protests.

Maybe I had none.

His left arm wrapped tightly around my waist just as he spoke, his words were low and intense. "The other day, did you think I didn't want to hold you like this? To kiss you—" His eyes fell on my lips, lingering, before jumping back to my eyes.

No words. They'd all tumbled down my throat to do a funny dance inside my stomach, churning at the proximity of our bodies with both the anticipation and the hesitation of his lips on mine. Only a whisper finally escaped.

"What do you want from me, Andre?"

He swallowed. Silent.

I inched my body toward him, closing the tiny gap separating our torsos. An unplanned boldness escaped my lips. "Are you going to kiss me?"

Andre's eyebrows furrowed. His hesitation grew. The pressure of his hand behind my neck and around my waist deepened. But then he released me. His hand slid from my neck to my shoulder, and finally dropped to his side. "There's something you need to understand. What I want, and what I believe is right are two different things." He paused briefly before continuing. "I was trying to do the noble thing by giving you some space and time so you could be sure of what you wanted. I had hoped to be on that list, but only after you put yourself at the top. You deserve to focus on yourself first."

I turned my head away with a sigh. The one thing I didn't want was more time to think about everything that had transpired over the past couple of weeks. "What if that's not what I want? I told you I don't want to dig deeper into where I come from, or... _who_ I come from. It's not helping me or anyone around me." I thought of my parents and their hurt expressions. The confusing tension ricocheted between us without direction, like one of those cheap bouncy balls purchased from a gumball machine and flung against the floor. "My life was just fine how it was and I took it for granted."

"You want to stay with what's comfortable, with what you know." Andre's words fell between us as a statement, not a question. He was assessing my decision.

I answered simply. "Yes." I would make more progress after extracting complication from my life. Looking back would only hinder my growth and hurt the people I loved. My parents had been more than enough for me before I'd discovered an alternate beginning to my life. I would make them feel like enough again.

"You're going with the easy choice."

I heard the judgement in his tone, and noticed the slight narrowing of his eyes. The brooding expression returned. My crisp response baited him. "If you have something to say about Dominic and me then get on with it."

I watched him weigh his options between revealing his true thoughts and skirting around them. He made his decision. "Kissing Dominic was easy, too."

He'd needed to say it. I could see the relief in his expression to have voiced what had been eating at him since he'd found out about Dominic and me. He'd made his judgement clear. I glared back. "It's more complicated than that. Or you know what? Maybe it's not complicated at all and that's what appeals to me. With Dominic, I don't need to start over or play guessing games. We have enough history to understand one another without..."

"Without what? Conversations like this? Conversations that make you dig beneath the surface to truly evaluate your options?" He scoffed. "If easy is what you are after, then by all means, don't let me stop you."

I clenched my teeth, my face heating with emotion. Impetuous words threatened to spill all over him, but I kept my words calm and in check. "I don't know what kind of lens you're looking through, Andre, but I don't need more obscurity. I'm looking for solutions, not more problems. And since these are _my_ problems, I'll thank you to stay out of them."

Half a smile lifted the right corner of his mouth as he let out a humorless breath of air. "You're right. I'll be sure to stay out of your way." He bent down to grab his backpack, and stepped off the bleachers onto the sidewalk. I watched him leave, my life feeling more complicated and upside down than ever before.

It seemed that in leaving my past behind, that meant leaving Andre behind, too.

# Chapter Nineteen

My confrontation with Andre stayed with me for the rest of the day, an impossible distraction during my remaining classes. If I were to flip through my binder, I was sure I'd find that my notes were subconsciously riddled with pieces of our conversation. I'd be sure to tear them up. I didn't want a reminder of our unsettling exchange of words. He was jealous, that much was obvious. Yet, instead of feeling flattered, I found myself irritated. Why did he think it was any of his business what I chose to focus on right now? With a huff, I continued marching toward the parking lot.

"Liv!"

I heard Jordyn's voice from behind me, far enough away that I could probably get away with pretending not to hear her. Having skipped lunch, I hadn't run into her yet, which meant we still hadn't spoken since the annoyed text she'd sent me about Dominic. She didn't know about either incident with Andre and Dominic. I heard my name spoken with insistence once more.

"Liv, hold up a second!"

I stopped walking and turned around, facing the bewilderment on her face.

"Were you really going to act like you didn't hear me— _again_?" Jordyn asked.

I cocked my head, my forehead wrinkling with confusion. "Again? What are you talking about? I haven't seen you all day."

"Really?" Jordyn continued, "That's what you're going with? Does standing by your locker after lunch sound familiar? I called out to you from down the hall but you ran the other direction."

"Jordyn, I wasn't anywhere near my locker today. What is with you right now?"

"You just seem to be avoiding me is all. I mean, you never even text me back after _hanging out_ with Dominic."

The hostility in her voice matched the judgment on her face. "You know about our kiss, too." I shook my head. "Why is everyone making it their business to dissect what I do or don't do with Dominic?"

Jordyn played with the loose tie she was wearing around her white shirt, an optional uniform accessory that she often utilized. "When you choose the second floor of a public mall as your setting of choice, that doesn't exactly give you privacy."

I folded my arms, not liking that she was right. "Who told you?

"I saw it for myself."

I crossed my arms, trying to piece it all together. "How... why were you at the mall?"

"After I found out you were occupied with Dominic, I went to pick out a gift for my mom's birthday. And surprise! There you two were, all over each other."

I dropped my head, embarrassed and feeling like the biggest jerk. "Granted that probably shouldn't have happened out in the open, but it was completely unplanned. And anyway, it wasn't that bad..." I paused, watching Jordyn slide her finger across her phone screen before handing it to me. Though the picture was from a distance, the image was clearly of Dominic and me, faces pressed together and very much wrapped up in each other's arms. My cheeks flushed further. I hadn't considered that Jordyn had seen us. Or that she'd taken a picture.

I deleted it and handed the phone back to her. "Why would you even take a picture of us? That's creepy and inappropriate and—"

"So you wouldn't deny it."

" _Deny it._ You mean lie about it?" My expression fell with genuine disbelief. "Since when did you start assuming I'd be dishonest with you?"

Jordyn sighed, though her tone softened. "Listen, Liv. Whenever Dominic is involved, it just seems like you become less honest with me... not to mention with yourself."

I paused. She wasn't wrong. I may have fibbed a few times to save her feelings where Dominic was concerned. "There's some truth to that, but that was last year. Plus, you're not being entirely fair. You gave me such a hard time about Dom that I was trying to save both of us heartache by not talking about him all the time, which meant that I couldn't always be honest with you."

Jordyn jumped on my comment, a hand on her hip. "Then why does last year suddenly feel so much like this year? Why are you with him again?"

Bickering about Dominic pulled me back to junior year all over again. The immaturity of it all made me run my hands through my hair before crossing my arms. Jordyn awaited my response, but at the moment, I had none. I'd set all these rules for myself before my senior year began, hoping to set up opportunities for new experiences, and here I stood, feeling more cornered than when I'd started.

"I'm not with Dominic."

"Does he know that?"

"I don't know. He drove back to school before we talked about it." I sighed, wanting to lean on my friend like I could in any other aspect of my life. "That minute with Dominic yesterday just seemed right at the time. Call it a crime of passion, I suppose. Given everything that's been uprooted recently, I just wanted... _needed_ something that made sense to me. Or used to make sense to me." My eyes revealed me.

"But Andre," Jordyn started.

"Yeah. Um... we kissed, too."

"I knew it!" Jordyn smirked at me, but not with the disapproval I'd been dreading. Why she seemed less upset about Andre, I wasn't sure, but I felt excitement bubbling inside me to tell her about it, wishing the story ended there.

"Friday night, he took me out to this airplane graveyard... yeah, I know. Weird and oddly romantic at the same time. We were up on the wing and the kiss just happened." I gave her a quick run-down of how I'd attempted halting any further romance, which was quickly followed by the kiss on the mountain that almost-but-didn't happen, and then the embarrassment and longing for familiarity that landed me in Dominic's arms. "That's the gist of it."

Jordyn's almond-shaped eyes narrowed at me, her long lashes blinking steadily at me. Finally, she said, "Wow. You've been busy." She held up her palm and cocked her head. "Sorry, sorry. In the spirit of friendship, let me rephrase that. _You've had a lot going on._"

I gave a sheepish laugh. "No, I deserved that. I've ruined everything." I licked my lips, shaking my head. "Andre and I talked at lunch, or tried to anyway. To say he's mad at me would be an understatement."

"Because he cares about you." Jordyn smiled at me.

"I'm not sure that's the case anymore. Somehow, he knew about me kissing Dominic. In the end, he just walked away." I swallowed, feeling the hurt of him turning his back, but devastated that I'd hurt him first.

Jordyn touched my forearm. She bit her lip and pulled her hand away. "It was me. I sent him the photo of you and Dominic."

I had figured she'd told him, but to send him the photo... That absolutely made it worse. "Jordyn, why?"

"Well, I was mad at you for one, but I also wanted to light a fire under Andre's butt so he'd fight for you."

"Why do you care if Andre and I are together? Maybe we'd be another version of Dominic and Liv: _time consuming and exclusive._"

She shrugged. "Maybe only because I like him better than Dominic. At least he talks to me, like I'm his friend, too."

"He's also opinionated and pushy and..." I sighed. "Well anyway, I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed."

"Maybe for now, but he'll be back for you. Listen, I've told you this already. I don't care if you have a boyfriend. I care about you being honest about it. I'm sure Andre will appreciate that too."

_Honesty. Vulnerability._ Mr. Warner's words flooded my mind, reminding me of his recipe for human connection. "Yeah," I agreed. "Honesty is a good place to start." I adjusted my backpack and then stopped to unzip it. "Ugh, I forgot a textbook in my locker. I think I need to lay low and figure some things out. Can we catch up later?"

"Sure." Jordyn pulled me in for a hug and I sighed in relief, returning the squeeze.

"Thanks for being patient with me."

Grateful we'd been able to smooth out some of the wrinkles, I quickened my pace until I reached my locker. Turning the key, I pulled open the door, stepping back when a note fell at my feet. I unfolded it.

_We need to talk. Meet me at Mercury Park, top of the creek trail after school._

I frowned at the unsigned note, like this person assumed I'd know who wrote it. The handwriting did look familiar. I could only guess it was from Andre. Maybe he couldn't stop thinking about our conversation either and wanted to mend things. I wasn't sure what more we could say to each other, but I'd be lying to myself if I didn't feel eager to see him again. I didn't like the altercation weighing between us. Swapping out my books, I slammed my locker shut and headed to my car.

I waited, tightening my jacket around me. The paved trail followed the creek along the park, often occupied with moms pushing strollers or ambitious runners passing by. Today, however, visitors seemed scarce on this overcast, brisk afternoon. Even the playground remained empty. I shivered, rubbing my hands over my jeans to warm my thighs. Pulling out my phone, I checked for any missed messages or calls. I selected Andre's name, hoping I'd missed a message from him.

Nothing.

I frowned in thought, unfolding the scrawled note from my locker to double check the instructions. With the trail bordered by the river on one side, and a thicket of trees and bushes on the other, this was the only obvious entrance.

A plop from the creek caught my attention and I spun around. Still no one, and yet I could have sworn I heard—

There again. Another plop from further down the creek, like a large fish jumping out of the water. But I knew fish that size didn't reside in this fickle little creek. I stepped along the trail toward the sound, abandoning the trailhead. With the playground and field obscured by the trees, I felt alone as I walked, witnessing no one ahead or behind me.

"Andre?" I called out. I swallowed, trying to rid the sudden eeriness in the air. A twig snapping turned my head toward the trees. Another plop from the river whipped my attention to the creek again. "Who's there?"

I didn't wait for an answer. With hurried footsteps that were seconds from breaking into a run, I headed back the way I came.

"Olivia." The voice was female and so familiar that I halted immediately. I turned around, seeing a teenage girl about my size standing fifteen feet away. At least, from her voice and stature, I gathered she was female. The navy, unmarked hood pulled over her head made it difficult to see her face. I squinted, trying to decipher how I knew her, and more confusing still, how she appeared out of nowhere.

"Did you leave that note in my locker?" I asked.

"We need to talk," she said, reciting a line from the scrap of paper.

So it _was_ her. She'd been inside my school, though without the uniform she obviously wasn't a Westmont student. Still, there was something familiar about her. I wondered if this was the girl Jordyn had mistaken me for. She had been so sure I'd been ignoring her at lunch today. Observing this girl, I could see from her hooded, similar build how Jordyn might have assumed it was me. She'd slipped the note into my locker.

I stopped. I now recognized the handwriting. The messy scrawl belonged to the same author of the anonymous letter I'd received at my front door.

_She's not your mother_ , the words had read—a message that, along with the memory of seeing myself taken as a child, contributed to the crazy unveiling of my family tree.

I stepped toward her. She seemed strange, though harmless in her stance. Yet I knew without a doubt she was connected to the unsigned notes that had led me to first question my mother, my entire identity... and now also guided me to this enclosed trail. I noticed a small rock in her hand and paused, my senses on full alert.

She caught me eying her fist. She lifted her arm, and with one swift movement she tossed the rock into the creek.

_Plop_.

I wondered if she saw me release a breath, which was quickly followed by a crease in my brow. She'd been throwing rocks into the water to get my attention, yet she must have been hiding behind trees, unwilling for me to see her. The apprehensive warning, which had been triggered the moment I stepped into the enclosure, intensified. There was something wrong with this girl. Still... I watched her more closely, noting the way she moved her head like she was peering behind me, and then glancing over her shoulder. Her feet wouldn't stay still either, the movement subtle, but like she was ready to pivot and run at a moment's notice. Her skittish appearance wasn't far beyond what I felt myself.

_Not dangerous though_ , I decided. Scared. Maybe in need of help.

"Tell me," I prompted. "What do we need to talk about?"

Silence from her end. Her only movement was to hook her thumbs on the straps of her backpack, her grip turning into fists.

One step at a time, I finally stood before her, where she now bowed her head to continue shielding her face. She trembled and her arms pulled around her waist like she was trying to hold herself together. "Hey," I said, reaching a hand to the girl. "Are you okay?"

She flinched as my hand drew near, but she didn't speak or try to stop me when I pinched the front of her hood. It was like she was waiting for me to do it, like she didn't have the strength or confidence to show her face.

_What could she possibly be hiding?_ Sharing her tension, I took a sharp breath.

I threw back the hood.

She straightened, staring back at me. I saw her sandy-blonde hair first, and then her blue eyes. Blue, like mine and emphasized by the same long lashes.

A nose, like mine.

Her mouth, like mine.

Like mine. Like mine. Like mine.

I stared at a reflection of myself. Saw my shock, my fear, my confusion mirrored back at me. It was the face I'd woken up to every morning, but the me before I'd cut and dyed my hair.

The me before I discovered I had a twin.

# Chapter Twenty

A twin. Maybe a clone.

I pressed my fingers into my scalp, trying to slow my breathing before I succumbed to another panic attack. I stared at my face, stepping backward with a shake of my head.

"What is going on?" I asked. "Who are you? I mean, I know it's like you're me, but you're not, you're... How do I have a twin?" Words fell out of my mouth as fast as I could think them. I stopped when I saw the tears in her eyes.

My eyes. _What??_

But in pausing, I felt her emotions as I took in the shiny drops falling down her cheeks.

_That's how I look when I cry_. I couldn't help the thought, the observation. The strange, uncomfortable sensation of watching yourself on video hit me, my mind reeling. I didn't like it, nor could I stop it.

"My name is Emma." Her voice came out soft and polite, like mine when I have to play meet and greet __ with Mom and Dad's work friends at the Christmas party. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you. Mom told me not to."

My posture stiffened. Did she mean our birth mom? What if she meant _my_ mom? The next question flew from my lips. "Who is your mom?"

She picked up on the anxiety hanging from my words. I felt her hesitation. She bit her lip before answering, her words emerging as a whisper. "Jodie Porter."

My gaze bore into her, Jodie's name provoking another wave of thoughts, rolling and crashing recklessly into one another. They overcame me, threatening to drown me with their presence. Jodie's daughter wasn't dead after all. She'd been raising her all this time in hiding. But if Jodie was _her_ mother, then...

"Her daughter died." I stated it as a fact, a fierce edge touching my words. Truth as I knew it continued to unravel. I needed _something_ I believed in to be true. Emma couldn't be Jodie's daughter because that meant Jodie was my mother, too.

"Yes, she did die," Emma said. "Jodie didn't give birth to me, but she's been raising me. She's my mother." She licked her lips. "You know a little something about what that's like."

Mom—the mother who was not my birth mom, raised me. Yes, I understood what she meant, and apparently, Emma knew more about my life than I did about hers.

I didn't like it.

I stared at this girl wearing my face. Jodie, the stranger I'd come to fear and oddly care for, knew Emma and I were twins. No wonder the weird obsession. It wasn't her dead daughter who I reminded her of, but my twin sister she'd been raising as her own. Jodie had been hiding this information all along. Mom, too? But to what end? Why were we separated?

My questions lassoed my deepest emotions, tightening around them like a noose and yanking them to the surface. They pulled and struggled, demanding to be set free. And yet my questions held them hostage, insisting on answers.

_Confusion. Betrayal. Distrust._

All the results of secrets and lies that masked the nature of love. Mom and Jodie remained at the center of it all, women who professed to care for me. Yet, here I stood, in front of my twin, overcome with truth that had yet to reveal the disheveled details.

Emma's lips quivered, and she swallowed. "I know this is not what you wanted to hear. But I have _nowhere else_ to go."

I took in the strands of her hair, twisted and wavy like how mine gets when it dries naturally. She wore zero makeup, not hiding the tired lines under her eyes and what may have been smudges of dirt along her cheeks. She'd missed a shower or two in the last few days. Perhaps longer. I felt determined to put aside my feelings for now to better understand what happened to this girl. She was obviously alone and just as scared as me, if not more so.

She offered a light smile. "I bet finding out you have a sister was not on your list today."

_Sister_. The word felt foreign in my mind, an ambivalent concept that I'd never put much thought toward. Raised as an only child, Mom often emphasized how lucky I was that my parents could focus on just one child, putting all their best efforts into teaching me and providing for me. My manners would be guided with precision, and my opportunities unlimited.

When I was young, I remembered Mom taking me to the park and making a comment about the unruly cluster of small children pulling one particular mother in every direction. Mom shook her head in disdain, commenting about their lack of discipline. I knew I never wanted Mom to look at me the way she eyed those screaming children and their frazzled mother. Mom helped me understand how not having a sibling was for my benefit.

But here I stood, staring at perfectly matching DNA. At Emma, a name as gentle as she seemed. I felt something. Something unexplainable between two strangers meeting for the first time, or at least the first time in who knows how many years since we'd been separated.

_Separated_. The word clamped on my heart. A loss deeper than I knew I could feel rose within me, sparking every nerve. Time. Memories. All of it lost. I felt like a small child, acting out because someone had taken my toy—vulnerable and unsure how to handle this surge of emotion. Emma belonged to me. She belonged _with_ me.

"I have a sister," I said, testing the phrase aloud. The words stayed on my tongue, tickling my senses. The image of Emma blurred before me until the tears fell, clearing my vision. "You're my sister." I threw my arms around her.

She gasped and shoved me away.

I pulled back my arms. Stepped back further. I saw the discomfort on her face as she held up her hands for me to keep my distance.

_Confusion. Betrayal. Distrust._

The emotions returned with a vengeance. I couldn't contain them from my expression. "I don't know what's going on," I said, embarrassed that I'd reached out to hug her. Appearing equally mortified, she rubbed her face with her hands. Maybe she didn't feel the sisterly connection that had bombarded me with her appearance. She had an agenda, but it certainly wasn't about bonding with me. I'd misunderstood her intentions. I thought back to her words, stating she had _nowhere else to go_. I'd read her wrong. She'd only meant to say she needed help, and I was her last choice. The bottom of her list. She didn't need me. I laughed at myself. How could I be so naive to believe that tales of long-lost twins reunited would be that simple?

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I need to explain... a lot of things. Maybe everything. I just don't know how to do that." Her face fell, exhibiting a helplessness about her—lost and scared. She needed assistance and I needed answers.

"Come on," I said, motioning for her to follow me. I took a few steps and glanced over my shoulder to see if she was coming. She walked after me with hesitancy. As we stepped out of the enclosed trail and faced the parking lot, Emma paused. Her eyes swept the area as though suspicious of her surroundings. She reminded me of a trepid fawn surveying the open meadow. "Don't worry," I reassured. "I'll call my mom—"

Emma's eyes jumped at me. "No!"

I frowned at her. "Why not? She'll know what to do and will be able to tell us—"

"No." She stepped back toward the creek like she was ready to make a run for it. I did my best to assess her like in psychology class.

_Unkempt appearance._

_Her skittish nature._

_Uncomfortable being touched._

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she'd been abused. Maybe her circumstances were far worse than I imagined, going beyond being separated at birth.

"Emma, what do you want to do?" I asked, afraid of taking anymore initiative. I couldn't risk her disappearing if she didn't feel safe.

She rested her hand on a tree. "We need privacy. I can't be seen with you in town, but I need to tell you what I know. We can't go to your home."

I resisted the urge to pelt her with questions again. Studying her face, I noticed her cheeks seemed slightly gaunt and her coloring pale. "I know where to go."

I knocked on the door.

When he opened it, Andre didn't mask his surprise—or discontent. "What are you doing here?"

"Shhh," I hushed, glancing behind him. Good, no parents in sight. "Just—come here." I put a hand on his back and pushed him with me. His face registered confusion, but he pulled the door shut behind him.

"Who's that?" he asked, catching sight of the hooded passenger in my car.

"Just get in. And don't freak out."

"For future reference, if you don't want someone to freak out, you might not want to start with _don't freak out_."

Ignoring his comment, I ushered him into the seat behind the driver's side and then climbed behind the wheel. I turned to her. "This is my... friend, Andre. Um, Andre," I paused, waiting for Emma to pull back her hood. After a moment's hesitation, one swift motion revealed her face.

"Whoa—geez!" His head swiveled back and forth between us. "Liv, what the—"

"This is Emma." I realized I had nothing more to contribute to the introductions. That was all I knew, but to Emma's apprehension I added, "Andre will help us." I peered back at him. His eyes remained wide, but he nodded.

"Yeah. Whatever you need." He swallowed, and I could see his thoughts racing. I breathed a sigh of a relief, feeling lucky that he was still willing to help me after our fight earlier.

"Can you take us somewhere private?" I asked, my eyes straying toward his garage. He followed my gaze, understanding my indication.

"Yeah, I can do that."

"And maybe some food?" I motioned toward Emma.

"Of course." He hopped out and disappeared inside the house, though not before offering another backward glance. I sat quietly beside Emma, not wanting to overload her with conversation. She seemed to struggle with the attention already. However, she surprised me by speaking first.

"He's your boyfriend?

"No."

"But you like him?"

"Let's keep it simple for now and say I trust him. He's also the only friend I have that lives on the outskirts of town, away from nosy neighbors." The garage door lifted. "One other perk is that he has access to _that_."

Andre backed out his RZR and motioned for us. We stepped out of the car and I saw Andre's expression shift as he watched the two of us approach. It probably looked something like a weird sci-fi movie where an alien clone joins the protagonist and her friends. I cocked my head, eying Emma again. I guess I couldn't rule that one out until she told us what was going on. Her behavior was odd enough to consider the alien theory.

We drove without talking, the roar of motor and wind whipping around us and providing comfortable white noise. I found myself watching Andre when I thought he wouldn't notice. We needed a private conversation, except this time I hoped it wouldn't feel like facing off with an opponent. That, though, would have to wait. I wasn't even sure what needed to be said or if there could be an easy resolution. I only knew that I felt comfort sitting beside him, sharing this secret that I hadn't yet wrapped my head around. At least I wasn't in it alone.

I peeked at Emma, sitting in the back row sucking down a thermos of Gatorade like she hadn't had a drink in twenty-four hours. The backpack she carried sat in the seat beside her, its contents still unknown, but no doubt valuable to her with the protective way she kept a hand on it. By the time Andre parked and cut the engine, she already seemed to have a little more color in her cheeks.

Just as I moved to exit the RZR, Andre's hand fell on my thigh. I paused, one leg half out the door. My eyes met his in question. He held my gaze for a moment, and then he gave my leg a light squeeze. The wordless exchange traveled through me, bringing a sense of relief. It wasn't much between us, but it was enough for now.

"Where are we?" Emma asked, taking in the mountainous terrain with its mix of pines and cedars, a touch of green added to the desert landscape.

"We are safely nowhere," I said, "away from people, like you asked." I handed her an apple and chips. "Take your time. We're ready to listen when you want to talk."

Half an apple and an empty bag of chips later, the three of us sat on a blanket spread out on the ground. Mr. Warner was right about circles. I suddenly understood better why he distributed the seats in our psychology class in such a formation. Our own tight little circle provided an intimate setting for Andre, Emma, and me, positioned closely together. Each of us could clearly see and hear the other. Maybe it was too intimate. I wondered if there was any danger in sitting with such proximity to a person carrying emotional grenades. Somehow, I knew the shrapnel was coming my way, ready to ricochet between us.

"Jodie told me about you eighteen months ago," Emma began. "She wasn't supposed to. You were a secret to me as much as I've been to you."

"You lived with Jodie? In the bedroom, down in the basement?" It was the only conclusion that made sense. Emma keyed in on the details.

"You've been in there."

I nodded. "My friend and I, um...broke into Jodie's house after we heard she turned herself in to the police. We'd heard rumors, but I never imagined it would come back to me like this."

Emma hung her head. "She shouldn't have done that." The words were mumbled more to herself than to us. She didn't seem surprised that Jodie turned herself in, only disheartened that she'd done it, like it had been a plan Emma never agreed with.

I thought of the stacked boxes inside the closet, and the eerie question that hung in the air after they were discovered. "I guess those were your clothes in the closet then?"

"Yes, they were mine. Jodie taught me never to throw anything away because we could make use of it down the road." Emma paused and I remembered the bare furnishings and simplicity of the house. If Jordyn and I understood one thing from our break in, it was how frugal Jodie lived. With her next words, Emma seemed to read my thoughts. "We were always careful about how we spent money. We had to be. But, in this case, I think it was more sentiment that prevented her from throwing out my old clothes."

Andre spoke my next question. "Were you the only kid living there?"

Emma instantly shied away from him, dropping her gaze. Even with her head bent, I could see her cheeks brightening. Her reaction seemed more connected to Andre speaking to her, rather than the question. It was like she'd never spoken to a boy before. I exchanged a look with Andre and he shrugged with a smile, one that sent a wave of giddiness through me when his eyes stayed on mine. Maybe Emma's reaction made perfect sense. Apparently, it was in our DNA for Andre to affect us like that.

"It was just me," Emma finally said, lifting her head. "As far as I can remember, Jodie has always been my mother and we lived a simple life together. I was curious about school and other kids, but she said I was better off with the individual education at home. She always emphasized what a bad influence the world would be and that I had to learn to be strong so I could rise above it."

"Rapunzel's tower," I murmured.

"What?"

"The fairy tale, Rapunzel. You know, the girl with the long hair, trapped in the tower because the wicked witch wanted to keep Rapunzel's power for herself?" I had no idea what kind of exposure to novels and fairy tales Jodie had provided for Emma. Surely, Jodie would never read her a story that made such obvious parallels to Emma's life. Her answer proved me wrong.

"Of course I know the story. What of it?"

A hint of defensiveness from Emma made me pause. "You... don't see how Jodie isolating you from the rest of the world was actually harmful, all in the guise of protecting you?" It was a convenient story for Jodie to tell Emma. How else could she get away with raising my twin without calling attention or suspicion? We lived in the same city after all, even if their home was located on the outer edge. I wondered how she kept Emma from wandering into town.

"That's hardly the same thing." Her jaw tightened, and I realized I'd struck a nerve. Despite knowing that Jodie had essentially trapped Emma in this tiny, barricaded world, she couldn't see how wrong that was. "You are misunderstanding," she continued. "She didn't lock me in a box. I was allowed to go outside and be around people. My interactions with strangers were just kept superficial. I rarely went into the heart of Kingman, although I didn't know for most of my life that it was because of you."

I picked up on her tone, a hint of resentment when she referred to me. Emma moved on before I could think more of it.

"Jodie told me she'd had bad experiences in town. That men had cornered her and hurt her more than once. She never wanted that to happen to me. She kept me safe. On Saturdays, we'd drive to the farmer's markets outside of Kingman in search of the freshest produce. Mom—I mean Jodie—always made sure we ate healthy. It was also a nice excuse to get out. I always knew I could walk around more freely the further we were from Kingman. I didn't understand why when I was younger, but it makes sense now."

I observed Emma once again, wondering if the gauntness in her cheeks wasn't because she'd had little access to food, but rather a result of the food she'd grown up eating. Maybe she was a vegetarian or followed one of those clean diets that eliminated anything processed. Except...

"But Jodie would go to the grocery store every week," I said with question in my voice. "Over the summer, I started a job as a bagger at this grocery store and Jodie was there every Wednesday like clockwork. Up until the very day she turned herself into the police, she showed up. Instant noodles, canned soups... even those little two-dollar pizzas went into her shopping cart. How does that fit into your healthy eating?" I distinctly remembered Jodie's purchases because they never totaled very much, and I wondered how a person as lean as her could eat like that.

"I never saw any of that food. I thought she went to work on Wednesdays..." Emma squinted, equally confused until something seemed to dawn on her. "She wasn't buying that food for us. She was buying it just so she could see you." Again, that touch of animosity was present in her features, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. "When she started talking about your existence, she told me I could never approach you and needed to continue avoiding town. She said it was for my safety, but she also didn't want to burst your perfect bubble."

I didn't like her calling my life perfect because it certainly wasn't. And yet in comparison to her life, I couldn't say a word to her about my grievances. They didn't even compare, yet I still felt hurt by her word choice. "Why did she even tell you about me?"

"To prepare me." Emma picked up two small rocks that fit inside her palm and bounced them back and forth in her hands. "She's been planning on going to the police for some time now. She wanted to face the consequences of her actions. Jodie still blames herself for her little girl's death—a daughter I was very much surprised to hear about. She hid Hannah from me, too."

Hannah. Jodie's daughter finally had a name. She was real, and very much not forgotten. But how could Jodie trade her life with Emma to punish herself for something fifteen years ago?

"Jodie didn't want to leave me alone once she went to the police," Emma continued. "She had a plan. I just... something went wrong." The fear returned to her face, mixing with the loss and confusion I'd seen when I first found her by the river. "Someone was supposed to come for me, but I don't know what happened. That's why I'm worried about her."

We'd both been feeling it then, that sudden worry and concern for Jodie over the past few weeks. We felt it now. It made more sense coming from Emma though. Jodie was her mom. Yet something warmed inside of me at the thought that Jodie had tried to see me, like she still felt connected to me, too, and wanted to say goodbye. I wasn't sure why it mattered.

"Emma," I bit my lip, not sure she would like my question. There was a strange jealousy brewing. I could feel it in the air between us. "What did Jodie say about me? I mean, when she told you we were twins?"

Andre held up his hand to pause the two of us. "For that matter, how did you end up with Jodie in the first place? Liv's mom said Jodie had attempted kidnapping her but—"

My dream—my memory—came to the forefront of my mind again, watching Jodie take me by the hand, pulling a suitcase behind us as we left the house. The understanding hit me with such force that I gasped. "She didn't kidnap me. She kidnapped you."

Emma shook her head, her palms opening to grip her knees. "No, she didn't kidnap me—"

All this time, I thought I'd been dreaming about seeing Jodie take me, but the vision I kept seeing in my head was truly just a memory—a memory of seeing Jodie take my twin sister from me. The sense of confusion and loss struck me again. I was little, but I'd seen it happen. "I remember you being taken," I said to Emma. "I thought it was a dream of myself, but all this time, it was you."

"Stop saying she kidnapped me. It wasn't like that!"

"Then what was it like, Emma? How does a grown woman walk into someone else's house and take away my twin sister? And then pretend for years it never happened, like I never existed!" Emotions rose like swells from the depth of the sea, growing, rising to the surface until it crashed over everyone. My voice broke. "I remember you. I remember _us._ " These memories persisted, again more in feelings than images. I felt the bond that came from sharing a womb for nine months, and then a nursery, a crib. Learning to smile and laugh. To crawl together, to walk, fall, and get back up beside one another. I couldn't remember moments exactly, yet the connection was undeniably present.

Her eyes watered. "I remember, too." She swallowed, her voice raspy. Her acknowledgment softened my anger, yet heightened my grief. Years of loss between us could never be recovered. It had been stolen, and I wanted to know why. "Jodie had to forget about you. It was part of the rules." Emma's voice softened, no longer striving to defend my attacks, but ready to explain something heavy. Her shoulders slouched like she felt the burden of her knowledge, her secrets. Secrets about _me_. I wanted them, no matter the weight I would bear, if it would only open my understanding to the origins of deceit that had become my life.

"What rules?"

Emma focused her attention on the designs in the blanket, tracing them absently with one finger. "The same rules that led me never to question the whereabouts of the father who abandoned me. Believing men and the world were a bad place was necessary. Jodie needed me to _want_ to stay isolated. Safe."

"That doesn't make sense," I said. "Just because Jodie had some bad experiences doesn't mean she should generate that same fear into you." I shook my head, my brows furrowing in thought. "No, something else is up. There has to be more going on here."

Emma straightened her posture, and I watched her swallow heavily, like she was trying not to cry. She knew the answer, the final piece to the puzzle, and she was about to tell me. I took a deep breath, preparing myself. Andre's hand fell on top of mine, his palm covering the back of my hand. He squeezed my fingers, as though instinctively knowing I was suddenly afraid for what Emma was about to say.

"I'm going to tell you a story, and not some fairy tale like Rapunzel with magical hair and true love conquering all," she said. "This tale is about a set of twins separated at a young age. One of them went to a home where she received a stable environment with loving parents, a wealthy, private school education, and the luxury of time and money to develop her talents."

Emma looked pointedly at me, and I couldn't deny that my life fit that general description. "The other," she paused, as though struggling to find the right words, "was provided circumstances that were quite the opposite—a financially struggling, single mother who could only offer basic food and shelter. On top of that, social interactions were purposely limited, often non-existent."

My mouth slipped open at her final words. Clearly, Emma's story described the two of us. I'd seen the interior of her home. There was no question that her living circumstances had been simplistic, drastically so, in comparison to mine. I also remembered my earlier impulse to hug Emma, and how she had jumped back like she'd been burned with fire—a reaction that I first mistook for rejection and now recognized as simply unfamiliar to her. Emma made it all sound planned, like our separation and different living styles had been orchestrated.

"Once I entered my new home with Jodie, even though I wasn't even two, Jodie told me I was strong and independent, and I didn't need other people to make me feel better. I could do all that on my own." Emma's gaze shifted, focusing on the city in the distance. "Jodie used the same reasoning for providing education at home, reminding me that I didn't need to rely on anyone else. Friends, too, were an unnecessary crutch." She shrugged, opening her palms like there was nothing more she could say, as though there was little more to her story than rules that dictated how she'd been raised.

No school. No real friends... not a single birthday party or Christmas with anyone but the two of them. It seemed so contrived, so unnecessary. "You make it sound like Jodie was following orders, like our separation was all part of some kind of..." I couldn't even say the word, afraid that if I voiced it aloud, it might be true.

"Experiment?" The word fell off Emma's tongue like venom. Her brows pulled together in a scowl, and her lips tightened. "Yeah, because it was."

"How can that be?" Tears came to my eyes as I imagined Emma living her childhood away from society with limited experiences and no social outlets. It seemed impossible and cruel. "Emma, I'm sorry. I... I don't even know what to say. What kind of psychopath would devise that type of lifestyle for a young girl?"

Emma's eyes moved to mine, her mouth forming a grim line. "Your mother."

# Chapter Twenty-One

No.

Mom didn't create this sick plan to separate me from my twin. She couldn't have. Information swirled in my brain, struggling to make sense of what I'd been told and why it conflicted with Emma's story. Most confusing of all was how Jodie ended up with Emma and not me.

Closing my eyes, I rubbed my face with both hands. I felt Emma watching me, like she was simply waiting for me to put the pieces together and believe her. But how accurate could Emma's knowledge be when raised by a woman who had so far proven herself mentally unstable? Maybe everything Jodie had told her was a lie.

And yet... how accurate could _my_ knowledge be when conveyed to me by a woman who knew I had a twin and kept it secret? Whatever the whole truth, there was no denying that Mom played a role in separating us.

"You know it's true," Emma said.

I didn't like her sudden confidence. "No, I don't. You might be my twin, but I don't know you."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe you don't even know that you are. Maybe Jodie put you up to this. She's the one in the mental hospital after all. How can you trust anything she's told you?" I kicked the weird bond I felt with Jodie to the curb, not willing to accept my own mother as the culprit. "I don't know everything about my mom, but I know enough. She has spent her whole career helping people, and my entire life protecting me because of a promise she made to our birth mom. She has her flaws, but her intentions have always been good." No matter how much I disagreed with Mom for lying to me about my past, she'd meant well.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out, like she was trying to be patient with me. Her posture straightened before she challenged me again. "Your mom took advantage of Jodie. After six months of being our nanny, she blackmailed Jodie into playing a part in the experiment."

The word ignited images of a crazy-haired, wacko scientist with maniacal laughter and test-tubes filled with fluorescent goo—completely opposite of the elegant, well-spoken mother who applied careful consideration to my upbringing. I didn't want to hear anymore, yet I couldn't run away. I looked to Andre. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask if this could be true. No, more like he wanted me to consider the possibility.

"You said my mom...Evelyn... blackmailed Jodie into going along with this experiment." Now I understood why Emma cringed when she'd first said the word aloud. _Experiment_ sounded so callous, like we were nothing beyond a scientific process. The word weighed heavily on my tongue. "What does Evelyn have on Jodie?"

"Nothing now," Emma said, turning her back to gaze across the mountain, like she hoped to see Jodie inside the walls of the mental hospital. "Jodie already told the policed everything about the role she played in her daughter's death. They didn't respond the way she thought they would. I don't know how she ended up in a psych ward instead of jail, but I'm relieved."

"I think Evelyn had everything to do with that," I muttered, almost feeling responsible for her actions. I'd been the one to inform her directly after Jordyn and I broke into Jodie's house. "Plus, my friend's dad is a detective and mentioned something about the case being too old to re-open charges. I don't think any officials involved saw jail-time necessary at this point."

My thoughts turned to Jordyn. I had so much to tell her, so much to say. I didn't want to keep anymore secrets from my friend, let alone the fact that I had a twin. She'd been here for me during all of this, even without knowing the details. My friend deserved better from me.

"Emma," Andre said. "What happened between Jodie and her daughter? Why was it bad enough for blackmail?" Emma didn't look at him, but wrapped her arms around herself as the air chilled at a quickening pace. Andre peeled off his jacket and moved like he was going to wrap it around her. He paused as though thinking better of it. He held the jacket out at arm's length, suspending it between them before she took it, like a stray cat warily accepting a bowl of milk.

"Thanks," Emma said softly. She stared down at the jacket in her hands, a look of bewilderment touching her expression. She lifted her gaze to Andre and pressed her lips upward into a smile. I wondered if that was the first time a guy had done something nice for her, even one as simple and ordinary as offering his coat. She slipped the jacket over her sweatshirt, pulling it tightly around her. She met his gaze.

"Fifteen years ago, Jodie had been abusing prescription drugs for some time. But one day, she slept through Hannah's naptime on whatever high she was on. She'd passed out on a lounge chair by the pool. Hannah climbed out of her crib, and I guess when she couldn't find her mom in the house, she escaped through the dog door. The old guy driving by didn't even see her run out into the road."

I closed my eyes, hating the image in my mind. I skimmed past the devastating scene, grateful Emma wasn't verbalizing what I could imagine well enough on my own. I still wasn't sure how I felt about Jodie, who couldn't be considered innocent in all of this, no matter the bond Emma felt with her. However, I could imagine the grief Jodie must have felt. I'd been considering it since the day we broke into her house.

"She was a mess after that," Emma said. "Those were Jodie's words when she told me. She would go to the park every day, and just sit and watch children play, agonizing over how Hannah wasn't out there on the swings because of her. It had been less than a year since Hannah died when Evelyn sat down on the bench beside her."

I listened closely, this part of the story sounding familiar to the explanation Mom had told me earlier.

"Evelyn offered the nanny position, and Jodie jumped at the chance. Jodie opened up to Evelyn shortly after about her previous drug abuse and Hannah's death. Evelyn moved fast to use her. She said she'd go to the police and make sure Jodie ended up in jail for what she'd done." Emma sighed, like she felt conflicted with her next words. "Or... the more pleasant alternative was giving Jodie an opportunity to raise another daughter. To make it right by being a mother again, given certain limitations."

I, too, released a sigh so heavy that my shoulders sagged. Hanging my head, I only then realized that I was gripping Andre's hand. So tightly. Whether I'd grabbed his hand or he'd instinctively reached for mine again, I didn't know. I was only grateful for his support, not wanting to believe Mom was capable of such devious planning. How could these twisted women—both of them—be our mothers?

It was true what I'd said. I didn't know Emma, yet I also could not deny the pieces of me that felt our connection. We were sisters, our DNA far more intertwined than any other relationship in my life. I felt the depth of her pain, or was it my own, as I grappled with this truth? I thought of Mom, who had given me everything and nudged me in certain directions. I thought of her half-truths and the information she only revealed when circumstances demanded it—when she'd been caught. I recalled how quickly she'd become involved with Jodie as her psychiatrist, so eager to help her.

To manipulate her.

She'd been playing all of us, and I, the devoted daughter she'd trained me to be, trusted her. How could I have complained about my comfortable, boring life, when Emma had lived one with so many limitations? How could I have been fooled by a woman who dared call herself my mother? Emma was right. I believed her now. All of Mom's lies had been brought to the surface and, try as I might, I could not excuse them.

She'd been blinding me my whole life.

My nails dug into my palms. I imagined Mom sitting in her office, playing doctor to her clients and pretending to care for them. I thought of Jodie, the pro-bono case she'd taken on out of the _goodness of her heart_. How conveniently she reached out after I expressed my concern for Jodie turning herself into the police. I remembered now after dinner, the client she suddenly needed to attend to. No doubt she'd gone straight to the police station to intercept Jodie and look for Emma. She'd never cared for Jodie's well-being, only that there'd been a threat to her... _experiment? How could any of this be true?_ Yet there were too many coincidences for me to deny it any longer.

My jaw hurt from clamping my teeth. "We've been nothing more than rats in a maze."

"Liv." Andre reached out to hug me, but I didn't want to be consoled. I wanted to be angry, to feel the disgust snaking through me. I jerked away, throwing my hand behind me. It landed on a stubby cactus.

"Ow! Dang it!" I jumped to my feet, shaking my hand before assessing the damage. I examined my stinging palm, now covered in tiny needles.

"Come here, let me see." Andre grabbed my wrist. "Man, there's like, fifty of them."

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, standing beside me now.

I retrieved my hand from Andre's grasp. "Yeah, just stupid luck."

"I have a first-aid kit in the glove box," Andre said. "Follow me." As I walked beside him, he added, "Bet you wish you had just let me hold you now, don't you?"

I shouldered him. "Don't be smug."

He grinned as he unlatched the glove box. "Have a seat. Let me just find the tweezers... All right, give me your hand." Sighing, I thrust the back of my hand on top of his palm, wincing when the tweezers touched the needles.

"Ah, that burns." I grimaced at the mass of implanted needles. Andre took his time, carefully selecting each needle one by one. "Sorry, this is going to take you forever."

"I don't mind playing the doctor this time." He winked at me and I let out a pained laugh. It seemed forever ago that I'd attempted to make a sling for his damaged shoulder after our first ATV ride across this very mountain. So much had changed since that four-wheeling adventure, so many truths unveiled for the lies they were. Even Andre and I had changed, our relationship more... complicated.

He paused his work on my hand. "If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to have to call in a nurse to keep things appropriate around here."

My jaw dropped with a genuine laugh. He was trying to lighten my mood, and, as usual, was succeeding. "With a comment like that, I'm going to have to complain about your bedside manner."

"Would you really be so opposed to a little improper conduct?" Andre's hand beneath mine gave my wrist a light squeeze. He used a free finger to trace my fingers, the only part of my hand not covered in bristles. He started with the base of my pinky, traveling up and down before moving onto the next, like he was writing letters. Each delicate line sent a shiver traveling through me. When Andre reached the base of my thumb, I laid my left hand on top of his, holding him there.

"You create a compelling case, Doctor, but I'm afraid..." I paused to glance at Emma, who seemed absorbed with the motor bikes in the distance. "We have other matters to attend to."

Andre nodded and picked up the tweezers again. After plucking a few more needles, he followed my gaze, landing on Emma with an expression that fell somewhere between thoughtfulness and bewilderment.

"What are you thinking?" I asked. He'd been so quietly attentive to the conversations between me and Emma, not hesitating or questioning me since I showed up unannounced on his doorstep. This had to be so weird for him, so baffling. Maybe he wished I'd never roped him into it.

Andre returned his attention to my palm, working gingerly. His posture stiffened, and his next words removed the playfulness of our interaction. "To be honest, I've been trying to figure out why you came to my house today."

I swallowed. He was frustrated with me. Of course he was. We had that big fight on the bleachers and then, within hours, I showed up at his doorstep with my deeply complicated problem sitting in the front seat of my car, demanding his help. He had every right to question my motives. My right to be there.

Andre glanced up at me. "Was it out of convenience because my house is by the mountain, and as a bonus, having the vehicle to take you _safely nowhere_?"

"In part," I admitted, feeling even more shallow for taking advantage of him.

He pointed his index finger at me. "That's what I thought at first, too, that all you needed was a safe space to talk with Emma, and I just happened to be along for the ride. Plus, you needed a chauffeur, since you knew I'd never trust you to drive my RZR anywhere."

With an amused but scornful expression, I said, "I'd hit you if it weren't for the fact that my dominant hand is a little preoccupied."

He winked. "Well, lucky me then, I guess." His features warmed, his tone turning dangerously low. "The thing is, Liv, I think you came to me for another reason." I lifted my chin, fearful his next words might resonate too deeply with me. A nervous knot twisted inside my stomach.

"And what reason is that?"

"Despite what is going on with your family, or... even Dominic, you know you have me. You have _us_."

At the mention of Dominic, a wave of guilt rolled through me. "What do we even have, Andre? One kiss? Me, ruining everything by kissing my ex-boyfriend the minute he's back in town? I don't deserve your help. This is completely unfair of me to have dragged you into this."

"But you did, and I don't regret that." Andre's words came out hurried. Persistent, like he needed me to believe him. "Liv, we may not have everything figured out between us, but you still knew you could come to me. And despite how frustrated I felt with you earlier, the moment you showed up on my doorstep with that worry and fear in your eyes, none of it mattered anymore. I could never stay angry, knowing you needed my help."

My heart pounded at his words, feeling the weight of all these conversations about Dominic and Emma seeping into my tear ducts. I dropped my head, afraid for him to see me cry again. His fingers lifted my chin, his eyes holding mine. I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath, chasing away the tremors inside of me.

"Andre... I'm sorry I've been acting crazy lately. I've been confused and scared... But you—you seem to see everything more clearly, and you've cared enough to try and help me see it, too." I braved a smile, licking my lips and tasting a rogue tear. "Promise me something."

He opened his hands with a shake of his head. "Anything." The intensity of his gaze told me he meant it.

"Promise me you'll keep me straight through all of this. I can only guess that everything is about to become more distorted. More uncertain. I need you to be my eyes. Keep me on track."

"Of course. It's going to be okay, Liv," he said to me. "And even if it's not okay for a while, I'm here for you, all right?" He paused, his eyes roving my face. He lifted his hand and used his thumb to wipe my cheek, his touch gentle and then... lingering against my skin.

I smiled with my lips closed but pulled away. My gaze moved to the dirt beneath our feet. "I can't... with everything going on right now, I can't promise anything between us, and I know that's not fair to you."

Andre's hand dropped to his side but he nodded. "I'm not worried about that. Let's just figure out what's going on with you and your sister—"

With his word choice, my head snapped up. It was strange to hear, and yet... nice at the same time.

"—and we'll go from there," he continued. "You have a lot to worry about. This, however," he held up the very last cactus needle, "is no longer one of them. All done."

I peered at my palm, lightly running a finger over the skin. Except for a touch of redness and a mild sting remaining, my hand seemed to be just fine. "Thank you." Trying to breathe away the intensity between us, I said, "I'm impressed with your steady hands. Maybe you _should_ look into this whole doctor thing."

"Yeah, we'll see." An impish smile played on his lips, pulling us back into a humorous place of safety. "Maybe, but only if you'll be my nurse. Every outstanding hospital needs a dirty scandal or two, right?" His teasing words made me look away, unable to maintain his flirtatious gaze. Catching Emma watching us, I sighed at the reminder of reality.

"I'll have to make it through this scandal first. I'll let you know when I'm ready for another one. Yours definitely sounds more fun, though." Andre walked beside me, wrapping his arm around me to briefly squeeze my arm. To Emma, I said, "Sorry that took so long."

"I understand." She eyed the two of us with a knowing smile. "Seemed like the two of you needed to talk anyway."

Smart and perceptive, this twin of mine. Then again, we did share DNA, so that was to be expected. My thoughts turned to my mother, racking my brain to see if there was any way she was innocent in all of this.

_"Have you ever known someone to do something crazy because of grief?"_ I'd asked her, right after breaking into Jodie's home and becoming drawn to her story.

_"Absolutely,"_ she'd answered. _"The effects of losing someone you love are astronomical."_ She then counted off several ways that grief affected a person, conveniently leaving out how easily they could be manipulated. How malleable they could be in the wrong hands.

In her hands.

"This is why Jodie didn't want me to tell you," Emma said, stepping close to me, but not quite letting us touch. Her fallen expression mirrored mine. "Your heart is broken." A tear escaped her eyes, trickling down her cheek. My own quickly followed. Emma sniffed, swiping her nose with the back of her hand. "It was too late for me. Jodie had been preparing me for some time now, planning a way for me to separate from her, from you.... from all of this. We made frequent trips to Vegas where I could walk around freely and practice interacting with people. Sort of like field trips for social skills, I guess. How dumb that I would need that, right? But it helped. Jodie figured I'd be eighteen soon and could have my own life, quietly carrying our secrets, and you... would happily live your own in ignorance."

I frowned, hit with a sudden feeling of betrayal. "How can you say that? You knew about this twisted plot, and you were going to leave me? Again?" She was my sister and she'd almost disappeared without telling me. I would have lived in the dark, continuing into college, never knowing Evelyn wasn't my mother. Never knowing my twin sister had grown up on the other side of town from me, a harbored, blackmailed secret formulated by my own mother. My hand found my mouth, covering my quivering lips. I took a deep breath, shaking my head and wishing I could blow out all the emotions reeling inside of me.

"Can't you see how complicated this is?" Emma fired back. "There's no winning here, Olivia. Only hurting everyone involved."

"Then why did you seek me out?" I hated that she'd almost left me in ignorance, yet equally pained that she hadn't. "You wanted me to find you. You left the note at my doorstep. You were even playing with fire, using my name and appearance to try and see Jodie inside the mental hospital, and then showed up at my school today to drop off the second note. You spiraled all of this."

Emma nodded. "I've been following you, learning your schedule. But I didn't know you had been banned from the mental hospital. I thought if I could just talk to Jodie, I could find a way to get her out of there. I've been watching her through the courtyard fence for days. The woman walking around like a zombie... that's not Jodie. Someone's done something to her."

"I know. Evelyn played her hand again. I'm sure she's keeping her drugged to hide Jodie's knowledge of us, of the experiment. That's why she was desperate to keep me away."

"She's not safe there."

"No," I agreed. "She's not." Not with what Mom might do to cover her tracks. I had no idea the lengths she might take, but I was starting to get an idea. "Is that why you sought me out? To help Jodie?"

Emma stared back at me, like she was unsure how to say her next words. Maybe even uncomfortable with them, the expression on her face playing similarly to when I'd tried to hug her. "I wasn't going to leave you. I did need your help with Jodie, but... I also just needed to meet you. I never liked Jodie's plan to save myself and abandon you, even if it seemed for your own good. I just didn't know how to get a conversation like that started. So, I broke the rules. I left the note at your front door to get you thinking. To ease you into idea that your life is not how it appeared."

Andre let out a curt laugh, putting an arm around my shoulders. "It was more like a bomb went off."

"And now we're at war." I crossed my arms, a grim line forming across my lips. My words hung between us, drawing a line in the sand. Everything was about to change. There would be strategy, manipulation. Casualties. Deceit as we searched for truth.

"I'm with you," Emma said, her hand landing on my forearm.

I eyed her gentle touch, a hesitant but meaningful gesture.

Then we shared a smile.

The exact same smile.

Stay tuned for the next book in The Second Window duology by Erica Kiefer. THROUGH THE GLASS will be available 4/3/2018.

# Acknowledgments

The first stirrings of a storyline began like most of my book plotting: during a road trip where my husband is trapped in the car with me for hours! He shared with me how a co-worker witnessed a child fall off his bike and rushed to assist him. However, the parents cried out, "Don't touch him!" They explained some theory they were testing on not offering comfort to a child in pain. Talk about intrigue! So, if thanks are in order, I suppose it first goes to this unique set of parents who sparked a whole series of "what if" questions that allowed the plot of my story to run wild! Dan, I love you for putting up with my random evening brainstorming, despite your own exhaustion and desire to relax. In everything I do, I am so lucky to have you and your brilliant ideas by my side.

Clean Teen Publishing, this book would never have come to fruition if you had not challenged me to step out of my comfort zone and make changes. I'll admit, rewriting the first portion of my manuscript was tougher than I imagined (and perhaps you can also take credit for the sudden strands of gray hair popping out of nowhere), but I am grateful for the push to improve my writing and the storyline! Lauren Dootson, my editor, thanks for catching the many small details that help smooth out my writing. Marya Heidel, you practically nailed this cover on the first try!

To my beta readers: Jen Fidler, Karmen Maxwell, Katie Pierce, Maicee Campbell, Jenn Wright, Rachel and Maile Shipley, Ryan and Emily Rock, you are super heroes! From reading my first submission to holding my hand through the re-write and bouncing title and cover ideas, your encouragement cannot be replaced. Thank you for your honest feedback and hours of your time. This was way more fun to complete with your support!

Much thanks to my research team for adding credibility and depth to my story: Brad Macfarlane (Investigations Sergeant) and Dan Newman (detective) for entertaining and clarifying my questions on criminal investigations; Jonathan and Lisa Marshall for your expertise in adoption and family relationships; Cameron Waqa, athletic trainer extraordinaire, for your assistance with Andre's shoulder injury (and making the removal of his shirt plausible!); and Aaron Boren for your psychology insight. I appreciate each of you for allowing me to pester you with my questions.

The time required to balance motherhood and writing would never be achieved without the ongoing play-date swaps. Michelle Prince and Rachel Haymore, the crucial hours that my kids played at your house helped tremendously! To my newest babysitters: Sage Tyra, Daisy and Dariyan Salazar, Alona Haymore, and Zoe Teel, thanks for tackling the challenge of entertaining my kids while I locked myself away for a time. You survived, and your babysitting skills have flourished. Finally, to my kids, Aiyana, Aaron, and Logan, thank you for your patience, your love, and all your smiles. I know sharing Mommy isn't easy. I love you so much!

# About the Author

Erica Kiefer was born on Christmas Eve in Southern California to an American father whose ancestors arrived from Europe during colonial times and a Thai mother who moved to the US during high school. Adding to her rich and varied heritage, Erica grew up living abroad in Asia, including Taiwan, Fiji, Thailand and Indonesia. She gained a great respect for the beautiful mosaic of cultures found in various parts of the world. After graduating from International School Bangkok, she attended Brigham Young University in Utah, where she earned a degree in Recreation Therapy. Her career as a Recreation Therapist has allowed her to work with at-risk youth since 2007.

Erica made the best decision of her life by marrying her husband in 2005 and is currently a mother of three, one of whom awaits her in heaven. Erica also loves singing, reading, writing, and satisfying her sweet tooth with chocolate-chip cookies.

ericakieferbooks.com/

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Find out why readers are falling in love with **SERENADE** by Heather McKenzie. Grab your copy today!

Kidnapped and held hostage in the Rockies, a teenage heiress falls for her abductor while her corrupt father and devoted bodyguard fight to get her back. The discovery of true love and dark family secrets turns deadly in this epic coming of age adventure.

Kaya Lowen dreams of living like a normal eighteen-year old, but being heiress to a billion-dollar company has put her life in constant danger. Fiercely guarded by her powerful and corrupt father, she develops close bonds with those who protect her, especially Oliver – a bodyguard who has proven his devotion to her time and again. He wins her heart - until a chance encounter with a mysterious stranger has her questioning everything she believes in. Haunted by true love and reeling from a guilty conscience, Kaya's world unravels when she's kidnapped. Held captive in a rugged wilderness fraught with raging storms, mystical caves and deadly predators, Kaya's father scours the forest and her bodyguard fights to get her back. But, the discovery of a dark family secret makes Kaya wonder if staying in the arms of her blue-eyed abductor—a captivating stranger with dark secrets of his own – is a safer place to be. At least, that's what her heart is telling her, her head is saying run...

An epic adventure centered on a smoldering love-triangle, Serenade sings a timeless tale of courage, self-discovery, and life-or-death love that will leave you breathless.

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# Also by Erica Kiefer

Lingering Echoes

Rumors

Vanishing Act
