 
# The Mysterious Guy Next Door

## (The Unraveling Mysteries, #1)

## Jessica Sorensen
The Mysterious Guy Next Door

Jessica Sorensen

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2014 by Jessica Sorensen

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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For information: jessicasorensen.com

Cover by MaeIDesign

  Created with Vellum

# Contents

Lyric

Ayden

Lyric

Ayden

Ayden

Lyric

About the Author

Other books by Jessica Sorensen:

# Lyric

The couple that lives next door adopts children like puppies. No joke. The Gregorys are bringing home kid number four today. The adoption process has happened so frequently over the years for them that it's become a routine. They drive off in the early morning, cruising away in their sedan, and then late in the afternoon they return with a small human being sitting in the backseat, looking about as scared as a little puppy getting yelled at.

While I do feel sorry for the little boy or girl, the sympathy quickly wears off. Because within a couple of months, the small human in the backseat will get over their fear and turn into their own person, who more than likely will take it upon themselves to annoy the crap out of me.

I'd be fine with this. After all, they are my next-door neighbors' kids, not my little brothers or sisters. But that's the thing. They _are_ kind of like the little brother or sister I never had, since the couple next door are my parents' best friends and close to a second set of parents to me. I even call them Aunt Lila and Uncle Ethan.

"I wonder what this one will look like," I remark as I munch on my toast at the kitchen table. It's late morning, but we're late risers, so we're just starting breakfast, even though it's past ten. "And if it'll be a boy or a girl."

"Lila said he was a boy," my mother answers as she collects her mug and takes a seat across from me. "I think he's about your age, too."

"All their adopted kids are older. Aren't people supposed to adopt younger children?" I ask, reaching for the butter. "Like when they're babies?"

She sips the coffee then places the mug on the table. "Lyric, there are a ton of kids out there that need homes, both young and your age. Even older. You should realize just how lucky you are to have a roof over your head and parents who spoil the crap out of you. Some children don't have it so lucky."

My mother is probably one of the strangest moms ever, but in the best way possible. She uses phrases like, "spoil the crap out of you," and dresses cooler than I do half the time. Plus, she has fantastic taste in music.

"I know how lucky I am," I tell her. "So lucky in fact, that I know you're going to let me paint my room purple and black."

"Let me guess. Purple walls and black skulls."

"Hey, how'd you guess?"

"Because it's exactly how my room looked when I was your age. You're so much like me it's frightening sometimes."

"Well, there goes my theory that I was secretly adopted."

I don't really have that theory. I resemble my parents too much to ever believe I was adopted. I have my mother's striking green eyes, so bright they sometimes startle people at first glance. And I have the same shade of blonde hair my dad does. They're both tall, too, and passed that trait to me. At sixteen, I round in at five foot nine and tower over all of my friends at school. I inherited some of their talents as well, that is, if talents can be inherited.

Like my mother, I have the hand of an artist, although she is way better than I am. She owns her own art gallery and has sold a lot of her paintings. Her work is usually described as raw, emotional, and realistic.

Then there's my dad's talent of music. My father is a musician who used to perform in a band, and then later on as a solo artist. Now, he's mostly retired and owns his own studio. I'm not sure if it was all the time I spent hanging out with him, or the fact that my parents named me Lyric, but music is branded into my bones. I love anything and everything that has to do with it. My favorite instrument is the guitar, granted the violin is a close second. Creating lyrics, though, that's truly my favorite thing to do musically.

"It seems like such a nice day to go out for a drive," my mother comments, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to reality. "Maybe when Lila gets home, the three of us and the new boy can go for a drive. It'll give you some time to get to know him."

I stuff the rest of my toast into my mouth. "What if he's weird, though, like Kale?"

Kale is the latest addition to the Gregory family. He was twelve when they brought him home two years ago, and he still hasn't given up his obsession with comic books. And I mean _obsession._ He frequently dresses up like characters, his favorite being Flash. He also once wore a cape to school, which made him the subject of a lot of bullying.

Then there are the other two kiddos, Fiona and Everson. At twelve, Fiona is the youngest and probably the chattiest. She loves to draw and has a deep fascination with butterflies. Everson is smack dab between Fiona and Kale at thirteen years old. He's quiet, loves sports, especially football, and is probably the most normal of the bunch. They all have their weird little quirks, though, and shady pasts that I never really get to fully hear.

It's not like I have anything against weirdoes and shady pasts—heck, I can be a weirdo and sketchy sometimes—but as the sorta bigger sister, I constantly have to stick up for them, and sometimes it gets tiring.

"Lyric, just because Kale's different doesn't mean he's weird." My mom reaches for the coffee pot. "Need I remind you of your little obsession with that boy band when you were his age."

"You promised you'd never bring that up. You even pinkie swore that you wouldn't."

Her lips curl as she fills her cup to the brim with steaming hot coffee. "Then don't give me reasons to break my promise."

"Fine, I'll stop calling Kale a weirdo on one condition." I swallow a gulp of milk then wipe my lips with the back of my hand. "If you let me go to the concert on Friday with Dad."

Her cheeriness diminishes. "Did he tell you that you could go with him?"

I shrug. "He didn't not tell me I couldn't."

She shakes her head, restraining a grin. "You are way too good of a bargainer for your own good."

I perk up. "So does that mean I can go?"

"Hmm... That all depends on if you'll go on a drive with me later and warmly welcome the new Gregory." She raises her glass to her mouth, but only to hide a smirk.

"Touché, Mother. I see where I get my bargaining skills from."

I consider her offer. Going on a drive with my mother may not seem like the most fun thing in the world, but it kind of is. Her and my dad used to drag race, and they still have some of their badass cars we take out when we go for trips. Both of them drive fast, although I think they play it safe when I'm in the car. It's still fun, though.

What makes me hesitate on the offer is the getting to know the new Gregory part. Like puppies, I never know what the new addition's personality is going to be. He could be nice, or he could be a little weirdo who bites. The youngest, Fiona, actually bit me the first day they brought her home.

But I want to go to the concert badly enough that the pros outweigh the cons.

I chug the rest of my milk then agree. "Fine, I'll go with you as long as you let me go with Dad."

"Go where with me?" my dad asks as he strolls into the kitchen carrying his guitar case.

I scoot back from the table and stand up. "To the concert."

My dad drops his guitar case to the floor and lifts his hand for a high five. "See, I told you it'd be better if you asked her."

My mother's head whips in his direction, and she scowls at him. "Did you put her up to that?"

He shrugs as I slam my palm against his. "You have a hard time telling her no."

"So do you." She narrows her eyes. "You spoil her too much."

"And vice versa." He leans down and whispers something in her ear, causing her to giggle and blush.

That is my cue to leave, because in just a few moments, they'll start making out like they always do. _So gross._

I hurry out of the kitchen and up to my bedroom to change out of my pajamas. I select a black tank top and a pair of cut offs then braid my long, blonde hair before applying a dab of eyeliner around my eyes. I then blast some Rise Against and rock out on my drums for a bit. Uncle Ethan actually taught me how to play, but he says I'm a natural since I caught on really quick.

After the drums comes the guitar. I turn on "Buried Myself Alive" by The Used and strum the strings to the tempo until my fingers are numb. Then I crank up some "Lithium" by Evanescence and go mad crazy with the violin while belting out the lyrics. I stop when I'm hoarse and flop down on my bed to draw covers for the albums I have yet to create.

Once my hands ache, I move on to lyrics. Although it's one of my favorite things to do, I sometimes feel like I lack in the lyrical department. Most of the music I love is angsty, emotional, semi-twisted, and moves the soul. Mine always seem to come out on the exuberant side. I'm hoping with time it will change. I know my dad wrote some of his best lyrics in his late teen years, when he was pining over my mom. He even told me once that the more I experience life, the more emotional my songs will get. Now, if I could just get those experiences like he said, life would be fantastic.

I'm still figuring out how to attain that life, though. For the most part, my life is pretty boring. I have decent, pretty cool parents who support every dream I throw at them, whether it's proclaiming that I'm going to create my own genre in music, or win a Grammy. I get to do a lot of things I want to do, like go to concerts, art shows, meet semi-famous musicians. I've spent a lot of time in my dad's studio, watching artists record. I have a lot of friends, granted none of them I would consider a best friend, but there are still occasions where I feel lonely.

Bored. Ordinary. That's what my life is. And ordinary doesn't make awesome music.

Plus, even if I miraculously became the most killer songwriter ever, I could never sing in front of anyone. Just playing the guitar for my family makes me want to vomit. Singing is much more raw than playing an instrument. Much more real. Exposes the soul so much more. And as blunt as I am, exposing my soul freaks the living shit out of me, because I fear people won't like what's in me.

By the time I look up from the notepad again, the sun is setting over the city of San Diego, and the sky is shades of florescent pink and orange.

"Lyric, it's time!" my mother calls up the stairs as I'm tucking my notepad under my pillow.

Sighing, I slip on my black boots and trot down the stairs.

"How long of a drive does it have to be?" I ask her as I wander into the living room where she's stacking our entire DVD collection onto the coffee table.

Movie watching is an adoption day tradition. We start off with dinner at the Gregory's, where everyone gets reacquainted with each other. Then we come over here to watch a movie since we have a massive television in our living room.

"I'm not sure yet." She stands up straight and gathers lose strands of her red hair out of her face while she scans the room. She has spots of grey and blue paint in her hair and on her cheek, which means she's been in her studio for most of the day. "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

"Batteries. You've been meaning to change them for like two weeks." I chuck her the remote that I collect from the armrest.

She catches it. "Yeah, that's it. What would I do without you?"

"Probably lose your marbles."

She pats my head as she rushes out of the living room. Minutes later, she returns with the remote and my dad in tow.

"Everyone ready?" she asks as she tosses the remote onto the sofa. "Let's go."

"Do I really have to go this time?" I whisper to my dad as we follow my mom out the door and into the dwindling sunlight. "It's starting to get really old. I mean, I'll get to see the newbie tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that."

My dad swings an arm around me as we step off the front porch. "Lyric, I know you don't get it now, but one day you'll see the importance."

I look up at him. "In what?"

"In the family you have," he says as we round the picket fence on the line of our property. We hike up the Gregory's driveway to their two-story home that is very similar to ours. The only noticeable difference on the outside is the shade of the siding—white and grey. "You're really lucky to have _every_ single one of us. And you should really get to know the new kid. He's your age, and I'm sure he could use a friend with... some of the stuff he's been through. You could be that friend for him. Do something good."

I wonder what he means by _stuff_.

"I know I'm lucky, and I was planning on getting to know him." _Sort of_. "And I do good stuff all the time. I go with Mom and Lila to the shelter every year on Thanksgiving and help out. I give my clothes away sometimes. I even befriended Maggie McMellford last year, despite the fact that no one was nice to her and she didn't know who Nirvana was until I let her listen to them."

"Really? She didn't know who Nirvana was?"

I shrug. "Unfortunately, a lot of kids don't have an old man musician father who knows all the classics."

"Old man?" His brow arches. "Ha, ha, you're a riot, Lyric Scott."

I innocently grin at him. "I wasn't trying to be a riot. Just telling the truth."

He chuckles and I laugh with him. My laughter silences, though, as the Gregory's enormous sedan rolls up the drive.

I sigh as my gaze instantly drifts to the backseat, searching for the scared little puppy dog. All I find is what appears to be a guy crammed in with the rest of the Gregory clan. I'm not one-hundred percent sure what he looks like, since I don't have a clear view into the backseat, so I wait in anticipation until the sedan parks and the clan piles out.

Normally, the newbie remains in the backseat, too afraid to leave the vehicle. This one just hops right out and rounds the car toward us as if he doesn't have a care in the world.

He doesn't look like the rest of them either. Honestly, he kind of looks like Uncle Ethan in the pictures I've seen of him when he was younger. Black hair, dark eyes, tall. He's dressed head-to-toe in black, wearing a... I squint to see if I'm seeing things correctly. Yep, he's wearing a leather collar around his neck.

I'm not sure what to make of this. What it says about him. At my school, the kids who dress like this are the rebellious troublemakers. Is that how he's going to be? Part of me is thrilled at the idea, while the other fears it.

"Everyone, this is Ayden," Aunt Lila introduces him with the proudest smile as she gently places her hand on Ayden's shoulder.

Ayden glances at her hand, and by the hardness in his eyes, I expect him to get angry with her, but he doesn't utter a word.

"And, Ayden, these are our neighbors, Micha and Ella Scott." Lila motions her hand at me. "And this is their daughter, Lyric."

Smiling, I wave. "Hi."

He doesn't say hi back. Doesn't wave either. He just stares at me. And stares. He stares so long that I get a bit uncomfortable, especially because of the sadness radiating from his eyes. It's kind of hard to endure and makes me feel subdued. I consider ducking behind my dad to escape his stare down, but I'm guessing I'd get scolded for being rude so I keep my feet planted and focus on my fingernails, picking at the black nail polish.

I listen to everyone yammer, squirming more and more the longer Ayden's sad eyes remain fastened on me, as if he's daring me to figure out all of his secrets, his weirdo side, his shady past.

Finally, we all file inside the house and I breathe freely again as he stops focusing on me and instead zeros in on his new home.

Lila starts giving him a tour of the house while Ethan leads the other three rugrats into the kitchen with my dad.

I start to go with my dad, but my mom captures me by the back of my shirt and tows me back to her. "Let's go with them." She nods at Lila and Ayden as they ascend the stairway.

I scrunch up my nose as I recollect Ayden's intense, depressing stare. "Do I have to? He looks so sad, and his staring is making me uncomfortable."

"All the more reason to spend time with him." She signals for me to get a move on. I reluctantly obey, but stand as far behind as I can without looking too antisocial.

Luckily, Ayden seems more engrossed with the home and his room than me. He doesn't even glance my way as he takes in each wall, piece of furniture, and framed pictures. But when we all gather around the table for dinner, he ends up sitting across from me, and the stare down begins again.

I attempt to avoid his gaze as he watches me pick at my salad. As I chow down on my burger. As I chat with Fiona about her art obsession. The longer the staring goes on, the squirrelier I become, until I can't take it anymore.

Throwing my napkin onto the table, I slump back in the chair, cross my arms, and stare at him in the same manner.

At first, he appears unfazed, but as the minutes tick by, he starts to look almost amused.

_Interesting._

Without removing his eyes from me, he picks up his drink and guzzles a long swallow. I do the same. We simultaneously place our glasses down. He pauses then drums his fingers on the table, either testing me or playing with me... I'm still not sure yet.

Intrigued, I thrum my fingers, too.

He fiddles with the small black and red gauge in his left ear. I only have one piercing in each of mine and no earrings in right now, but I still pretend to mess around with an invisible gauge.

He rolls his tongue across his teeth, the smallest trace of a ghost smile emerging. I feel like I've won a game and delve forward, determined to make that sadness crack.

"Oh, Lyric, let me play, too!" Fiona clasps her hands together as she kneels up on her chair. "Pretty please. I've never had a brother to play copycat with before. Kale and Everson always get so angry."

I smirk at Ayden then turn to her. "I think Ayden would love to play with you." I rise from the table, take my dirty dishes to the sink, and sneak outside to get some fresh air.

As I'm sitting on the curb in front of the house with my legs stretched out, I catch Ayden gawking at me through his upstairs bedroom window. I tip my head to the side, wondering just how long this whole staring thing is going to last. He hasn't even spoken a word yet.

_Maybe he doesn't speak._

"Lyric!" my mother suddenly shouts, and I tear my attention away from the window. She's exiting the house with Lila, both of them elated about something. "Ready to go out on a drive with us?"

"Surely durely." I stand up and brush the dirt off the backs of my legs then start to follow them to my house when Lila glances back at me.

"Lyric, would you mind running up and telling Ayden to come with us?" she asks, hopeful. "He seems a little nervous except when he's around you."

My brows furrow. "He hasn't even said a word to me, so how do you arrive at that conclusion?"

"Well, you two were playing that little staring contest game at the table." She adjusts the pale pink strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. "I would really appreciate it, sweetie."

My Aunt Lila is way too nice to argue with, so I reel around to go get Ayden, but then halt before I reach the front steps.

"Aunt Lila, does Ayden... talk?" I dare ask, facing her again.

"Of course, sweetie. He's just a little nervous. Things have been hard for him, and I think he's feeling a little overwhelmed."

She turns to my mom and starts telling her about the countless foster families he grew up in and that he has some problems.

"He's been through so much," she says with a disheartened sigh, pressing her hand to her chest. "And still has so much to face in the future."

I stop to listen, but when my mom shoots me a death glare, I hurry into the house and up the stairs to Ayden's bedroom.

His door is wide open and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at a duffel bag on the floor. He looks so morose that I feel kind of sorry for him. _What has this boy been through?_

"You're supposed to come downstairs and go on a drive," I announce as I waltz into the room.

He jumps, startled as his attention darts up to me. He doesn't reply. Simply just stares again.

"I know it sounds really lame." I wander around, observing all the knickknacks Lila put up—sports and band posters, little painted blocks with quotes on them, books on the shelf. It's like she didn't know what he was into, so she just decorated the room with a bit of everything. "It's pretty fun, though. They drive fast and stuff."

He still doesn't utter a word. Just looks at me.

I face the bed and assess him while he studies me back. His head is tilted just enough that his black hair dangles in his grey eyes, so I don't have a clear view of how he's looking at me. He appears uneasy, though, fidgeting with a bracelet on his wrist.

Finally, I can't take the silence anymore. Even though I know I might get in trouble for doing it, if he chooses to tell on me, I march to the bed and stand right in front of him.

When he angles his head back to look at me, his eyes are filled with confusion. I poke him in the side of the ribs, hard enough that he flinches and his body jolts.

"What the hell?" He gapes at me as he cradles his side.

"Ha!" I cry, pointing a finger at him. "You do know how to speak."

His lips part in astonishment. "Of course I know how to speak."

"No, of course you know how to stare. Speaking was getting a little questionable. Either you couldn't speak or you were just shy, but I needed to find out."

He has no clue how to respond to my colorful personality—most people don't in the beginning.

Feeling a little on the adventurous side, I snatch ahold of Ayden's hand and drag him to his feet. "Come on, shy boy." I pull him with me as I march out of the room and downstairs. "The longer we stay up here, the longer this night is going to drag on."

He follows me a lot easier than I expected him to, holding onto my hand, maybe too tightly, as if he's terrified out of his wits.

"I thought you said driving with them was fun?" he questions. "So why would you want the night to end so soon?"

"The driving part is fun," I assure him as I throw open the front door. The cool breeze kisses my skin and it smells like leaves and grass. "But the movie thing at the end is painful to endure. We always have to watch a kid appropriate movie. Either a cartoon or something rated PG." I glance back at him. "Although, maybe because you're older, they'll let us watch something cooler."

"Maybe I like cartoons and PG movies," he counters, holding my gaze as he slides his hand from mine and folds his arms across his chest.

"Do you?"

"Not really. I just wanted to make a point. You shouldn't make assumptions. Maybe I'm a kid at heart who likes kid movies."

"You know what, Ayden? I think you and I might be good friends, if you're lucky." I snatch his hand again and tug him around the fence and up the driveway toward the open garage of my house. "Although, you still have to pass the music quiz."

"Music quiz?" he asks, distracted by my mother's black and red 1969 GTO parked in the garage next to my dad's 1969 Chevelle SS, staring at both of them in awe, like most guys do.

"Yeah. Music. As in instruments and lyrics and stuff. I might not be able to be friends with you if you like some of that cliché pop music they always play on the radio."

He cocks a brow at me. "Do I look like someone who's into that kind of music?"

I release his hand as we near the car then smirk at him. "Well, my initial assumption would be a no, but you told me not to make assumptions."

"But I didn't expect you to listen."

I wink at him. "I'm an excellent listener, along with many other awesome things." I skip around to the driver's side and dive into the backseat, giving the horn a couple of honks on my way.

"Get in!" I call out to Ayden as I push the passenger door open for him.

A second later, he slides onto the leather seat beside me.

"Where are they?" he asks as he settles in the seat, fidgeting with the leather band on his wrist.

"Who knows?" I lean over the console and pound on the horn until the door to the house swings open.

My mom and Lila come wandering out, scolding me for the horn honks. Their scolding is nothing new. I easily shrug it off and sit back in the seat as the drive begins.

My mother does her best not to peel the tires until we're on the freeway, since the last time she did it out of the driveway the neighbors made a complaint. Once we're on the long, curvy stretch of road, though, all bets are off.

"Just take it a bit easy, Ella," Lila begs as she clutches the seat, something she always does when we go driving. "We have a newbie to your... um, interesting driving skills."

"Awesome driving skills." My mother smiles at me from the rearview mirror and I grin back, knowing what's coming.

An instant later, she punches the gas and we're off, flying down the road and weaving in and out of cars.

I relax and breathe in the air blowing through the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ayden picking at his black fingernail polish.

I stick out my hand and wiggle my fingers. "Look. We match."

Again, he nearly smiles, but I've still yet to witness any sort of happiness from him. It's got me curious, way more curious than the other kids Aunt Lila and Uncle Ethan have brought home. They all have their sad moments, but not like this, so sullen all the time. It makes me want to get him to smile really, really badly.

"Hey, Mom," I say, without taking my eyes off Ayden. "Can we turn on some music?"

"Sure. What do you want to listen to?"

"Can I just see your iPod?"

She hands it to me, and I give it to Ayden. "Here you go." I slip off my sandals and kick my feet up on the console. "Impress me."

I wait patiently as his eyes dance between me and the iPod in his hand. He starts sorting through the songs. I swear he just about grins again when he makes his selection and returns the device back to me. I pause as I take it from him, catching a glimpse of a row of thin scars that look like cat scratches on the top of his hand. Noticing the direction of my gaze, he quickly jerks his sleeve over his hand then rotates toward the window again.

I want to ask him about the scars. I want to ask him a lot of things. But I force my curious side to shut up and focus on the music. The song he chose causes me to laugh, because of all things it's by Nirvana. I start singing along under my breath, quiet enough that no one can actually hear me, while Ayden thrums his fingers to the beat, gazing out the window at the houses and stores in the distance.

"Are you sure you're not too hot?" Lila asks Ayden for the millionth time, making her seem way more doting toward him than she was with the other three.

"I'm good," he responds, scratching at the scars on the back of his hand as he turns inward.

"You know what would be cool," I say when the silence gets to me. "If Ayden could come to the concert with Dad and me."

"Oh, he can't." Lila fretfully glances over her shoulder at Ayden, who doesn't say a thing. "Ayden has to take it easy for the first few weeks while he's here, getting adjusted to everything. I don't want to over-excite him."

_So strange._

I sit back in the seat as we continue to drive through the city for the next hour before returning home. As we hop out of the car to go inside the house and watch a movie, I snag Ayden's sleeve and draw him back to me. When Lila and my mom step inside, I release his shirt and face him.

"Okay, you passed the music test. Now we can be friends." I would have been friends with him anyway, but it's more entertaining this way.

He stares me down. "What if I don't want to be friends with you?"

I'm unsure if he's being serious or not, but I shrug him off, seeing this as more of a fun challenge than anything else.

"You do. I promise. Not only am I the most awesome person ever, but I can show you the ropes of your new life." __ I stick out my hand. "So what do you say? Friends?"

He eyeballs my hand then his gaze glides up my body and lands on my face. "All right, we can be friends, Lyric." He places his scarred hand in mine and we shake on it.

His fingers tremor as we pull away, and his smile never fully reaches his eyes.

I know the story. All of the children Lila and Ethan have adopted have been through something terrible. Usually, I leave it alone since it's none of my business, but with Ayden, I'm curious. I have questions. Lots and lots of questions.

I make a vow to myself right then and there that one day, as his friend, I will get to know him and find out his story.

Then, I'll make him smile for real.

# Ayden

_J ust breathe. Just breathe. Just Breathe._

_The pressure will crack and shatter_

_if you just keep breathing._

_Life will eventually get easier_

_if you keep your heart beating._

_Just breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe._

I repeat the mantra of words over in my mind the entire drive to my new house, all during the tour, and during the ride with the woman who drives crazier than most teenagers. I chant it under my breath all night long when I don't get an ounce of sleep.

The process is nothing new. This is the sixth time I've lay awake in a new room within the last year. Stability is what's uncertain to me, even before I entered the system. And now, suddenly, they're telling me I have it. That this home is _the_ home. That I'm being adopted and will no longer be passed around from family to family.

I don't understand it. Teenagers aren't supposed to be adopted. No one wants them, especially ones that are as ruined as I am, that have been through the things I have. We're stray dogs, scraggily, ratty, bad habits, untrainable. People want puppies. Cute, fixable puppies. Yet here I am, supposedly wanted by the Gregorys, despite my scars and issues.

The house is strangely quiet at night, and even during the brink of morning. Maybe I'm just too used to a lot of noise, but the soundlessness makes sleep impossible. I end up staring at the ceiling until the sun peeks over the city and heats up the room. Then I climb out of bed and start to get ready for school.

After I pull on a pair of faded black jeans and a matching shirt, I sit on the bed and stare at the few contents inside my bag. A single photo of me with my brothers and sister, a rusty pocketknife, and a watch are all that's left of my original life—the one that I was born into. I don't miss that life at all, but I miss my brothers and sister, who I haven't seen since social services barged in on that God awful day and yanked us out of that shithole house.

I look down at the scars on the backs of my hands. Marks of my past, branded forever into my body and soul. I can remember clearly how some of them were put onto my body. Others I can't. The freshest ones are the worst. They happened the day I was taken away, a day my mind has somehow blocked.

I put the photo down and pick up the other object hidden beneath the small pile of clothes—a bottle of pills I stole from the last home. I don't even know why I took it. Not to get high. I'm not into drugs. I just wanted to have them, just in case I can't take this anymore, the pain and darkness and ugliness residing inside me. The loneliness. The unknown.

I wonder if I should take them now. All of them. Then I wouldn't have to face another damn day feeling as though the ground is about to crack apart beneath me. Face the world being friendless again. Alone. Always alone. I hate it, but can't admit it aloud.

"Ayden."

Mrs. Gregory is standing in the doorway with her blonde hair pulled up, wearing a hesitant expression. She has on a red apron over jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She looks like a typical mom, yet her warming, comforting demeanor is unfamiliar to me.

"I was coming to wake you up for school"—she tentatively steps foot into the room, glancing around at everything still neatly in place like it was yesterday. I haven't dared touch anything except the bed—"but it looks like you're already ready."

I nod as I drop the bottle into the duffel bag and quickly fasten the zipper. Her eyes track my movements, and I half expect her to ask me what I'm doing, but she doesn't.

"Do you want some breakfast?" She points over her shoulder at the doorway. "I made chocolate chip pancakes."

I rake my hand through my shaggy black hair as I spring to my feet and fumble for my tattered backpack on the floor. "Sure, ma'am."

She frowns. "Ayden, you don't need to call me ma'am."

I seal my lips together and remain silent. I've never been much of a talker, nor do I feel comfortable calling her anything but ma'am. Yes, they're officially adopting me now, but we'll see how long that lasts. I give them a week until they want to send me back.

She stiffly smiles then signals for me to follow her as she starts for the door. "Come on. Let's get some breakfast in you while Kale's getting ready. I'll have Ethan drive you all to school. He takes the rest of the kids a little bit later since junior high starts later than the high school."

I nod, slinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder. "Okay."

She seems unnerved by my one-word responses, but I don't know how to give her more.

She pauses when we reach the arch of the kitchen doorway. "Are you sure you're up for school? Because you could always skip a few days and start next week when you're a little bit used to things. And I could take you shopping for some new clothes."

I shake my head. "I'm fine. I'm used to stuff already. And I'm fine with my clothes."

She offers me a sad smile. "If that's what you want."

I freeze, thrown off balance. I'm pretty certain that's the first time someone has said something like that to me. "Yeah, that's... what I want."

She whisks into the kitchen, crossing the length of the large room and heading toward the stainless steel stove. The entire house is big and sparkly—fancy. I feel very uncomfortable, because all the other homes I've been in have been small, dull, and broken.

"I'll see if Lyric wants to ride with you," she says as she refastens the tie on her apron. "She's a junior like you. It might be nice to know someone your age."

The suggestion makes me uneasy. Lyric made me feel out of my element yesterday with her blunt, bold attitude. Plus, her green eyes are so unbelievably intense that I had trouble looking away from them. I think I came off even more insane than I normally do. Still, after all the staring, the damn girl seemed determined to be my friend. I haven't had much in the line of friends, and wouldn't even know what to do with one, but I still agreed to be hers, figuring I'd only be here for a week, so keeping my promise wouldn't matter.

"Are you okay with that?" Mrs. Gregory begins stirring batter in a bowl.

I nod as I take a seat at the rectangular table in the nook. "Yeah, that's fine."

I can tell she's about to explode from my limited answers. I wait for her to yell at me—it wouldn't be the first time I've been yelled at by an adult for my silence. Instead, she offers me pancakes, so many that I feel fuller than I ever have, as if she whole-heartedly believes that pancakes are the way to cure my silence.

I wish they were.

_Chocolate chips to heal a broken soul._

_Cure hunger._

_Cure the past._

_Cure my amnesia._

Lyric had warned me yesterday, though, that Mrs. Gregory would be like this. That she runs her own catering business on the weekends and loves to do experimental cooking for the family whenever she can.

After I assure Mrs. Gregory that I'm stuffed, she ushers Mr. Gregory, Kale, and I out the door, shoving a granola bar and banana in Kale's hand.

"Oh, and remember you have therapy later today," Mrs. Gregory subtly reminds me on my way out.

I nod, even though I'm not a fan of the idea, and follow Kale and Mr. Gregory out the door. We get into a bulky black sedan that seems more like a chauffeur car than a family vehicle. Then, Mr. Gregory backs down the driveway, pausing at the street where he lays on the horn, staring at the neighbors' house.

"You should get along with Lyric just fine. She's a very outgoing girl." That's all he says. He was the same way yesterday. A man of few words. I think I might kind of like him.

I fasten my seatbelt while we all wait in silence. A couple of minutes later, a very bouncy Lyric comes bounding out of the house with her backpack on. The girl walks like she's on crack, all bouncy and full of sunshine. I find myself both envious and mesmerized by it—by her.

Her long blonde hair is down and blowing in the breeze. She's wearing red cut-offs with a long-sleeved black shirt that has netting for the sleeves. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of person she is. At first glance, I might have gone with Goth—minus the blond hair—but after watching her smile and chat yesterday, she seems too cheery for that type of crowd. Cheerleader doesn't seem right either. Neither does a jock.

"Hello, everyone," Lyric singsongs as she hoists herself into the backseat of the sedan and scoots in next to Kale. She has a violin case in one hand and a Pop Tart in the other.

_Orchestra freak?_ Wouldn't have guessed that.

"Morning, Lyric," Mr. Gregory replies as she slams the car door. He backs out onto the road and drives down the street, past the two-story homes, and toward the stop sign. "What's your dad up to today?"

Lyric briefly flashes Kale a smile, who goes as stiff as a board, then she buckles her seatbelt and peers up front at me.

I realize I'm staring again. I tell myself to look away, but like yesterday, I'm too curious to listen to myself.

"Not much," she tells Mr. Gregory as she munches on her breakfast. "I think he's going to go down to his studio and rock out for a little while. Why? You thinking about having an old man jam session?"

Mr. Gregory shakes his head, but I can tell he's trying really hard not to smile. "I'm not that old, Lyric."

She pats him on the shoulder. "It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

He rolls his eyes. "So, how are the drums coming along?"

She shrugs as she unzips her backpack. "Good. Although I still think I'm way better at the guitar and violin. The drums are fun, though, for letting some steam off."

So she plays the guitar, drums, and violin. Okay, she's not an orchestra freak, just a hardcore music freak. It makes me like her more.

While I don't know how to play any instrument, listening to music is a huge outlet for me and got me through a lot of hard times. Plus, it drowns out screaming really well.

"And how about the lyric writing?" he asks as he veers the sedan onto the main road that centers the small, upper class neighborhood.

She retrieves a pack of gum then sets the bag aside. "Not that great, but I blame it on my parents. They've made my life too easy, and I have absolutely nothing to write about."

"You could always write about the easy stuff," he suggests, looking at me for some reason, as if he knows my not-so-easy secrets.

She pops a piece of gum into her mouth then offers one to Kale, who quickly shakes his head. "I don't want to be that kind of a songwriter."

Mr. Gregory glances at her through the rearview mirror. "You sound just like your dad."

"Thanks." She seems proud of this, something I find strange. Most kids my age would take it as an insult.

Her eyes abruptly lock on mine. "Do you play anything, shy boy?"

Great. She's already given me a nickname.

I shake my head. "No."

"What do you do, then?"

I shrug. "Nothing."

She leans forward in the seat, chomping on her gum. "Now, that's not true. I mean, clearly you've got a chance for the Most-One-Word-Responses championship title." She blows a bubble, and then smiles at me, making happiness look so effortless.

"Well, obviously there's that," I retort, unable to help myself. "But I'm betting my chances for winning are going to go down the more time I spend with you."

She grins as she reclines back into the seat. "Excellent comeback, shy boy."

I'm on the verge of smiling as I face forward in the seat again, but any trace of happiness dissipates when we pull up to the school. It was clear to me yesterday, when I first saw the neighborhood the Gregorys lived in, that I was now officially part of the upper class society. I didn't even think about what that would mean for the school district.

Instead of a rundown, graffitied building like I'm used to, the school consists of a perfectly structured building, surrounded by green grass and sparkling, crack-free windows. Half the cars in the parking lot look brand new, and the clothes everyone wear look fresh off the racks from some absurdly expensive store.

"Are you going to be okay with Lyric showing you around?" Mr. Gregory asks me as he parks the sedan in front of the drop-off section. "Because I can walk you in if you need me to."

"No way," Lyric interrupts as she shoves the door open. "As cool as you are, Uncle Ethan, the last thing he needs is you being all awkward, like you usually are around people."

He shakes his head, but he's not irritated, more like mildly entertained. "All right, I'll pick you three up after school, then."

She nods then jumps out at the same time Kale hops out his side. They both slam their doors as I reach for my door handle, but then pause, feeling terrified. I usually like to blend in and typically do. But with my gauges, faded black clothes, and worn boots, I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb.

I open my mouth to ask Mr. Gregory if he can take me home, but my door swings open and Lyric snaps her fingers and points for me to get out.

"You'll be just fine," she assures me as if she's read my mind. She slips her bag on then grabs my hand, giving my arm a tug. "I got your back, dude."

I flinch at her touch and almost jerk back. I hate being touched almost as much as I loathe nighttime. But as I catch sight of the abundance of so-called classy people roaming around, I end up clinging on to her as I climb out of the car, oddly grateful that Lyric doesn't let my hand go as we walk up the wide pathway toward the glass entrance centered below a brick archway.

People are staring at us. At me. At me holding Lyric's hand. At my outfit. My piercings. It brings me back to the day we were pulled out of that house while the entire neighborhood watched the three malnourished orphans as if they were part of a freak show they couldn't tear their eyes from.

"God, it's like no one's ever informed them that staring is rude," Lyric mutters as she slams her palm against the glass door and shoves it open.

Pretty much all eyes land on us as we step inside the narrow hallway lined with lockers. Some people look interested. Others repulsed. Some utterly baffled.

Lyric waves to a lot of people and stops to chat with a couple of girls, never releasing my hand. She introduces me to a girl named Maggie, who looks at me like I'm the rebel she wants to walk on the bad side with. The look is nothing new; a lot of girls do it, except Lyric. She just looked at me like she to be my friend.

"Hey, Ayden." Maggie offers me her hand, fluttering her eyelashes. "So, where are you from?"

"Nowhere important." I don't take her offered hand. Don't want to encourage the fluttering of her eyelashes. Don't want to be looked at like that. Don't want to be looked at at all.

When Maggie's eyebrows bow up, Lyric glances at me with her brow cocked. "You'll have to excuse Ayden," she says to Maggie. "He's a man of few words."

"Oh, the sexy silent type," she says, chomping loudly on a piece of gum. "Nice."

"No, just the silent, doesn't like to chat type," I say, switching my weight uncomfortably, wishing Lyric would end the conversation and just take me to the office so I can check in and get the hell out of this overcrowded, stuffy hall.

"I don't get it." Maggie blinks at Lyric for help.

"It doesn't matter." Lyric waves good-bye before tugging me down the hallway.

"We so need to work on your people skills," she tells me as she steers me through the mob.

"My people skills are fine."

She snorts a laugh. "Okay."

I sigh, giving up on the argument, and instead focus on what's going on around me. Most of the kids look on the preppy side, except for a group lingering around the benches in the quad. I make eye contact with them, figuring they'll be the best start toward finding my place here. But the tallest guy in the group gives me a hard stare in return, and a curvy girl with purple hair flips me the bird.

The day only gets shittier from there. Everyone at this damn school seems to hate me, and the other half seems overly interested. I don't want that. Don't want their stares. I just want to be left alone, since I'll be out of here when the week passes.

I do my best to keep my distance from most people, and spend lunchtime in the bathroom. When fifth period rolls around, though, things really go to shit. It's PE, which is bad enough, but I also have it with Lyric.

"You have been avoiding me," she says as she waltzes up to the bottom bleacher I'm sitting on, waiting for class to start. She has on a red T-shirt and short, black gym shorts that show off her extremely long legs. "What's up with that?"

"When was I avoiding you?" I ask, fiddling with the drawstring on my own shorts.

"At lunch." She sits down beside me and crosses her legs. "I looked everywhere for you. Where the hell were you?"

I pick at a hole in the bottom of my shorts. "I ate in the bathroom."

Her nose crinkles. "Ew, Ayden. No, no, no. Just no."

I shrug. "It was better than being stared at."

"Who's staring at you?"

I give her a ' _really'_ look.

She sighs. "All right, I'll give you the staring thing." She rests her elbows on the bench behind us and reclines back, staring at the gym floor. "My school has apparently never seen someone so gothically adorable."

"What does that even mean?"

She smirks at me. "You know, dark, mysterious, sullen, yet cute."

I gape at her. "Do you even have a filter?"

She swiftly shakes her head. "No way. Where's the fun in that?"

I continue to stare at her, impressed and kind of afraid of her. She's so open. So honest. So unlike me, the guy who barely speaks and who carries pills with him, contemplating suicide. Lyric is my polar opposite.

"Hey, Lyric." A guy wearing baggie gym shorts and a school T-shirt comes strolling up to us with a smile on his face. "How's it going?"

"Hey, Lanson." Lyric smiles up at him then leans forward to tie her shoe. "Have you met Ayden?"

Lanson's eyes land on me and the friendliness he conveyed when he was staring at Lyric disappears. "Yeah, new guy, right? I think we have English together."

"Yeah, I think so." Heaviness develops in my chest as more attention is focused on me. _God, I wish this day would just get over with._

"You two should hang out," Lyric suggests with her head still tipped down as she loops her shoelace.

Lanson sneers. "Oh yeah, I'm sure we can be best friends." When Lyric looks up again, his haughtiness turns into a friendly smile. "In fact, I'm having a party this weekend. You two should come."

Lyric glances over her shoulder at me. "What do you think? Are you up for a party?"

Lanson glares at me. I can't tell if he wants me to agree to go or to say no, but one thing's for sure: my existence is clearly irritating him.

I force a tight smile. "Sure, a party sounds fun."

The death glare vanishes from Lanson's face when Lyric looks back at him. "Oh, time for class." Lyric springs up and grabs my hand, hauling me to my feet.

That move earns me the darkest scowl from Lanson. I have a feeling things are going to get a hell of a lot worse.

I wish I could follow Lyric, but the teacher splits up the class—boys on one side, girls on the other. Then we're divided into teams of three and handed a basketball. Athletics was never my thing, but I try my best, even when I start to get criticized by Lanson, who of course has to be on the team I'm playing against.

He smirks at me as he throws the ball over my head to another member of the team then "accidentally" elbows me in the gut.

"Where are you from?" he asks as we both jog down the court toward the ball.

"Nowhere important." I dodge to the right when the ball is thrown again and surprisingly catch it.

My shoe squeaks against the floor as he knocks the ball out of my hand before I can even start dribbling. "One thing's for sure; you sure as hell aren't from here." He stares me up and down as if I'm trash. "I heard you were adopted or some shit. Not sure why the hell anyone would want you." He jabs me in the side with his elbow.

It takes all my strength not to clock him in the face.

"And why the hell is Lyric Scott hanging out with you?" Another elbow rammed to the rib cage, this time with so much force it nearly knocks the wind out of me.

For a brief moment, I tumble into a memory from two years ago. The exact same thing occurred then, only it was an adult who took the air from me. As fast as I fall into the memory, it fizzles out like a flame.

"I mean, I get that she thinks she needs to be friends with everyone," Lanson continues, "but seriously, she's sinking to the bottom of the barrel with you."

When he stomps on my foot, I can't take it anymore. I was taught not to fight back when I was younger, but once I entered the system, all bets were off, and I did pretty much whatever the hell I wanted. I was going to try to be better, though, because the Gregorys seemed genuinely nice, but screw it.

I push him. "Dude, shut the hell up."

A shit-eating smirk spreads across his face at my reaction. "Or what?" He inches toward me and gives me a shove back. "What are you going to do about it? Because in case you haven't heard, I'm the shit around here."

"Wow, there's an accomplishment," I retort, regaining my balance. "The shit of Glensview High School. I'm sure that's going to get you far in life."

"Way farther than you," he bites back as he glances at my piercings, black nail polish, and gauges. "Seriously, I bet if they searched your room, they'd find dead animals everywhere."

I inhale and exhale, trying to stay calm. "And if they searched yours, I'm sure they'd find steroids."

His smirk shifts to a scowl. Then he's spinning around to catch the ball, but mid-turn, he brings his elbow up and slams it hard into my face. Blood gushes from my nostrils and pain radiates all the way up to my head as I hunch over, groaning.

Shit that hurt.

Goddamnit, I hate life.

_Life always hurts._

I should have just taken the bottle of pills this morning. Spared myself another day's worth of pain.

I'm about to stand upright and go after him—who gives a shit about the consequences—but then I hear a burst of commotion and someone shouting.

When I glance up, Lanson is on his knees, cupping his own nose, and Lyric's standing in front of him with her hands on her hips.

"Next time, it's going to be my fist, asshole," she says to him then reels around to me. "Are you okay?" She lowers my hands from my nose, wincing at the sight. "We need to get you to the nurse."

"What did you do to him?" My voice sounds all nasally.

"I threw the basketball at his face." She winks at me. "I told you I got your back, dude."

I'm not sure how to respond. No one has ever had my back in a very long time. My older brothers, Phoenix and Gaige, used when we were all together. The was a long time ago. It feels nice to have that again. More than nice. Nice is something new to me. Different. For a moment, I feel different.

And for a fleeting, life-changing moment, I'm kind of glad I didn't take those pills this morning.

# Lyric

"So what happened?" is the first thing Ayden says when I approach his locker after school.

"Not much. I got detention for a few days, but the principal loves me and always goes easy on me." I slide my backpack on. "What about you?"

He shrugs as he retrieves his bag out of his locker and unzips it. "Nothing, really. I went to the nurse. She put some ice on my nose then sent me on my way."

I squint at his nose. "It looks really gnarly."

He touches the brim of it and winces. "It feels really gnarly." He removes a few textbooks out of his locker, stuffing them in his bag. "How much trouble do you think we're going to be in when we get home?"

"You know, I've been putting a lot of thought into that," I say as he slams his locker. "And I've come up with a plan."

"A plan?" he questions as he secures his backpack onto his back. "What kind of plan?"

"Well, the best bet is to play Uncle Ethan right from the start, because he gets really uncomfortable over almost everything." I link arms with him as we start down the busy hall. I've been touching him a lot today, and while I can tell it bothers him, I'm not going to stop until he asks me to. I like touching him. It feels like he's mine, which makes me feel special. "If we can have him convinced that it was an accident right from the start, then we should be good to go when we get home."

"It kind of was an accident," he points out as we exit the doors and enter the deliciously warm sunlight.

"Yeah, but I kind of have a habit of doing stuff like this," I explain as we cross the freshly mowed grass toward the loading area in front of the school. "You'll get off the hook easily, but I might have to do some time."

His arm flexes beneath my touch. "I'm not going to let you get into trouble over this—over me. I'll make sure of that."

"Aw, so you're the hero type." I playfully bump my shoulder into his. "Never would have guessed that about you."

He comes so close to smiling. Just a little more joking, and I know I can make it happen.

I open my mouth to crack another joke, but snap my jaw shut when I spot the Gregory's gigantic sedan parked amongst the line of cars. "Crap."

"What?" Ayden tracks my gaze to the driver's seat where Aunt Lila is sitting. And in the passenger seat is my mother. "Okay, so now what do we do?"

I overdramatically bobble my head back. "Now, we go face the music."

Aunt Lila is so grateful for my stepping in for Ayden that she actually starts to tear up. She seems heartbroken that someone would want to hurt him. She keeps saying to him, "You've already been through so much. This isn't fair." I can tell Ayden gets really uncomfortable with the waterworks. Thankfully, my mom intervenes and calms Lila down. Then, she turns around in her seat and lays my punishment on me.

The punishment is the stupidest thing ever, though. One week of cleaning my room and one week of hanging out with Ayden after school. Plus, I have to help out at the shelter on Thanksgiving. Like that's a punishment. I have to clean my room anyway and the shelter thing is a tradition.

After we get home, I end up in Ayden's room, sprawled on the bed with the door agape. Lila keeps coming in to check on us, as if she half expects to catch us naked and fondling each other. Fat chance that'll happen. Even though Ayden is ridiculously adorable in a self-tortured artist, gothic, I'm-internally-tortured sort of way, I'm saving myself for someone who will capture my wild soul and tame it. I know I sound like a sap, but I blame it on my parents' undying love story. Even after twenty years of marriage, they're still ridiculously in love, so the bar for my own love story is set pretty high.

"Are you sure you two don't want a snack?" Lila sticks her head into the room for the umpteenth time.

Ayden nods as he situates against the headboard, working on his English assignment. "I'm sure."

She looks at me and I shrug. "I ate a buttload of cookies before I came up here."

"Okay," she says disappointedly then leaves us to get back to our homework.

The soft tune of "Cardiac Arrest" by Bad Suns flows from the stereo as Ayden continues to jot answers down, but I'm more fixated on him than my assignment.

"So, did the gauges hurt when you got them?" I ask as I doodle thorny vines all over my math paper.

When he glances up from his paper, strands of his black hair hang in his grey eyes. "I don't know. Probably about as bad as your ear piercings."

I touch the rose earrings in my ears then kneel up on the mattress. "What about tattoos?"

"What about them?"

"Do you have any?"

"I'm only sixteen."

"Yeah, so." I arch my back as I stretch. "I bet you do, don't you?" When he wavers, I immediately perk up. "Where are they?"

"There's no they." He sets down the pencil in the spine of the book and flexes his fingers like he has a cramp. "Just one."

"Can I see it?" I eagerly move over to sit down beside him.

His expression plummets. "I don't think..." He trails off when my mouth sinks. "Fine, I'll show you, but only if you promise not to ask questions."

I draw an X over my chest with my finger. "I promise."

A nervous exhale escapes his lips as he reaches for the hem of his black T-shirt. Excitement bubbles inside me as he lifts it up and shows me his stomach then his side. Black ink stains his flesh in swirls and patterns that form a jagged circle. The tattoo doesn't look professional by any means. In fact, it looks as though someone branded him with an iron rod then dumped ink into the wound.

"Whoa. Does it mean anything?" I extend my hand forward to touch the tattoo, but he quickly jerks his shirt down.

"I don't know if it does or not, since I can't really remember how it got there," he says coldly. He collects his pencil and returns his book to his lap. "And you promised me you wouldn't ask questions."

He begins working on the assignment again, leaving me with so many questions I feel like I'm going to combust. There's so much I don't know about him, and so much I want to know.

"Can I just learn one tiny thing about you?" I clasp my hands in front of me. "Pretty please. It doesn't have to be about the tattoo." When he sighs, I add, "Okay, I'll tell you something that no one else knows about me first." I deliberate what to divulge. I'm not much of a secret keeper, but there is one thing I never tell anyone. "Okay, so no one knows this, but I totally suffer from stage fright, which is a big, huge problem since I want to be the lead singer in an awesome rock band one day." I pat him on the arm. "See, not so bad. Now it's your turn."

He stares at me with uncertainty.

"Just one thing." I hold a finger up. "That's not so bad, right?"

He considers my proposal, and then in the softest voice admits, "I'm terrified of the dark." His gaze drops to the scars on his hand.

"See, that wasn't so bad." I try to remain cheery even though he looks absolutely horrified that he just admitted that secret to me. "And now I know what to get you for your birthday."

"And what's that?" A frown etches into his face.

I wink at him, hoping to cheer him up. "A nightlight." I settle down in the bed beside him. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I wasn't worried about that."

"Then why do you look so upset?"

He shrugs, staring at the foot of the bed. "It's nothing." His gaze collides with mine, and he gapes at me in bafflement. "It's just... how can you be so happy all the time?"

His question makes me pause and really think about who I am.

"I'm not that happy, am I?" _Am I?_

"Kind of. I mean, I barely know you, but... you just smile a lot." I self-consciously bring my fingers to my lips, but he swiftly catches my hand, stopping me. The contact sends fireworks blazing across my skin and makes me want to smile even more. "I don't mean it as a bad thing. I just wish I could... understand it." His shoulders sag as he removes his hand.

_Such a sad boy._

_With sad eyes._

_And a sad heart._

_Sad everything._

_Too sad._

_I need to make him happy._

_Somehow._

"I'll make you smile a lot in the future," I promise him after the silence finally gets to me. "You just wait and see. I will drive you so damn crazy, to the brink of insanity, where all you can do is smile. My form of torture will be lots and lots of jokes that will be so hilarious they'll make you pee your pants."

He snorts a laugh but then his eyes widen.

I thought I was being funny, but maybe I scared him. Some people say I come on too strong.

"I was just kidding," I say. "Sort of."

He searches my eyes, his forehead creasing. "I'll be right back," he mumbles as he scrambles to his feet. He bends over to unzip his bag then digs an orange bottle out before running out of the room.

Okay, maybe I need to tone it down a bit. Perhaps he's not quite ready for my sparkling personality and odd sense of humor.

_Tone it down, Lyric._

_It's not so complicated._

When he reappears in the doorway, his hands are empty and he seems a bit more relaxed.

"Everything okay?" I cautiously ask as he climbs back onto his bed and opens up his Life Sciences book.

He nods, propping the book on his lap. "Yeah, but could you help me with this assignment?" He avoids eye contact with me, and his fingers tremble as he picks up the pencil. "Science really isn't my thing."

I want to ask him about the bottle. About the fear in his eyes. Crack his head open and see what's inside. Write songs about his inner workings. But I also promised I'd make him smile from now on, and my questions seem to have the opposite effect on him.

So I do what he asks and help him, silently telling myself that one day he'll trust me enough that I'll be able to learn what makes him tick. Then I will write the longest, most meaningful song about everything I've discovered.

Everything about him.

Even his secrets.

# Ayden

I've had the same dream for over two years now. Claws. Bleeding flesh. Scars. Scars. Scars. Pain. Metal. Biting. My Flesh. Over and over again. The images are so vague, yet bright as my mind battles not to fully see what happened to me during that week a couple of years ago.

_God, I hate this._

The chains were always the worst. They're what I remember the most. Other details are hazy, though, like the people I met while I was trapped. The people who stole everything from me and my brothers and sister.

I thought the dreams would go away once I was adopted, or at least hoped they would. But the memories still haunt me most nights, and sometimes during the day when I'm awake. They're extra worse tonight, probably because tomorrow marks a month since I left the shithole of a home I was in before I ended up at the Gregory's. One month since I started my new life. Yet, even a month later, I worry that when I wake up, my nightmares are reality—that this isn't really my life.

Music is the only thing that can calm me down. Well, that and the crazy black light nightlight Lyric bought me for my birthday a couple of weeks ago. She thought she was being funny when she gave it to me, but I was oddly touched that she remembered my stupid confession about being afraid of the dark.

Fortunately, I never told her why I was afraid. Then again, I don't even know the whole reason since I blocked out most of the darker stuff that happened to me. No matter how hard my therapist tries to unravel my mind, they still refuse to surface.

After turning on the black light, everything white in my room glowing neon, I put in my earbuds then toss and turn for half the night until I fall asleep around two in the morning.

Hours later, I'm woken up out of a nightmare by the soft sound of breathing. And not mine. Someone is lying next to me in bed, and for a moment, I have a panic attack, thinking that somehow I've traveled back in time when I was never alone. Then I catch the faintest scent of strawberries and relax. The person lying next to me is the same person who's been climbing into my bed almost every morning since I moved here.

"Are you awake yet?" Lyric asks, ruffling my hair with her fingers. "I'm getting bored watching you sleep."

"Then stop watching me," I murmur with my eyes shut. "It's creepy."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but you're equally as creepy as I am."

"Guess we're perfect for each other, then."

"Of course we are." She flicks me in the forehead, startling me. My eyelids lift open, my gaze meeting her bright green eyes. They're intense to look at, even now after I've known her for a while. I can never seem to stop staring at them. They're beautiful. And it's heartbreaking to feel what my staring at them means. That I like her. A lot. More than I've liked anyone in a long, long time.

"You're doing that creepy staring thing again," she informs me as she sits up in my bed and starts raveling a strand of her hair around her finger. She's dressed in maroon shorts and a dark grey shirt, clearly ready to go somewhere, and knowing our routine, I'm going with her. "You know, it's cool with me. I get it. I'm too dazzling not to stare at." She smiles and my heart misses a beat. Her smile is so perfect and easy. Most days, I envy it. "But you might want to lay off on the staring a little bit in school, at least around Tina Marlelytone."

"I've never stared at Tina Marlelytone." I sit up in bed and stretch my arms over my head.

"I figured, but she thinks you do. So, you might want to"—she points at my eyes—"keep those sad little puppy dog eyes off her."

My hands drop to my lap as I stare blankly at her. "I wish you'd stop saying that about my eyes."

"I'll stop saying that when it stops being the truth." She jumps off the bed and jerks the blanket off me. "Now get up and get dressed. I have big plans for you today."

"You might want to think before you jerk off the blankets like that," I say to her as I drag my butt out of bed. "One day, I might start sleeping naked."

"I think that'd be more embarrassing for you than it would for me," she retorts, backing toward the door. "You blush when someone sees you with your shirt off."

"That happened one time," I call out, but she ignores me, flashing me a sly grin before closing the door.

Shaking my head, I trudge for the dresser to get some clothes. Nothing fazes that girl. It's the most terrifying and fascinating thing to observe. And I've observed her, a lot. Everywhere she goes, she finds a crowd and blends in with them, like a freaking chameleon. Me, I'm like a skittish rodent who never feels at ease, always silent and uncomfortable, making everyone around me silent and uncomfortable. Except, of course, Lyric.

I'm extremely lucky to have met her my first day with the Gregorys. I'm not sure I would have survived without her. No one knows how hard that first day with the Gregorys was, and all the ones before that. I pondered suicide, touched many blades to my wrists, tasted the staleness of pills. Then Lyric sprung into my life with her sunshine attitude and smile, and suddenly my days don't seem so dark. I decided the day she beat the crap out of the guy to defend me that I was going to dump the pills and try to give a go at life, the best that I could.

And I've been working on it ever since.

As I'm searching for a shirt, my fingers skate across one of the three objects hidden in the back of the drawer. The stuff I brought here with me. I still haven't been able to get rid of them. I still think about my brothers and sister every day, and wonder where they are.

"Are you still naked!" Lyric laughs as she bangs on the door, interrupting my thoughts.

"Just a second." I slam the drawer shut then tug on a grey T-shirt and a pair of holey black jeans. Then I grab my boots from the closet and throw open the door. "You are the most impatient person ever."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Whatever, shy boy. I'm super patient." She seizes my hand and leads me down the hall toward the stairway. "So, it's going to be a little bit tricky to get out of the house, since the usual tradition for the month marker is to spend the day talking and eating cake and ice cream, but I have an idea to get around it."

Sunlight is flowing in through the massive windows of the kitchen, and I detect the scent of freshly baked cake in the air. The smell is starting to become more and more familiar with each day I spend here, just like everything else. While I embrace it, I also fear that it will all be taken away from me.

"Maybe we should just stay here, especially if Mrs. Gregory has baked." It's not just that though. I always feel guilty whenever I'm about to do something even remotely wrong. The Gregorys were kind enough to put a roof over my head, and I constantly feel in debt to them.

Lyric shoots me an inquiring look over her shoulder. "Why do you keep insisting on calling them Mr. and Mrs. Gregory? It's weird."

"I have my reasons," I mutter as I sit down on a stool to put on my boots.

Lyric watches me lace my boots. I know she wants to ask what my reasons are, but she doesn't. That's the thing with Lyric. As crazy and blunt as she is, she'll never press me too hard for information. I'm grateful that she doesn't, because if she did discover certain details about me, she probably wouldn't want to be my friend anymore. And I need her as a friend, more than anything.

She places her hands on her hips. "So, what you're saying is you'd rather stay here and eat cake and listen to old timers tell mildly embarrassing stories, instead of going on an adventure with me?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I just... feel like it's rude to take off."

"It's not rude. Lila wants you to have fun. I know, because she checks with me all the damn time, always worried about your happiness and wellbeing."

"Well, she _should_ worry when I'm around you. Some of the crazy stuff we do... I'm surprised we haven't gotten into trouble yet."

"Give us time." She nudges my foot with hers when I frown at her. "I'm kidding. Everything we do is safe."

_Safe?_

The word still feels so foreign to me.

Nothing like the word _fear_.

_Fear_ is like air.

Breathable.

Because I know it.

I fear the things I don't know.

Like friendship.

And losing it.

_Loss_.

Like the loss of my memory.

My childhood.

I lace my boot up then stand up, and she has to angle her chin to look up at me.

"Fine, I'll go with you, as long as you promise that I'll come back in one piece for Mrs. Gregory's sake." I don't know why, but the woman seems to like me. Everyone in the house does, even though I rarely talk.

"All right, getting you back in one piece is doable," Lyric muses then spins around and runs through the kitchen, swiping up a dab of frosting from the cake on her way around the island.

We find Mrs. Gregory in the living room, and after a little bit of persuasion—mostly from Lyric—she lets us go.

"Just be careful," Mrs. Gregory says, moving in toward me with her arms out, as if she's going to hug me. Like always, I tense and she promptly backs away. "And be safe, please." She smiles, but it's laced with concern.

I'm still getting used to the whole caring-about-my-wellbeing thing, so I hesitate as my mind catches up with the scene and the emotions connected to it.

I nod then clear my throat and lower my voice so Lyric won't hear me. "Um, I've been meaning to ask you if you found out how my brothers and sister are doing."

Sympathy masks her expression. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I couldn't find anything out. They said the files were confidential." She comfortingly places a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe when they're eighteen we can start looking again. It'll be more possible to find them then."

Smashing my lips together, I nod then rush after Lyric and out the front door before Mrs. Gregory says anything further.

My chest is still pressurized from last night's dream, and now the whole thing with my brothers and sister bears down on me. But after we've been in the fresh air for a few minutes, the pressure starts to alleviate. Always does. Houses do that to me. Rooms. Walls. Confinement.

"All right, here's what I'm thinking," Lyric announces as we hike up the driveway toward the open garage of her house. "Today, we are going to fly."

I gape at her. "In case you haven't noticed, people can't fly."

She grins back at me. "Oh, ye of little faith." She squeezes into the garage between the two ridiculously awesome cars that belong to her parents, ones I long to touch, but have never worked up the courage to.

I notice she has an iPod tucked in her back pocket that I'm sure will serve some sort of purpose later on. When she emerges again, she has her bike.

"We're going to take this bad boy down to Cherry Hill."

"No way. That hill is freaking steep. Plus, aren't we a little too old for bikes?"

"We are never too old for bikes." She juts out her lip. "Pretty please. With a cherry on top."

It's really hard not to say yes to her when she looks like that. Still, I'm torn between coming back to Mrs. Gregory in one piece and making Lyric happy.

"All right, I'll do it, as long as we wear helmets. And take my bike."

"I'll agree to the helmets, but we have to take my bike. Yours doesn't have pegs."

"Why do we need pegs?"

A mischievous grin lights up her face, and I know I'm in for something really iffy when we reach that hill. "You'll see."

Ten minutes later, I'm riding a purple bike, wearing a helmet, and Lyric is standing on the back pegs. She has her hands placed on my shoulders, and I'm both content and uneasy about the touch—always am.

"Okay, stop the bike right here," she says, pointing over my shoulder at the center of the street on top of Cherry Hill.

I aim the bike in the direction and plant my feet onto the asphalt when we arrive at the spot. The inclined road, bordered with lofty, narrow homes, makes me dizzy.

"Are you sure about this?" I warily eye the bottom of the hill, which is an intersection.

Nodding, she pops an earbud into my ear while placing one in her own. "I have to do this, Ayden. It's important to my musical inspiration."

As the lyrics of "Fire Fire" by Flyleaf fill my head, I summon a deep breath, pick up my feet, and position them on the pedals. I don't even have to put pressure on them. The bike takes off on its own and descends quickly down the hill, gaining momentum the further down we go. I start to grow nervous, and my nerves only escalate when Lyric's hands leave my shoulders.

"What the heck are you doing?" I peek back at her while grasping onto the handlebars.

"Flying." She has her arms spanned out to the side, her head angled toward the sky. Her long blonde hair blows out behind her as the wind dances through it. Moments later, she shuts her eyes.

Everything pauses. The freedom she carries is a beautiful, enthralling sight. So enthralling that it feels like I'm falling...

"Ayden, look out!" Lyric shouts, her eyes wide open as her hands clamp down on my shoulders.

I look at the road just in time to see a car heading at us. I swerve to the left, but it doesn't help as we barrel toward a thick tree. The front wheel of the bike slams into the truck and I go soaring over the handlebars. Thankfully, I manage to keep my head from hitting the concrete, because even with the helmet on, it would have hurt like a mothereffer. The wind gets knocked out of me, though, and I struggle for oxygen as I lie on my back, staring up at the sky, feeling strangely free at the moment, even with the pain.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." Lyric appears above me, worry written all over her face as she throws her helmet off. "Be okay. Be okay. Be okay." She frantically scans my face and then my body, checking for wounds.

Honestly, I feel fine. My knee and elbow ache a bit, but that's it. I've experienced way more pain than this. I remain still, though, fascinated with how fussy she's being. Normally she's so carefree, but right now she's wound up and panicking. Over me.

I've lived with over six families, and no one has ever cared about me as much as Lyric appears to right now.

Soft lyrics flow through my head.

_Let me sing you to sleep._

_Kiss your pain away._

_Take your next breath for you._

_And keep it as my own forever._

Maybe I'm an asshole for doing it, but I pretend to be hurt, lying still for longer than I should, seeking the fussing just a bit longer. When her eyes meet mine again, I start to feel bad for causing her so much worry. I open my mouth to tell her I'm okay, but the intense look on her face causes me to burst out laughing.

When her eyes narrow, I raise my hands, surrendering. "I'm sorry. I swear. I was just messing around. I'm fine. I promise."

She pinches my arm and I wince, yet continue laughing.

"Seriously, Ayden. That's not funny."

"Oh, come on." I prop up onto my elbows. "Don't pretend like you wouldn't have done the exact same thing."

She crosses her arms, trying to remain pissed, but Lyric never stays upset for more than five seconds, and right on time, she relaxes. "Okay, I'll let you off the hook, but only because I got you to smile." She smiles herself as I reach up and touch my upturned lips.

She's right. I am smiling. And laughing. It's been such a long time that I hadn't even noticed.

"Come on." She stands up, brushes some of the grass off her legs, then offers me her hand. "Let's move on to phase two."

"Phase two?" I question with doubt.

"What, you don't trust me?"

The mangled bike ten feet away should answer that question for me. Regardless of the bent metal and dents in the frame, I still wholly trust her. More than I've trusted anyone.

I nod, lace my fingers through hers, and get to my feet. "But no more hills."

"Deal." She grins.

The day feels so perfect. So real. I just wish I knew if my brothers and sister have the same thing.

# Ayden

We spend the rest of the day doing things a little less dangerous, rolling the mangled bike along with us. We walk down to the local bridge, go get some ice cream, and hang out at the park for a while. By the time we arrive back home, the sun has lowered and the sky is black.

As we're putting the bike away in the garage, Lyric checks her phone. "Oh, looks like we have the place to ourselves. Everyone went out to the movies."

"What are we going to do? Because I know you're already thinking of something."

"You know me way too well."

As she ponders an idea, I dare to touch the shiny black Chevelle in the garage. I remember how one of my foster fathers had one similar to it, only it needed a lot more work. He was one of the mildly tolerable parental figures. He never did let me touch the car, though.

"You know, I could always ask my mom if you can drive it," she unexpectedly says.

I hastily withdraw my hand from the car, as if I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "No, I'm okay."

"Well, you can drive mine when I get it, then. It's going to be a Dodge Challenger, though. And a fixer upper. At least, that's the plan we've had since I turned fifteen and a half and got my driving permit." When I look at her again, she's got her evil plan face on. "So, do you want to see something really cool?"

"Maybe," I reply cautiously. "It really depends on what it is."

Grinning deviously, she guides me through the house, toward the back section, coming to a halt at a closed door beside the den.

"I've never been in this room before," I remark as her fingers encase the doorknob.

"That's because I'm technically not allowed in here unless my dad's with me."

Before I can protest, she shoves open the door and flips on the light.

All of my objections abruptly dissipate.

"This is your dad's office?" I step over the threshold behind her and glance around the room filled with old guitars, signed albums, drumsticks, photos, and plaques. So much cool stuff my mind goes into overload.

"More like his memorabilia room." She strolls over to a shelf lined with old CDs and starts tracing her fingers along the rows, reading the titles.

I shut the door then stand in the middle of the room, afraid to touch anything. "Maybe we shouldn't be in here."

"We'll be fine as long as we put everything back in its rightful place." She pulls a CD off the shelf, plucks the disc out, then gently places it into a stereo and presses play. Moments later, a grungy song fills the speakers.

"What band is this?" I ask as I roam around the room, examining all the guitars on the walls.

She shrugs as she plops down in the chair behind the desk and collects a guitar propped against the wall. "The front of the CD cover says The Cranberries. I just randomly picked it. Thought a surprise would be fun." She strums a few notes. "I'm wondering if it was one of my mother's CDs, though." Her lips part as if she's going to sing, and her eyes drift shut. But instead of belting out the lyrics, she plays the notes while uttering the words under her breath. When she opens her eyes again, she looks nervous, which is strange. Lyric never, ever looks nervous.

"You okay?"

She nods, setting the guitar aside. "Yeah, just seeing if I could do it around you."

"Do what around me?"

She shrugs as she opens a drawer. "Sing."

I wish I could help her get over her fear, but unlike what she did for me, I can't just buy her a nightlight.

"What were you whispering to Aunt Lila about this morning?" she casually asks as she sifts through a stack of papers on the desk.

"Nothing important." I plop down in a swivel chair in front of the desk and start spinning in circles.

"I heard you say something about your brothers and sister." She reads something on one of the papers, but I can tell she's pretending, worried she's crossing a line. "I didn't know you had a brothers and sister."

"I did... before..." I pick up the pace, whirling the chair around and around until I'm so dizzy I feel like I'm going to hurl. "My brothers—Gaige and Phoenix—are a year older than me. They're twins... Not identical. And my sister is a year younger."

"And you haven't seen them since you had to leave your home?"

"No."

"Does it make you sad, that you all had to leave your home and now you don't get to see them?"

I dig my heels into the floor and stop the chair before I actually do end up vomiting. She's watching me intently, waiting for me to answer, with a drop of apprehension in her eyes.

"I don't miss my old... home at all," I utter quietly. "It wasn't even a home... at least, from what I can remember... but I do miss my brothers and sister. That's why I asked Mrs. Gregory if she could find stuff out about them—or at least where they are."

Her head angles to the side and she looks so lost. "You said from what you can remember."

"Huh?" My voice is thick with emotion. Just talking about this is surfacing unwanted memories that are supposed to be forgotten.

"Just barely, you said, 'from what I can remember.'" She shifts in her seat, leaning back. "Can you not remember your old home?"

Seeing no other way out of this than to lie to her—which I won't do—I nod. "Some of my memories are foggy."

"Does Mrs. Gregory know about this?"

"Vaguely. I think social services and the therapist I've been going to told her some details." I clench my fists as my chest starts to constrict.

_Links of metal wrapped around my wrist and brain._

_Driving me insane._

_Begging me to cave._

_They whispered they knew the truth._

_Marked it forever on my flesh._

_Told me to give in._

_To surrender._

_But I couldn't._

I blink from my thoughts and massage my wrists.

"Maybe I could help you find them," she says, thrumming her fingers on top of the desk.

"Who?"

"Your brothers and sister."

"And how would we do that"—my fingers curl around the armrest, desperate to hold onto something, because I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack—"when Mrs. Gregory couldn't even find them?"

She slants forward, crossing her arms on top of the desk. "There's a little thing called the internet, Ayden. We could do some research on our own."

"You would help me do that?"

"I would help you do anything."

Even though the concept doesn't feel possible, I believe her. "Where would we start?"

Her eyes elevate to the ceiling as she contemplates. "You know their last names, right?"

I waver. "Our last name used to be Stephorson, but I'm not sure now if theirs still is, since mine's changed."

"Okay, we can start there. And it'd probably help if they had something distinct about them."

My fingers travel to the homemade tattoo on my side, put there without my permission. "They have the same tattoo as me."

Her lips part, but no words come out. I've shocked Lyric beyond words, which doesn't seem natural.

"We didn't choose to get them," I mumble, completely clueless why I'm telling her this. "They were put on us, from what I can remember."

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, as if she's trying to physically restrain herself from asking.

"What happened to you?" she finally asks.

I grind my teeth so forcefully it actually hurts my jaw. "When I was younger, we were taken by these... people who had these really strange beliefs. They put the tattoos on us." My voice quivers almost as intensely as my heart as I speak of the day my mother betrayed her three children. It's the same day that my memories start to break apart into charred fragments that barely make sense.

Lyric swallows hard. "Ayden... I..."

"Can we please talk about something else now?" I plead in desperation, barely able to breathe. "Please. Something happy." I need my happy Lyric back. Need my happiness before I fall back into the darkness that I carried around for two years after that day.

Silence stretches between us before Lyric says, "Did you hear about Maggie?"

I exhale, my muscles loosening. "No, but I'm guessing she's dating someone new now."

She smiles as she rests back in the chair, making the shift of attitude so breezy. "How'd you guess?"

I give a half shrug. "Because she dates someone new every day."

Lyric giggles, but her laughter silences as she opens the desk drawer. She squints at something inside it, and a pucker forms at her brow. "What on earth?" She pulls out a bottle of scotch along with a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. "Dude, I know my parents drink"—she shows me the pack of cigarettes—"but I never knew they smoked."

"I'm not surprised. I've smelled it on your dad before." I stretch my legs out and slant my head back at the ceiling decorated with hundreds of guitar picks. "It must have been so cool growing up here," I remark as I spin the chair around, imagining what it was like living here. Probably pretty great since she's so damn happy all the time.

"Yeah, I guess it was pretty awesome." Lyric unexpectedly starts hacking.

My gaze darts to her. I have to bite my lip to restrain my laughter. "Did you just take a drink of that?"

She wipes her lips, shuddering as she stares at the bottle of scotch in her hand. "Yeah, so what?"

"Have you ever drank before?"

"No." She twists the cap back on. "Have you?"

I shrug. "A couple of times." That's all I say, not wanting to relive the things I've done, like fighting, drinking, and stealing stuff. "You shouldn't start with scotch. That's strong shit right there."

She meticulously eyes me over. "You want a taste?" She extends her arm across the desk, with her fingers enclosed around the bottle.

Even though I probably shouldn't, I snatch the bottle from her and swallow a gulp or two as Lyric watches me with inquisitiveness. When I remove the mouth of the bottle from my lips, she grins.

"You didn't even gag." She grabs a cigarette, along with a lighter that's inserted into the pack.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. He'll be able to smell it."

"I'm just curious." She reclines back in the chair and pops the end of the cigarette into her mouth.

"Well, you shouldn't be. That stuff is bad for you."

"I'm not curious about smoking," she says, cupping her hand around her face as she flicks the lighter and tries to light the end, "but about you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can never figure stuff out about you."

"Like what? If I know how to light a lighter?"

She shakes her head, still struggling to light the cigarette. "No. Like what you like to do. If you really are a bad boy at heart. If you've ever smoked before."

I elevate my brows at her. "That's what you want to know about me? Out of all things?" _After the conversation we just had?_

Giving up on the lighter, she rises from the chair and ambles around the desk toward me with the cigarette still resting between her lips. "Well, I have this theory that this good, obedient guy I know isn't the guy who pulled up in that sedan a month ago." She leans over me and taps the hollow of my neck. "I mean, the collar's gone. You took it off at day three, and I could never figure out why—why it was so easy for you to give up your Goth side." She slides her hand to my ear and traces her finger across the lobe, moving her body close enough that I get a straight view down the front of her shirt. I try not to look, but my eyes stray more than a few times, my heart rate quickening. "And the gauges, too. All you have now are these tiny scars." Her hands travel down my arms, causing goose bumps to sprout across my skin as her fingers come to a rest on the tops of my hands. I start to panic, thinking she's going to ask me about the scars there; instead, she grazes the pad of her thumb over my fingernail. "I really do kind of miss the black nail polish."

I shiver from her touch. "I don't." My voice cracks as her fingers graze my knuckles, and I quickly clear my throat.

_It's just a simple touch._

_A lyrical brush of fingers._

_Nothing that can hurt you._

_Anymore._

All thoughts vanish, when she straddles my lap. My heart slams forcefully against my chest. I can't figure out what to do with my hands. Definitely not touch her; otherwise, I might lose it. But I look awkward with them out to the side, so I drape them on the armrests and fold my fingers inward.

"How much of that did you drink?" I inspect her face to see if she could possibly be drunk, but I'm feeling a little woozy myself and my vision is a bit hazy.

"A few swallows." She hands me the lighter, places the cigarette in between her lips again, and waits for me to light it for her.

"This is going to teach you a lesson." I drag my thumb across the top of the lighter and bring the flame closer to the cigarette.

"And what lesson is that?" she asks as the fire crinkles the paper. Moments later, she begins hacking again. She hurriedly removes the cigarette from her mouth as clouds of smoke puff from her lips.

"That smoking is bad for you." I pry the cigarette from her fingers and slant over to put it out in the ashtray, fighting back my laughter.

After she finishes coughing up her lungs, she settles into my lap again. "So have you?"

Again, I question how drunk I am when I start to get a little too happy down south about her sitting on my lap. I've never really been turned on before, not in a welcomed way anyway.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" I ask, getting squirmy.

She shakes her head, positioning a hand on each side of me. "Nope. Not unless you start freaking out."

I mentally chant the lyrics of the first song I can think of.

_You make me dizzy. You make me ache._

_You make me burn, burn, burn._

_Your touch is toxic. Poison._

_Yet I'll never learn, learn, learn._

"Fine," I admit. "Yes, I've smoked before, but not since I moved in with the Gregorys. I went through this phase where I did a lot of things, right after I entered the system."

"I knew it." She sloppily plays with my hair, running her fingers through it, her gaze wandering to my mouth. "You were a bad, bad boy, Ayden. Maybe that's what I should start calling you. Bad boy instead of shy boy."

"Is that what you're into now? Bad boys?" My voice comes out deeper than I planned.

She wets her lips with her tongue. "Maybe."

My heart slams in my chest as she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's a good thing I'm not one anymore, then, huh?"

Her green eyes sparkle as she taps a finger on her bottom lip. "So, you're saying you don't want me to be into you?" I remain silent, feeling as though I might be walking into a trap. Her lips curve upward as she continues, "Because something might suggest otherwise."

A beat of confusion passes until her insinuating gaze drifts downward. Realization clicks.

"Crap." I hop out from under her so quickly she ends up falling onto the floor. I face the door, cursing under my breath, completely mortified. How the hell did we go from talking about my past to her teasing me about getting a hard-on? I shouldn't be surprised, though. This is Lyric. Make me crazy, ache, trouble breathing, heart-liberating Lyric.

"Don't worry," she says with an off pitch giggle. "It happens to most guys. At least, that's what they taught us in health class."

I shake my head, telling myself to chill the hell out. _It's not a big deal. It's just Lyric. It doesn't mean anything. Mean_ that. "You seriously have no boundaries."

"Yeah, but that's what you love about me."

I can hear her moving up behind me. I have no idea what's about to happen, or what I want to happen. Thankfully, I don't have to think about it too hard, because a door slams from somewhere in the house.

"Oh shit." Lyric flies into panic mode, running over to the desk where the scotch, cigarettes, and ashtray are. She tosses the bottle and cigarettes into the drawer then stares wide-eyed at the ashtray. "What do I do with this?"

Part of me wants to keep my lips zipped to pay her back for teasing me, but I care about her too much to let her get in trouble. So I rush over and grab the ashtray while Lyric turns off the music and stuffs the CD back into place. I carefully open the window and pour the ashes out onto the back lawn. After closing the window, I return the ashtray to the drawer where I find a can of air freshener. I douse the air with it and tell Lyric to flip on the ceiling fan. We finish cleaning up the best we can, and then Lyric seizes my hand and jerks me out the door.

"Just play it cool," she whispers loudly. I can smell the scotch on her breath.

This is a disaster in the making.

"Just let me do the talking," I tell her as we creep up the hall toward the kitchen. "And don't breathe on anyone."

She gives an exaggerated nod. I sigh.

_We are so going down._

The situation only worsens when we enter the kitchen. There is cake, ice cream, and plates all over the countertops. Not only are her parents there, but so is every member of the Gregory family, most of them turning to look at us as we enter. I swear to God it's like they know. Mr. Gregory pauses the longest, his head cocking to the side as he searches both our faces.

_Dammit, he knows._

I open my mouth to say something, but Lyric beats me to the punch.

"I think I'm going to throw up." Her fingers slip from my hand as she bolts out of the kitchen toward the bathroom.

Mrs. Scott glances at Mr. Scott, and then she runs after Lyric. Mrs. Gregory looks at me, the disappointment in her eyes making me want to sink into the earth and vanish into the dirt. She sighs then whispers something to Mr. Gregory. His eyes widen slightly as she backs away and ushers the kids out of the kitchen with her.

Then it's just Mr. Gregory, Mr. Scott, and I, in an overly large kitchen that somehow feels overcrowded. The situation is alarmingly uncomfortable. Rarely does Mr. Gregory have to be the disciplinarian, but I have a feeling he's about to.

I want to run out the door. Run away. A year ago, I would have, but I don't think I can do it now—go back in the system. No, I'm going to have to grovel, beg them to let me stay here with them.

"I'm sorry, we just..." I trail off, unsure of what to say. The last thing I want to do is get Lyric in trouble, but I'm worried if I take the fall, I'll be kicked out.

Mr. Scott and Mr. Gregory exchange a look then Mr. Scott scoots out the barstool beside the one he's sitting on and pats the seat while Mr. Gregory leans back against the counter and waits for me sit down.

Blowing out a breath, I plant my ass in the seat.

"What exactly were you and my daughter up to tonight?" Mr. Scott asks, watching me like a hawk.

"Um, we went on a bike ride, sir," I answer, but it sounds more like a question than a response.

"What did you do when you got home, though?" This time it's Mr. Gregory that speaks. "Because if I didn't know any better, I'd guess the two of you have been drinking tonight, which would be really, really bad since we set ground rules of no drinking."

"Um..." I struggle for a response, glancing back and forth between them.

_Rat out Lyric? Get kicked out? What the hell do I do?_

_I don't want to go back into the system._

_Don't want to go back._

_Don't want to._

_Ever._

Mr. Scott leans over and sniffs the air. "Is that my scotch I smell on your breath?"

"I'm sorry, sir." My pulse pounds as I rise from the stool with my head tipped down and my shoulders sagging. "I'll go pack my stuff."

"Pack your stuff?" Mr. Gregory mumbles, confused. The two of them trade a look, and then their expressions soften. "Ayden, we're not going to kick you out, if that's what you're getting at."

My gaze skims back and forth between them. "But I broke the rules."

Mr. Gregory says to Mr. Scott, "See, this is what happens when they give us responsibilities. We screw things up." Shaking his head, he returns his attention to me, standing up straight. "Son, we're not going to kick you out because you broke a rule, but I do need to punish you." He seems puzzled over what to do next, and seeks help from Mr. Scott. "What do I punish him with?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea. Ella usually comes up with the punishments, and this is the first time Lyric's done something like this. Maybe ground him for a week?"

This is the strangest thing I've ever witnessed. In the past homes I lived in, by this point, I'd be getting yelled at. If I were still at my mother's, fists would have been flying. But that still wouldn't have been the worst part. No, that would come later.

Mr. Gregory considers the idea. "That seems doable." He turns to me. "What do you think?"

I shrug, so damn confused. "Um, it sounds good to me, sir."

He nods, looking relieved as he stands up straight. "All right, you're not allowed to do anything for a week."

I keep my head down as I breathe in relief. "Okay, sir."

"And stop calling me sir," he sternly adds. "That's part of your punishment, too. From now on, you have to call me Ethan."

I'm relieved he didn't ask me to call him dad. That I couldn't handle, since I've never called anyone dad before. Getting kicked out I can't handle either, not anymore. Hell, I can barely handle the fact that they seem to want me around, despite the fact I've messed up.

"Okay." As I'm starting to relax, Mrs. Scott enters the room, dragging Lyric in with her.

"Your daughter would like to tell both of you something," she says, staring at a very pale looking Lyric.

Lyric sighs then looks at her dad. "I'm sorry that I drank some of your scotch and smoked your secret cigarettes." Her dad's eyes widen, as if he's been busted, while Lyric continues, "And, Mr. Gregory, you should know that it was my idea. I talked Ayden into going into my father's office and into drinking. And he didn't smoke. That was all me." When her gaze flicks over at me, the damn girl smiles and winks.

_I got your back,_ she mouths as she wanders around the counter and takes a seat beside me. She leans in and whispers in my ear, "I'm going to make this up to you by helping you find your brothers and sister. I promise."

I want to hug her, but decide it's probably not the best move right now, nor am I sure I can handle a hug. It's a strange feeling, though—wanting to touch someone. It makes me pause. Really think. About who I'm turning into. Could I somehow, after what I've been through, turn out normal? Lose the fear of touching someone? Of the dark? Of the past?

I stay put until eventually everyone gathers back into the kitchen to eat cake and ice cream, and reminisce about my first month as being part of the family. It's a pretty good ending to the day, and part of me thinks the perfection is going to carry throughout the night. That maybe my nightmares will somehow vanish.

But the moment I close my eyes to go to sleep, I fall into darkness and my scars start to bleed again.

_Bleed. Bleed. Bleed._

_Like wilting rose petals._

_Against the darkness._

_Dripping against the shadows._

_Around me. All around me._

_The metal bites my skin._

_Killing me slowly. Painfully._

_Never letting me breathe again._

# Lyric

The next day is the start of what I'm going to call the Finding Ayden's Family mission.

For the next few days, we spend a lot of time searching. We keep our efforts from the Ayden's parents and mine, though, mainly because it feels like we're doing something wrong. Or well, Ayden feels that way, so I go along with it.

No article or search gives us any information on his siblings whereabouts, though, even when we try to break into the social service's records—yeah, we're that awesome. Of course, we fail epically with our hacking since neither of us are computer geniuses.

We've been in Ayden's room all day. It's late. The stars and moon are shining brightly from outside the window. I'm tired of staring at the computer screen. Ayden looks tired too.

"I think I need a break," he tells me, swiveling in the chair as he rubs his weary eyes.

"Don't get discouraged." I try to stay positive for him as phone aside and rub my own eyes. "We'll figure this out."

The truth, though, is that I'm not sure we will. I want to, though, desperately, help him find his siblings.

He grows quiet, returning to his attention to the computer, and I don't know what to do. I want to help him so badly and yet I don't know how.

Quietly sighing, I pick up my phone and start typing in key words in the search engine again. A handful of minutes later, I finally stumble upon something. Although, I'm not sure if it'll be helpful or not.

Crossing my fingers it will be, I get up off the bed and make my way over to him. Then I show him the article on the phone.

It's an article about the fair and how a group of foster kids and their foster parents were running a jewelry booth that donated all of the proceeds to charity. The name of the booth is, weirdly the same name as Ayden's sister.

"Sadie," he whispers as he reads the article.

"Do you think it's her?" I dare ask.

"I'm not sure... But it could be." He reads a bit further and then frowns. "Did you read this entire article?" he asks, glancing up at me.

I shake my head. "I read about half before I brought my phone over to you."

He swallows hard. "It says that the family running the booth lied about donating the proceeds to charity. They're scam artists and they use their foster kids to help run their scam. It says after this happened, the family took off with the kids and social services hasn't been able to find them."

My lips form an _o._ "Ay... I don't know what to say," I whisper.

And I really don't. He looks so... broken in that moment. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I wrap my arms around him and give him a hug.

"We'll keep looking for her and your brothers," I promise him.

For once, he doesn't pull away from me, instead holding on to me and to my promise. I just hope I can follow through with it,

# About the Author

Jessica Sorensen is a _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author who lives in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.

# Other books by Jessica Sorensen:

**The Unraveling Mysteries Series:**

The Mysterious Guy Next Door

The Mystery of the Symbol

The Questionable Murder (coming soon)

* * *

**Guardian Academy Series:**

Entranced

Entangled

Enchanted

Entice

Charmed

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Monster Academy for the Magical:**

Monster Academy for the Magical

Monster Academy for the Magical: The Deadly Four

Monster Academy for the Magical: The Monster Trial

Monster Academy for the Magical: The Monster Clique

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Harlynn's Mystery Investigations:**

Sugar Cookies & Zombie Secrets

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Sunnyvale Mysteries:**

The Year of Secrets & Cupcakes

The Year of Lies & Cotton Candy

The Year of Truths & Sugar Cookies

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Signed with a Kiss**

Accepting the Deal

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Mysteries of Star Grove:**

Heat

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Rebels & Misfits Detectives:**

Spies, Lies, & Cupcakes

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Lexi Ashford Series:**

The Diary of Lexi Ashford

The Diary of Lexi Ashford: The Agreement

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Enchanted Detectives Series:**

Enchanted Chaos

Charmed Chaos

Entangled Chaos (coming soon)

* * *

**My Cursed Superhero Life:**

Cursed

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Honeyton Mysteries:**

Chasing Hadley

Falling for Hadley

Holding onto Hadley

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Heartbreaker Society:**

The Mysteriously Complicated Life of Ashlynn: Volume 1

The Mysteriously Complicated Life of Ashlynn: Volume 2

The Mysteriously Complicated Life of Ashlynn: Volume 3 (coming soon)

* * *

**Tangled Realms:**

Forever Violet

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Curse of the Vampire Queen:**

Tempting Raven

Enchanting Raven

Alluring Raven

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**A Pact Between the Forgotten:**

The Art of Being Friends

The Rules of Being Friends (coming soon)

* * *

**Shadow Cove Series:**

What Lies in the Darkness

What Lies in the Dark

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Mystic Willow Bay Series:**

The Secret Life of a Witch

Broken Magic

Stolen Kisses

One Wild, Crazy, Zombie Night

Magical Whispers & the Undead

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Standalones:**

The Forgotten Girl

* * *

**The Coincidence Series:**

The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

The Redemption of Callie and Kayden

The Destiny of Violet and Luke

The Probability of Violet and Luke

The Certainty of Violet and Luke

The Resolution of Callie and Kayden

Seth & Greyson

* * *

**The Coincidence Mysteries:**

The Evermore

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Secret Series:**

The Prelude of Ella and Micha

The Secret of Ella and Micha

The Forever of Ella and Micha

The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

The Ever After of Ella and Micha

Lila and Ethan: Forever and Always

Ella and Micha: Infinitely and Always

* * *

**The Secret Star Grove Mysteries:**

The Secret Grove Mysteries: Road Trip Interrupted

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Shattered Promises Series:**

Shattered Promises

Fractured Souls

Unbroken

Broken Visions

Scattered Ashes

* * *

**Breaking Nova Series:**

Breaking Nova

Saving Quinton

Delilah: The Making of Red

Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

Tristan: Finding Hope

Wreck Me

Ruin Me

* * *

**The Fallen Star Series:**

The Fallen Star

The Underworld

The Vision

The Promise

The Lost Soul

The Evanescence

The Mist of Stars (untitled)

* * *

**The Darkness Falls Series:**

Darkness Falls

Darkness Breaks

Darkness Fades

* * *

**The Death Collectors Series (NA and YA):**

Ember X and Ember

Cinder X and Cinder

Spark X and Spark

* * *

**Unbeautiful Series:**

Unbeautiful

Untamed
