PROLOGUE
Safe to saya low-drama life of voracious reading didn’t prepare me for the harsh reality that developing curves could lead to terrified sobbing in a gas station bathroom. “One thing led to another,” as they say. But I have to stop dwelling and analyzing. I roll my shoulders to reset. Just pack.
I glance to my bedroom window, visible from the driveway. I’m itching to run up there and throw a few of my book friends into a box—Alina Starkov, Anne Elliott, Hazel, Lara Jean. Do I have human friends? Sure, but my book friends wouldn’t judge me for packing three types of graph paper. Besides, they’re the only ones who haven’t let me down. Then again, maybe they have. For all their warnings and promises, they never prepared me for what happened last year. They led me to believe that a pretty face and a curvy body would make my life ten times better, even a hundred. But all that glow-up magic? It’s a lie.
Mom emerges from the other side of the car with her telepathic look. “I’ll bring you some water, sweetie.”
The intense Colorado sun has me squinting like I’m in an old Western. I should grab my sunglasses, but any distraction right now is risky. There’s too much to figure out, too much to avoid. I force myself to pace as I focus on the task in front of me. For once it’s useful that I’m incapable of simultaneously walking and thinking hard.
A lady and her shuffling basset hound distract my manic steps to the sidewalk. “Aw, can I pet your dog?”
“Surely. This is Stella. And I’m Judy.”
“I’m Kit.”
Stella’s long ears and droopy eyes make her a candidate for Monday morning’s mascot, but her tail wags when I squat. She lowers to a sit and plops over to make her belly available to me.
I chuckle and scratch it. “Are you enjoying your walk, Stella?”
“We saw a mountain lion hiding in the red rocks on our last walk,” Judy says. “She’s still spooked.”
“Poor doggie. That’s so scary.” Am I projecting onto this dog? I shake my head and pat her belly. “Don’t worry, Miss Judy will keep you safe.”
Judy’s wise smile wrinkles her face. “Do you have a dog?”
“No. And I leave for college tomorrow, so?—“
“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. Where are you headed?”
“This little school in East Texas.” Beyond weird that I enrolled somewhere I hadn’t heard of until a year ago. A full scholarship is certainly motivating.
“Well, enjoy the adventure.”
I send a wave and a warm smile I don’t feel. I’m not up for any more “adventures.” Last year was enough of a roller coaster for a lifetime. I open the back car door to Tetris my things into Dad’s Accord.
Mom’s still gone and, yep, I see her through the office window. She bends over laughing, hand on Dad’s stomach. With the pleased smirk of hitting his mark, he pulls her closer. Myparents are disgusting. In the best way, of course. They’re like real life versions of Prince Derek and the Swan Princess—if Odette was spunkier and a redhead.
I flinch at the low purr of a sports car and snap toward the noise. But it’s not blue. Not even close. It’s not him. And just like that, it’s gone.
Mom reappears on the driveway and hands me a water bottle in silent communication.Nope, still don’t want to talk.I thank her and gulp down most of it.
Maverick saunters out and relieves me of the bottle.
I tilt my head, amused in advance at my brother’s forthcoming antics.
“You’ll need to save room for one more in the car.” He takes a swig.
Whenever I tell Mav he’s bossy, he corrects that he has “leadership qualities.” He and Mom both.
“Think you’ll take care of all those driving hours in one trip?” she asks him.
Ah. Mav’s license is now within reach.
“You know it, Mamacita.” He drapes his arm lazily around me, rocks his hip out, and imitates us in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. “Road trip!”
This kind of class-clown behavior is exactly what I need right now. I bump his hip with mine, sending a message. He knows and bumps me back. My eyes fill, and I squeeze him into a side-hug. He’s been taller than me for years and I’m still not used to it.
Take care of him, God? Both of them?
