Or Matthew’s ghost. Or…Karma.
“Fuck,” I breathe out as I whip the front door open, leaving grime of trash on the worn knob. I step inside the house, completely unbothered by Mom’s harsh glare. “I know,” I say before she can berate me. “I was gone too long.”
I rip the microwave door open, and grab the bowl, ignoring the sear of heat against my fingertips. I grab a spoon and plant the bowl down in front of my mother, who’s already somehow managed to line herself up at the kitchen table.
She looks at the soup with disgust.
“What? Do I need to reheat it?”
“What…” My mom’s voice trails off as her eyes jump to my hands on my hips. “What’s on your hands?”
My expression falls, and I flip my hands over.Shit.
“The trash dumped,” I say quickly, rushing to the sink and kicking on the water. “It’s just juice or something.”
“Or something.”
I breathe out, smattering soap across my hands. “I can make you a new bowl.”
“I’ll just wipe it off,” she says, begrudgingly. “Go get ready. I think I’ll skip the outing, actually. My stomach feels ill.”
Mine, too.
But I don’t respond. I just slip off toward my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I rest my back against it, and try to catch my breath as my chest starts to constrict.
I’m fucking losing it here.
My eyes jump to my bedroom window, the blinds and curtains wide open. I let my mind run to the past, if only to calm my racing heart.
“Come on, Rue,” Noah whispers, as I raise my window, the warm summer breeze blowing through my hair. “Let’s go to the ravine.”
“My mom is gonna kill me,” I giggle, peering back to my bedroom door. “I’m not supposed to leave.”
“So? She’ll never know. I have snacks.” He wiggles his brows in his usual silly fashion, though this past summer, he’s grown up dramatically, now thirteen.
And my eleven-year-old self has the biggest crush.
I smile, my breath stuttering as his eyes hold mine. Under the moonlight, his eyes are a fragile blue, so translucent they seem to catch the light and hold it.
A knot catches in my throat, and my eyes fly open.
I think I know who the man was in the Grab n’ Go.
12
RUE
Noah Anders.
I hit the search on Google again.Nothing.Then I try every single social media platform I can conjure up to try.
Nothing.
“Rue, do you want hot chocolate?” Macey asks me, her perfectly highlighted blonde hair pulled into a ponytail on the top of her head. Mara, her seven-year-old, dances around her, her puffy white earmuffs bouncing against her matching ponytail.
I shove my phone in my pocket. “Yeah, that sounds good.” My fingers are numb from the lack of gloves and continuous internet search for my long-lost childhood friend…
Of whom I think was the man in the store.
