I realize I have to leave. I have to run away from here, and never, ever come back.
And somehow, that hurts most of all.
CHAPTER 1
johnnie
THEN | 2000
That’s it,the final touch.
I nudge the last dolphin into place, lining it up with precision beside all its porcelain friends. They catch the afternoon light just right, little flashes of blue and glassy white. It looks as though they might slip off the shelf and swim away.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Behind me, Dierks Bentley croons through my hot pink boom box—surprisingly, the sound not warped from years of use. Sweet sixteen. I remember ripping the wrapping paper like it held something better inside. Turns out, this cheap plastic thing is one of the only pieces of my childhood that still brings comfort.
I fold my arms, taking in the room.
Small. Too small, if I’m being honest. The walls are paneled in wood, and if it wasn’t for the ample windows I would feelslightly claustrophobic. Back home—no, not home anymore—there were five bedrooms, tall ceilings, and space to breathe without bumping into yourself.
Now there’s this.
A trailer. My grandmother’s trailer.
My room.
I blink past the thought before it can settle.
It’s not all bad. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.
Because this place, this town. It isn’t foreign.
Laken, Ohio. Ablink-and-you-miss-itlake town tucked so far west you can practically hear Indiana breathing.
I grew up here.
I run my fingers along the shelf, straightening a dolphin that doesn’t need straightening. It’s easier to focus on that than the rest of it—the why I’m here and what comes next.
My parents are two thousand miles away in San Antonio, chasing an opportunity my dad called “too good to pass up,” like that was supposed to make it easier. Like distance doesn’t stretch differently when it’s your life getting pulled thin.
They asked me to go. And I almost did. But senior year isn’t something I wanted to abandon. And neither were the people here.
Especially not Bea, my best friend who’s been glued to my side since fourth grade. Bea, who knows every version of me. The past, the present, and ones I don’t admit out loud.
Leaving her would’ve felt like cutting off something vital.
So I stayed.
Chose this instead.
Chose Nan.
Allie to everyone else, but Nan to me—like I’ve always belonged to her in a way that no one else does.
When I asked if I could stay, she didn’t hesitate. Just smiled like she’d been waiting for me to ask. Which, honestly, maybeshe had. The idea of having something that goes beyond Willie Nelson, Marlboro reds, and Budweiser to keep her company was probably enticing.
