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Who is she?

Still humming, she walks back toward the house. Before she goes inside, she looks up at the sky one last time, almost like she's telling the stars goodnight, and smiles.

Then she's gone.

And somehow the night feels quieter without her.

I keep staring at the door for another second before a smile pulls at my lips.

Maybe Chicago won't be as bad as I thought after all.

CHAPTER 1

Eleonora

Sixteen years old.

We arrive at school, and I trail behind my older sister, Chiara, while she chats with her friends.

“Oh my God, is that the new guy?” Tara, Chiara’s best friend, squeals.

I follow her gaze and see him.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders stretching the dark fabric of his T-shirt as he walks across the parking lot like he already belongs here, dark brown hair falling messily over striking blue eyes already fixed on mine.

“He’s coming over here!” Chiara whispers excitedly.

I should look away.

I can’t.

There’s something mesmerizing about the way he moves, so calm and confident, like being here among hundreds of people he doesn't know doesn't bother him at all.

“Hi,” Tara says, her voice suddenly higher than usual.

“Hello.” His voice is low and rough, touched by an accent I can’t place.

But his eyes never leave mine.

“Hi,” I answer softly.

“Damiano.” He holds his hand out toward me.

I stare at it for a second too long.

Why is he talking to me?

I glance at Tara—tall, blonde, curves in all the right places—then at Chiara with the blue eyes she inherited from our mother.

Boys usually don’t notice me when they’re around.

“Nora,” Chiara hisses under her breath, nudging me.

I realize Damiano is still waiting, hand extended.

The moment my fingers slip into his, goosebumps spread across my arms.

“Eleonora,” I whisper, looking up at him.