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“I’m sorry,” I said, that time a blush crept its way onto my cheeks. “What is this place?” I asked when he didn’t respond. There was a drab, crumbling main street with no one in sight.

“Misery,” he replied with a deep sigh. He pulled off his helmet, and I followed, swinging my legs over the bike to climb off.

“No, seriously,” I said as I tugged the jacket tighter around my frame.

“The place is literally called Misery, Sara.” He chuckled.

“How come I’ve never heard of this place?” I stared at him like he would have the answer.

“Come on, there’s this old bookstore here that houses all the weirdest books. I used to come here all the time.” His eyes trailed to a creaky wooden sign with ‌gold foiling scarcely intact.

Old Misery Bookshop.

My eyes morphed from confusion to intrigue as my feet carried me to the entrance. A foggy glass door with two grumpy cats peering out greeted me.

“Oh my gosh,” I smiled, glancing back at Kane. He had this indecipherable look in his eyes as he strolled over to me, reaching for the door and opening it.

Inside, the shop was silent, heavy with the scent of wood and old paper. I took in the space; my eyes landed on a section of crooked shelves with velvet and leather material bound books. An old, reworked copy of The Divine Comedy lay askew. I snatched it up and flipped through the pages. Neat handwriting filled the margins; its tiny Latin phrases compelling me to clutch the book.

“This is kind of romantic, you know?” I said to Kane as his presence cast a shadow over me in the narrow aisle.

“If this is your idea of romance, you have so much to learn.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the shelf.

“And you’ve had a lot of romance in your young life?” I teased.

“I like to think I know a thing or two,” he said coolly.

A few hours later, we returned home, the roar of his motorcycle humming against the asphalt. A flush had etched itself upon my cheeks, accompanied by an aching smile. On my back was a backpack stuffed with old paperbacks, a grimoire, and a leather journal.

Misery wasn’t wholly miserable after all.

“Well, well, well…looks like you two had a ‌day.” My mother’s smooth voice greeted us as we walked in. I ignored her as I made my way to the stairs. We still weren’t on the greatest of terms, and as much as it made the loneliness feel greater, I needed to sort out my whirlwind of emotions.

“Want to come to my room and help me organize?” I offered Kane.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me.

“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me when your mother is standing right there. We’ll see each other in…”—he glanced at his watch—“two hours, right?”

“For what?” I asked.

“You wanted to study, right?”

In two hours was a party, and the adults weren’t supposed to know.

TEN

THE JOURNAL

December 2000

I pulled into the parking lot of our school on a blustering morning, hoping to bypass all the frivolities of high school existence and just fade through the day.

With Ash being away at military school and Kane being drowned in his senior year responsibilities, I had no choice but to force the idea of dating either of them out of my head.

Kane and I had little more encounters of the summer, only existing in that space where we caught glimpses of another as we alternated spaces in the house. He was avoiding me, and I couldn’t understand why.

Back then, I wished I could still describe my feelings as a crush on him. It was a trickling stream that transformed into a rushing, violent river. Did I chase him? Did girls chase boys? Especially emotionally tumultuous ones?