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I only had one year left in this place, and then I’d be gone forever.
My mind was a whirl as we entered the main office and greeted the office secretary, Mrs. Madden. Her gray hair and worn face already showed signs of tiredness, and the school year hadn’t officially begun yet. Mrs. Madden handed me my schedule and reeled off my new locker number. Mom was adamant we find my new locker in the senior hall, walking ahead and calling out the numbers scribed on each one as she went. We’d done this every year since I’d started here, and today wouldn’t be any different.
“Here!” she announced, holding her arms wide.
I smiled and gazed around. Between two classrooms stood a row of ten lockers, and mine was right in the middle. I hated being in the middle, but I prayed Hope’s locker would be nearby.
Hope. The one person who attended school and did exactly what her name said—gave me hope.
“Can we go now?” I asked Mom, hoping I didn’t sound too whiney. I didn’t want to be here any longer than I a
lready had to be. I wanted to be back in my bedroom with my pile of throw pillows I kept on my bed—technically, they weren’t throw pillows because I never actually threw them off the bed when I slept—and lose myself in a book.
Mom’s smile dropped at the corners, but she soon built it back up and flashed it full force as she stepped toward me. “Of course.” She swung her arm around mine as we walked past the classroom door and down the hall.
The senior hallway was the one farthest back in the school, so we had to walk back past the office to get out—an office where students were starting to arrive. The sight of letterman jackets had my gaze veering to the floor and my hand lifting to push some hair over my face. The last thing I needed was for any of the football players to notice me, especially with Mom standing next to me. I didn’t understand why, in this technological savage age, they couldn’t just email our schedule to us?
Within minutes, we were back in the car and heading toward the diner. The diner sat almost exactly between school and our apartment. I wasn’t sure how my mom had gotten me into the school back when I’d been a freshman because it was technically out of our district, but she’d managed it anyway. Maybe she’d used the diner address? I could still hear the echo of her words in my head the summer before freshman year: “Only the best for you, hunnybun.” She always said that, no matter what we were doing. Everything she did was to make my life better. Maybe she thought if she did that then I wouldn’t remember what happened nine years ago, and that the memories would magically disappear? Whatever the case, she was wrong. Nothing would stop me from thinking about the night that changed everything. Nothing could erase the images in my head.
I glanced over at her and grinned as she tried her best to dance and drive at the same time. She was having a great time, while I was over here dreading the next year of my life. I couldn’t show her that, though. If she were going to put on a brave face, then I’d do exactly the same. Every day of my high school life was about going by unnoticed, and I knew running track would destroy that, but maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time I pushed out of my comfort zone, even if it was only to try out.
“Mom?” She pulled into a space in the diner lot and hummed in response. “I think I’ll try out for track this year.”
Her eyes widened, and her head swiveled to face me. “I…you…” Mom was never lost for words. I chuckled and unclipped my belt while she got herself together. “You are?”
I shrugged. For years she’d been trying to get me to try out for the track team. “It’s my senior year. I may as well try, right?”
“Yes!” She practically threw herself over the center console and wrapped her arms around me. “This is going to be the best year. I can feel it in my bones, Aria.” She pulled back and grasped each side of my face. “Do you feel it?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. Fake it until you make it, right?
* * *
ARIA
Sleep hadn’t come easy, no matter what I tried: A soothing bath before I threw myself into my throw pillows, lavender mist to help ease my body into relaxation, counting sheep. None of it helped me get to sleep until three this morning. And now it was four hours later, and I resembled a zombie.
I pushed myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and sorted my face out with minimal makeup before trying to tame my hair into submission. The end look was a beach wave, but I kind of dug it. It was better than the frizz ball it had been. I’d laid my clothes out last night—skinny black jeans, a white T-shirt with a rainbow on the front, and my trusty combat boots—so after one final check in the mirror, I declared myself ready.
“Aria?” a deep voice called from the other side of my bedroom door followed by a knock. “I made you breakfast.”
A grin spread over my face as I picked up my backpack and leather jacket that I probably wouldn’t need thanks to the never-ending summer, but the last time I’d left it at home, I got caught in the rain. I pulled open the door and tilted my head to the side as I took in one of the men who had come into my life and made me trust again. He didn’t understand why it took five years of dating my mom for me to talk to him properly, but Sal was a patient man. He didn’t push and knew when to back off, but most importantly, he was always there, no matter what.
“You did?” I asked him, trying to push my grin down a notch, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast on my first day of school. Mom was always so busy with work that we usually grabbed something on the go.
Sal swiped his hand down his face and over the scruff shadowing his jaw, trying his hardest to come off as casual, but he was failing majorly. “I was cooking anyway.”
I stepped out of my room and raised a brow. “So you cooked me breakfast?”
Sal’s nostrils flared, but I’d learned a long time ago this happened for one of two reasons: he was angry or embarrassed. Today, I was going with the latter. “Get your ass in the kitchen and eat before your mom wakes up and starts harassing you.” His words were a complete contrast to his tone, but he didn’t have to tell me twice. The threat of Mom talking nonstop before my first day back at the hellhole people liked to call school was enough to get my butt moving.
The short hallway that housed our bedrooms and compact bathroom led into the living room and kitchen separated only by a break between carpet and tiles. The scent of bacon permeated the air, and I was really hoping there’d be a couple of pancakes thrown in there too, and maybe some hash browns just for fun.
Sal didn’t disappoint, because as soon as I sat my ass in one of the two chairs at the dining table, I was greeted with exactly that. But there was only one plate: mine.
“You were already cooking, huh?” I asked, making a show of glancing around at the absence of any other food.
Sal lifted his mug filled with black coffee to his lips and grunted. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
