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CHAPTERONE
LENNON
Freshman Year
Any hope of today being better than I expected dies a slow death as soon as I step inside the open doors of Landry High School. The soles of my ratty sneakers squeak against the scrubbed linoleum as the smell of grass and sunshine is replaced by the scent of ammonia and new notebooks.
I only catch glimpses of the gray lockers that line the walls between the hordes of teenagers crowding the hall. My heart travels up to my throat, lodging in an uncomfortable lump that expands with each side glance and every whisper.
My gaze remains straight ahead as familiar faces flash by. Eyes dart away. Heads tilt together.
I keep my expression impassive.
I woke up prepared to face stares.
This is the first time I’ve been inside Landry High, but I know where I’m going…I think. It takes a special kind of idiot to get lost in what is essentially a cinderblock rectangle. Walk long enough, and you’ll end up back in the same exact spot.
My steps don’t slow until I arrive at the glass door that leads into the main office. Once I do, I suck in a deep breath. The wrinkled paper I’m clutching makes a crinkling sound as I attempt to smooth it against my thigh before pulling the heavy door open.
The hinges groan, announcing my arrival to the school secretary. The middle-aged woman glances up with a prepared smile that falters slightly when she registers my face. The curse of living in a tiny, pretentious,nosytown.
No secrets exist in Landry.
I feel the weight of her sympathy settle over my shoulders like a lead-lined blanket as I shuffle up to the front desk.
The worst part of grief is the expectations. How everyone thinks they know exactly what grieving should look like. How they’re uncomfortable when it’s displayed yet judge its absence.
I keep my face blank, although I’m tempted to wrinkle my nose in response to the lemon scent saturating the air. The aroma is overpowering.
I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder, chewing the inside of my cheek as the two girls across the hallway don’t bother to hide the way they’re staring at me through the glass.
“Hi. I just need to drop this off.” I rush the words out, anxious to have them expelled. Eager to be rid of this form and be one step closer to getting through this day.
According to the state of Kentucky, the school year is one hundred and seventy days. High school is four years. After today, I’ll only have six hundred and seventy-nine days to get through.
Six hundred and seventy-nine days.
Rather than comforting, the countdown sounds…long.
I set the paper on the counter, watching the secretary’s brown eyes dart between me and the wrinkled sheet. “Of course. I’ll add this to your file.”
“Thank you.” I whirl around, eager to leave.
“Lennon?”
“Yes?” I take my time spinning back toward the desk, uneasy. I’m so sick of sympathies, especially forced ones.
“We have a new student starting today. I just pulled up your class schedule, and you two have the same homeroom. Would you be willing to show—” The wooden door behind her opens, interrupting her question, and revealing a face I’ve never seen before. A rare statement in Landry, Kentucky; home to just over five thousand people.
The guy walking toward me might be a stranger, but I knowexactlywho he is. I knew the moment I heard the words “new student.”
No one with the name Winters needs an introduction in the state of Kentucky.
It didn’t take long for the residents of Landry to move past the news of my father’s death last month, although the whispers in the hallway confirm people haven’t forgotten about it. Not only because he was an outsider. Not only because of the circumstances surrounding it. But because it was overshadowed by the speculation about why Austin Winters was moving back to Landry with his wife and only child. Overshadowed by excitement that Landry’s most respected family was expanding their presence in town.
Caleb Winterslookswealthy. Important. He also appears annoyed.
A scowl mars otherwise attractive features, suggesting he’s about as thrilled to be here as I am. His black hair is ruffled, like he’s just run his hand through it; his blue eyes blaze, like the flame at the base of a candle absent of soot.
