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ONE
THE PAST
SCARLETT AGE 5, MAVERICK AND SETH, AGE 11
“Seth!”
Where is he?
“Seth!” I cried out again, running down the stairs.
“No running!” Mom yelled as she carried the laundry basket behind me.
“We were playing hide and seek, but I can’t find him.”
“Oh, I think he’s outside with Maverick.”
“Who’s that?” I stopped in my tracks and looked up at Mom.
“He’s the boy who just moved in next door.” Mom walked toward the laundry room near the kitchen.
The boy next door? Who was he, and why did he take my brother from me?
I ran out the back door, Mom yelling at me to put on my shoes, but I didn’t listen.
Ineverlisten.
As soon as I reached our backyard, I heard voices coming from the other side of the fence. I took off running to the front of the house as fast as my little legs could carry me and ended up next door inhisdriveway. With my hands clasped in front of me, I slowly walked up to the open garage door.
“Hey, Scar!” Seth cried out when he saw me standing in the driveway. He was on his knees doing something to his bike.
“Hi, Seth. I was looking for you but couldn’t find you,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
Seth stood up, wiped his hands down his shorts, and threw a shiny tool to the side. He walked toward me and hugged me, saying he was sorry.
I loved his hugs.
“Why are you here?” I asked Seth, peeking over his shoulder.
“I met a new friend. This is Maverick. Maverick, this is my sister Scarlett, but we call her Scar for short.” Seth wrapped his arm around me.
Maverick stood up, walked over to us, and held his hand out to me. “Hi, Scar.”
I looked down and noticed his hands were greasy and black. “Gross,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.
Seth and the boy laughed.
Maverick wiped his greasy hands on his khaki shorts, leaving dark smudges on the fabric. He turned to me with a smirk. "It's just a little grease, Tinkerbelle. Won't hurt ya."
I raised an eyebrow. "Who's Tinkerbelle?" I asked, shaking his hand. It was soft, even though it was grubby.
Maverick's smile widened, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. "You are."
I shook my head. "No, my name is Scar."
Maverick leaned against the garage door, crossing his ankles and tucking his hands into his pockets. "I know, but I like Tinkerbelle better."
I gave him a curious look. "Why?"
