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My phone buzzes with a text from my mom reminding me that they’re driving us to Damien’s soccer game. I text her back that Damien spent the night at a teammate’s house and will meet us there. Then I tell her I’m leaving in a minute, using the excuse that I’m the snack mom today and we need to stop at the store. Really, I just want out of my too-quiet apartment.
My weather app confirms a cool, clear day, so I dress accordingly. My hair goes into a quick braid. By the front door, I almost step into my Converse, then change my mind and opt for boots because Converse remind me of Lucas.
Then I mentally slap myself and kick off the boots. Lucas—and the stupid memory box he’s reopened—can suck it.
The walk to my parents’ house goes a long way to restoring my equilibrium. Every step reminds me that the past is gone, that this—now—is my life. It’s a beautiful morning, and I love watching Damien play soccer.
My restored sense of self buffers me when, as I walk through my parents’ gate and glance at the Alders’ front yard, a phantom vision of a boy teases me. He’s running through sprinklers, hollering at the top of his lungs. With him, equally energized, are two other kids. Another boy. Dark-haired, with olive skin and a stockier build. And a girl, smaller, with flyaway blond hair and tanned, stick-thin limbs jutting from her jean shorts and baggy T-shirt.
I blink and the vision vanishes, replaced by reality. The little patch of grass is gone, replaced by a flowerbed. Mrs. Alder—in tailored jeans, a navy blouse, and giant sunglasses—is watering the blooms. She doesn’t see me and honestly, I’m not sure she ever saw me. At least not until the night she caught Jeremy and me sneaking out of Lucas’s bedroom window. After that, she noticed me, all right, but I still have no idea what she thinks of me.
Not that it’s any of my business.
“Mom! Dad!” I call, letting myself inside. Lulu barks and barrels down the hallway toward me. I crouch to give her rubs. “Who’s a good girl? The best girl?”
I don’t notice the man leaning into the hallway from the kitchen.
“Morning, Peapod.”
I try to spring up, but Lulu chooses that moment to jump into my lap. I land hard on my butt, my head thunking against the front door.
Lucas chuckles. My mom hustles around him, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Lulu, no! Are you all right, sweets? Lulu, heel. Sit.”
Lulu does as she’s told, a doggie grin on her face.
“I’m fine,” I grunt, waving off my mom’s hand. When I’m standing, I finally look at Lucas. “What are you doing here?”
“I smelled pancakes and hopped the fence.”
He says it like it’s a given, like it’s no big deal. Leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, casual in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, he looks completely at ease.
My blood boils.
My mom smiles warmly at him, then at me. “Just like old times. We’ve been catching up, and I told him about Damien’s game. He’s going to come with?—”
“No!” I blurt, my eyes wide on my mom. “He’s not coming. No.”
My mom flushes, aghast. “What’s wrong with you? Lucas is your oldest friend. I’m so sorry, Lucas, I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. M. If Celeste is uncomfortable with me joining you, I won’t go.”
“I’m not uncomfortable!” I snap, even though I am. Lucas, of course, knows I’m lying and raises an eyebrow at me.
“What’s going on out here?” asks my dad, adjusting his glasses as he walks down the hallway, now far too crowded.
“Celeste doesn’t want Lucas to come to Damien’s soccer game,” says my traitorous mother.
My dad peers at Lucas, then at me. I send every ounce of feeling I can through my eyes, hoping he’ll back me up. And when his face softens, I relax, thinking I’m in the clear.
Then he says, “Lucas should come,” and walks into the kitchen.
My mom nods decisively and follows him, leaving us with, “Pancakes are ready.”
Lucas steps away from the wall, his arms falling. “Celeste?—”
I lift a hand. “Just don’t.”
He ignores me, continuing softly, “We aren’t kids they can order around anymore. If you don’t want me to go, I won’t.”
