She’s the one who tells me it was the IP address of Miss Hope’s computer that the police finally hunted down from the e-mail she sent to all my friends. She’s the one who tells me they found my acceptance letter to NYU at her apartment, and my money too. I won’t get it back anytime soon, but when I do, it’s all going to Tessa.
Paige is the one who lets me know they’ve officially released Jackson, and dials his number for me so I can apologize. But when his parents answer, they say he doesn’t want to talk to me.
She’s the one who dries my tears. I guess I don’t blame him, but it still hurts, thinking about all he’s had to suffer because of me. Thinking about not being his anymore.
When I’m about to be released from the hospital, Paige is the one who goes to my house and packs a bag for me, telling my parents how things are going to be from now on.
She’s the one who takes me to the airport to put me on a plane to my Grandma Wellington’s in Maine, where I’ll stay until college starts in the fall, the school having agreed to just give me my damned diploma after everything I’ve been through.
We sit in a coffee shop and watch the foot traffic at Denver International Airport, me still looking like I just got released from the loony bin with bandages around my wrists, and her trying to be as cheerful as she can, but knowing this is goodbye for what may be a very long time. We haven’t been separated for more than a couple weeks since we were babies. And this goodbye is coming three months faster than either of us expected.
“Before, you said you had something to tell me,” I say. “But you never said what it was.”
“Maybe later,” she says, stirring her coffee with a spoon. “Another time.”
“When’s that gonna be?”
“You know I’m gonna come out and visit. As soon as I can.”
“Just tell me.”
“Okay,” she says warily. “Promise you won’t freak out?”
“There’s basically nothing that could shock me at this point.”
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.” She’s talking fast, like she does when she gets nervous. “I…“
“What?”
She takes a deep breath. “I don’t like boys,” she says.
“You what?” Maybe I was wrong when I said I couldn’t be shocked. My eyes go doe wide.
Wait. She’s not saying? Oh god.
“Not you, stupid. Don’t make it weird. We’re like…sisters.”
“Okay. That’s—good for you.”
“Oh boy. You’re making it weird. I knew you were gonna make it weird.”
“No. No! It’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m just surprised is all.”
“See? Weird. Super weird. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m glad you told me. I swear. I am. When did you—? How did you know?”
“I don’t know. That time I kissed Ben our freshman year? There was, like, no spark. So then I kissed Ryan, and Greg, and Clark, and remember that boy at summer camp, Martin something? Who was really good looking?”
“Yeah?”
“Still nothing.”
“Well, at least you were thorough,” I say with a grin.
“Shut up.”
“Sorry. Really, though, Paiger, it’s not a big deal. I mean, it’s a big deal, but not a big deal.”
“I kinda figured you’d be cool with it, what with all your recent revelations and everything.”
We sit there in silence for a moment. She’s giving me space, but I can tell it’s her personal mission to bring me back into the fold. It’s sweet of her, and I know why she’s doing it. A year ago I might have done it too if our places had been switched, even after everything that’s happened. Maybe especially after everything that’s happened. But today, the odds aren’t exactly in her favor.
“I’m still, you know…I still believe in God. I know you don’t, but I do. I want to change things for other kids like me.” She sits up tall in her seat. “I want to be a pastor someday.”
This blows me over almost as much as the other thing. I don’t know which will be harder for her. Being gay in a fundamentalist church, or trying to be a female pastor. But either way? I know she’s gonna be just fine. She’s still the strongest person I know.
“I’m sure you’ll be amazing at it,” I say, tugging the ratty edges of my old T-shirt—one of my favorites from a mission trip we took together to Costa Rica a few years ago, well worn and so much more comfortable for it.
She smiles, softens. “Thanks.”
Paige checks her watch. The moments are ticking away, and we both know it.
“So how about you? Are you ready for this?” she says.
I think about everything that’s happened to me in the last few weeks. About love and about suffering. About faith and about trust and how the two are so different. Faith is believing without evidence. Trust is seeing evidence over and over, and still believing, even in the little moments when the evidence doesn’t look like it’s there anymore. Trust is something I can get behind. Faith, not so much.
I’m standing on this threshold to a new beginning, and don’t know the answer to her question. I don’t know the answer to any of the questions. Am I ready for everything to change? So fast? Will I ever speak to my parents again? How will I keep myself from falling apart if I see Jackson on campus in just a few short months? I don’t know. But I’m okay with the not knowing. I trust Paige, and I trust myself. For now, that’s enough. I, too, will be just fine.
“I think so,” I say.
It’s time. She stands, and I stand, and we hug like it’s the last time we’ll ever see each other. It won’t be, but it sort of feels that way right now. I can’t imagine not having her a few blocks away. I can’t even think about her being on an opposite coast by the fall. There are phones, and airplanes, but that’s not the same. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done to let go of her, but eventually, I do.
“Text me every day, okay?” she says.
“I will.”
“I’m gonna be so pissed if you don’t.”
“I will.”
She hugs me again, then yanks herself away. “Okay. You better go before I lose it and chain you up in my basement.”
“Love you, Paigers,” I say.
“Love you too, Embot,” she says. “Everything’s gonna be good from now on. I promise.”
I squeeze her hand then walk toward security, turning back to look at my best friend, her face shiny with tears, biting her cheek like she used to do when she was a little girl, and still my best friend after all this, after knowing everything there is to know about me, about each other.
By the time I get to the plane, it’s already boarding. I’m one of the last to arrive, which is exactly how I wanted it. Fewer people to stare. I scan the aisle numbers, looking for my seat.
That’s when I see him, in the seat next to my empty one. He’s looking right at me, no doubt in his eyes, no shock at the mess I must be. Just steady, strong. What he’s always been really.
Something that was broken inside me seals back together, melted wax reshaped around a fresh wick, ready to burn again.
“Jackson?” I say, my throat tight.
He stands, the height of him bowed against the overhead compartment, making a cave of the two of us together. His face is so close to mine. So close.
“I’m going to kiss you a lot of places, Emma Grant,” he says, his voice hushed, just for me. He reaches out, slides his hand against my cheek. “But first I’m going to kiss you right here.”
And he does.
And we fly.
STILL
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WHEN she’s not hanging out with her ginger husband and two stinky basset hounds, Livia Harper writes modern thrillers and mysteries in the vein of Megan Abbott’s Dare Me or Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl. She’s a film lover who graduated with a degree in Writing & Directing from Colorado Film school, then went on to study even more about storytelling at UCLA’s Professional Program in Screenwriting. For a long time, she made her living as a photographer, and even spent some years doing marketing for a real estate firm. But today she’s happy to call writing her occupation. She’s overjoyed to be sharing her first book with you, and plans on many more to come.
Continue on to read the first chapter of Livia’s next work: BOYFRIEND GLASSES, the first book in a trilogy of psychological thrillers coming soon.
Here’s sneak peak at BOYFRIEND GLASSES…
TODAY, 7:52 PM
Some people say there’s no such thing as love at first sight. They’re wrong.
The first time I saw Blake… well, it was like his heart was a magnet and mine was molten nickel. I could feel the fire of it singe my skin as it left my body. I could see its hot cord twining orange out of my chest, melting its way directly toward his. When our hearts met, they fused. Mine wrapped around his, holding him forever.
I knew it was love because the first time I saw him, the very first time, Blake did something no one else had ever done before. Blake made me forget all about Johnny.
We were at a geeks/greeks party at the Sigma Phi Upsilon house, before I knew to call it SigUp. It was the first real party of many that night, the first party night of the year. We were drunk on freedom and electric with high expectations for our future. Walking in there with Amber, like we belonged, like it was no big deal, like they threw parties just so girls like us would come, made me feel wild and alive for the first time since Johnny. It was everything I hoped college would be. It was everything high school wasn’t.
Blake was… all Blake. There’s no other way to say it, no other way to define all the little parts that add up to him being him—his confident smile, his body tall and statuesque as a Michelangelo, the absolute command he had of the whole room. Dark hair and tan skin and eyes like peridot: green and shimmering and endless. He was all Blake.
Every single girl in the room was looking at him. Every single one. Why wouldn’t they? He was perfect.
But Blake didn’t pay attention to any of them. He knew what he wanted and he knew he would get it. And what he wanted was me. Right from the beginning. He could feel me there, in that room, feel our connection just like I could.
But he saw Amber first. And he got confused.
He walked right up to her, like I wasn’t even there. He didn’t say a word, just held her eyes and took her hand and led her into a corner. Everyone stared as he took his fake black glasses off and put them on her and kissed her. They looked like the perfect couple. But we would have been better, so much better.
Amber wore those glasses all night, a trophy of his love. Her cornsilk eyelashes brushed against them, every flutter reminding her that she was his choice. His.
I wanted to rip those glasses off her face, just to touch something he’d touched.
But I don’t want to anymore. I don’t have to. I’m wearing them right now.
And Amber is dead.
You’ve come to the end of the sample of BOYFRIEND GLASSES.
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Thanks for reading!
DEAR READER,
I HOPE you’ve enjoyed reading my debut novel, SLAIN.
While the book contains a lot of controversial subject matter, my rule-of-thumb was to deal with it in a way that was true to Emma’s character. Parts of this reflect my own beliefs, and parts do not. I have a great respect for many people of faith, my own family included, and my hope is that the book sparks thoughtful discussion instead of ire on both sides of the issue. I’m not naive enough to believe that my hopes always translate into reality, but please take that sentiment to heart.
Lastly, I love to hear from my readers. Love/hate it? Have questions? I’m dying to know. Feel free to drop me a line at [email protected].
Thank you again for taking the time to read a book from a first-time, independent author. It means so much that you did.
Sincerely,
Livia
P.S. If you have a moment, please take a second to leave an honest review wherever you purchased this book. It really helps other readers find me, and know what to expect from the book. Thank you!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANK YOU TO Dave, my amazing husband. It’s a hard job being married to a writer, but it’s a role he’s always filled with the utmost care and support. My forever love and gratitude for every minute of every day.
Thank you to Sara and Jolene, without who’s encouragement it would be difficult to imagine completing this book.
Thank you to the many individuals who read and re-read SLAIN and helped me shape it into something people might actually be able to look at. Their fine writing inspires me to be a better writer every day. Specifically: Jennifer K., Jennifer C.P., Alex S., Sara S., Kelly C., Cassi C., Josh V., and all the wonderful people at writer’s group.
Thank you to my family, both biological and the one I was gifted through marriage, who are kindly supporting both me and this book, despite their beliefs.
Thank you to my editor, Jason Whited (www.Jason-Whited.com)for sweating over the capitalizations of God/god in this book almost as much as I did.
And finally, thank you to my readers for taking the time to read my work. It was truly a labor of love to create this book, and I’m so pleased to have been able to share it with you.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Livia Harper
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0692296745
ISBN-10: 0692296743
Edited by Jason Whited, www.jason-whited.com.
First paperback edition.
Slain Page 31