Dedication
To Mom and Dad, for supporting my dreams and for not putting me up for adoption during those turbulent teenage years. And to my sister, Jenn, for not ratting me out to Mom and Dad, even though the peach-flavored gum wasn’t fooling anyone. You are all extraordinary, and so is your love.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
One: Sour Candy
Two: An Untimely Truth
Three: Prince Charming with a Few Tattoos
Four: Crossing the Tracks
Five: Good Girls and Very Bad Boys
Six: The Morning After
Seven: A Near Miss
Eight: Decisions and Dead Ends
Nine: Darkness Brings the Unforeseen
Ten: In the Darkest Hour
Eleven: One Itty-Bitty Mistake
Twelve: Little Girl Found
Thirteen: The Calm Before the Storm
Fourteen: An Unexpected Reception
Fifteen: A Perfect Plan
Sixteen: A Different Approach
Seventeen: Lies and Consequences
Eighteen: Picking up the Pieces
Nineteen: A World Without
About the Author
Books by Christine Conradt
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
Sour Candy
“You are not going to believe what I just heard.” Avery, breathless with excitement, darted through the throng of teenagers drifting down the hall of the high school, on her way to Candace’s locker. Avery Wilkes was petite and fragile with a shock of glossy black hair, and at this moment she was struggling to contain some important news.
“What?” Candace responded without taking her eyes off the mirror on her locker door. With a manicured nail she scraped the stray gloss from the corner of her full, pink lips. Candace White, nicknamed “Candy” by her friends and family, was the type of girl who could look beautiful without trying. Her long blond hair cascaded down her back in languid waves and her eyelashes held a perfect, permanent curl that framed her big brown eyes like those of an innocent, newly born fawn.
But beneath the sun-splashed cheeks and ever so slightly turned-up nose, Candace was a brewing storm. There was this ever-present feeling that she simply didn’t quite fit; a pervading sense that she was missing something much better out there and that while she lived her day-to-day life, her real life—the one she was meant to live—was passing her by someplace else.
Avery slapped her hand over the mirror, eager to get Candace’s attention. “I’m serious, Candy. You’re going to want to hear this.”
Candace turned squarely to her best friend, feigning an interested look. Avery loved to be the bearer of news, any kind of news, and she had a habit of hyping mundane events into something seemingly interesting just for a few moments in the spotlight. Being a drama queen was one of Avery’s few quirks, but Candace, having known Avery since junior high, didn’t mind. In the grand scheme of their lives, Avery had never been anything but a great friend. She was loyal, sweet, and genuinely caring, but the glue that really held them together was Avery’s ability to put up with Candace’s moods without getting offended. Candace was well aware that she could blow at any second. When she did, it was like a dam breaking. Venom-laced words would come gushing out until she ran dry.
Candace always felt guilty afterward. Each time it happened, she’d loathe herself for days until she could accept her own promise that it wouldn’t happen again. But it always happened again. This flaw made it difficult for people to really get close to Candace and she knew this, but it never seemed to matter with Avery. Avery knew below-the-surface Candace was a good person.
“I’m listening! I can do two things at once. I’m smart like that.” Candace plucked Avery’s hand from the mirror, giving her room to check her mascara.
Avery lowered her voice and glanced from side to side, letting the suspense build. “Let’s just say . . . Ian doesn’t waste much time.” Now she had Candy’s attention. For real. “He’s seeing Jenny Martin,” Avery continued. “The sophomore.”
Candace’s big brown eyes grew even bigger.
“That volleyball chick?”
“Yup. I guess they hooked up at Dane’s party the other night.”
Candace slammed her locker door shut with more force than necessary. She’d never been sucker-punched but she thought this is what it must feel like. For a few seconds she actually forgot to breathe as images of her ex-boyfriend walking hand in hand with the lanky Jenny Martin flashed through her mind in rapid succession. Candace was at a loss for words. All she could come up with was “That was quick.”
How could he want to be with someone so soon? she wondered, a hot, uncomfortable feeling rising from the pit of her stomach. They’d just broken up. Literally. Last week. And in that span of time, she’d had a helluva time getting Ian out of her head. No matter what she did, her thoughts drifted back to time they’d spent together, events they’d attended as a couple, moments that at one point, meant something. Even mundane things she’d thought she’d forgotten—a good-luck kiss before one of Ian’s basketball games or the sneaking of midnight phone calls on school nights—popped up in her mind at the oddest times, interrupting her concentration on anything else. Apparently Ian doesn’t have that problem, she thought. She was trying hard to ignore the stinging in her eyes that comes in those seconds just before you start to cry.
“It makes sense he’d go out with someone two years younger. Considering how immature he is,” Avery muttered, folding her arms and shaking her head. “You’d think he could at least wait a week, though.”
“I don’t care what he does,” Candace said under her breath. Her tone was convincing but Avery knew better; Candace cared more than she was letting on.
Two hours later, as Candace was making her way from European History where their teacher, Mr. Rafael, surprised them with a pop quiz she was sure she failed, Candace saw something she wished she hadn’t. Ian’s tall and gangly six-one frame was standing at the top of the stairs. His oversize hands, which made him a formidable forward guard on the varsity basketball team, were cupped on each side of Jenny Martin’s freckled face, their mouths inches apart. Candace couldn’t help but stare at Ian’s mess of thick, curly hair with streaky blond highlights tilted to the right as he leaned in to plant a soft, slow kiss on Jenny’s lips.
A wave of emotion came over Candace as she watched Jenny, the youngest player on the girls’ volleyball team, awkwardly rest her hands on Ian’s waist as they shared an inappropriately intimate public kiss. Then, somehow, an inner strength kicked in and Candace felt detached, as if she were observing two total strangers desperately trying to connect. It was almost disgusting how he unnaturally kept that kiss going, twisting his head back and forth long after it should have ended. Then it dawned on Candace that Ian used to kiss her like that, when they first started dating. It was obnoxious how he couldn’t just give a simple kiss and then pull away like normal people do. His kisses always went on longer than they needed to and his timing was god-awful. As his tongue would dart in and out of her mouth, sweeping from side to side, she sometimes pictured him as a doctor swabbing her mouth like the time she’d had strep throat.
After four months of dating seriously, Candace had felt much more comfortable with Ian. There was a level of openness—and freedom to say whatever was on her mind. It was liberating. But like most things, Candace didn’t know when to quit. She hadn’t learned yet to temper the privilege of raw honesty with sensitivity to other people’s feelings. Never in a million years had she intended to hurt him, but when Ian playfully pulled her behind the Monster Monsoon waterslide at Ocean World Park o
n a particularly hot summer day, buried his fingers into her wet hair and began to twist his tongue around in her mouth, Candace had decided it was finally time to be honest. Holy crap, she thought as his tongue flipped from side to side like a minnow on a fishing line. Is he trying to spell the entire alphabet?
“Ian,” she said as she pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes showing concern.
“I’m not trying to be mean or anything, but . . . how about if I kiss you this time?”
Ian looked confused. “Isn’t that what we were just doing?”
“No, I mean more like this. . . .” She slid her hands over his bare chest, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a short but passionate kiss, keeping her tongue in her own mouth. He didn’t respond and when they parted, she smiled. “See? Wasn’t that better than a tongue war?”
Ian deflated a little. “Oh.”
She could see that he was truly wounded by her suggestion, and immediately felt guilty for saying anything at all. She certainly didn’t want Ian to be self-conscious about the way he kissed, or worse yet, avoid kissing her altogether. She liked that he was so affectionate, especially in public, and now what had she done? As usual, her mouth had gotten her into trouble and maybe screwed up their relationship for good.
“Ian, if I hurt your feelings I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just . . . I think you and I have different ways of kissing.”
“We can kiss any way you want,” he said flatly, making her feel even worse. As he started to walk back toward the wave pool, she grabbed his hand. A shiver came over her and she could feel goose bumps forming on her arms and legs as she pulled him back into the shade of the waterslide’s massive overhead tube.
“Don’t be mad.” She tugged on his arm playfully, hoping to lighten the mood. Ian sighed and pulled her into an embrace. She clung to his warm skin as his arms wrapped around her back.
“Some things are just harder than they should be,” he said.
“No they’re not,” she assured him, unsure if he meant their kissing, the relationship, or both. Deep down, she suspected he meant both but she’d waited so long to have a boyfriend, especially one as cute as Ian, she didn’t even want to let her mind explore the idea that there might be too many things between them that didn’t line up. Every time she felt the same way, she pushed the thought aside and reminded herself how great it felt when he draped his arm around her shoulders. “Things are great.” Her tone wasn’t as convincing as she’d hoped it would be. Ian nodded, still feeling cut down as Candace silently berated herself for bringing up the kissing problem at all. For the sake of salvaging the date and the money they’d spent on full-day admission to the water park, Ian got over it and after kissing the top of her head, suggested they snag a two-person raft for the Tsunami Twist. Upon splashing into the overly chlorinated catch pool at the bottom of the Tsunami’s eight-foot final drop, they were laughing and joking and trying to dunk each other just like they had earlier in the day. In that moment, things seemed the same to Candace, but it wasn’t lost on her that Ian never kissed her quite as passionately after that day.
As she turned away from Ian and Jenny, who were now gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes as if they were two lovers who’d finally reunited after walking the earth for centuries trying to find each other, Candace exhaled a loud sigh. She’d screwed up that relationship beyond repair, and she had to take some of the blame for making Ian want to spend time with someone else—someone who appreciated his epic-length, Oliver-Stone-director’s-cut-style French kiss.
Candace stalked off to her next class in a fog of resentment, sure that Ian had started seeing Jenny before he broke up with her over the weekend. In a text, no less. What kind of a guy breaks up with someone in a text? she thought. A spineless tool who spends his time running basketball drills and bragging about how he could hold his own in the NBA. Screw him, screw his sloppy kisses, and screw the undefeated-yet-overrated girls’ volleyball team.
In Biology, Candace dropped her books onto her desk and plopped into her seat, the thought of Ian and Jenny lip-locked in the middle of the hallway stuck in her mind. Every bone in her body wanted to leap from her chair, march right into the boys’ locker room, and punch Ian in the face. When she noticed her hands were clenched into fists, she forced herself to flatten them on her desk. Stop being so angry, she silently ordered. Focus on whatever stupid crap we’re doing in this class today. Thoughts of beating Ian to a pulp will only distract you.
Realizing it wasn’t much of a pep talk, she decided to try something different. Sitting up straight, she closed her eyes, inhaled, and touched the tips of her forefingers to the tips of her thumbs on each hand. This was called the Om mudra and she’d learned it from a yoga class that her mother had dragged her to a few times hoping it would help her mellow out. The idea behind the Om mudra was to create a circle for the energy to flow back into the brain and somehow relax you. Realizing she might look like a freak, Candace tucked her Om hands below her desk and exhaled.
Thoughts immediately went to a happy time . . . with Ian. Dammit.
Last Wednesday night, they’d been sitting on the beach in Santa Monica, staring out at the flocks of tourists crowding the pier. It was perfect. The faint strains of carnival music, the salty smell of the cool ocean breeze, the reflection of the Ferris wheel’s colorful lights glistening in the surf. Sitting on the sand, their shoes lined up next to each other, Candace took a deep breath and looked out at the inky darkness. She cradled the little stuffed puppy in her arms that Ian had won for her at the basketball toss booth. As she delicately fingered its felt collar and the button eye that was already loose, it felt good to just sit with Ian and not say a word. Candace felt her thoughts slow down, the emotions that constantly swirled inside her settle. She didn’t have to think about her grades—which weren’t particularly good. Or the fact that her mother kept harping on how she’d never get into college if she didn’t bring up her GPA. She didn’t have to miss her father, who moved out of the house two years ago after her parents got divorced. She didn’t think about her younger brother, Andrew. She loved him, but thirteen-year-old boys can be a handful and Andrew certainly was. A few weeks ago, she’d spent ten minutes on the phone with Avery before she discovered him hiding in her closet eavesdropping. But that was someplace else now, far away. In this moment, there was no annoying mother, no absent father, no snooper-trooper little brother. There was just her and Ian and an ocean that stretched on forever into the black calm.
“What are you thinking about?” Ian asked as he let a handful of cool sand slip through his fingers and cover her feet. She smiled.
“Nothing important,” she said, and took his hand. Ian lay down in the sand beside her and pressed his body against hers. As he wrapped his arms around her, she interlocked their fingers and gazed up at the moon. Soft, she thought. Everything felt soft: the sand laced with tiny smooth pebbles, the cotton of Ian’s worn-out T-shirt, the subtle breeze that caught a few strands of her hair and sent them dancing over her face. She even felt soft on the inside, as if there was no skin separating her from the outside world. Everything just flowed through her. She wished she could keep that feeling inside her forever, carry it with her, retreat to it when someone pissed her off or when she felt like the lone puzzle piece tucked in the far corner of the closet long after the puzzle had been finished and discarded. Yes, this is what harmony feels like, she thought. This is happiness.
But not today.
Today, plain-faced, boring, ponytailed Jenny Martin was happy. Candace was not. I’m not what Ian wants. Her fingers released the stupid Om mudra position that never worked anyway. I will never have that tranquility and sense of belonging again.
“Don’t forget that the first allele is dominant and the second is recessive. . . .” Ms. West’s voice pulled Candace out of her daydream. Candace looked up to see Ms. West pointing at a genetics chart with her left hand, holding the point a little too long. Avery was sure that this beh
avior only started after Ms. West, on the downhill side of her thirties, showed up to school after summer vacation this year wearing a very large rock on her ring finger. It was obnoxiously large. And it occasionally sparkled in a way that Candace wondered if anyone had ever gone blind from. After a long discussion, both Candace and Avery agreed that (1) Ms. West must’ve landed herself someone with some serious cash, (2) it was probably a blood diamond that had been dragged out of a diamond mine somewhere in Africa on the chest of a dead miner who had lost his life searching for a diamond of that caliber, and (3) Ms. West suddenly felt the need to point at everything she could with her left hand even though she was right-handed.
Alleles . . . dominant alleles . . . Candace scrawled the words into her notebook to appear as if she were listening. She outlined the word “dominant.” Maybe Ian wanted someone less dominant, she thought. Someone who goes with the flow . . . is less argumentative . . . or maybe he just wants someone more sporty and athletic. His text was pretty vague.
Candy, I care a lot about you but this relationship isn’t working for me. Even if we’re not a couple, I’ll always be here if you need me. Sorry to do this in a text btw.
“What the hell?” Candace had immediately punched out his number on her phone even though she had it saved in speed dial. It rang only once before she heard his lame voice mail message come on, proof that he was sitting right there, staring at her name that popped up, and instead of answering, pressed ignore.
The only thing that hurt more than being broken up with by a text is being ignored. How could he ignore her? After all the times he’d said he loved her? After she loaned him a hundred dollars—her birthday money from her grandparents that she’d planned to use on a new purse she’d been saving for, so he could avoid telling his dad he’d lost the money his father’d given him for school supplies? After she’d made him an entire pot of chicken noodle soup—well, chicken spaghetti soup, when he caught a cold last March? What an ungrateful jerk.
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