“Jenna?” I said out loud.
I had to read through the note twice to be sure I understood it.
“This says I’m going to be volunteering with her on Saturdays?”
Dad nodded. “So you can help other kids with their social skills practice, just like you’ve always helped Ryan.”
I looked over at Ryan, who was setting up at the piano with the music for the Beethoven sonata he was learning at school, and I remembered the time he’d learned that chorus song just for me so I could sing my solo. I had so many memories like that. Ryan listening to me practice my lower school graduation speech over and over and applauding each time. Ryan buying me a shark stuffed animal at the aquarium gift shop to make up for the fact that we hadn’t gone to the zoo the way I’d wanted. Ryan lending me his favorite T-shirt the first year I went to sleepaway camp, so I could wear it to bed if I was homesick.
“Well, Ry’s always helped me, too,” I said. “We’ve helped each other.”
“You really have,” Mom agreed.
I cleared my throat. “Does Jenna . . . does she know what I did?”
Because now my old plan felt so stupid—so completely humiliating—and how could I face her if she did?
“Just that you want to do something good,” Mom said. “Something that matters. And Dad and I think she’ll be lucky to have you.”
The thing is, it isn’t really enough. I mean, I’m glad we gave money to the scholarship fund, and I’m glad I can work with Jenna. But I looked up how much Ryan’s school costs. The money we donated will only pay for a tiny fraction of what it costs to send one person there, and what about all those other kids on the autism spectrum who might be going to schools where the teachers and therapists don’t appreciate the things they do well, or they’re getting homeschooled, or they’re working with awesome people like Jenna but not as often as they want to. It’s like those homeless people on the street—how there was no possible way to give money to all of them. And even if we could, it’s not like one spare dollar would really change anything.
It’s all still completely messed up, that I live in this big house with all this expensive stuff we don’t really need and go to this school where most people’s parents drive shiny new cars and buy them expensive stuff that they don’t need, either, and then there are neighborhoods like the one in Northeast Philly where Mr. Ellis used to teach and even the one where Sierra came from. And even though I don’t know what to do to make any of it less unfair, I do know this: I’m not going to forget about Hailey or zone out when I walk past somebody asking for money on the street. I won’t. Because someday, maybe, I’ll be able to do something more.
When I carried my presents upstairs, I flipped over my phone to see if I had another text from Jake. Instead, I had one from Sierra. My heart pounded as I read it.
I left something on your front steps for you. I hope you’re having a really good Christmas with your family.
I shoved my feet into my furry boots and sprinted down the stairs.
“Lauren?” Dad called as I ran by the living room. “Is everything all right?”
“Uh-huh!” I shouted back.
I opened the front door and picked up the package, wrapped in simple brown paper with a shiny gold bow. There was a note taped to the front.
Dear Lauren,
I’m so sorry you had to go by yourself to apologize and pay people back. It was my fault, too. It turns out I’m going to be staying longer with Anne and Carl, and I hope that we can be friends again. I made you this gift because Anne says broken things make the best jewelry and my mom says yellow represents friendship. Maybe I can tell you more about my mom soon, if you still want to hear.
Love, Sierra
I ran my fingers over Sierra’s words. My third letter of the day, and the most precious to me out of all of them.
I wanted to know why she was staying and how she was feeling about it and anything she wanted to tell me about her mom. And I wanted her to meet Ryan and read Jake’s last texts and try a piece of my Black Forest cake. But most of all, I wanted us to be us again.
Or I wanted us to be the version of us that could walk Seeger together and stay up late asking the Magic 8 Ball questions and help each other come up with the best ideas for Worship and Ministry and make each other laugh in the hallway and wish for real potato chips instead of kale ones. If I could, I’d go back and erase the parts where I made Sierra keep hiding stuff when I could tell she didn’t want to, and the part where she told Anne what I was doing and got me in trouble. But maybe it’s better that I can’t.
Maybe that’s what makes two people family, even if they’re not related—messing up and hurting each other but then figuring out how to change and heal and become OK again.
Mom peeked out the front door, holding a mug of steaming coffee. “What are you doing out here without a coat, honey?”
I held up the present to show her, but I covered the note, because that was just for me. “From Sierra,” I said, and she smiled.
“Good. I knew you two would make things right.”
I thought she’d tell me to open the gift inside, but she just took my winter coat out of the hall closet and handed it to me.
I slid my arms into the jacket and lowered myself down onto the top step, where I tore open the paper to find a bracelet. Not shiny silver like the ones I took from Audrey or her mom. This one had bits of yellow china flecked with tiny pink roses, rubbed smooth around the edges and strung together on wire like little shells.
Broken but transformed into something beautiful and new. Kind of like Sierra and me, maybe.
I put it on right away and tipped my wrist to the right and then the left, listening to the tiny pieces clink together. And just before I stepped back inside, Anne and Carl’s front door swung open. Seeger scampered out first with Sierra behind him, holding the leash and wearing a new green winter coat.
I was still in pajamas under my jacket, but it didn’t matter.
“Hey!” I called after Sierra. “Wait up!”
Acknowledgments
The first idea for this book came from my time working as a counselor intern at the Milton Hershey School, and a mobile therapist with Adams Hanover in Central Pennsylvania as well as the time I spent in Al-Anon meetings many years ago in South Carolina. I am grateful for all the people I spent time with in those places . . . and all the strength I witnessed in kids and adults alike.
Laurie, writing this book with you was one of the most joyous creative experiences of my life. All of it was so fun: the brainstorming, the writing back and forth, your thoughtfulness and attention to detail a perfect balance with my own bigger-picture thinking. You are undoubtedly one of the hardest-working people I have ever met, and Lauren is so lucky that she had you to give her a voice. I hope we stay friends and writing partners forever! A million yellow hearts to you.
Sara Crowe, thank you for your optimism and encouragement. Your honesty and advocacy mean so much to me.
Maggie Lehrman, I love that this story found its way to you. Your gentle direction combined with your upbeat enthusiasm has made this process smooth and energizing. I knew you were a great writer, whip-smart, and a caring friend, and now I also know that you are a fantastic editor. Thank you also to the entire Amulet/Abrams team.
Laura Sibson and Mary Winn Heider, thank you for reading this story and helping it grow into a better book, never-ending gratitude for your support and kindness.
Megan Gantt, thank you for your enthusiasm and lending your counseling expertise to this book. Thank you to Kristie Gantt for answering questions concerning foster care and CYS.
Courtney, Roger, and Susan, you also might find glimpses of your story in Sierra, Anne, and Carl’s journey. I am grateful for the time that we all got to spend living so closely together—as hard as some of it was. I know I am not present in the same way I was, but those years will always stay with me. I love you all.
To Mt. Airy, or as Sierra would say, “Stone Central,”
my favorite place I’ve ever lived. Thank you for being the welcoming place you are.
Jon, thank you for enjoying this story so much and caring about nature and the environment with such passion. We are all better for it. Thank you for always meeting me where I am and relishing in all the ways we are different. You are an incredibly giving and gifted partner.
Tate and Lily, you have been some of my best creative writing students. The excitement we all have for a good story is awesome. I could never invent any better kids than each of you; my love for both of you is unconditional and endless. Being a writer is great; being a mom is the best.
—C J
Cordelia, the day you said “We should write a book together” was one of the luckiest days of my life. Thank you for believing I could tell Lauren’s story and cheering me on every step of the way. I am in awe of your talent and creativity, and I’m so glad that Lauren has a friend like Sierra and that I have a friend like you.
Sara Crowe, thank you for your unwavering belief in my writing, your enthusiasm for this novel, and your dedication to finding it the perfect home. And Maggie Lehrman, from your very first email, it was clear that our book was in the very best hands. You understood our vision for the novel, and your calm, wise questions and insights helped us to realize it. And thank you to the Abrams/Amulet team for producing this beautiful book that shines . . . literally!
I am grateful to the entire Vermont College of Fine Arts community, especially Laura Sibson and Mary Winn Heider, wonderful writers and wonderful friends who gave us valuable feedback on this story; the whole Secret Gardeners class; and my four advisors: Alan Cumyn, Franny Billingsley, Mary Quattlebaum, and Shelley Tanaka.
Thank you to the readers, including Lyn Miller-Lachmann and Kristin Reynolds, who provided generous, thoughtful notes about autism, about Ryan, and about his relationships with other characters. Your questions and suggestions enriched Ryan’s character and the whole novel.
Thank you to my colleagues and administrators at Friends Select School and Staten Island Academy for enthusiastically supporting my writing. And to the students I have taught: Your humor and commitment to justice have inspired me, and I have great hope for our future because I know all of you.
To my family, my in-laws, and my friends who feel like family: I love you and am so touched by your excitement for my first novel. Myles and Clint, I understand Lauren’s love for Ryan because of my love for both of you.
To my mom, Elizabeth Morrison: Thank you for modeling grace, compassion, and hard work. Thank you for reading everything I write and for telling me, “You can’t stop writing,” when I thought about giving up. Thank you for the countless hours you’ve spent with C. so I could write. I’ve spent years working toward the goal of getting published, but I’m still working on my most important goal: being the kind of mother you are.
To Mike: Thank you for prioritizing my writing dream and for your kindness, your humor, and your devotion to me and to us. Everything that’s good is more fun because of you, and everything that’s hard is more manageable. You are the best partner I could ask for. And to my strong, sweet, smart, and silly Cora: You bring me joy in every moment. May you have all of Lauren’s passion and loyalty with none of her propensity for shoplifting. I love you always.
—LM
About the Authors
CORDELIA JENSEN is the author of the YA novel-in-verse Skyscraping, a 2016 ALA Best Book for Young People.
LAURIE MORRISON taught middle school for ten years, and this is her first novel.
Both authors live in Philadelphia and received MFAs in writing for children and young adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts.
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