“Hi, Peter. I’m Libby.”
They shook hands and smiled. His hand felt warm and strong.
“So, Libby, do you come here often?”
She rolled her eyes at the lame question. “Yeah, pretty often. Mostly on the weekends.” Every chance she got was more like it. Anything to get away from the confines of the house.
“So you must live around here.” He looked around for nearby homes.
Libby didn’t want him to notice the run-down farmhouse in the distance, so she just nodded. She didn’t associate herself with the house, its owner, or even the town.
“What’s with the über bus? You on vacation?” She twisted her pendant on its thin leather cord.
“Not really. We live in it when we’re on tour.” He raised an eyebrow, aware of her not-so-smooth change of topic.
“What do you mean ‘tour’? Like a vacation tour of the country?”
He laughed. “No, actually, we’re on tour promoting our album, Triple Threat,” he said with pride in his voice.
“Your family is in a band?”
“It’s not my whole family, just my two brothers and me.”
His demeanor changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. She looked across the way to his brothers and furrowed her brow. “You are not. You’re making it up.” She could tell he was trying to impress her.
“No, really, we’ve had the band for over two years now.”
“Sure you have.” She eyed him, not believing a word. They were too young. They must all still be in high school. Plus, they looked nothing like members of a band. She didn’t know exactly what guys in a band would look like, but certainly not like these guys.
“I’m telling the truth.” He sat back and laughed again.
“So where do you play?” She pierced him with a stare. She’d catch him in his own lie. “You look too young for the bar scene. Do you play weddings?”
A coy expression covered Peter’s face. “Uh, no, nothing like that. It’s more public places.”
“Like parks or fairs?” That she might believe.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, if you say so.” She shrugged. “Then you get to drive around and see lots of different places? I’d do that in an instant, if I could.” Anything to escape life here.
“The sights are great, but it can get claustrophobic with five people crammed in one giant tin can for days at a time. You’d hate it.”
“Maybe, but I’d be willing to make the sacrifice to get outta here.” A tightness in her chest occurred whenever she thought of her trapped existence.
“What’s wrong with here?” He twirled a long blade of grass between his fingers.
Where to begin? Nothing about this place fit. It was all wrong. She didn’t belong here and never would. But she wasn’t about to explain her screwed-up life to Peter. “Just . . . everything.”
“Okay, that tells me a lot.” He smiled, gazing straight into her eyes. Her stomach turned upside down. “You want to elaborate?”
“No.” She swallowed and looked away. “So what’s the name of your band?”
“You like to change the subject.” He grinned.
She noticed how his eyes sparkled each time he smiled. “So?”
“Jamieson. Our band is called Jamieson.” He watched her closely, then asked, “Ever heard of us?”
“Should I have? It doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Really?” He wore a look of disbelief. “You’ve never heard of us?”
“No, do you play around here? We have a park pavilion that has groups sometimes. Is that why you stopped in Rockville?”
“No, we haven’t played around here.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Don’t you listen to the radio or watch TV?”
She sighed. She didn’t want him to think she was an idiot. “Of course. Mostly country music, though. I don’t recall ever hearing of a band called Jamieson.”
“We’re not country. Not even close.” He shook his head. “And TV?” he asked.
Libby shook her head no. “I don’t watch TV too often. Let’s just say I get really good grades. And I love nature. That’s why I come here so often. What’s your reason for stopping?” She could tell that now he was the one having trouble believing her story.
“Whenever we drive through Wisconsin, we stop here because my mom likes how private it is. You know how moms are. Anytime she can find a spot that’s surrounded by nature and not all highway, she puts it on the schedule.”
Libby glossed over the mom comment. She didn’t want to think of her mom. She missed her so much, her heart hurt. “You’ve been here before?”
“Quite a few times, actually.”
Of the dozens of times she’d come to Parfrey’s, she’d never seen them. How odd that today they would meet. This news warmed her insides. She wondered how many times in this last lonely year they’d just missed each other coming and going.
“Hey, Petey, who’s your girlfriend?” one of Peter’s brothers yelled as he moved toward them with a cocky walk and hooded eyes. He appeared older, a little shorter than Peter, and not nearly as good-looking. He stared at her.
“That’s Garrett,” he said under his breath. “Ignore him. He can be a jerk.”
“Lover boy, Mom said it’s time to eat.”
Libby pulled her knees in and hugged them. She couldn’t see any resemblance between Garrett and Peter.
“I’m coming.” Peter got to his feet and turned toward Libby. “I’ve gotta go, but maybe I’ll see you later.”
She smiled and nodded. She’d love to see him, more than he’d ever know.
Libby checked her watch. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize how late it’s getting. I’ve gotta go, too.” If she didn’t leave right now, she’d get the third degree. She flipped the sketch pad closed and gathered her belongings.
“Here.” Peter extended a hand to her, his face kind and close.
“Thanks.” She grasped his strong hand and stood up, relishing the touch of his skin.
“It was fun talking to you. I wish I’d bumped into you sooner,” he said.
Was he actually disappointed to see her go?
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll see you again someday.” He smiled.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t imagine it happening, but for the first time in months she felt hopeful—happy, even.
“Have fun on your tour.” She dumped the weeds and wildflowers onto the ground. “I’ve gotta go.”
She hesitated for a moment, not wanting this to end. It had been a very long time since she’d relaxed and hung out with anyone, let alone a nice guy.
“Well, bye.” She ran down the trail into the woods. Once in the thick of the trees, she turned back. Peter stood in the same spot, holding one of the wildflowers she’d left behind. He waved. She waved back, then disappeared into the woods.
Libby took the long way, so Peter wouldn’t see where she lived.
Libby braced herself as she approached the beat-up old farmhouse. It loomed forgotten on acres of rich farmland and wooded areas. Most of the land was leased to a farmer, who benefited from the fertile soil. From what she could tell, this was her aunt’s sole method of income. The rest of the property, barn, and outbuildings sat abandoned with a collection of broken-down cars littering the yard. The odor of leaking oil and rusted metal clung to the air. A vegetable garden had once flourished, but that must have been years ago.
She didn’t know why her aunt had let it all fall apart, but her parents always said Aunt Marge struggled with demons early in life and never recovered from the fight. Libby heaved a sigh and inserted her key into the lock on the paint-chipped door.
Upon entering, the familiar smell of stale smoke and reeking trash filled the air. The television blared in the next room, confirming her aunt’s presence. Libby hoped to sneak upstairs unnoticed.
“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you. We can’t be taking any chances,” the gritty voice of her aunt hollered from the sickeningl
y sweet smoke-filled living room. “People are getting murdered in their beds every day.”
“It’s locked,” Libby said, resigned. The house was dark, as always. Aunt Marge kept the curtains closed, as if anyone would want to watch a middle-aged woman drink and watch television all day.
“Come in here.”
Libby dropped her backpack at the foot of the steps and dragged her feet as she entered the living room. Aunt Marge reclined in an upholstered chair, her feet on a mismatched ottoman. A dented TV tray served as her coffee table, cluttered with a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and a dirty glass.
“What’s wrong?” her aunt demanded while clenching a cigarette between her thin, stained lips.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, pushing her long hair behind an ear as she tolerated the inspection.
“You’re not lying to me, are you?” Aunt Marge’s eyes narrowed. “I hate liars.”
“No, I would never lie to you. I just have a lot of homework.”
She grunted in reply. “There’s groceries on the counter if you’re hungry. Now get upstairs and finish your work. You know I won’t tolerate laziness. You prove to those school people you’re doing just fine. I don’t need them snooping around here again.” She picked up the television remote and started snapping it at the television, effectively dismissing her.
Libby made her way through the cluttered house into the kitchen. On the edge of the counter, next to piles of dirty dishes and old junk mail, sat a torn grocery bag. She began pulling things out. A bag of cheese popcorn, a box of granola bars, a bag of red licorice, and a warm package of sandwich meat. At the bottom she found a six-pack of soda and three candy bars.
She placed the soda and unappetizing sandwich meat on a crusty metal shelf in the refrigerator, grabbed the popcorn and a candy bar, and went upstairs with her backpack. It was always a relief to leave Aunt Marge behind. With any luck, she wouldn’t hear from her again today. Hopefully, she’d drink herself into a stupor and fall asleep in her sunken chair.
Once inside her room, Libby pushed the door shut, closing out the ugliness below. She set her things on the neatly made bed. The worn bedspread featured snags and small tears, but she kept it and everything in the room as clean as possible. She’d given up on keeping the downstairs clean months ago, but here she could keep things the way she liked.
She picked up the small, framed picture of her family. Her mom, dad, and little sister, Sarah, along with a former version of herself, smiled brightly. The photo was taken while on a rafting trip out west two years earlier. Their arms hung comfortably on one another’s shoulders, reminding her of the love they’d shared. Libby traced their faces with her finger and wondered when her dad would come back for her.
She returned the photo to its place on her dresser and moved to the two large windows, raising them a few inches. Cool air blew in, making her room feel better. Outside, across the fields, the rear entrance to the preserve was in perfect view. The spot she’d met Peter. She pulled a chair near the window and propped her book on her lap as she began doing homework, checking too often for Peter and the silver tour bus.
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About the Author
ANGIE STANTON never planned on writing books—she wanted to be a Rockette. However, growing up in rural America with her brothers’ 4-H pigs as pets, she found that dance didn’t quite work out. Instead, she became an avid daydreamer. After years of perfecting stories in her head, she began to write them down, and the rest is history. When not writing, she loves watching natural disaster movies, going to Broadway musicals, and dipping French fries in chocolate shakes. She lives in Madison, Wisconsin. You can visit her online at www.angiestanton.com.
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Books by Angie Stanton
rock and a hard place: A Jamieson Brothers Novel
snapshot: A Jamieson Brothers Novel
Credits
Cover art © 2014 by Dave & Les Jacobs/Getty Images
Cover design by K. Lauren
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Royally Lost
Copyright © 2014 by Angie Stanton
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2013958344
ISBN 978-0-06-227258-4 (pbk.)
EPUB Edition MARCH 2014 ISBN 9780062272591
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