by Leigh, Tara
“In this case, breaking something would mean putting it together,” I grumble.
“The only way we’ll be in the same school is to go to the same college.”
I smile at the thought. “I can’t wait to get out of here, Gavin. This place is stifling.” Most days, I still feel like the new girl. Probably because only three other kids have entered my grade in the year and a half since we moved here—all of them boys.
That advice I’d been given before moving to Sackett—Imagine the girl you want to be, and then be her—is impossible to follow in this town.
At first I thought I was the problem, that I was shy or gave off unfriendly vibes. But I’ve realized that it isn’t all my fault. I’m not failing at friend auditions. In Sackett, the stage just isn’t big enough.
I don’t have nice clothes or a big house or a mother on the PTA. I don’t play sports. I’m not particularly artsy or rebellious.
There are only a few cliques to choose from… and I don’t fit into any of them.
Gavin waves his hand at the forest exploding around us. “It is. But I’m sure you want to come right back here after college.”
“No way. Never.”
“Never say never,” he echoes my own words teasingly as I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. Some other place where you can build a treehouse and live off the land.”
A laugh bursts from my throat. “Nope. Urban jungle or bust.” Well, that’s not entirely true. For Gavin, I would definitely compromise. But this is a conversation about dreams, not written-in-stone destinations.
I crave the freedom of anonymity and the benefits of a big city. I want to live in a skyscraper, dine in gourmet restaurants, and browse through art galleries and museums on a whim. I want to live in a place where secondhand is called vintage. Where being new makes me interesting, not an outcast.
“You?” Skepticism oozes off him in waves. “Poppy, there are thirty-three acres in this preserve, and I think you can name every single species of tree and flower.”
I highly doubt that, but I play along. “Don’t forget about the shrubs.”
“My point exactly. How many shrubs will you find in a city?”
“A lot. New York has Central Park and the Botanical Gardens. Boston has the Public Garden and the Emerald Necklace. Chicago has—”
“It’s not the same,” he says dryly.
“I know. And I love it out here, I do. But…” I duck my head, feeling a wave of embarrassment come over me. Of all the confidences I’ve shared with Gavin, I’ve never told him just how pitiful my social life at school really is. “I’m not exactly a bookworm, but I hide in the library during lunch. Usually, behind the biggest book I’ve found—an oversized field guide to native New England geography.”
My cheeks are already burning but I keep talking. “I only started coming into the forest because it was better than sitting in my room, alone. I pretended the trees and flowers and shrubs were my friends.”
Gavin’s hand snakes around my waist and pulls me into his side. He whispers in my ear, “You were smarter than me. I sat alone in the cafeteria my first week, reading Lord of the Flies.”
“The entire first week?” I ask doubtfully, pushing away my own embarrassment. I can’t imagine the girls at West Sackett High aren’t vying for Gavin’s attention every chance they get.
His lips curl into a rueful grin that makes my chest ache. “Almost.”
My lungs swell with the scent of the fertile ground beneath our feet, the fresh forest air, and the clean, bracing scent of Gavin himself. The heady rush makes me sink my teeth into my bottom lip until the sizzle of pleasure is tempered by pain. Because I don’t know how to handle the feelings that rise up inside me at the most innocuous things Gavin does. A look, a touch, a smile. “How about you—city mouse or country mouse?”
He leans forward and nibbles on the lobe of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t care, as long as this mouse gets his cheese.”
“Way too cheesy, Romeo.” I laugh, poking a finger into his stomach.
A pained, hissing sound erupts from behind Gavin’s clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing in a wince.
“What—” I draw back immediately. “What did he do this time?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Show me.”
“Poppy—”
“If it’s really nothing, show me.”
Reluctance is etched into the sharp lines and hard angles of Gavin’s face as he slowly lifts his shirt, revealing a bruise bleeding into his belly button.
“I hate him,” I say, as soon as I catch my breath. I’ve never met Doug, the son of Gavin’s foster parents, but I despise him with an intensity that runs bone-deep.
“That makes two of us,” Gavin says, his tone smooth and soothing as he lets the hem of his shirt fall. “He was pissed when he found out his dad had slipped me some money on the side to help out at the gas station this summer.”
“You were there practically every day, of course he should pay you.”
“Well, not according to Doug. He demanded I give it to him. When I refused, he got in a sucker punch.”
“They should know what an awful kid they’ve raised,” I grumble, relaxing into his hold as he pulls me forward.
“One day,” Gavin says. “But today, I have money hidden in a place Doug will never find, and I have you. I have nothing to complain about.”
Gavin plants tender kisses along the curve of my neck, then makes his way to my mouth. We have yet to do much more than kissing, but his mouth wreaks such havoc with my senses I’m not sure I can handle anything else.
When he pulls away, I let out a disappointed moan. My eyes flutter open, about to tell him not to stop. But Gavin’s head is cocked to the side, an air of intense concentration on his face. I know that look. “Thunder?”
He waits a moment, still listening, then says, “I’m not sure. If it was, it’s really far away.”
Thunder means lightening, and a forest is the last place you want to be in a storm. “Let’s wait it out a few minutes. Maybe it was something else.”
He gives a shallow nod, the spell of his kiss broken. I grab for his pencil and circle Personal Finance, Public Speaking, and Practical Writing on my sheet.
“That was fast,” Gavin says.
I shrug. “I don’t want to open my mail and see bills with Past Due stamped in red across the front, I want to get more comfortable talking to people, and I happen to be a very practical person.”
He holds out his hand and I give him back the pencil. After a minute of frowning at the list, Gavin circles Computer Programming and Accounting.
“Law, computers, and accounting? Are you moving straight from sophomore year to grad school?” Although it wouldn’t surprise me. Gavin is already taking the most advanced math and science classes his school offers. Next year, he’ll enroll in a few college-level courses.
“I wish,” he jokes, but his lips are pressed together as if he’s holding in a secret.
“What?” I ask. “What aren’t you saying?”
“It’s dumb. A pipe dream. It’s probably never going to happen anyway so—”
“Gavin, there’s nothing dumb about dreams. Tell me.”
He doesn’t answer immediately and I think he’s probably hoping for a crack of thunder to save him, but there are only the normal forest sounds: rustling leaves, water cascading over rocky creek beds, the twitter and chirp of birds. Finally, he exhales a breath and mutters something completely inaudible.
I have no intention of letting him off the hook. “What was that?” I prod.
“FBI, all right. I want to be an FBI agent.”
I’m puzzled. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Wrong?’ He blinks several times, as if I’m the one who is confusing him. “Do you know how hard it is to get into the Academy? It’s basically impossible. I have next to no chance.”
Not that I’ve ever considered a career in law enforcement, but in my opinion, Gavin has every
chance. “Why the FBI?”
“Because… Because they get to solve the toughest cases, put away the worst criminals. And I want to be a part of that.”
Gavin is still and serious, as if this is something he’s thought about for a very long time. “So, basically, you want to be a real-life hero.”
He ducks his head, a self-conscious grin pulling at his mouth. I loop my wrists over his neck, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Never forget that you were my hero first, okay?”
The look he gives me is so filled with heat, it melts the marrow inside my bones. “I can do that.”
I feel myself unraveling, coming apart in places I instinctively want to protect. To lighten the moment, I take one hand from behind his neck and bring it between us. “Pinkie swear?”
But Gavin doesn’t take the bait. “We can do better than that, don’t you think?”
From the minute we met, and probably without even knowing it, Gavin has been breaking down my walls and sanding away my protective veneer. He’s the reason I can go to school every day, knowing I’m an unwanted outcast, and still have something to smile about when I go to sleep. He’s the best part of my present, and the most important part of my future.
Despite the low rumble of thunder that accompanies the press of Gavin’s lips on mine, we linger in each other’s arms until we’re both breathless and panting.
Gavin finally wrenches away from me when the breath we share is as electric as the storm-charged air. And despite my protests that he should hurry home, he walks me all the way to the edge of the woods behind my house.
Blue light flickers from the living room window and I picture my mom sprawled on the couch, a half-empty wine bottle beside her, watching the Kardashians complain about their hair and their clothes and their multi-million-dollar houses.
Although it hasn’t started raining yet, the clouds hovering just above the tree line are dark and bloated, and our feet are nearly obscured by heavy mist. I turn around when another bolt of lightning leaves a jagged scar across the sky. “You had better make it home safe, Gavin. I might need you to rescue me one day.”
* * *
“Is that you, Poppy?” my mom calls when I shut the door behind me.
I sigh. The impending storm forced me home earlier than usual, before wine made her sleepy and inattentive. “Yep. I’m just going to finish my homework.”
“Can you start dinner first?”
“Sure.” I open the refrigerator, hoping that maybe she swung by the grocery store on her way home but… no. We have two apples, a container of yogurt, and a dozen half-empty condiment bottles. I open the cabinet over the stove. “Mac and cheese okay?”
“There’s nothing else?”
I look back inside the cabinet. A box of cereal and a bottle of olive oil. “Nope.”
“Fine. Will you—”
“Yeah. I’ll pick up a few things this weekend.” I automatically swallow the resentment that coils through me, thinking of the babysitting money I’ll have to shell out at the supermarket.
I’m grateful my mom is home with us, and that we have a home at all. I just wish it were easier, I guess.
When I have kids, I never want them to feel like they’re parenting me. I’ll have a career, not just a job, although my family will always come first. There will be plenty of food in the refrigerator, a basketball hoop at the end of the driveway, and one of those huge calendars in the kitchen—filled with soccer games, dance classes, and date nights.
Fifteen minutes later, I divide the pasta between three bowls and bring one to my mother. She puts her mug down and takes it from me, barely glancing away from the TV.
I want to ask her: When did this—dinner out of a box, eaten in front of a screen, passing out on a couch—become enough? Had she never wanted anything better for herself? For us?
They are questions I don’t bother asking. Even if my mom could give me an answer, I’m not sure I want to know.
Instead, I carry the other two bowls down the hall, tapping on Sadie’s door with the toe of my sneaker. “Come on in.”
“I can’t, my hands are full.”
I hear Sadie’s feet hit the ground; the door swinging open a moment later. “Well, this is a surprise.” She takes the bowl I extend to her.
“That we’re having mac and cheese for dinner?”
She rolls eyes that are nearly identical to mine. Almost everything about us is nearly identical, but not quite. Both of us can be called strawberry blondes, but mine veers more to the auburn end of the spectrum. We both have hazel eyes, but mine are green edged with amber and Sadie’s are amber edged with green. Our skin tone is the same, but she has a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that I love and she hates. She’s slightly curvier, I’m an inch taller.
The differences between my sister and I feel glaring to me, but they often go unnoticed. Sadie is a daredevil, I am a rule follower; she is loud, I am reserved; she writes with her left, I with my right.
Since we are so close in age and appearance, most people assume we’re twins. But I’ve been a surrogate parent to her for my entire life, so to me, the eighteen months separating us sometimes feels more like years.
“No. I mean that you’re home before dark.” She scoops a bite of bright orange shells into her mouth. “Seriously, Pops. What do you do in the woods for hours on end?”
I shoot a pointed look toward the stack of library books beside her bed. I think she devours one a day. “You stay in your room all afternoon, reading about imaginary people.”
“Is playing with leprechauns and fairy sprites better?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Better than being cooped up inside.”
“Who are you avoiding—me or Mom?”
Her question takes me by surprise, and so does the streak of hurt that flashes across her face, so quickly that if I’d been anyone else, I would never have noticed it. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I just like to go exploring, Sadie. That’s all.”
Guilt roils inside my stomach. Until Gavin, I’d never kept a secret from my sister.
We shared everything. Food, clothes, toys when we had any at all. Before we moved to this house, we shared a room, sometimes even a bed.
Sadie narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you lying to me? Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’ll tell mom whatever your secret is?”
If I wasn’t holding my dinner, I’d throw up my hands in exasperation. “I’m not lying,” I insist. “And even if it was, why do I have to tell you everything? One of the best parts about moving here is that I don’t have to watch over you every second anymore.”
The blood drains from her face, only to reappear in blotchy pink patches on her cheeks. “If that’s the way you really feel, then get out,” she yells.
Damn it. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sadie. I’m sorry.” My frustration evaporates instantly. I hate that I’ve hurt her, even unintentionally.
But… is it so horrible that I’m finally carving out a life of my own? For the first time, I have a secret. Someone who belongs just to me. I’m not ready to share Gavin with anyone. Even Sadie.
Yet. Eventually, I want him to meet my sister. And it would be nice to walk through town, hand in hand. To go to the movies or out for ice cream.
For now though, he’s the best kind of secret.
Mine.
Chapter 5
Sackett, Connecticut
Fall, Sophomore Year, High School
As I grab for my science notes, the pages I’d ripped from a magazine while I was at the dentist’s office last week fall to the ground.
Before I can tuck them back inside my bag, Gavin glances over my shoulder. “Class project?”
“Not exactly.” I feel a flush creeping up my cheeks, as if he’s caught me with my sister’s tattered copy of Fifty Shades of Grey instead of a double page spread from an interior design magazine. “I thought they looked a little like us, ac
tually.”
It’s become a habit of mine, ripping out pages from magazines and squirreling them away in a drawer at home. Photos of people and places and clothes. A woman ice skating in the snow. A pair of black slingback stilettos with red soles. The setting sun melting into a placid lake, turning the water into a violet cauldron. Sometimes, I spread them out on my bed, trying to find some thread of connection, a common similarity. The ones I like best, I pin to a bulletin board on my wall.
Gavin frowns at the couple embracing beneath a chandelier dripping with crystal beads and pendants. “If you say so.”
I run my finger over the glossy photographs taken in the couple’s newly renovated apartment and sigh. So many glamorous, elegant things in one place—furniture, artwork, high ceilings and thick, carved molding. Especially the couple themselves, who are dressed as if they’re going to a ball, he in a fitted black tuxedo and she in a strapless evening gown glimmering from thousands of tiny sequins and seed pearls threaded through the lush fabric.
The only consistency I’ve found is not in the captured subjects themselves, but the response they evoke in me. Awe. Maybe a little envy. A desire to see what’s on the page with my own eyes. Feel it, touch it, experience it.
Obviously sensing I’m more interested than I’m letting on, Gavin sets aside his own homework and reaches for the pages. His lips move silently as he skims the article. When he’s finished, his gaze lifts to mine. “What is it you liked so much about this apartment, these people?” Gavin’s expression is earnest, and he asks the question as if he really wants to know the answer, as if it’s important to him. Because I’m important to him.
When I’m with Gavin, there’s just the two of us. No one else is vying for his attention. He makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the world. But beyond our wooded sanctuary, in my high school, in Sackett, I’m nobody.