smiling voice.

“I think it’s sexy.” I do.

“I heard she smokes cigarettes.”

“She’s trying to quit.” Yeah, I made that up.

“I heard she has a tattoo on the small of her back.”

Interesting. “I haven’t gotten that far, but I’ll let you know if I do since we’re friends and all.”

An image plays in my mind of lifting the

back of Beth’s shirt to reveal her skin, my caress causing her to smile. I bet her skin is smooth, like petals. My fingers fidget with the desire to touch Beth and my blood warms with the idea of her whispering my name. Damn.

The girl really does turn me on. I run a hand over my head, trying to rid my mind of the thought. What the hell?

“Ryan. I’m not kidding. She’s not your

type.”

“Then tell me who is.” I say it with more anger than intended, but I’m tired of the game.

“Not her, okay?” Gwen pleads.

The image of touching Beth taunts and

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Mom enters. “I’ve gotta go.”

“`Night,” Gwen says with disappointment.

Mom wears a matching blue blazer and

skirt. She attended a women-only dinner with the mayor’s wife this evening. “Am I

interrupting?”

“No.” I toss my phone onto the bedside

table.

“You sounded a little upset.” Mom walks

over to my dresser, appraises her reflection in the mirror, then readjusts her pearl necklace. “I could hear you in the hallway.”

I shake my head. “Just Gwen.”

Her hands freeze on her necklace and a

smile curves her lips. “Are you together

again?”

“No.” Mom loved Gwen and I think the

breakup was hardest on her.

She continues her grooming. “You should

consider it. I heard that both you and Gwen were nominated for homecoming court.”

News travels at lightning speed in our town.

“Yeah.”

“You know, your father and I were

nominated for homecoming courts. Both fall and winter.”

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“Yep.” She mentioned it. A million times.

They won both times too. If her continued retelling of the events didn’t refresh my memory, the pictures hanging in the family room of them dancing with crowns on is a

good reminder.

“I also heard that Scott Risk’s niece was nominated.”

“Uh-huh.” If Mom knows everything, then

why is she bothering me?

“What are your thoughts on the niece? Her aunt, Allison Risk, has asked to be nominated for the empty seat on the church event

committee.”

And there’s my answer. Respectability. If Beth is an outcast, then Beth’s guardians will be considered bad parents. Mom wants the

prestige of nominating Scott Risk’s wife, but she doesn’t want the scandal of nominating the guardian of the “bad girl.” Both Mom and

Dad’s families have been members of this

community since the first foundations of home and church were laid hundreds of years ago.

The Stones are a legacy.

“She’s interesting.”

Mom turns. “Interesting. What does that

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mean?”

I shrug. It means that Beth’s in the way of my winning a dare. It means she tries my

patience. It means I want to see her tattoo.

“Interesting.”

Mom rubs her forehead in frustration. “Fine.

She’s interesting. If you discover another word, you know where to find me.”

Yep, I do. If in public, she’ll be right next to Dad. In private, the exact opposite of where Dad will be. Mom pauses at the door frame.

“And Ryan, I talked to Mrs. Rowe this

evening.”

I dip my head and briefly close my eyes. Not good. Not good at all. “Uh-huh.”

“She’s curious as to when you’ll be turning in your paperwork for the final writing

competition in Lexington.”

Damn. I raise my head, but my shoulders

stay slumped as I look at Mom. “I’m not doing it. It interferes with ball.”

Mom stiffens. “Was that your father’s

decision or yours?”

“Mine.” The word comes out fast. The last thing I want is for them to get into another twelve-round fight, especially over me.

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“I’m sure it was.” Mom gives a

dismissive wave.

Something inside me snaps. “Logan saw

Mark in Lexington a few weeks ago. He asked about us.”

Mom becomes uncharacteristically still.

“Logan knows, Mom. So does Chris.”

Fury flashes over her face. “If your father finds out you told anyone…If anyone in town finds out…”

“They won’t tell.”

She closes her eyes for a second as she

releases air. “Please remember what happens in this house stays in this house. Chris and Logan are your friends. They are not family.”

A simmering anger settles at the bottom of my stomach. How can she shut out her

emotions for her oldest son? “Don’t you miss him?”

“Yes.” Her immediate answer catches me off guard. “But there’s too much at stake.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Mom scans my room. Her eyes linger on my

posters. “I think I’m going to redo your room.

Blue isn’t your color.”

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Beth

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. My eyes flash open

and my heart pumps in my ears. The cops. No, the boyfriend. Sometimes he knocks in the morning to confuse me into opening the door. I blink when I see the shadow of curtains against a window. Curtains. I’m not home. I inhale and the fresh oxygen mixes with the adrenaline in my bloodstream. Old habits die hard.

“Elisabeth,” Scott says from behind the

door. “Wake up.”

Shit. Six in the morning. Why can’t he leave me alone? The bus doesn’t arrive until seven-thirty. A half hour is plenty of time to get ready for school. I roll out of bed and pad on bare feet to the door. The bright light from the foyer hurts my eyes so I squint and barely

comprehend that Scott’s shoving a bag into my hand. “Here. I got your stuff.”

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I wipe the sleep from my eyes. Scott

wears the same T-shirt and jeans from last night. “What stuff?”

He drops his I-mean-business glare and my lips tug up. It’s a look he gave me when I was little, especially when I wouldn’t eat my vegetables or when I begged him to read to me.

Scott’s answering smile is hesitant. “I went by your aunt’s and picked up your clothes.

That Noah guy was there last night and he showed me what was yours. I’m sorry if I left anything behind. If you tell me something specific maybe I can swing by one day after work.”

I stare at the bag. My stuff. He got me my stuff and he talked to… “How’s Noah?”

The hesitant joy on his face fades. “We

didn’t have a heart-to-heart. Elisabeth, this doesn’t change any of my rules. I want you to settle here in Groveton and let your old life go.

Trust me on this one, okay, kid?”

Okay, kid. It’s what he always said to me, and I find myself nodding without realizing it.

A habit from childhood—a time when I

believed that Scott hung the moon and

commanded the sun. A bad habit for a teenager.

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I stop nodding. “I can wear my clothes?”

“Skin has to be covered and no rips in

indecent places. Push me on this and I’ll burn every stitch in that bag.” Scott inclines his head toward the kitchen. “Breakfast in thirty.”

I cradle the bag in my hands like a newborn.

My stuff. Mine. “Thanks.” The gratitude is stiff and awkward, but give me credit—I said it.

I SLIDE THE LOW-RISE, faded blue jeans to my hips and a contented sigh escapes my lips.

How I missed you, old friend. Jeans that hug a little too tight. Small rips on the thighs. The other pair, the pair I really love that has rips right below my ass, Scott would soak in

gasoline. I carefully fold them on a hanger and store them in the closet.