Hope floods my body and makes me feel high.

I can get used to hope.

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

518

I toss my hair into a bun and go out into the kitchen. Scott glances at me as he hovers over the stovetop. “Good morning, Elisabeth.”

“Good morning, Scott.” I almost giggle at how cheerful I sound. Me—giggling. That’s funny in itself.

He does a double take as I sit at the counter and the annoying I-know-everything grin

stretches from ear to ear. “Whatever side of the bed you rolled out of this morning is the one you should roll out of every day.”

“Very funny.”

From the other side of the island, Allison studies me, but not with nearly as much

contempt as normal. She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something, then focuses on the newspaper in front of her.

Scott’s cell rings. He reaches into his back pocket and holds the phone against his

shoulder to answer as he flips the hash browns in the pan. “Hello.”

His face darkens and he pushes the pan onto an unlit burner before switching off the stove.

He turns and his troubled blue eyes find me.

My hope slithers away.

“We’ll be right there,” he says.

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

519

Ryan

THERE’S A LOW BUZZ of conversation as the auditorium fills. Today’s been both exhilarating and torturous. I’ve met college professors who gave me incredible feedback on “George and Olivia.” I listened to lectures on writing, learned new techniques, and I’ve spent the whole day sweating this upcoming moment.

I’d take a cold rainy day on the mound over this—wearing my Sunday best while waiting to hear whether or not my story is good

enough.

I hunch forward in the folding auditorium chair with my hands clasped together. My feet won’t quit moving. The only things keeping me halfway sane are my memories of last

night. The moment I get out of here, I’m

buying two dozen roses and I’m heading

straight to Beth. I want to show her I’m

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

520

nothing like the bastard who broke up with her the next day. I’m the guy that will be around forever.

Mrs. Rowe yanks the placeholder off the

seat next to me and plops down. “Are you

nervous?”

I glance at her in response and rub my hands together. It’s scary how much I want this. It’s even more terrifying to think what happens if I do win. If I lose, then I know my path: pro baseball. If I win…it opens up possibilities.

Possibilities that I’m good at more than just ball, that I’m good at writing too. Then I’ll have choices to make.

“It’s too bad your parents couldn’t be here for this,” she says. “I bet it’s killing them to be away.”

“Yeah.” Possibly killing them to be near

each other. My hopes aren’t high that a week’s vacation will fix the issues between them.

Divorce isn’t an option on the table, especially since Dad’s considering the run for mayor.

Maybe I should be grateful, but I’m not sure how much more frozen silence I can take.

“I’m sure they’re proud of you,” she

continues.

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

521

“Sure.” Even though they have no idea

I’m here.

Through the squeal of feedback, a woman in a black business suit asks the audience for silence. As she thanks us for our entries, Mrs.

Rowe leans over to me. “Regardless of what the results are, Ryan, it was a huge honor to final.”

I nod, but what she doesn’t understand is that I don’t like losing.

“…so, with that, we are ready to announce the winners.”

I inhale deeply to calm the nerves. Fifty of us made it to the last round. All of us entered the final, only three spots left for a win and, to be honest, I’m only interested in first.

“The third place winner is Lauren

Lawrence.”

The crowd applauds and I lean back in my

seat, antsier than I was before. The girl walks unbelievably slowly and it takes even longer for the people on stage to hand her the award.

The announcer clears her throat before

beginning again. “The second place winner is…”

Part of me craves to hear my name and the HC TITLE-AUTHOR

522

other part doesn’t. First is the best. First is what I desire, but for the first time in my life, I think I could be happy with second.

“…Tonya Miles.”

Everyone applauds again. At least this girl is faster. I hunch forward again, wondering what a loss like this would feel like. I could have been happy with second. Possibly third. And, I finally realize, I don’t want the easy path…I want the choice. I want to possibly go to college.

Or not. I don’t know. But I do know that I want this win.

“…and our first place winner is…” She

pauses for dramatic effect. I lower my head as my gut tightens. What if I’m not good enough?

“Ryan Stone.”

Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I lift my head to stare at the stage. The crowd claps and Mrs. Rowe gestures for me to go onstage, saying words I don’t understand. I stagger forward, wondering if I heard it right. Is this happening? Did I really win?

Onstage, the lady shakes my hand and offers me a plaque and a certificate. They feel heavy in my hands—heavy and amazing. I did this. I HC TITLE-AUTHOR

523

won a writing competition.

Mrs. Rowe is on her feet. So are a few of the college professors who had read my story. And while their applause is appreciated, a lump forms in my throat and drops. My parents

aren’t here. And even if they did know about the competition, they still wouldn’t be here.

I nod to the crowd, then turn toward the

stairs. The applause dies except for a loud clapping in the back of the room. A deep

booming shout gains my attention and the part of me that was sinking suddenly flies higher.

I pause on the stage and Mark smiles. He

cups his hands to his mouth and yells, “Way to go, Ry!”

How could I have been so blind? He never

left me. My brother—he never left.

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

524

Beth

THERE ARE MEMORIES that exist in my mind

that are so clear that if I focus on them enough I could practically relive them. The sky was ocean-blue and two doves sat on the roof of Grandpa’s trailer when Scott taught me how to throw a ball. Lacy’s dad’s callused hand was cold the day he led me to the back of his police cruiser. Mom bought me a Hostess cupcake the first night we spent alone in Louisville.

What ingrained those moments was that

when I lived them, I knew I would remember them always. When Scott taught me to play baseball, time lost all meaning. I held the ball in my hand longer than needed so I could

remember the feel of the threading. I hesitated when Lacy’s dad told me to hop in the car so I could take a mental snapshot of our trailer. I spent a half hour nibbling at the icing of the HC TITLE-AUTHOR

525

cupcake before taking a bite, knowing that Mom gave all her money to our new landlord.

The emergency room takes on the same

slow-motion quality as I run through the

sliding doors. Scott brushes past me and talks to a nurse at the station. My heart beats loudly in my ears. An orderly passes by and stares at my head. I didn’t brush my hair. I didn’t do anything.

The nurse looks up from her computer and

motions toward the closed doors of the

emergency room. Large letters on big signs warn me to stay out, but if that’s where my mother is, no one can stop me. My hand aches as I slam on the swinging door and I barely register my name being called behind me. Both sides of the corridor are filled with curtained areas. Machines beep and people softly

whisper.

Walking in the hallway, the hulking figure that torments my dreams turns a corner. I chase after him. Trent. Anger courses through me and propels me forward. Past the beds. Past the nurse asking if I need help. Past anything that is sane or rational.