16-year-old Kelsey
thinks her new house far away from Tulsa is the perfect place to escape her
past—until she meets Jay, the boy who used to live there.
After a series of mysterious
break-ins at the house, Kelsey discovers the culprit is Jay, but before she can
confront him, Jay inadvertently sets in motion a series of events that leave
Kelsey and her family devastated and wind Jay up in juvie.
Desperate to fix
things, Kelsey confronts him only to discover Jay’s not the delinquent she
expects, but a boy with a past more messed up than hers. Against her better
judgment, the two of them form an unlikely friendship she keeps secret from
everyone.
Then Jay asks for a
favor she didn’t see coming – one that leaves Kelsey torn between her growing
loyalty to Jay and throwing away the new future she worked so hard to build.
Author:
Monica Goulet writes
and lives in Oshawa, Ontario with her husband. She graduated from Brock
University with a Bachelor's degree in English and Professional Writing. In her
other life, she’s an instructional designer and a mother-to-be who likes ice
cream, running, and losing herself in a good story.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
For the first time in
almost a year, I feel safe. My sandals slap against the uneven sidewalk, and I
wave back at the old man driving by in a green pick-up truck. His toothless
grin should scare the crap out of me, but something about this place makes it
okay. I’ll even forgive its lack of a real downtown. I went in search of one of
those quaint main streets with specialty coffee shops and expensive clothing
stores, and all I found were a bunch of empty buildings for lease and a no-name
pizza place. So much for small town charm.
I turn the corner to
my house and skid to a halt. The edge of my sandal catches in a crack, and I
lurch forward, scraping my palms against the cement. There’s a leg dangling out
my bedroom window as if it’s not attached to a body. It reminds me of a cricket
I caught when I was eight. I’d accidentally ripped its leg off trying to make
it dance. I shudder and pick myself up, my palms burning.
I glance at the
driveway. Mom and Dad’s cars aren’t there.
The person in the
window struggles to squeeze his way out. Blue jeans and a ratty running shoe.
Painter, maybe? Repair person? But there’s no work van in sight.
The rest of the body
lowers from the window. I suck in a breath and duck behind a parked car just as
he jumps.
Five, four, three, two, one. I pop my head up
just enough to see over the hood.
He’s crouched on the
ground, so I creep up a little higher and let out a breath. He’s tying his
shoe? What kind of thief would stop to tie his shoe, let alone come out empty
handed?
Anger rises in my
chest and I clench my fists. What does this guy think he’s doing? I pop up from
behind the car without thinking. “You could have used the door, you know!”
My mouth snaps shut as
soon as the words are out. What am I doing? For all I know this guy could have
a gun or something. I almost duck behind the car again when he looks up, but he
turns away again just as quickly as if I never said a thing. He just finishes
tying his shoe and shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes.
I finally catch a
glimpse of his face. He’s young – my age maybe. Too young to be someone my
parents hired. He heads toward the street, and I glance up at the open window
again.
Something doesn’t seem
right.
“Hey!” I yell. “Wait!”
Against my better judgment, I start after him, but he still doesn’t turn
around. My hand closes around the cell phone in my pocket. The police. I should
call the police. I fumble with my phone, and it clatters onto the sidewalk.
The guy looks back.
His eyes lock onto
mine, and I freeze. I stare back, expecting to see fear or guilt – anything
other than what I see.
Sadness. It pours into
me from his eyes and touches every nerve in my body. Still, he doesn’t run. He
just stares at me until I can’t take it anymore, and I dive behind a tree. My
breathing slows. I count to ten before poking my head around the tree again.
He’s already a block away. I stare at his back, frozen in place. From here, he
looks harmless. Blue hoodie, jeans, running shoes. He’s not even running away.
My curtain blows
against the open window in the second story. In and out. In and out. The screen
had been missing when we moved in last week. When I spin around again, I catch
the last blur of a blue hoodie disappearing around a corner.
My cell phone is in
pieces. I scoop them up and shove the battery back in. Still works. My fingers
hover over nine-one-one. But I keep seeing the way he looked at me. The
sadness. I shove the phone back into my pocket.
The front door is
locked like I left it. I expect to find chairs overturned, vases broken,
something, but everything is normal. The boxes we haven’t unpacked yet are
still piled in the living room. The spare set of keys for my dad’s car still
hangs on one of the pegs by the front door proclaiming “Home Sweet Home” above
them – a gift from the previous owners who’d screwed it so far into the wall my
dad couldn’t get it off without taking a chunk of the drywall with it. He hung
it back up until he could get around to fixing it. Which, for my dad, could be
a while. I kind of like it anyway.
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