Prologue

prologue

ADDIE

My mother's awake.

Not only that, but she's fully dressed and pilfering in the kitchen like she's… cooking. Is she making me a celebratory breakfast for my first day of school?

"Good morning, Rain." I slide onto a stool at the counter.

It's been six years since she first required me to call her by her chosen name, Rain, and while it was a difficult transition, the name freely rolls off my tongue now.

"Oh! Hi, honey." She turns with a mug in her hand.

I glance at the spot where the coffee pot used to sit, and it's still vacant. "The coffee pot broke yesterday, remember?"

"Shoot. That's right." She slumps against the sink and blows out a frustrated breath.

"I'll grab one on my way home from school later." I add that to the list of things I need to do around here, right after adjusting our budget now that she's quit yet another job.

Rain's eyes lock onto the backpack in my hand, and her shoulders perk upright again. "Does school start today?"

"I thought that's why you might be up already." My voice trails off into a question as I skim the kitchen. No red light on the stove to indicate it's on, no steaming eggs in a skillet, and no celebratory breakfast to be found.

"I'm just getting home, actually." Rain wiggles her eyebrows, and the mischievous gleam in them nearly blinds me.

"Rafe kept you out all night, huh?" I say, trying to match her enthusiasm, but it proves to be difficult with so much disappointment weighing me down.

Then again, it's my own fault for expecting anything more from my mother than this show of cluelessness.

I know better.

"Not Rafe." She shakes her finger back and forth. "I met someone new."

"I see," I practically squeak in yet another attempt to meet her halfway.

"Don't give me that look." Rounding the corner, she shoots me a pointed stare. "I thought you agreed with me that I need to have fun."

I hoist my backpack onto my shoulder and say, "I was talking about a different kind of fun, like taking up a hobby or learning a foreign language."

"Dating is a hobby. And it has its own language."

"I meant something like knitting. Something that keeps you out of trouble."

"One time!" she bursts on a laugh. But she's the only one amused. "I got into trouble once , and as I've told you, I didn't know Garfield illegally sold guns."

"With a first name like Garfield, you should've known there was something off about him."

"If I did, do you really think I would've gone out with him? You know how I feel about weapons."

"I had to beg Leon to drive me to bail you out. He was so thrilled with the favor that he's never let me forget it. Brings it up all the time, right in between his distaste for the bright color of our house and our lack of lawn ornaments."

"He should've been happy to take his rusted old wagon out of the garage for once. In fact, he owes me a thank-you." She smiles deviously.

Quietly, I back away toward the door, and she follows me, much to my chagrin.

"Speaking of driving…"

"Please don't start." I throw the door open and race out of it.

But she chases after me. "It's just hard to believe you're not on my side about this."

I release a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

"You could sell the car, Cloud. Imagine the good we could do for the environment with that money."

"By that logic, we should sell the house and everything in it," I toss back as I jump down the porch steps, my never-before-worn shoes bright and ready to be shown off, as is my shiny new car.

"You sound just like your father," she calls out as I pluck the driver's-side door open.

"Probably because he's the one who practiced with me," I mutter under my breath.

My father and I both predicted she would be appalled by his expensive birthday gift to me over the summer. It's why he coached me through rebuttal statements like he and I do for my debate team meets.

Why does she continue to bug me about this car, anyway? At the end of the day, I will always win. It's my name on the title, and I have decided to keep it.

I'm sixteen, with countless extracurriculars, and I need a freaking car. With Dad living three states away, Rain has been the only one left to drive me around for school and fun with the girls, and she's always been late.

Now that I have my own ride, I can finally make it to the previews of movies for once.

"Have a good day!" I lift my hand to wave, but my mother's already halfway back inside. As I slide onto the pristine leather seat, I ramble to myself, "I'll have a great first day as well, Rain. And oh my gosh—you like my outfit? Great to hear. Daphne helped me pick this out from her boutique last weekend, no thanks to you. I so appreciate you asking about me, Rain. As always, it's been a gigantic pleasure talking with you."

My heavy sigh pushes through my flaring nostrils with the pent-up frustration of the last six years—ever since she and my father divorced.

During that time, I've had to deal with the finances. I've had to do most of the grocery shopping and first-day-of-school planning. I've had to keep up with the house and call the exterminators, plumbers, and lawncare experts.

I do it all because my mother is too busy with her "hobby" of dating and her second favorite love affair—nature.

Before he moved from our quaint little town of Sapphire Creek, Georgia, my dad would ask if I needed his help with anything. "Is your mother taking care of you?" he'd ask. "I'm willing to lend a hand when she's not there," he'd say.

And I'd always shake my head no. He divorced her for a reason, and I didn't want to bring him back to the scene of his near insanity.

After he moved to Louisiana and remarried, he stopped asking, and I could finally stop lying to him.

The school comes into view, and I exhale, my muscles instantly relaxing into the leather seat. Relief seeps into my bloodstream as I turn into the parking lot and enter the parameters of my happy place. I scan the empty spaces for my best option—a spot where everyone can see me exit this killer car for the first time.

This car will get me noticed for something other than being a nerdy teacher's pet.

This car will make me cool.

I might even secure a date to the homecoming dance before the final bell rings this afternoon, and I can cross it off my to-do list a whole week early.

My heart thumps with grand plans of arriving to school today as a new Addie Lockhart.

This is my year!

But the splash I make isn't quite the one I was hoping for. Instead of a glamorous arrival, I open the door of my car and drop my foot into a puddle of muddy water.

"Ah!" I shake my foot and sling droplets every which way, but it's no use. The grimy water has seeped all the way up my sock. Brown stains already form around my ankle, and before I closely inspect the crime against my once white shoes, I already know I'll need to change.

The whole fabric of the canvas shoe is ruined.

As class president the last two years and running, I've tried and tried to convince the administration to fill in these stupid holes in the parking lot. I figured getting it done would be child's play, but they always turn me away like I'm asking them to solve world hunger.

Screeching tires coming to a halt pull my attention away as a Jeep skids into an empty parking spot a few yards away.

Owen Conrad .

Class clown. Baseball player extraordinaire. And major thorn in my side.

The guy never takes anything seriously, and he teases those of us who do—mainly me.

I climb out of the driver's seat, my feet as far apart as possible on either side of the puddle.

In three squishy steps, I open the back door in search of any other shoes I might've stowed away.

I cringe when I realize I do have a dry option, but the freaking boots might be worse than just keeping my sopping wet shoe on for the rest of the day.

"Looking good, Lockhart," I hear just before the Jeep door slams shut to my left.

Owen saunters around the side, his jeans hung low on his narrow hips and his wavy hair damp, presumably from a recent shower. "When can I take this epic ride for a spin?"

Huffing, I sink onto the edge of the backseat, the corner of the boot box digging into my hip as if to point and laugh at me. "I will be the only one behind the wheel of this Volvo."

He throws his back door open and reaches his long baseball-throwing arm inside. Then he slings a backpack onto his broad shoulders like it weighs nothing. The thing moves so effortlessly, I assume it is, in fact, empty.

"That's cool. I don't mind riding passenger," he says with a wink.

I'm no flirting expert, but I know Owen. His dirty mind only thinks in innuendos.

As always, I ignore him and pluck the shoe off my foot, frowning as people toss nods and low whistles of admiration toward my car and me. Maren and Nathan greet me as they breeze by, hand in hand, and I offer only a faint wave and a lazy smile in return.

"Need a hand? You look lost."

I blink and find Owen next to me. "I need help, but this is totally out of your wheelhouse."

"Try me." He shrugs, showing no signs of humor.

I don't trust it, though. Humor is his whole personality.

Caroline passes by, her blonde hair loose and perfect for the day. We've been friends since we were toddlers, and even though her popularity status far outweighs mine, we've remained close.

She'll have the answer.

I call out to her, and she bounces between Owen and me, her blue eyes sparkling like diamonds behind thick eyelashes.

"What's going on?" She glances between us, then focuses her attention on me when she asks, "Are you already plotting the senior prank? You've come to the master." She smacks Owen's chest, and he squares his shoulders with pride.

It's true. He is the pranking mastermind, but we have more important matters to address at the moment.

"Do you have an extra pair of shoes in your car I can borrow?" I ask, my words rushed as I lift my dirty shoe. "Major crisis here."

Caroline's hand flies to her mouth. "No way!"

Her outraged response is warranted and appreciated, but when her eyes droop in the corners, I know she will not be saving me today. I search the parking lot for Maren, but she's long gone. I continue scanning for anyone else I could pester for a clean pair of shoes, but I come up empty.

And I'm running out of time. This was supposed to be the beginning of a new era, where punctuality could finally make it on my list of qualifications on my resume. I'm a firm supporter of such a quality, despite my mother's belief that clocks are for the weak. She constantly argues with me that time is a human construct developed to control and stifle us, and only the strong rebel against it.

"I have a pair of my sister's shoes in my Jeep from camping last weekend, but they're a size six." Owen hooks a thumb over his shoulder, and again, he actually appears genuinely concerned. I don't think I've ever seen anything but a smirk on his face and amusement in his eyes.

"I need an eight. Thank you, though." I force a smile and blow out a frustrated breath as Caroline waves to someone over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she offers with a squeeze of my hand, then skips away toward her boyfriend.

Owen saunters off in the same direction, where he high-fives a friend.

And I dig into the box behind me for the embarrassing monstrosities—green rubber rain boots with bright yellow ducks on them. Astronauts can spot them from Mars, and I have to wear them on my first day of school.

Why my mother thought these would be an appropriate birthday gift for me this summer is beyond my comprehension. I would have been too old for these even at ten, which was when I started budgeting and paying our bills.

Sighing, I quietly accept my fate and make the switch, grimacing more and more with every inch of my foot, ankle, and shin these boots cover.

I try to stand tall, but is such a thing possible with these on my feet? They don't match with anything, except perhaps a baby onesie, but they certainly don't go with the pastel pink sleeveless dress I'm wearing over a white top.

"Cute, cute, cute boots."

Oh no.

Please, Lord, no .

"Why didn't I think to wear my ducky rain boots today? Oh, right, because I'm not four."

I steel myself against the evil voice that belongs to none other than Emmy Salinger. I've been the object of her terror for the last two years, ever since she got her headgear off, but now I've actually fueled her fiery rampage of insults by wearing such hideous boots.

"Good to see you too, Emmy," I toss back, my tone as sweet as freaking honey because I'm a polite Southern woman in the making, damn it.

"Yvonne, come get a load of this!" she calls out to the second most awful human in our class.

Was it me who threw out a few of their homecoming maid ballots last year? Sure was. I'm not proud of committing fraud, of course, but I can't say I didn't enjoy the looks on their faces when they realized they both had lost.

My stepmother has done an excellent job of teaching me to take the high road, but even I have my limits.

From the looks of it, though, I played the fraud card too soon.

Yvonne rushes over to witness my humiliation, stars in her eyes like she's struck gold. She takes one peek at my boots and points and laughs alongside Emmy.

Their eruption of mockery feels like it echoes across the parking lot, catching the attention of a few passersby. It seems that the whole student body is laughing at me, when in reality, it's mostly just the evil twins.

In a blink, I feel like I'm in a teenage drama where the overexaggerated cartoonish bullies become warped, slow-motion figures. They loom over me, and shadows emphasize their soulless features.

I slump against my car, wishing I could hop back into it and drive away to Florida, where I could change my name and be someone else.

With a deep breath, I reach into my car for my heavy backpack full of fresh notebooks just waiting to be filled with ideas and valuable information. I square my shoulders and prepare to strut into the school for homeroom, my skin thicker than ever, but I freeze.

Owen reappears and drapes his arm around Emmy's scrawny shoulders.

"When we go shopping this weekend, can you get me boots like hers?" Emmy asks him with a point of her manicured nail at me.

He simply nods in return without sparing me or my shoes in question a glance. If Owen senses her nasty sarcasm, he doesn't show it.

He whispers something else in her ear, then nuzzles his nose into her neck, which makes her giggle. The high-pitched sound could wake hibernating bears.

Are they… together? When did this happen?

And here I thought Owen had a decent side to him beyond the goofy jokes and careless fa?ade. When he offered his sister's shoes to me, I assumed there was a tender part of him, but obviously, I was so very wrong.

He's exactly what I've always thought about him—a spineless jock with absolutely zero standards.

I can't wait for him to disappear to the other side of the world to play baseball far from here. I only hope he takes his precious Emmy with him.

That way, after high school, I'll never have to deal with either one of them again.