The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

12th Grade

12th GRADE

February 1

Taylor

I sit in homeroom making notes in a three-ring binder about my schedule for the coming week.

I need to study for a world history test on Friday, and there are no words to express how much I dread my book report on Lord of the Flies in lit class. It’s not that I don’t write a great report; it’s that I have to deliver it aloud to the whole class.

There’s a Tiger Tribune meeting tomorrow after school—I’m the business manager for the school newspaper, which basically means I do all the parts besides writing and editing it. And back in the fall when kids were out sick with the flu, I did that, too.

I started a baking club, and on Thursday after school, seven of us will be whipping up fruit tarts in the family sciences classroom, the one place in this building where I feel confident and comfortable. Not that I’m any expert on family, having such a tiny one—basically now just my mom and my aunt Helen, who lives an hour away—but baking has remained my passion. I might not know how to talk to boys, but I can make a pineapple upside down cake like nobody’s business. And I might not be very handy with a makeup brush, but pass me a whisk or a rolling pin and I’m in my element.

So I guess you could say I’ve…found my way here over time. I still don’t have many friends, but I’ve immersed myself in other things.

As more kids enter the classroom, I glance up, keeping an eye out for Luke. One of the best things about my time at Sweetwater High has been my friendship with him. Not that it’s really changed all that much. We’re homeroom buddies. We say hi when we pass in the hall. He always has a smile for me, and he’s always kind.

But do we hang out? No. But did I ever expect that? Also no. We’re from two different worlds, he and I. And I’d never feel comfortable in his.

As for my crush on him? It’s still there. But it’s just a crush. Just an awareness that he keeps getting cuter with age. Just a tingling of my skin whenever he’s near. Just a wish for something that can never be.

In four months we graduate. He’s bound for the University of Kentucky in Lexington with a lot of his friends. It’s only ninety minutes away, but it might as well be on another planet. I’ll still be stuck in this ailing little town, driving to a community college half an hour down I-71, going on grants and scholarships. Thank God for those or I wouldn’t be going at all.

As I underline: Remind Tiger staff to sell sweetheart wishes , Luke slides into the desk behind me with a bit of a jolt. I turn to face him with a teasing grin. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

Yet I don’t get anything even close to a smile in return. It’s more of a grimace, coming through sullen eyes. “Morning.”

In the eight years I’ve known Luke Montgomery, I’ve never seen him like this. So I’m thrown, and wondering if I should just turn back around and leave him alone—but instead, I cautiously venture, “What’s the word of the day?”

It’s a thing that started between us last year—because apparently Dr. Montgomery uses a lot of technical medical words that amuse Luke. Like phalanges for fingers , or hallux for big toe . So Luke makes conversation by giving me the “word of the day.” And it extended from medical language into more everyday stuff when he once spun toward me and said, “Word of the day—chicanery. What my father accused me of being involved in last weekend.”

“Were you?” I asked.

He gave me a sneaky grin, holding up his index finger and thumb, close together. It made something in chest sizzle.

Now, he goes silent and stone-faced, eyes downcast, and I’m sorry I asked—until he answers, “ Angry . The word of the day is angry .”

I take a deep breath, gathering the courage to quietly pry. “What’s wrong?”

In response, he blows out a humongous sigh. “We’re moving.”

At this, my eyes bolt open wide. “ What? Where? ”

It’s the first time his gaze has lifted to meet mine and in it I see utter despair. “Cincinnati. My dad accepted a job at a big practice there.”

I draw back slightly, dumbfounded. His father is my doctor; he’s everyone’s doctor in Sweetwater. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Says he wants to try something besides small town medicine. Apparently it’s been in the works a while, but no one bothered to tell me. The plan was to wait until after I graduated, but some opportunity came along that he claims he can’t pass up.”

“Okay, wait. This is happening before we graduate?” I ask, confused.

“Yup. Leaving in two weeks.”

“ Two weeks? ” I probably look as upset as he feels, because I am. The one and only thing I’ve dreaded about graduation was no longer seeing Luke. And finding out it’s going to happen even sooner—like in the blink of an eye!—is crushing.

He nods, then takes a deep breath and blows it back out, clearly trying to keep hold of his emotions. But they’re still pulsating out of him and onto me. “I can’t graduate with the people I’ve gone to school with for twelve years. Hell, I can’t even finish the basketball season. TJ’s mom offered to let me live with them the rest of the school year, but Dad said no. And Mom wanted to stay here, in the house, her and me, until graduation, but he nixed that, too. He’s all ‘family stays together,’” Luke goes on, mimicking a deep, gruff voice for that part. “As if he’s ever given a shit about me. He sure doesn’t give a shit about what matters to me, I know that much.”

It’s hard to hide how shattered I am by this news—from him, and from me. It’s like a reckoning inside me.

In summers, I’ve missed seeing him, living for days on a chance meeting at the gas station or the Sweetwater Diner. (Mom still waits tables there and her boss, Walt, sometimes pays me to bake pies and cakes.) But I also knew I’d see him again come August, almost every day. And this year, I’ve known graduation was coming, but it’s felt far away, like a loss somewhere out in the distance. Learning that in two weeks I’ll probably never see Luke Montgomery again feels like the end of the world as I know it.

I never realized. How deep my crush ran. Or that…maybe it’s more of an attachment than a crush. More of a…caring. More of an ache deep inside me—eased by our every-morning conversations. And if there are suddenly no more of those…it’s gotten difficult to breathe.

“This is…awful,” I murmur, trying to sound like I feel as bad for him as I actually do for myself.

Fortunately, he’s so wrapped up in his own problems that he doesn’t notice my distress. “They’re putting the farm up for sale. They’re selling our horses. Man, I love those horses.”

A big, pretty barn sits near the Montgomery house, home to half a dozen horses. Sometimes in summer, I think of excuses to ask Mom to drive past with the hope of catching a glimpse of Luke on horseback from the road. Once, I did. He looked majestic and rugged, like a cowboy. And so close in one sense, but in another, so very far away.

“I’m really sorry, Luke,” I say. “I remember what it’s like to be yanked away from someplace where you’re happy, where you belong. It’s the worst.”

He gives his head a slight tilt, obviously having not made that connection. “That’s right—you were once the new kid way back when, weren’t you?”

“From Cincinnati, too,” I remind him with a nod. “I loved my school there. Leaving was horrible, and coming here was worse than I could have imagined.”

His expression tells me he’s not forgotten what it was like for me then, and sometimes still is. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time here.”

Yet I just head-shake it away—this is about me empathizing with him . “It’s hard to be uprooted. And I can see now that my parents didn’t really have a choice. But the fact that you could stay and your dad won’t let you…” I stop, sigh. “It’s not fair.”

As I talk, I’m aware of sandy hair that could use a trim—though the unkempt look works on him, in the same way it does a ski bum or surfer boy. Even in February, he’s like the outdoors personified. I gaze into blue eyes that seem bluer today than they ever have before—and I can’t believe that in just two short weeks I’ll never get to look into them again. I take in broad shoulders, a strong jaw, the masculine hands resting in front of him on the desk—all these little pieces of male beauty that are about to be ripped away from me.

When I raise my glance back from his hands to his face, he’s looking directly at me. I didn’t expect that. His gaze is electric. “Know what, Taylor? I think you’re the nicest girl in this whole school.”

I blink at the unexpected compliment. “I am?”

He nods. “Since you haven’t always had the easiest time of it here, this is selfish of me, but…I’m glad you came to Sweetwater.”

Am I glad, too? It’s impossible to even conceive of who I would be if we hadn’t moved when I was a kid. Maybe I’d be well-adjusted and confident. And maybe…my father would still be alive. So no, I can’t say I’m glad I came, too. But I can dare to tell him, “You’ve been one of the few bright spots for me in this dingy little town.”

Except…holy crap. That was big . I’ve told him he stands out. In my existence. That I’ve noticed. That he’s more than just my homeroom buddy. Ugh.

I wait for a reaction, but that’s when the bell rings, the last few kids slide into their desks, and Miss Curtis starts calling roll. So I turn back to face frontward, and am glad for the timing as my face heats to what is surely a vivid sunburn-red despite it being a rainy day outside.

Five minutes later, another bell sounds, this one releasing us to first period. I want to look at Luke, maybe say something more, but I don’t—I simply gather my things and rush from the room. All part of not knowing how to talk to boys—it’s one thing when you’re casual friends, but another when you’ve just said something that might make it seem like more.

He stays on my mind all day. I can’t believe he’s leaving in two short weeks—right after Valentine’s Day.