Prologue #2
The appreciative smile that curled his lips made me envious.
But I’d never be that girl. The Lillianas of the world were thin, without braces or glasses.
I was the chubby nerd who stood off on the sidelines or stayed hidden in the library, where all my friends could be found stacked among the shelves.
Noa
Age Seventeen
Ransom: Happy birthday, Shakespeare.
I read the text, unable not to grin. The nickname no longer bothered me. Ransom didn’t give any other girl a nickname. Just like I was his longest female relationship. Or at least, that was what he’d said one day last spring while we were texting about my choices in college.
Me: Thanks.
Then added:
Me: Glad you remembered. I’d hate to have to block you. It would ruin your day.
My friendship with Ransom was unique. While sitting at the library table, explaining the complexities of Shakespeare to him, I had relaxed.
Accepted that I wasn’t going to be a girl that he looked at with lust or interest. When I did so, I found that underneath that gorgeous, sexy outer appearance, he was likable.
He wasn’t shallow or cruel. He made me laugh.
We liked many of the same movies and debated on those we disagreed on.
Our taste in music was almost identical, and he got my sense of humor.
I couldn’t remember exactly when our texting about tutoring sessions had turned into us sharing things in life, using each other for a sounding board, having someone to vent to, but it had in the most organic way.
Ransom: Can’t have that. Who else is gonna listen to me bitch?
Standing in the overgrown grass, I glanced up at the trailer I lived in with my mother and her boyfriend, Dick—that was his actual name, and he had been the longest relationship she’d had.
They were going on five years now, and I couldn’t wait to leave this place because he was, in fact, a dick.
Mom hadn’t remembered my birthday. In fact, Ransom was the only person who had wished me a happy one or said anything to me about it at all.
Me: I’m sure you could wrangle Than into it.
I bit my bottom lip as I waited for his response.
Ransom: Do you read the things I text you, Shakespeare? Or just toss out random advice and comments, hoping they stick?
I laughed as I replied.
Me: Eh, sometimes. When I have the time, I’ll give them a read, but mostly, I skim.
Ransom: It’s a relief turning seventeen didn’t change you. You’re still a ray of fucking sunshine.
Ransom: How are you celebrating?
He’d gone to school with me. Although he hadn’t been aware of my existence until his senior year, everyone who went to my high school was aware of my lack of a social life. So that wasn’t a secret. But I didn’t need him knowing my home life was so horrid that school was a place for me to escape.
Me: Oh, you know, big party. Lilliana is hosting it at her million-dollar estate, and the entire student body is attending. There will be a three-tiered cake and dancing. There is even a rumor that Keanu Reeves is making an appearance.
Ransom: How did I not know you liked old men?
I laughed out loud.
Me: Excuse me. John Wick is not an old man.
His response was immediate.
Ransom: Good luck with snagging a proposal from Grandpa. But, damn, Lilliana? You need better friends.
He knew good and well that this was all a fabricated story. Lilliana didn’t know my name.
Me: She doesn’t stalk me. Thankfully, I didn’t spend any locker room time with her.
Ransom: Lucky you.
Me: Subject change, but you might want to take a screenshot of what I’m about to say because it is a rare moment when I find a reason to compliment you …
Me: You’re a way better Literature student than your brother. He’s one of the most difficult I’ve had to tutor.
And that wasn’t a lie. Than struggled with keeping his attention on The Great Gatsby paper he had to write. Starting with him not actually reading the book.
Ransom: You’re tutoring Than? Since when?
Me: We had our third session yesterday, and I’m starting to think he expects me to write the paper for him.
Ransom: Don’t.
Me: You know me. Would I do that for anyone?
Ransom: He’s got a charisma I do not have.
I disagreed.
Me: Charisma gets you nowhere with me.
Ransom: So, you’re a bitch to everyone, not just me?
Grinning, I replied.
Me: No, you definitely get the full brunt of my bitchiness.
I waited, and when there was no other text after that, I slipped my phone into my book bag and headed for the door of our trailer.
The blue paint on it was peeling, and the yellow it had been before that was starting to show.
Not bothering with digging out my key since Mom’s thirteen-year-old silver Camaro and Dick’s old blue truck were parked outside, I knew the door was unlocked.
However, I opened it slowly and listened.
Once, I’d opened it up without checking first and caught Dick’s naked butt as he screwed my momma on the kitchen counter.
Worst image ever that I could not bleach from my head.
Mom was standing in the kitchen when I walked in, making a sandwich—most likely for Dick. She glanced up at me. “You’re here early.” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t happy about that.
“It’s Wednesday. I’m always home at three fifteen on Wednesday,” I told her.
We were the second stop on the bus route.
She scowled. “Whatever. Since you’re here, get the laundry done, would ya? It’s piled up and smelling sour.”
“Okay,” I replied, then waited to see if she said anything else. Perhaps remembered that she’d given birth on this day seventeen years ago.
“What?” she snapped. “Why are you just standing there?”
I thought about letting it go, but this was the last birthday I’d spend under her roof. I decided to point out that she’d forgotten it—again.
“It’s my birthday.”
She frowned. “So? What are you wanting from me? A cake?”
Laughter from the living room area came out in Dick’s annoying bellow. “Yeah, she wants a cake. One she can eat all by herself in one sitting!”
Momma smirked. “God knows she’d do it too. Eat an apple,” she told me as she walked past me with the sandwich and into the connecting room to hand it to Dick.
It no longer stung. The fat jokes. I was used to them from both my mom and Dick. They were far worse than anything I heard at school.
Turning, I headed toward the short hallway and to the only place in this awful rectangular metal box I found some solace. My bedroom. At least I had that.
“Hey! You’re still doing the laundry! Don’t care what day it is!” Mom’s voice called out.
I’m well aware, Mom.
Noa
Age Eighteen
Ransom: How’s the snow? Ready to move back South yet?
I had been staring out the window of my dorm room, watching the snow fall just before he sent this.
Me: It’s beautiful, and I might never leave.
It was true. I’d worried about moving to Rhode Island, but the full-ride scholarship thousands of miles away from my mother had been hard to resist.
Ransom: I’d ask if you were dropped on your head as a baby, but your brain is the reason I passed British Lit and graduated on schedule.
“Who has you grinning like that?” Jellie Watts—my roommate and, dare I say, friend—asked.
I glanced back at her. “A friend from back home.”
Me: You should have built a statue in my honor.
“What friend? You’ve not mentioned one before.”
Because other than Ransom, there was no one in Madison, Mississippi, I could remotely consider a friend.
Ransom: I’ll look into that.
Me: You do that.
Not only was Ransom the only person I could label as a friend in Madison, but he was also the only contact I had there.
My mother didn’t check in. The few times we’d spoken, I had called.
I wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays.
She wasn’t going to pay for my plane ticket, and I saw no reason to spend my hard-earned money on seeing her when she didn’t want me there.
Instead, I was going home with Jellie to New Hampshire.
Unlike my mother, Jellie had two parents who worried about her.
They called often, and I’d met them both on Parents’ Weekend last month.
Her mother invited me to dinner with them and included me in the other things they did.
I tried to decline because I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me.
I hated to be a charity case, but the way she’d insisted made it impossible.
I’d come here in hopes of getting a journalism degree and writing a book, like the many I’d lost myself in over the years. But I had never imagined I’d find somewhere that I fit. It was as close to feeling at home as I’d ever felt.
Noa
Age Twenty-Two
Ransom: How’s the college graduate?
Of course he’d know the exact moment that our commencement ended. He’d have looked it up, taken the time to think about it. Remember me. We rarely went a week without texting. If I went more than six days without sending him a smart-ass comment, he’d check in with me, asking if I was alive.
Me: Not sure if she’s ready to be tossed into the adult world.
I answered him truthfully. If I thought about it too hard, my anxiety would take over.
The diploma in my hand had gotten me a position as a junior editor at a publishing house in New York City.
They’d helped me find an apartment that I could afford, and the senior editor I’d be working under was friendly, helpful, and not difficult to look at.
Arden Neilson was four years older than me—tall, tanned, blond, and charming.
Ransom: You, of all people, are ready to adult.
Me: At least one of us believes that. Keep telling me more lies. It helps.
Jellie waved me over to where she stood with her family. She’d gotten a position at a digital design company in Boston, and we’d be parting ways for the first time in four years. That was also causing a bit of panic.
Ransom: I don’t lie. At least not to you. You’re ready.