Chapter 3 Past
The paper bag was already getting damp in my bike basket; the humidity clinging to everything.
As I rode down the road, I couldn't stop thinking about that strange run-in with Nick Newsome — or the article about his brother, Paul.
Suddenly, the Newsome name was swirling through my mind, louder than the cicadas.
I could almost see why this town was so caught up in them—and now, apparently, so was I.
I nearly missed the turn. Focus, I told myself, spotting the Bay Street sign just in time; wiping the sweat from my brow as the old church with the broken bell tower came into view — a sure sign I was getting close to Molly’s.
The houses started getting bigger the farther I went — they all had an antebellum look, with wide wraparound porches and swings painted to match the shutters.
This was always my favorite road in Shay; nothing screamed Southern charm more than old oak trees draped in Spanish moss, swaying like lace curtains in the summer breeze.
As I rounded the curve, the Newsome estate came into view. It was the largest house on the street, sprawling across acres of land with a perfect view of the lake. One of those places you couldn’t help but stare at every time you passed—like it knew it was meant to be revered.
And I’d love to say I was admiring the architecture—the white columns, large ferns—it looked like something straight out of Southern Style Magazine.
But let’s be honest.
I wasn’t looking at the house.
I was looking for something, rather someone.
Of course, I knew it was probably a waste of time. Unless it was a landscaper or a worker, I don’t recall ever seeing any of the family out front.
But still, I coasted past the row of trees and the white fence, just about to give up—
when I saw the car.
Familiar. Blue and white Mustang. Hood up.
I leaned forward, squinting.
No way.
Was this really my lucky day?
He stepped around from the front.
Backwards ball cap. White T-shirt. Worn jeans.
Sweat glistened on his arms, and a smudge of grease marked his jaw—just enough to notice.
Paul Newsome.
And just like that, my stomach fluttered.
I probably should’ve been paying more attention to what I was doing — because he looked up and caught me staring.
We locked eyes for half a second.
And that’s when I nearly wiped out.
I yanked the handlebars to steady myself, heart pounding, trying to act like I hadn’t just been gawking at him like all the other doe-eyed girls in Shay, fawning over a Newsome boy.
I wasn’t sure, but I think I heard him call out “Hey,” but it was probably more like, “Hey, watch it, you’re about to crash!” instead of the “Hey girl, wanna come over?” I was hoping for.
With my heart still racing from the near head-on collision with the ditch, my thoughts went straight to him.
I didn’t know much about him. With a last name like Newsome, you’d think I’d know more—he always seemed…
different. He’s not loud or showy like some of the other guys at school.
I know he plays football, like his brother.
But that was about it. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the thought of him.
I barely had time to pull myself together before I was turning into Molly’s driveway, still trying to regain my composure after locking eyes with Shay’s very own local hero.