“Your tie is crooked.” Mom leans one shoulder against the door frame and gives a disapproving nod as she looks at my throat.

“Come here.”

I inch away from my dresser and Mom undoes the knot.

“You look nice,” she says.

“Except for the tie.”

Mom’s lips tilt up and she slides the tie to measure it against my chest. “Except for the tie. How do you feel?”

“Good.”

Lines worry her eyes and she strains to hold the smile. “I know the doctor cleared you to start practicing, but I think you should wait another week or two. Just to be sure everything healed correctly.”

Mom expertly weaves the tie into a knot and tightens it up to my throat. She stares at it for a second before letting her hand touch my cheek—a rare physical gesture for both of us.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

She withdraws. “I talked to your brother again this morning. He asked how you were doing.”

Mark knows how I’m doing. We’ve talked on the phone every day since I was released from the hospital. Mark must still be feeling awkward talking to Mom and looking for the easiest conversation to have. I busy myself with buttoning my cuffs. “What did you tell him?”

“That you’re stubborn like your father and wouldn’t tell me if you were in pain.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Mom fiddles with her pearls. “If we had listened to you that morning…If we had listened to you weeks before…If I had stood up to your father when Mark told us…none of this would have happened.”

“It’s okay.” I wish they had listened to me the morning Beth ran away. I wish they had listened to me weeks before when I told them I cared for her. I wish Mom had stood up to Dad and kept Mark in our family, but none of that happened. Even if it did, there’s no telling if it would have stopped the nightmare in motion.

Beth ran away because living in Groveton terrified her. She would have run regardless of what happened between us and because I love her, I would have followed.

Mom sighs and falls into social mode.

“Mark’s coming home for dinner on Sunday. I thought we could keep it simple. Just me, you, Mark…hopefully your father.”

“Sounds great.” Even though we both know Dad will go into town while Mark is home.

Dad still refuses to acknowledge Mark exists.

Nothing much has changed in my parents’ marriage. Mom’s choosing me and Mark, and Dad dropped the idea of running for mayor.

But he’s still home and they’re still going to counseling. As I said, who knows what the future might bring.

“Don’t forget the corsage.” Mom slips out of the room.

I grab my car keys, the red rose wrist corsage, and head out to the garage. From the corner of my eye, I see Dad sitting behind his desk in his office. We haven’t talked since that day in my bedroom and I guess today won’t be the day either of us breaks our silence.

As I open the door to my Jeep, I hear the squeak of his chair and footsteps against the cement floor. Dad walks to his tool bench and sifts through the boxes of bolts and nuts. “Your mom told me you signed a National Letter of Intent to play for the University of Louisville.”

My muscles tense in preparation for a fight.

The letter required a parent to sign with me and I asked Mom for help. “Yes, sir.”

“She said that you’re planning on playing with the team for a year, then reassessing whether or not you’re ready to go pro.”

Feeling naked without my cap, I rub the back of my head. I could go the easy route and give him a simple yes, but I’m done saying or doing whatever it takes to appease him. “At the end of my freshman year, I’ll decide if I’m good enough to go pro. I’m also going to major in creative writing. I love writing and baseball and I want to give them both a shot.”

Dad slides a drawer full of nails closed and nods his head. “Did you get her a corsage? Girls like flowers.”

I hold the clear box in my hand. “Yeah,” I say, and lift it up so he can see. “You taught me that.”

Beth

SCOTT AND ALLISON’S BEDROOM is too gaudy for my taste. The curtains are blue silk and frilly things like flowers and paintings of flowers decorate every available space. The bed is beyond massive. Scott and Allison don’t have to go to separate rooms if they fight; they can roll over a couple times and be in different zip codes.

I sit on the overly cushioned chair in front of Allison’s vanity and watch as she pins the hair onto my head. I hate the updo, but I can’t complain. An hour ago, she dyed six stripes of temporary black color in my hair. Now my hair is an inch and a half of golden-blond at the roots, black flows over my shoulders, and black stripes even it out. “Scott is going to be pissed.”

“Yes,” she says. “He is, but I’ll deal with that.”

My lips curve and when Allison catches it in the mirror she smiles too. We’ve had an uneasy truce since I came home from the hospital and sometimes I’m scared I’m going to say the wrong thing and send her over the edge. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Allison lifts the curling iron again and shoots me a glare when I fidget. She twists a few strands that refuse to be a part of her plan.

“Because Scott loves you.”

He loved me before, but that didn’t keep her from hating every cell in my body. Not like I helped. “I’m sorry I accused you of trapping him.”

The curling rod pulls at the roots of my hair and I bite my lip. She releases the hair and little ringlets dance on the back of my neck.

Okay, I deserve the pulling—and the ringlets.

Maybe now we’ll be even.

Allison sets the iron back on her vanity. “I’m sorry…well, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you here.”

I blink. That was blunt, yet honest.

“Scott told me about his past, but it was easy to pretend it was a story until you came into the picture. I prefer life clean and simple. You made Scott complicated.”

“Scott was always complicated.”

Allison spritzes hair spray on me. “I know that now.”

Scott clears his throat and both Allison and I turn to see him entering the room. I stand and Scott grins when he sees me in the black strapless dress with a skirt that ends at the knees. He frowns again when he sees my hair.

“I did it,” says Allison without a hint of guilt.

Scott’s eyes widen. “You did that?”

“You told her last weekend she could wear those God-awful shoes with her dress and I told you that you’d regret it.”

I fidget in my official Chuck Taylors. “I’m wearing panty hose.” That was a major concession on my part.

“You should put on a sweater,” Scott says.

“She’s not wearing a sweater.” Allison swats at him. “That would look wretched.”

“I don’t care how she looks. I care how much skin is showing.”

Allison leans forward and Scott kisses her lips. I glance away. They do this more since I came home from the hospital. Not just kissing, but kissing like they mean it. Kissing because they truly love each other. She steps out of the room and Scott shoves his hands in his pockets.

I resist the urge to scratch my healing temple. “She covered the cut with the makeup.”

“I noticed.” He gestures to my left hand.

“How’s it feeling?”

I shrug. “Fine.” The black cast is temporary.

Trent shattered lots of the bones in my hand, wrist, and arm. I’ll have to have another surgery in two weeks. My nondamaged fingers drum against my leg. I thought I could go without asking, but I can’t. “How did Mom’s court appearance go?”

Mom and Trent had preliminary hearings yesterday. I told Scott that I didn’t want to know what happened, but the curiosity is eating me alive.

“It’s okay to want to know.” He meets my eyes while I wrestle with the millions of emotions tugging me in different directions.

I nod and he continues, “She accepted the plea bargain and will be serving six years.

Trent pleaded not guilty against his lawyer’s recommendation. The D.A. thinks they can get him to serve fifteen years.”

A ball of dread forms in my stomach and I sink back into the chair. “Then there will be a trial.”

Scott lowers his head. All of us had hoped to avoid this. “Yes.”

Ryan and I will have to face Trent again when we testify. I take a deep breath to calm myself.

“Did you talk to Mom?” I ask.

He shakes his head and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure how I feel about my mom at all. Six years. My mom is going to prison for six years and I’m the one who put her there.

“You did the right thing, kid.”

“I know,” I say softly. I do know, but it doesn’t mean that it sucks any less. The doorbell rings and the dread starts to fade.

Ryan’s here.

A good-natured smile settles on Scott’s face.

“And Prince Charming awaits.”

“Hey, Scott?”

He motions for me to continue.

“How could you keep the heroin to yourself?

I mean, that’s a pretty big secret. I know that you wanted something to blackmail me with, but it was heroin.”

Scott scratches behind his ear. “I was in the process of hiring private detectives to find you when your aunt called. When I got to the police station, there was no way you were going home with anyone but me. One look at your mom and I knew things were bad.”

He sighs. “She was so jumpy around the cops that I figured she was hiding something. I would have said anything I had to in order to keep you. But I never used the word heroin with you or your mom and I never went into your mom’s apartment. I guessed that she had a secret and I bluffed.”

And I sort of feel like an idiot. A happy idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. “Well played.”

He smirks. “I think so.”

AT THE TWO-MINUTE WARNING, my hands begin to sweat, including the one in the cast.

Indian summer in Kentucky has a strange way of making November feel like July. As we walk to the open field behind the scoreboard, Ryan holds my hand and he doesn’t seem to care it’s cold and wet. People yell and scream from the bleachers and the announcer informs the crowd that our team is at the first and ten—whatever the hell that means.

The other couples nominated for homecoming court stand closer to the lamppost, but I hesitate farther back and Ryan plays along.

“Gwen won’t bother you,” he says.

“I know.” He’s right. She won’t. Since Ryan and I returned to school, she’s been less than her normal stuck-up self, quiet and withdrawn.

She apologized to both me and Ryan. I accepted it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like her or be near her. Perfectly groomed, Gwen stands off to the side of the group. I sort of feel bad for her. Guilt is a horrible emotion. I should know.

“We could go talk to Carly and Brent,” Ryan teases. “She’s a big fan of yours.”

I roll my eyes. “Carly and I were paired as lab partners today.”