I flinched, and my stomach crumpled in on itself. “So you’ve been friends with me this whole time because I hated Carson? Because I was something he couldn’t have?” I shook my head, trying to understand. “What’re you even saying?”

  “No, course not.” Ethan stood and started to pace, kicking a dirty pair off gym shorts on his bedroom floor before he turned toward me. He closed his eyes and exhaled, then opened them again, staring into my eyes. “It’s just. I always liked that it was you and me, ya know? I mean, sure, we have other friends. We’ve dated, but. . .I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s changing now.”

  “It is. We’re older. I’ll be going to school soon. But just because I realize Carson is different than I thought, that maybe he’s not the bad guy I thought he was, doesn’t mean things with us have to change. Aren’t you the one all these years that’s been telling me he wasn’t so bad? To give him a chance?”

  “Yeah, but I never thought you’d actually listen,” he muttered. He reached up, clasping his hands behind his neck. “But now. . .”

  “What?”

  “You like him, right? Like, really like him.” He searched my expression for the truth, his gaze earnest.

  A part of me was afraid of what he’d see. “I. . .I don’t know,” I stammered.

  But I did know. I absolutely knew. I was just afraid to admit it. For some reason, telling Ethan the truth felt like a betrayal.

  “Mia. . .”

  “Maybe?” I said like it was a question.

  He swallowed, then glanced away for a moment. “It just feels weird. I’ve been hanging out with Beth more, and you’re starting to like Carson. Both of you will be leaving at the end of the summer, and I’ll still be here. . .” he trailed off, staring at something on the wall opposite him.

  I let him process his thoughts because he was right. A lot was changing. If anyone knew that, it was me. All I had to do was spend an afternoon at home to realize just how much things had changed. And it frightened me too, but I couldn’t just ignore it.

  “I see the way he looks at you,” Ethan muttered.

  My head whipped toward him, my heart in my throat. “What do you mean?”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “Come on, Mia. It’s not even the kiss on the cheek he purposely did to annoy me. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. Like you’re the best thing in the room, the same way he’s looked at you for years. He’s liked you since the day you met at the beach. But you were always mine. My friend. Right from the start.”

  I swallowed. Hard. My mouth went dry. “I can be both,” I said, leaving the insinuation hanging between us—both Carson’s girl and your best friend.

  “What if it’s supposed to be us?”

  I blinked. “Us?” A weird feeling shimmied down my spine.

  Ethan nodded, his mouth set. His expression was more serious than I’d ever seen it. Reaching out, he slid a hand to the base of my neck, and I froze.

  “Ethan. . .?”

  “Have you ever thought about us being together? Before today I never really did, but when I saw you with Carson the other day, it made me think. You’ve been my best friend for nine years. All this time, you’ve been the one there for me. We’ve shared everything together. It’s always been us. What if it’s supposed to be us now?”

  I wanted to shake my head, No, to talk some sense into him. But what happened next was so fast I couldn’t stop it. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alarm bells blared in my head as Ethan’s lips moved overtop of mine. They were warm and soft. But they felt all wrong. It was totally weird, like when you took a sip of your drink, expecting it to be something else entirely, and the surprise of it—the reality of it—hit you in a single instant of recognition and you cringe inside.

  My palms made contact with his chest, ready to shove him off of me when he pulled away.

  A thud outside his door drew our attention, momentarily saving us from post-kiss awkwardness. And when I glanced to the sound, his door swung softly on its hinge, like someone had nudged it open. I swore I saw movement in the hall, so I got up and ran to check, but found it empty.

  The house was eerily quiet as I turned back to him. “Um. . .” I started, stupidly, because how did you tell your best friend in the whole world that kissing him was like kissing a paper sack?

  “Ugh. That was gross,” Ethan blurted. He grimaced and furiously wiped at his mouth. “You kiss like my grandma.”

  A giggle escaped my lips, and I had to slap a hand over my mouth to prevent full-on hysteria because the relief I felt was so monumental. “Seriously? My hand kisses better than you.”

  Ethan pulled a face. “Doubtful, but what was I thinking?”

  “You tell me.”

  Ethan grinned, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “Did you get that out of your system?”

  “Totally. Please forget I ever said anything. I was so wrong.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  We laughed, and then it grew silent again.

  Ethan picked at a loose thread on his bedspread when he said, “Sorry. I think I was just jealous when I saw you and Carson together. Not because I like you. That kiss cleared that up.” He shuddered, and I whipped his pillow off the bed and threw it at his face. After he caught it, he laughed and added, “We haven’t been hanging as much, and I’m dreading you leaving next year. I guess when I saw you guys getting along, I freaked. Call it temporary insanity.”

  I shook my head. “You’re such an idiot, but I’m sure Beth will be relieved because I think she really likes you, and you two will be super cute together if you’d get your crap together and finally, officially, ask her out to more than just the dance.”

  He widened his eyes comically. “After that kiss, I am.”

  “Ha, ha. Just don’t try that again,” I said, motioning between us. “Ever. Or you’ll be one ball short.”

  Ethan cupped his crotch. “No worries.”

  “Did Carson ask you yet?”

  “To the dance?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I glanced down to my hands. “Not yet.”

  As if reading my thoughts, Ethan stood and squeezed my shoulder. “He will.” Then he headed for the hall.

  “Hey, where are you going?” I asked. Now that we returned to normal, he was leaving?

  “To Lysol my mouth. Be right back.”

  I grabbed the pillow again and threw it, but he jumped out of the way, and his laughter rang out, down the hallway.

  ◆◆◆

  Up until this point, the Angel Program had been a breeze. But today, not so much.

  Carson and I had gotten along so well. But somehow, in the last three days, we went from like to hate—kissing to the silent treatment.

  It started with him standing me up yesterday morning. We were supposed to meet with Mrs. Parks in the afternoon, after Carson’s practice, but he never showed. He never even answered my texts until later that evening, and even then, his response was the equivalent of a virtual shrug.

  He forgot—his exact words.

  Lucky for him, I covered for him and told her that his swim meet ran late. It was risky. Mrs. Parks could’ve easily made her way to the high school pool to see if the team was still there, but she didn’t question it. Instead, she was just thrilled to have the boxes filled with the Angel Tree gifts all accounted for, wrapped, and with my help, piled inside of her car. I updated her on the adopted families and assured her that we had all presents packaged and ready to go. All we needed was to shop for groceries, divvy them up, then deliver everything.

  But as I waited for him that afternoon at the Sweet Water Market, impatiently checking my time on the phone, I realized that he wasn’t going to show.

  Sick of waiting, I sent him a disgusted text and did the grocery shopping myself. Instead of enjoying it like I had when we went shopping together for the gifts, I hated every single solitary minute. I had to somehow navigate two carts, then park them to go and grab a third. By the time I was done, I was exhausted and made a point to call Ethan to ensure Carson wasn’t home. The last thing I wanted was to see him at the moment. I didn’t want a confrontation and couldn’t trust myself not to say something stupid.

  When I pulled into the driveway, Ethan was already waiting for me. He helped me unload everything into the house, which we divided among the boxes. Luckily, Mrs. Brooks had made room in her refrigerator for the cold items like the deli trays and Christmas hams.

  The entire time we worked, Ethan continued flicking worried looks my way, which I tried studiously to ignore.

  “This is ridiculous. He should be here,” Ethan said.

  “No kidding.” It was all I could think of to say.

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. He helped you this whole time. To just stop now is weird. I heard Mom talking to him this morning, too. She asked him if he was supposed to help you today and he said you didn’t need his help. That you’d handled it. Handled it, my a—”

  “It’s fine.” I snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? You’re here now, and I’m sure he’ll be here tonight to help deliver. We’re supposed to use his Jeep.”

  “But I thought you two were getting along? What happened?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said through gritted teeth.

  When we placed the final bag in the freezer, Ethan turned to me. “Hey, Beth and I are supposed to go out tonight, but you and I can catch lunch if you want?”

  I shook my head and tried for a small smile. “Nah. I’m tired. I’ll just go home until later when we’re supposed to deliver everything, then I’ll be back.”

  “Okay. But call if you want company.”

  “Will do,” I said, even though I had no intentions of doing so. The only thing I wanted was to wallow away in my bedroom.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The minute I got home, my day went from bad to worse.

  The living room was a war zone. Clothes were strewn everywhere, along with what appeared to be a set of bed sheets, and what I recognized as my father’s luggage. In the middle of the mess was the Christmas tree, lying haphazardly, half out of the box, along with the plastic bins of ornaments, like my mom had decided to put it up after all, then gave up.

  Shouting came from the master bedroom down the hall, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened—clearly, my parents had gotten into some kind of epic fight. ‘Tis the season.

  I sighed as I picked my way through the living room, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when my gaze landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen table.

  Something pulled at me, urged me over. I reached out and grabbed the envelope on top with shaking hands. Sure enough, University of North Carolina Chapel Hill was printed in the left-hand corner in bold letters.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, and my parents shouting faded to the background as I said a little prayer, then tore it open. With shaking hands, I pulled out the letter inside. And my heart dropped.

  Dear Miss Mia Randalls,

  We at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill regret to inform you. . .

  I dropped my hands, and my vision blurred with tears. I didn’t need to read the rest of the letter to know what it said. Those opening words were enough.

  We regret to inform you. . .

  We regret to inform you. . .

  Five tiny words that were like a knife in my back.

  I didn’t get in. And while UNC wasn’t my first choice, I had yet to hear from Duke or any of the other colleges. Early admission was reserved for the exceptional, I told myself. For people with talent like Carson. Not for people like me.

  I ground my teeth as I tore the letter to shreds, then threw the remnants in the air, watching them flutter around me like confetti. When the sound of footsteps grew closer, I broke free from my pity party to listen as they stopped, just outside the kitchen.

  My parents probably hadn’t realized I came home yet, I mused. I should tell them. It was the right thing to do, so they didn’t say something they didn’t want me to hear. But I couldn’t seem to move my feet. I couldn’t seem to care.

  Then my father’s voice burst through the walls and the knife twisted a little deeper. “I am so sick of this. Sick of everything. It’s the same old crap,” he yelled.

  I flinched, as though he said those words to me and not my mom.

  “No one’s forcing you to stay, Dan,” Mom shouted, her voice cutting like a knife. “You can leave at any time.”

  “Fine,” Dad barked. “I want a divorce.”

  His voice cut, blade sharp. Everything went silent.

  I had expected it. Hadn’t I? I had anticipated this moment for a long time, almost hoped for it these past months because I couldn’t take one more second of the fighting. But now it was here, and I wished it away.

  The answering silence was deafening. All I wanted to do was erase the last ten seconds, wipe it from my brain. I wanted the fighting back, the screaming matches, and the finger-pointing. As awful as those things were, at least they meant I had both of my parents. Because all that would remain once those things were gone was. . .nothing—silence. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure which would be worse.

  Two days before Christmas and my parents wanted a divorce. The thought crushed me, made my insides twist with dread.

  With purpose, I slowly walked into the living room on wooden legs. When I entered, I saw my parents, standing face-to-face, limbs trembling with anger, faces contorted in rage, and a pain so deep it made my throat ache. It took them a whole minute to realize I was standing there.

  I wanted to shout, to yell like they’d been yelling, Remember me, your daughter? I live here. I’m part of this family, too. But the moment Dad’s gaze turned to mine, his eyes widened in shock first, then shame, and Mom’s mask crumpled as she cried.

  And I remembered that no matter how badly this hurt, it wasn’t about me. Not everything was about me, and I couldn’t save them. Not with good behavior, straight As, or early admission to Duke. My parents’ relationship had been over a long time ago. It just took them this long to admit it. Nothing I could say would change that.

  “Mia,” my mother hurried forward, her hands fluttering out in front of her in the way they often did when she was upset or nervous.

  I took a step back, holding a hand out like a linebacker’s stiff-arm. Luckily, she got the hint and backed off.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Honey, we need to talk.”

  “Do you think I’m deaf? Or blind? Like I can’t see what’s happening? Like I think all of this is normal?” I asked, waving madly around the room.

  “Mia. . .” Dad tried to grab my arm, but I wrenched it away and sidestepped him.

  “I told you this was affecting her,” my mother said, her eyes blazing as she stared at my father, accusation oozing from her pores.

  “Oh, and I suppose it’s all my fault?” he snapped.

  “Well, it sure ain’t all mine,” Mom shouted.

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  I growled as I shoved my hands into my hair, yanking slightly at the roots, needing the slight discomfort as a reminder that I was, in fact, alive and standing in the living room with them. I was there—flesh and blood—they were just so blinded by their own anger to see me.

  I squeezed my eyes closed as their bickering escalated, before I snapped, “Stop! For the love of all that’s holy. Just. Stop.”

  The room fell silent. No denial, no arguments. Just silence.

  Mom’s stunned expression at my outburst morphed into one of mortification. I never raised my voice to them, never lost my cool. They were so used to me being the “perfect” daughter. I did everything right to the point of exhaustion. The day I tried to choke Carson was probably the only time in my life I could remember doing anything worth punishing.

  I didn’t wait for an answer or a response. Instead, I bounded up the stairs, letting the thudding sound of my footsteps be my closing argument, retreating into the haven of my room. Only a couple minutes later, I was antsy. I couldn’t sit still, and the knot in the back of my throat moved to my heart when my gaze landed on the mini Christmas tree lit up on my desk.

  My stomach wrenched. Why wasn’t Carson responding to my texts or calling me back? Why’d he stand me up? Not once, but twice.

  I flopped onto my bed and laid there, staring at the little plastic bulbs hanging from the artificial pine. I finally got my wish for silence, and now that I had it, it was ominous—the resounding death knell of my parent’s marriage and our life together as a family.

  Unable to take it any longer, I got up, grabbed my phone and jacket, and headed for my car. I drove to the beach and parked in one of the public beach access parking lots. In the summer, these spots were like gold, but in late December, there wasn’t a car in sight.

  I made my way up the old, wooden planked path, over the giant dunes, and toward the beach. The sound of the waves greeted me before the sight of the vast blue. But once I crested the stairs, the dark waters greeted me. Foamy whitecaps crashed to shore in a familiar and soothing cadence, and I knew from experience the dark waters would be cold as ice.

  I watched for a moment, pushing my thoughts aside and letting the ocean soothe me before I descended the stairs and made my way toward the shoreline, my Converse chucks sinking into the damp sand the whole way.

  I stood until the toes of my shoes were just far enough away from the water’s edge, not to risk getting soaked. I don’t know how long I stared out into the horizon before the dam on my thoughts broke, but once it did, everything came crashing in like a high tide.

  My parent’s marriage was over.

  I got rejected from UNC.

  I still haven’t heard from Duke, but it was probably a “no.”

  Carson was avoiding me.

  Soon, high school would be over, and where would I be?

 

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