I blush instantly, avoiding their gaze. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
They chuckle, nodding, and return their attention to the movie. I close the front door behind me and step outside.
I expect to find her in the backyard, but instead, she’s perched on the porch steps.
“I’m here,” I say. “What’s the emergency?”
“I found a new song on YouTube,” she says excitedly. “I was watching the Ariana concert videos on my dad’s computer—anyway, wehaveto go to the next concert too. I still don’t have a good video ofWhy Try,and the one ofOne Last Timecame out super blurry.”
I sit beside her on the steps, smiling at the memory. We’d gone all the way to Inglewood, thanks to my parents, who always tag along.
Nova had filmed dozens of videos—except when Ariana sangWhy Try.Then, she’d been too caught up dancing and singing at the top of her lungs, making the security guard in our section laugh.
“What song is it?”
I hand her my phone, and she passes me the carton of chocolate milk she’s drinking. As I take a sip, she starts typing in the search bar.
“Actually, it’s an older song, but I’d never heard it. You could learn it for the Christmas recital. It’s by Kelly Clarkson.”
“The one who sangBecause of You?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s also in an Anne Hathaway movie. Want to watch it tomorrow?”
She clicks on the video, the titleBreakawayglowing on the screen.
I nod, reaching for the other end of the phone as she holds it up. “What’s it called?”
The Princess Diaries 2,” she answers. “It looks good.”
I chuckle and hand her the sweatshirt I brought. She gives me a grateful smile as she slips it on.
“Maybe we should watch the first one too, before the second?” I suggest.
She laughs, nodding. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll download them both later so we can watch tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” She beams, then presses play.
Kelly Clarkson’s voice drifts through the porch, the guitar carrying lyrics that sound like a declaration of freedom—a promise to escape, to take flight, to finally live.
I glance sideways at Nova. Her gaze’s fixed on the screen, but her fingers slide into mine. She squeezes once, then lets go, tapping my knee in time with the music.
When the song ends, she turns to me. “Well?”
“It’s perfect for the Christmas recital. I just need to learn it. I’ll download it to my MP3 so you can listen whenever you want. Actually, I’ll get the whole album.”
Her brown eyes light up, and she throws her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”
You are,I think, but I don’t say it. “You’ll have your song tomorrow morning.”
Her smile is radiant. She hops up from the porch, chocolate milk in one hand and my phone in the other. Then, laughing, she spins across the garden, singingBreakawayinto the night.
Amused, I pick up her camera that she left behind on the steps, and press record.
This moment deserves to be remembered. Because this is where Nova Marshall’sbreakawaybegins.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
