Prologue
Alex
“Whatdoyouthinkabout when you go to sleep at night, Alex?”
“Hmm? What?”
“When you go to sleep? Do you just fall right to sleep, or do you, you know, think about something to help you?”
I blink and frown as I stare up at the bright blue sky. Next to me, Nico shifts uncomfortably, and I can tell he’s about to apologize. He does that a lot, and it’s the last thing I want. So I answer quickly with the first thought that comes to mind, even though it’s not the entire truth. “Oh, um, well, I guess I just fall right to sleep. Doesn’t everyone?”
I turn my head toward him. He’s lying a foot or so away from me, staring up at the sky like I had been. A breeze blows through, ruffling his curly dark hair.
His expression tightens, and I see his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “I don’t,” he says. And I think he wants to say more, but then he hesitates.
“You were snoring away last time you slept over,” I tease, and that earns me exactly the reaction I’d hoped for—he turns his head to look at me, rolling his beautiful green eyes, and then he sticks his tongue out at me.
I should probably have said something else, though, because despite his silly response and eye roll, his expression almost immediately turns sad. He shifts back to look up at the sky again as a frown settles on his lips.
“I sleep better at your house than at mine,” he says after another few seconds. Then his voice gets much quieter. “When I’m at home, some nights it seems like I barely sleep at all.”
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes when I play a story in my head, it helps. Distracts me. All those other voices stop screaming at me for a little while. Know what I mean?”
He knows I don’t. But I nod anyway. “Yeah, I can see that.”
I’m still staring at him, but he’s looking at the sky. He bends his knees, his bare feet sliding through the thick grass, and he brings his hands back behind his head, the short sleeves of his shirt riding up toward his shoulders. The bruise on his upper arm—the one I noticed yesterday but hadn’t said anything about—is just visible now. Deep purple and black.
I swallow and turn my head to look up at the sky again.
“What’s your story about?” I ask.
He’s quiet for several long seconds. Then he says, “This.”
I almost snort a laugh, but instead, my chest tightens. “Your story is about us wasting our summer away doing nothing while we lie in the grass and stare up at the sky?”
“No,” he says, and his voice sounds a little small when he adds, “Well, actually, sometimes it is.”
A wave of guilt rushes through me, because I certainly hadn’t meant to tease him. I start to apologize, but he continues before I can.
“We should go back. I’m gonna get in trouble if I don’t get all my chores done.”
“I can help you,” I offer, but he shakes his head, which is histypical response.
“He won’t like it if he knows I had you over.” Nico pushes himself up on his elbows, and I catch him grimacing. “Besides, don’t you have work this afternoon anyways?”
If only he knew I’d gladly drop all of my other responsibilities if it meant he wouldn’t get in trouble. Still, I copy him, pushing myself up off the warm ground. I dust my palms on my shorts. “Yeah. Mom’s getting ready for that big art show she’s organizing in Omaha this weekend, and she needs me to help her pack up her truck this afternoon. She’ll be gone all weekend.”
“I can’t believe she’s leaving you home alone.”
We stand up together and grab our shoes, then start walking down the hill, still barefoot. It’s about half a mile back to his house, and then my house is another mile and a half down the road.
“She says I’m responsible enough now that I’ve been ‘officially a teenager’ for several months.”
Nico laughs. “Has shemetyou?” He laughs again and then adds, “So, when’s the party, and why haven’t I been invited?”
I’m grinning, but I don’t answer. There’s no party, and he knows it. I am actually a pretty responsible kid, even with as much grief as I give my mom.
