There’s agirlsitting there, on the steps of the rickety porch. She’s young—younger than me, though I don’t know by how much. Fair skinned, with the darkest hair I’ve ever seen. It kinda looks blue in the sunlight.
Have Mom and Dad resorted to hiringkidsbecause they couldn’t find another groundskeeper? Is that why she’s here?
Her head is turned down, hair curtaining her face, fingers curled around the tattered edges of a book. I cross my arms over my chest, brows furrowing as I watch her.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand. She startles, jerking so hard her book falls out of her hands and clatters its way down the porch steps. I get my first good look at her face. Small nose, big eyes, soft features. No way has she been hired for anything. She looks like she could use a meal or three—she’s so skimpy it givesmesecond-hand embarrassment.
“You must be Max,” she says quietly, offering me a shy smile. Something tugs at my chest as I watch her lips curve. She’s… cute, kinda in a Bambi way. Small enough to need lots of protection. “I’m Ember. My dad’s the groundskeeper—he got hired last week.”
Now that she mentions it, I do remember Mom telling me we’d have new staff moving in. I was hurrying out on my way to swim practice, so I didn’t really pay attention.
“Oh,” I say dumbly. A lot of my irritation melts out of me as she stands, retrieves her book, and retakes her place on the porch steps. I clear my throat. “So… you’re the groundskeeper’s daughter?”
She casts me a strange look.Right, she just told me she is. I feel weirdly tongue-tied. My eyes zero in on her book. “What are you reading?”
She glances down at the book. “Three Musketeers,” she replies. “By Dumas.”
Irrational anger thins my lips. I’m struggling my way through Fitzgerald, suspended from sports because I can’t read for shit, and she’s readingDumas?Fuck this girl.
I want to turn around and walk away, but something keeps me rooted in place. Curiosity, maybe.
We stare at each other for a few minutes. Her gaze is curious, searching. Mine is annoyed.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Ten.”
Yeah, fuck her. I should walk away, but Istilldon’t. Instead, I jerk my chin at the book. “Is it any good?”
Why am I asking that?It’s not like I read for pleasure. In fact, Ihatereading. Every time I try, I fail. I’m good at a lot of things, but I can’t make sense of most words. They jumble on paper.
She grins. “It has a lot of swordfights. Do you like swordfights?”
“No clue. Never read about them. They look cool on TV, though.”
She lifts up the book. “Wanna borrow it? I’ve read it, like, three times in a row now.”
She’s read itthree times in a row?I repeat: Fuck. Her. I want to say something nasty, but I don’t. Mom didn’t raise me to be mean for no reason.
“I’m not good at reading,” I grudgingly admit.
She blinks. “Oh. How come?”
I lift a shoulder. “Don’t know. Just suck at it.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I can help, if you want. I don’t have much to do but read.”
I frown. “Don’t you go to school?”
“Haven’t enrolled yet. I think I start next week.” She winces. “Dad isn’t super good at those things. He’s better with plants.”
“Hope so, since that’s what he’s getting paid to do.” I wince at the harshness of my own words, just as Ember frowns and gives me another, more uncertain look. I don’t like it at all. I don’t like being mean for no reason. I take a few steps towards her. “How would you help me?”
She shrugs. “I wasn’t too good at reading until last summer. The letters flipped around sometimes. I read a lot, and it got better. Maybe that’ll help you, too.”
That could be a way to pass English and spend more time with her. That way, I’ll be able to get back to swimming… and I might get a friend out of it. Friends are hard in school—they’re needy, annoying, talk shit behind my back, and suck up to my face because they know my dad’s rich. Ember doesn’t look like she cares all that much about money—she’s holding a book that looks like it’s fifth-hand.
“You ever read Fitzgerald?” I ask.
