Heat surged in my chest, but I bit my tongue.
I snatched the necklace, stuffed it into my pocket, and climbed back onto my bike.
The clerk’s words bothered me more than I would admit. It was the same thing I’d been telling myself. Whenever Elise came to my rundown apartment, or when we squeezed onto that tattered twin-sized bed on the floor. Or when we’d share a slice of pizza—deep dish, my favorite—because I couldn’t afford two. She’d always hug me with gratitude, and that joy carved something deep inside my heart.
It ate at me because she deserved more. A lot more than I could give.
At school, I’d look her up online—photos of her looking breathtaking at some ball at a place called The Orchid. She looked like a fairy tale princess. Her brothers, her father, all dressed in tuxes, fancy shoes, and expensive watches.
What could I ever give to the Anderson princess except a promise I couldn’t keep?
And now, time was running out. She would head back to New York after the quarter.
My heart clenched. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t imagine a world without her, without the scent of her roses, her joyful laughter, her warmth beside me. I couldn’t imagine a future where I couldn’t buy her the dream house she wanted—with the music room, the library, and the indoor garden with windows big enough to see the stars.
The depressing thoughts kept me company as I entered the iron gates of Hollow Gardens. I patted my pockets, making sure the pendant and Geraldine’s truffles didn’t fall out.
We were supposed to meet here to celebrate her sweet sixteen.
The wind picked up out of nowhere. Smothering clouds—gray like nightmares—pressed down upon us. Looked like it’d snow again soon. I shivered and hurried to our elm tree.
But she wasn’t there.
I checked my watch. Five minutes late. She couldn’t have left, could she?
Something twisted inside my gut, like watching the seams unravel in a perfectly knitted sweater—all the hard work, wasted.
“I’m thinking too much,” I muttered, and sat beneath the bare branches.
I traced our words on the tree, thinking about the only girl I’d ever love.
I wasn’t ready to give her up. I didn’t know if I ever would.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
Worried, I paced before the tree. Cold sweat dotted my brows.
If only I had a phone, I could text her, see if she was okay. Maybe someone needed her at school.
Everything was probably fine. She probably left a message for me at the apartment.
Lead seeped through my veins as I biked home.
When my building came into view, the lead turned to anvils in my shoes.
It was quiet. Unusually so. Nothing in this neighborhood was ever quiet. It was like the Reaper came and took every soul with him.
Nonsense.
My breathing echoed in the damp stairwell as I climbed to the third floor. I turned right, moving past the apartment numbers.
Twelve…thirteen…
I stopped in front of the door that should’ve been number fourteen. It was sixteen now, after Dad changed it for reasons I still didn’t understand. Something about fourteen being unlucky.
The doorknob burned.
The lightbulb flickered overhead, then popped. Little Beatrice cried loudly behind the door.
