In exchange, he stole my heart.
The back door squeaks almost inaudibly as I open it and step out onto the terrace. The sun still hasn’t made it over the rooftops, but the sky is clear and blue and promises a hot summer day.
The perfect last day of school. Starting tomorrow, nothing else counts for a few weeks, only ballet. I have a whole summer of extra lessons so I can prepare for my ballet school audition.
But today is Caleb’s day. For him, it really is the last day of high school ever. He graduates today at noon.
I start to feel sentimental. It will be strange to go back to school in the autumn without my brother. Without his friends. Without Jase.
I shake off the thought, because for today, they’re all still here. They’re getting their diplomas this morning, and later we’re going to celebrate their graduation, all together.
And then... who knows what the summer will bring?
Anything is possible.
Barefoot, I walk across the dry grass in our little garden. It tickles the bottoms of my feet, and the rungs of the treehouse ladder feel rough as I climb up and push open the door. I’ve spent more time here in the last few months than I usually do.
I can’t just hide my secrets up here for Jase to find. I have to be here when I write them down too. Anything else would feel wrong. Incomplete.
I see the note immediately. It’s sitting on the wooden crate that I brought up here a few weeks ago to store the wool blankets in for the summer. In their place, two light linen bedspreads are now folded neatly on the cushions that cover the floor.
The note is the only thing that doesn’t look tidy in my little refuge, even though I folded it nicely before I left it here for himtwo days ago. He crumpled the paper into a little ball, and I have to laugh, because I know very well that he did it on purpose. He does it because he knows that, every time, I will meticulously smooth out the note I get from him and refold it perfectly before he gets it back.
He messes up my order, and I organize his chaos. There’s a twisted kind of poetry in that.
My heart skips a beat as I reach for the ball of paper. I pause for a second, my hands trembling, tempted for a moment just to ignore the note. To not read his reply but throw the message away and never give him or his secrets another thought.
How could I ask him that question? What the hell has gotten into me?
But I know the answer already. I didn’t think about it, and at the same time I thought about it far too much. He stole my heart, and I want to know if he’s giving me at least a little piece of his. Just a tiny one.
Snap out of it and read the note already!
The voice in my head is bossy and loud, and it’s right. I have to read the note. I can’t just ignore it. I don’t want to do that.
My pulse races as I smooth out the paper and see Jase’s messy handwriting. It’s much too familiar now.
My breath catches as I read the words that are written there.
What do you see when you look at me?
Freckles. Seven of them on your nose. Eleven on the right cheek. Fifteen on the left cheek.
—J
Chapter 2
Zoe
Sometimes I wish I were more like Caleb. Then I wouldn’t worry about what other people think. I would make decisions for myself and not constantly wonder if I were being fair to everyone. Why can’t I be more like him and less like me?
—P
Three hours after my arrival, my suitcases are empty, and I make a mental note to ask Dad if he can come get them as soon as possible, because my room is definitely too small to hold them all. My clothes are stowed in the wardrobe; my leotards, tights, and ballet skirts are in the top drawer of the dresser; and my ballet slippers, toe caps, and pointe shoes are in the bottom drawer. My resistance bands for stretching, exercise mats, and foam rollers are in a large wooden crate next to my desk, and my hair bands and clips are neatly tucked inside a little box on the dresser, under the mirror.
The books I need for theory lessons are lined up in a neat row on the dresser, sorted by size. My notebook and iPad sit on my desk, alongside my laptop. In the middle of the desktop, the grayring binder is lying open, showing the appointments that I have scheduled for today.
Everything is exactly as I want it. Aside from the fairy lights, which I am currently holding in my hands. I want to hang them up over the bed, because I have a penchant not only for order but also for subdued lighting.
