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“She dropped something off for you.” His mother went into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “She wouldn’t tell me what it was. She said you would understand.”

His mom came back carrying a cookie sheet-sized package wrapped in paper. And he did understand. “My guess is it’s a vision board. I helped her create one, then told her I didn’t have one. She probably thought if I believed in them, I ought to have one too.”

While he took off the wrapping paper, his mother peered around his side, watching. “Marlowe and I spoke for a bit. When you told me she was a roadie for a hard rock band, you should have mentioned that it was a Christian rock band.” She held up her hands. “Still not my favorite type of music, but I do think it makes a difference. And the purple stripes everyone put in their hair weren’t about reading auras; they were about showing that when you have Christ with you, everyone’s aura is royal. She seems quite religious.”

Yeah. Funny how that had happened. And that would teach him to give Marlowe a backstory without her permission. The girl was positively turning herself into a saint. “How long did the two of you talk?”

“Oh, for a while. She’s very…” His mother seemed to be searching for the right word.

Jace’s brain supplied a few of his own. Beautiful. Tempting. Determined not to be a bad girl.

“Vivacious,” his mother said.

She was that too. Jace added one more adjective when he saw what she put on his vision board: Thoughtful.

Because it wasn’t a blank board. Under the title “Jace’s vision board”, she’d printed a dozen affirmations. I’m important. I’m a supportive friend. I’m a hard worker—and in the middle of them all was a sticker that said: I’m number one.

His mother cocked her head as she read the messages. “That’s so nice of her. But aren’t vision boards supposed to show your goals? Is she saying you’re not these things and they should be your goals?”

“No, she’s saying I’ve worked on goals for so long, I’ve lost sight of these things.”

It was her way of telling him that he was enough. And he appreciated it.

His mother picked up the wrapping paper and took it to the garbage. “I lent Marlowe my apple peeler and corer for her pies. She said she’s looking forward to having a baking day on Friday.”

And there was another adjective to describe Marlowe. Pretender. He headed to his room, texting her.

Jace: Thanks for the vision board. I’m glad you see those things in me.

After a moment, she wrote back. You should see them too.

He went to his bed and lay down, suddenly feeling like he was back in high school when the two of them messaged each other.

Jace: So you were a roadie for a Christian hard rock band? How does that fit into your bad girl persona?

Marlowe: I gave them up, didn’t I? Nigel and the Disciples needed me to fill their water bottles, and I just walked away. Total bad girl move.

Mmm-hmm. Why did Marlowe want his mother to like her? Was she just trying to disprove everything he’d said about her on principle?

Maybe Marlowe thought his mother would spread rumors about her around town. He should have let Marlowe know that his mother wasn’t the gossipy type. Generally, she lived by the rule that if you didn’t have something nice to say about someone, you shouldn’t say anything at all. Although Jennifer had clearly been the exception to that rule.

Jace: My mom told me she lent you the apple peeler. Have you tried baking any pies yet?

Marlowe: Delancey is coming over after work on Friday to help me make them.

Jace: Has she ever baked a pie?

Marlowe: No, but she likes to cook, so I think we’ll be okay.

Liking to cook and knowing how to bake pies were different things.

Jace: You might want to check online to see if you can hire someone to do it for you.

Marlowe: You have no faith, which is why you never would’ve made it as a roadie for Nigel and the Disciples.

True. He laughed and continued messaging her.

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