Prologue
Lucy
The First Summer,Seven years ago
She’s not coming.
Logically, I know this. The program starts tonight at 7 and dad said she’s in LA and that she has to work and can’t take time off.
But what if she could? What if, miraculously, one of the other servers decided to cover my mom’s shift at the restaurant so she could see me in tonight’s talent show?
I googled it and a flight from LA to Baltimore takes at least five hours, and since it’s after 3 p.m. now, she’s not coming.
I know this.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
When my dad sat me down at the beginning of last summer and told me he and mom were getting divorced, it hurt like a sharp pain to my heart. Divorces are complicated and messy. They always end up with the kid being pulled in too many directions. At least, that’s the way it seems for my friends whose parents are split up. Alyssa has to go to four different places on Christmas Day alone.
But it hasn’t been that way for me. My mom left on a trip out west to see her sister fourteen months ago, and I haven’t seen her since.
I’ve been at camp this whole summer, and I’ve barely heard a word from her. Not that we talked regularly during the school year, but still. I’ve gotten a couple texts, and a GIF on the Fourth of July, but that’s it. The mid-summer talent show is tonight and I’m dancing with my best friends. My mom promised she’d be here.
But she’s not coming.
I should be used to her absence by now. But even before they split up, my mom was never someone I could count on. She was always busy with something, always off on some adventure. When I was really little, I loved that about her. When I was six, she left us for a month or two for an artist’s residence in Washington. She made pottery and wore bracelets that jingled. And then she went through a phase where she was a beauty influencer—she had a blog and everything. I don’t think she had much of a following, but I used to love to play with her makeup. After that, she became a personal trainer. And after that, I lost count. Well, at least until she left for good.
I don’t remember all the details, or all the fights. But what I do remember is that feeling of hope. Every time she would try something new, she was so sure that would be the thing that made her happy.
But it never did. I guess my dad and I never did either. What I know for sure is that I don’t want to be like my mom. I don’t want to spend my life chasing happiness. I’m only thirteen, but I know exactly what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I have a plan to make it happen. But I’m far away from home right now, so my ten-year plan isn’t offering me a whole lot of comfort. And I can’t raid the freezer for chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream, which is always my go-to in situations like this.
I kick the dirt in front of me and walk farther into the woods. Alyssa and Bitsy are at the craft cabin making t-shirts for our performance tonight, but I just needed to be alone for a bit. Nothing makes sense right now, and everything sucks.
But even I know that’s not true. I’m old enough to realize that even though my mom ditched us to find herself, my life is still pretty good. My dad loves me. We live in a beautiful condo. All my needs are met and then some. I know I’m lucky. Things could be a lot worse. I get that.But today still sucks, I think to myself, as tears track down my cheeks. All I need is some peace and quiet and a little time to myself to have a good cry.
I fish in my pocket for my earbuds, knowing that the only thing capable of helping me kick this funk is the melodious sound of my boyfriends: Harry, Liam, Louie, Zane, and Niall.
I press play on my phone, but it isn’t One Direction that I hear. It’s Caleb Whitman.
* * *
Whit,age 13
“Shit-damn-Christ-all-fucking-mighty,” I howl, stubbing my toe on a rock. The wilderness is a treacherous place. Especially for a fat kid on the run.
I check my watch. If we timed it right, I just need to hide here for four more minutes and thirty-three seconds. I can do that. Easy-peasy.
“What the heck are you doing here?”
Before I look up, I know just who that sharp voice belongs to. I can imagine the scowl on her pretty face and her hand resting on her hip. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
And she hates my guts.
“Caleb Whitman, I asked you a question.”
“Jesus, Lucy, keep your voice down. And why do you care what I’m doing here, anyway? I’ll be leaving in,” I glance at my watch, “…four minutes and seven seconds.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be swimming in the lake right now? I thought your cabin was the last one to go?”
