“You gave me back my power. You reminded me who I am. Who I’vealwaysbeen. Maybe I forgot, for a time, but you never did. You’ve always been there, and without you, I wouldn't be here. Thank you, my love. I am endlessly grateful to call you mine.” Soft music plays, and she finishes up quickly. “Thank you to my mom and dad and my brothers. I love you. Aiden—you should be in bed by now, but if you’re not, thanks for being my best buddy. And most of all, to my fans. I wouldn’t be here without you!”
The presenters gesture for her to follow them backstage, but Ruby shakes her head and hands off her award. They stand there, dumbfounded as she lifts her satin gown and takes the steps at the front of the stage. Once she's on solid ground, she barrels down the aisle and throws herself into Liam’s arms. He catches her and kisses her thoroughly for everyone to see. The crowd hoots and hollers. When they pull back, there’s a single tear disappearing into my brother’s beard.
I turn toward the bar and hold out my hand. “Pay up, boys. I’m gonna buy me some new hoochie daddy shorts.”
Bonus Epilogue
? Dancing With Your Ghost - Sasha Alex Sloan
Cara
The clock strikes midnight as another day ends and a new one begins. In truth, it’s neither an ending nor beginning. We’re stuck in the middle of everything, unable to move forward.
I don’t sleep for fear that I’ll wake to find him gone, no longer willing to cope with his mind’s betrayal day after day. My Dean died in the fire, trapped beneath the debris that held him captive.
I haven’t seen a flicker of the man I love beyond the sallow depths of his fathomless eyes, though I’ve searched for him every moment since. Days once filled with joy have soured, burned to ash alongside the life and the dreams we’d built together.
I follow the familiar path to the roof of my two-story house in midtown as the crisp autumn air bites at my exposed flesh. The blanket is still right where I left it—where it’s been every day for the last week.
I cocoon myself in the intricately detailed patchwork quilt my mother made for me, grateful I didn’t lose everything in the fire that wiped away half of our existence. The things we lost mean little to me now as I watch my future drift further away with every hour that ticks by. All that remains are my memories, and I hold them close until time or tragedy decides to take those, too.
Cara, 16 years old
My books are spread out across the tabletop in a booth at Rosie’s diner as I stab the eraser end of my pencil into the calculator with more force than necessary. They keep telling us we’ll use this shit later in life, but what do I need to know about derivatives for? Someday I’ll be planting flowers in a greenhouse to sell in that little shop on Main Street if I have my way.
My heart leaps out of my chest as three familiar figures stride past the picture window, stopping just outside the door. Cade Brooks steps inside first, his wavy light brown locks curling over his forehead as he pushes his sleeves up his forearms.
Next comes Miles Barlow, grinning that lopsided grin that has all the girls at school hanging onto his every word. Every girl but me. I have my sights set on the one holding open the door for all of them: Dean Thompson.
His dark hair is effortlessly tousled, pushed back off his forehead like he just wakes up that way. Miles says something I can’t hear, and Dean throws his head back laughing, giving me a glimpse of his perfect white teeth and that smile I wish he’d direct at me someday.
I'm invisible, though. Just the chubby ginger in secondhand clothes who sits in the back corner of the class, unnoticed by the masses. It’s easier that way—at least when I’m invisible I don’t have to face any public scrutiny. I learned that the hard way a long time ago.
The three of them each take a stool at the counter, oblivious to the weird girl ogling them from the corner booth. I shake my head and swallow the last bite of pie. Convinced that I won't get anything else done with the three hottest guys in school sitting less than ten feet away, I gather up my things and leave a tip for Rosie on the table.
I cradle my books against my chest and keep my head down as I stride past the long counter towards the exit. As I’m passing the guys, Miles spins on his stool and his long leg whips out in front of me. I pinch my eyes shut, bracing for impact as all of my things go tumbling to the ground. My palms hit the floor with a violent thwack, and tears threaten to spill as pain radiates through my knees.
I sniffle and sit back on my heels, dusting off my jeans. I don’t want to look up and see what’s likely to be three very amused faces at my expense, so I search the floor for my pencils instead.
“Way to go, Miles,” a voice says.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Dean crouching down in front of me. We both reach for the pencil at the same time and our fingertips brush ever so slightly. My breath hitches at the brief contact.
“Thanks,” I murmur, looking anywhere but at Dean as the humiliation sinks in.
He stacks my books and holds them out to me, making it impossible not to look at him.
“Sorry about that. Miles is a dipshit.” He grins and my stomach dips in response. So that’s what it’s like to have Dean Thompson smile at you.
“Oh. Uh. It’s fine.”
He glances down at my textbook. “AP Calculus? Impressive.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m passing.” My eyes widen as the words slip free. I quickly pinch my lips shut. If I keep talking I’ll eventually put my foot in my mouth and that’s the last thing I need to add to this humiliating encounter. Then Dean laughs and that sound sends a sudden warmth flooding through me. I madeDeanlaugh.
The bell chimes above the door, and in walks Missy McDonald and her clones. I quickly snag my books from Dean’s hands and rush past them, hoping they didn’t notice me. “Thanks. I gotta go.”
“Hey. Wait.”
