This little novella has lived with me much longer than it took to write. These characters took shape in my dreams and while writing other projects. They are the creative shadows of other fantastic characters, and I hope they jumped out on the page for you just as much as they took shape in my heart.
A huge thank you to the SCAG for daily laughs and helpful suggestions for everything I throw at you.
I want to thank my fab SCBWI crit group for your positivity and constructive thoughts for my books.
Singling out Kierney Scott and Sarah Bennett, you two were so helpful in the early stages of SLS, your advice changed the book for the better!
For Chelsea Ichaso and Jen Nadol, I’m grateful for you taking the time to read it from top to bottom and offering some great ideas to bring this book to another level.
As always, big thanks to my family for your support and understanding when I’m lost in thought and when the house isn’t as clean as I’d like.
To all of those at HQDigital, thank you so much for your advice and amazing cover design. We’ve been through eight books together, and I will forever be grateful.
And to my readers, thanks for taking another journey with me. I hope this book sticks with you long after you finish.
To Dad. Now you have to finish this one.
Zoe Walsh dropped her arms on the dark wooden table, tugging at the long sleeves of her gray and white striped shirt. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time that morning. Her foot bounced on the floor as she reached into her bag for her breakfast. She opened the foil wrapping of her Pop Tart and ate half of the sweet pastry before the door to the library opened. She dropped the tart into her lap. She knew better than most that food wasn’t allowed in the library, even during off hours.
Mr. Curtis, the forty-year-old history teacher and Varsity football coach, lumbered past, nodding his full head of caramel brown hair at her in greeting.
‘Morning,’ he said, furiously typing on his cell phone, looking more like half of the kids in the school than a serious teacher. She smiled to herself. That was his way. He was the ‘cool’ teacher. The one who let most infractions slide and allowed Zoe to attend Saturday detention with no questions asked and nothing to atone for.
It was the one place she could find peace. And while sometimes she shared the space with one or two delinquents, most Saturdays were spent alone with Mr. Curtis. He did his work in the library office, and she did hers out in the library, at least for most of the time. After Dad had passed, her grades had slipped to where she almost had to repeat freshman year. Now she was nearly at the end of her junior year, coasting by in the upper fifty percentile of her grade. She was happy there. She preferred to fly under the radar. At least with those grades, she had a shot at getting out of Pioneer Haven. At least from a distance, there would be an excuse for her mom ignoring her.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘We have some company today,’ he said.
Her chest deflated, yet she tried to keep the disappointment from her face.
After Mr. Curtis had walked into the office, Zoe went back to her food. She knew he’d turn a blind eye, and she was starving. Since Mom came home early the night before, Zoe skipped dinner and hid in her room. That morning, she rushed out of the house before her mom woke up, only having a few minutes to grab breakfast on her way out to the school.
Movement from the back of the room caught Zoe’s attention. She turned to see Victor, the janitor, rolling a vacuum cleaner on the second floor of the library. One of the maintenance closets was up there. He lifted the vacuum as if it were a feather and came down the stairs.
‘You again?’ he asked with a crooked smile.
He came up next to her. Zoe had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He was the tallest man she’d ever seen. The hem of his pants rested a good inch above his shoes. Would it have killed Principal Killian to buy a bigger uniform for him?
‘I can’t seem to stay out of trouble,’ she said, smiling back. If the idiots at her school stopped to get to know the men who cleaned up after them, they’d realize the janitorial staff were good people, just trying to make a living. She tried to be as friendly as possible to them, when she could, to make up for the crap they had to deal with on a daily basis. Not all teens were entitled jerks.
‘How’s your daughter?’ Zoe asked. Whenever she stayed late at school to complete her homework, Victor always made sure to check on her. He had a daughter around her age, but she went to a different school. Zoe thought that was a blessing. If she heard the trash-talk from the kids about her own dad, she would have wanted to go to a different school. Zoe guessed it had been Victor’s decision too.
‘She’s on her own a lot lately, working on some big project for school,’ he said.
‘I know how that is,’ Zoe said, indicating her backpack. She was well ahead on a lot of her projects for the remainder of the semester since she had a lot of time to herself.
Victor nodded and headed out of the room. ‘Have a good day, Zoe.’
‘You too.’ Zoe turned back to her breakfast.
She took one bite just as a voice, clear as day, appeared on the other side of the door. She nearly choked on the chunk of her Pop Tart. The voice was one that blathered on and on every day at school, and now it was in the one place Zoe thought she could have peace. It belonged to the one person who could ruin her day.
Zoe closed her eyes and wished the girl away. She sat up straighter and listened. She didn’t hear the voice again. Had she imagined it?
The double doors flew open, and Zoe jumped, her eyes springing open as her worst nightmare walked through the door.
Jackie King.
Cheerleader. One of the ones that volunteered to be thrown into the air to perform some crazy death-defying flips. Her record was three flips in a row. A fact she told anyone who was within earshot every chance she could.
‘This sucks. Sucks! Sucks!’ Jackie whined as she sashayed into the room. Her signature ponytail of tight, springy black curls bounced with each step. She’d exchanged her cheer uniform for an outfit that resembled the tight cropped long-sleeve shirt and skorts that she wore on a daily basis. As if they needed reminding of her ‘status’.
‘Get over yourself,’ said Q, the class troublemaker, sauntering in behind her.
Zoe tried hard not to roll her eyes at his bravado. He was the picture of a rebel with his shoulder-length greasy hair and leather jacket. She knew for a fact that his parents had enough money to buy him shampoo and he’d never ridden a motorcycle in his life. Zoe sat behind him in history. His hands were always impeccably clean.
Then came Cece.
How many other kids were coming to torture her today? If she knew, she would have skipped Saturday detention altogether this week. She glanced at the office where Mr. Curtis had his back to them. Why hadn’t Mr. Curtis prepared her for this? It would have been nice to receive a warning.
Cece straightened the hem of her fuzzy light blue sweater—which most likely cost more than Zoe’s entire wardrobe—while simultaneously typing on her phone with her free hand. Even for a Saturday, not a hair was out of place in her short pin-straight bob.
Teddy