ached for it. The sick, unsteady feeling I’d had ever since my dad had changed—the sense that quicksand was inching closer and closer to me, biding its time before it could suck me down and cover my head and suffocate me—disappeared as Mike spoke.
I looked at him, this scrawny, twitchy guy with crazy curls and jeans with a ragged hole in the knee, and a rush of certainty enveloped me like a warm blanket: With Mike, I’d always be safe, in every way possible.
“See you in school tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ve got that history test.”
He nodded, then looked down at his feet. “You always sit by the window, right?”
“Right,” I said, surprised.
“Except last week.” He took a deep breath, like he was gathering himself, then lifted his blue, almond-shaped eyes to meet mine. “Shelby Rowan took your seat first. You looked at her for a second, then you went to the back row. You were wearing a white sweater that day.”
I stared at him, speechless. Mike had been watching me? He remembered what I wore? He hadn’t shown any fear when he attacked Jerry, but right now, he looked nervous. He was worried about my reaction, I realized with a jolt.
“You sit in the front row, too, right?” I finally said.
Mike shook his head. “I’m right behind you, Julie. I always have been.”
Like today, when I desperately needed him there.
I felt a hot rush of shame. “Sorry.”
Mike shrugged, but I saw hurt flash across his face. “If you don’t play football, no one notices you. God, I hate high school. Do you know how many days until we graduate? Four hundred and thirty-eight if you count holidays and weekends and summer vacation. I’ve been counting down for years.”
It was true; our school did revolve around football, and half the town came out for the Friday night games. Suddenly I remembered: Mike had two older brothers. And they’d both played football; I’d heard their names being chanted by cheerleaders during games.
“I’ll save you a seat tomorrow,” I blurted.
“Good,” Mike said, and then he smiled. His teeth were a little crooked, but on him it was appealing. “I should get going. Will you be okay?”
I nodded. “The sheriff said Jerry’s probably already left town. Apparently he was planning on leaving anyway. He just ran into me first. So”—I gave a tight little laugh—“I don’t have anything to worry about.”
But I was still scared. The touch of that finger was seared into my skin like a burn. And somehow, Mike knew.
The next morning at seven-thirty, he was outside my house with his overstuffed backpack on his thin shoulders, waiting to walk me to school. From then on, we were inseparable.
“High school sweethearts?” people always exclaim after they ask how we met. “How wonderful!”
And it was. For a long time, at least, it really was.
These Girls
When three very different young women end up sharing an apartment in New York City, they learn that, though family secrets may shape us all, our friendships may just be the thing that can save us.
Cate is sleek and sophisticated—at least on the outside—and has just been named the features editor of a glossy lifestyle magazine at the age of thirty. Her new roommate, Renee, is also her co-worker, and vying for the plumb job of beauty editor. Despite their growing friendship, each is struggling with feelings for Trey, a charming, globe-trotting journalist—whose sister has just become their third roommate. Once a bubbly, ambitious woman living in Washington, D.C., Abby is now a recluse. No one knows what shattered her—or why she abruptly fled to New York. But helping Abby heal forces Cate and Renee to share parts of themselves they’ve kept carefully hidden, and eventually each woman begins to see that there are some obstacles we simply can’t overcome alone.
Read on for a look at Sarah Pekkanen’s
These Girls
Coming from Washington Square Press in April 2012
Excerpt from
I looked at him, this scrawny, twitchy guy with crazy curls and jeans with a ragged hole in the knee, and a rush of certainty enveloped me like a warm blanket: With Mike, I’d always be safe, in every way possible.
“See you in school tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ve got that history test.”
He nodded, then looked down at his feet. “You always sit by the window, right?”
“Right,” I said, surprised.
“Except last week.” He took a deep breath, like he was gathering himself, then lifted his blue, almond-shaped eyes to meet mine. “Shelby Rowan took your seat first. You looked at her for a second, then you went to the back row. You were wearing a white sweater that day.”
I stared at him, speechless. Mike had been watching me? He remembered what I wore? He hadn’t shown any fear when he attacked Jerry, but right now, he looked nervous. He was worried about my reaction, I realized with a jolt.
“You sit in the front row, too, right?” I finally said.
Mike shook his head. “I’m right behind you, Julie. I always have been.”
Like today, when I desperately needed him there.
I felt a hot rush of shame. “Sorry.”
Mike shrugged, but I saw hurt flash across his face. “If you don’t play football, no one notices you. God, I hate high school. Do you know how many days until we graduate? Four hundred and thirty-eight if you count holidays and weekends and summer vacation. I’ve been counting down for years.”
It was true; our school did revolve around football, and half the town came out for the Friday night games. Suddenly I remembered: Mike had two older brothers. And they’d both played football; I’d heard their names being chanted by cheerleaders during games.
“I’ll save you a seat tomorrow,” I blurted.
“Good,” Mike said, and then he smiled. His teeth were a little crooked, but on him it was appealing. “I should get going. Will you be okay?”
I nodded. “The sheriff said Jerry’s probably already left town. Apparently he was planning on leaving anyway. He just ran into me first. So”—I gave a tight little laugh—“I don’t have anything to worry about.”
But I was still scared. The touch of that finger was seared into my skin like a burn. And somehow, Mike knew.
The next morning at seven-thirty, he was outside my house with his overstuffed backpack on his thin shoulders, waiting to walk me to school. From then on, we were inseparable.
“High school sweethearts?” people always exclaim after they ask how we met. “How wonderful!”
And it was. For a long time, at least, it really was.
These Girls
When three very different young women end up sharing an apartment in New York City, they learn that, though family secrets may shape us all, our friendships may just be the thing that can save us.
Cate is sleek and sophisticated—at least on the outside—and has just been named the features editor of a glossy lifestyle magazine at the age of thirty. Her new roommate, Renee, is also her co-worker, and vying for the plumb job of beauty editor. Despite their growing friendship, each is struggling with feelings for Trey, a charming, globe-trotting journalist—whose sister has just become their third roommate. Once a bubbly, ambitious woman living in Washington, D.C., Abby is now a recluse. No one knows what shattered her—or why she abruptly fled to New York. But helping Abby heal forces Cate and Renee to share parts of themselves they’ve kept carefully hidden, and eventually each woman begins to see that there are some obstacles we simply can’t overcome alone.
Read on for a look at Sarah Pekkanen’s
These Girls
Coming from Washington Square Press in April 2012
Excerpt from
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