her dress was up around her chest, her torso and legs exposed. She looked down and had felt sick when she saw that someone had scrawled the word freak across her bare belly.
It was horrifying, humiliating, and Mia was filled with crushing shame for not knowing what had happened to her. She stumbled home through a path in the woods to her grandmother’s house. Fortunately, no one was home, and Mia showered, scrubbed away the word, scrubbed away her humiliation before anyone saw her.
She could kill Skylar for leaving her, but she thought the whole ugly thing was over. One super bad night.
It was far from over.
Skylar found Mia later that day, and Mia knew the moment she saw her cousin’s ashen face. Skylar showed her the pictures that had begun to circulate. They were of Mia passed out on the beach, the word freak on her belly clearly visible.
Mia begged Skylar not to say anything, but Skylar couldn’t let it stand and told Mia’s parents. Naturally, her parents went to the police with a list of names they’d forced Mia and Skylar to give them. A few days later, the detective came to their house and said that as Mia had not been sexually assaulted, and couldn’t remember what had happened, it was basically her word against the other kids’, none of whom seemed to remember anything except Mia getting wasted. No one saw anything. “Bottom line,” he said, “we’re lucky no real harm was done.”
Oh, but so much harm was done. Mia was the laughingstock of East Beach. She couldn’t sleep; she lost her appetite. She rarely left her house. Nevertheless, she thought it was truly over, that all she had to do was wait out the summer and go to school.
And still it wasn’t over. One afternoon, Derek ran into Shalene and Aiden on the street and words were exchanged. Derek was arrested for disorderly conduct.
That’s when Mia’s family decided it was probably best if she moved to Brooklyn early, and Derek went off to law school as he planned.
Now, of course, almost nine years had passed and Mia could put some perspective around the events of that year. The only true scars were emotional—she could see her teen years for what they were and would be forever grateful that by the time she went to college, she was through experimenting. She didn’t do drugs or sleep around. She actually lived fairly conservatively.
She wasn’t going to let those memories keep her from the best apartment on Lake Haven.
Mia moved past the frozen foods section, the gourmet cheese and wine section, and walked outside to the garden area. Just outside the door, dozens of lanterns, made from paper, mason jars and tin cans, glass and bottles, hung overhead in a delightful array that covered the garden section. She grabbed her phone to take some pictures of the lanterns so she could paint them later.
She was startled by a crash of what sounded like plastic and leaned to her right, peering past a rack of hoes. Plastic watering cans had scattered across the brick walk, and a man was squatting down to gather them up.
That shaggy head of hair looked familiar. Mia squinted at him. “Brennan?”
His head came up at the sound of her voice. He gained his feet and turned toward her.
It was Brennan. But not the same Brennan. This was a much better Brennan . . . a much better Brennan. For starters, his clothes looked clean. And while she wasn’t standing close enough to smell him, he looked clean. He was wearing snug khaki slacks that rode low on his hips, a long-sleeved chambray shirt open at the collar, and boots of soft leather. The stubble of two or three days ago when she’d last seen him had filled in, his hair had definitely been combed, and it looked as if it had been trimmed, too. Combed and trimmed!
“Hey,” he said, looking past her, as if he expected her to be with someone. “What are you doing here?”
She looked around her. “I live in East Beach. This is a hardware store. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, I’m
It was horrifying, humiliating, and Mia was filled with crushing shame for not knowing what had happened to her. She stumbled home through a path in the woods to her grandmother’s house. Fortunately, no one was home, and Mia showered, scrubbed away the word, scrubbed away her humiliation before anyone saw her.
She could kill Skylar for leaving her, but she thought the whole ugly thing was over. One super bad night.
It was far from over.
Skylar found Mia later that day, and Mia knew the moment she saw her cousin’s ashen face. Skylar showed her the pictures that had begun to circulate. They were of Mia passed out on the beach, the word freak on her belly clearly visible.
Mia begged Skylar not to say anything, but Skylar couldn’t let it stand and told Mia’s parents. Naturally, her parents went to the police with a list of names they’d forced Mia and Skylar to give them. A few days later, the detective came to their house and said that as Mia had not been sexually assaulted, and couldn’t remember what had happened, it was basically her word against the other kids’, none of whom seemed to remember anything except Mia getting wasted. No one saw anything. “Bottom line,” he said, “we’re lucky no real harm was done.”
Oh, but so much harm was done. Mia was the laughingstock of East Beach. She couldn’t sleep; she lost her appetite. She rarely left her house. Nevertheless, she thought it was truly over, that all she had to do was wait out the summer and go to school.
And still it wasn’t over. One afternoon, Derek ran into Shalene and Aiden on the street and words were exchanged. Derek was arrested for disorderly conduct.
That’s when Mia’s family decided it was probably best if she moved to Brooklyn early, and Derek went off to law school as he planned.
Now, of course, almost nine years had passed and Mia could put some perspective around the events of that year. The only true scars were emotional—she could see her teen years for what they were and would be forever grateful that by the time she went to college, she was through experimenting. She didn’t do drugs or sleep around. She actually lived fairly conservatively.
She wasn’t going to let those memories keep her from the best apartment on Lake Haven.
Mia moved past the frozen foods section, the gourmet cheese and wine section, and walked outside to the garden area. Just outside the door, dozens of lanterns, made from paper, mason jars and tin cans, glass and bottles, hung overhead in a delightful array that covered the garden section. She grabbed her phone to take some pictures of the lanterns so she could paint them later.
She was startled by a crash of what sounded like plastic and leaned to her right, peering past a rack of hoes. Plastic watering cans had scattered across the brick walk, and a man was squatting down to gather them up.
That shaggy head of hair looked familiar. Mia squinted at him. “Brennan?”
His head came up at the sound of her voice. He gained his feet and turned toward her.
It was Brennan. But not the same Brennan. This was a much better Brennan . . . a much better Brennan. For starters, his clothes looked clean. And while she wasn’t standing close enough to smell him, he looked clean. He was wearing snug khaki slacks that rode low on his hips, a long-sleeved chambray shirt open at the collar, and boots of soft leather. The stubble of two or three days ago when she’d last seen him had filled in, his hair had definitely been combed, and it looked as if it had been trimmed, too. Combed and trimmed!
“Hey,” he said, looking past her, as if he expected her to be with someone. “What are you doing here?”
She looked around her. “I live in East Beach. This is a hardware store. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, I’m
Similar Books
