“Now don’t you be messing around with any of Skunk’s friends. They’re good boys, and I don’t need you corrupting them.”

  I feel my face squeeze into a look of perplexity.

  “I’m serious, Sugar. I don’t trust you around them no more. Not after I’ve heard all about Brittany. You stay away from them, you hear me?”

  I’m about to protest, but the front door opens and loud voices fill the hall. I nod and wait outside Mama’s door until they’ve all passed into the living room. I’ll have to go by them to get to my room, but I step quietly so they don’t hear me.

  I close my door slowly, otherwise it creaks. I return to the solace of making the dress. I have it entirely together and am now working on the tiered ruffles that cascade in tidy layers down the bodice. The skirt drops to below the knee in a smooth slide of sheer pleated fabric. The ruffles have scalloped edges that I imagine are like drifts of snow. Or like the edge of a frosted cake.

  Nasty whoops of laughter from downstairs interrupt my peace. I blink my eyes, trying to rid my mind of Caleb’s slimy glare, the way he licked his dry lips, his commands. I swallow hard, pushing away the churning in my stomach.

  I worry about Caleb coming back up here and bothering me.

  A car drives by, its tires making a squishing sound in the slushy street. The headlights beam through my window. I stand up and lock my bedroom door. I put away all my fabric and tell myself I’ll finish the dress another day. I fold it up neatly and stash everything in my closet.

  I grip my phone, as if by holding it I’ll figure out whom to call or where to go. It vibrates in my hand with a text from Even: Birthday surprise. See you tomorrow? Another overnight. Hope that’s OK. This one is gonna blow yr mind.

  The promise of Even’s message soothes me. A birthday surprise. I wonder what it could be. The next day can’t come soon enough. Rough laughter booms from downstairs. I grip Boo’s sharp sewing scissors tightly under my pillow just in case.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As I dress, I realize a shirt that was too snug on me at Thanksgiving now, about a month later, fits. It’s probably not much, but I’m pleased. If I keep at it, I’ll be down to my freshman-year weight before long. Never mind Mama’s diet pills; I’m making this happen with good old-fashioned exercise, mostly walking, and eating better, most of the time. I think of the cake. I’m awash with shame, but I shove the thought away. It’s a new day, I tell myself. Today I’ll be good and nourish my body with healthy foods, I hope.

  I feel better in my skin already, ready to spend time with Even. I grin widely with pride until I find Skunk and a couple friends, including Caleb, passed out downstairs. There are two cases’ worth of beer cans, in various stages of crushed-ness, littering the room.

  I’ve filled my backpack with overnight items this time. As I grab a granola bar from the cabinet, Skunk saunters into the kitchen, scratching his crotch.

  “What are you doing up this early, dipshit?” he asks.

  “It’s eleven a.m.”

  “Oh.” He opens the fridge and chugs orange soda from the bottle.

  The rumble of a motorcycle approaches. A lump rises in my throat. Heavy boots clomp from the living room. I hope it isn’t Caleb. Without looking, I make for the door. This time I don’t care if Skunk or anyone else sees me leaving with Even.

  I get on the back of the Harley and wrap my arms around Even. I make a quiet wish that we’re going far, far away.

  We pass out of town and head south, up over hills, and toward the highway. We pull to the side of the road and put on helmets before we cross out of New Hampshire.

  “How are you?” Even asks.

  The answer to this question now is great, but just hours ago, frickin’ awful. But I don’t want to tell him any of this and ruin the moment. “Wonderful. You?”

  “Same. Glad to get out of there. It’s like as soon as I’m a measure away, I feel like me again. I swear that town has some kind of negative magnetism that makes you feel about as lousy as you can.”

  Even speaks the truth, but the only times I’ve noticed it are when I’ve been away with him.

  “So where are you taking us this time?” I ask.

  “Do you want to be surprised?”

  I chew on this. “Hmm. If you tell me, I’ll be excited with anticipation.”

  “Well, it’s your birthday present, so I’ll let you choose.”

  I waffle, but, standing on the shoulder of the road, I’m getting cold without the press of his body against mine. “OK. Tell me,” I say.

  He does a drum roll with his mouth. “New York City,” he says, and smiles.

  My mouth falls open and I say, “But it’s New Year’s Eve.”

  “Exactly. I might never be back to the East Coast after this spring. I thought it might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Plus, I couldn’t think of somewhere better to ring in the New Year and celebrate your birthday. New York City, the city of golden dreams, the Big Apple, the Crossroads of the World. Not to mention, just like you’d hoped for snow on Christmas, I hoped for a warmish day for us to do this. Wishes granted . . . Is that OK?” he asks. Suddenly, concern creases his forehead.

  “Yeah. I just never thought I’d be going there. It’s so big. There are so many people. Especially tonight. Where will we stay? What will we eat? What about the Harley? I thought you liked being outside?” I feel myself hesitating, worried what all the cosmopolitan people will think of the big fat country girl, but then I think of the alternative. Even stands before me, jittering with excitement. “Duh. Of course,” I say. “It’s going to be great. I’m just being silly.”

  His smile returns and his eyes light up with relief.

  I get the sense that he is just as eager to get out of town as me. Of course, we each have our own reasons.

  As we get on the highway, I stretch one arm toward the sky and let out a whoop. Even lets out a smiling laugh.

  As we head farther south, the landscape changes from rural with bare trees and is replaced by buildings rising up on either side of the highway. I read signs naming businesses, look at billboards, and am nervous as the traffic gets heavier, feeling especially vulnerable being on the bike as we whiz by tractor trailers. But the sun is high above us, and the air warms the farther away from New Hampshire we get.

  We go through tolls and eventually cross the biggest bridge I’ve ever seen. I don’t like heights, but glance at the slate-colored water below and realize, with a sudden shiver, that this is all real.

  New York lies before us like a feast for the eyes. I survey from the ground up and then scale the buildings from rooftop to rooftop, struggling to take it all in. Even slows in traffic. The mixture of exhaust, something nutty roasting, and the cold winter air excites my senses.

  There are so many people crossing streets and it’s so bright with signs and traffic lights and shop windows all aglow. Even pulls to the side of the road, consults a piece of paper in his pocket, and then maneuvers back into traffic. We crisscross through streets I recognize by name only from television shows and books. It’s one thing to see New York City on TV or imagine it as an author brings it to life on the page, but it’s another thing entirely to be in the midst of the action and energy. It pulses out of every crack in the sidewalk, from signposts, and from mortared bricks. It’s like everyone who’s ever been here left a little bit of themselves behind, making the city itself a living organism.

  Eventually, we pull up to a hotel. Even descends into an underground parking lot. When we emerge onto the street on foot, without the protection of my helmet, I feel the city up close. I practically feel the pulse of it on my skin, as a dog yaps, horns honk, and shoppers bustle.

  We go into the hotel, and Even checks us in at the desk. The lobby is nicer than any building I’ve ever been inside in my life. It’s grander than anything I imagined. I’m in a fairy tale. Chandeliers glisten, large potted plants stand lush in corners, and the posh furnishings look brand-new.

  “All set. Let’s go leave our stuff up in the room.”

  We ride the elevator up a dozen flights. As we exit into the hall, I smell new carpet.

  After Even slides the key card in the slot and opens the door, I practically skip into the room, twirl around, and plop down on the lone king-size bed. Even smiles and crosses to the window. I look around his shoulder and see more buildings, some with lights on, others dark. I couldn’t be happier.

  “What do you think? Wait, never mind; I think I know,” he says.

  Without thinking, I throw my arms around him. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”

  “Happy birthday. Almost. Let’s see. It’s nearly four. Should we go exploring and maybe check things out before the masses descend for tonight?”

  I nod with glee.

  “That smile,” he says.

  I take a moment to fix my hair and freshen up after the blustery ride.

  I’d have figured Even for a country bumpkin like me, but once back outside, he charges straight ahead like he knows what he’s doing and where he’s going. All I can do is stare up, up, and up.

  “First stop, the Empire State Building.”

  We hoof it to Fifth Avenue and arrive at the colossal skyscraper. As we ride the elevator up to the top deck, Even gives me a shy smile, like if we were strangers we’d still get off at the same floor, we’d still end up together at dinner, and then find ourselves back in the hotel room at the end of the night.

  When we unload at the top floor, I see clear across the city in every direction. The buildings look like Lego blocks standing on end surrounded by splashy puddles. Even though they’re each engineering miracles, they remind me of inspiration and play and how everyday people do the impossible. And in this moment with Even, on top of the world, I realize anything is possible. The sun begins to set, burning fiery orange in the distance. I don’t even care about the height; I feel safe, especially with Even at my arm.

  “I wanted you to see the whole city, but this is the best I can do in one evening. What do you think?” he asks, as awestruck as me.

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “Truly. I am nearly speechless. After looking at the same shabby buildings for most of my life, I had no idea of the magnitude of the world beyond our small town. I feel filled with possibility.” These words feel strange on my tongue, yet true, like they could, in some other dimension, really belong to me.

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  After we watch the sun set and are completely shivering from the whipping wind, so high up, we take the elevator down and are soon back out on the street.

  “I want this to be your day. Is there anywhere here in Manhattan you’ve ever really wanted to go to or see or do?”

  I am utterly overwhelmed. I pause, spinning in a circle and catching the coattails of a street performer, a mother with five, possibly six, kids, and a homeless person with a shopping cart heaped high with bags. “Being here is enough, but you know how we went boot-skating last week? Well, I’ve always wanted to go ice-skating. I’ve been scared, because of, you know—people making fun of me, jokes about me breaking the ice, but no one knows me here and so—”

  A hint of sadness crosses Even’s face, but then he smiles in a way that lights up his blue eyes. “I know just the place.”

  This time we walk up Sixth Avenue, still taking in all the smells, sounds, and sights as we pass decorated store windows, street vendors selling sugared cinnamon peanuts and cashews, and chicly dressed city-dwellers. I’m struck with the fact that although Even arranged this special evening away for us, what’s going on around me happens all the time. Twenty-four/seven. It’s my own life that often feels like it’s screeched to a halt, but really, New York continues to spin its city stories.

  When we arrive at Rockefeller Center, the giant Christmas tree I see on TV every year is still lit up, larger than life.

  “Boy,” I say, taking in the tree from bottom to top. “This makes up for Christmas, too. It was sad with no tree, though we haven’t bothered to put one up for a few years,” I remark. We gaze at it for a few minutes, and I continue to absorb my surroundings with childlike wonderment.

  Even and I rent skates, and wobbly, like a new foal, I struggle out onto the ice. Even offers his arm, but I’m afraid if I fall and take him down with me, he’ll get hurt. I hold on to the side of the rink, and after he insists, in the most gentlemanly way, I finally consent to link my arm in his. Together, we make it all the way around once, then twice. By the fifth time, I feel safe to skate on my own, but I hold on to Even’s arm just because it’s so nice, like we’re a couple. My princess fairy-tale fantasy continues as we glide beneath the lights.

  When we’re both exhausted, Even asks about dinner. “Anything you want. This city has a restaurant for any and every kind of food in the world. We could have Thai, Italian, um . . .” He looks around. “There’s a burger joint over there, and Chinese. French or Mexican. We could have dessert for dinner and dinner for dessert. Or we could check out a coffeehouse with live music, or we could do karaoke. How about sushi? Have you ever tried that?”

  I need him to slow down. I’ve seen loads of restaurants in New York featured on shows on food and cooking channels, but now that I am here with all of these options, my mind is blank.

  We return our skates and warm up with some coffee while I consider what I want to eat. The notion that I am here, in Manhattan, to make this choice isn’t lost on me, but it’s overwhelming nonetheless.

  “I can tell you what I don’t want. Anything they sell at Od Town.”

  Even laughs. “Yeah. That’s one nasty outlet food shop . . .” Even looks around as we walk around the plaza. “Dinner theater? Or hot dogs from a vendor? Pizza? Moroccan? Greek? Indian? Have you ever had Spanish tapas?”

  “I think you’ve named every kind of food there is.” I’m just not sure. “How about we continue to walk and see where our feet take us?”

  “Ooooh. My favorite kind of plan.”

  We set out away from the hubbub of Rockefeller Center and onto a quiet cross street, and our hands, wordlessly, join.

  “That was fun,” I say, slightly distracted by the feel of his palm in mine.

  “Yeah. Way to go not falling.”

  “I concentrated hard.”

  “The first time I learned to skate, I had a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my butt for a little over a month,” Even says. We joke, comparing bruises and scars, safely away from their sources, but then the smell of garlic and basil interrupts our laughter and entices us to cross the street to a small restaurant with a red awning. The lighting is low when we enter. The hostess seats us in a private booth with a view out the window.

  Bread drizzled in garlic oil is brought to us along with lemon water. I browse the menu, never having seen, at least in real life, so many complex and delicious-sounding options.

  There is antipasto, caprese salad, penne with winter squash, roasted tomatoes drizzled with a balsamic reduction. My eyes flit across sumptuous descriptions of carbonara, gnocchi, and pasta e fagioli.

  “Get anything you like; it’s your birthday dinner,” Even says as if reading into my uncertainty as I continue to peruse the menu and notice the price tags. This is no Od Town.

  I settle on fettuccini Alfredo with chicken and asparagus. He orders us gorgonzola garlic bread and shrimp scampi with linguini for himself. A candle burns between us on the table. Our salads arrive with Parmesan-peppercorn dressing and, for good measure, a waiter offers us still more freshly ground pepper and Parmesan cheese. It’s all lovely. I feel like a princess or a grown-up or a grown-up princess.

  “This has been wonderful,” I say, not knowing how else to express how extraordinary it all is without sounding corny.

  “And it’s just beginning.”

  A dark shadow of a thought intrudes as I think about having to leave the next day and return to the house with Mama and Skunk. Shame, anger, and sadness fill me, but as I stuff another piece of cheesy bread in my mouth, the flavors lighting up my tongue, I try to forget it all.

  After dinner, we sweep back into the streets toward Times Square to secure places to watch the big ball drop at midnight. Even puts a warm arm across my shoulders as the growing crowd jostles us.

  We got lucky and managed to get a standing spot within view, though just barely, of the stage where the big acts will perform later. Hordes of people scream and cheer around us, waving foam fingers and pom-poms. Even looks at me, our faces pushed close because of the undulating crowd around us. We’re in a sea of humanity, and never have I been so gleeful.

  “I love to see that smile.” He moves closer, our lips inches apart. Then the sound of a guitar screeches. We look up to see a band starting their set on the stage. Colored lights flash and we sing along, lost to our worries and troubles back home. We’re free, for just this moment.

  The rest of the night moves by as quick as a blur. The momentum slows when the amplified voice of Ryan Seacrest announces it is nearly time to watch the ball. I gaze around at the crowd. The countless beautiful faces craning up to see the glowing orb stun me. I’d never known people could be so outstandingly gorgeous, but it isn’t the classic New York look I’d seen in magazines or on TV, but just people, together, joyous, and celebratory.

  I join in. As one, we begin to count: “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

  Blasts and cheering explode around me, and then Even’s lips are on mine. We kiss sweetly, desperately, and wholly. After it feels like time stops and then starts again, we pull apart. Confetti comes down all around us like snow.

  “Happy New Year,” we say at the same time.

  “Happy birthday,” he says.

  It takes us ages to pick our way out of the revelers. I’m in no rush. I wish the night would never end. But all too soon, we arrive back at the hotel, and still clothed, we both collapse into the bed. Even lies on his side. I’m on mine and we face each other. He takes my hand, smiles, and then closes his eyes. The glowing numbers of the clock indicate it’s nearly three a.m., and that’s the last thing I remember.