“It’s supposed to snow tonight,” he says, a thin fog sifting from his lips. He pushes his hands into his pockets and I do the same with mine. No temptation to hold hands this way—no practice.

  “They always say it’s going to snow. I think that’s how they get people excited about the holidays in Chicago. They mystify snow.” A shiver cuts through me as we cross Henry’s street, the breeze from the lake finding our bodies. I pull my sleeves down and over my hands and shove them back into my pockets for warmth.

  “I take it you hate snow?” Henry smirks and tilts his head toward me, the bounce picking up in his step.

  “It loses its splendor when you’re the one who has to shovel it.” My flat-mouthed expression pulls a soft laugh from him. I doubt Henry has ever shoveled anything.

  “I suppose it would,” he chuckles.

  We get to the corner where his street meets a busier one, and Henry glances both ways before sprinting across and shouting for me to “come on!” My feet slip a little at first, but I shoot across the road a few steps behind him. My pulse stays steady, even several steps after I catch my breath. It’s not that there were a lot of cars to dodge; the street was fairly empty. It’s just the rush of it, of not knowing where we’re going.

  It’s Henry.

  We keep walking along the rail line, leaving the sidewalks for the dirt and gravel that builds up to the tracks. The dead trees and dry and dirty long grass form this dystopian tunnel around us, and soon, it feels as if we’re all alone in the world.

  “Snow is one of my first memories,” he says, slowing his steps from the rush we’ve been on. He spins to walk backward and face me, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s reading my reaction, hoping I’ll ask for more.

  I will.

  I do.

  “Do you remember life before Elena?”

  His smile tightens just before he shrugs the shoulder closest to the tracks.

  “A little. Just like…scenes, if that makes sense?” His gaze lingers just as a breeze rolls dozens of dried leaves over our steps.

  “It does.”

  He nods, something soothing in the way his face falls at my acceptance.

  We’ve never talked like this—about all of our befores. What I know of Henry is just enough to lead to mystery. I guess the little I’ve shared with him does the same.

  “I don’t know that the memories have to be old to live with you like scenes,” I say, my chest growing a little tighter as I prepare to let go just a little.

  “Yeah?”

  The crunch of our steps falls into sync as he turns to walk alongside me, our hands both still protected from each other. We move close enough to feel our shoulders brush once…twice.

  “My parents died two years ago now, and I remember so much about life with them, but that last day—it’s just frame by frame.” The burn seeps into my chest, my mind replaying every moment like a flip book, over and over. I shake my head as if that will shake the visions away.

  “What happened?” His question slips out in a whisper, somehow knowing this is hard for me to share…but that I still want to.

  “Car crash on their way home from the city. It wasn’t even bad weather. No ice, no snow or rain. It was their anniversary. My dad surprised my mom with tickets to see this show downtown, at one of those fancy theaters where you dress up and stuff.”

  A tiny laugh catches his breath, and I realize how stupid that probably sounds to him, but for my family, fancy theaters are on one end of the list and then bargain movies and school plays are on the other. We didn’t splurge much.

  “My mom’s best friend from high school was the lead, and my mom hadn’t seen her in years. My dad was surprising her, and they had dinner before the show. My mom sent me a picture…” My breath holds as I feel for my phone and bring it in front of me to hold in my palms. I skim through the pictures to the one of my mom and her friend, both beautiful—both so young. I hand it to Henry.

  “Which one is she?” His eyes dance around my screen, and I feel so bare sharing this with him. It scares me, so my hand trembles as I point to the blonde on the right with hair pulled up in sweeping curls.

  “Hey,” he hums, taking my shaking hand. I grip at the first hint of his touch and choke out a cry that turns into laughing. I wipe away the fast tear with my other hand.

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about it a lot, so I guess I wasn’t ready for what would happen when I did.” Another tear slides down my cheek, and Henry catches this one with the side of his finger after letting go of my hand. He sweeps it from my skin with a slow and tender move, stopping to feather his knuckle gently down the side of my face.

  “You’re supposed to cry over things like that.”

  My eyes blink up to his briefly and I force a smile.

  “I guess so,” I sniffle, wiping my forearm across my nose. It’s gross, but probably less disgusting than snot dripping to my upper lip.

  “What was your mom’s name?” he asks, turning my phone to hand it back to me.

  “June,” I mutter. “June and David. My parents…”

  “June and David,” he repeats, almost like he’s honoring them and the fact that I’ve said their names for the first time in…well, two years.

  I swallow.

  “Her friend was Sondra Juarez, and she’s a little famous…in theater, I guess. They grew up neighbors, but Sondra moved into the city after high school. My mom moved to the sticks.” I punch out a laugh.

  “Sticks?” Henry quirks a brow.

  “Yeah, that’s like…you know, the opposite of this cosmopolitan world you live in? Where people own tractors and sheep or goats as pets.” I giggle, remembering my mom’s stories of when she and my dad first got married. “My parents lived in this rusty trailer that froze in the winter, but they had three acres that grew nothing but fed six goats. My dad worked for the Chicago Transit Authority as a mechanic, and my mom was a third-grade teacher. She was mine. They moved to the burbs when they had me. That’s when my mom and Alice got close. My grandparents died when I was two or three. I never really knew them.”

  I breathe out at the realization of everything I just shared, and I turn to my side with stretched out arms.

  “That’s me, pretty much,” I laugh out.

  Henry stops walking, letting me move a few more steps away. His mouth pulls in on one side with an effort to smile, but there’s too much weight from other things pulling his expression down to earth.

  “You’re a lot more than that,” Henry says. I blush off his compliment at first, waving my hand and laughing at myself as I take a few more slow steps backward. When his expression shifts into something more serious, I stop. His mouth draws in tight, his chest rising with a deep breath that he never seems to let go, and suddenly I’m lost in his eyes.

  “You really are a lot more than just some girl from the, what do we call it? Sticks?” His serious expression brightens for a short breath of a laugh, but falls back in line with his intense stare.

  “You know sometimes…”

  His mouth pulls in tight on one side, his eyes wincing a little with thought, like he’s not sure if he should keep talking. I really hope he does. Even though I’m so unbelievably nervous.

  He shrugs, shaking his head and peering down, about to shake off wherever he was going with this, so I step in a little closer to stay in the present with him, to beg him to keep sharing. I want to know whatever it is—I want to know things about him.

  “Sometimes…what?” I ask.

  He licks his lips then pulls them tight with a nod, smiling but in the saddest possible way.

  “Sometimes I wonder who I would be if Elena Alderman didn’t adopt me,” he admits.

  My heart kicks. I’ve wondered this too, about him. Of course, if he wasn’t here, then we probably never would have met.

  “She’s really strict,” I respond, leaning my head to the side. It draws a short laugh from him in agreement.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, then shakes his head. “It’s more than that, though. It’s kinda like, I’m supposed to know I’m better than everyone else, which seems like such a dick thing to say, but I kinda am. Being an Alderman? It’s like…an advantage I guess?”

  I nod, a little stung from his words as I mull around the thought of him being better than me. He thinks that. I knew I thought that, but it’s weird to hear him say it.

  “It makes it hard to have friends. Real friends.” His forehead dents with disappointment and honesty, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I have this vague sense of what it is like to be Henry Alderman.

  It’s lonely. Even when he’s the center of attention.

  The whistle sends a burst of adrenaline through my spine, and I jump toward the tracks before tripping over my feet in an attempt to move back. It’s several hundred yards away, the glow of the light dull through the fog that’s beginning to fill up our world.

  “We should go,” I say from the bottom of the slope, the beats growing in speed and impact throughout my body. My pulse is racing the train—trying to outrun Henry and every little trap he seems to lay for my heart. I was over him.

  “Just wait for it to pass. It’s safe. I promise. Stand right next to me,” he says, hand outstretched like Eve’s apple. I stare at his pink palm and pale fingers, chilly from the air now that they’ve left the comfort of his pockets. I curl mine into my sleeves as I blink at my other option for a moment.

  “How do you know it’s safe?” My eyes flit up to his, and I catch his hand fall back down to his side in a defeat. His gaze sinks into mine more.

  “I just do,” he says.

  I try to read his lips—his blank expression and sure eyes. They’re gambling behind their green and golden mask. I look to my right, to the tracks that are only steps away, and to the growing light in the distance. A blaring whistle rings out again, twice, and it feels like a warning for more than just this little game of truth or dare. The ground beneath me vibrates with indecision, and as each second passes, my nerves wrangle around my chest, squeezing my lungs of air. I look to Henry again, his face unchanged, so sure that I’ll give in, so certain that we’ll be safe here.

  The thunder against the tracks picks up, the rhythm like a chase as the train races toward us, barreling at a threatening pace. I turn my back to it slowly and retrace my steps back to where I was a minute or two before, my eyes locked on Henry’s. My hands are sweater-covered fists at my sides, and his are relaxed, looped by his thumbs into his front pockets. The trees around us begin to sway, sticks bending where leaves used to rustle months ago. Henry’s jawline glows with the reflection of the incoming light, and my hair falls loose at the sides of my face, tangled curls slapping at my cheeks and causing me to blink. Every time I open my gaze, though, Henry is there waiting—daring.

  He lifts his chin as his smirk grows, and even though my mouth itches to do the same, I’m too overcome with fear to match him. My eyes close tight just before the train rushes by, and I steady my legs, only stumbling a bit when the first gust slams into my body. Slaps of wind push against me so hard I have to lean into the force, and my chest booms with every thud of metal along metal only feet away from me.

  When the sound begins to ease, I open my lids and catch the last few cars rush by. My body is sucked forward a step or two at the very end, and I stumble into Henry’s outstretched palms, his hands on my forearms and a proud smile curving his mouth. My hair is flung in wild strands over my face, but before I can clear them away, Henry’s hands slide up my shoulders to my neck and then cheeks, sweeping my hair behind both ears as his thumbs take gentle strokes. My skin is electrified—in an instant I’ve gone from one rush to the next. Raw from sharing my past and learning more about Henry, alive from adventure, and terrified by wanting something to happen next now that Henry is near.

  “We should get back,” he says, tucking one last blonde strand behind my ear before both of his hands fall away, retreating all the way back to his pockets. His eyes stick around for an extra breath, so I keep my disappointment buried from the surface for later. It boils inside though, and the longer I stare into eyes that hide so many secrets and feel so warm and cold at the same time, the bolder I grow. Being an Alderman doesn’t mean he’s allowed toy with me. It’s cruel!

  “Why do you do things like that?” I shout my words, breaking what was starting to become a peaceful quiet. More like a brewing storm.

  His eyes flinch and my lips do the same.

  “Don’t act stupid. I know you’re not. You do this to me all the time…the hand-holding, the rooftop, sliding around the floor. I can’t tell what any of it means, and when you say things like ‘I’m more than something’ and you have nothing to add—it just feels sorta empty that way. It starts as a compliment, but then later…it just makes me sad.”

  He studies my eyes for long, quiet seconds, like he’s trying to read directions to put something back together that’s broken.

  “I don’t know what you want, Lily.” His head shakes slowly and his elbows shift, his hands never leaving his pockets.

  “I want to be friends…” My mouth hangs open.

  I don’t say the rest, because I’m not that strong or brave, but the meaning is there in the quiet that follows. I want to be more than friends. And Henry…just…doesn’t.

  “I told you it’s hard for me. I’m not like you, Lily.”

  “I know…you’re better than me.”

  The words leave my tongue like acid. I threw something he shared with me right back at him, and in the moment, I thought it would feel good. But with each passing second, remorse begins to take over, gripping at my chest and pushing my thoughts into a constant replay.

  I’ve made a rule between us. One neither of us seem to like but that I need. Henry’s gaze dips to my chest then waist, and finally the ground. He nods with a slight movement, turning slowly to the direction we came from. He gets a few paces ahead before I follow him home.

  He opens the door and lets me pass through first, the lush scent of cinnamon, apples, butter, and onions seeping into our bodies the moment we step inside. I move down the hallway to see the feast in preparation mode, but I notice soon that Henry doesn’t follow me. He takes the stairs two at a time, and his door clicks shut when he disappears.

  I don’t see him again until dinner. And he doesn’t stay downstairs to watch me play after the meal is done. He leaves, out into the dark night and falling snow, just like the universe promised to deliver. A dusting covers the back and shoulders of his long, wool coat as he crosses the street outside the music room window. I don’t feel much like playing Elena’s piano anymore, but I know if I don’t, Alice will feel like I let her down. It’s less that she wants to hear me and more that she likes to see her employer take pride in what I’ve learned.

  I like to play for Henry, though. It’s been a long time since I have. But maybe that’s his rule—maybe it makes him sad.

  CHAPTER 8

  Fate is cruel sometimes. It does things like force you to have to retake theology, and then it puts the girl you quickly summed up to be an arch nemesis in your class. The real kicker, however, is this—Ava Farmstead is unbelievably kind…despite her damn glitter obsession!

  Shit.

  I spent most of the start of this spring semester maneuvering seats through barters and trades due to Mr. O’Farland’s penchant for shaking things up in the classroom to let us get to know each other better. He likes to change the seating arrangement on Mondays. This meant I had to be the first one in the door at the start of every week. Once, I even tampered with his seating chart and erased my name from the spot next to Ava, putting myself at the time-out chair reserved for discipline. I half convinced our teacher that he had caught me talking too much that week. I’m not sure if he bought it.

  I ran out of tricks by late February, though, and when I finally shared the table with this bubbly girl who I was ready to hate, she hugged me. She also squealed when our teacher announced that this would be our spots for the rest of the year. And then told me she’d been hoping to sit next to me for weeks.

  Weeks.

  I dodged her for weeks.

  How ironic.

  In a massive pendulum swing, I’ve become incredibly grateful for her. She fits the gaps. Where Nicki is exceptionally jaded and Anya is equally cautious, Ava fits in-between. She’s me, if I were rich and enjoyed wearing clothing that made me stand out in a crowd of thousands. I knew that of anyone, Ava would be the one to come to the first crew race of the season with. I knew Elena would be here, and Ava makes for awkward conversation. Because of that, Elena’s kept her distance, sitting under a special donor tent near the finish line.

  This sport isn’t like the others at Satis, or even in Illinois. People don’t buy jerseys or pick out individuals to idolize. They appreciate the form, and they resolute in smug confidence that one school’s team is faster than all of the others—an elite among the already private elite.

  Truthfully, before I met Henry and before I watched his team row, I would have made fun of the few hundred of us, mostly friends and family, sprinkled along the channel’s shoreline ready to inaugurate the season. At public school, they held a bonfire to kick off the football season in the fall. We’re all supposed to tip our hats. The only hat I own is a very well-worn Cubs ballcap that was once my father’s. I have to keep a pin in the back for it to fit. There was a time that it would have embarrassed me not to have a beautiful sun hat to wave at the boats as they cruise by, but the version of me I am right now waves the Cubbie blue proudly.

  “You know, I haven’t talked to Henry since we’ve broken up,” Ava says, as we hold our hats outstretched until the Satis boat—and Henry—cruise past the staging area, heading off to the starting line.

  Ava and I haven’t talked about Henry much. I think we both don’t want to get into personal things when it comes to him—she not wanting to relive the embarrassment of their breakup in a limousine with me present, and me not wanting to get into the fact that the only romantic thing to come out of that weekend for me was a daring visit to some train tracks.