“Woo hoo!” His arms stretch up and out, and he kicks to his feet quickly, grabbing my hand as he runs by so we can go again.

  With every attempt, my grip becomes less awkward, and my muscles relax more. I run faster, sometimes on my own, and I slide low with my knees bent, trying to beat Henry’s best distance. I never do. But I constantly try. I slide on socks in a house that isn’t mine with a boy who seems to like to break rules so he can smile and act his age with no one around to tell him not to. I wonder how often he comes here alone. I wonder if he’ll ever bring me back.

  CHAPTER 3

  ONE WEEK BEFORE FRESHMAN YEAR

  The rain has soaked through my shoes, and every step makes my toes feel colder. I hug my music book to my chest, my coat folded over it tightly.

  Elena gave it to me a month ago, and the pages are yellowed and crisp. I’ve learned almost every song inside, so even without the book, I could play them. But I still don’t want the pages to be ruined. Not like my shoes.

  Something about the piano was easy to me, easier than any math or English class ever was. I don’t know how it all makes so much sense, but it does. I picked up sight-reading sheet music within a week, and Elena says my technique is flawless. She told me I’ve learned more in six months than most students of the piano learn in six years. She never calls me gifted, but I think maybe, perhaps with this, I am. And this gift…it makes me feel special, like I have a gift or something to offer the world more than a girl with a tragic story. I feel a certain sense of home when my hands are on those keys.

  I’ve been taking a few summer classes, trying to improve my résumé and add things like theater and art before applying for private schools. It’s a longshot, and we can’t really pay for them, so I’ll need to earn a scholarship, but Elena thinks I can focus on my playing at one of these schools. I’ve never been really good at anything else, so if there’s a chance that I can go to high school and mostly play the piano, I’d like to try. I’ll need to look more impressive on paper, though. I’ve been glad to be busy. If anything, it keeps me from spending the day looking forward to the time Henry gets home from rowing. I’m too embarrassed to ask him if I can come with him to watch. I don’t want him to think I’m infatuated, even if most of me totally is.

  He's been rowing with some of the guys from Satis House, which I’ve learned is one of the city’s most prestigious private schools. I still wear the shirt he gave me at home sometimes, but never to Elena’s. I suppose I don’t want him to ask for it back.

  Alice has the day off today, but Elena said I could still come. This is the first time I’ll be at the house without my “aunt” there. At first, I was afraid Alice would be mad or think that I looked pushy or desperate, which would somehow reflect badly on her. But when I told her, she got hyper-excited about it. I guess instead she felt like it reflected good on her that they don’t mind having me around. I am her offering to the Alderman elite!

  Either way, I’m probably going to be late now. The train was running behind schedule. Some guy in Cicero broke down on the tracks. When we finally made it to my stop, I missed the sidewalk when I started to run—sinking my feet deep into a pothole puddle. They’re my only pair of sneakers, other than my old Converse which aren’t much for running.

  I spot the rooftop spire of Elena’s house and bounce urgently at the crosswalk as traffic zips through the roadway that stands between on-time and late. It’s a Friday; rush-hour traffic has picked up early, and the amount of people slipping through Hyde Park trying to get an edge on freeway traffic is more than usual.

  I’m clustered with two men in long coats holding large black umbrellas and briefcases. Somehow, their umbrella points meet just above my head, letting the rain dart through and nail me while they stay dry. I try to lean to my right to sponge off the man with the bigger umbrella and smaller briefcase, but the moment I get my head underneath, he jerks to his right to talk to a woman who is even wetter than my shoes.

  “Excuse me…sir…sir?” She’s walking toward him with frantic eyes. The green sweatshirt and jeans she has on are plastered to her skin and heavy like washcloths. He’s ignoring her, and the closer she gets, the more uncomfortable it makes me feel. There’s no way he doesn’t see her.

  “I ran out of gas. I need to get my daughter to swim practice, and I’m running late. I don’t have my wallet, but I promise…if you can spare a couple dollars, I will pay you back. I’ll PayPal you, right from my phone…”

  As she reaches to pull her phone from her pocket, the man rolls his shoulders and dips his umbrella, moving to the other side of me and the other businessman.

  Her eyes begin to fall shut and I recognize the humiliation that colors her cheeks and pulls down the corners of her mouth.

  “I have ten dollars. Here,” I say, feeling in my back pocket for the soaked bill. I pull it out, folded in quarters, and hand it to her. Her hand covers mine when she takes it, and our eyes meet for a full breath.

  “Thank you,” she says, droplets of rain cascading from her upper lip. Her breath frosts the air between us as I nod and smile. “What’s your email. I’ll send you money.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t have a PayPal or whatever. Really…it’s okay.” Her eyes stick to mine for another second, slanting with guilt. “I have a phone. If you call me, I can give you my address or something…”

  She begins nodding, handing me her phone to type my information in, shielding it from the rain with her open jacket and sleeve. I give her my full name and number. The crosswalk begins to flash behind me, and I’m bumped by the rush of bodies trying to cross to the other side before it’s too late. I hand the woman her phone back, knowing she probably won’t ever call but at least the guilt is gone. With my book clutched to my body, I work to rewrap myself in my coat as the wind beats against my chest while I rush to catch up before the light changes. I manage to leap up to the sidewalk over a puddle in front of the fleeing umbrella man, and he catches my arm to spin me around.

  “You can’t give people money like that. It’s a scam. It’s raining, for Christ’s sake! Swim lessons…in the rain? Use your head.” His dark brown eyes beam down on me from underneath thick, blond brows that match his mustache.

  “She looked like she was really in need to me.” I replay the look on her face in my head, and if that was a scam, I’m impressed by the commitment to her performance. I’ll consider my money a tip for a job well done.

  “Stupid kid,” the man grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking the water from his umbrella before turning on his heels and heading the opposite way down the street.

  I wish I had a snappy comeback, but his words hit my body and make me feel small. My hands shift where I’m clutching the book and my coat, and a few pages from the middle of the book slide out onto the wet sidewalk.

  I pick them up quickly, but some of the ink has already started to run. Laying them flat against the back of the book, I hug it tight again and begin to jog down Elena’s street. Most of the homes are decorated for fall with orange wreathes on their doors and pumpkins clustered by their steps. The smell of burnt logs taints the air as people rush to enjoy a fire on a rainy early September night. The sky is gray enough to show off the stream of smoke above the Alderman home. I bet it’s warm inside.

  Just like almost every day since I’ve been coming here to play, Henry is sitting on the steps outside waiting for me. The gate buzzes before I reach to push it, and I take a deep breath, sucking back tears from the damn balding man who called me stupid. I’m not sure what part hurt more—stupid or kid.

  “I wrote an essay for Satis House. Will you read it for me?” Henry stands, pulling a paper folded into fourths from his pocket and stepping out from the overhang into the rain with me. I take it in my hand slowly, noting the fringed torn edge with the pad of my finger. I tap against it. Henry breathes out a short laugh.

  “Yeah, I probably should type this shit,” he says, leaning to the side and spitting on the ground. His teeth make that short clicking sound as he does it. I wave my hand at him to back up under the cover so his essay—and me—can get dry.

  “Why do you spit like that?” I scrunch my face and look up at him—he’s gained inches on me, and lately, I have really started to notice. He leans to the side and spits again then laughs.

  “Gross,” I say, blinking as I roll my eyes and move to his front door.

  Despite my regular visits, I still wait for Henry to open the door first. The handful of times I’ve beaten him to his home, I either rang the bell or waited for him to show up. I’m the help’s kid, and I’m not even really Alice’s child. I’m there because the courts had nowhere else to put me, and my parents put Alice and Collin on some document they filed for three hundred bucks online when I was six.

  Henry steps inside first, swinging the door wide and leaving it open in his wake. I close it behind me, like I always do, then follow him to the sitting room where Elena is usually reading.

  “Your shoes are sopping wet,” Elena says, startling me from my trance as I work to unfold Henry’s essay.

  “Oh…” I wince and redden, working my feet to my toes one at a time, trying to lessen the impact my shoes have on the beautiful wood floors.

  “Are you trying to hover?” Henry sniggers. I shoot him a glare.

  “Well…she’s not happy with you,” Elena says, closing the book on her lap and leaning forward with her hands clasped together on top. She peers at me over her glasses, a sinister smile glimmering in deep-red lipstick as she puckers.

  “Throw them away.”

  She waves the back of her hand at my feet while she speaks, and I glance down at my shoes. They’re wet, but they aren’t ruined.

  “I’ll just leave them outside,” I say, lifting one foot to peel my shoe away by the heel. I stop at her glare.

  “Right…leave them out where it’s raining. Maybe they can smell of mildew forever, leaving you to constantly wonder where that odor is coming from. Wear other shoes. Those are done.” She leans back and begins to crack open her book again.

  “I don’t have other shoes. Not like these. Not running shoes. And I have a test…”

  Her book snaps closed again and she punches out a short laugh.

  “You have a test on wet shoes? My God, Lily…what kind of summer school do you go to?”

  “It’s for her PE credit, Elena,” Henry says, coming to my defense. My shoulders relax a little. I love what I’ve learned here from Elena, her books, and her piano, but more often than not, I feel like she doesn’t really like me.

  “Ugh,” she bites out. “Then take her shopping, Henry. You need a new jacket for interviews anyhow.”

  This time, when Elena sits back to begin reading again, she fully commits. Her book falls open and her finger moves to the edge of her glasses where she gently moves them up the bridge of her nose.

  “Come on,” Henry says, bumping my shoulder with the butt of his fist. “We’re going shopping.”

  I follow him back down the hallway, a tinge of longing burning my insides as we pass by the music room without going in. I reach for Henry’s arm, grabbing hold to stop him before he takes another step, and his hand flinches to catch mine.

  “I just…” My lips freeze along with my body as I stand face to face with Henry, our hands strangely linked more than palm to palm. His fingers flex and twitch at our contact, widening just enough to make room for my own, until we’re locked together in this weird, intimate face-off.

  My inner voice is ordering me to retreat and let go, but that daring part of me that I’ve slowly been uncovering over the year I’ve come here presses on. I stare at Henry’s face. His eyes puzzle while his top lip twitches in a way that’s either slowly moving to disgust or flirtation. Bold me gets knocked down a peg in a blink when Henry’s eyes snap to mine and his lip lifts even higher.

  “You never talk about guys or anything. We’re almost freshmen now, Lily. Have you had a boyfriend yet?” His lips close when he’s done, and tighten at the corners, forming the devil’s smirk.

  “I don’t date yet,” I say, pulling back and expecting my hand to fall free. Henry steps closer to me though and tightens his grip.

  “Your aunt and uncle are strict? Or is that by your choice?” He’s pushing me, something that I’ve noticed he likes to do. Henry often teases me with certain questions. Last week, it was about my bra size. But his teasing has never crossed into this type of stuff—romance.

  “Both, maybe,” I say, licking my lips and instantly regretting it.

  I look down at my feet, now warm and wet in shoes I’m about to throw away apparently.

  “You’re afraid of dating, aren’t you?”

  I lift my chin defiantly, but weaken my resolve when met with his eyes. He was cute a year ago, but he’s become something more over our last year before high school. Maybe it’s his wealth, or the fact that he dresses like he’s British royalty or a model in some Tommy ad. I think maybe this is what the brink of handsome looks like. Handsome, but dangerous—I feel that in my gut, too.

  “I’m not afraid of dating. I just haven’t thought about it much, I guess. I study a lot, and it’s not like I live with my parents in some normal house, with a mom I can talk to about…stuff.”

  I blush and look off to the side.

  Henry lightly shakes our clasped hands.

  “Stuff like sex?” He lifts an eyebrow, and I instantly wish for death.

  “No, Henry!” My face puckers because I’m embarrassed, and now I’m upset.

  He jiggles our hands again, and I stiffen my arm, no longer amused and no longer distracted by his almost-handsome face. He’s officially made me mad.

  I flex my fingers and wiggle as I take a step back, my music book still hugged with my opposite arm against my chest. Henry stops fighting me after a second and I immediately turn into the music room, pushing the partially opened door enough to step inside. I move to the piano quickly and set my book on the ledge above the covered keys, checking to see how damp the pages I dropped are. They feel cold and like they could tear easily.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  I feel Henry’s shoulder touch mine before he speaks. The cotton of his perfectly pressed shirt tickles my stiff jacket that I’m both glad and regretful to be wearing right now.

  “I dropped it. Elena’s going to be mad…” I say, pointing to the smeared notes on the top page.

  “She will not,” Henry says, sliding the top page over to expose the next one, the ink on it blurred even worse. “Well…maybe just a little.”

  “Gah!” I cover my face with my palms and fall into the sinking feeling that’s taken over my insides.

  “Hey,” he says, his hand light against my wrist. I jerk back as my hands fall from my face, and he stiffens before rolling his shoulders and putting his hands in his pockets. “I was only kidding. She won’t even notice this. I promise.”

  I watch his eyes for some sign that he’s lying, but they’re nothing but sincere. His head tilts, and I sigh.

  “I don’t want her to think I don’t take care of things she gives me. I want her to give me another one, and I’m just afraid…”

  “She will. And she won’t notice this. Lily…” There’s something in his tone, his voice more man than boy all of a sudden. I’ve heard it crack several times over the last few months, but there’s something completely mature about the way he’s talking to me right now. His eyes soft, his smirk nonexistent, lips parted and teeth bared with his tongue held at its tip, Henry Alderman is being sincere.

  “I promise.” His mouth raps around the words, sealing them as if they are a secret between us. For some mystical reason, I know I’m supposed to believe him right now. And so, I do.

  I nod and look at the pages one more time before stepping around him and leading us out of the room, down the rest of the hallway and out his front door. Henry trails behind, and neither of us feel out of place in those roles.

  I’m used to trains. When Henry leans into the roadway—completely blocking traffic in one lane while he whistles with fingers in his mouth and holds out a hand to a line of cabs racing by—I almost reach to pull him back to safety. The last taxi through the stoplight pulls over, and Henry rushes to open the backseat door.

  “Come on,” he says, his youthful smile back where it belongs. The rain has stopped, but the streets are flooded, and I have to leap to make it from the curb to the car. Henry offers his hand, and I take it again, letting him propel me into the car. I let go quickly, and once again, he notices.

  “You know, someday you’re going to have a boyfriend…and he’s going to want to hold your hand.” He leans into my shoulder as he climbs into the seat next to me, shutting the door. His mouth quirks a grin. “And hold your…”

  I elbow him as he breaks into a soft laugh—that perfect laugh I’ve started to look forward to. I’ve also started looking forward to seeing him in his crew shirts and the board shorts he rows in. The summer sun and time on the water has bronzed his skin and brightened the gold in his hair, and it’s gotten just a little longer. I want to tell him not to cut it, but then he’d ask me why I’m so invested in the length of his hair, and then he’d tease me about it.

  “I think we should practice,” he says.

  I turn my attention away from the taxi window and back to him.

  “You know…holding hands. I mean it’s not like we never have, and it would be good for you. That way when you begin at Jefferson Union High next week and I’m not there to help you through all of those uncomfortable moments when guys are hitting on you and trying to get some…”

  “Get some?” I break into his words teasingly, but it’s because my heart is beating so hard I’m afraid I might vomit. He’s making up a reason to hold my hand. Today—right now!