Authors: Elle Cosimano
“Make out with you.” His voice was a deep purr and it tickled my neck.
“That’s not what I meant.” What I meant to ask was where he would be and when I would see him again, but it was hard to concentrate. The beeping of the monitors picked up speed and the screen flashed with irregular peaks. I tugged his jacket and slid over, making room in the bed.
As if reading my mind, he said, “I can’t stay.” But his kiss said otherwise. He eased down into the bed, careful of his sling and my tubes, though neither one of us wanted to be careful. “I have to get back to the station. I’m getting transferred.”
“Transferred?” I pushed him back so I could see his face, hoping I didn’t sound as clingy as I felt. “To where? Summer break already started.”
He shrugged carelessly, preoccupied with my lips. “Nicholson’s making me go to summer school. Says I’ve got to make up all the classes I’ve missed.” More kisses. “We sort of made a deal.”
“A deal?” I raised an eyebrow and pulled away, leery of any deal Nicholson proposed.
Reece gave my lips another longing glance and sighed. “They expunged the assault and battery charge, but now I’ve got the whole obstruction of justice thing to worry about. I agreed to stay on as a narc. One year in exchange for dropping the charges.”
Summer school, transfers, a whole year apart. He grabbed my chin in his unbound hand and leaned in for one deep lasting kiss. It felt like a good-bye and the pulse monitor beeped erratically.
“Now get some rest,” he ordered, planting a final peck on my head as he left.
Not likely, I thought, still prickling with adrenaline and wondering when I’d see him again. He was halfway out of the room and my insides dropped like I was falling.
“Reece!” I called out. He paused at the door. I hardly noticed the differences in the two sides of him anymore. He was whole and I was complete when I was with him. Somehow, we balanced. “In case I don’t see you, thanks for . . .” The best kiss of my life, defending my honor, making me feel beautiful for one night of my life, giving me a reason to stay and fight. I settled for “. . . everything.”
His wicked smile stretched wide across his face. “Oh, you’ll definitely see me again. That’s the other part of the deal. Nicholson can make me go to summer school—” He bit his lip, giving me a top-down look that made me warm all over. “But I get to pick my tutor.”
The trailer was dark when I woke Friday morning. I took out the photo of my father from under my mattress. I hadn’t yet come to terms with the man my father was, or the lives he’d destroyed. But I accepted that he was part of me, and that he’d loved me once. That neither his name nor his gift would ever define me. I was independent of anything my father might have been or had become. Independent of what my mother expected or wanted me to be. I wasn’t
nearly
. I was
enough
.
The window air conditioner droned too loudly in the cramped space, like the static thoughts inside my head. Still numb, from my skin to the deep solitary places inside myself, I slumped into a formless secondhand T-shirt and my frayed sneakers, scraped out a few dollars of Mom’s cookie cash, and headed out into the glare of an otherwise gray day. It would take time before my world felt sunny and whole again. It would take time before I would feel at all.
Jeremy hadn’t called, and I hadn’t seen Anh since the cemetery. I’d been out of the hospital almost a week, and there’d been no sign of Reece. Mom had the decency not to say “I told you so.” But when I left the house that morning, I knew she was thinking it.
It was a poor substitute for Reece, but ironically, there I was, the bells on the door ringing as I crossed the threshold of the Bui Mart, Mom’s tip money clenched in my hand.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside. There was no music, just the hum of the freezers and the churn of the slushie machines. Bao didn’t look up, barely acknowledging me with a dip of his head. The counter was empty.
I could forget it, I thought. Leave without my newspaper and never come back. But more than forgetting, I wanted everything to be like it was. Once the details of the case became widely known, Anh’s family made it clear that I should have gone to the police from the beginning. That maybe, if I had, Anh never would have been abducted in the first place. They blamed me. For the deaths. For Anh’s suffering. For everything. Somehow, even though I
had
gone to the police after the second clue, even though I’d proven my innocence, she’d won the scholarship, and we’d all managed to survive, I was still the bad guy. I’d learned the hard way that sometimes, when people are hurting, they just need someone to blame.
I paid Bao my usual amount. He looked at the bills like I’d scraped them off the floor at Gentleman Jim’s. I wanted to tell him to keep the change, but he counted it out precise to the penny, setting the coins on the counter instead of in my hand, his eyes cast down. Never on mine.
When I got home, the trailer was quiet. Mom’s breathy snores whispered through the thin walls of her room. I took the newspaper to my bedroom but didn’t lock the door.
I wasn’t sure what I expected when I thumbed to the
Missed Connections
that morning. I didn’t need to know where my father was, or even if he was thinking of me. I knew there’d be no mysterious ads today, and yet I couldn’t seem to find peace in Reece’s absence, or comfort in the fact that it was all over.
I scanned the ads quickly. One particular ad tugged at me, unexpected, and yet somehow familiar. My heart skipped as I read, and a peculiar feeling fluttered in the pit of my stomach.
Bad element seeks Nearly perfect girl.
I need you. Pick u up at 6.
❖ ❖ ❖
I am grateful for the support of so many people who have guided me through this journey. First and foremost, my extraordinary agent, Sarah Davies, who pulled Nearly from the slush pile and pushed me to make her better. Thank you for believing in me before I believed in myself, for taking my hand and venturing down an uncertain road together.
For my Genius editor, Kathy Dawson, who saw through the almost in Nearly to the everything she could be. I am so, so lucky. And for the entire team at Penguin and Kathy Dawson Books: Claire Evans, Regina Castillo, Greg Stadnyk, Nancy Leo-Kelly, and Penguin’s fantastic sales and marketing teams. Thank you all for bringing Nearly to life.
Special thanks to Lydia Kang, for her medical expertise regarding nasty acids and chemical burns.
To my earliest readers, Tessa Elwood and Tamara Ireland Stone, who fell in love with Nearly in her infancy and encouraged me to go on. And my critique partners, without whom this book would still be a mess of sticky notes and red lines on my floor. Ashley Elston, Tessa Elwood, and Megan Miranda— you made me laugh, pulled me off the ledge, and made me a better writer. I’ve learned so much from each of you.
It takes a village to write a book with young children in tow. Special thanks to Mary Behre, for taking my children out when I needed to write, and for taking me out when I needed a break. And for our Paamul friends, who welcomed our family with open arms, and encouraged and supported me.
To my parents, for building a writing room in a tree house in the jungle, and telling me to “go write a book.” I could never have achieved this dream without you.
To my brother, Shannon, for his service to our country, and for sacrificing to protect the freedoms I enjoy.
To Connor, for always believing, and Nicholas, for always asking why. I am stronger and wiser because of you.
To Tony, for supporting every crazy dream I chase, even when I turn our world upside down. I love you.
Elle Cosimano grew up in the Washington, DC, suburbs, the daughter of a maximum security prison warden and an elementary school teacher who rode a Harley. She spent summers working on a fishing boat in the Chesapeake Bay, baiting hooks, scrubbing decks, and lugging buckets of chum. A failed student of the hard sciences, she discovered her true calling in social and behavioral studies while majoring in psychology at St. Mary’s College of Maryland. Fifteen years later, Elle set aside a successful real estate career to pursue writing. She lives with her husband and two sons in Northern Virginia.
Elle is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime. She was selected for the 2012 Nevada SCBWI Agented & Published Authors’ Mentorship Program, where she worked under the guidance of Ellen Hopkins. She annually attends the Writers’ Police Academy at Guilford Technical Community College, Department of Public Safety, to conduct hands-on research for her books. You can learn more about Elle at her website: www.ElleCosimano.com.