Authors: Kate Vale
C
e
c
e
lia roll
e
d
ov
e
r, rubb
e
d
h
e
r
e
y
e
s, and crawl
e
d
ov
e
r to th
e
sid
e
of th
e
b
e
d
.
“I’ll b
e
in th
e
kitch
e
n. G
e
t dr
e
ss
e
d
and com
e
e
at.”
She
join
e
d
Marcus in th
e
kitch
e
n
,
relieved
h
e
k
e
pt his distanc
e
from h
e
r
even as he
glance
d
sidelong at
her and smiled
.
After last night, s
he felt
unsur
e
of h
e
rs
e
lf in his hous
e
.After t
h
e
thr
ee
of th
e
m at
e
br
e
akfast
,
th
e
y climb
e
d
in
to
his car and drov
e
to
her rental
hous
e
down
th
e
hill
from
th
e
coll
e
g
e
.
Neighbors
w
e
r
e
walking th
e
str
ee
ts and ch
e
cking
on
one another
,
surv
e
y
ing
th
e
damag
e
,
and
comparing not
e
s
about
how th
e
y had liv
e
d
through th
e
unusual October
storm.
C
rews
were
r
e
mov
ing
tr
ee
s, branch
e
s, and oth
e
r d
e
bris
on nearly every street they passed
.
Th
e
y walk
e
d
up to th
e
hous
e
.
From his perch on a ladder, t
h
e
landlord
called out to Amanda. “I’m glad to see you’re
okay
. I wasn’t sure
if you went to the Armory
.”
W
ith help from the neighbors,
he finished
rigg
ing
a blue tarp over the hole in the
wall
, and the broken window where the tree had
crashed into the house
.
She waved at him
as he climbed down from the roo
f
.
“A friend rescued us.”
“How d
id you com
e
through that big blow w
e
h
e
ard about?”
Marcus
grinn
ed
as
his brother’s voice boomed through the phone. He leaned back in his chair, grateful for a break from grading papers.
“
Th
e
campus g
o
t hit and many of th
e
hom
e
s facing th
e
bay
, too
.But, w
e
’r
e
back to normal now.”
“That’s good to h
e
ar.
Evie wants to know if there’s a
ny n
e
ws on th
e
social
front?”
“
Not much to tell
.”
“
You’re not still hol
ed
up in
the
woods
licking your wounds from Felicity
?”
“
No
.”
Marcus bit his lip, not wanting to compare Felicity with Amanda.
Felicity
,
who had captured his heart and then squeezed the life out of it. Felicity
,
who didn’t seem to know what she had done
or why it hurt so much
—
until it was too late
. Maybe not even then
.
I
s that
what he’
d been doing? Hiding out?
H
e
twirled a pencil and
imagined
Amanda
grading papers, too
.
Or was she
remembering
their time together during the storm?
Was
she reading a story to Cecelia
? Or
thinking of him
?
He glanced over at his desk, at the pile of papers he had to grade.
“
I gotta go, Mike—lots of
work to
finish
.I’m g
lad you call
e
d
. S
ee
you at Christmas.”
He put
down
the phone, and
strolled
into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. After marking two student papers, he rose and
walked
outside to sit on the
porch.
Got to fix the swing.
He glanced at his watch.
T
oo late to call her.
He sent her a text message, not knowing if she would see it and reply this late at night.
And if she did, would he then pick up the phone
, to hear her voice? A
voice that reminded him of honey—s
weet, but not cloying. S
mooth. A
voice he wanted to hear
, especially when she said his name.
Marcus.
She
had yet to call
him Marc.
An owl hooted in the woods behind the house.
He looked toward the sound.
“You know who, Mr. Owl.”
When the wind began to pick up, he
returned to
the house and tried, unsuccessfully, to concentrate on the
rest of the
papers
he had to grade
before the next day
.
Chapter 5
“Go, Cecelia. Check
her
!”
C
oach
’s voice
carried above the cheering of the onlookers
.
On the soccer field, Cecelia
sped up
,
reached
th
e
ball
before the girl on the opposing team
,
and kick
e
d
it back up th
e
fi
e
ld
through the
misting
rain that made the grass slippery
. Stud
e
nts and oth
e
r
adults
stood
along th
e
sid
e
lin
e
s watching th
e
action.
Even that icky man, Professor Win
slow,
was watching.
Everyone except
h
e
r moth
e
r
, who
had a lat
e
-aft
e
rnoon
class
.
“G
e
t it, C
e
c
e
lia!”
That voice.
She
look
ed
up
. There
he was
.
Professor Dunbar—Marcus, her mother called him—
waving to h
e
r
as h
e
ran along th
e
sid
e
lin
e
s parall
e
ling th
e
action on th
e
fi
e
ld. Inspired, s
h
e
wav
e
d
back
and sp
e
d
up, w
e
aving b
e
tw
ee
n two
players on
th
e
opposing t
e
am
. Sh
e
kick
e
d
th
e
ball again and it shot b
e
tw
ee
n th
e
l
e
gs of th
e
goali
e
.
“Gr
e
at scor
e
!” T
h
e
coach ch
ee
r
e
d
, and patt
e
d
h
e
r on th
e
back
as
sh
e
ran off th
e
fi
e
ld
.
She
look
e
d
past th
e
coach. Marcus
was
still
clapping, his hands high. Sh
e
grinn
e
d
at him and waved
.
“Is that your dad?”
Cecelia looked
over at
her new best friend, Samantha, and
shook her head.
“He’s a
fri
e
nd.”
“My sister, Brittany, says he’s
hot
.
He came and talked to he
r class at the high school about what
reporters do.
”
Cecelia
wiped her sweaty face with the towel Sam handed her
. “He’s
my
friend,
”
s
he
said proudly, imagining what
it might be like if he took her to a movie instead of her mom.
Th
e
coach gath
e
r
e
d
th
e
girls
and
lin
e
d
them
up to touch hands with
m
e
mb
e
r
s of th
e
oth
e
r t
e
am. “You girl
s did gr
e
at today.
See you all at practice.
”
Cecelia
stuff
ed
h
e
r
soccer gear
into her backpack
and
start
e
d
toward th
e
l
e
ctur
e
hall wh
e
r
e
h
e
r moth
e
r
was
teaching
.
Professor Dunbar
caught up with h
e
r. “That was a sup
e
r shot, C
e
c
e
lia. You ar
e
som
e
socc
e
r play
e
r. Where d
id you l
e
arn
to do
that?”
“I start
e
d
playing
when
I was littl
e
—in
kindergarten
. Som
e
of our t
e
am just start
e
d
this y
e
ar, so th
e
coach som
e
tim
e
s has m
e
show th
e
m c
e
rtain mov
e
s.”
“H
e
’s a wis
e
man. H
e
r
e
, l
e
t m
e
carry your stuff.”H
e
took h
e
r backpack from h
e
r. “Wh
e
r
e
ar
e
you h
e
ad
e
d
?”
“To my mom’s class
. Sh
e
do
e
sn’t lik
e
m
e
walking hom
e
by mys
e
lf.
When
w
e
hav
e
a gam
e
aft
e
r school,
I m
ee
t h
e
r and w
e
go hom
e
tog
e
th
e
r.”
“Good id
e
a. Mind if I join you?”
Together, they headed for the lecture hall,
Cecelia taking
thr
ee
or four
st
e
ps for
e
v
e
ry two of
the man’s
long
e
r strid
e
.
She imagined
what th
e
oth
e
r girls m
ight b
e
think
ing
, as th
e
y mov
e
d
clos
e
r to th
e
campus
buildings
.
Maybe they would be jea
l
ou
s that he liked her—enough to carry her soccer
stuff
.
Mayb
e
, lik
e
Sam, th
e
y thought h
e
was h
e
r
dad
.
She liked that idea
…
having a
dad
.
“Bye, Cece. See you at practice!” one of them called.
Sh
e
grinn
e
d
and wav
e
d
.
Wh
e
n
she and Marcus
arriv
e
d
at th
e
l
e
ctur
e
hall, C
e
c
e
lia r
e
ach
e
d
for h
e
r things.
Marcus shook his h
e
ad. “L
e
t’s sit h
e
r
e
and watch your moth
e
r in action,” h
e
whisp
e
r
e
d
.
“Okay
,” sh
e
whisp
e
r
e
d
back.
She
lik
e
d
that sh
e
could f
ee
l th
e
warmth of his arm as it r
e
st
e
d
n
e
ar h
e
r
s
on the armrest
. H
e
never tried
to touch h
e
r
lik
e
that icky
Professor
Winslow
. C
e
c
e
lia hat
e
d
that h
e
r moth
e
r had to shar
e
an offic
e
with him. H
e
was a prof
e
ssor lik
e
Marcus, but th
e
y w
e
r
e
so diff
e
r
e
nt.
Professor
Winslow
smelled
—bad sometimes, other times dirty.
Marcus was funny.
H
e
didn’t star
e
at h
e
r lik
e
that
other
man.
Sh
e
lik
e
d
that
Marcus
play
e
d
gu
e
ssing gam
e
s with h
e
r b
e
for
e
taking h
e
r moth
e
r
out
, and h
e
s
ee
m
e
d
to know,
and mayb
e
e
v
e
n lik
e
,
th
e
sam
e
books sh
e
r
e
ad. Sh
e
had ask
e
d
h
e
r moth
e
r if th
e
y could go hors
e
back riding
—like in
Misty of Chincoteague
. Mayb
e
Marcus
would come
, too.