Prologue
Bailey
Six years earlier…
Ethan is the only reason I can stand doing math.
Factions and decimals – decimals and fractions. I feel like my brain is going to melt every time I open my book. But then my parents hired Ethan to help me, and everything changed.
Sure, I’m only 12 and he’s 18, but does that mean I can’t have a little crush on him? He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and so handsome I sometimes wonder why he’s helping me with my math instead of starring in movies or modeling in New York City.
He cares about my life too. He’s always asking me questions about my parents, how I’m doing, what my hopes and dreams for life after school are. I never feel like any of my answers are good enough for him, but he always smiles and at least pretends they are. He’s also the only person I know who doesn’t give me a hard time about my scar.
“It’s cute,” he’s told me many times. “You’re like a badass, female warrior.”
I always laugh. “A badass female warrior who can’t ride her bike!”
I hit a stump when I was seven and crashed down on the pavement, splitting the side of my chin open. The boys at school said I looked like the Joker, and the girls called me a monster until about a year ago. But Ethan always told me to embrace it and that it made me special.
Today, I’m wearing my cutest jeans and favorite pink T-shirt and looking forward to our session, but when he comes into the room, I can tell something’s off.
Normally, Ethan’s always smiling, and it’s a true and honest smile. But today, it’s tight and forced. Even his eyes, normally bright and blue, are cloudy like there’s a terrible storm approaching.
He always asks me how I’m doing, but today he simply sets down his bag and says, “All set to get started?”
“Um, yes…”
He also always sits next to me so we can share my book and he can see my work. I love the smell of pine from whatever product he uses, but today he pulls a chair up across the table from me. Yeah, something’s up.
But I’m too afraid to say anything. He may be sweet to me, but he’s also a lot older, and if I’m being honest, he’s kind of scary today.
“Okay, let’s get going with some fractions,” he says, sounding more like a teacher than a friendly tutor. “Have you been doing your worksheets?”
“Yes,” I reply timidly as I push the paper across the table to show him. He takes it, goes through them, and quickly grades it and hands it back to me.
“Not bad, Bailey. You’re coming along well.”
“Thanks,” I reply. When I smile back at him, I deliberately make it a sad smile, hoping he’ll catch on and ask me about it, which would give me a way into a conversation where I could hopefully find out what’s wrong with him, but he just ignores it and starts the lesson.
It’s painfully awkward as we go through our usual forty-five-minutes together, and when he closes the book and gets to his feet, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach – a feeling like something bad is about to happen.
“Good luck, Bailey,” he tells me.
My hands start to tingle. “What—what do you mean?”
Is this goodbye?
“On your test tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I reply, somewhat relieved. “Yeah, thanks.”
He nods. “Good job today.”
His eyes linger on me, and the world seems to slow down. The moment stretches on and on for what feels like an eternity, and I am screaming inside, wishing I was strong enough to say something. It’s a fact now; something is going on.
I convince myself to say something, but I can’t. All I can do is watch as Ethan turns, opens the door, and walks away.
Five minutes later, my mom shows up to bring me home. I tell her all about what happened, but she just shrugs it off. “Oh, honey, he’s an eighteen-year-old man now. I’m sure he’s got lots going on in his life. You’ll see, he’ll be back to normal next week!”
But Ethan didn’t show up next week.
Or the next week, or the next week, or the next.
In fact, Ethan never showed up again. I never saw him or heard what happened. He was just…gone, like a ghost disappearing into the darkness.
And I started going to bed every night thinking the same thing: what did I do wrong?
1
Bailey