“HOME SWEET HOME!”
I collapsed face-first onto my bed and nuzzled my nose into the soft striped pillowcase. Fiona Taylor hovered in the doorway, laughing, while out in the living room, Britta checked Twitter for any mention of my escape. Fi had bags under her brown eyes but still seemed energized—lit from within by adrenaline, same as me. She was wearing baggy jeans and a comfy-looking T-shirt, her blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail as she sipped from a paper coffee cup. The whole “team” had pulled an all-nighter, driving from D.C. to Sweetbriar, but it was well worth it.
“Anything?” I called out.
“Nothing!” Britta shouted back. “Not one hashtag!”
Fiona and I locked eyes. “Weird,” we said in unison.
I sat up and grabbed my violin case from the corner next to my bed, then hugged it to my chest.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” I whispered.
“Okay, is that normal? You talking to inanimate objects?” Fiona asked. “Or do I need to get you to sleep, stat?”
“I’m fine,” I said with a laugh. “It’s just so good to be back. And I really did think I’d never see this again. Or anything else here. You included.”
I got up and hugged her for the fourth or fifth time. Fiona groaned in a good-natured way and hugged me back. She was going to have to humor me, because who knew how long we were going to be together? My mother might have gone dormant for now, but there was no chance in hell she was going to stay that way.
I hadn’t been able to believe it when we’d pulled up in front Hadley’s Drugs, the storefront on the first floor of the apartment I shared with Britta, and no one was there. Not one black sedan, not one cop car. Not even a reporter with a crappy digital camera. Jasper and I had driven all the way down from D.C, with Britta and Fiona an hour behind us, giving my mother plenty of time to scramble an FBI team out of Nashville to be waiting for us when we arrived. But there had been nothing other than the glowing streetlamps and the birds singing in the town square as the sun came up.
Honestly, I was almost disappointed.
“What do you think she’s planning?” Britta asked, appearing behind Fiona’s shoulder. She was back in true Britta form—skull and crossbones T-shirt, red ribbons in her hair, and fishnets under a purple pleated skirt. Apparently she’d changed back at the hotel and Fiona had been forced to talk her out of burning her boring waitress uniform.
I hadn’t even considered that—the possibility that the reason I’d yet to be dragged home again was that my mother was busy planning something bigger for me. Something worse. But what could possibly be worse?
“I . . . I don’t know.”
At that moment the front door banged open and we all jumped. Fiona actually screamed.
“The conquering heroes return!”
“Duncan! You scared the crap out of us!” Fiona shouted at her brother.
Duncan Taylor pushed his way between the girls to enter my room, carrying a piece of white poster board with the words WELCOME HOME! spelled out in red marker. He also had a cake box and my stomach growled at the site of it. He dropped both items on my bed and tackled me backward onto the mattress in a huge bear hug. Our legs entwined and our chests mashed up against each other until we both realized how awkward it was and disentangled.
“It’s really good to see you,” Duncan said, pushing his dark hair out of his now ruby-red face. He wore a clean USA SOCCER T-shirt, athletic shorts, and sandals, and smelled as if he’d just showered. “And my mom’s on speed dial just waiting for your call.”
“Thanks.” I shrugged. “But so far it’s been pretty quiet.”
“Cool. Then let’s bust open this cake.”
“Cake for breakfast!” Fiona cheered. “It’s anarchy!”
Duncan grabbed the box and sign and we followed him to the small kitchen, where he sliced the red twine with a knife and revealed a scrumptious-looking, buttercream-covered monstrosity. The cake read WE MISSED YOU CECILIA, with the LIA underlined.
“Yeah, that’s a good question,” Fiona said, grabbing the knife from her brother to cut the cake. “What are we supposed to call you now?”
“Cecilia, I guess,” I replied, though the idea didn’t sit well.
“What’s wrong?” Britta asked, holding out a plate while Fiona flopped a slice of cake onto it. Fiona handed me the plate and dug a fork out of a drawer. Duncan dipped his finger in a glob of pink frosting.
“I really liked Lia,” I said. “She was kind of everything I always wanted to be.”
They all stared at me.
“But she was you,” Duncan said, pointing at me with the frosting glob. “And you were her. It’s not like she died. I mean, like it’s not like you died. You’re standing right here.”
“I know. It’s crazy,” I said. “But being Lia Washington in name kind of freed me up to not act like myself. To, I don’t know, be brave or something.” I blushed. “I know it sounds stupid.”
“No it doesn’t,” Fiona said. “I totally get it. In fact, I’m kind of jealous you got the chance. I can’t imagine everything I would do if I got to go be someone else.”
“Well, why don’t you both stop being whoever it is you don’t want to be and start being the people you want to be?” Britta suggested.
“Yeah, like it’s that simple,” Fiona groused, cutting another piece of cake.
Britt and Duncan looked at each other as if Fiona and I were speaking another, incomprehensible language. Which wasn’t surprising. It was pretty clear the two of them owned their identities in ways that were totally natural. To them, at least.
“Maybe it is,” I said. “I mean, I did do it. For a while. Just because everyone knows who I am now doesn’t mean I have to go back to acting like a timid little recluse.” I thought of the way I’d asked Frederick to dance—how it hadn’t intimidated me in the slightest. “I’ll do it if you’ll do it,” I said to Fiona.
She paused mid-chew, one cheek full of cake. “Do what, exactly?”
“Be brave,” I suggested. “Do one brave thing that you’d never thought you’d do. Something unexpected. Something that makes everyone you know go, no way, really? ”
Fiona laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“Just one?” Duncan challenged.
“One’s a start,” I replied. “Whaddaya say, Taylor? You up for it?”
Fiona swallowed. “You know what? Yes. I’m in. One brave thing.”
“It’s a deal.” I dipped a finger in the cake’s thick icing and held it out. “I suggest a frosting toast—to being who you want to be, not what everyone else expects you to be.”
Duncan touched his pink fingertip to mine. Then Fiona scooped up a bit of green from a leaf and Britta took a whole chunk of buttercream.
“To being who you want to be.”
We touched fingers, then sucked the frosting off, smiles all around. The door opened again, and this time it was Jasper. He’d changed into clean jeans and a plaid shirt.
“Did I interrupt something?” he drawled.
“Just the first-ever frosting toast,” I replied.
“Well, I’m sorry I missed that,” he said, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He left the door open, which made me wonder what was coming—whether it was good or bad. Was he leaving the door open because the FBI was right behind him? Or worse, my mother?
“You guys mind if I steal Cecilia here away for some alone time?” he asked.
So it was good then. Very, very good.
Then he looked me in the eye, and his expression grew serious. “We have a lot to talk about.”
* * *
“So I have something to tell you.”
Jasper held my hand as we emerged onto the sidewalk on Main Street, pausing to let a group of elderly power walkers stride by. They each greeted us with a friendly “Morning!” until one of them narrowed her eyes and whispered something to the woman next to her. By the time they reached the corner, they were all looking back over their shoulders at us, their arms still pumping away.
What was that about? People in this town had to know that Jasper hadn’t actually done anything wrong, right? He was one of their own. They knew him.
“Well, like I told you last night, I gotta do some damage control,” Jasper continued, apparently not noticing the staring ladies, who finally rounded a corner out of sight. “The label’s a little concerned, now that there’s all this footage of me being led out of my house at gunpoint and in handcuffs.”
I pulled my fingers from his and hid my face behind my hands. Suddenly all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and die. “What a nightmare. I’m so sorry, Jasper.”
“No. No, it’s okay. I don’t blame you. It’s not about that.”
We crossed Main toward the park at the center of town, where a few people were jogging or walking their dogs. The sun rose steadily, casting long shadows across the dewy grass. Nearby, a church bell rang, inviting parishioners to Sunday services. Jasper slung his arm over my shoulders and I settled in against him as we walked.
“But he’s lined up all these interviews over the next couple of weeks and I have a few concert dates in Nashville and Austin coming up—”
“Austin? That’s great!” I said. Not that I’d ever been there or knew anything about it firsthand, but Jasper had mentioned a few times how huge the music scene was there.
“And I’m also going to start recording my album.”
“Wow.” I paused in the middle of the brick walkway. “So you’re gonna be pretty busy then.”
“Looks that way.” Jasper smiled. He was excited about this. “I just wanted to make sure I was clear about it up front so you don’t think I’m, well, avoiding you or anything. It’s just . . . bad timing. We won’t be seeing much of each other.”
“But for such a great reason!” I said, hugging him. Well, mostly a great reason. If I hadn’t gotten him arrested, he wouldn’t be half as busy. But I decided not to hammer home that point. I turned and walked over to a bench underneath the full branches of a magnolia tree. Suddenly I felt utterly exhausted. The adrenaline of the past twelve hours had finally worn off, but I sat up straight, trying to hide it. “Anything I can do to help, Jasper. Really.”
It was the least I could offer, considering what my mother had done to him.
“Thanks. I sure do appreciate that.” He sat next to me and kissed my cheek. He’d shaved since he’d been home and his skin felt smooth and clean. “The good news is, my agent worked it out so that I can record the album in Gary Benson’s private studio, which is up at his house here in Sweetbriar. So at least I can stay here. I mean, when I’m not on the road.”
“That’s great!” I leaned against his shoulder and looked out across the green grass of the park. A huge banner was strung across the gazebo advertising the Sweetbriar Summer Fest, coming up in three weeks. I had no idea what Summer Fest was, but it sounded like fun. It sounded like some good, normal, fun.
What if my mother really never came after me? What if my escape made her realize I was actually a lost cause? Was she even capable of giving up? If she left me alone, then in a few weeks I’d be at Summer Fest with Jasper and my friends, laughing, eating, dancing (I imagined). Being free. I wondered if there were going to be carnival rides at this thing. I hadn’t sat my butt inside so much as a Ferris wheel car since I was eight years old. Did I even like carnival rides?
A tiny flutter of hope sprang up inside my chest, and I realized it was about time for me to start figuring out my life. Finding out who I was and planning my actual future. Maybe it was a good thing that Jasper was going to be busy. I had a lot to do.
On the far side of the park, a man dressed in black smoked a cigarette, leaning back against the side of his dark gray pickup truck. He suddenly lifted a camera, trained the lens right on us, and snapped off a few pictures. My heart hammered painfully in my chest and I sat up straight.
“What?” Jasper said. “What’s wrong?”
The man jumped into his truck and pulled out, the engine rumbling. He was probably working for my mother—confirming I was here so she could send in her flying monkeys.
“Lia? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to concern him and spoil the moment. I put my head on his shoulder again. “Sorry. It was nothing.”
Jasper was quiet for a moment, and I tensed, waiting for more questions, but they never came.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Jasper said softly, kissing the side of my head.
I took a deep breath and sighed. “Me too.”
Now all I had to do was figure out a way to stay here.