Prologue

 

Galina Ramos stood alone on the white, wrap-around porch and watched as the last of the moving trucks pulled out of the driveway. She bitterly cursed Mr. and Mrs. Leonards, and Stick himself, although it was hardly his fault. She felt her eyes growing wet, and hugged herself to keep form crying. Just when she thought the house would be silent, the screen door swung open, and out walked Stick.

He wore his old, sun-bleached Pee-Wee t-shirt, and a pair of khaki shorts that exposed his long, pale legs, which were just beginning to sprout hair. His hair stuck up in places, like he had just woken up, even though he and Lena both knew he hadn't been able to sleep the night before.

It was obvious why everyone called him Stick. He was gangly-- skinny, with awkwardly sharp elbows and knees-- and was much too tall for his age. Lena, her face scrunching as she tried to contain the tears, barreled into him, staining his t-shirt with a  fresh, silver, wet trail of salty tears.

"Lena," Stick sighed, hugging her tightly, toying with the dark locks of hair that had managed to slip out of her ponytail, "don't cry."

It was so much easier said than done. Stick was Lena's best friend; he was possibly the one person who kept her sane. He couldn't simply just move the summer before freshman year. It wasn't fair. The idea of Stick moving to L.A., so far away, wasn't fair, let alone plausible.

The two had been inseperable since they had both gotten chicken pox at day care, and had to be in similar quarintine cots until their parents could pick them up. They each still had scars from their pox, which they considered permanent friendship bracelets.

Wiping at her tears, Lena looked up at him, her green eyes wide with hurt and sadness. "This isn't fair! How am I supposed to become a famous ballerina if my partner moves halfway across the country," she challenged, lightly punching his chest and trying to put on a brave face. Stick smiled, and punched her shoulder back, although his smile was weak and looked like some sort of plastic mask.

"You'll make it, Lena. I promise," Stick insisted, just before the honk of his family's Volvo interrupted them. They both grew silent, like the weight of that Volvo was dangling from their tongues, both too afraid to say the first goodbye. Another hug, Lena breathing in the scent of Doritos and Stick's deodorant, and suddenly Galina Ramos' best friend was slowly walking down the front porch steps, the ones that lead to his new life in L.A.

As he opened the door to his family's Volvo, its burnt cherry paint glinting in the sunlight, Lena felt her stomach lurch. Tears welled, and, just before he slid into the seat, she heard herself crying his name.

"Stick, promise you won't forget me," she yelled, her voice catching in the wind. Stick nodded, before kissing the pock mark on his pinkie, and settling into the seat. He watched from the car window as she did the same, and watched as she cried alone on the porch of his old house, and watched and wathed until his ballerina was nothing more than a figure in the distance.

 

The Boy

 

"Lena," Keller sighed, making her slump and deflate like a helium balloon. Desperately, Galina clung to the t-shirt he had earlier been wearing, holding it to her chest tightly. Seeing the disappointment on her face, he smiled half-heartedly. "Lena, I have to go. If your dad catches me, catches us, you know I'm dead."

Cupping her face in his hands, Keller sat up in the pink, tangled bed sheets and pile of over-stuffed, over-sized stuffed animals and plush pillows. Lena knew he was right-- he probably would have been cut from the team-- and yet she was reluctant to let him leave. Placing a small kiss on her forehead, he finally pulled his worn baseball t-shirt over her head.

"But... I was wearing it so well," Lena joked, although her heart wasn't so into the joking anymore. She really didn't want him to leave, any more than she wanted to get out of bed and ready herself to face her father for the morning.

Keller chuckled, and kissed Lena again, his smile making her heart swell just a bit in her chest. "I, personally, like it much better off," he teased, his fingers dancing on her skin the way Lena danced on stage. His hands rested on her naked ribcage, his thumb brushing each bone, stopping as it reached the wire of her bra.

Galina was too skinny. The other girls Keller dated were vulumptous and curvy and breasted. She, on the other hand, was built like a bird, so bony and tiny.

"Then stay," Lena cried, her voice growing a bit louder, as he mussed her hair like she was a child and climbed off the pink, fluffy bed. She watched, very helplessly, if I might add, as he then continued to get dressed, those glitzy Rock Revival jeans shaping his toned althletic body the way Lena's leaotard fit her like it was made just for her.

"Sorry, Lena, you know I want to, but your dad-"

"Could catch us, I know," she sighed monotonically, falling back onto the bed with a 'hmph'. She was used to this speech, unfortunately. Keller, his face full of teasing guilt, fell beside her, still bare-chested and tanned as ever.

"I promise, I'll kidnap you as soon as I can," he grinned, placing a small kiss on Lena's temple before grabbing his phone from the white nightstand and slipping on his shirt. She wanted to hug him, and kiss him hard and passionately, even though she knew, before she considered the thought, it would only cause him to explain his 'attachment issues' and 'how much he cared for her, but couldn't commit right now' and 'how he really hates labels'.

She watched, feeling as though her heart was being ripped out bit by bit, as he then climbed out of her window, winking before he launched himself into the tree that rapped against her window at night.

She watched, feeling as though she should have done something to make his stay longer, as he then manuevered through the branches and leaves that would fall to the ground in the autumn.

She watched, feeling quite, very, undeniably empty, as he then ran down the street to his stylish sports car that they had once hooked up in the backseat of.

She watched, as the guy she would do anything for, drove off.

The Best Friend

 

Jonathan sighed as Hamilton, New Hampshire, came into view, a sight he was less than excited about. Cornfields... and more cornfields... a cow... some more corn fields...

Just great. They were in that utterly fascinating part of the Northeast where it was suburban, but could still be considered rural if you knew what back-roads to take.

Los Angeles had changed him... a lot. No longer was he the awkward, lanky, glasses-wearing geek he had been two year ago. In Stick's place was Jon, the tan, built surfer who hated Hamilton with a passion. He gloomily commenced into every 'I-hate-my-life, Mom-why-are-you-doing-this-to-me' song montage, as he stared out the window to look at the cornfields, and cornfields, and cow.

"Jon," his mother squealed, ducking so she could catch a glimpse of Hamilton's water tower, "we're almost home!"

'No,' Jon thought stubbornly, glancing at his mother in the driver's seat, 'home is with Dad, in L.A. Not rinky-dink Hamilton, where you have basically invaded Nanna's home."

He watched as the old, once-familiar Main Street shops flew by. He saw the old elementary school, which had a new jungle gym, he noted, and the pool, where he and Lena...

Jon had almost forgotten about Lena, in the two years he had found himself in Sunny California. Even though she was a permanent fixation on his skin, literally, he had somehow managed to avoid any thought of his old life in New Hampshire. Smiling at a few of the memories that had jumped into his head, Jon touched the tiny, pock-mark scar that sat on his pinkie.

The sound of his mother singing, some song she had just made up out of pure glee, brought him back to reality, though, when Jon began thinking of all the upsides of being back in Hamilton. Nicole, who was happily shoving ear buds into her ears, didn't have to suffer.

Jon was anything but understanding when it came to his mother; after his parents divorced, and his mother wrangled Nicole into wanting to live with her, Jon knew he had to stick with his little sister. Unfortunately, that meant living with Nanna, who was batshit crazy, his mother, his sister Nicole, and without any male companioinship. Fun.

As if on cue, they pulled into the driveway of Nanna's old farmhouse, which had a red, paint-chipped barn and an old (you guessed it) cow. Jon stared up at the place he once considered a second home. It looked strange, foreign, like nostalgia had psyched him up to be staying in the Ritz Carlton, instead of the Holiday Inn.

Sighing in defeat, Jon swung his backpack-- which was filled with every electronic and junk food imaginable-- onto his shoulder and put on his happy face. For Nicole, he reminded himself, right before he was attacked by Batshit Crazy Nanna Betty.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 03.06.2013

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Special thanks to nerdybird, who took the time to make these awesome covers. :D Thank you, once again, and hope you enjoy!