Free Find Me by Romily Bernard Page A

there and I could return the diary. Staring at Todd, the opportunity seems kind of perfect.
    Perfectly dreadful.
    “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
    “You know, you could do a lot with what happened to you, Wicket. You could turn it into an opportunity to help others.”
    Like he did? I don’t think I have it in me. I damn sure know I don’t have the words anyone would need to hear. “The Wayes are not . . . big fans of mine.”
    Todd nods like he was expecting this. “I understand. Mrs. Waye told me all about it one day before Sunday school. But you’re not that girl anymore, Wicket. You don’t have to be afraid, but it’s okay if you don’t want to come.”
    Todd takes my coffee mug and turns toward the kitchen. “Bren wanted you to stay quiet, rest. I think she was planning to take you to get your nails done later—”
    “Todd?” His name sounds all strangled, and we both pretend not to notice. “I’ll come.”
    If only because it’s my best inroad to Tally, and I’ll take what I can get.
    “Great! And you’re sure you’ll be okay? I mean . . . after your mom and what happened yesterday . . .”
    I’m kind of glad he’s fumbling. It makes him seem less assured, less heroic, less . . . dad-like. I hate thinking about Todd in those terms, but it’s true. Todd is practically a sitcom dad come to life. He’s someone you could confide in, someone who would cheer you on, someone who would never hit you. He’s pretty much the exact opposite of my real dad.
    Which is a ridiculous thought. I’m almost seventeen—way too old for this shit. I don’t need a father figure. I don’t need someone to confide in or anyone to cheer me on. I don’t need whatever Todd is or could be, but sometimes, in moments like these, I realize how much I want someone like him anyway.
    Stupid. Really stupid. Dangerous even, because he will only let me down. So I push the idea under, hold it until it stops thrashing.
    After my mom and all. Concentrate on that. There should be a good way to explain this. God knows I’ve had enough opportunities. Our community is pretty small, and after the newspaper ran a front-page article on my mom’s suicide, everyone talked about it. They wanted to know why she did it and how she could leave “her responsibilities.”
    I don’t think they ever understood that was the point. She couldn’t handle her responsibilities—that’s why she jumped. They never understood that they weren’t supposed to understand. It was something she felt she had to do, and it made sense to her. It’s been four years, and even though I’ve worked some stuff out in my head, I can’t express any of it.
    Except maybe this: Everything comes after “my mom and all.” That’s what comes from loss. There’s Before When You Had a Mom and then . . . Now When You Don’t Have a Mom. You don’t get over it, you just learn how to endure. It isn’t just the loss of your mom. It’s the birthdays she’ll miss. Your graduation. Your first date. All those little losses light up her absence with torches.
    You deal. I did.
    Tally will.
    I swallow. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I could do something good with everything that’s happened to me.”
    Not the worst lie I’ve ever told. Might even be a little true.
    But Todd’s still watching like he’s looking for cracks. I keep my face blank and shrug. “After all, I know how they feel.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    .....................................................................

I would do anything for my sister.
    —Page 23 of Tessa Waye’s diary
    Usually Brandy, the Wayes’ housekeeper, opens the door for visitors, but this time it’s Mrs. Waye herself. She pushes the door wide, and for a second, I feel like I’m an eleven-year-old again, getting dropped off for a playdate with Tessa.
    I had forgotten how pretty her mom is, how Mrs. Waye can cry and still keep her makeup perfect.
    But it cracks around her