Free The Truth About You & Me by Amanda Grace Page A

staring.
    And then a memory came rushing back:
    Me, reaching the top of the hill, huffing and puffing, pulling my little pink saucer up behind me.
    My brother, halfway up, following my path.
    When I got to the top, two boys—probably sixteen, a full eight years older than me—pelted me with snowballs, one of them crashing straight into my face and exploding in my eye like a thousand tiny pinpricks.
    I dropped to the ground in an instant, the string in my hands disappearing as my sled skidded down the hill behind me, and I burst into tears.
    My brother, who had seemed so far behind me, was suddenly beside me, then past me, the snow crunching under his feet as he flew forward after the two boys, both of whom towered over him.
    And one of whom punched him square in the eye, while the other laughed and told us we matched. Then they hopped onto their sleds and slid down the mountain, and the world fell silent again.
    My brother sniffled, just once, before he returned to my side and pulled me to my feet.
    â€œYou okay?”
    And as he hugged me, I knew I was okay, knew my brother would protect me against anything. Anyone. Just like when he read me a chapter of Harry Potter before bed because Mom was at yet another conference in yet another city and Dad didn’t do the voices right. Just like the way he gave me his own lunch on the bus when I burst into tears because I’d realized I’d left mine at home on the counter.
    I blinked away the memory and tucked the photo more carefully back into the box.
    Trevor and I had been close. A long time ago. Now he was consumed with pleasing Mom and Dad, in that same way that had once been so important to me yet now seemed meaningless. He’d moved away and forgotten me.
    It stung, once. Now I simply accepted it as fact.
    Once all the photos were back in the box, I stood, shoving it back onto the shelf.
    Then I stepped back and surveyed the room, and my lips curled up. It was better. Much better. A room that suited who I was now.
    As I left my bedroom again, heading down the hall to the bathroom for a hot, relaxing shower, my brother left his room and we collided.
    â€œOh!” I jumped back. “I didn’t know you were home.”
    He shrugged, moving to step past me.
    â€œWait. Why are you home?”
    He glanced back at me just before turning to take the stairs. “I have a few more days before I start the internship.
    I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of an Ivy League school allows a sophomore to bail on classes?”
    He pulled his phone out, glanced at the time, and then shoved it back in his pocket. “It’s a pilot internship program for engineering students. The directors are Harvard alums and teachers themselves, and it’s aimed at getting students directly into jobs after graduation. Which is a big deal, thanks to the job market or whatever.”
    â€œLucky you,” I said.
    â€œYep. Anyway, I’m gonna go play ball. See ya!”
    And then, like that, he was gone.
    And now that I’d cleaned my room, I was going to focus on another transformation. One I was hoping would catch your notice.

    On my way to class on Tues day, the radio hummed though I was hardly listening. I’d get to see in you in a few hours—for the first time since I’d added bright blond streaks to my hair—and I couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop the butterflies from racing in circles in my stomach. I wanted you to notice me in a new way, wanted your eyes to sweep over me. I’d never been particularly fond of the ugly dishwater color of my hair, and yet I had never changed it.
    Until now. Because you changed me on the inside, and now I couldn’t help but want everything else to reflect that. We were something. We had something. And I couldn’t wait to see you again so we could figure out just what that something was.
    As I clicked on my blinker and turned into the big lot—the western lot surrounded by all those