Doon

The girl could seriously read my mind. Rather than tell her I was going crazy, I opted for my other big news. “Eric and I broke up.”

“That’s gre – Ah … I mean, I am sooo sorry.” I could hear the smile in her voice. It was no secret she thought Eric was a jerk.

“Way to empathize.” But for some reason I could breathe again. How did she do that? Maybe we did share a brain, like her dad always claimed.

“At least now you have no excuse for not coming to Scotland.”

“Except being broke.”

Or was I? I patted the dashboard in front of me and saw dollar signs. I didn’t want to sell my Bug, but getting away from Bainbridge for the summer—and my cheating ex—sounded better than ever now. “I have an idea. No promises though.”

“Hey, I’ve got news too. I decided what I want from my dad for graduation.”

“Okaayy … that’s good, I guess.” Kenna was the queen of random segues, so I waited for her to connect the dots.

“In case you didn’t realize, that was your cue.”

My voice oozed mock contrition as I asked, “Oh, I’m sorry. Whatever could you be getting for graduation?”

“A plane ticket to Scotland for my bestie.”

A baseball-sized lump stuck in my throat, making it impossible to speak.

“Vee? You still there?”

I swallowed, but my voice was still a strangled rasp. “I can’t accept that.”

Instantly serious, she demanded, “How long have you known me?”

“Since kindergarten.”

“Have I ever taken no for an answer?”

“No …” She was right. Memories of her goading me into jumping from a moving swing despite my fear of heights, her forcing me out of the bathroom when I’d been too nervous to perform in our fifth-grade talent show, and the time she’d coaxed me from a two-week pity party using brownies and the latest Harry Potter movie as incentive after my mom started dating Bob the Slob, all proved it was true.

“Happy graduation, Vee. Next week, we’re off on an epic summer adventure.”

We both squealed until the bell cut us off. As if someone would hear her, Kenna hastily whispered, “Call me after school, ‘kay? Bye.”

Despite the warning bell, I sat staring out my windshield. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. I should’ve been devastated, but I felt … good. I was about to spend the entire summer in Scotland with my best friend, and maybe if I was lucky I’d find a hot kilt-wearing boy like the one from my deliciously detailed imagination.

I hauled myself out of the car and headed back toward the school, glancing over my shoulder to the spot where the golden-haired boy had stood. A flash of white caught my eye, a scrap of cloth fluttering in the breeze. As it began to swirl across the blacktop, I pushed dark strands of hair out of my face and turned to intercept it.

Capturing the piece of fabric, I spread the delicate square flat in my hand. A handkerchief, like the one my grandpa used to use to wipe tears from my cheeks when I was little.

A small picture embroidered in blue and green thread displayed two lions back to back, one with an arrow clamped in its teeth, the other holding a sword, a tilted crown on his head. Beneath the picture were four letters in italicized script:

The mystery boy’s initials?

As I guessed at what the letters could stand for, the script began to blur. I blinked and looked again; not only were the initials gone, but the fabric seemed to grow thinner, until I could see my fingers through it. Frantically, I stretched the cloth between my hands and brought it closer to my face. But before I could get a good look, the material pulled apart and evaporated into thin air.

I stared at my empty hands, disappointment hitting me like a sharp, quick punch to the chest. The memento was gone as if it’d never been—as if he had never been.

I lugged my gear out of the Bug and trudged up our crumbled walkway to the front steps. Moths buzzed around the yellow porch light, flying in my face as I juggled my bags and the gallon of milk I’d picked up on the way home. My leg muscles trembled with fatigue. After teaching preschool ballet, advanced modern dance, and two yoga classes, I felt like I could sleep for a hundred years.

Dropping my bags inside the door, I went straight for the jumbo box of Cheerios on the counter. I didn’t have to open the kitchen cabinets to know they’d be bare.

Too exhausted to change out of my dance clothes, I sunk into the saggy floral couch and clicked on the TV. I refused to think about Eric and Steph, so I distracted myself by imagining how amazing it would be to go to Scotland. To immerse myself in the culture, experience new things—even if that meant trying stuff like oat porridge, kippers, and fried haggis. Okay, maybe not fried haggis. Sheep guts were totally disgusting. But it would be like a whole new world!

The front door slammed. Mom’s giggle preceded her into the house, reminding me that my dreams of freedom were a long way off.

Enter Bob the Slob.

I set my cereal bowl on the table and readied myself to bolt as they came stumbling into the room, arm in arm. Bob had his baseball cap on backward and the sleeves of his flannel shirt cut off, revealing large arms that had long ago turned to fat. On the creep-scale of guys Janet had dated, this guy topped them all. Last weekend he’d not only spent the night, but a good portion of the day camped out on our couch in his tighty-whities, a Coors Light in one hand, the remote in the other.

“Hey dumplin’! What’re you up to?” Janet turned her wide, unfocused eyes on me. She’d been drinking— again. She wasn’t a drunk, but she appeared to be finding more and more reasons to go out and socialize, as she called it.

Her wooly gaze settled on me and sharpened. “Jeez, Veronica, go put some clothes on!” Bob’s eyes flowed over my skin-tight leotard and sheer wrap skirt with obvious interest. There was no way I was going to stand up and walk out of the room now. Suddenly, a blanket smacked me in the side of the head. Janet’s way of helping me out.

“Um, thanks, Mom”

“Sure, Punkin! Do we have any leftovers or anything?” she yelled as she wobbled into the kitchen on platform sandals. Bob watched me with narrowed eyes and a catlike smile as I positioned the blanket more strategically around me.

“Ah no, Mom. I haven’t been home much lately.”

“Oh, okay.” Janet stumbled out of the kitchen holding two glasses and a bottle of Arbor Mist. She squeezed into the same chair with Bob, and as he poured she stared at me critically.

Oh no, here it comes.

“Dumplin’, I thought you were going to color your hair?” She took her glass and motioned with it toward my head. “Or at least get highlights or somethin’. Dark brown is just so dreary.”

I reached back and twisted the length of my hair behind my head. She’d been nagging me to dye it for years, even offering to take me to the salon. But I’d only recently figured out it was because my hair was the exact shade of deep chestnut as my dad’s. We also shared the same full mouth, and blue-green eyes. To Janet, I was a constant reminder of what she’d lost.

But she never seemed to remember that I’d lost him too. I still couldn’t think about the day he went to the grocery store and never came back without feeling like I was having a mini heart attack.

“I dunno.” Bob’s fingers started to roam across Janet’s mid-section as he stared at me. “I think her hair’s purty that way.”

I bit my lip. Bob had no idea what he’d just done. Janet drained her glass in one gulp and slammed it on the table. I needed to get out of there. Fast. “I’m really tired.” I half-yawned as I gathered my things and stood, the blanket slipping from one shoulder.