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Chapter One: Dani CHAPTER ONE February—Senior Year Dani
“Wake up—we’re here.”
I opened my eyes, but instead of seeing my bedroom, I saw snow and gray skies through the cold window that my forehead was resting on.
The same things I’d stared at for countless hours before finally falling asleep.
Damn it—it’s real.
“Remind me again why we’re moving here,” I said, leaning down to shove my feet back into my Chucks. We drove seven hours in a moving truck full of our stuff (that’d been incorrectly shipped to our old address in Minot—thanks, Air Force) so we could now live in a place where there appeared to be multiple feet of snow on the ground and the windchill was subzero—like, make it make sense. “I mean, why not California?”
“We’ve been over this. Too expensive, too hot in the summer, and you’re going to love living here,” my mom said, shutting off the truck and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “You loved it when you were younger, remember?”
The main reason I loved it was because of Alec.
My stomach instantly knotted at the thought of him and the reality that I was going to have to face him after he’d ghosted our long-distance friendship. I was dreading that awkward reunion with every fiber of my being, and still slightly pissed, but I was also hopeful that once the embarrassing moment passed, he’d be the best thing about the move.
Or at least he’d help it be... marginally less nightmarish.
Because Alec Barczewski had always been a hilarious ray of sunshine with the uncanny ability to make everything better. It’d been a long time and we were obviously different people now, but in my heart I knew that my dorky friend would somehow make this okay.
“Loving a place you visit once a year—in the summer—is totally different from living there year-round,” I muttered, opening the door and jumping down from the truck, the icy wind slapping at my cheeks as I jerked up the hood on my jacket. “Especially when the winter climate is abysmal.”
Dear Lord, it feels like there are shards of glass in that wind. Whyyyyy do people choose to live in a place so cold? I’d lived in the cold before, so it wasn’t new to me, but I’d somehow managed to forget just how harsh it felt.
“Quit complaining. I just drove through White Castle, so you’ve got a slider and fries in your bag,” she said, coming around to grab my arm and loop it through hers after I shut the door.
“Seriously?” My stomach growled and I caught a whiff of onion as I looked down at my tote. “Perfect last meal before I freeze to death, thank you.”
“And we are now officially residents of Southview,” she proclaimed with a terrifying amount of finality in her voice. “Like it or not.”
I sighed and thought a thousand times NOT as I pulled out a tiny burger and lifted it to my mouth. I took a bite and stared at the big white house in front of us, my stomach heavy with dread as I chewed.
Which kind of made sense, since the last time we’d been there, my dad and I had been loading the car in silence while my mom argued with my grandpa in the driveway.
You traded in your family and your entire life to follow that asshole from base to base—was it worth it? Do you like your rootless existence, where Dani doesn’t even know what family looks like?
“He doesn’t appear to be home,” I said, taking in the closed curtains and empty driveway. “He knows we’re coming, right?”
“Of course he’s home,” she said. “He’s probably just parked in the garage.”
“He never parks in the garage,” I corrected, taking two more huge bites and saying through a mouthful of food, “That’s where he keeps his tools.”
Or it was where he used to keep his tools before he decided to cut us out of his life.
“It’s been a few years—he could have cleaned it out,” she said. “And don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
“Then don’t engage me in conversation while I’m eating.”
But when we went up to the door, he wasn’t home.
My mom gave me a smile and acted like it was fine, but there was the telltale wrinkle between her eyebrows that let me know she was nervous. She dialed his number and raised the phone to her ear, nibbling on her bottom lip as she waited for him to answer.
“Oh. Dad. Hey,” she said, her words making puffs in the frigid air in front of her face. “We’re here with the moving truck—are you on your way?”
I crossed my arms, trying not to freeze to death as I watched her listen to his response.
This wasn’t good.
The wrinkles stayed on her brow, and she started pacing.
“Well, I know. Yes, that’s fine,” she said, “but we thought you’d be here to help.”
Fabulous. Grandpa Mick was AWOL on the moving. I’d be pissed, only I was too cold to feel human emotion anymore.
My rage was an icicle.
“Sure. I get that,” she said. “But you knew we were coming, right?”
Of course he knew we were coming, I thought. It was probably his way of giving us the finger.
God, I still couldn’t believe we were moving in with him.
To be fair, I had a childhood full of good Grandpa Mick memories. As quiet and surly as he was, the man had taught me to fish and skate and used to call me his “Danigirl” while giving me rides on his shoulders.
But those memories had all been written over the day he literally kicked me and my parents out of my grandma’s funeral when I was in middle school.
In front of a crowd of mourners.
So it was still baffling to me that somehow, some-freaking-how, we were about to move our things into his house as if that nightmare never happened.
Technically, he’d built an apartment for us in the upstairs of his house—my mom loved to say this as if that made a huge difference—but I still couldn’t understand why this was a good idea.
Yes, please, let’s move in with the grumpy old guy who doesn’t like anyone but especially not us.
It was going to be so much fun.
“Oh, okay,” my mom said into the phone. “It’s fine. There’s nothing heavy, so we’ll just get started.”
She nodded and disconnected the call, but before I could open my mouth, her finger came up and she pointed at my face. “I don’t want to hear a word, okay?”
“Oh geez,” I said, shaking my head. “What’s up? What’d he do?”
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging like this was fine. “He just had to help a friend up in Minnetonka with his boat.”
I waited for more, but that was apparently it.
“And...? How far away is that? How long is he going to be helping a friend with a boat?” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I was irritated by how ridiculous it was. “Also, it’s the freaking tundra out here—what could someone possibly be doing with a boat in this weather? Every drop of water in the place is frozen solid.”
“Dammit, Dani, this is Minnesota,” my mom snapped, her voice rising in frustration. “Boats are always in play!”
I opened my mouth but had no idea how to respond to that statement.
“I think I might’ve just come up with a kick-ass tourism slogan.” Her forehead smoothed and her mouth turned up into a little grin. “Let’s start moving our stuff, and he’ll be here when he’s done.”
“We’re seriously moving all our stuff in by ourselves—is that what you’re telling me?” I burrowed my chin into the top of my coat, trying to block the icy wind.
“I will buy you a large cheese pizza and a freaking pony if you cut the sarcasm and just help me carry boxes into the house,” she said, pulling a key ring out of her pocket.
“Can I eat the pizza while riding the pony?”
“As long as you’re safe.”
“Fine, I’m in,” I said, watching her open the screen door. “But I really feel like I was just hitting my stride on the negativity.”
My mom used her key—yes, the key from when she was a child still worked in the door—and we went inside. The main level was like a throwback, everything seemingly unchanged from the last time I’d been there. The only difference was that it didn’t smell like cookies anymore; my grandma always made chocolate chip cookies when we visited.
But when we got to the staircase, instead of looking up and seeing the upstairs hallway like it used to be, we saw a pair of French doors. The glass was frosted, so you couldn’t see anything through it, but natural light shone from behind the doors and made them look like they were glowing.
“Wow,” my mom said, running up the stairs.
“Yeah,” I agreed, following. “Wow.”
The upstairs had been completely transformed. Warm wood floors and white trim made it feel sleek and contemporary, the polar opposite of the old-person vibes of the main level. Two of the bedrooms had now been made into a living room, the walls removed so it felt like it’d always been that way. Big windows made it bright—too bright with all that freaking snow—and a white brick fireplace was centered on a wall of white bookshelves.
“This is amazing,” my mom said breathlessly.
It was hard to even remember how it’d looked before.
The two remaining bedrooms were equally gorgeous, with new furniture and a huge shared bathroom, and the small kitchenette had everything the two of us non-cooking people could need.
And when my mom opened the second set of French doors next to the fireplace, we found a deck with stairs leading down to the garage behind the house, where we’d be parking.
It was actually an apartment with its own entrance.
“Are you sure he did all of this himself?” I asked, truly in awe of the transformation. I knew Grandpa Mick had a woodshop and liked to build things, but this was next-level.
“Positive,” my mom said, and for a split second it almost looked like she had tears in her eyes.
But then she gave her head a little shake and said, “Okay, let’s get moving.”
We went out to the truck and started bringing stuff in, but with just the two of us it felt like it was going to take forever. There were so many boxes of random things—books and clothes and pictures and shoes, and taking them in one at a time was just depressingly slow.
“Dani?”
I turned around when I heard the voice, and it took me a minute to recognize the tall dude in the blazer when I saw him smiling at me, breath puffing out in clouds in front of his face. He was bigger and had a facial-hair thing going on now, but, holy crap—it was him.
“Benji?”
Benji had always lived next door to my grandparents. Well, actually, his dad lived next door to my grandparents, and Benji just spent random weekends there. His mother, who he lived with the majority of the time, was loaded and lived in a lakeshore mansion.
In an exclusive gated community.
Alec had always called him King Douche—long before we were old enough to even use the word “douche”—because he went to a fancy all-boys private school and acted like he was better than everyone else.
You got a bike for your birthday? That’s hilarious. I got a racehorse named Titus.
“I go by Ben now,” he said with a funny smile. “And can I help you with that? Please?”
He gestured toward the saggy box I was holding, the box that appeared to be moments away from losing its bottom.
“Thank you,” I said as he reached for it, remembering the last time I saw him.
God, I’d completely forgotten about that day.
It was a couple of years ago, and we’d flown in so my mom could see Alec’s dad in the hospital after his car accident. We’d been days away from the move to Germany, so we literally only had a few hours to spend in the Twin Cities, and Benji had been on our flight from Minot.
I’d been horrified when he switched seats with a middle-aged guy so he could sit beside me, but after a few minutes we connected like the old friends we weren’t. Which was a total shock because Benji had always been such a tool to me and Alec when we were little.
But I was so lonely at the time that the mere fact he was kind to me was... well, nice, even if he was still a douchey rich kid (the guy showed me no less than fifty pictures of himself on his phone, doing things like riding a horse on the beach while shirtless in Bali). And Alec had disappeared from my life by then, which was why I opted not to join my mom at the hospital when we visited, because I was worried Alec didn’t want me there—for reasons I still wasn’t sure about. Benji was kind and warm and comforting. It was surprisingly wonderful.
I glanced over Benji’s shoulder and noticed the car that appeared to be idling at the end of my grandpa’s driveway.
“Wow, is that your car?”
I wasn’t into cars, but my dad was, so I definitely knew that was a Maserati Grecale.
Of course Benji had a hundred-thousand-dollar SUV.
“It is,” he said with a smile so proud, you’d think he built the vehicle. “Want to go for a spin around the block? Warm yourself up on my heated seats?”
Gross. “Sorry, but I have this whole thing going on.”
And I pointed to the box he was holding.
“Oh yeah,” he said with a disappointed smile. “This goes inside?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent.” He nodded and started walking toward the house. “What is the story with the boxes, by the way?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, grabbing a floor lamp as I followed him. “We’re kind of moving here.”
“What? Are you serious?” He said it like he couldn’t believe it, but in a good way. Like he was happy to hear the news. “You’re moving to Southview?”
“We are,” I said, reaching for the front-door handle and pushing it open for him. “My mom and I are moving in with my grandpa.”
“No way,” he said, walking into the house.
“Oh yes,” I said, my stomach sinking because I just hated moving so much. I knew from experience that I was about to hate the next couple of months of my life, and after that it was TBD. Might get better, might get way worse. “Apparently, this is home now.”
“Well, that is fantastic news,” Benji said, smiling with his whole face. “Staying with Dad just got a lot more interesting.”
I didn’t really know what he meant by that, and to be honest, I didn’t really care. When moving to a new place, I welcomed anyone who could be moved into the “ally” category, whether they were a harmless rich douchebag or not.
Too bad he went to a fancy academy, or I might’ve actually known someone at my school already.
“Thanks, and we’ll stay off your lawn, I promise,” I teased.
“Trust me, the last thing I’m worried about is my dad’s little yard,” he replied, his tone rich with condescension.
He’d always seemed to be embarrassed that his dad was a regular middle-class guy, which kind of made me wonder how his parents ever ended up together—even for the short term—in the first place.
“It was great seeing you,” he said, setting down the box. I’d been kind of hoping Benji might help a girl out with the moving in, but that went up in flames as I watched him unironically pop the collar on his jacket. “Welcome home.”
Ughhh, how is this home?
I just smiled and nodded too, because I didn’t really know what to say to this version of Benji—ahem, I mean Ben.
Please don’t linger.
How can your teeth be so white?
Is Titus still alive?
“Do you want my number?” he asked me, and I must’ve made a confused face because he quickly added, “In case you guys need anything, being new in town and all that.”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly. “Um—”
“That would be great.” My mom suddenly appeared from nowhere, shooting me a be nice look. “Wouldn’t it be great, Dani?”
“Yes,” I agreed, forcing a perky grin while pulling out my phone. “That would be great.”
He put his number in my contacts—Ben Worthington—and then he was out of there, saying he had to get to practice. I could almost hear Alec making a joke about what kind of loser activity little Benji would be practicing—crumpet dipping? speed neckerchief tying?—because the guy seemed way too fancy for any sport where one might be required to sweat.
“Benji boy got cute,” my mom said with a smirk. “And still looks just as smitten around you as he always did.”
“It’s Ben now, Mother, and I thought we agreed ‘smitten’ was a terrible word,” I corrected, not sure why Ben was funny, but it was.
It kind of made me want to call him Benji forever.
“We did—my apologies,” she said with a smirk, her gaze on the front window. “Dear God, is that a Maserati?”
“Yup.”
Just as she said that, someone laid on their horn outside. I turned around in time to see a big black truck pull up behind the fancy car, and whoever was inside impatiently hit their horn—over and over—until Ben finally pulled away.
It made me laugh, imagining Benji’s distaste for the slush-covered F-250, until I saw the truck whip into our driveway behind the moving truck.
Then I saw him get out.
The man somehow looked taller—and tougher—than I remembered, and I swear to God he was cursing as he slammed his truck door and gestured toward Benji’s house.
Grandpa Mick.
“Looks like Daddy’s home,” my mom said, but she was smiling like his behavior was amusing.
I knew my mom had had a lot of phone calls with him since my parents separated and we ditched Germany, so it was possible that my grandpa had earned my mom’s tolerance for his grumpiness.
But he hadn’t earned mine.
Because what kind of grandfather just stopped talking to his grandchild?
I braced myself for his entrance, dreading the reunion because there was no way it wasn’t going to be weird. He was probably going to make some big apology, and I was probably going to have to lie and say oh, it’s fineand hug him and pretend that it was all water under the bridge.
I hope he doesn’t cry.
The door flew open, almost as if he kicked it in, and suddenly there he was, looking more like a character from an action movie than somebody’s granddad.
“I can’t believe that little shit was blocking my driveway—why was Worthington here?”
He pulled off his Ray-Bans, and in spite of the rant about his neighbor, I felt something warm in my chest when I saw his eyes. Probably because his eyes looked exactly the same as they had when he’d been my favorite human.
Even though he was a colossal jerk, some part of me wanted to hug him. Desperately.
“He helped Dani carry a box,” my mom said as she crossed the room to hug him. “Benji was being nice.”
“Sure he was,” he muttered, sounding like a grump but wrapping her up in a big hug and kissing the top of her head. “How was the drive?”
“Good. Cold,” she said, and when she pulled back, I couldn’t ignore the expression on my mother’s face. She looked relaxed for the first time in... wow, maybe ever as she grinned at her father and added, “Dani’s officially an ice cube now.”
“Eh. It’s not too bad out there today,” he said with a shrug, looking over at me.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just made a weird noise, like a harrumph, because Grandpa Mick’s gaze was locked in on me and it was... unnerving.
He stared at me like he was searching for something, like he was trying to find an object that’d been hidden on my person or something. I bit down on my lip and fidgeted under his hawklike watch, but then I realized he was probably just searching for the right words to apologize with.
I mean, how does one intro an apology for years of absence? Listen, kid, I’m a dickcould work, or perhaps let’s talk about the jackass elephant in the room.
I crossed my arms, and my breath felt a little bit stuck in my chest as the silence hovered, but then he finally opened his mouth.
And said, “You got tall.”
You got tall.
What?
“You got tall”?
That is all you have to say to me?
I cleared my throat and tucked my hair behind my ears. “I’m five-seven.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding like I’d confirmed something. “Pretty tall for a girl.”
What is happening?
He kept looking at me, and nodding, and I wanted to die from the embarrassment of this reunion. The man who’d let me steer his boat when I was four because I was his “Danigirl” could only muster up enough politeness to hit me with the small-talk gold of tall for a girl.
Such a poignant moment.
Such a glowing apology.
“I’m going to go get more boxes,” I said, pointing toward the door, and then I quickly left the room before he had a chance to offer a follow-up inquiry about my shoe size or perhaps question whether I liked pickles on my hamburgers.
“We’re right behind you,” my mom sort of yelled, but I didn’t care.
I was suddenly all in on the box moving, because it gave me a reason to avoid my life for a couple more hours.
And it worked.
When the U-Haul was finally empty, I was about to go inside and close myself into the bedroom that was now officially mine when my mom said, “You guys ready to go get some dinner?”
I wanted to remain distant and unapproachable, really, I did, but the truth was that I was famished. And frozen. And exhausted.
A hot meal sounded heavenly.
“I’ll drive.” Grandpa Mick pulled out his key ring and hit the start button on his truck. “They still live on Fairacre, right?”
Wait.
“Yep,” my mom said. “I’ll go grab my purse and lock the door if you guys want to get in the truck.”
Wait, wait, wait. Fairacre Road.
What??
“Where are we going?” I asked calmly, even though I already knew the answer and my stomach had suddenly dropped to my feet.
“We’re going to the Barczewskis’,” my mom said as if it was a given. “Sarah cooked us dinner.”
“What? You didn’t tell me that,” I said, my voice a little louder than I’d intended.
“I’m pretty sure I did, but do you have a problem with that?” She gave me a weird look, and I could feel Grandpa Mick’s eyes on me. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“I mean, I am,” I lied, trying to be cool because I didn’t want my mom to question why I wouldn’t want to see Alec. As far as she knew, we’d happily said goodbye five years ago and that was it.
Which was true, but she didn’t know about the postcards we’d secretly exchanged since elementary school, postcards that had just stopped coming one day.
That was what filled me with dread.
The sheer awkwardness of the ghosting.
“But we just drove in a moving truck all day and unloaded our stuff,” I said, hoping for the thousandth time that Alec wouldn’t even remember the silly postcard thing.
The silly postcard thing that hadn’t been silly to me at all.
But whatever.
“I don’t exactly feel fresh and ready to see people—I’m kind of a mess after all the moving.” I knew it was stupid to care, but I really didn’t want the first time I saw Alec after all this time to be when I looked like this—in sweats and a messy bun.
“I mean, if you wanna hang back,” Grandpa Mick said slowly, “I can stay too, and we can grab a pizza or something.”
At the exact same time, my mom and I both whipped our heads around to look at my grandpa because... well, that was absolutely unexpected. Was he trying to spend time with me? I didn’t know how I felt about that.
“No,” my mom snapped, pointing at him. “You are antisocial and eat microwave food for every meal. Sarah invited you over and has cooked food for us, so we are going, end of story.”
“God, I forgot how bossy you can be,” my grandpa said, but something in the way he looked at my mom made me think he appreciated it.
“I wonder who I get that from,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to get my purse and we’re leaving. Get your butts in the truck.”
She turned and ran for the house, leaving me standing there with Grandpa Mick in the driveway. He didn’t even look at me as he opened his door and said, “It’s probably warm already.”
“Oh. Cool,” I said, opening the back door and climbing inside, trying to remain calm when I was about to see Alec.
In mere moments, dear God.
How can this be happening?
