Be the Girl

“I can’t believe the bush survived. Murphy must be watching over it.” A sad smile touches my lips as I look at the stone marker beside it. We buried the old dog’s ashes with the spring thaw. He died in his sleep one quiet day in January, lying on the floor next to Uncle Merv. Cassie wailed for about fifteen minutes—which I still prefer to her silent crying—and then asked Uncle Merv if she could bring him home another old dog.

“I’ll admit, I was worried at first.” Uncle Merv’s wrinkled face furrows with concentration as he clips the few thorns on the short stem. I’ve never seen him handle something as gingerly as this bloom. “Any rose can succumb to rot, given the right conditions. But, with enough attention, it can come back better than before.”

I get the feeling he’s not really talking about the rosebush anymore.

I collect the flower with my thanks and pick my way over to Emmett, on tiptoes to keep from sinking into the grass.

“You look …” He finishes the compliment with a kiss rather than a word.

A click sounds and we turn to find Heather taking a picture of us.

“Mom …”

“You’ll thank me,” Heather says in a singsong voice, moving on to snap a picture of Cassie and Zach. I note the tear rolling down her cheek. Mark had a matching one, though he discreetly brushed it away.

I know I’ll thank Heather for these pictures. I’ll thank her while I’m plastering the ceiling above my bed with them, amongst the glow-in-the-dark stars that need to be replaced because they’ve lost their phosphors.

Emmett leaves in just over a month for college in Minnesota and I’m clinging to denial. I’m excited for him and sad for myself, and trying to be hopeful for us. We’ve said we’re going to try the long-distance thing.

I don’t know if we’re just being fools.

What I do know is that I’m going to make the most of this last month together, which is why I’ve tucked a condom into my clutch for tonight.

“Okay, Aria, Cassie, both of you in front of our house,” Heather instructs. “Arms around each other.”

Cassie giggles and slides her arm around my waist, her body stiffening a touch even as she grins at me. Hope and excitement radiate off her and I find myself absorbing it. “We’re best friends,” she announces.

I return her smile. “Yeah, we are.” And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Gosh, Merv, the blooms on that rosebush came back more beautiful than I’ve ever seen them,” Heather says, peering at us through her camera lens.

“I think you’re right.” Uncle Merv catches my eye and winks at me.

Cassie bursts out in laughter. “That’s because Murphy peed on it!”





Acknowledgments





Our first daughter was supposed to be named Cassandra (Cassie for short.) We were set on the name until she was born. She didn’t “look” like a Cassie, so we went with our second choice, one that suited her perfectly. But that name has never slipped my mind, and when I decided that I needed to write this story—about a girl with autism, a girl much like our daughter—I knew without a doubt that Cassie would come to life within these pages.

This was not an easy story for me to write and it likely wasn’t an easy story for some of you to read. Maybe you’ve forgiven Aria. Maybe you’re feeling conflicted and need time to warm up to her again. Maybe you outright hate her and think her past choices are unforgivable. Whatever your feelings may be, I hope you found reflective value in this tale of regret and redemption. While it is set in high school, I feel it’s a story that everyone can relate to on some level, no matter what stage of your life you are in.

A special thanks to the following people:

Alison Renzetti, for tolerating my many texts about cross-country meets and chasing down the answers.

Sandra Cortez, for always giving me your honest, sound feedback, no matter what.

Amélie, Sarah, and Tami, for running my Facebook group and for being the best, most supportive readers a writer could ask for.

Hang Le, for turning my vague ideas into a stunning cover. You are a true talent.

Stacey Donaghy of Donaghy Literary Group, for always telling me that I’m a far better writer than I actually am. It’s a good thing I’m far too critical of myself to ever develop a big head because of you. I feel like we’ve come full circle, with another indie novel about serious social issues.

Jennifer Sommersby, I always told myself I would work with you again. Thank you for polishing this manuscript with your expertise, your sharp eye, and your wit. Any lingering mistakes are my own (including any in these acknowledgments that I didn’t send to you.)

Jennifer Armentrout, Karina Halle, Claire Contreras, Renee Carlino, Tarryn Fisher, Rebecca Donovan, Dina Silver, Rebecca Lilley, Anna Todd, Lauren Billings, Marissa Stapley, and Cora Carmack, for always being only a text or Skype call away, whether it be for a rant or a rave, or much needed advice.

Colleen Hoover, I’m in. #KeathandRaulforever

Paul, Lia, and Sadie, for living this life with me, with all its ups and downs, its joys and frustrations.

Lia … thank you for being you, chocolate face and all.