Page 1 of Say You Will

Prologue

Fifteen Years Ago

Henry

Chasing Cars | Tommee Profitt, Fleurie

“What are you doing in here?” I scowl at the skinny little girl who has no business being in my bedroom, let alone lying on my constellation carpet.

She’s obscuring just enough of Orion’s Belt to make it impossible to make out the entire thing, but not enough to completely cover it. It sets my teeth on edge. It should be one or the other. All the way or not at all.

I dragged myself up here ready to collapse in my bed and try to sleep without closing my eyes. I’m getting good at it. The trick is to read something distracting or study the stars until I don’t remember the falling asleep part. Awake with my eyes open. Then asleep. None of that in between with my eyes closed.

I’m starting to think the place where I was shot is always going to hurt because the doctors said I was “recovering nicely.” But it still pulls and burns, and when I close my eyes blood is all I see.

The little girl in my bedroom is one of my sister’s friends, so she can’t be more than eight years old. She sighs gustily, and blows her wispy light brown bangs out of her eyes. She’s wearing glasses and doesn’t seem to care that they’ve slid halfway down her nose. Her hands rest on her abdomen, and she’s laid out exactly like a painting I once saw of a dead lady, except the lady was holding flowers and wearing a filmy white dress while this girl is in pink rubber ducky pajamas.

That painting didn’t look at all like the real dead people I’ve seen.

I shudder, then square my shoulders. “You need to leave.”

“Is this your bedroom?” she asks.

“Yes, and you shouldn’t sneak around into strange men’s bedrooms. It’s violating my privacy.”

At that, she rolls onto her stomach, props her chin on her palms, and says, “You’re not a man.”

“I’m twelve.” I sniff. “Compared to you, I am.”

I expect her to continue to argue, but she sends a nervous glance toward the door, then back at me. “I have to leave?”

For the first time, I notice that her eyes are rimmed in red. Her face is splotchy, and her nose is tipped pink. Her eyelashes are all spiky, too, framing deep brown eyes.

I move closer and crouch down next to her, frowning. “Did someone hurt you? If they did, I’ll do something about it.”

She shrugs her bony shoulders and rolls onto her back, assuming her former dead lady pose. “Just my heart, and that doesn’t count.”

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

The girl vaults into a sitting position. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here for the sleepover.”

At the muffled shriek of laughter from the room full of little girls across the hall, I shoot a glance at my door once more.

“I’ll go back to Bronwyn’s room when the movie is over,” she says.

At this, I stand. “You don’t like the movie?”

“It’s scary.”

“Bronwyn isn’t allowed to show you scary movies. Does my mother know about this?”

“No one else thinks it’s a scary movie. They think it’s funny. There’s a doll with button eyes.” She lies back down and shudders.

Ugh. Button eyes are horrifying. “You’re supposed to be watchingCoraline?”

She shakes her head. “They don’t care. When something scares me at home, Mom says it means I have to do that thing more, so I’m not a stupid baby about it. But I don’t have to do it here. Bronwyn said it was quiet in your room. She said you have the best carpet, and you wouldn’t be home for hours. So I’m lying on your floor, imagining my heart doesn’t hurt.”

“Why does your heart hurt?” Mine does too. More than my heart. My entire chest and throat and pit of my stomach acheall the time, but I know it’s nowhere close to the same reason as hers.

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