Page 1 of Sunshine

CHAPTER ONE

NOW

Winters in New York City are nothing like winters at home in Saddlebrook Falls—they’re dark and biting with a wind chill that’ll cut straight through to your bones. It’s my second one here as a sophomore at NYU and I really thought I’d be ready for it, but it’s even crueler the second time around. Snow comes down so thick I can hardly see across the street, and without a car I’m forced to walk through the storm to get anywhere.

I pull the hood of my heavy coat down as far as it’ll go over my brow and trudge through the muddy slush on the sidewalk, doing my best not to slip on any patches of ice. My roommate, Chantal, already headed back to Florida for winter break, and I love evenings like this when I have the dorm to myself. Not that she’s a bother to have around, but our place is so tiny I never feel like I have enough room to spread out and relax like I want to.

As I cross a small access street, a freezing gust of wind tearsthrough me, no longer blocked by the tall brick buildings that overtake Greenwich Village, and I curse at myself for being out in this near-blizzard in the first place. I had every intention of making it to the store earlier, but I got lost in the middle of my latest obsession—a fantasy novel that I couldn’t for the life of me put down—and I never made it out to buy some much-needed groceries. By the time I finished the book and realized my mistake, I figured I could either go to bed hungry and hope the sun was back out by morning, or I could face the freezing snowfall and brave this twelve-minute walk to the closest takeout spot.

I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, so eventually my hunger won out.

A snowplow drags itself along the sidewalk in the distance, lit by the golden glow of the Christmas lights wrapped around various street signs and lampposts. I watch it spray out large clumps of snow as it goes, and I wince. It’s coming right toward me—I only have about a minute before it’ll reach where I’m still slugging through the snow and ice. Hurrying my careful steps, I navigate over a particularly nasty ice patch and make it to Star of India in the nick of time.

My mouth waters as soon as I walk inside, the aroma of cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg wrapping around me and shaking off some of the chill. It’s been one of the many advantages of leaving my small town for college: access to so many different kinds of food. New York City is filled to the brim with eateries that offer traditional recipes from all over the world, and Indian food, I’ve learned, is one of my new favorites.

I’d never tried it before moving here a year and a half ago. The options for takeout at home are basically nonexistent, savefor a few locally owned staples. And while I can’t help but miss the comfort and familiarity of June’s Cafe on Sundays or a Friday night at Mustang’s Pizza with my friends, a big part of wanting to leave home for college was so that I could experience more.

There’s a whole world beyond that dusty town, and I want to see it. I want to experience the bustle of a big city, and what bigger city is there than this one?

Jason’s a senior at Texas A&M and has been all-in preparing for the NFL draft this spring after dedicating nearly his whole life to football. He’sgood, and as a quarterback everyone expects him to be an early pick. But even though we plan on getting married as soon as I graduate college, I don’t just want to be an NFL wife. I want to make my mark on the world, find my own place in it, so it was important for me to come here, where I could be one in eight million people, and brace myself against the chaos.

I order a couple of my favorite dishes at the counter—lamb biryani and chicken tikka masala—and tip the owner before I force myself back outside to brave the cold. In just a few days I’ll be on a flight to the Gulf Coast where winters are hardly a blimp on the radar, and though I don’t like to admit it out loud, I can’t wait to be home.

It’s been four months since I’ve seen the sun sink down over rolling hills of green from our porch, cicadas buzzing in the nearby trees and the promise of a cool breeze caressing my skin. Four months since I’ve hugged my little sister, since I’ve felt Jason’s arms wrapped around me or his lips against mine. Even though I don’t regret moving so far away to escape my often suffocating hometown, I’d be lyingif I said I don’t miss the coastal air or the smell of freshly tilled earth from nearby farms.

Humidity so thick it sticks to you.

The sun tattooing new freckles on your skin as a wild horse whinnies.

New York City is breathtaking in its own right, the way the buildings sparkle as they stretch into the sky. People from all over the world exist together on streets that don’t quite belong to anyone and yet belong to everyone. But it smells like shit most days and it never quiets, never sleeps. It took me months to get used to the lights piercing through our single dorm window at all hours of the night. I can hardly see the stars out here . . . or even the horizon, aside from a few fleeting glimpses between buildings. And the people . . . there are just so many of them, everywhere,all the time.

I carefully step toward the closest building to avoid another big patch of ice and hear my phone ring from inside my coat pocket. It’s late and dark, and I don’t want to stop moving until I’m safely back at my dorm. I usually don’t venture around the city after the sun sets if I can avoid it—it’s not that I’m scared, but I’ve heard the stories. I’m not comfortable with city life enough to know how to handle myself in a grizzly situation. Better to be safe than sorry.

But something about the ringing nags at me, and I can’t help but pause my steps to dig my phone out of my pocket. I haven’t heard from Jason since yesterday morning and, while it’s not the first time he’s gone quiet on me like this, I always feel anxious when my texts go unanswered.

By the time I wrestle my phone out with a clumsy gloved hand, I’ve missed the call. It’s from an unknown number—one with a Texas area code. I frown, tilting my head to stare at thescreen. Anyone I know at home is already saved in my phone. It’s probably a telemarketer, or some other form of spam. My mom was telling me just the other day on one of our sporadic calls that Barry’s business phone has been getting slammed with time-wasters lately.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, take a second to adjust the to-go bag hanging on my arm, and trudge on.

The wallsin this building are paper thin, and I can hear just about everything that goes on in the dorms on either side of mine and Chantal’s. The one to the left is occupied by Bernadette and Avery, who both lost the luck of the roommate draw—they can’t stand each other. Chantal and I often have to play referee when they get into an argument about something because once they start, they don’t know how to stop. Leslie and Danielle are on the other side of us; Leslie is a loud and generally happy transplant from Los Angeles, and Danielle is quiet and shy from upstate.

After I set my bag of Indian food on the kitchen counter, I unzip my thick coat and pull it off before I start my usual routine of fighting for space on the hooks by the door. Neither Chantal nor I have much closet space, so everything gets hung up right here in the entryway—jackets, scarves, hats, raincoats. It’s a vertical pile of nylon and polyester that’s always one wrong move away from cascading to the ground in ruin. I count down the days till spring as my freezing hands fumble miserably around a lime green windbreaker I don’t think I’ve seen Chantal wear once.

Have I mentioned I hate winter?

I look around at our empty shoebox of a dorm—the entire thing could fit inside my bedroom back home. But that bedroom comes attached to a bigger house with an overbearing, meddling mother and a painfully awkward and distant stepfather, so while things might be a bit compact here, at least I can revel in the freedom of my autonomy.

I miss Annie though. I miss her so much it feels like I’m missing my right arm. My little sister is seven years younger than me, but our age difference has never gotten in the way of our close bond. She’s my best friend, my soulmate, and I hate to think that I left her at such a pivotal time in her young life. The guilt of it still eats at me in the quiet moments of my new life here, and I wonder if it will ever ease. I know Annie would never want me to feel bad for hightailing it out of Saddlebrook Falls the second I could, but I know she hates the distance just as much as I do.

My phone vibrates from where it lies on the counter in the kitchen, and I quickly jump up to grab it. I don’t normally get this many phone calls in a single night, but thoughts of Annie have me hoping it’s her, even though it’s late and I know she’s likely already in bed (Mom runs a tight ship). Or maybe this time itisJason. I pick it up and see the incoming call flashing across the screen—it’s my mother.

I sigh. She’s the last person I want to talk to right now. But it’s strange for her to be calling this late. New York is only an hour ahead of Texas, but it’s a school night, and those are sacred in our household. Something hums to life inside my gut, a strange but knowing awareness that I need to take this call. Without another thought, I swipe to answer and bring it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Oh, Layla!” my mother cries, and I instantly freeze.

“What?” I demand. “What’s wrong?”

“Honey,” she whispers, forcing the words out through a sob. Fear spreads like ice through my entire body—if something’s happened to Annie . . .

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