Page 1 of My One and Only

Prologue

Jo Finster waited until she heard her dad snoring in the other bedroom. Waited until there was no light leaking from beneath her brothers’ bedroom door. Then she tiptoed out of the house, grabbing her keys from the peg next to the door that led to the garage. She congratulated herself for having the foresight to leave the car on the driveway so no one would hear the garage door groaning open.

Staring at the house to make sure no lights came on, she climbed into the ancient Oldsmobile. She and her brothers shared the car, but she rarely had a chance to use it. Her older brothers both had jobs, and they needed the car to get to work.

But there was a party at the lake tonight, and Cameron Pierce had invited her to go. He’d offered to pick her up, but she’d told him she’d drive herself. If Cam started drinking, she didn’t want to be stuck without a ride home. Or be forced to ride home with a drunk guy.

Shivering with excitement, she drove the two miles to the lake, then parked her car on the road outside the park, the last in a long line of cars beside a corn field. Shoving the keys deep into her pocket, she trotted along the asphalt toward the lake and its campground.

As she turned into the park, she saw a bonfire blazing in the fire pit of an unoccupied campsite. An almost-full moon shone down through the trees, the light illuminating the way. She slowed down but didn’t see Cam in the group circling the fire.

She kept walking and saw a couple more fires in fire pits, but still no Cam. Her footsteps slowed. Maybe he hadn’t shown up. If she didn’t find him in the next five minutes, she’d turn around and go home.

A group of girls passed her, all of them holding bottles of beer. They were seniors, just like her, but she wasn’t friends with any of them. They all glanced at her, nodded and kept walking.

Most of the kids were sitting on the picnic tables near the lake, clutching cans of beer. Coolers stood at the ends of all the tables -- had to be where the beer was stored. She scanned the crowd, and when she still didn’t see Cam, she began to back away.

Cam was in a lot of her classes, and she had a love/hate relationship with him. She had a crush on him, but she hid it because he teased her mercilessly. In all the classes they had together, she always ended up sitting next to him. Was that her choice? Cam’s? She didn’t think she unconsciously chose to sit beside him, but maybe she did. Or maybehechose to sit next toher.

Cam made her twitchy. Uncomfortable, as if her skin was too small for her body. She always knew the exact moment he walked into the classroom. Was always hyper-aware of where he was. Awareness of Cam was a constant hum beneath her skin.

Jo was counting the days until graduation, when she could escape this uncomfortable awareness, join the Army and escape the tiny town of Ogden, Illinois, the farthest suburb west of Chicago. Once she’d finished her stint in the Army, she’d attend college on the GI Bill.

She was backing toward the road when a hand clamped her shoulder. “Hey, Finster, where you goin’?”

She whirled around and saw Cam, weaving on his feet with a bottle of beer in his hand. “Pierce. You look like you started to party a long time ago.”

Cam grinned. “What a party’s for. Right, Finster?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “If you say so, Pierce.”

He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward one of the coolers. Opening it, he lifted out a can dripping water and popped open the tab. “Here you go. Stroh’s. Michigan’s finest.”

She lifted the can to her mouth and took a sip of the sour, bitter brew. Frowning, she held it up and studied the label. “Does beer always taste this bad?”

Cam laughed. “Gotta get used to it,” he said. “Once you do, it goes down real easy.”

Eyeing the can dubiously, she took another sip. Still sour. Maybe not so bitter, though. Emboldened, she took another drink, then another.

Cam set his hand on her shoulder. “Stay put, Finster. I’ll get you a hot dog. Someone’s grilling ‘em a few tables over.”

“Okay,” she said, taking another sip of beer.

Leaning against the picnic table, she studied the crowd in the picnic area of the lake. It looked as if almost everyone in her class was here, as well as a bunch of the juniors.

As she drank the last gulp of beer in the can, she set it on the table and found herself wobbly. A little dizzy. Grabbing the table for support, she looked in the direction that Cam had gone, but didn’t see him.

As she was about to slide onto the bench, a couple of guys in her class sidled over. “Finster,” one of them said. Randy Michaels. One of the football players and not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

“Hey, Michaels. How’s it going?”

“Going great now that you’re here,” he said, slurring his words and gripping a can of beer. “Come on over to our campfire. We have better beer. Food, too.”

“Nah,” she said. “Cam said he’d be right back.”

“Pierce knows where we are,” Michaels said. He grabbed her arm and tugged. “Come on. We’re real close.”

As he pulled on her arm, she slid off the bench. Stumbled and almost fell. “Let go of me, Michaels,” she demanded.

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