Page 1 of Back to December
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LAILA
TWELVE YEARS AGO
I rapmy knuckles on the window.
Once.
Twice.
My thoughts spin so fast I can’t tell east from west, but I know one thing: I need Holden. If I can see him, maybe I can find my direction again.
The locks suddenly click, and my heart thunders in my chest.
“Well, this is a little backward,” he says as he shoves his window open, his dark flopping into his eyes. “Usually, I’m the one doing the climbing.”
My heart stutters, then steadies.
The climb is worth the view as he grins at me, leaning on his forearms on the sill, then pushes his glasses back up his nose with the tip of his forefinger.
But that’s all the time I’ve got to linger on my feelings about Holden Lockwood because I’m on the top rung of aladder I found, in bare feet and a formal dress. Probably not my brightest idea to date.
“Can you please just let me in?” I practically whisper-shout.
His eyes round as he takes in my formal wear. “Laila–what are you doing? You’re not on a ladder in heels, are you?”
“No,” I grunt as I hoist a leg across the frame.
I kicked them off before I climbed. They’re lying in the grass with dirt clinging to the expensive soles.
He steps back as I propel myself through, but only enough to catch me as I fall into a heap on his bedroom floor.
“I’m pretty used to your wild ideas, honey. What’s going on?”
Thoughts spin wildly in my brain as my eyes roam his room. It’s pretty masculine, but not really how I imagine a boy’s room would look. There are posters of his favorite movies on the wall, and a stack of CDs on his nightstand. I think we’re the only two people our age still listening to them, but I think they’re pretty cool.
Panic clutches my chest, sending my heart racing again.
I’m going to miss all of this.
“I’m having a crisis.”
The fact that I’m sitting here in a pile of tulle probably offsets the urgency that sent me here, but I didn’t know where else to go. A heavy sigh escapes me.
Holden crouches in front of me, his brown eyes roving over my face as he gently adjusts the layers of my dress.
“What crisis, La?” He’s so much calmer than I am, his voice steady.
“The one where my life is over.”
His face softens. I hate how childish I sound, but it’s true. Everything feels over.
I’ve got no idea how to tell him I’m leaving theoneplace that felt like home, after a childhood of bouncing around while my mom chased father figures for us. I thought we’d finally found a place with roots, you know? A place that will always feel like home, no matter what happens.
After my stepfather passed away a little over a year ago, Holden has been the one person who keeps me moving forward. He makes it easier to ditch the mask I wear around everyone else like I’m a superhero in hiding. Only, I’m not.
I’m just surviving.
