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Authors: Erin Fletcher

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Chapter Twenty-four

I spend Waiting Hour One alternately playing games on my phone and staring down the long hallway, willing Nate to appear. During Waiting Hour Two, my phone battery dies, and I spend most of the time falling in and out of sleep with my head against my dad’s shoulder. It’s the start of Waiting Hour Three when my dad nudges me awake.

“Someone’s coming.”

I jump to my feet and rub the sleep from my eyes. Sure enough, footsteps and voices approach. But when the source of those sounds appears at the end of the hallway, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Bradford.
Just
Mr. and Mrs. Bradford.

“How’d it go?” Dad asks.

“We were able to get a hold of our lawyer and the Traverse City Police Department,” Mr. Bradford explains. “Pending an appearance before a judge, all charges will be dropped.”

“That’s fantastic,” Dad says, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“We were able to see Nate,” Mrs. Bradford says. “To show him Jeremy’s letter. To explain that we were heartbroken and acted irrationally.” She pauses to wipe at her mascara-smeared eyes. “We’ve still got a lot to work through, but it’s a start.”

I bite my lip. All of this is great, but none of it is what I want to hear right at this second. “So, are they releasing him?”

Mr. Bradford nods. “The officers are finishing up some paperwork and getting his stuff back to him.”

I grin. Now
that’s
what I wanted to hear.

“He asked about you,” Mrs. Bradford says.

“He did?” I ask.

“As soon as we explained how we got the letter, he had to know if you were okay and if you were in trouble for letting him stay at your house.”

The fact that he was concerned about me while all of this was going on with him is incredible. It’s tacky and cliché, but my heart really actually does skip a beat or two or seven.

Dad clears his throat. “Speaking of…”

Walking down the hallway toward us is Nate. He’s wearing that absurd Michigan State University sweatshirt that I’ve never been so happy to see and carrying his backpack in one hand and his coat in the other. The second our eyes meet, he smiles with that crooked tooth that’s so perfectly imperfect I never want it fixed. I take off sprinting down the hallway. Nate drops his coat and backpack a split second before I throw my arms around him, taking him a few steps back with me. I’m laughing and crying and kissing him, and he tastes like the ChapStick in the black tube, and he’s warm and safe and
here,
and I am deliriously happy.

He pulls back and glances down the hall, but both sets of parents have graciously turned away, giving us our moment. He uses one hand to wipe at my tears and the other to tuck my hair behind my ears, then rests both hands on the small of my back, holding me close. He looks down, his eyes searching mine. “You went to my parents’ house for me.”

“Yep.”

“You found Jeremy’s letter.”

“Yep.”

He toys with my Petoskey stone necklace. “You are a stupid, brave, and beautiful girl.”

The only reason I stop smiling is because it’s difficult to kiss and smile at the same time.

“Hey, you two,” Mr. Bradford calls, and we pull apart. “We should get going. We’ve still got a long drive home.”

Nate slings his backpack over one shoulder, grabs his coat, and takes my hand. We walk together toward our parents, still standing in the lobby. “Nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Helton,” Nate says. “I’m sorry about the whole ‘living in your garage’ thing.”

“Forgiven,” Dad says. “We have increased our security, though, so from now on, you might want to try the front door. And I know the Trans Am is awesome, but so is our living room.”

Nate laughs and squeezes my hand. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Thank you for being so good to Hanley,” Mom says.

He smiles. “Anytime.”

“And thank you for your help,” Mr. Bradford says to Dad.

They shake hands, and Mom and Mrs. Bradford shake hands. As they switch, my stomach twists. The Bradfords are going back to Traverse City. We’re going back home. I’ve only seen Nate for a few minutes, and I’m losing him already. When we walk outside, the Bradfords get into their SUV, and Mom and Dad get into theirs. Nate lets go of my hand long enough to put on his coat, and then he pulls me into his arms.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I say, choking up. “Not again.”

“Hey. Every single time we’ve been apart, I’ve found my way back. You really think this time’s going to be the worst? I’m going to have my cell phone. I’ll call you and text you until you’re so sick of me you file a restraining order.” He pauses. “Wait, too soon for law jokes?”

I laugh and press my forehead to his. His nose is already cold, but his breath is still warm. “You better call and text constantly.”

“I will. And I’ll visit. We’ll figure this out, okay? After all we’ve been through, we will make it.”

One more kiss seals the promise.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too.”

I smile. “See you later.”

“No. See you
soon
.”

Chapter Twenty-five

It’s a Friday afternoon in late February, and I have a whole new understanding of the phrase “bursting with excitement.” The minute hand has never moved around the clock so slowly. My teachers have never been so boring. But finally,
finally
, the last bell rings. I rush out of the classroom and run out the front door, searching the parking lot. Nate is there, leaning against his car.

I can’t help but squeal and run toward him at full speed, not caring who sees or hears me. I don’t slow down when I reach him, slamming him against the car with a hug.

“Oof,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing tight. I pull back long enough to kiss him, and it’s just as good as the first time I kissed him and every time after that. He brushes my hair back from my face, smiling that crooked tooth smile I’ve missed so much. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

We stand like that for a while as other students flow out of school and into the parking lot, getting into their cars and driving home for the weekend. I can’t stop looking at Nate. Can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop kissing him. Can’t believe he’s really here.

“Should we go?”

The only reason I agree to separate is because it’s winter and cold, and I can enjoy Nate much more when I’m not shivering to death. “Yeah.” I get in the passenger seat. His car is neat and smells like clean boy. Once he’s in the driver’s seat and pulling out of the parking lot, he takes my hand in his, like he can’t get enough of my touch, which is fine with me because I can’t get enough of his.

“How was school?”

I groan. “Longest. Day. Ever. How was your drive?”

He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. The sleeve of a sweater pokes out from his jacket, and I remember that he must have a whole wardrobe of clothes to choose from again, not just a backpack with a few shirts. “Longest. Drive. Ever.”

I smile. “How’s it going with your parents?”

“We’re working things out.” I point to the street on our right that leads to my house, and he makes the turn. “It’s kind of hard being in that house, though, you know? Everything I see reminds me of Jeremy. Not just the pictures, but seeing the spot on the couch that was always his. Remembering when he cracked his chin open on the edge of the fireplace while we wrestled.” He shakes his head. “It kills me every time I have to walk by his room.”

Considering that it used to kill me just to drive past Kayla’s street, I can’t imagine how much worse it must be to be in the same house as all of those memories. “Sounds rough.” I squeeze his hand.

“My parents might have a solution.”

“Yeah?”

“They can’t really handle being around all those memories, either. They want to move.”

“Move?” I echo, dreading the thought of Nate being so far away that he can’t drive over for the weekend. “Where?”

“Troy,” Nate says, and launches into some explanation about how his dad’s company has a branch there where he can relocate.

But all I hear is the name of the city that’s only fifteen minutes away from mine.

“Hanley?” he asks.

“Sorry. What?”

“I asked what you think.”

A grin spreads across my face, so fast and wide it hurts. “I think it’s amazing. But only on one condition.”

Nate looks over at me. “What condition?”

“That your family looks for a house with a three-car garage. You never know when we might need it.”

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, thank you to Heather Howland and Sue Winegardner for your time, expertise, and patience. You made this book so much more than I dreamed it could be. Thank you also to John Cusick for your assistance throughout this process.

 Many thanks to my very first readers, Alison, Annie, and LoriGoe. Without you, Garage Boy’s story would not exist. Thanks to Leisa, Kim, Kat, and Jani for reading early versions as well.

 To the Children’s YA and MG Writers Group, thank you for teaching me how to be a better writer every single week.

 Thank you to my biggest cheerleader, Lynnette.

 A million thanks to Kristi for being there for me and for the early-morning write dates, even when we do more talking than writing.

 To Mom, Dad, and Ryan, thank you for the endless support and encouragement. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

 Last but not least, thank you to my grandparents for giving me the journals which contained my very first stories, for teaching me about Petoskey stones, and for making me your favorite granddaughter, even though I’m the only one. I am truly blessed.

About the Author

Erin Fletcher is a morning person who does most of her writing before sunrise while drinking excessive quantities of coffee, believes flip-flops qualify as year-round footwear, and would spend every day at the beach if she could. She has a bachelor’s degree in mathematics (which is almost never useful when writing books) and lives in North Carolina.

You can visit Erin on her
website
and on
Twitter
.

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