Page 7 of Full Circle

“What’s Montmeri?” I asked Wesley. My friend’s face had turned to ash, his back ramrod straight.

“Don’t you worry, Ben, dear,” Miss Shirley cooed. “I’ll make sure Wesley is well taken care of.”

Mr. Madden didn’t look as if he believed her, but he snorted his acceptance. Turning to Wesley, his face turned even colder. “Stay out of trouble this time, Wesley, or so help me, I will drag you on that plane myself. This is your last chance.”

Wesley didn’t say a word. He nodded once before turning abruptly on his heel, catching my hand in his as he stepped towards the door.

Ever my mama’s daughter, I couldn’t help but add, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Madden. Good afternoon, Miss Shirley,” as Wesley yanked me out the door.

Once outside, Wesley’s feet pounded the pavement so fast I expected sparks to fly. He made a beeline across the street for the park, following the path down to the creek bed where we met the day before. Other kids stopped and pointed at us. The fact that I only cared about Wesley’s feelings rather than their stares should have been a wakeup call, but at the moment I was too consumed with concern for him to care about anything else. When we reached the edge of the woods, he picked up his pace even faster, practically bolting to the tree. I had to run just to keep up with his long legs. As soon as we reached the safety of its branches, he spun abruptly on his heel and brought me up short with his cowering glare.

“Go ahead,” he snarled. “Tell me how I’m a spoiled, rich kid with a prick for a dad! And how you don’t wanna be my friend!”

I gaped at him, my brown waves flying loose around my face. “Wesley,” I whispered, “that thought never crossed my mind.”

His face contorted into an ugly sneer of anger, his startling blue eyes intense with rage. “Then tell me how you feel sorry for me, for being dumped on some old lady’s doorstep because my rich daddy doesn’t want me!”

My mama was probably rolling in her grave hearing him refer to his elders like that, but I recognized his true feelings. They laced right through his fury. Wesley wasn’t angry—he was hurt. He wanted to lash out at the world the same way I had after I lost my mama. Only Wesley’s daddy chose to do this to him.

I shook my head slowly, keeping my gaze trained on his so he could see my sincerity. “The only one I feel sorry for is him because he’s missing out.”

Wesley’s entire face crumpled as he struggled to contain his feelings. I recognized that look because it was the same mask I had been wearing for weeks now. Without giving it a second thought, I rushed forward to throw my arms around him. It took a few moments of stunned silence before he awkwardly returned the embrace. He hugged me as if the gesture was foreign to him, like no one had ever held him when he fell asleep at night, or when he scraped his knee, or when he won the school spelling bee.

Realizing that made my heart break for him. Obviously, his mother hadn’t been around and it didn’t seem like his daddy was someone who took the time to hug him. I couldn’t imagine a world where Daddy and Nana wouldn’t hold me. Even Marla pulled me in for a squeeze at the end of the day. Poor Wesley had never known a family like that.

I stepped away and brushed the hair out of my face, trying to nonchalantly keep my eyes on the ground so he didn’t feel embarrassed if he needed to dry his face. Hastily, I saw a quick swipe of his forearm and knew I made the right call.

Wesley needed me. He deserved to know what it felt like to have someone care for you, to have someone cheer you on and call you out on your sass just like my mama and daddy always did for me. If I could do that for him, maybe that would be a good thing. It’s what Mama would have done, and that gave me the desire to try.

Besides, I had a feeling that befriending Wesley Madden was about to be the biggest adventure of my life.

CHAPTER 3

SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN I AM NOT

WESLEY

I had known her for only a day and Celeste Hendricks was the most important person in my life. We might as well be permanently joined at the hip; there was no breaking away even in wind, rain, or burning sun. She had already shown me more consideration and compassion than anyone else, even those stupid shrinks my father made me see for a while. Turns out, all you needed to make me believe in myself were light green eyes and hair like a lion’s mane.

Everything I said seemed to impress her. I could tell by the way she hung on to every story, asking for details and reacting to all the best parts. I might’ve embellished just a tad, but who wouldn’t if someone admired you? Aunt Shirley hadn’t reacted to anything I’d said the night before other than to tell me she’d wallop me with her wooden spoon if I didn’t behave. There was no way Aunt Shirley could catch me if it came down to it, so I couldn’t say her threat really worked.

All I was good at was getting into trouble. That’s what my father always said, with my teachers in agreement, and all the school administrators had finally washed their hands of me at my fifth school in 18 months. One nanny after the other, even the most highly established from international agencies, ran from our penthouse screaming. When money thrown at Atlanta’s finest shrinks didn’t solve my “problem,” my dad threw down the gauntlet and said I would have to go to a strict boarding school in Switzerland called Montmeri since I couldn’t get my act together. The school sounded horrible from reviews I read online, enforcing strict curfews and enough rules to make military boot camp look like summer vacation.

I threw a fit big enough that our housekeeper, an older Puerto Rican woman named Mrs. Aguilar, called the mobile crisis line. Being placed under the microscope made my father reconsider his decision to send me to Montmeri, but I was on my last chance. Even I could tell by the determined set in his jaw. My mother’s aunt was the only family member willing to help, though I had no idea how she was even in contact with my father. She didn’t own a computer or a cell phone and still had an old satellite dish for her dilapidated television set.

River’s Run, Georgia was nothing like my old home. Atlanta was a city always on the move, which was ironic considering how jampacked traffic always was. Everyone there was hustling to be somebody and the atmosphere had a crackle of energy to it. Here, everything took its own sweet time, and people’s family connections meant more than anything else. It was all just…different.

Celeste made different good. There was a hollowness to her that I could already sense, an echo of loss that matched my own. It sounded like her mom’s death really hurt her. Since I didn’t have any memories of my own, the thought of her death didn’t matter. Like picturing the death of a stranger. You might say a kind word out of respect, but there wouldn’t be any real feeling behind it. Celeste’s mother must’ve been something really special, though, for her daughter to hang on to her memory like she was. Mourning the loss of anyone was a foreign concept to me, and in many ways, I envied Celeste for knowing a love like that.

We spent the rest of that afternoon sitting in the tree by the creek and swapping stories. She made it so easy to forget everything with my father. Today was Celeste’s turn to share, although I had to ask questions to get her to open up. She said all of the kids in town were awkward around her since her mother died and she didn’t really hang out with anyone anymore. I offered to throttle anyone who crossed her. Her smile was so soft and sweet. Like she knew she shouldn’t be happy about my threat, but she couldn’t hold the smile in. I found her shyness to be endearing, a kitten too weak and new to walk on its own, and I vowed to protect her for as long as she’d let me.

Lightning bugs were out in full force before she squealed and scrambled out of the tree. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble! I never went in for supper!” Celeste took off down the path without a backward glance.

I shuffled out of the tree after her when I heard her distant cry. “C’mon, Wesley, we can’t miss supper!”

Marla was just getting ready to lock up when we tore back inside. Her lips were pursed so tightly that I couldn’t help but wonder if they would fall off. Falling For You by Colbie Caillat played faintly on the jukebox. Celeste hung her head as she waited for Marla’s reprimand. I stopped just behind her, uncertain how to proceed. I didn’t really care if I upset Marla, but clearly Celeste did, so I guess I would have to.

“I’m so sorry, Marla,” Celeste said quietly with her head down.

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