Page 1 of White Hole

PROLOGUE

KINSLEY

Maybetuta?Was that a word?Attuna? Lining up the little tiles, I playedtauntbefore sitting back with a sigh. It was a good play, but I would lose again to an 82-year-old woman wearing a red sweater with a puffy brown reindeer. In March.“Christmas is every day when you have joy in your heart,” she would say.

“Excites. Triple letters on ‘X’ and ‘E.’ You sure you’re feelin’ okay, sweetie?” Ms. Lawson sat back with her winning look of glee, mauve lips spread flat and wide.

“You know this is a volunteer position, right? Maybe let me win some, or I won’t offer my generous services again.”

“So competitive, Kinsley, darling. I like that.” Picking up wooden letters and sliding them into the cloth bag, she said, “All I have is time here to practice.Youare busy with your studies, I hope. The world needs your talents in the operating room, young lady, not here.”

Putting the board back in its box, a grin crept over my face. “Yes, I got straight A’s again. Mom and Dad were proud, so losing to you in Scrabble won’t derail my dreams, Ms. Lawson.” She snapped her eyes to mine. “I mean, Edith.”

“And you’re practicing your cross stitch? I heard that helps surgeons. What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that again.” Looking at her bent fingers, mangled from arthritis, she let out a small sigh.

“Yep! In between tennis and Cale and student government. Over the summer, I plan to shadow a few physicians, too. Before university applications.”

Ms. Lawson shook her head, fluffy white curls turning with her, stiff with setting spray. “Cale… you couldn’t date someonenotnamed after a vegetable?” I threw her a warning look.

Glancing over to the table across the room, I watched my boyfriend’s thick brown eyebrows furrow as he contemplated his move on the chessboard spread between him and Mr. Gentry. Feeling my gaze on him, his dark blue eyes met mine. I greeted his look with a smile, but he returned to his game.

“Let’s talk about the game. Therealgame. When does practice start up again?”

“Next month. My instructor says I have a great chance of getting a scholarship.” After sliding the box back on the shelf with the other board games, I returned to my plastic chair. It was almost time for us to leave.

“But you’re not dropping your elbow anymore? Let me see the video.” Ms. Lawson had played tennis in her college days. She made the all-conference team and we bonded over our mutual love of the sport. I pulled out my latest training video, filmed by my instructor. Edith watched, enraptured. “Yep. So much better than last year. Oh, to be able to play again. I miss it!”

I would, too. Tennis was the outlet I reserved for times I needed to hit something. Like before a big test, or after arguing with Cara Renfroe about how we should allocate funds to the junior dance this year. Besides, the scholarship would help with Ivy League tuition.

“Well, I’ll see you next week. Can we play Chutes and Ladders or Clue next time? I may have a chance.” Edith grabbed my hand as I bid her goodbye and squeezed. Her skin felt like plastic wrap.

“Doubt it. I play Sandra and Marv in Clue every other day. It’s their favorite. See you next week!” A hum filled the air as she motored her wheelchair toward the hall.

Cale stood and grabbed our coats from the wall rack. The weather was warm during the days but could turn to icy rain at night. Slipping on my gloves, I asked, “Who won?”

“Who do you think, muffin?” Cale smirked towards Mr. Gentry, who didn’t wave as he scooted his walker to the TV room.

I slapped Cale’s arm, covered by thick wool in his coat. “You should let him win sometimes.”

“Oh, is that what you do with Edith?Lether win?”

“Yep. She likes to win, and I like to watch her smile.” It was a complete lie. I hated that I couldn’t beat her in Scrabble. Or any games. I didn’t want Cale to know the truth.

He led me to the front entrance of the nursing facility as we waved to the front desk staff. “You know, Kinsley, you don’t have to be the best at everything. It’s okay if you’re not as smart as you think.”

I snorted. “This, coming from you. Mr. ‘I published my first research paper in seventh grade’.”

He opened the door for us, and we stepped into the black night, sleet sparkles visible in the pale moonlight. We carefully high-stepped to the parking lot. “You don’t have to compete with me, Kinsley. I’m your boyfriend.”

Standing between our two cars, I crossed my arms over my chest. Who was he to talk about not competing? He constantly strived to one-up me. I was elected vice president of the junior year student council; he was elected as president. I won the city tennis tournament our sophomore year; he won state. My stomach tied in knots at the possibility he would get accepted to Harvard pre-med and I wouldn’t.

“Come here.” Given the thickness of our jackets and sweaters, he gathered me into as tight an embrace as we could muster. A spackling of freckles crossed his nose, just visible in the yellow light of the streetlamp as he leaned in to suck my pouting bottom lip. “When are your parents out next?” Blowing a crystalized breath in my mouth, he leaned his forehead against mine.

“Um, I think in three weeks. Maybe we couldwatch a moviein your basement on Saturday.” The sucky part of still being in high school and living with our parents was how to finagle our trysts without being seen. We had sex for the first time two months ago after I’d researched everything about it—positions so it wouldn’t hurt, how effective birth control methods were, angles for best female orgasms… I’d done the same when we started having oral sex the year before. With how Cale reacted to my blowjobs, it seemed my reading had paid off.

“Ugh. Tyler’s still living down there. He’s doing this wholeindependentact, pretending he’s going to pay rent with his grocery store job. The Honda again?”

Cale’s younger brother would tattle on us if he saw us having sex, aiming for brownie points with their parents, or possibly a higher allowance. I hated that my boyfriend and I had to resort to our cars. The fit was never quite right. Usually, I was stuffed in the passenger’s seat or the back, trying to do cowgirl without hitting my head on the roof. I sighed. “I guess.”

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