Page 1 of No Place Like Home

PROLOGUE

Jess

17 years old

Everyone was buzzing over tonight's game. The halls were filled with my peers, all excited to seehimplay.

Every town had someone like him: a superstar, someone you just knew was going places. Quincy, or "Q," as everyone called him, was ours. He was a big deal in our hometown. Hell, in the whole county, maybe even the state. Quincy had scouts after him since he was in middle school. He could have had a better chance at the big leagues if he had moved south, where they breathed Friday night games and watched kids throw a pigskin like a religion.

Sunny Pines was home, and that was where Q chose to stay. He liked to do things his way, and our town always welcomed him with open arms. It was small and not very diverse, but that didn’t matter to him.

Like Q, I was also in the minority, but unlike him, I wasn't loved. I walked the halls without concern about bumping into anyone, because people usually avoided me. Maybe it was the pitch-black way I dyed my hair, or the dark eyeliner and all-black clothes. I scared my peers; they didn't know what to do with me. I didn't fit into their norm, so they cast me out. Their rumors stated that I was Satanic, in a cult, a witch, and a total bitch. That last one I might have agreed with. The one thing everyone agreed on was that I was a cutter.

The truth was, I didn't have time to be careless with my life. Unlike my classmates, I had real-life problems. My responsibilities included a three-year-old toddler, who I adored, but was more work than I could handle.

The sound of the school alarm startled me, bringing me out of my thoughts, and I did what I was best at: compartmentalizing. I was an expert at putting all aspects of my life in neat little boxes and not letting them spill over.

When I came to school, I could pretend my father wasn't a drunk who didn't give a shit about my sister, my mom, and me. When I was home, I could pretend that not having friends didn't bother me. And when I was at work, I could act like nothing ever fazed me and I was just working for a little extra cash.

Perfect little boxes.

My only friends were my boss, Emma – a barista genius – and the new woman she’d hired, Freya. It was pathetic, and I knew it, but when you grew up with nothing, you learned to give thanks for the scraps of friendship you found. Someone to talk to was a blessing, even if it wasn't the people you wanted.

"Glooms," a deep voice greeted me, followed by a tap on my desk.

I looked up and wasn't all that surprised to see Quincy there. I gave him a small smile, even though I knew he wouldn’t be looking my way. This was his way of acknowledging my existence. The local superstar and I were friends. Kind of…not really.

I watched as he made his way past my desk without looking back at me and instead headed to his friends. For a brief second, I wondered what it felt like to be adored by everyone. How would it feel to have everyone lining up to say hi to you instead of talking shit behind your back?

Sighing, I looked back down at my desk and let myself have a two-second pity party, then focused on the blackboard. I had grades to maintain and a scholarship to win. My whole life depended on it.

* * *

"You coming to the game, Gloomy?"Quincy wrapped me in a headlock, and I felt a rush of warmth spread through me.

Part of me wanted to stay this way forever, basking in the warmth he offered me, and the other part needed his hands off. It would feel ten times colder if I got used to that warmth.

"It's my last year here." He patted his chest. "You gotta come see your boy win."

He gave me his cocky grin, and If I were mushy like most of the girls at school, I would have melted.

It wasn't just one thing that made him an enigma. It was an accumulation of a bunch of little things. The way his white teeth shone against his dark skin was beautiful. Then again, a lot of things about Quincy were beautiful. Like his jade eyes and the contrast against his lashes. The form of his lips, his height, and his body. Not that I was a creep, but it was hard not to look at him when he ended up taking his shirt off every time he had P.E.

Like me, Quincy also worked at the coffee shop, and today, we were both stuck closing so Emma and Freya could take the night off. I liked Freya; she made Emma laugh. She was the type of friend to make her friends happy. A part of me envied that. I wanted someone other than my baby sister, Rosie, to make me happy.

"Do I look like one of your groupies?" I replied with a rhetorical question as I threw a dirty rag at him.

Quincy caught it and smirked at me. He came closer, and I stepped back, my back hitting the counter.

I was sure I was about to have a panic attack from his proximity.

"Baby…" he whispered.

I felt it then: my stomach dropped at such a stupid pet name. I wanted to hate myself for reacting like a pathetic little girl at the first sign of affection.

"I'm everyone's type."

I didn't get a chance to come back with a smart-ass reply because the bell chimed, and Quincy took a step back. He was a superstar, and I was the weird goth chick. Opposites like us were never attracted.

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