Page 1 of The Last Key
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO
KENNEDY
Moving sucks.
This morning I was at home in Manhattan. Sure, my bedroom was empty as I sat on the floor, but it was still home. Then I had to say goodbye to my cousins, Frannie and Hallie, who are more like my sisters. We stood in a group hug, crying, until my parents dragged me to the car so we could catch our stupid flight out here.
It’s not fair.
And it sucks.
Everything sucks.
Now I’m on the other side of the country in some suburb of San Francisco.Brighton. All because my dad got some dream job in San Francisco. How is it possibly the dream if you have to leave your family behind?
Frannie and Hallie lived right next door to us because their mom is my mom’s sister and their dad is my dad’s brother. Wewere one big, crazy family. Now we’re fractured on opposite coasts of this stupid country. I hate it.
I’m about to turn twelve and I have to start at a new middle school, in case starting at one wasn’t horrible enough this year. I don’t even know what to expect from California kids. Are they hippies who say ‘dude’ all the time or something?
“Hey, honey,” Dad says, walking out onto the back porch. The floorboards creak beneath his feet.
“What do you want?”
“I found your soccer ball. I thought maybe you’d like to have it for the backyard. We finally have space for you to play at home.”
“Yeah, but I have no one to play with, so it doesn’t really matter.”
He sighs and sits down next to me. I turn my body away from him.Heis the one who ruined everything.
“Honey, I know you’re mad at me. But I promise, in time, you’ll like it here. And I’ll make sure Frannie and Hallie come visit. They can even stay for a couple of months in the summer.”
Great. Eight months from now.
“Whatever. Can I call them tonight at least?”
“Sure.”
He sits for a moment longer, then squeezes my shoulder and stands, leaving the soccer ball sitting next to me.
Rather than touch my soccer ball, I continue sitting on the back steps, elbows on my knees and chin resting on my hands. Leaves rustle through the trees bordering the back of our property. Birds chirp and bugs whizz around me.
Ugh. It’s so quiet here. And boring. We’re at the end of a dead-end road.Apple Lane.
Nothing to see besides grass and woods. In New York, I could go up to the storage space on the third floor and look out the windows and see traffic rolling through the city, police cars and ambulances rushing through the crowded streets, and people out walking. The sounds to go along with all that echoed through the house. Trains in the distance. Now it’s just silence.
Growling, I grab my soccer ball and run for the back of the yard, drop the ball in front of me, and kick it hard against the black chain-link fence.Clang.I chase after the ball and kick it at the fence again. And again and again, taking out all my frustration on this stupid fence. Stupid, lonely, perfect yard.
I kick and kick and kick, letting out all my anger and pain. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I kick harder, then drop to the ground, wiping my cheeks as I sniffle.
“Wow. You can really kick,” comes a voice from behind me.
I turn and see a gangly boy with curly blond hair and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.
I sniff again and turn back to the fence.
A moment later, he’s sitting next to me.
“I’m Devon. I live next door,” he says softly.
