Book One
Chapter One
Hi. The name’s Presley Donovan. I grew up as an army brat; the term is anything but endearing, moving every eighteen months or so, never staying in one place longer than a couple of years. After my dad’s last assignment, I was supposed to be able to finish high school back in Texas; but then life happened, and once again, my dad was deployed to somewhere unknown.
My mom decided she wanted to move back home to be closer to her family since dad was looking at an eighteen-month deployment. Soon I would be headed off to college, which is why I am now in the middle of nowhere Montana getting ready to start my senior year of high school.
Making friends has always been an issue for me. I’m usually never in the same place for too long, and after countless failed friendships, I don’t see the point of getting close to people for a short time. The only person I was ever able to develop a genuine friendship with left without saying goodbye. We were young, but he broke my heart the day he and his mom disappeared. From that point on, I closed my heart off to getting to really know people and letting them know me; it’s easier to keep emotions out of the picture. The story is always the same; they say they will stay in touch but never do.
It doesn’t matter, though, because I only have one more year of high school, and then I’m off to South Carolina University to get my degree in marketing and interior design. It’s been my plan for as long as I can remember, and nothing is going to deter me. I’m a straight-A student and have tons of extracurriculars; I’m a college’s dream applicant.
“Presley!”
That’s my mom, Tina Donovan, the reason we are literally in the middle of nowhere.
“Come on. You’re gonna miss the bus.”
My mom is a teacher at the local elementary school and currently we’re living with my grandparents on their dude ranch.
I take a final look at my outfit; a thin cream boatneck knit sweater under a pair of cuffed overall shorts and white converse tennis shoes is as good as it’s gonna get for the first day of school. There’s no reason for me to stand out; all I want to do is blend in and finish my senior year as inconspicuously as possible and walk away with my diploma.
“Coming!” I yell from down the hallway.
I make my way into the kitchen to grab my lunch and kiss Mom goodbye before heading out the door and down the gravel driveway to the main road where the bus picks me up. The walk isn’t too terribly long, and the view is actually relaxing and tranquil. Cedar fence posts line either side of the driveway, horses on one side, cattle on the other. The Montana mountains surround me; their snowcapped tops bounce the sunrise off of them.
If I hadn’t fallen in love with South Carolina years ago, this is a place I could see myself settling into, never wanting to leave. Certain places take hold of your soul and never let go.
I get to the end of the driveway as the bus is pulling up and step on board. Most seniors wouldn’t be caught dead riding the bus to school, but my parents don’t make much, and we can’t afford a second car. The bus isn’t awful, though. I find a seat in the back and the thirty-minute bus ride goes by uneventful.
Aside from a lot of freshmen anxious for the first day of high school, sophomores who are excited they’re no longer the newbies, and a couple of juniors who still can’t believe their parents wouldn’t get them a car, I’m the only senior.
As the bus pulls up to the brick school building, I notice it looks more like a prison than a school, the marquee welcomes all students with the promise of a great school year. Students pepper the lawn out front, girls hugging one another in a reunion after the summer apart, guys goofing off trying to get the attention of the girls, little groups here and there. And as the first bell rings, they make their way through the steel double doors of the single-story building. By the state of the building, it’s apparent that it hasn’t been updated since it was first built in the mid-1960s. Brown brick both outside and inside, fire red trim everywhere, and cream-speckled linoleum covers the floors. The hallways are lined with royal blue lockers, and across from the office, hang portraits of principals who had graced these halls with their presence.
I make my way straight to the front office to check in and introduce myself to my counselor. After making the necessary corrections to my schedule, I meet with Principal Stewart. He’s an older gentleman with hair protruding from his ears longer than what resides on his head. Still, he seems kind enough and makes a joke about how you can’t have principal without the word pal. I give him a sympathy laugh and shake his hand in thanks for the kind welcome.
After all these years, the routine is almost second nature to me, ten schools in thirteen years. As I leave the office, I look back to say a quick goodbye to the office staff and hit what feels like a brick wall. The sheer magnitude of the immovable force causes me to stumble back.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” a rough voice says to me.
I look up at him and am immediately taken aback by his light blue eyes, broad shoulders, and mussed sandy brown hair that looks as if it were styled to look like he had rolled out of bed. He has a crooked smirk, one side slightly higher than the other; his big calloused hand reaches out to steady me.
“No. I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” I give him a quick smile and walk out of the office.
The rest of the day goes by pretty smoothly; I find all of my classes, chemistry, AP English and history, economics, and lunch, then finishing up my day with Algebra 2, sociology, and choir. Choir has always been a constant for me wherever I’ve gone. Schools change, people change, but music is always there—black notes on white paper.
On my way to sociology, I’m bumped hard against my shoulder, this time throwing me into one of the lockers lining the hallway. The behemoth is laughing with two other guys, not even bothering to stop and apologize.
“Excuse you.” Irritation coats my voice as he turns around. It’s the same boy from earlier in the day. The one who almost ran me over as I was exiting the front office. What are the chances? In a town this small, honestly pretty damn good.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“Then I guess you should pay more attention to where you’re going.”
He smirks, and I swear there is a glint of something in his eye.
“But then I wouldn’t have run into you again. The name’s Brice Harte,” he says as he extends his hand out to shake mine while giving me a come-hither smile.
I know boys like him all too well. The cocky jock who thinks he can get anything or anyone with a smile and smooth words. Instead, I simply look at him, roll my eyes, and walk away. I don’t have the time nor the energy for little high school playboys, but I can’t get over the fact there is something oddly familiar about him.
Chapter Two
Standing in the hallway, surrounded by my friends, I’m taken aback as I witness this five-foot eight-inch girl give me a lesson in manners. All I can think about is running my hands through her long blond hair, as I taste her perfectly pink lips. Her green eyes blaze with anger and familiarity while her hypnotic lips enunciate each word with disdain before she storms off.
“Hey, any of you know who the new girl is?” I ask my two best friends.