"Indy! Come on, let's go."

I groaned as I rolled over on the grass. This so isn't my life. Why did P.E. have to be so hard anyway? Was it the goal of the coach to kill all of those who were seriously P.E. challenged? I needed an excuse card or something. Like one of those 'Get Out of Jail Free Cards.' In seventh grade my friend Gabby Mineyard had one made by her doctor,

because of some fictitious disease. Okay, so it probably wasn't fictitious, but I swear she was completely normal and could do anything at all during the summer-anything. Like ride a bike, go swimming, climb trees—anything. Until school started. Then it was the glorious "exempt from P.E. card" again.

"Indy!"

Maxton was still yelling at me. Couldn't he see I was in pain? As in suffering here? Whatever, it didn't matter. Ms. Bullington was going to come back around that field with the other runners any minute and chew me out anyway. Time to suck it up.

I groaned again for good measure and rolled over onto my knees. I took the hand offered me and got up. I was about to thank Maxton for being there, but to my knowledge Maxton's chest wasn't quite so large, or so tall either. I quickly jerked my head up and came face-to-face with the hottest junior in school, Bryant Bailey.

"What?" I asked, not willing to give him an inch this time. "Why are you here?"

A playful grin spread across his face. "Why are you so mean to me?"

I glared across his shoulder at Maxton for not telling me Bryant was there. He just shrugged back.

Then I turned my glare back to Bryant. "You need a warning bell or something so people can prepare when you show up." I pushed past him and grabbed my water bottle. Ms. Bullington angry at me, or not, there was no way I was sticking around P.E. another moment. Lamely literally I began to limp off the grass, across the track field and toward the building behind the bleachers. Dang my stupid foot anyway. I was always twisting my ankle when I attempted to run. Always.

Some people were born with grace, others were meant to watch graceful people from far away. Like miles away. It wasn't hard to guess which category of people I fit into.

Bryant followed me. Of course. "Are you really going to blow me off?"

I tried to whirl around, but I forgot about my foot. However, my foot didn't forget it was twisted and it reminded me—sharply—"Yeesh!" I headed straight. Apparently walking forward was better than turning around. "Do you expect something else, Bryant? Seriously? I could so kill you right now and you know it. In fact I'm pretty sure in seventeen states it'd be legal to kill you. Most people would call it self-defense."

He rolled his eyes, but matched his super long stride to my shorter one. "You can run all you want I'm still going to make it up to you one day."

"No you're not. I don't want you to. In fact, the best way to make anything up is to just leave me alone. Please."

"Do you really despise me that much?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

Urgh. What was I going to have to do to get this guy off my back? I stopped. "If you want to make it up to me, go away. I'm fine. I need some time alone to process it, not be reminded every five seconds."

"But I've apologized a hundred times. I had no idea it was there. I didn't see it. It was an accident. And every day I see you I feel awful. I'm not used to people acting like this around me. I don't even know what to do. I'm not some weird horrific guy—you've gotta give me a chance and let me make it up to you!"

All at once my heart was heavy and my foot hurt and my chest felt like the Hulk was squeezing it and I wanted out of this dang school. Away from Bryant Bailey and everyone else who ruined everything special in my life. I just wanted to not remember terrible things. Was that so hard here? Except every time I turned around there was Bryant again-caught up in his own psycho-codependency or something where he wanted everyone to like him and everything to be better. But you know what? I wasn't going to like him. Not now, not ever. And it was never going to be better.

So he needed to deal with it somewhere else. What's done was done and that's that. But to show up all the time attempting to make me feel happy or something was certainly not going to make anything better.

I opened the gym's outside door and limped inside.

"Cindy, please..."

This time I did whirl around as he came into the building. Ouch. "Cindy?" How did he know my real name? My mom's name. How did he know that name? No one knew that name. Not even Maxton and he knew me back when my mom was still alive.

He must've taken my facing him as a good sign, because in the next second he was holding my arm and looking deep into my eyes. "Will you forgive me?"

Didn't he hear a word I just said? I lost it. In retrospect I probably shouldn't have, but I was done. Yeah, I was a little mean, but this guy was getting border stalkerish and I was done. As in completely and totally done being reminded of everything that'd gone wrong in my life. And calling me Cindy was the last straw.

I pulled my arm away. "No, Bryant. I won't forgive you for killing my cat! That cat was from my mom. The last gift I'd got from her before she died in a car accident. Who just so happens to be who I'm named after. And until now was the only person who ever called me Cindy."

His eyes widened in shock and his mouth opened slightly. Thankfully he didn't speak or I might've punched him.

"Now, if you will kindly leave me alone to mourn the loss of the last gift I was ever given, one of my best friends—and no! I don't expect you to know anything about how awesome cats are, okay—but she was and now she's gone. Because you had to speed around by my street and"

He pulled me in for a big hug. "I'm sorry, Indy. I'm so, so sorry."

"And then to top it all off you come out with Cindy? Out of the blue! Where? Why? How?" I tried to push away but his arms were wrapped around too tightly. "You know what, I don't want to know. All I care about is when this pain will stop. When will I have time to think of happy things again and just be normal?"

He said it before I could. "Never. You'll never be the same again."

"No." I sniffed. And that's when I realized why he was hugging me so tight. "Dang it. I'm crying?" I pulled away this time and he let me go. Yep, the whole front of his shirt was wet.

Bryant Bailey made me cry. My sophomore year of high school. I hadn't cried since my mom died. Not when I had to move into my aunt and uncle's house and live in their creepy basement room, not when my cousins made fun of me and told me how ugly I was. And I didn't cry when I became their stupid servant, when my aunt went back to work and left me with all the chores since my cousins were too involved in after school activities to have time to clean. And I didn't even cry when Mrs. Wiggins, my cat died, I was too angry to cry. Yet, now here I was standing in the school gym and crying in front of the one guy I detested most.

And then I said it—the most immature words that had ever left my mouth-"I hate you." I cringed as soon as I said the words, but they were out and they were the truth, so I looked up at him-and saw Bryant for possibly the first time in my life. Really saw him.

His dark eyes searched mine, long and hard, as if they were prying out every single one of my secrets. This tall, extremely good-looking dark-haired prince-type guy just stared at me. He should've been chasing pretty girls at school, or working out in the weight room, or writing some amazing symphony that would make him incredibly famous, but instead he was standing here with me. Then those worried brows of his came together and his mouth turned down a little and he spoke the words that honestly broke me. I have no idea why-but later in my creepy basement room all alone I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. For the first time in years I let everything out.

"I hate me too," he whispered.

And then he kissed me on the cheek and softly said, "Sorry," in my ear and then left.

"Indy, get up!"

I rolled over in bed and attempted not to groan out loud. I felt like I'd been hit by a semi-truck. And my pounding head wasn't helping.

"Indy! What's taking you so long? Get up here now!" Aunt Clarise was in a mood today.

I sat up and moved my matted hair off my face and then rubbed my eyes until I could see the alarm clock. Nine-twenty. I'd never slept in that late on Saturdays! I jumped up and then winced when the pain in my head

bounced around my skull. Good grief. I lied back down and brought the covers over my head.

I hated crying hangovers. I'd totally forgotten what they felt like until this moment—but they were bad. It was like you'd literally cried out every single tear in your body until you'd dehydrated yourself or something. I didn't know. I just knew my headache was the stuff nightmares were made of.

"Indy! If you don't get your butt up here this second, you'll be grounded again!"

Wasn't I already grounded? I took a few deep breaths and attempted to think straight. My pillow was soft, the covers were warm, my cat was dead, and I couldn't care less about chores right now. I just couldn't.

When I heard Clarise's feet pounding down the stairs, I admit, I kind of freaked. My heart clenched and I burrowed deeper into the covers. Perhaps if I pretended to be asleep...

"Indy Ella Zimmerman, you will get up this instant and go upstairs. Have you seen the state of this house? Did you do anything last night? Anything at all? Because I can tell you right now-nothing was done! Our dinner dishes are still on the table. There's food all over the place and pots and pans. That floor hasn't been swept or mopped and we're not even going to talk about the living room right now. Can you imagine the mess it's in? It's a disaster! Clothes, Shoes, papers everywhere!"

She whipped the covers off me and a whoosh of cold air invaded my happy spot. I attempted to blink awake for real now. But her shouting only increased the pounding in my head. Everything hurt so much.

"What's wrong with you?" I could tell she was close to losing it. "You better not be sick! I don't have time for you to be sick today! I've got people coming over a noon remember? For my presentation. This house better look amazing. Do you understand? I will take away every privilege you have if you just lie here and pretend to be ill."

"Fine," I mumbled as I attempted to sit up again. I actually made it upright and even opened my eyes to look at my Aunt Clarise, but the heaviness inside—that inert need to lie back down took over and slumped back into bed. "I'll do it before twelve." I could hear the slurring in my words. "I promise. I'm just not feeling good right now."

Clarise stood there and tapped on the dresser. Her long fingernails tick-ticking on the green wooden surface. I wasn't sure what she was debating, but she finally said, "You look awful too. You didn't come up for dinner last night. Maybe I don't want you touching our dishes, I don't want whatever disease you have to spread. Especially since I'm doing a presentation on healthy essential oils."

I held my breath. I'd never known her to actually give me a break. She was usually positive I was lying about something and never believed a word I said. In an odd almost motherly moment, I felt the bedspread flipped

back over me, before Clarise went back upstairs. It was strangely comforting and nice. As if-as if-urgh. Everything hurt too much to try and find a suitable analogy. There wasn't one.

I was her younger sister's daughter. The younger sister she never got along with. The one that was—as Clarise would put it, "too perfect to ever be human, or likeable" Apparently I looked just like my mom too. And she was stuck with her niece and—until recently the dreaded cat too. My dad left when my mom was still pregnant with me and I never met him. Mom got divorced before she was even showing. To this day all I have is a name,

Ryan Alysop, the guy she was married to for less than a year.

Mom never really dated anyone after that I think he sort of broke her. Instead she went into working fulltime and doing everything she could to support us both. Even though Mom was successful, she had a lot of past

debts my dad had left behind, including a car that had been in her name that he took too. The cops never found that car and mom still had to make the payments.

It wasn't exactly easy for her though I learned most of this from my aunt and grandma after Mom died, she'd always kept the worst parts hidden from me. Sometimes late at night when I try and imagine what she must've gone through.

Single, alone, heartbroken, scared with several bills and a tiny baby to look after I can't breathe. I never saw that side-perhaps my mom was too perfect, perhaps Clarise was right, but I grew up knowing I was a

princess. That I was loved and cared for and Mom taught me so much about helping others and sharing what I have with friends and always, always to smile through trials. She tried so hard to instill all of that, and for a while, I was her Cindy Ella -or her happy Cinderella princess -as she used to call me.

My life was poofy pink dresses and sunshine and balloons and happy walks and feeding ducks at the park-all of it. I was loved, secure, and cheerful. My life was a fairy tale and I was the star.

Everything was so good. And then she was gone.

One stupid, ugly, messed up car accident when I was ten and my beautiful courageous mother was gone. And in that split second my bright world turned black and everything I thought I knew changed in an instant. Aunt

Clarise was so grief-stricken and angry all she did was berate my mom. I'd hear her for hours chewing out the dead sister. It was like everything she ever wanted to say to her came out. In full force. I'd like to believe Clarise didn't know I could hear her, that when she drank too much and spoke too loudly she thought I was fast asleep below stairs. But I wasn't. I heard everything she said.

I couldn't sleep for weeks after Mom had gone. I cried and cried and cried. It messed me up more than I'm willing to admit, and honestly I don't know if I'll ever fully recover.

When I woke up again it was after one and I was starving. I could hear the muffled sounds of my aunt's voice and women laughing. Her presentation was still going on and she'd be ticked if I showed my haggard face

anywhere near her friends.

I rolled onto my back and brought the covers up under my chin and looked around the sparse room. When I first moved there in an attempt to be generous—Clarise had said I could decorate it any way I wanted to, so it

would feel like home.

But I was ten, it didn't feel like home then, and I was too sad to even attempt to decorate anything. I didn't even know what I'd want to do with it. And now it's been so long since the offer I'm too afraid to ask if I could decorate it.

It'd been used as a storage room, so it was the afterthought of the large home. The walls were white -though with the small basement window above my bed they looked more grey than anything. There never was adequate sunlight, which was fine with me, it sort of suited my mood. I brought very little from my house. Everything we had-toys and all—was sold to pay for the funeral and other expenses.

The creepiest part was pipes that ran along the side of the ceiling. My aunt used to fuss about them saying she'd get Uncle John to cover them so they wouldn't look so awful, but he never did. The pipes tended to make

some odd sounds at very unexpected times during the day and night. Though I didn't realize what was making the sounds at first. It took a couple of years before I was about to pinpoint they came from the pipes. Now the odd banging or rushing of water only startles me when I'm thinking too much.

My throat was dry and tummy grumbled. Dang. I was hungry. I figure it's been at least twenty-four hours since I last ate. Slowly I climbed out of bed and was surprised that my pounding headache seemed to have faded a

bit. It was more just a solid, workable headache, than the horridness it used to be. I scrounged around in my backpack and found a half full water bottle and guzzled it down. Then I rummaged through my dresser and came up with a sleeve of Ritz crackers I'd stashed there a few weeks ago.

The crackers weren't too bad. I was worried they'd be stale or something, but they were fine. So I ate and hung out in my room, deciding if I couldn't leave without walking right past the party, then I'd better do something productive. After about ten minutes homework was a no go. This headache wasn't playing around. I probably needed some Tylenol or something.

But again, that was stored in the medicine cabinet and I'd have to pass by the presentation to get it. I sighed and plopped down on my bed.

Laughter.

Those women could stay here all afternoon.

I stared at the ceiling some more deciding if I'd rather sleep off the rest of my headache or not, but I wasn't really tired.

Then the strangest thing happened. I swore I heard Clarise's voice laughing and chattering as she headed down the stairs.

"Indy loves company! Her room is down here, she likes to enjoy the peace and quiet from her cousins upstairs."

Holy cow! Was she bringing some of her friends down here to see me? I quickly grabbed a comb and began hacking at my hair as I threw a sweatshirt on over my PJ top. I threw the bedspread over the messy sheets and

chucked a couple of pillows off the floor near the headboard. Then I stuffed some clothes back into my drawers that were hanging out Clarise knocked and used her sticky-sweet voice. "Indy? Are you there? We've got something that'll cheer you up."

This really was happening. How could this be happening? The last thing I wanted was some weird smelling oils on me. "Yeah, I'm here." I quickly scooped up a ton of trash and put it in the can near the door.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great. A lot better now that I've slept." I zipped up my backpack and shoved it in the far corner and then tossed my shoes beside the dresser. I quickly glanced around. No embarrassing underwear anywhere. Room looked pretty decent. My head was definitely pounding.

I pasted a smile on my face as I opened the door. "Hi." And then that smile dropped. "What in the world are you doing here?"