The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

In the car, my parents were too tired to do more than snipe at one another, and they sent me to bed with the promise that “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

But no sooner had I shut the door than they started up again, blaming each other for not knowing what was going on under their own roof.

I hate them.

I love Miller.

I’m saying it now for the first time, writing it down in black and white, because it’s absolutely true. I’ve never felt like this before. Like my body and all my senses are lit up, but I’m scared too. I’m sure he doesn’t feel the same. Why would he? I’m the geeky, annoying girl who meddles in his business. He’s always saying so. But we’re friends. He’s my best friend. My soulmate, if a soulmate is the person you can’t live without. The person you’d do anything to keep safe and happy.

That’s what I know for sure. I can’t lose him again, and the more pressure you add to two people, the more crushed they became under the weight. Just look at my parents. They were best friends once too.

I’m not going to mess things up by adding more to us. But I can take care of him and make sure he’s safe.

That’s how I’ll keep him forever.

iv

That’s when I knew I’d love her forever.

The doctors left. They explained my diagnosis, and the weight of it sank into me, pressing me down. For the rest of my life, I’d have to watch what I ate and drink as if I were on Weight Watchers, constantly measuring and counting carbs and grams of sugar to keep my numbers stable. Exercise is good, they said, but I have to be careful about exerting myself or I could go blind, lose a foot, or fall into a coma and die like Julia Roberts did in Mom’s favorite movie. A ball and chain of rules and diets and restrictions, needles and pills that I’d have to carry across a tightrope without a net, for the rest of my life.

Then Violet stepped into my hospital room, dressed in a yellow T-shirt and jean shorts. Her shiny black hair is in a messy ponytail and her dark blue eyes behind her glasses are filled with worry and care. For me.

And in her hand was my guitar.

My body weighed a thousand pounds, but in that moment, a heavy burden lifted off of my soul.

“You promised…” I croaked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to smile around shaky, watery words. She laid the guitar on my lap. “Do you even like guitars? I had no idea. This is a get-well present. I saw it in a window and decided you had to have it.”

A dam broke and sobs shook her shoulders. I couldn’t lift my arms to hold her as she buried her face against my side.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I should’ve…done more. I want to be a doctor for God’s sake, and I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs.”

“You saved me.”

Violet abruptly sat up and took off her glasses to wipe her eyes. “No. I called 9-1-1. But it wouldn’t have gotten that far if I’d done something sooner.”

I shook my head against the pillow. My fingers reached for the guitar, feeling its smooth wood, and the weight of it on my lap. Dad gave it to me when I was ten years old, in the good times. The first time I held it, I’d felt as if some part of me that I hadn’t even known was missing, had been restored.

Violet had been right—pawning the guitar had been like tearing off a limb and handing it over to that sweaty guy behind the counter. I didn’t think I’d ever hold it again.

And now it was back. Now I could play for her all the songs I’d been writing in her room, with her sitting not a foot from me, oblivious to how perfect she was…

“But I’m never going to be so ignorant again,” Violet said, putting her glasses back on and sitting straight. “Type 1 diabetes means insulin shots and monitoring your glucose and keeping track of your diet. I’m going to study up on it. I’ll learn how to do the shots and the finger pricks and how to read the monitors and make sure that you stay level. And I’m going to make sure you do it, too. That you take care of yourself so that you don’t… You don’t ever…”

Hiccupping sobs took over and the tears came again.

“Vi, don’t…”

“I was so scared, Miller,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Guilt that she had to see me like that ripped through me, even as hope bloomed in my chest. Her tears, her anguish… They can only mean one thing.