Prologue
Allie
I’ve always loved storms.
The entire sky marbled in blacks and grays and fuchsia, streaking with white light. Storms remind us that no matter what is happening down on solid ground, Mother Nature could put a stop to it in a split second, if she chose. That scares some people, but it comforts me—the thought of the weather swiping her arm across the earth like a chessboard, knocking all the game pieces to the floor. Setting me free. Making it possible for me to run far away from this place.
Tonight is a special storm.
I lie out in the center of the field on the rippling grass, my fingers stretched up toward the sky, electricity dancing up and down my limbs. The white nightgown I’m wearing billows around me, making me visible from the house. Normally a risk, but I know my father is currently distracted by a work emergency. I couldn’t take the time to change into black clothing or I might have missed this moment. When the clouds snap and break overhead, showering the earth with bullets of rain.
Moisture lands on my eyelids, cheeks and chin. My body.
It rolls down my arms in rivulets and takes away the sting of digging fingertips, the rap of a wooden spoon, the snap of a leather belt. It renews me. And I stare up at the sky in wonder and gratitude, begging it to take me with her.
“What are you doing?”
The voice is so resonant, so deep and rasping, for a moment, I think God is talking to me from the clouds. But that can’t be. If God was talking to me, he wouldn’t be asking questions. He already knows the answers.
Cautiously, I sit up and look around, pushing my short, brown hair out of my eyes. I peer through the darkness, the storm teeming around me. And when a bolt of lightning smears across the horizon, that’s when I see him.
Moore Dunnegan.
My breath catches and I cross my arms over my breasts, knowing the soaked material isn’t keeping me remotely modest. What is he doing here? At night, no less.
I go to school with Moore. We’re both sophomores at Perryville High School. Although, I’ve always thought Moore Dunnegan is just an adult pretending to be sixteen. How in the world could we be the same age? He’s six foot two, perpetually needs to shave and has maturity, knowledge of life in his eyes that boys my age simply don’t possess. We have all six classes together and he sits through them like a statue, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. And sunglasses aren’t even allowed! But the teachers seem too apprehensive about asking Moore to remove them.
It’s easy to see why.
He’s intimidating.
Tall, dark and angry.
Handsome in a cold, carved-from- stone kind of way that makes the other girls nervous, makes them skitter away when he walks down the hallways.
Not me, though. I’ve always loved storms.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stared at him from behind my locker door, breath trapped in my lungs, wondering what he’s looking at behind his sunglasses. Which, for once, he isn’t wearing right now.
And he’s looking straight at me with a fearsome scowl.
“I said, what are you doing?” Moore stomps toward me through the field, gripping me by the elbow and pulling me to my feet. “This isn’t a safe place to be during a storm like this. Get inside.”
“Inside is no safer.” Why would I say that? Why? My first time actually conversing with this boy and I tell him my deepest secret?
His eyes narrow at me.
Sensing he’s going to question my statement, I hurry to qualify it. “I mean, a storm like this could take the roof off a house, couldn’t it?”
That loosens a little bit of the tension in his broad shoulders. “And yet…” He searches my face. “You don’t seem scared like you should be.”
I get the sense we’re not only talking about the storm.
Maybe it’s the fact that we’re standing in the volatile environment I love so much that makes me brave. Makes me look up into his stony face while wearing a soaked nightgown and speak to this mysterious boy. “I am a little scared of storms, but they’re so beautiful and wild, I can’t look away.” I lick some of the rain from my lips, noticing his eyes dip to catch the action. “What are you scared of?”
His chest rises and plummets. “The way you stare at me in the halls.”
Inwardly, I wince.
He knows. He’s seen me.
I haven’t been as discreet as I thought I was. “Oh,” I say, pressing palms to my heating cheeks. “I didn’t mean to…to…” I trail off when his words actually sink in, my hands dropping back to my sides. “Why does it scare you?”
“Hell if I know,” he says on a rushed exhale, looking up at the sky, raindrops landing on his face and cascading down his corded neck. “Maybe…when you’re looking, it makes me want to…”