Abi and the Boy Who Lied

CHAPTER ONE

HOW JON MANAGED to look even better in a
mortar board with a gold tassel hanging over his face,
I didn’t know. It wasn’t fair.

He caught me staring and turned his smile on
me. “What?”

Grandma yelled, “One more,” twisting the dial
on the back of the plastic camera to set it for another
photo.

The first thing I was going to do once I had some
extra spending money was buy Grandma a digital
camera. This disposable camera business was getting
old, and she refused to take photos on her phone.
Her thumb always got in the way.

Jon shook my shoulder, grinning, and I rolled my eyes up at him. I could only stay exasperated for so
long when it came to Jon.

“Right there!” Grandma yelled, and the camera
clicked with the shot.

I wished I could freeze this moment forever,
staring into Jon’s eyes, knowing that for whatever
reason those eyes, that person, saw me. Broken pieces
and all.

I read somewhere—probably in one of Grand‐
ma’s magazines—that some cultures fixed broken
vases with gold. The liquefied metal filled each of the
cracks and made a design even more beautiful than
before. The flaw made it even better.

I hoped that was me. That somehow my past had
weaved its way through my broken bits, and when I
came back together, I was more interesting, more
beautiful, worth more for all the struggles.

“I’m going to get your parents,” Grandma said to
Jon. “See you at graduation.”

“Bye,” I said, barely able to tear my gaze
from Jon.

He tilted his head, still waiting for an answer as
to why I’d been staring at him.

“How do you look so good?” I asked.

He chuckled low and brushed his nose against
mine. “How do you look so good?”

I rolled my eyes again. He was delusional. But I
wasn’t complaining. I’d worked hard to ft into this
dress—even if it was covered by a shapeless graduation gown.

“Abi,” Grandma called from beside the mailbox.
She held up a blue envelope. “Looks like someone
got their card in the mail right on time.”

I grinned. “I hope this one has money.”

She brought it over to me. “If it does, chili’s on
you.”

I shook my head. “We’ll see. Meet you at the
cook-of?”

“That’s the plan,” she said. “Should save us some
time in all the commencement hubbub.”

I smiled. “See you.”

Jon and I walked together to his car and got in.
As he pulled away from the house, I tore open the
card. On the front, it said: Well wishes to the grad.
On the inside, written in block letters: Enjoy it
while you can.

My chest constricted. What was this?

I flipped the card over, looking for a name, a
signature, something that hinted this was a joke and
not a threat, but there wasn’t even a return address
on the envelope.

“No money?” Jon asked.

I swallowed and shook my head.
“Guess your grandma’s paying.”