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Chapter 1

Wynona

He wouldn’t dare

But the longer I sit on my cushioned wicker seat, the harder it is to deny it

I grip thehard

Whoever’s wearing five times skunkier perfume than need be, I want to punch them Almost as much as I want to punch him

That’s our song, all right

He doesn’t say the words, but he doesn’t need to As his hands glide over the piano keys, I can hear them in my head

Past, present, future, you are

Whenever I’m far away

It’s time to say

I gotta get back to you

I gotta get back to you

“Liar,” I hiss under my breath

And the way he’s looking at me with that beautifully sculpted face with its tousled blond hair and blue eyes I already know all too well can be about fifteen different shades depending on his mood

E Storm

The whole reason I shouldn’t have come

But then again, Sierra Hill—no, now Sierra Stor, of all times

Now, get this, the song’s over and done with and Ehtful and sad

As if he were the one who’d had the past cruelly dredged up

He tries looking my way, but I’lare of mine

If glares could kill, mine would’ve made Emerson explode in a nice puff of red and black confetti so a nice old janitor who looks like Bill Nye could sweep him up

Alas, no such luck

“Uh, Winnie?” Josie whispers, elbowing me

“What?” I snap

Her sparkly pale face, with its powdery blue sparkly eye shadow and, you guessed it, sparkly pink gloss, has a holier-than-thou expression I’m so not in the mood for “If you really hate the cupcakes, you could, you know, just not take one?”

I glare at her until I realize that she has a point