Chapter ONE

Parker Allen was the boy next door. I mean, all clichés aside, that is exactly what he was.

   For most of my life, our only next-door neighbors were an older couple, Mr. And Mrs. Coldstone. They didn't have kids. They were friendly enough, but I rarely interacted with them. My house was on the corner of the street.

   His family moved in to the Coldstone's house, midsummer, when I was sixteen. The house had been empty for a few months before that, so it was sort of exciting getting new neighbors for the first time. I saw the moving truck there all weekend. I saw two adults, a teenage boy, and a younger boy. I saw them, but I didn't go introduce myself. My mother went over with a plate of cookies a week later, but she came back only a few minutes later, the full plate still in her hand. The only explanation I got was that they weren't interested in the cookies.

   Of course, I was curious about this new family who lived next door, but I knew better than to pry. My mom told me to let it be and to "leave them alone", which I found strange. She was the most outgoing, friendly person I'd ever known. My dad was more reserved, quiet. I only saw the family in passing, and it was rare. It seemed like they stayed in the house all the time.

   When school started back up, my Junior year, I expected to see the teenage boy there. I didn't know his name. I didn't know how old he was. But I knew that he should go to school. But he didn't, at least not my high school, which was only three blocks away. My mom suggested that he may go to the private school downtown, but they didn't seem like the type of people who sent their kids to private school.

   I tried, hard, to stop wondering about him. As the school year went on, I thought about him less and less. I had a social life, school work, friends. I had a lot going on, but then I would see him walking down the steps of their house, quick, and off down the sidewalk. There was always this part of me that wanted to run outside and call after him - but how weird would that be? He had lived next door for months already and we had never been introduced.

   I had always been outgoing, too. I very rarely got nervous talking to boys, though most of the boys I knew I had grown up with. I'd dated - I'd had exactly two boyfriends - one of which was for two weeks in freshman year. So, I wasn't exactly experienced, but I wasn't shy, either. I wasn't in the most popular group at school, either. But that didn't matter. My friends were the best.

   Winter came and I saw him - or his family - even less. It seemed like their minivan never left the driveway, as it was covered in snow. Their front steps were usually brushed off, but that was it. That was when I really started to push him - the boy next door - out of my thoughts for good.

   It was early spring - most of the snow was melted but there were still snow banks here and there - the day I saw two firetrucks and an ambulance parked on the street outside my house, as I turned the corner, coming home from school. My heart beat quickened and I tried to steady my breathing, unsure of what I was about to find out. I held my breath as I got closer, but soon realized they were at the house next door. I sat on my porch steps, waiting. I just had to know what was going on. It felt like forever before two paramedics came out of the house, pulling a stretcher with a small body strapped to it. Following them, a woman in tears. And then there he was.

   I watched as the child was put in to the back of the ambulance. The woman hopped in, but the teenage boy stayed back. I winced as the doors slammed shut and he turned back towards the house. I kept my eyes on him. His hair was blond and short, his skin light. He was wearing a jean jacket and black pants. My heart was racing, but I kept watching him. When he stopped and looked in my direction, I looked down at my hands as quickly as I could. He must have felt my eyes on him. He probably thought I was crazy. By the time I looked up again, he had turned and was back up the steps of his house. I heard someone calling out before he opened the door and went back inside.

   Our first conversation was over a whole week later.

   I had replayed the day in my head about a hundred times, always regretting not saying something, anything, to him. But what could I have said? In eight days, I didn't see him once, and my curiosity was about to kill me.

   I was in my bedroom that Saturday afternoon - the window was wide open for fresh air, even though I knew my dad would be mad about that. He was always telling me to be mindful of the heat and a/c. I had the curtain all of the way up, too, which likely hadn't happened since the previous summer. My best friend, Maddie O'Connor, was texting me about meeting her at the mall in an half an hour, so I crossed the room to grab my sweater from the end of my bed. That was when I glanced out my window.

   There he was, again, in his bedroom, directly across from mine. He must have had a desk under his bedroom window, like I did. I must have kept my eyes on him for a moment too long, because my phone dinged and I saw him look up, as if he heard it. Was his window open, too? I looked away, but then back to him again a moment later. The houses were fairly close together on our street, and I quickly realized, for the very first time, that I could likely toss something from my window right into his bedroom.

   Before I could react again, I noticed that he was standing. And then, he was pulling the window up all the way. He leaned his elbows onto the window sill and just stared at me, the look on his face unreadable. Part of me wanted to turn away, but the curious part of me took over, and I waved. He waved back, which relaxed me a little. Still, my heart was beating fast.

   "Hey!" I called over, hoping I didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

   He raised his eyebrows, not answering. Waiting.

   "I'm Becca," I added, hoping he would at least say something.

   "Parker," he nodded, keeping a straight face.

   "It's nice to meet you. I mean, it's funny we haven't met before-" I said, then stopped.

  "It's not that funny," he answered, shaking his head.

   "Okay, well... I have to..." I didn't know what to say.

   "Of course." He nodded again, then shrugged. It was as if he didn't actually want to be talking to me at all.

   "Nice to meet you," I said again, then spun around to leave my bedroom.