Sitting in my car, dreading the next hour, is only heightening the fact I’m about to see Grant. I can do this. I can pretend he’s not in the same room as me. I can ignore him. I think.

The moment I walk into the room and see the seat next to him is saved is also the same moment I realize that I’ve been kidding myself. His attention is focused on the textbook in front of him, so I take a chance and find a seat on the opposite side of the room. It’s the only seat available in the area. There’s no chance he can sit any closer.

Suddenly, I feel his eyes on me. I want to turn around, smile at him, say hello, but I force myself to look straight ahead and focus on class. Thankfully, the professor walks in a few minutes later and class begins. Still, I can feel his stare the rest of the hour. I’m pretty sure he never looks away.

I pack up early so I can bolt out of class before Grant can corner me. Speed walking all the way to my car, I’m pretty sure he’s not following me, but I don’t want to take any chances. I know I wouldn’t be able to ignore him if he caught up to me.

Libby is fired up when I get to school that day. She’s talking a mile a minute about the football game coming up. She insists that I have to go with her. I’m pretty sure she almost passed out when I confessed to her that I had never been to an actual high school football game before. Her loud screech was my first clue.

I promise to ask my father, to convince him to let me go. He doesn’t have a good reason to say no this time. At least, not that I know of. I didn’t see any important events on the calendar the last time I checked. Of course, the fundraiser wasn’t on the calendar either.

My father isn’t home when I get there so I send him a text. He grants me permission to go to the football game but reminds me of my curfew. Eleven o’clock pm. No later. Since I’m going out, he’ll probably be here, waiting for me when I get home. These are the rules I’m ready to be rid of.

* * *

Friday flies by. Before I know it, I’m staring into my closet, no clue about what to wear. I decide to text Libby and ask her to come over before the game. It gets colder at night and it’s a little windy today, but I don’t think a sweater is necessary. Maybe a cardigan? I want to look like I belong, though, and I’m not sure a cardigan will be a popular accessory for a football game.

Libby laughs at my outfit when she arrives. I decided to go with a skirt and a sweater. When she walks in, I know I’ve missed the mark. Thankfully, we have plenty of time to raid my closet and put something cute together. I’ve avoided embarrassing myself. At least for today.

Jeans. Cowboy boots. Short sleeved blouse. Something I would wear to school on an average day. Who would have thought? I figured people dressed up to hang out together, and maybe they do. Just not for high school football games I guess.

The game is rather uneventful. Our team is less than exceptional. In fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say they suck. We got our butts kicked. It was so bad, Libby decided to leave early and head to some party. I, on the other hand, went home. I knew that if my father found out that I was at a party, regardless of if I were engaging in inappropriate activities or not, he would ensure that I never attended another football game, my age be damned.

One good thing did come from the football game. Jason. The guy Libby was telling me about last week. He bought me a coffee from the concession stand and invited me to the party, along with Libby. I thought he was being really nice to me until I realized that he was trying to get in my pants.

The good part of that? I was smart enough to see through his thick line of bullshit before I fell for it. He did take my mind off Grant for about five minutes, though—until I started to compare them. Grant won that battle by a long shot.

My weekend is spent figuring out my role at the Foundation. With only a few people working, I feel more comfortable. There are less prying eyes. I knew my presence at the Foundation would interest people. It would interest me if I were them. Who is this teenager that is taking over? What was her grandma thinking? Is she really going to be able to keep this place running?

I’ve been asking myself those same questions for the past few weeks, and now that I’m sitting in my office, staring at a binder that Grandma left me full of important information, I know my answers. No. I’m not ready to be in charge. I’m not ready to take on the responsibility, and even if I was, I wouldn’t want to right now. I’d fail. Miserably. That’s the last thing I want.

Not because of my own ego. I want the Foundation to flourish. I need to step back. I can be a helping hand. I cannot and do not want to be a big decision maker right now. I know who can, though. I have to wait four more weeks, until my birthday, to make the official announcement, but there’s no time like the present to start planning.

I dial Lucy’s number programmed in the phone on my desk and wait for her to answer. When she finally does, I apologize for bothering her and ask if she has time to come down to the Foundation. She’s more than happy to, and an hour later, she’s sitting across from me in my office.

“Is everything okay, Madison?” Lucy stutters over her words. She’s obviously nervous. Even if she had spoken with more confidence, the fact that she’s biting her bottom lip gives her away.

“Yes. Everything is fine. I was just going over the material Grandma left me,” I say, pushing the overflowing, three-inch binder across the desk at Lucy. She leans toward the desk and opens the cover. Her eyes go wide as she flips through tab after tab, taking in the information. “I was hoping that you could help me.”

“Of course,” she replies, sitting back in her chair, more comfortable with our conversation now. “What would you like to know?”

“How long have you worked for my grandma?”

“She hired me about five years ago. Why?”

“Is there anyone else that’s been here longer than you have?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“When did she promote you?”

“She didn’t. I started in this position. I have my degree from NC State in business administration, so I’ve always been the Program Director. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve been sitting here for,” I take a peek at the clock on the wall behind Lucy, “six hours, and I still have no idea how I’m going to do this.” Motioning to the binder that lays open on my desk, I cringe. “The way I see it, Grandma left you as acting Director until I turn eighteen next month for a reason. When I take over my role, I’d like my first act of business to be to promote you to co-Director. I’d like to share the role with you so I can learn from you until I leave for college. We would make decisions together, but you would be the one to run the day to day operations. You would be the one in charge. You know this place better than I do; you understand what it needs to continue operating at a high level, to continue to be successful.

“I’d like to promote you, Lucy. Then, when I return from college, I’d like to create a new position for you, one that gives you the recognition that you rightly deserve.”

I relax back into my chair and allow her to let my words soak in for a moment. She stares at me as if I’ve grown a second, or possibly, third head. I can tell this is not what she was expecting when I called her this afternoon.

“I don’t know what to say. This Foundation is my second home. Your grandmother was my guardian angel, like she was for many who’ve come and gone. I was lucky enough that when I came to her, she kept me here. She put me to work and helped me rebuild my life at the same time. I thanked her every day for that. And you. I’ll thank you every day for this, for placing your trust in me. I love the Foundation and everything it stands for. Without it, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. Thank you, Madison, so very much.”

Lucy is on the verge of tears by the time she’s done. I reach my hands across my desk and she takes them in her own, squeezing gently. Normally, moments like this make me miss my mother, the years I was cheated out of with her. Today, in this moment, I miss Grandma more than I have in a while.

* * *

It’s been an over a week since I started avoiding Grant, and I’m not sure I can keep it up. I feel his eyes watching me. He continues to save a seat for me every class, getting there early. I keep finding a way to avoid sitting anywhere near him. Today, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to avoid him.

I see him standing by the door as I pack up my things. I’m going to have to walk past him to leave and he knows that. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smirking at me as I approach, but I keep my focus straight ahead. As the people in front of me filter out and go their separate ways, Grant slides in behind me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the side as soon as we’re in the hall. I attempt to pull my hand away, but he’s not letting go.

With my back against the wall, Grant steps forward, trapping me, and whispers in my ear. “You can’t avoid me forever, Madison. Please have lunch with me today.”

His clean, masculine scent surrounds me and I close my eyes, breathing deep. I missed that scent. More than anything, I missed hearing his voice.

“You can’t be hot and cold like this, Grant. I don’t understand you,” I reply, opening my eyes to make sure that he understands I’m seriously pissed at him. If my eyes can’t relay that information for me, the tone of my voice should do the trick.

“I’m sorry. Really,” he pleads as he pulls back. I look up and his eyes tell me all that I need to know. I see the sincerity in them mixed with concern that I won’t believe him.

“Fine. Lunch. Quickly. I have places to be.” I try to sound unaffected by his proximity, but my voice cracks and gives me away.

I watch Grant closely, to see if he notices. A grin of triumph starts to spread across his face. Either he sees the effect he has on me or he’s happy I’ve agreed to lunch. The way I see it, he wins no matter what.

With my hand still firmly encased in his, Grant pulls me toward the cafe. I fall in step with him as we walk in comfortable silence across campus. Grant grabs food while I find us a place to sit with a small amount of privacy.

Raising his water bottle toward me, Grant proposes a toast. “To a fresh start.”

Not certain what he means by that, I touch his water bottle with mine and take a sip. I want to ask, to probe deeper, but I’m afraid that he’ll run from me again. That’s what he seems to do when I ask personal questions. I’m not a huge fan of my back story, of my past or the challenges I’ve had to overcome, but I don’t walk away every time someone asks me.

“So, how have you been?” Grant’s voice pulls me from my internal monolog.

“Fine. You?”

“Sad. I didn’t like it when you weren’t talking to me. I’ve missed this.”

“Oh!” I’m surprised and he can hear it. I wasn’t expecting him to be so open with his feelings. I also wasn’t expecting him to call me out about ignoring him.

“I know I messed up and I’m sorry. There are a lot of things about me I don’t like to talk about, and my father is one of them. I freaked out and when I freak out, I run.” His explanation makes sense. I tend to have a hard time talking about my mother, so I understand to a degree.

“I get it. I don’t like talking about parts of my past either. Just promise me you won’t leave me in the dark. If you don’t want to talk about something, tell me. I can handle it.”

“Okay.” He pauses a few beats but never takes his eyes off of me. I can tell he’s not done, that something is rolling about in his brain right now. I don’t have to wonder what it is for long. “You know, we sound like we’re making up after a fight.”

“Well, we kind of were fighting, only I was giving you the silent treatment.” I try to make a joke of it, but Grant’s not laughing.

“I get that. It also sounds like we’re dating.”

My heart stops beating. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid. If he asks me out, I have to say no. I have four more weeks until I can go out with him. Right now, after making him promise to never do it again, I want to run.

Looking away from Grant, I blow my bangs out of my eyes and adjust my glasses. When I look back up, he’s reaching across the table. I watch as his hand gets closer and closer, knowing that he’s going to touch me. I expect him to caress my cheek, in fact, I hope he does, but that’s not what he’s reaching for. I feel his finger trace the line of my scar and I close my eyes. Normally I would pull back, but I’m thankful for the distraction, even if it’s something I would rather not talk about.

“What happened here?” Grant asks, his voice soft and gentle, barely above a whisper.

“Car accident when I was twelve.” I hope that’s enough information to satisfy his curiosity.

Grant’s eyes flick to me, a mix of confusion and concern registered on his face. “When?”

“Um. I don’t really remember much. I was told that my grandma and I were coming home from the beach when our car was hit. There are about two weeks of my life that I don’t remember at all.”

With wide eyes, Grant removes his hand and cups my cheek. “You’ll remember one day, Madison. When the time is right.”

His words hit deep. They’re similar to ones Grandma said to me in the hospital when I woke up. I want to remember now. I want to know what I missed. I want the blackness to fade to light. Knowing there’s something I’m missing, something big. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it.

Before the conversation can get back on track to where it was originally headed, I excuse myself. I have to leave for school or I’ll be late. As much as I don’t want to go, I need to leave or else I’ll end up backed into a corner with no way out.

Grant makes me promise to sit next to him on Thursday. I’ve already decided to stop avoiding him, so I agree. Feeling him watching me as I walk away after slipping a piece of paper into my hand, my curiosity is burning by the time I get to my car and see what it says.

His phone number.

Does he expect me to call him between now and then? I can’t do that. Can I? I want to. I want to call him right now so that he has my number.

Resisting the urge, I head to school for what I expect to be a day full of questions from Libby. There’s no way I’ll be able to shake the perma-grin that’s plastered on my face before she sees it. I don’t want to.

As expected, Libby peppers me with questions the entire lunch period. I tell her as little as possible, knowing that the more I share with her, the more she’ll want to know. I try to change the subject on more than one occasion to no avail. She’s a persistent person. A loud, persistent person. She felt the need to yell “No” every time I made an attempt at talking about something other than me.

A smile is still plastered on my face as I pull in the driveway ... until I see that my father is home. It falls immediately. He’s not normally home this time of day, so there has to be a good reason. One that I’m sure I’m not going to like.

He hollers for me as soon as I close the front door. I make my way to the den to find him sitting behind his desk with his feet propped up. He looks cozy. My father never looks cozy. He’s a very serious man with impeccable posture. He doesn’t slouch. He doesn’t relax back into chairs like most normal people, like he’s doing right now.

“Madison. How was school?” His voice is unnaturally cheerful. Something is up.

“Fine. What’s going on?”

“Two things. First, your grandmother is being recognized for her philanthropy by the community at the football game on Friday night. I need for you to be there to accept the award.” I can do that. No big deal. “Second, Mr. Finch called this afternoon. The house is being transferred to my name. I know this is not something that you wanted, but after having a judge review your grandmother’s will, he decided that it was best to override her wishes. You wouldn’t financially be able to take care of the house as a high school or college student.” The satisfaction in his voice is nauseating.

Even without a mirror, I know that my face is turning red. He did this behind my back. I can’t believe him. Actually, it sounds like something he would do. I shouldn’t be surprised. My father always gets what he wants, no matter the cost. This … this will cost him more than he will ever begin to understand. He just lost my respect, the little that he had left after years of ignoring me.

“I guess you win, don’t you, Daddy?” I emphasize each word, knowing that I’ll get under his skin the way he’s just managed to get under mine. His feet fall off the desk, his posture returning to its normal, rigid position, as he squints his eyes at me. If I didn’t know better, I would think that my father harbored a deep hatred for me. “Is there anything else?”

“You better remember whose home you’re living in.” He’s rubbing salt in my open wounds and he knows it. “You’re dismissed.”

I make my way to my room, head hung in defeat. He won. He took one of the most important things right out from under me. This never would have been possible if I wasn’t still a minor. When I turn eighteen …

A light bulb goes off and I race up the stairs to make a call. It can’t hurt to try. I have to ask. The worst he can say is no. He doesn’t answer my call, so I leave him a message with my cell phone number so he doesn’t call the house asking for me. I’m hoping that he’ll get back to me by the weekend.