Page 1 of Changing Lanes

PROLOGUE

Beckett

10 years old

“Mom!” I yell, bursting through our front door then freeze, listening.

My mom’s always here when I get home from school. Lately though, she’s been in her room, talking quietly on the phone, and when I try to get close enough to hear, she’s usually laughing. And not the way she laughs with me and Dad either. It’s deeper. Like she means it.

Like it’s a secret.

“Mom? Where are you?”

Usually when she hears my voice, or the house creak under my big feet, she rushes to hang up, kinda like when I’m doing something bad and don’t want my parents to see. But, why would she hide something from me? Why can’t I know who she’s talking to? I asked Dad once if it was him but he didn’t answer me. He just got really quiet like he was trying to figure out a hard math problem or something. I understand though, I don’t like math either.

I slow my steps, trying not to be too noisy, but her bedroom door is wide open and she’s not on the bed this time. I check the bathroom too, just to be sure, but she’s not there.

That’s weird.

Walking back through the kitchen, I see a piece of paper on the counter and frown, looking around. My mom’s never left me home alone before. She wouldn’t do that.

I grab it, thinking it’s just a note to say she’s out back maybe. The weather is starting to cool off finally and she hates the hot summers here. My school even made us stay inside for recess all last week because it was over a hundred degrees every day.

As soon as I get to the bottom of the paper I can barely see anymore. There’s too much water in my eyes. Reading it again, my stomach starts to hurt until I’m gripping it, wishing the pain would go away.

The letter drops from my hand and I let go of my stomach to wipe at my wet face. The tears keep falling even though I don’t want them to. Boys at my school, boys I don’t even like playing with, say it’s weak to cry. That you’re a baby if you do. But I can’t help it, it hurts. Everywhere.

Whenever I get hurt, my mom is always here for me though. I’m so tall, it makes me clumsy, clumsier than most of the kids I know, so I get hurt a lot. Whether I need ice packs, bandages, medicine, or even just kisses, my mom’s always here. This won’t be any different. If I’m hurt bad enough, she’ll have to help me.

So, even though I don’t want to think about what I just read, I focus on it, repeating her words in my head, until my stomach aches so bad I throw up. I puke until the vomit turns pink with blood. I’m not scared of the color though. I’m sure this will do the trick. This will get her back. She would never ignore me when I’m sick, especially not for someone that’s not even her family.

“I need you,” I repeat it out loud, just in case she walks in.

“Come back, Mom.” Over and over, until my lips grow numb and chapped, I beg her to come home. “Please.”

I try to keep my eyes open—I really don’t want to miss her—but the hard floor under my head is now warm from my body being on it for so long, and they stay closed longer every time I blink. With the stinky puke by my head starting to dry, I can almost pretend like it’s not there. Like none of this is real.

Isn’t she going to come home? To take care of me?

With my eyes fully shut, my mouth still mumbles out any promises I can. I promise to try harder at school even though I don’t fit in there. They just laugh at me for being so big and awkward. Like I can’t do anything right. I promise to clean my room more since she’s always complaining about how messy I am. I promise l’ll try not to grow as much so she doesn’t have to keep buying me new clothes all the time. I promise to find something to keep me busy instead of bothering her at home every day. I’ll do anything to see her again.

Just as my body starts to go all fuzzy, a door slamming shut startles me and I crack my puffy eyes open to see someone walking closer. Footsteps pound across the floor, then she’s dropping beside me.

She’s here.

I smile, flinching when my dry lips crack. I knew she’d come back for me.

Except when I lift my head, it’s not my mom’s worried eyes that are almost identical in color to mine I find. It’s my dad’s bloodshot ones.

No.

CHAPTER 1

Beckett

My face mashed to my pillow, I crack an eye, finding a hot pink bra next to me.

Thank fuck nobody’s actually in it.