The Prospect

THE PROSPECT: CHAPTER ONE

Chapter One
Southie, Boston
Ten Years Ago
Tricia

This is my spot. I smiled as I climbed the grassy hill in our neighborhood's little park. Southie wasn't known for its sprawling trees and nature, which made this spot even more special. None of my friends knew about it.

My brothers didn't bother me up here unless mom or dad needed me. The top of the hill was covered by shrubs and trees and the path was a steep incline, usually making all my friends turn back the other way. But when you got to the top? It was spectacular.

As I took a deep breath, I noted how the warm summer air smelled fresher up here. Once I got through the trees at the top, the clearing was a shade of green I didn't know existed in Boston. The perimeter was thick with trees shielding me from view of anyone below.

My favorite spot to sit was lush with moss and in the spring and summer, always had a thick tuft of daffodils sprouting from the moist soil.

It was perfect.

Usually, I opted to bring my ukulele, but today, I felt drawn to my guitar. It was a bit more cumbersome to lug to the top of the hill, but there was a certain sound I couldn't get from my uke. My small journal was tucked into the back pocket of my jeans and I pushed my pencil into my ponytail during the walk.

With each step, the guitar bounced against my butt and I smiled, hearing my dad's voice in the back of my head. "You could always borrow my banjo, Tricia," he'd said, smiling. "Give that punk music of yours a twist," he had added that last bit with a wink as my mom swatted him with the kitchen towel. He was kidding... I think. Dad barely even knew how to play his banjo despite being born in Kentucky and moving to Boston when he was in college.

I was pretty sure he'd only learned how to play in an effort to meet girls... though according to my mom, that one backfired.

My thighs burned as I pushed up the final part of the hill, using my forearm to move aside the branches and crawl beneath the foliage to the clearing.

That's when I saw him. In my spot.

My older brother, Sam's best friend... Milo Hutchens.

God, he was cute. His light brown hair was beginning to turn blonde like it did every summer. It was so long that it flopped into his eyes and he kept raking his fingers through it, pushing it back, only to have it fall right back in his eyes once more.

And his blue eyes were so bright in the afternoon sunlight that they nearly blinded me.

I stood there dazed, stunned that there was another human up here. In my spot.

As I took a step forward, a branch caught one of my guitar strings and the quiet clearing echoed with the abrasive, warbled sound.

I winced and Milo's gaze jerked to mine, seeing me for the first time. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was a year older than me in eighth grade and we'd been in the same school for as long as I could remember. There was a time he and Sam used to play with all of us neighborhood kids. Before they met Sean and Mike O'Connor and became too cool for us.

We'd grown up together, but never once had we been in class together. Word around school was that he wasn't going to move onto high school next year if he didn't get his act together soon.

I swallowed hard. Even the thought of being held back made my chest tight with panic.

My parents would kill me. They would kill Sam, too. He had already been grounded three times this summer for being out past curfew and getting caught with cigarettes.