Renata Santos doesn't expect her heart to flutter when she catches a boy stealing flowers out of her backyard. But as she unravels his reputation, she realizes puppy-eyed delinquent Isaac Marshall may just be the sunshine she needs to turn her life...
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C Y P R E S S
[cupressus sempervirens] ➳ despair.
ON THE FIRST ofDecember,just after noon, the string lights on our Christmas tree burst into flames.
They burned slowly, sullenly, before flaring up and swallowing the house top down. Sort of like a shot, sliding down a throat, or our family's future, crumpling into its own foundation.
When the collapsed building was deemed safe to enter, we gathered up the things we had left. It was a blessing that nobody had been home, but also a curse. Without anyone's firsthand account to go by, the investigation lazed on for weeks before we got any closure.
That was the extent of the tragedy the news back home had covered, published with a quote from my father about being devastated.
When Isaac recited the sordid story, then asked if I wanted to head outside, I felt a spool of thread unravel inside of me. Even my parents didn't know the rest.
"It's raining." The door slammed behind us.
"It's quiet," he countered, his smile soft as the pitter-patter on the roof. "No one'll interrupt."
I couldn't argue. I sank onto the sidewalk, right in front of the door, crossing my legs and tucking them close. Isaac sat down across from me, still beneath the overhead cover that held off the rain. For a while, we sat watching puddles grow and fuse together on the soccer field.
"So," he said, his voice quiet but daring, like a gentle push from behind. "You moved here right after that?"
I shook my head. "My parents moved in with my aunt and uncle, but they had this huge family: five kids, and they all lived in the same condo. It stressed me out, and I was trying to prepare for exams at the same time. So after a few days of that, I went to live with..."
Isaac met my gaze expectantly. I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I went to live with my boyfriend."
He didn't say anything for a while. Then, after testing a few possibilities between his lips, he asked, "Your parents let you do that?
"We were family friends." I sounded bitter; there was no point disguising it. "There were a few Brazilian families in my neighbourhood and he belonged to one of them. We were the same age, so naturally, we ended up dating. My parents knew his parents, and they let me sleep in his sister's bedroom."
It was hard to pick out what was most important, so my brain stumbled over the details. Anthony was a lot of things: he was captain of track and field at my old school, and the reason I tried out for the team in grade ten. He was as tall as Isaac, but with dark eyes and the kind of look in them that could snuff out any light.
He was the kind of person to refuse a second-place ribbon. When we were eight, his family's cat disappeared around the time humane society trucks showed up to their front door. When we were eleven, his sister told me she hated him.
