Dedicating Every Day to You

20k Bonus Chapter!

(So, thank you to everyone so much for giving this book almost twenty-two thousand reads. I know I couldn't be happier with the way this story is turning out. I have the whole rest of it planned out, and I think you'll like the twists and turns. Now, a few thousand late here is your 20k bonus chapter!)

George London is fifteen, a year older than Kathryn and her crew. He used to live in England, but when his parents got divorced he moved with his father to America. He's clever, sarcastic, and loyal, and very talented on the saxophone. He absorbed a great deal of bigotry and hatred from his father, but after befriending Kathryn and the others he began to change his point of view. With this bonus chapter, you might learn a few things about him that you would never have guessed.

Ru clings to me, his huge grey eyes filled with tears. "Georgie, you're back! I missed you!" His blond curls are matted to his head- he's refused to let our mum wash his hair for weeks now, according to her letters- and he has biscuit crumbs stuck all over his cheeks. He's the cutest little mess of a toddler, and I've missed him so much.

"I've missed you, too, Rupert," I whisper into his ear, squeezing him close to my chest. He smells just like I remember, macaroni and baby wipes and wax crayons. I've missed his tiny warm hugs. As much as it must be hard for him, for me to be in a different country, it's even harder for me. My little brother wasn't even born when my parents separated, and I didn't get to meet him until he was almost a year old. I hate being brother in absentia, being the one who comes around once a year for two weeks, just long enough to leave my imprint, and then it's exit left for George.

"We can have fun together now!" Rupert, age four, bounces in my arms, his insatiable excitement showing in his every motion. "Will you go feed the ducks with me?" In the last email from Mum, she bemoaned his obsession with feeding the ducks at the pond near their flat. Apparently, he insists upon going there every afternoon, wasting pounds worth of bread each time. It's one of the little quirks that I always think about on the flight home, an insignificant detail that I'll miss the most when I return to America.

I laugh softly and stand up, lifting him into the air. "I'll do anything you want, darling. This is our week together, remember?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall woman walk over. Her hair is strawberry blonde, and her face is spattered with the same characteristic freckles that decorate Rupert's cheeks and nose. She catches my eye and waves, and I feel a lump rising in my throat. "Mum?"

"Oh, George!" She throws her arms around me, and I am enveloped in the soft embrace that I've longed for so dearly. Somewhere, deepest in my heart of hearts, I wish that I could have stayed with her instead of Dad. I wish that I could have continued growing up with this kind, incredible woman, instead of the bigoted and hard-hearted man who's raised me for the past five years. "How are you, love?"

"I'm fine...I've missed you so much." I lean up and kiss her on the forehead. She may be tall, but I'm catching her fast. That thought gives me just a little power, and I resolve to hang onto it for the next time I need that strength.

My mother laughs, her eyes lighting up. She doesn't know what's been going on at home, doesn't know why my emails have become shorter and shorter. I don't want her to worry, don't want her to find out that I've been longing to fly to England and stay here forever. To her, I'm the same happy, nerdy George that she's seen the past few summers, and I have every intention of keeping it that way. "That's my kiddo. You know, Rupert talks about you literally every day."

The thought brings tears to my eyes, but I clear my throat, stand up straighter, and force a smile. "Well, I think about him every day, so it's all good."

And so she scoops Rupert up and takes my hand, and I'm home again.

Things aren't so great for George at home, however. His dad is more than a little bigoted, and though George likes to pretend to agree with him, sometimes that backfires. How? Just wait and see.

Kai looks over at me, twirling his pencil between long, spindly fingers. "And the hypotenuse is?" He prompts, a patient smile on his face.

Good man, Kai. He's been sitting with me like this every afternoon for a week now, helping me with my math homework. If I fail Algebra, I can't pass this year, and then I'll be in for it. I have to get straight A's, or my dad is pulling me out and making me go to Rua County High School. I just can't end up there.

I bite my lip, thinking. "Um...six. It's six, isn't it?" I have pages of sprawling math notes in front of me, but none of them really make sense. It's the best answer I have, but I'm almost positive it's wrong.

"Actually, it is." He grins at me and gently bumps my knee with his pencil. "It's exactly six. See? You're learning." God, he's cute- that dark hair falling in his eyes and that olive skin, almost golden in the sharp lights of the living room.

"I'm sort of terrible, but thanks. I appreciate it." I lean a little closer to him, tapping his forehead with my own pencil eraser. "What's next?"

Kai shrugs and flips through our textbook, his hand dangerously close to mine. "Polynomials. They're easy, but they're time-consuming, so if you want to take a break first I'll let you."

"That's great news, because I was going to take one whether you let me or not." I sit up a little straighter and lean back against the couch, the cool leather soothing my headache. It's not that math is stressing me out, even though it is. What's really bothering me is how close close close Kai is to me, how much I want to take his hand and hold it and never let go.

"You're incorrigible," he teases, resting his hand even closer so that our pinkies are aligned, just brushing. I feel a shiver run down my spine.

I force a laugh, though my insides are filled with frantic butterflies and my heart is going a thousand miles a minute. "I suppose I am. Thank you for tutoring me, by the way. I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

He nods. "Anytime. Of course, I think you would have been just fine without my help. I did enjoy spending the time with you, though."

"Any time spent with you isn't a waste," I shoot back before I realize what I've said. I can feel my cheeks flaming, and I bite my lip.

Then Kai is kissing me softly, and my eyes flutter closed, and I don't even know anything anymore. The hypotenuse, numbers, my own name, all fly out of my head, and I'm lost in the way he's cupping my face in his hands, the way my arms have found their way around them, the way I don't ever want this to stop.

"What is going on here?!"

And then it does stop. More than that, it screeches to a halt, both of us jumping away from one another as my father's gruff voice rings out through the room. He's standing in the doorway, briefcase in hand, fingers white with rage around the handle.

My hands fly to my face, fingertips to my lips, trying to conceal my blush. The smile I had before is one hundred percent gone, and the butterflies in my stomach have turned into knives flying against me. "H-hello, sir. You're home e-early." Kai looks like he wants to say something, but I shake my head at him. "Thanks for the tutoring, Kai. I'll see you tomorrow at school."

Once he's gone, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach, and I scramble up to sit on the couch. My father drops his briefcase and walks over in two long strides, towering over me. "I thought we had this conversation. This behavior- being 'gay' or whatever you want to call it- is inappropriate, unacceptable, and sinful."

"Dad, we weren't exactly making out. We were studying, and things just sort of...happened." I know there's no way to lie about what happened, no chance to cover my bases and backtrack and explain things in a better way.

"Well, rest assured, those things will not be happening anymore in this house. You're grounded." He looks like he's trying to calm himself down, which is usually a good sign. "No seeing anyone, no going out, no staying late after school. No practicing that gay instrument of yours-"

"It's a saxophone!" I blurt, then lower my head. "There's nothing gay about playing the saxophone. It's just a musical instrument."

I feel a sudden sharp pain stinging my cheek. He smacked me. I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I should have expected this. "Go to your room," he snarls. "Get out of my sight before you catch worse than the back of my hand."

There's really no appropriate response to that, except what I do, which is turning on my heel and walking, head hanging like a dog with its tail between its legs, up the stairs to my bedroom.