Page 1 of Lovestrung

I

Penelope Montgomery

He was my friend in every sense of the word.

My confidante.

My safe harbor.

The person I told all my secrets to.

The one who didn’t think I was a silly little girl, like my brothers did,

or that I was too young to talk about certain things.

He took me seriously, and he made me laugh.

He was the best friend every girl needs.

Until he wasn’t.

Prologue

The boy was scared.

That’s what struck me the most the day I saw Ethan Collins for the first time.

I didn’t know why he had to live with me and my family – only that it was necessary. Daddy and Mama had talked about becoming foster parents for a long time and didn’t hide their wish from us kids.

They had made it clear the night before at dinner that it was best me and my brothers, Parker and Max, didn’t ask any questions. To my then ten-year-old self, it was like waving a red flag in front of the bull; a sure way to spike my curiosity, and the exact opposite of what my parents wanted. When I’d asked them why it had to be such a secret, Daddy had looked down at me from the seat next to me at the dinner table and given me a sad smile. It looked wrong on him; Daddy wasn’t a sad man. If anything, he was a happy person, always smiling and ready to crack a joke. Or to tell us stories about his travels.

“Because there are some stories that aren’t ours to share, Penelope. Besides,” he winked at me, “you’re way too young to know about certain things.”

I scrunched my nose. I hated that they still saw me as the baby of the house.

“That’s not fair, Daddy.”

He smiled at me and touched my cheek briefly. “I know.”

And that was the end of the conversation. But I was only a child who didn’t understand the way of the world yet, so I didn’t pursue it. Getting a new brother of sorts was the most exciting thing to ever happen in my small world, also known as Charlottesville, Virginia.

Finally, the next day would be the day that their first foster child would come to live with us. I was in my bedroom on the third floor, sitting on the windowsill that had the best view of the street, when my dad and Mama pulled up in their shiny, black truck that had the logo of Daddy’s construction firm – Montgomery’s Houses – painted in bright, pink letters on the doors. Not for the first time, I was proud of my dad for picking such a bold color, but my pride gave way to curiosity when my mom stepped out of the passenger side and then held the door open. With her back to me, I couldn’t see if she was speaking, but I found myself holding my breath, waiting anxiously to see who Ethan Collins was.

Ethan. It was a good name. I was obsessed with names – their sounds, what meanings they held, the way the letters rolled on my tongue when I spoke them out loud. The minute I’d heard my mom say his name, I’d looked up its meaning online. I’d found out that it originated from Hebrew and meant “strong” or “safe”. I really liked that. I knew that names didn’t define the person you were, of course, but I still found them interesting – hence why I didn’t want anyone to call me by my birth name, Penelope, but Pippa instead. At the time, I thought that Penelope sounded stilted; stuck-up, even. Whereas Pippa fit me so much better, given the fact it was close to the fictional character, Pippi Longstocking, whose life and adventures I was pretty obsessed with at the time. I wanted to explore the world, just like she did, and somehow, I’d make my dream come true – I was convinced of it. That summer, after Ethan came to live with us, my parents realized that I meant business, and they gave in. Everyone did, even Parker and Max, after they stopped their relentless teasing.

The fact that I wasn’t afraid to get into a fist fight about it probably also had something to do with it.

I pressed my nose against the window, still waiting with bated breath for the moment when I’d get my first glimpse of the boy, and when I saw his head poking out the door, a mop of black, unruly hair on top of it, I finally gave my body permission to breathe again. It wasn’t until I breathed deeply that I noticed my lungs were burning and I took another deep gulp of air. I looked at the boy as he slowly climbed out of the truck and stopped next to my mom, keeping his head down. I wondered when he’d raise his head as my eyes raked over his ratty clothes – even from the distance, I could tell that they were very old. The blue of his jeans was so faded it almost looked white, and the sneakers on his feet were tattered and caked with mud. The gray shirt he was wearing didn’t look that bad, though it was at least two sizes too big for him and hung loosely on his slightly too thin frame.

Mama closed the door of the truck, her movements careful and measured. It made me frown, because I didn’t understand why she was taking such care, but the minute she placed her hand on Ethan’s right shoulder and he jumped and took a step back, my body jerked in shock. My eyes flitted to Mama as she removed her hand as if she’d been zinged, and then Daddy came into my line of sight. He stopped next to Mama and the look they exchanged was one that I couldn’t figure out, at least not from my seat. All I could see was Daddy’s grim frown, and Mama shook her head slowly, for once not smiling. As it had the night before when my dad had seemed sad, it felt wrong. It was so rare that my mom seemed so grave, I’d almost forgotten what the emotion looked on her face until now.

That’s when my instincts kicked in and told me exactly what was going on.

The boy – no, I couldn’t think of him like that now.

Ethan was afraid.

I slumped against the window, my now harsh breaths fogging up the glass, as I tried to decipher my feelings. I was overcome with sadness, with a hint of anger thrown into the mix, and I didn’t understand it at all. But I knew that I didn’t like it. Not one bit.