Chapter 2: The Boy at the Door
The night of prom, the doorbell rang at six.
I figured it was my best friend, Dana, coming to make one last run at dragging me out of the house.
I opened the door, and instead there stood Ollie.
Logan’s little brother. Thirteen years old, in a suit two sizes too big that had to be Logan’s, the sleeves rolled, his hair combed flat with water.
In both hands he clutched a bouquet of carnations from the grocery store, and his hands were shaking so hard the petals trembled.
“Hailey,” he said, and his voice cracked clean down the middle, “I know I’m not him. But I’m here to take his place tonight. If you’ll let me.”
I put my hand over my mouth.
At the curb, in the car, his and Logan’s mother Denise was already crying, lifting one hand in a small wave.
