Katelyn Detweiler - The Undoing of Thistle Tate

Fifteen-year-old Marigold Maybee remembered everything and nothing about the moment she almost died.

It could have been five seconds; it could have been five hours.

Metal crashing and glass smashing, screams and sobs and sirens, so many sirens. Violet, her mom, was next to her on the road, under the blue January sky. Marigold could feel her own hand wrapped around her moms cold, stiff fingers.

Be brave, Marigold, her mom said then. Marigold wasnt sure how she knew exactly, but she was certain she hadnt heard the words with her earsshed heard them inside herself.

Ill try, Mom, she whispered. I want to be brave.

Marigold took a deep breath, squeezing her moms fingers tighter.

And then she opened her eyes.

EXCERPT FROM LEMONADE SKIES, BOOK 1: GIRL IN THE AFTERWORLD

I have lots of dreams, but Ive only ever had one nightmare and its always exactly the same.

I havent had the nightmare in a whilea good thing, Id thought, a wonderful thing. But I was wrong. Because it came back with a vengeance tonight, making up for lost time.

If it were up to me, Id choose a common, run-of-the-mill nightmare every single night insteadspiders crawling all over my skin or a zombie attack or stumbling off a cliff. Anything else would be a treat in comparison.

But its not up to me.

And so here I am again: heart pumping ten beats too fast, tears running down my cheeksthe nightmare still gripping me like it never wants to let go.

I sit up, turn on the lamp next to my bed, and take deep breaths.

Im not surprised I had this dream, not tonight. Liam was here earlier, lying next to me on the bed watching National Lampoons Vacation, our legs and arms so close but still never touching. His pick, because he loved the Christmas Vacation one and figured this would be just as funny. But theres a scene, less than sixty seconds long, where the Griswold family is in the car, fighting about getting lost in the middle of nowherewhen boom, just like that, theyre off the road, crashing through signs, nearly flipping over. Its a comedy, so everyone is fine, of course, besides the car. But just seeing it, hearing it

The nightmare is fading now, but there are still tears in my eyes.

Thats how it goes: Im sobbing and thena crash. Shattering glass. Im in a car, I suddenly realize, a car that is colliding hard and fast with something else. After a few seconds of dizzying explosions of noise, everything stops. Its quiet and too bright and I am alone.

And then I wake up, crying, as if Ive just somehow managed to crawl out of the car alive, as if it all really happened, exactly like this.

Dad says I wasnt even there when my mom died in the accident fourteen years ago. But thats all hell say. I asked about it a lot, back when I was younger.

I look at the clock nowa little after two in the morning.

I wont be falling asleep again.

I pick up a book from my nightstand. The words blur and I put it back down.

I stand up, moving over to the window, my hand reaching for the bucket of yellow Ping-Pong balls Ive had on the sill for as long as I can remember.

Liam. My best and only friend. I want him to come back. He sleeps here some nights, but only when we accidentally fall asleep in the middle of a particularly long Netflix binge.

I pull the curtain aside and push up the window. I toss one, two Ping-Pong balls at Liams closed window and wait. We live in Philadelphia where the houses are crowded close together, so theres only a few yards of space between us, a narrow area of ground that leaves just enough room for a thin brick wall that separates our properties.

I could call, of course, or text. But this has been our preferred system of communication since Liam moved here the summer we were both four. A few more seconds and there he ishis black hair sticking up in bird wings all over his head, eyes squinting at me in sleepy confusion. I give a shrug.

He knocks his fingers twice against his window, code for coming now.

I get back into bed and pull the covers up to my chin.

Liam has a key so he can walk our old hound dog, Lucy, when my dad and I are away, and I soon hear the soft click of the front door opening and closing.

He comes upstairs and opens my bedroom door. I reach my arms out and, without any words, were hugging. Its maybe the best hug of my life.

Then again, every hug with Liam feels like the best.

He eventually pulls away, settling himself next to me on the bed.

Missed me already? he asks, his deep brown eyes peering at me.

I had the nightmare again, I say. It felt so real, Li. I mean, it always feels real. But this time its likeevery part of my body remembers my moms accident. And it wants to make sure my brain remembers, too, even if I wasnt actually there. Maybe theres more to it, theres something Im supposed to understand from the dream

Its just a dream, Thistle. Liam leans into me, wrapping an arm tight around my shoulder. I scoot over the last few inches between us and let my head fall onto his chest. Its warm and familiar and its minebut its not. Not mine. Not really. I think youre reading too much into it. Every time you dream it, it feels like the worst time, but thats just in the moment. Itll fade. By tomorrow morning youll barely remember it.

I nod, even though I know thats not true. I always remember.

Hes wearing a Phillies pajama set, which is adorably dorky, but it looks good on him, his dark olive skin seeming even more radiant against the clean white of the red-striped shirt and shorts.

Stop, Thistle.

Now is not the time to reflect on his attractiveness. Not when hes this close to you on your bed. Not when you woke him because your terrible nightmare was maybe the worst of your life.

I grabbed something for you on my way out, he says, shifting to reach into his pocket. My mom bought more of those chocolate-covered caramel pretzels from Reading Terminal Market that you love. I swiped one for you. He hands me a balled-up napkin and I slowly unwrap it, let the pretzel fall into my hands, sniff it, and poke at it with my tongue.