Sophie Littlefield - Unforsaken

The second book in the Banished series, 2011

Some books come easier than others. This one was a joy. Two people made it better than I could have imagined: Barbara Poelle, my agent, who knew exactly what was missing in the first draft-and my editor, Stephanie Elliott, who took time out of a very exciting year to bring the book to life.

ELEVENS LIKE THE NEW TEN, Jess said, cracking herself up and spitting Coke on Gojos coffee table. It had a glass top that showed every mark-fingerprints, smudges of guacamole, and the crumbs from the chips, which were made of blue corn but tasted like every other chip Id ever had.

Still, it was a first, and out of habit I said the words in my head. Blue corn chips. When I got home-which had better be soon-Id write it in my journal. It would be number 62.

But that was for later. Right now I had to focus.

That makes no sense, Charlotte said, licking salt off her fingers. She was sitting on the floor between Gojos legs. He leaned back on the couch with a beer dangling loose in one hand, the fingers of the other playing with Charlottes wavy red hair.

It was Gojos fifth beer since wed gotten here. Id counted.

No, you know, really, Jess said, managing to stop giggling only to start up again. I was pretty sure she didnt usually drink as much as she had tonight. Not like Charlotte, who drank more than Jess and me put together and you couldnt tell. Eleven oclock isnt as late now that were going to be juniors. Its like the new ten oclock. You know, like black is the new no, wait.

Olive, I said. Olive green, its the new black. You know, neutral? I read it in Vogue.

I wasnt making it up; I really had read it in Vogue the day before when Prairie and I went for groceries. We went twice a week, pushing Chub in the shopping cart and buying all kinds of expensive gourmet stuff Id never seen when I lived in Gypsum, Missouri. Now we lived in downtown Milwaukee, which wasnt exactly L.A. or New York, but our building had a concierge and our grocery store sold things like squid ink pasta and herbed chvre and Italian grapefruit soda (numbers 34, 35 and 36).

We always bought a magazine at the store, and then I read the articles to Prairie while she cooked. She said I ought to do the cooking since she worked all day, and she was right, but I saw how much she enjoyed it, making things for the two of us. I tried to do my part by cleaning up, keeping the apartment neat and doing the laundry. And she never complained. None of us did, not even Chub, whose chores consisted mostly of helping set the table and picking up his toys at the end of the day.

We kept things light; we never argued. Two months after we burned the lab down, I think we were still kind of surprised wed made it out alive-and I was still getting used to living with my aunt. Especially since until a few months ago I hadnt even known I had any living relatives besides Gram.

If it was weird how Prairie and I came to be in each others lives, it was also really easy living together. I was comfortable with her, and I never had to think about what to say around her. Not like I did with Jess and Charlotte. It should have been a natural fit, since the three of us had so much in common: we were all sixteen, all starting our junior year at Grosbeck Academy in the fall, all interested in the same things-clothes, boys, music, makeup.

But I had a secret: they were the first real friends Id ever had.

That was a secret I meant to keep. Which was why I was sitting here in an apartment across the tennis courts from ours, an apartment that belonged to a twenty-eight-year-old bank branch manager named Gordon Johnson, who drove a red BMW and had told us to call him Gojo and offered us Cokes a week ago Sunday, when Charlotte started talking to him at the pool late in the afternoon.

That day hed invited us up to his place and given us sodas from the fridge, and wed played blackjack. Today-another lazy Sunday afternoon that stretched into evening, all three of us calling home to say we were at each others places, lies that werent questioned by Charlottes or Jesss mom-Gojo had put frozen pizzas in the oven, scooped guacamole from a jar and poured our Cokes into tall glasses, then topped them off with whiskey.

It wasnt very good whiskey. In fact, it was dirt cheap. I knew that because my grandmother used to serve it to her customers, and if there was one thing you could say about Gram, it was that shed been as cheap as they come.

Id poured my drink out in the sink and filled my glass with straight-up Coke. That was at six oclock, when wed first arrived. Id kept doing it all night, whenever Gojo topped our drinks off. But now it was nearly eleven, half an hour past when Id said Id be home, and I had a decision to make.

Should I leave and earn the derision of Jess and Charlotte, the first and only friends Id ever made?

Or should I stay and give my aunt something to worry herself sick over?

A missed curfew didnt mean the same thing to me as it did to other kids. If I didnt come home when Id said I would, Prairie would immediately think that they had found us.

And that we were as good as dead.

Sorry, guys, I said, standing up and faking a yawn. Id love to stay, but Ive got a driving lesson first thing tomorrow.

Jess gave me a forlorn little pout, but Charlotte fixed me with a chilly glare. So sorry to hear it, she said coolly as Gojo ignored me and rubbed her neck, his fingers dipping into the back of her tank top. See you at the pool.

See you, I echoed, and by the time the door closed behind me, I could hear Jess giggling about something else, as though shed already forgotten Id been there.

Hows Charlotte and Jess? Prairie asked after Id given her my breathless apology for being late, making up a story about how wed been watching a movie and lost track of time.

Fine, I said, turning away from her and pouring myself a glass of water. I was a terrible liar, and I knew it.

I hadnt always been. Lying to Gram had been not only easy, but necessary. But with Prairie it was different. After all wed been through, I felt bad lying to her.

At home, in the apartment where I spent nearly all my time, I let myself forget that she was now Holly Garrett and I was Amber Garrett. Prairie kept telling me that I needed to stop using our old names, that we were never going back. And I kept telling her I needed just a little more time. I knew from the way the line between her eyebrows deepened when I called her Prairie that she thought it was a mistake not to force the issue. But I also knew that Prairie had a hard time saying no to me.

I tried not to take advantage-except when it came to this one thing. Id give up our old lives, our old names. Soon. Just not quite yet.

Why dont you see if Jess and Charlotte want to go to the mall with us Tuesday? Prairie continued, keeping her voice light. I can get off a little early, we can try that new sushi place. My treat.

Umm sure. Ill ask them.

I tried to ignore the lump in my throat. Prairie was trying so hard-she knew how much it meant to me to fit in here. When wed first moved to Milwaukee, there had been only a few weeks left in the school year, so she had made arrangements for me to attend a private high school in the fall, and Id gotten an early start on the summer reading list. Prairie had been on the lookout for friends for me even then; she was so excited when school finally let out and I met Jess and Charlotte at the pool. In a couple of months I would be attending the exclusive Grosbeck Academy with Jess and Charlotte and four hundred girls just like them: pretty, spoiled girls who were used to getting everything they wanted.