him while he was still laughing. "They deserve that nickname. They're horrible."
"They are," he agreed.
She looked at him suspiciously. "Really?"
"I've seen how they treat you. They've been acting mean to every new girl since kindergarten, but if it makes you feel more special, they're especially mean to you."
"Great," she muttered, hitching her bag closer.
"They feel threatened by you."
She rolled her eyes. "Right."
"They do." He touched her arm. "You're smarter and prettier than they are."
Her stomach twitched nervously and she froze, not sure what to do or how to reply.
Aaron just smiled at her. "Let's go inside so we're not late."
Nodding mutely, she followed him in.
She spent all of class staring at his head, wondering why he was so nice to her. She had no answer for it.
Rachel stared at the friend request, not sure what to do.
Aaron Hawke wants to be friends on Facebook.
Why? He had plenty of friends. He didn't need her. Boys like him didn't hang out with social pariahs like her.
She pulled out the lyrics she'd written and looked at them. She'd sat outside Romantic Notions today but there wasn't any sign of Griffin Chase. She needed to talk to him. She knew if she asked him to use even one line of her poem it'd be enough to change everything.
Her email pinged with a new message. Frowning, she looked at her inbox.
It was from her dad. She stared at it, stunned. He hadn't sent her an email since—
Well, it'd been a really long time.
She clicked it open.
———————————————————
From: [email protected]
Subject: In case you don't remember, this is your father.
Dear Rachel,
I thought maybe you and I can go out to dinner one of these nights. Maybe Friday? We can catch a movie afterward.
The thing is, I never see you. I know this is my fault, and I'd like to fix it. Our world was crushed after your mom died. It was my job to put it back together, but I didn't know how to do it. I thought I lost everything when Wendy died, but I was wrong. I still have the world, because I still have you.
I'm sorry. I should have tried harder. I want to change this. Maybe you can meet me halfway? I think your mom would have wanted that.
Love,
Dad
———————————————————
Rachel stared at the letter. There were so many feelings inside her—all of the stages of grief that the therapist had taught her, only all at once.
But the two biggest were sadness and anger.
He didn't know what mom wanted. Mom wouldn't have wanted to move to San Francisco—everything was in New York. Mom would have hated it here, with all the slow-walking, happy people on the streets. She'd have hated the –sons as much as Rachel did. And you couldn't even buy a decent bagel here.
The only thing Mom would have wanted was a special song for her, sung by Griffin Chase. Rachel knew that, and she was going to make it happen.
She swallowed her tears. She wouldn't cry. Tears didn't help. They only made you feel sick. She had to do something.
She deleted the email.
She'd find Griffin Chase. She would.
Chapter Eight
"Lottie Chase called me yesterday and told me Grif had been back to visit," her mom said. "Actually, she mentioned that he was on his way to San Francisco."
He'd told her he'd gone home to see his parents. He'd driven the old tank he'd lovingly restored in high school. She couldn't believe he still had that old Chevy. He'd told her a true love lasts a lifetime. It had to be true love if he manufactured excuses for road trips just to drive it. "Yes, he showed up the night of Valentine and Ethan's wedding."
"To visit you."
Switching on the light in the storeroom, Rachel shook her head at her mom's eager tone. "It's not like that, Mom."
"What is it like, sweetheart?"
"His creativity's flagging and he needs some encouragement. That's all." She opened a box, looking for tissue paper.
"And sometime in the past year you've become a creativity coach?"
"With all the different jobs I've had, it shouldn't be such a surprise," Rachel replied dryly.
"You'll find your way, Nicole." Her mom's voice was firm and confident.
If only she could feel that sure about it. Her parents always reassured her that everyone had a purpose, it just took some people longer to find theirs. At this rate, Nicole was going to be in her eighties before she figured out what she wanted out of life.
"Are you still drawing?" he mom asked.
This again. She sighed. She thought of the