Lullabye (Rockstar Book 6)

Author:Anne Mercier [Mercier, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anne Mercier
Published: 2015-12-12T23:00:00+00:00

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I wish you a safe and happy holiday season!

Cadence, Rockstar #7, Jace's story – Coming mid-2016.

True Love Way

©2015 Mary Elizabeth

Chapter One

Dillon

“Who do you think she is?” I ask.

This girl and her parents showed up fifteen minutes ago in the moving truck that’s now parked in front of the empty house next door to mine. With light skin and long brown hair, she’s dressed in ripped-up jean shorts and a faded black T-shirt with a design on the front of it I can’t make out.

“I don’t know,” my best friend, Herb, says. He wipes beaded sweat from his top lip.

I rock back on my heels, keeping my bike steady between my legs as gravel crunches beneath my road-worn Vans. The end-of-summer sun hammers down on us from clear mid-afternoon skies.

Kyle, my other best pal, rolls by on his skateboard, briefly blocking my view. “I’ve never seen her,” he says.

“She must be new.” Herbert halts his bike beside mine and taps his hands against his handlebars to the same upbeat tune that’s been stuck in his head all week.

The house next door is white with yellow trim, and it’s been vacant since last September. The previous owners, the Pimentels, were here one day and gone the next. My parents don’t like it when I eavesdrop, but I heard them say, ‘Mrs. Pimentel took Mr. Pimentel for all he’s worth after she caught him dipping his deep sea fishing pole into somebody else’s ocean.

There have been a few people by since the For Sale sign went up. Unless they’re originally from Castle Rain, no one ever stays long. We haven’t had newcomers in a while.

“This place is nothing but townies and old people,” my older sister, Risa, always says. “Fuck Washington.”

“Do you think she’ll be at school tomorrow?” Herb asks.

I shrug.

From the back of the U-Haul truck, a man who looks to be about my father’s age appears with a large box in his arms. Beside him, a short, thick woman with long hair, like the girl’s, dangles a set of keys in her hand. She has pep to her step, practically floating.

If fat people could float.

“Penelope,” the woman calls expectantly. “Do you want to be the first to unlock the door?”

The girl doesn’t answer. The lady with the keys loses her smile, and the man with the box scowls.

“She’s rude.” Kyle scoffs. “I hate her.”

I walk my bike from the street to the sidewalk in front of my house. My best friends stay back, kick flipping and tail whipping while I do nothing more than watch.

“Pen,” the lady tries again, making the keys sing, swinging them harder than the first time. Her arm jiggles.

No response.

“Penelope,” the man stabs. “Don’t ignore your mother.”

Posted on the steps in front of the house, the girl, Penelope—Pen—whatever, is in her own little world. She has a black Discman on her hip and earphones in her ears. With a melody of her own, the new girl next door bobs her head back and forth, oblivious to her parents.

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