Chapter 1

1

Frank Sinatra sang about how seventeen was a very good year.

For me? Not so much.

* * * *

The bell rang, signaling class was over, and I didn’t have to glance at my watch to know that this was it—the last class of the last day, school was finished for the year, and summer vacation was starting at the same time. Not that it made much difference to me. While my classmates would be going to the beach and Funland, the local amusement park, I’d be working at Uncle Angelo’s, where I had to be in forty-five minutes. The local pizza place had been in downtown Muhlenberg for as long as I could remember, and I’d lived in Muhlenberg all my life.

I closed my AP chemistry book, shoved it into my backpack, and hauled myself out of my seat

“What plans for your summer, Mr. White?” Mr. Beaumont asked as he tidied the papers on his desk.

“Work,” I told my chem teacher. My mom needed as much of my paycheck as I could persuade her to accept—she knew I was saving for college. I’d already been approached by Harvard, Caltech, and MIT, the top three colleges when it came to their chemistry programs, but being the tops meant their tuitions were astronomical. I was certain I’d get enough in scholarship money to take me through a bachelor’s in science, but I wouldn’t have to start the application process for another nine months, so I intended to work as many hours and save as much as I could. I adjusted the glasses I’d had to wear since I’d turned fourteen and peered at him. “And you?”

He rose and gave a wry grin. “Work.”

I nodded, not really surprised. He’d be teaching summer school for six weeks, something I’d learned he did every year since he’d started teaching at Muhlenberg High.

He held out his hand. “And if you need a good book to read, just let me know. I have Louis Pasteur’s latest biography.”

“Already have it, Mr. Beaumont. If you’d like to read the newest book about Federico Bianchi, I’d be happy to lend you my copy, although it’s a bit dog-eared.” The organic chemist, who also had doctorates in medicinal, analytical, and physical chemistry, had dropped out of view at some point in the nineties, but his work was still touted, and I’d known of him even before Mr. Beaumont had suggested his works as a little light reading—my mom, of all people, had introduced me to the man’s work. I grinned and shook my teacher’s hand.

He laughed. “Well, have a good summer.”

“You, too, sir.” I adjusted my backpack over my shoulders, and headed out to the lot where I’d parked my electric green moped. I loved that moped. I’d saved all my tips since I’d started working at Uncle Angelo’s as a busboy at the age of fourteen and managed to buy it used.

Other juniors were stopping to offer each other hugs or fist bumps, and the girls shed a few tears with those they wouldn’t see until September, while promises were made to meet up at Funland.

Judy Moore, one of the most popular girls at Muhlenberg High—she and her boyfriend had been queen and king of the junior prom—grabbed my arm as I walked past and pulled me aside.

“You’re Andrey, right?”

“Yes.” Although I was only called that in school. Mom and Angelo and the people I worked with all called me Drey. I had to admit I was surprised Judy knew my name, since the only period we shared was lunch, where I always ate by myself in a secluded corner of the cafeteria.

“Oh, cool. Listen, I’m having an end-of-school bash at my place. My parents will be out of town, and all the kids are going. Say you’ll be there, too.”

“Yeah, you’ve totally gotta come.” Bobbi Philpott, head cheerleader and Judy’s bestie, joined us, and it said something, either for Judy’s influence or Bobbi’s character that no one had ever made fun of her last name.

I’d never been invited to any of the cool kids’ “bashes,” and the thought of finally getting to go to one was…okay, I was willing to admit it. It was thrilling.

But…“I’m sorry, I’ve got work?” I bit my lip, annoyed it came out a question as if I were uncertain, which I wasn’t. I did have to work. I took my helmet from my scooter’s cargo carrier and put it on.

Judy looked surprised. “What, every night?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m sure your boss will give you Saturday night off.”

I was glad she was sure, because I wasn’t. “That’s one of our busiest nights of the week.”

“Yes, but you have to come.”

“Why?” I fastened the strap under my chin.