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cigarettes.”
    “Some music producers dress really nice and drive expensive cars and stuff,” Beth said. “I’ve seen it on reality TV.”
    “Like that guy from that show,” Shelby said.
    Dad’s expression brightened.
    “He’s definitely handsome,” Mari said.
    Dad gave a harrumph .
    “From what Charlie says, he’s semi-retired now. They’re very well-off. They seem eager to settle in this neighborhood.”
    “Well, who wouldn’t?” Dad sliced his chicken a little too vigorously. “And Kellynch is the best house in the Hills.” His frown lessened. “What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”
    Mari hesitated, she glanced at me yet again. “Croft. Richard and Sophia Croft.”
    Chicken caught in my throat. I coughed. I gagged. Tears sprang from my eyes.
    “Someone hit her on the back,” Beth said with a sigh.
    “Croft?” Aunt Rose repeated, trying to place the name.
    Still coughing, I held up my hand to tell them I was fine. Not that anyone was rushing to my aid.
    “Why does that name sound familiar?” Dad asked, tapping his fork against his lips.
    I downed half a glass of water and gasped.
    “Because Sophia Croft is the sister of…” Mari stopped and looked at me, as if waiting for my permission to say his name.
    “Eric Wentworth,” I choked out. “Sophia Croft is Eric’s older sister.”
    Every eye in the room zeroed in on me.
    I fled the table and ran upstairs.
    Tears stung at the corners of my eyes but I told myself not to cry as I flopped onto my bed, face-first.
    Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling. It had been a long time since I’d cried over Eric Wentworth. It was second nature to squash all memories of him the moment they appeared. Like curtains covering an ugly view, I would use an imaginary hand to push the memory out of sight and back into the recesses of my mind.
    Not this time. My heart pounded a painful beat. I couldn’t get him out of my head. The last time I saw him, the last look he gave me, still tortured my soul. Unable to stop it, I stretched my mind back further, to our beginning, rather than our end.
    * * * * *
    Eric had walked into second period music class that day wearing department store jeans, scuffed Converse sneakers and a dark grey fedora. His t-shirt had said, “I’m with stupid,” with an arrow pointing up.
    From the back corner of the classroom, I gave the new boy a once-over. Then another one.
    “Bet he plays the sax,” Charlie said, his voice low.
    I leaned forward on the piano bench. “He looks more like a drummer.” I eyed the bass drum Charlie was leaning against. “Maybe you’ll get demoted to cymbals.”
    He hugged the bass drum like a teddy bear. “No way, this baby is mine.”
    I laughed.
    “I heard his parents died in a car accident,” Charlie whispered.
    “That’s so sad.” I’d lost one parent, I couldn’t imagine losing both. Although with Dad never around it almost felt like I had.
    Rumors flew about Eric—his Dad had overdosed on drugs, his mom had committed suicide, his parents were too poor to afford their kids, the usual stuff. Charlie and I became friends with Eric, and eventually we learned the truth.
    Eric and his older brother, Evan Wentworth, were Somerset High’s newest Charity Cases. Their parents had died in a car accident (Charlie had been right about that), leaving the two boys and their sister, Sophia, with no other family. Their mother was an alumnus at the school so as some kind of outreach program, the school board gave Eric and Evan scholarships to finish out high school.
    I didn’t know that on his first day though. All I saw was a very cute new boy who was staring at me. I realized I’d been grinning at his t-shirt and quickly looked away. Maybe he thought I was laughing at him. After a few seconds, I risked another glance. His eyes were still on me.
    “Ah, Mr. Wentworth.” Our music teacher, Mr. Sachs, called everyone miss or mister. He probably thought we’d behave better. “What instrument