The Way Back to You Read Online Free Page A

the cat is actually a kitten. She keeps lying there with her eyes squeezed shut, so I step forward and give her a light poke in the side. “I mean it. I’m going home now.”
    She curves herself into an even tighter ball. Her stomach rises and falls as she breathes. What was Danielle talking about, saying she wastiny back whenever she first came around? She’s still super little now.
    Aside from a carnival-won goldfish, Dad and I have never had a pet, and Matty’s cat, Hercules, is the only one I’ve spent much time with. He likes to show his “affection” by hooking his claws into my legs and biting my wrists, so I haven’t always been his biggest fan.
    I rub the kitten between her ears. Her glossy black fur is softer than it looks. She responds by butting her head against my hand, flicking her tail, and opening her eyes.
    Her eyes, which happen to be green. Bright, bright green. The color of a 7Up can, to be exact. My heart stops for a second.
    She blinks at me and I blink right back.
    I don’t know what this means, if it means anything. I really, really don’t. But I can’t help hoping maybe, just maybe, I’ve found the answer I was seeking after all.

Cloudy
    W e finally pull into a parking spot.
    “Thank God,” I groan, reaching forward to click off the radio. The sounds of overlapping guitars and the la-la-la-ing singer cut off abruptly, the speakers now mercifully silent. I shudder all over like the power button was covered in raw meatloaf. “No more music by sad boys.”
    Zoë, in the passenger seat, crosses her arms over her chest. “You said I could choose.”
    “My mistake.” I put my Honda in park and turn off the engine.
    “Anyway, they’re not sad . They’re—”
    “Crybabies.”
    “Passionate,” she says, decisively and dreamy-eyed.
    “Oh, gag.” I snap off my seat belt and twist to grab my puffy coat from the backseat. Slipping it on, I say, “Just so you know, on the way home we’re listening to someone who wears glitter.”
    Zoë’s eyes scrunch up behind her glasses. “Glitter? Really?”
    “Glitter”—I count it off on one finger, then more—“with afondness for drum machines. And clapping.”
    “I’d rather crawl home.” She grins and slides out of the car.
    As soon as I open my own door, icy February air ribbons in. It has to be the coldest day of the year so far. The sun is about to set, and the sky is a mix of purples and pinks against the pine trees that border the Target parking lot—possibly the only parking lot in Bend without a mountain view.
    We make our way toward the big red bull’s-eye, Zoë bobbing beside me in her green Converse sneakers and orange knit cap. The lot is mostly empty for a Friday evening; everyone’s probably skipped out for midwinter break vacations already.
    Zoë and I are not so lucky, however. We’re homebound while Mom and Dad are away on a cruise to Mexico. They haven’t taken a trip by themselves since Zoë was born and now they’re going for it. Which is all very nice until you get to the part where they ditch their dependents for ten days. I’d be on board with fending for myself if it wasn’t the reason why Ashlyn’s parents asked Zoë and me over tonight. Accepting their invitation felt more like a sentencing. I dread being back in that house, but I couldn’t refuse. Although there’s always the chance I’ll break an ankle and have to cancel before dinnertime.
    “Candy first,” I announce once we’re inside. The Montiels aren’t expecting us for another hour, so I’ll fill up every minute of it with distraction.
    Usually, the cosmetics section is always the first stop in Target, a tradition that began when Ashlyn and I both got our driver’s licenses and could be here on a whim. Makeup, thenmagazines, then kitchen appliances, where we’d screw around with the coffeemakers. That’s the way we worked through this place, no matter what—except for some quieter nights, when Ashlyn would dare me to do full