T H E   B E G I N N I N G

On Friday morning, as I'm pulling on my rain boots, getting ready to leave for school, there's a double tap on my bedroom door.

"Come in," I call, looking up from my boots and at the door.

"Hey," my dad says, walking in with an awkward look on his face. It's not unusual though; he's always wearing an awkward look.

"Hi," I reply, trying not to sound as confused as I really am. My father and I live together, yes, but we don't really talk that much.

"I just wanted to come and tell you that I'm going away for a couple of days," he vaguely tells me then.

"Okay," I say, following his gaze to my carpeted floor. He's not good at eye contact. "Everything okay?"

"Nothing's wrong," my dad assures me and then he clears his throat. "Scott and I are going to Palafox."

Scott is my dad's older brother — my uncle — and his best friend. His only friend, really. My dad isn't really a sociable person; he never has been, not for as long as I can remember anyway. Maybe he used to be though, before the incident. Anyway, Palafox is the name of a pier and yacht harbor here off the coast of the Inner Harbor Channel. A couple of weeks out of the year, my dad drives there to go fishing.

"Okay," I repeat, nodding my head. "Well, when are you guys leaving?" I ask, looking up at him, but he's still just staring down at the floor.

"He's already there, but I'm going to drive up today after work, weather permitting," he says. "I'll leave you some pizza money downstairs."

I nod in response and then stand up from my bed, knowing that if I'm going to make it to school on time and find a spot, I need to leave.

"When will you be back?" I ask him, pulling on my blue rain jacket.

"Sunday," my dad sighs. "Probably before you get home from work."

"Okay, well, have a nice time," I reply, not knowing what else to say.

My dad nods and then, with an awkward smile, he turns and walks of my bedroom, closing the door shut behind him.

Here's the thing about my dad: he's emotionally unavailable. He always has been, ever since I was a child. Don't get me wrong though, he's a good father, in terms of provision. He's always made sure I have the essentials: food, water, clothing, and shelter. That's about it though.

He's never been the type of dad that did fatherly things. When I was a child, he never took me to the park or the zoo or anything like that. And now that I'm a teenager, it's worse. He doesn't ask me about my day, we don't watch movies, and he doesn't seem to have any interest in my future, despite the fact that I'm in my last quarter of high school and am going to college in the fall. It's fine though. I'm used to it.

He's works for the Pensacola Police Department in the Criminal Investigations Division as an investigator for the Crime Scene Unit. It's all very Law & Order-esque. He's had to deal with a lot of things in the job, so I think that's part of the reason why he's so emotionally empty.

The main reason though, of course, is my mom. I never got the chance to properly meet her, because she died before I could. When I was a kid and always asked him why all of the other little boys and little girls had a mommy and I didn't, he would always say to me, "Sadie, you do have a mommy, she just isn't here." That was his answer until I was around eleven and still didn't know the status of my mother.

That's when he sat me down and explained that due to complications with the pregnancy, they had to make a choice: continue the pregnancy and risk the death of my mother or terminate the pregnancy. Obviously they chose to take the risk and in the end it cost my mom her life. I don't really know all the details behind it though. My dad just doesn't like to talk about it, so I just try to never bring it up.

I used to think that he hated me, but Uncle Scott says that my dad can't move past the death of my mother, even if he wanted to. They were high school sweethearts, apparently, and when they had me, they'd been together for about ten years total, married for nearly four. Scott says that it's hard for my dad to connect with me because every time he looks at me, he just sees my mom and it's too hard for him.

So that's the thing about my dad and it's really sad, I know, and I wish I could do something to help him, but I just don't know what to do.

Downstairs, I hear the front door open and close and seconds later, my dad's Tahoe starts up and then drives away. I grab my keys from my nightstand, along with my phone, pull my black mesh backpack on and then leave my room, heading down the stairs. I stop by the kitchen to fill Stabler's water and food bowls and walk out of the front door, locking it behind me, and going down the driveway to my car.

Stabler, by the way, is my cat. I was really obsessed with Law & Order: Special Victims Unit when I got him, so I named him after a character.

After unlocking my car, I get inside, toss my backpack over to the passenger seat and start it up, pulling my seatbelt on and backing out.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the senior lot of Kennedy High, named after...wait for it...President Kennedy, and get out of my car, hitting the button on the remote to lock it. I make my way inside the school building, rushing my way through the slew of students, hoping that I can make it to my class before time.

I remember just then though that today is an "A" Day, which means I have AP Lit first block. Not only is it the absolute worst class ever, but it's also on the third floor of the school and on the north side of the building. Unfortunately for me, I'm on the first floor on the south side. I'm pretty sure I'm not making it.

And I'm right, as it turns out. By the time I make it all the way up to the third floor and down to class, it's 8:05 and I'm officially late. Great.

"Miss Hawthorne," Mr. Danforth says in a disapproving tone as I walk in the classroom, dripping wet from the morning rain. "You're late."

"I know," I sigh, running my fingers through my hair like I always do when I'm nervous. Mr. Danforth is a scary man; he makes me nervous.

"That's the third time this month," he informs me, picking up ballpoint pen and writing something down. "I'm going to have to call home."

Go ahead, my dad's not going to care anyway.

I don't say that aloud though. Mr. Danforth is annoying and I'm 99.99% sure he hates me, but I'm not going to say anything even remotely disrespectful to him, no matter how bad I want to sometimes. My counselor told me at the beginning of the year that the only class I need to pass to graduate is AP Lit and I don't want to give Mr. Danforth a reason to fail me. So when he says something dumb, I bite my tongue.

I nod my head and then he tells me to sit down and I oblige, taking the only empty seat in the room. Then I pull off my wet rain jacket and take out my copy of the book we're currently reading — The Merchant of Venice — and follow along as Mr. Danforth reads a passage aloud.

It doesn't take long for me to doze off. Between Mr. Danforth's monotonous voice and Shakespeare's shitty play, I just can't take it. Not to mention the fact that I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish my AP Biology homework. Only to remember this morning that I don't even have AP Bio today because that's a "B" Day class. Why I forgot that, I don't know, especially since I had AP Bio yesterday.

Mr. Danforth doesn't seem to notice — or maybe he does and just doesn't care — that I've dozed off, because he doesn't say anything to me. I make a point to not fall into a deep sleep though, so I can still hear everything that's being said, just in case he decides to pick on me and ask me a question. But that doesn't happen and an hour and a half later the bell is ringing and I'm jumping up out of my desk. I push the paperback book back into my backpack and then quickly scribble the homework from the SMART board before leaving the class.

I walk through the hallway as expeditiously as I can, trying not to bump into any other students. My second block class, Fashion Fundamentals, is on the other side of the school, but I'm not nearly as worried about being late to it as I was about AP Lit because the teacher for that class, Amber (Ms. Hanover, officially, but she likes for us to call her by her first name for some reason) is chill. Besides, she's more like a babysitter than a teacher anyway.

I head down the ancient old stairs and then weave through the crowds of slow-moving kids before slipping into room 202 and going to my seat at one of the long, rectangular tables in the back of the room. Fashion Fundamentals isn't really your average high school elective, but Kennedy High isn't really your average school. We have all sorts of weird and unusual electives besides just Fashion Fundamentals, like the Art of the Graphic Novel, Military History, Forensic Science, American Rebels and Romantics, Interior Design, and even Methods of Coaching. But there's still boring old art and music.

I want to go into the fashion industry when I grow up, so I thought that it'd be fitting to take the class. And I must really like it — I'm in the third year of it now since I first took it as a sophomore. Basically what we do is learn about the construction and design elements of fashion, fashion etiquette, and how to make it big in the industry. So, yeah, it's a pretty great class and I have it with one of my best friends.

"Sadie," my best friend, Madelyn, wails, walking into the classroom just then and heading back to our table.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, plugging the sewing machine at the table into an outlet and getting my fabric out.

"Every single guy in this entire school is dumb and gross," Madelyn huffs, sitting down in her seat beside me.

"Okay Madelyn," I chuckle, pulling my hair into a low ponytail before I get started sewing. "What happened?"

"More like what didn't happen," she scoffs. "I still don't have a prom date!"

"No one has a prom date yet," I assure her. "It's still only February," I say.

"Charlotte has a date," Madelyn points off, crossing her arms across her chest with a frustrated look on her face.

Charlotte is our other best friend. And out of the three of us, she's that really annoying stereotypical perfect one.

You know the one I mean. The one with the perfect hair and the perfect grades and the perfect figure. It's a little bit depressing, honestly. She honestly is, like, the sweetest person on the planet though and everyone loves her. Literally, I've never heard a person speak ill of her.

"No, Charlotte has a boyfriend," I remind Madelyn. "Also, haven't you had, like, five or six guys ask you to prom?"

"Well, yeah," she nods, pushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "All of those guys are fuck boys though."

"Meaning what, exactly?" I laugh. I guess you could probably say I'm not exactly up-to-date on all the teen lingo. I don't get out very much.

"Meaning that if I go to prom with any of them, it's gonna be awful and at the end of it, they're going to expect me to have sex with them."

Madelyn and I have been friends for a while, since we were about 12 or 13, I think, so for nearly five or six years now, depending on when.

It's kind of funny though, because we actually used to hate each other, way back in elementary school. We were both in Girl Scouts (that's the only thing my dad ever put me in as a child and I think that that was just so he wouldn't have to deal with me for about twenty hours out of the week). It was just after Girl Scout Cookie season had ended and to celebrate the end of the busiest time of year for us, our troop leaders decided to let the top cookie seller (Madelyn) pick a few friends and go to a really fancy hotel in the area for an overnight sleepover.

Well, there was only ten girls in our troop, including Madelyn and me, and she invited all of the girls to her super-cool sleepover. Except for me, that is. So, naturally, I thought she hated me, which caused me to hate her back. Turns out though, she did invite me. My dad just never got around to giving permission to the troop leaders for me to go, so I couldn't. And in middle school, Madelyn and I had science together and were paired together for a project. That's when we realized it was a misunderstanding and from then on we've been friends.

"Just go to prom with a nice guy then," I suggest, taking my glasses pouch out of my backpack and slipping my glasses on. I have pretty average vision, I think, but I like to wear glasses whenever I sew because sometimes staring at something as thin as a piece of thread or a needle for hours on end makes my eyes go all crazy; glasses help me keep them focused. They're really big, dorky bifocals, but kinda cute.

"Because there are no nice guys here," Madelyn reminds me. "It's Pensacola."

"But what about Adam?" I ask, turning my attention to my sewing machine.

Adam's a guy that goes the local all-boys school who asked Madelyn to prom about a week and a half ago. It was really adorable too because it was themed and everything. Madelyn though, for some reason turned him down. Now that I think about it, she's turned a few guys down.

"Adam's weird," she shrugs. "And he always smells weird," Madelyn adds, pulling her phone out.

"He's not weird, he's nice," I argue. Our dads work together, so we've hung out a couple of times.

"He's nice, but he's too nice. That's what makes him weird," she explains and I roll my eyes at that logic.

"You're ridiculous," I say to her before putting my fabric in place and pressing down on the presser foot.

My sewing machine starts going then and I use my hand to guide the fabric as the needle pierces it time and time again. Amber wants everyone to sew one article of clothing and turn it in by the end of next week for a grade, so that's what I'm working on. Like I said, this is my third year taking this class, so I can pretty much sew anything I want to at this point, but I decided to sew just a plain ole scarf for this.

Madelyn seems to be really into texting or whatever she's doing and because of that, she's quiet for the majority of the rest of class, which is good, because I don't have to listen to her complain about not having a prom date and I can go ahead and get my scarf done. It probably wasn't the greatest thing to pick, given the fact that I live in west Florida and will absolutely never need a scarf, but it's pretty easy to sew.

"So, who are you going to go with?" Madelyn asks about fifteen minutes later, putting her phone back up.

"Um, I don't know," I reply. "I probably just won't go, actually."

"You can't just not go to your Senior Prom, Sadie," my friend tells me, rolling her eyes at the idea of that.

"Yeah I can," I assure her. "What's the point? It's just stupid."

"It is not stupid," Madelyn huffs. "It's going to be really amazing. The theme is Yule Ball, Sadie. Yule Ball!"

"Yule Ball?" I echo, looking over at her. "As in, Harry Potter?"

"Yep!" Madelyn nods and I crinkle my forehead in confusion, waiting for her to explain like I know she will. "Charlotte's cousin, Beth, is on the committee this year and she told Charlotte, who told me, that it's going to be a replica of the Hogwarts Yule Ball. There's going to be fake snow and ice sculptures and twinkly lights and Christmas trees! So it can be like the forbidden forest? Doesn't that sound awesome?"

"That does sound cool," I admit. "Well, until it's over and we walk out in the humidity and pass out," I add, realizing how probable that is.

"You're such a Debbie downer," she says, shaking her head. "But really, you're going to come, right? It won't be as fun if you're not there."

"I'll seriously consider it," I promise my overly eager best friend with a small nod.

I kind of hate the idea of prom and for a lot of (valid) reasons too. I don't have a boyfriend, I can't dance, I don't like 80% of the people in my senior class, and Kennedy High Proms are notorious for being terrible. But I gotta admit, a Yule Ball themed prom sounds pretty sick.

"Okay, well, if you don't go, then I won't go, and I'll complain forever," she warns.

"Okay drama queen," I chuckle, turning my attention back to the sewing machine.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

After Fashion Fundamentals, the rest of the school day flies on by. After it, I have lunch and then AP Statistics (which I might actually fail out of at this point) and then I leave. Most students have four classes a day at my school, but that's the really amazing thing about being a senior — you can leave one period early if you've got all of your credits in order.

Currently, I'm in my car driving to the small eatery in Downtown Pensacola that I've worked at for the past year and a half or so, the Blue Jay Café. It's a pretty popular hangout spot for some of the locals, most of whom drive down from the nearby college — Pensacola Christian.

The Blue Jay Café is only about a five-minute drive from Kennedy High, but it's raining today, and when that happens, it's like everyone in the city just collectively forgets how to drive. So it takes me an additional fifteen minutes to get there. My boss, if you can even call him that, is really chill though, so I'm sure he won't care. If even notices, that is. He's usually pretty oblivious.

When I finally get to the café, it's 2:15, versus the normal 2:00 I get here when it doesn't rain, which isn't that often. I park my car near the front doors and get out, grabbing my backpack and going inside. Sometimes I have time to get homework down during my shift and I'm hoping that's the case tonight, even though it's only Friday. I guess I didn't get the procrastination gene.

The café is basically empty, which isn't unusual for this time of day. There's an older gentleman sitting at one of the tables with his laptop and a coffee cup and there's Josephine, one of my co-workers who works the early shift and leaves when I get here. Josephine and I exchange hellos and she clocks out and leaves. And when she's gone, I clock in, put my apron and name tag on and sit down on the stool.

Half an hour later, just as I'm finishing up my homework for AP Stat, I hear the bell above the door chime as it swings open and someone walks in. I put my pencil down and glance up, getting ready to greet the customer. That is, until I see that it's just Mack, my so-called boss.

"Hey babe," Mack greets with a wide grin, walking up to the counter and then sitting down on the stool directly across from me.

Ever since I started working here, Mack has called me that. I used to tell him to quit it, to call me "Sadie" or don't talk to me at all, but now I don't mind it so much anymore. Sure, it's not the most professional thing in the world, but the guy's only, like, 20; how professional can you really expect him to be? Now that I think about it, him hiring me for this job wasn't entirely professional either. He used to go to Kennedy High with me and when he was a senior, I was a sophomore, but we had art together and talked a little, so we were quasi-friends.

"Hi, Mack," I reply, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. "What's up?" I ask, knowing he only comes in when something's up.

"Just here to relay a message from my dad," he explains, referring to the owner, Mr. Mack.

Confusing, I know, but Mack has always insisted on me, and just about everyone else, calling him by his last name, rather than his first, which is Sebastian. Something about it being too proper. So he's just Mack and his dad's Mr. Mack. And obviously that's the reason he's got the job as manager here, even though he's severely unqualified. But like I said, we're quasi-friends and he sometimes lets me leave early or pays for my food from behind the counter, so I can't complain about him too much.

"Okay," I nod, leaning forward on my elbows. "What did he say?"

"That he hired a new guy today and that he's starting tomorrow and since you'll be the only one working all day, you'll need to train him."

"Alright, well, does the new guy have a name?" I ask Mack then.

"Yeah," he confirms. "Julian...I think his last name might be...Davis? Or Dawson? Something with a "D." I don't know, he's my step-brother."

"Your what?" I say, thinking that I must have heard him wrong.

"My step-brother," Mack repeats. "You know, his mom married my dad, that kind of thing," he says slowly, like I'm stupid or something.

"You don't know your own step-brother's last name?" I query.

"In my defense, he only became my step-brother a few months ago," he tells me. "Oh, wait, I think it's...Dempsey. Julian Dempsey, yeah."

"Julian Dempsey," I repeat. "Hmm, that name sounds familiar."

"Your dad's a cop, isn't he?" Mack asks me, pulling his iPhone out of the pocket of his gym shorts and looking down at it. I nod in response and I guess he sees me in his peripheral vision, because he nods too. "That's probably why," he adds. "Before my dad married Leah, he told me that Julian got in trouble with the law a lot of times over the past couple of years," he explains. "A coping mechanism, apparently."

"A coping mechanism for what though?" I wonder, realizing that Mack's right; I do remember hearing that name from my dad. I guess about a year ago, on a day when he actually felt like talking to me, my dad told me about a kid that one of his co-workers had picked up and booked that night. I forget what he said he got picked up for, but I do remember him saying he'd have to spend the night in jail for it.

"Ask him when you see him tomorrow, you duck," Mack laughs, standing up and putting his phone back down in his pocket. "You're going to be with the guy for about eight hours, so it will give you something to talk about," he assures me. "Anyway, what are you doing tonight?"

"Not going to Kappa Sig's party with you tonight," I chuckle.

Mack's a sophomore at the University of West Florida here in Pensacola and he's a member of one of the fraternities there, Kappa Sigma. Ever since last year when he was first initiated as a brother or whatever they call it, he's been trying to get me to come to one of the parties with him. I always turn him down though, because I don't know anyone (besides him, and it's not like we're close) that goes to UWF and being at a party full of people I don't know sounds horrible.

"Ugh," he groans. "I will get you to come with me one day."

"I really doubt it, Mack," I laugh, shaking my head at him.

"C'mon, it'll be fun," Mack promises. "Don't want ever want to have fun?"

"I have tons of fun," I scoff. "Working is fun. Making money is fun," I say.

"Okay, well you win this time, but only because I have to go get Fiona from the dog groomer," he sighs. "I'll see you later, babe," Mack adds.

"Bye Mack," I call after him as he heads towards the door. "Have fun at your party; don't get anyone pregnant!" I say and he jokingly flips me off before walking out. I say it only as a joke because a few months back, Mack hooked up with a girl at one of Kappa Sig's party and she ended up thinking that she was pregnant and told Mack, which set in motion a mini break down for him. Turns out she wasn't though.

When Mack is gone, I take my earbuds out of my backpack and plug them into my iPhone, selecting the option to shuffle my music. I decide that I may as well as get my AP Lit homework out of the way now too, so I take The Merchant of Venice out and open it up. Then, as the melodic tune of The 1975's The Sound floods my ears, I will myself to focus and read the horribly boring and entirely useless play.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Apparently listening to good music and reading shitty plays helps passes time by because in what seems like five minutes, but, in actuality, is really like eight hours, it's 10:00 and time to close down. I put my book back in my backpack before clocking out and hanging my apron and name tag back on their respective hooks. Usually when it's closing time, I have to go and clear the tables and clean the place up a bit, but there were only four customers this whole entire time and they all took their orders to go, so thankfully, there are no messes to clean.

So I take my keys out of my pocket and leave the café, making sure to lock it up with the key that Mack gave me. Then I walk over to my silver Highlander, getting in and tossing my backpack over to the passenger seat. I pull my seatbelt on, start the car, and back out, driving away from the Blue Jay Café, and heading on home.

Ten minutes later, I'm pulling around the back of my house and into the garage. I get out and head inside via the garage door, straight into the kitchen. And then, as if by cue, my stomach starts grumbling. And since I am, by no means, culinarily gifted, I turn to the cupboard and rummage through it for the peanut butter jar.

My dad's a really good cook and on the days that he's home by dinnertime, which isn't too often because of his job, he makes dinner for us. When he's not home by dinnertime though, and I'm left to fend for myself, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or microwavable spaghetti and meatballs are usually my go-to foods.

Grabbing the jelly from the refrigerator and the loaf of bread from the breadbox, I make myself two sandwiches and grab a bottled water from the freezer before going to the living room and turning the TV on. I find a rerun of Modern Family and turn the TV up, tuning in. And while I'm eating, my cat, Stabler, comes in and claws his way up on the couch and nuzzles his way onto my lap. He's an old, but loving cat.

About a half an hour later, when I'm done with my sandwiches and halfway asleep on the couch, my phone starts ringing, waking me up.

I pull it out of my pocket, which I think annoys Stabler, because he jumps down off of the couch and goes over to his pet bed on the other side of the room, and sleepily look at the display. I expect it to be Charlie or Maddie, since they're really my only friends, but it's neither.

"Hey Uncle Scott," I greet, clearing my throat.

"Hey there, kiddo," he replies in a cheery tone.

"What's up?" I ask, wondering why he's calling me so late.

"Nothing, just wanted to check and make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Just watching Modern Family," I state, looking up at the TV.

"I'm a little bit worried about you, Sadie," he says to me as soon as I'm done talking.

"Worried?" I echo, raising my eyebrows in confusion. "Why? I'm okay."

"It is 11 o'clock on a Friday night and you're home watching sitcoms."

"Okay, well what should I be doing then, Uncle Scott?" I sigh.

"Something," he stresses. "You spend too much time alone."

"I know you're a psychotherapist and all, but you don't have to talk to me like I'm a client," I assure him. "I'm perfectly fine; I'm just tired."

"Okay," Uncle Scott replies, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. I don't know why though. I've just finished a full week of school and a 40-hour week at work; I think I'm allowed to be just a little bit tired. He should be glad I'm not out partying. "Do you wanna talk to your dad?"

"No, that's alright," I quickly deny, not wanting to try to force conversation with him. "I'll see him when you guys get back," I add in then.

Uncle Scott says something about how it's unhealthy for a person to spend so much time alone and I reply by telling him that I have Stabler and am, therefore, not alone, which, I think annoys him, but that's okay. It's not like he's my dad. We hang up shortly thereafter and I go up to my room, changing into my pajamas and getting under the covers, making sure to set my alarm so I'm not late to train the new guy.

Then I plug my phone up to my speaker and start up my bedtime playlist. Childish, I know, but it's the only way I can fall asleep quickly.

And halfway through the second song, Close to You by Rihanna, I feel my eyes growing heavy and myself falling asleep and I don't fight it.

A U T H O R ' S N O T E

Well, there it is! I'm pretty excited for this, so I hope you guys are too and I hope you liked the chapter. 

Initial thoughts on anything? Sadie? Her father and their relationship? Madelyn? Mack? Uncle Scott? You'll be meeting Julian (and a few other characters in the next chapter, so be prepared for that). Speaking of Julian, what do you think about what his step-brother Mack said about him and his "coping mechanism" thing? What do you think he was coping with at the time?

Please don't forget to comment and vote and all of that cool stuff. If you've read Saving Sawyer and Finding Sawyer, you know that I pick the one comment from every chapter that I love the most and dedicate the following chapter to that person. I'll be doing that for this story too, fyi.

Update: So this is just like a little teaser kind of thing. I won't actually start posting the story for a while though, so be sure to add the story to your library so that the app will notify you when I update.

P I C T U R E

Sadie Hawthorne