Pieces Read online

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by G Benson

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About G Benson

  Other Books from Ylva Publishing

  Coming from Ylva Publishing

  Sign up for our newsletter to hear

  about new and upcoming releases.

  www.ylva-publishing.com

  Other Books by G Benson

  All the Little Moments

  Flinging It

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks, as always, to my amazing beta and sensitivity team. You all supply endless feedback, honesty, and encouragement. My books would never get anywhere without you all.

  A big thank-you to the editing team, who had their work cut out for them with this one. A huge thanks to Michelle—your patience and funny comments always make the editing experience that much easier.

  Finally, thank you, as always, to the Ylva team, especially Astrid. A content editor, a publisher, and a friend all rolled into one. And who got me this cover (thanks Adam!), which I adore.

  Dedication

  For Katja, beta and friend extraordinaire—Pieces feels like it’s half yours.

  Chapter 1

  The day Ollie saw the girl who was all cheekbones and shadowed eyes, something stilled in her chest, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe. High school was transitioning, was flowing. Her sixteenth birthday had come and gone, and everything was that little bit different. The summer had passed, hot and hazy and filled with days by the pool, chlorine drying tight over her skin, the sun leaving her even darker than normal. She thought maybe she could float through the rest of her life.

  But that girl brought Ollie’s feet crashing back to the ground.

  Ollie blinked, her gaze tearing from the girl across the cafeteria. “Who’s that?”

  “Who?” And, of course, Sara turned, staring obviously, dark eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “That chick? She was in our class four years ago and disappeared for a while, then came back a grade below us. Um…Carmen?”

  There was something about that girl’s clothes; they hung a little loose, a little haggard. Something sat around the edges of her expression that Ollie didn’t recognize but wanted to know. She did look slightly familiar—a kid Ollie had circled but never collided with, comets skimming past each other.

  The imagery whirled in her mind, and she slipped her sketch pad out of her bag, pencil in hand and gaze still half on that girl.

  “Why do you care, anyway?”

  Ollie tore her gaze away a second time, warmth crawling along her cheeks. “I don’t.”

  And then she’d forgotten her as Sean had slid into the next seat, his tray clattering on the table and his arm clattering over her shoulder. She sank into him, the solidness, the heat of him.

  One by one, her friends dropped into their places, and laughter started up as Deon told a story about Mr. Warren and the costume he’d worn to history class that day. Sara put some straws and forks together to make some kind of catapult, sending fries and grapes to slap across people’s cheeks, her teeth flashing white against her dark skin. She was a year older than they were, in the same grade after missing so much school when she was younger. Insanely smart, she could solve a physics equation faster than Ollie could wake up in the morning.

  Though that wasn’t hard.

  Ollie’s friends distracted her, and she disappeared into them, as was so easy for her to do.

  At home that evening, Ollie slipped in and out of her usual push and pull with her parents. They hovered and then were absent, as if they knew to give their teenage daughter space but then couldn’t stop themselves from missing how they all used to talk.

  Ollie, once upon a time, had spent hours with her mom, asking her about the hospital and patients and how the heart worked, but that had ebbed away as she’d grown and become more attached to paper and color. Sometimes her father would try to nudge her art more toward design, as if hoping she’d fall into architecture or engineering. But he’d do it gently, his eyes soft.

  They always ended up asking how her day was.

  “Fine.”

  “What subjects did you have?”

  “I don’t know. I did math.” She pushed her potatoes around and wondered why it mattered.

  “Any tests coming up?”

  And she shrugged, like she did every time. Impertinence settled over her shoulders, familiar and grating all at once. She didn’t even know where it came from. She did know that these questions, every night at dinner, were like the third degree, even as a small voice inside her told her she was being ridiculous.

  But then, later that night, her mom brought her a hot chocolate and quietly left it next to Ollie while she studied, and guilt prickled in her stomach as she mumbled a thank-you and tried to offer something more tangible than grunts and shrugs. Filled with warm, sweet milk, Ollie tucked her feet under herself at the computer chair, her mother leaning against the doorframe. “There’s a party this weekend.”

  “Oh?” Her mom seemed to hold back a smile. “So now you want to talk to me?”

  Ollie rolled her eyes. “Only a little.”

  That made her mother laugh, and Ollie smirked.

  “Whose party?”

  “Sara’s.”

  “Are her parents there?”

  “No.”

  She may sit in her own house some days, an inexplicable frustration crawling into the back of her mind, but Ollie didn’t lie to her parents beyond a white fib; she’d never needed to.

  “Who’s going?” Her mom cocked her head.

  “Both soccer teams and a few extras. Deon.”

  That girl, Carmen, maybe. Would she go?

  “Will Sean be there?”

  “Of course.”

  Her parents loved Sean. He was polite and nice and respectful. Ollie loved that he was all of those things, but at times, a restlessness was in her feet she couldn’t explain. Something mediocre that tingled in her fingertips. They’d been friends for a while, and the dating was new, unsettled, and not something she felt sure of.

  “Will you stay there?”

  “If that’s okay?”

  Her mom’s lips pursed, and her father appeared behind her.

  “Is what okay?”

  Ollie rolled her eyes again.

  “Be careful, they’ll roll out of your head, and then how will you show me you think I’m lame?”

  He made the worst dad jokes. Her mother actually snorted.

  “Is it okay if I stay at Sara’s? She’s having a party.”

  “A party?” He clutched a hand over his heart. “Teenagers like…parties?”

  Her mother was going to strain herself repressing her smile.

 
“You’re not funny, Dad.”

  He kind of was, even if he mostly just tried to annoy her these days.

  “It’s fine with me. Lou?”

  “It’s fine. As long as you call us if things get out of hand. I’d rather deal with messy, drunk you then messy, drunk, missing you. Okay?”

  When Ollie nodded, her mother added, “Just don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

  A belly laugh emanated from her father, followed by a wink from her mother, and they both turned to walk away.

  “You’re both gross!” Ollie called after them.

  Their only answer was determined kissy noises.

  The next week, she saw the girl, Carmen, again. Ollie’s art class had gone out to the sports grounds to draw people in live action.

  To sit and let the charcoal spill over the page, to shape the things that moved and melded into something tangible in front of her, was easy for Ollie. A corner filled with feet tackling a ball, the fluidity caught and held on her paper. Trees spilled over a side of her paper, a shirtless teenager who should have been doing other things caught climbing the tree, his muscles tightening and pulling and evident. The flick of a ponytail as someone went to take a shot at goal. Ollie’s eyes traced the grounds for something else to capture and stopped again.

  The ponytail on her page belonged to Carmen. Ollie’s fingers stilled over the notebook, and it felt like charcoal was seeping into her blood to permanently stain her insides. Maybe it would leave the memory of Carmen there forever. Skimming her eyes from the paper to the soccer game for the next half hour, Ollie watched as Carmen’s PE team won their soccer match solely thanks to her. Carmen’s eyes held a glint, a spark absent the other week in the cafeteria, and Ollie’s hands moved of their own accord, capturing that look and immortalizing that gleam on paper. Heat spread through her chest, and she swallowed hard, wondering why her gaze was glued to the muscles in Carmen’s arms, to the pull of her calf when she kicked.

  Carmen’s skin was a dark bronze, her eyes a brown liquor.

  Ollie spent the afternoon trying to ask her friends subtle questions to learn more about her, but none of them had anything solid.

  “I think her last name is García.” Deon lay back on the grass near the football field, his skin as dark as the rich earth they lay on. He gave a shrug. “But I’m not sure. She’s not in any of our classes now.”

  Sara shifted, jostling Ollie’s head where it lay in her lap. “Yeah, she’s a year below. One of the others in the Queer and Ally Club mentioned something about her being in their class.”

  Since Sara had finally stopped wiggling, Ollie relaxed, an arm thrown over her eyes. The sun was weakly warm, as if trying to cling to summer. Over the last month, they’d been doing the same thing, staying by the pool on weekends and ignoring the bite to the water, wearing shorts and tanks that brought forth goose bumps. But now the utter lack of warmth was obvious. The sweater Ollie had begrudgingly pulled on was not doing much to warm her. “Is that movie night for the club tonight or tomorrow night?” she asked.

  Sara’s voice, rich and warm, drifted toward her. “Tonight. We’re watching But I’m a Cheerleader.”

  “I love that one,” Ollie said.

  Gravelly and filled with sleep like it always was just after lunch, Deon’s voice chimed in. “You love the actress.”

  “Truth.”

  Ollie knew she liked guys and girls. Bisexual was a label she claimed easily in the safety of her friends. Her parents didn’t know, yet, but it seemed unimportant until it was necessary to tell them. Sean didn’t care, and her friends all flittered under the queer umbrella with her: her acceptance was here, and one day, she figured she’d think more about it.

  The next day at school, Ollie saw Carmen walking away from her locker, and before she could stop herself, she accidentally-kind-of-on-purpose shouldered Carmen as she walked past, her mouth dry and her heart pounding while she had no idea why. Ollie was never shy. A faux apology spilled from her lips, and Carmen gave a one-shouldered shrug, the light brown, almost amber, of her eyes caught on Ollie’s.

  “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t okay, because Ollie didn’t want just an acceptance of an apology and for it to be over. Dark smudges sat under Carmen’s eyes, but somehow that made their color more vibrant. There was a forest in those eyes, the bark and wild growth of secrets and depth that Ollie wanted to disappear into. She wanted to draw that complexity, to find a color that completely matched and layer it thick over paper.

  Ollie licked her lips, which suddenly felt chapped, and the fact she’d been rushing to meet Sean slipped to the back of her mind. She leaned against the locker next to Carmen. “Are you coming to Williams’s party this weekend?”

  Those eyes widened, eyebrows climbing. “What’s a Williams?”

  Carmen’s lips quirked up in a way that Ollie wanted to see more often. Anytime she’d spotted her, Carmen had seemed so serious, and now that curve was a surprise. She gave a huff of a laugh. “Sara Williams. Foster sister of the captain of the guys’ soccer team?”

  “Oh.” Something flashed, a shadow that flittered across Carmen’s face at the description. “I, uh, hadn’t heard anything about it.”

  “You should come. It’s kind of open invite. Her parents are away.”

  Carmen gave a vacant nod and shuffled her feet, a hint that Carmen was about to move on. A trill of desperation ran up Ollie’s spine.

  “Maybe.” Carmen’s gaze was on the ground, somewhere near Ollie’s feet.

  Before Carmen could leave, Ollie blurted out, “Why aren’t you on the team, anyway? I saw you score six goals in class the other day.”

  The words had left her lips before Ollie had contemplated them, before she had considered the fact they proved she’d been watching Carmen. She wanted to regret them, to reel them back in to sit somewhere no one could pick them apart, but Carmen had pressed back against the lockers, in a mirror of Ollie’s position, and Ollie couldn’t feel any regret at all.

  “I don’t like soccer.”

  She didn’t have to know the girl to know this was a lie. “I’m Olivia.” She stuck her hand out, stiff and awkward, and cursed herself for it. “But everyone calls me Ollie.”

  “Carmen.”

  They shook once, hands dropping quickly, Ollie panicking that she’d hold on too long, so she let go too soon. Carmen pushed her hands into her back pockets.

  “I know,” Ollie said, hoping it sounded smooth and not like she was a stalker. The hesitant smile told her that maybe she’d managed it.

  Chapter 2

  The night was stifling, leaving Carmen’s skin itchy.

  There were nights she dreamed of crawling out of her skin. Of pulling at herself until her seams fell apart in threads and she could scatter grains of herself over the floor. Some nights, when her house had been without an adult for more than a week, she felt like running. She’d jump a bus and then a plane and disappear into another country, never to be seen again. Her feet would lose themselves on paths built centuries upon centuries ago, fruit she’d never seen would explode over her tongue, and her fingers would trace ruins time itself hadn’t been able to erase. And slowly, painfully, like stretching a canvas until it was the size it had been made for, she’d become who she was meant to be.

  But then Mattie would shuffle into her room in the dead of the night like he had tonight, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His cheekbones were sharp like hers, but his black curls and dark mahogany skin were both from a father who wasn’t hers at all. His father had never known he existed, and her father had died not long after Carmen had been born. Carmen sometimes let herself wonder if everything would be different if he hadn’t died—if her mother had gotten that vacant look in her eyes from his death or if it had always been there.

  But then, if he hadn’t died, Carmen would
n’t have Mattie.

  Like he did tonight, he would curl into her bed, too big for it at eight years old, but she’d never send him away. Carmen would lie there, and the warm, even breaths against the crook of her neck would stitch up those holes in her, would pull her feet back until she accepted that she had to stay where she was.

  She always would for Mattie.

  That girl in school had been staring at her lately, the girl with a mess of curls on her head and eyes that were the blue of oceans and skies in flashes. With her hands stained in paint and wishes and her skin a deep dark brown, Ollie had left a feeling of normalcy in Carmen’s chest. It was a light feeling that sat next to the heavy stone her mother always left inside her as Carmen walked her brother home from school, as she made him dinner with the last remnants of pasta in the cupboard, and even as she made sure he did his homework, brushed his teeth, went to bed.

  The gas was out, so they had no hot water; she had boiled the pasta in the kettle and hoped they didn’t lose the electricity too.

  That stone inside her just grew heavier. Would her mother be back tomorrow? They really were out of food this time. She would have to scavenge soon.

  She hated doing that.

  That was how it started. Too many times without lunch at school got noticed. The hang of clothes, the distracted look in a hungry kid’s face. All that sent them down a road Carmen and Mattie had gone down twice before. And Carmen couldn’t walk it again, had promised Mattie they wouldn’t as his nails dug desperately into her neck after the last time they had been separated for far too long.

  Her mother would be back the next day. She would.

  She had to be.

  Carmen buried her face into Mattie’s hair and breathed him in, the smell of kid—grass and school and pure Mattie—settling around her.

  If her mother came home, Carmen had a semblance of a chance of going out that weekend. Shame flashed in her belly that that was a huge part of the reason she hoped her mother would come back. If Mattie could go to a sleepover, there would be an adult around, just in case.