Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  Capping off the show was a song about friends standing by in bad times, and Autumn cheered loudly. Pulling the three of them close, she said, "You can pretend I requested this because it’s about all of you."

  Evan hugged her close, his usual brotherly squeeze. Andrew smiled knowingly, kissing her forehead and whispering his love for her in her ear. Veronica pulled her away into a rowdy dance and she ignored her broken arm, shimmying and spinning until she nearly fell. She couldn’t stop laughing, and Evan busting out the Robot on the floor didn’t help matters.

  It was the best night of her life.

  Tumbling out into the drizzle and darkness, meandering through the rows towards the car, Autumn found herself wanting to skip, not walk, through the lot. She wanted to sing at the top of her lungs as they sped along the highway towards her house, where they were all staying for the night. It was hard to restrain herself, hard not to soar towards the stars when she felt so weightless.

  Was her life perfect? Not at all: she faced two trials in the future, testifying against the men who’d harmed her. She was still a solid week behind on schoolwork, and she couldn’t sleep without a painkiller to dull the agony of her arm. Her therapy sessions left her sobbing and shaking as she relieved her escape from a delusional professor obsessed with his first childhood love. All the same, the clouds had lifted. The storms were abating, leaving a rainbow in their vicious wake.

  "What are you thinking?" Andrew asked quietly.

  That I love you. That I am so grateful for all of you. That I would take a bullet for any of you happily. That there’s a light at the end of this misery now, an escape into the sun. So many thoughts swirled inside of her, but one stood out as important to share. She pressed her lips to his lightly, then leaned to whisper her revelation in his ear.

  " Winter’s over at last."

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book would not have been possible without the support of the following individuals:

  The informal cheering squad of Twitter, who've helped me procrastinate just enough, while still encouraging me to finish this book.

  L. Hogarth and L. Kearney, the English teachers who inspired me to write and instilled in me a love of grammar. I've come a long way from ridiculous stories scribbled on notebook paper in binders, and I am grateful to both of you.

  Each and every person who reviewed my previous works, shared in the public realm: your kindness and love for my characters made me believe in Autumn, Veronica and Andrew, and their ability to move others.

  My family – particularly my father, who didn't hesitate to feed my growing hunger for books and trusted my maturity to handle Stephen King before my teens. Thank you for the gift of literature. I hope this makes those times when you couldn't scam your way out of reading my bedtime stories as written worthwhile.

  My friends and first fans: Joseph, Ashley, Shannon, Allie, Aimee, Jared, Alison, Karebear, Courtney, Suze, Sabrina and Raheena. Much love and gratitude for all of you.

  My Lizzie-twin, Jenna, who inspired me to attempt a screenplay that I abandoned... which became this novel, years later. Your love, laughter, eloquence and creativity are a privilege to share in.

  My "wifey", Mary: I wouldn't be here today to write this book and send it out into the world without you, nor would I have the confidence to trust in the story and share it. You are grace and beauty in the eye of a storm, a constant in chaos. You're the best friend anyone could ever know, and your words can still make me feel talentless.

  My beautiful furbabies, Gravity and Kali, who remind me of what unconditional love is with feline finesse. This book is also dedicated to the memory of Karma, whose dainty ways and troubled past were the inspiration for Pandora. It was a privilege to love you, care for you and help you heal.

  Without music, there would be no soundtrack to the films in my mind. Thank you, fellow creators.

  Last, but most certainly not least, my loving husband, Dan: there are no words that could ever express my gratitude for your presence in my life. You make me laugh, infuriate me, and love me more genuinely than anyone else ever could. You're my rock to which I return after floating off into the fantasy world of my work. I love you fiercely and without fear. Thank you for your persistence.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  You can thank A.C.’s first grade teacher for the interest in writing fiction. It was her casual comment on a mandatory daily journal, wherein she noted A.C.’s flair for storytelling, that planted the notion of writing full-length novels, poetry and short stories in an already overactive mind.

  A.C. went to work quickly, burning through reams of paper with an ever-scribbling pen before turning to computers at age 14. The boreal world rejoiced, and A.C.’s range of writing grew from simplistic children’s tales rooted in wish to horror stories, thrillers, and psychological studies of damaged men and women thrown together by circumstance.

  (Oh yes, and there was that novel-length X-Files fanfiction… but no one else ever read it so luckily, it doesn’t count.)

  Between insomnia-fueled writing sessions, Dillon is an ardent animal lover who debates politics, obsessively collects music, and endlessly re-watches one of the most underrated films of all time: Empire Records.

  Connect with A.C.:

  Smashwords: smashwords.com/profile/view/acdillon

  Twitter: twitter.com/dillonac

  Facebook: facebook.com/dillonac

  Official site/blog: http://autumnbrody.wordpress.com

  193