First Came You (Fate #0.5)

by Faith Andrews

  First Came You

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Excerpt from Feel Again

  About the Author

  Books by Faith Andrews

  First Came You by Faith Andrews

  Copyright © 2015 by Faith Andrews

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Cover Designed by:

  Najla Qamber Designs

  Interior Design and Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  To all those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001.

  We will never forget.

  You know that moment? The moment? Yeah, that one. The one where something unexpected happens that will ultimately change the entire course of your life.

  For some it’s a tragic event, an untimely mishap that puts things in perspective. For others, it’s a milestone, something semi-predictable that you planned and hoped for. But for a lucky few—like me in my moment—it’s a push.

  The push in the right direction.

  That moment—that one instant—set into motion all the happiness and sadness and joy and misery that would take place over the rest of my lifetime.

  That push made me the person I am today.

  “I do so know how to play! I just can’t find my rock. Who stole it?” Why do I even play with them? They’re so mean.

  Sasha and her stupid older brother, Seth, make me want to cry every time we hang out. I never learn. I wish Gina would’ve let me go to the movies with her and her friends—another meanie, never wanting her baby sister tagging along. Out of pure boredom, I had no choice but to answer the doorbell when those kids from across the street came calling. And now, three games into the most competitive round of hopscotch ever played on these Brooklyn streets, the brat stole my rock because I’m winning!

  “No one stole your stone, Gabriella. Maybe you should take care of your things, you lazy Lucy.” Sasha sticks out her tongue, taunting me. I often wonder why I’m friends with her. She’s almost always with her scrawny brother who gives me the heebee jeebees and she isn’t very nice. I remind myself that I’m with them only because my best friend Maria is away for the summer. I have no choice but to suck it up and get my rocks stolen, day in and day out, until she comes back from visiting her grandparents in Italy.

  But today, I’ve got guts. I’ve had enough of being bullied by these two. It’s hot, I’m tired, and gosh darn it, I want my way for once! “Give me my rock! I want to finish this game so I can go home!”

  “Sore loser, sore loser. You just want to forfeit the game because you can’t win!” It’s Seth’s turn to tease me. His beady eyes and the way they look at me make me want to cry.

  “I am not a sore loser. If you’d just give me my rock; I could win, and the game would be over.” I should just walk away and not care what these two have to say about it, but I’m not a quitter and I don’t want them to see they’ve upset me. Then the teasing would never end.

  Searching the sidewalk for anything I can use to finish up this game, I nearly drop to my knees, begging God for anything to toss across the chalk-drawn squares. It’s like all the rocks have suddenly gone into hiding, mocking me and forcing me to live out my hopscotch hell.

  I close my eyes to pray for a miracle, and just when I’m about to give up and let Sasha and Seth call me all the names their tiny hearts’ desire, Tommy Edwards from two doors down appears in front of me with an outstretched hand.

  “Here,” he says, the sun sparkling off whatever’s in his palm.

  When I look closer, it’s a single, shiny nickel. How silly. I can’t use that. “Thanks, Tommy, but who plays hopscotch with a nickel?” It’s nice of him to try, even if it winds up meaning nothing.

  Shaking his head, he gets closer. “You’re going to finish up this game with this nickel and shut those two up. And then you’re never going to play hopscotch or anything with either of them again.” His voice is a whisper meant for only me to hear, but the glare he’s giving Sasha and Seth should warn them that Tommy doesn’t like how they’ve been treating me.

  Unable to control my emotions, I fling my hands to my hips, crying, “And what exactly am I supposed to do all summer? Twiddle my thumbs?” I’ll be bored out of my mind. I have no one else to play with.

  Tommy surprises me when he leans down to tell me, “You’ll hang out with me if you have to, but you’re not going to let those two push you around anymore, got it?”

  Got it? All I got from what he just said was that he wanted to hang out with me! Tommy’s ten, I’m only eight—the difference of two years seems like a hundred when I think about it. Why the heck would he want to hang out with me? I’m nothing special and he has plenty of friends his own age.

  But I don’t think about all that too long. Instead, I accept his gift in order to get this game rolling. I’d rather watch soap operas with Mommy over sweating in this sweltering heat with these two jerks.

  Grabbing the nickel from Tommy’s large palm, I smile, hoping he understands how much I appreciate his kindness in this moment. No one besides my sister or parents have ever stuck up for me like this. It makes me feel good. And as I hold on tight to that nickel before spinning it in the air and rubbing my hopscotch victory in Sasha and Seth’s faces, I nod in Tommy’s direction and thank him.

  He nods back, egging me on. I toss the coin as if an Olympic Gold Medal in hopscotch is at stake. The coin lands on the “home” square, tinging like music against the concrete. I pull my elbow into my chest, fisting an obnoxious “yes.” My gloating creates an ugly frown on Sasha’s pretty face and a canary-eating smile on Tommy’s lips. Seth stares at the ground with his hands on his hips—it beats me why on Earth a ten year old boy even cares about a girly game of hopscotch. Stupid sissy!

  I ignore my audience of three and lift my left leg, hopping on the first square with my right. I’ve never had such a spring in my Keds-clad step before. It feels like I could run a marathon with these worn in, beat up old things while Tommy’s rooting for me. It also helps knowing those two brats are getting what they deserve.

  As I round the corner and lean down to pick up my nickel—the one I’ll cherish forever—I see Seth from the corner of my eye bee-lining toward me with an evil look in his eyes. Everything stops—the summer breeze ceases, the birds chirping in the tree above fall silent, my heart quits thumping—the world around me moves in slow motion. But not Seth. He’s so fast, so slick, not even Tommy has a chance to stop him before he pushes me over and I topple to the ground.

 
; My first instinct is to attend to the stinging cherry on my knee. Sasha’s is to run away—probably to go get her mother. Tattle tale.

  And Tommy’s is to deal with Seth. “You little jerk,” he shouts at the big bully. “You like hitting girls?”

  Rocking myself back and forth as I tend to my wound, I watch on as Tommy grabs Seth by his Bart Simpson “Don’t Have a Cow, Man” T-shirt and gets in his face.

  “I-I . . . I didn’t hit her, man,” Seth grovels, his face inches from Tommy’s. I can’t help thinking poor Tommy has to deal with his stinky tuna sandwich breath.

  “You pushed her, same thing. Real men don’t hit girls, asshat. But then again, real boys don’t play hopscotch, so I should’ve known better.” Tommy steals a glance my way and the giggle that escapes me—despite the bleeding from my knee—takes over, washing away the pain.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’ll never . . .” Seth begs like a pathetic wimp. Serves him right. He’s probably about to mess his shorts, afraid Tommy will actually punch him. I’m actually scared for him too. Tommy’s double his size. A real boy.

  “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to her.” Tommy points in my direction, dropping Seth from his tight grip.

  Seth stumbles, finds his footing and glares at me. When he doesn’t move fast enough, Tommy’s foot connects with Seth’s bony butt, lurching him forward. “Now,” he demands, forcing Seth to walk my way.

  When Seth is within my reach, I stare up at him, shaking my head and trying to sound cool, like none of this bothers me. “What an asshat,” I say, mimicking the new insult I learned from Tommy.

  “I’m sorry,” Seth whispers through gritted teeth, before sulking off.

  When he’s gone—no sight of sissy Seth or his prissy sister—Tommy sits next to me on the sidewalk. He places his hand atop mine, removing it from my knee. He inspects my scrape and wipes up the blood with the corner of his T-shirt. “You okay?” he asks, seeming worried.

  “I am now,” I admit. My voice sounds like it’s trying to be strong.

  “Did you learn your lesson?” he asks, reaching up to tuck the strands of hair that fell loose from my ponytail behind my ear. His tender touch and the way he protected me gives me this big-brother vibe I always longed for.

  Smiling so much brighter and bigger than I ever have before, I turn to face my new friend and find my voice again. “Yup, no more Sasha and Seth.” I look away for a second, taking in a deep breath before I say, “Thank you for what you did for me. You’re my hero, Tommy Edwards.”

  From that moment on, my life changed direction.

  Six years later

  “He . . . I . . . I can’t believe . . . I’m ruined . . . forever.”

  “Would you stop crying already, Gabby and tell me what the heck happened?” Tommy grabs my backpack from my hands, hooking it over his left shoulder since his right is already occupied by his own. With a free hand he hugs me close, reassuring me in the loving way he has so many times before.

  I try to control my sobbing, but even in the presence of my best friend, I can’t seem to get over the humiliation that just took place during eighth period biology lab.

  “Is this about Dixon? Because if it is, I swear to God I’ll knock his lights out.”

  Always his answer to everything—violence, fists, swear words. I shouldn’t be surprised; most big brothers are the same way from what I’ve been told—protective, aggressive, and filled with chauvinistic testosterone when it comes to their little sisters getting hurt.

  “Tommy, leave it alone. I’ll deal with it. I’m already embarrassed enough.” My cries have petered off into whimpers. The crowd has cleared and most of my classmates have already boarded the school bus or been picked up by their parents.

  I hook arms with Tommy, the way we do on days when we need a little extra love and support from each other, and start our short walk home.

  Giving me the space I need for the majority of the walk, Tommy finally spins me around when we’re two blocks from ours and grabs me by the shoulders. “If you don’t tell me what happened, Gabby, I’ll go to his house and jump to conclusions that won’t make pretty boy’s face look so pretty anymore.”

  His threat is not idle—he means it. So I know I have to come clean, regardless of my reluctance to rehash the drama. “Fine,” I moan, huffing and puffing and removing his hands from my arms.

  We continue walking and I start talking. “Three weeks ago he asked me to the End of Year dance. I was so excited, you know I’ve liked Andy for like forever.”

  “Yup, know all about it, don’t remind me. I can’t see your fascination with that pimply tool, but whatever—your life.” I don’t have to look to know Tommy’s rolling his eyes. Like any older brother, he hates when I talk about boys, but he’s my best friend in the whole world, I can’t imagine not sharing this with him.

  “So, anyway, he asked me to go to the dance. Mom took me to get a new dress—big deal, since she’s always making me wear Gina’s hand me downs—and we coordinated for Andy to wear a matching tie, and all that first, real, official date kind of stuff.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, get on with it. Why the waterworks, Gabby? What did the douchenozzle do?”

  “He asked Chrissy Barnes to go instead!” The tears return. I can’t say her name without tears brimming my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. Sin of it all is I like Chrissy—but now I’m forced to hate her. Boyfriend stealing maggot. It’s got to be because she has boobs and I don’t. I’m gonna have to start stuffing, aren’t I?

  “Wait, what?” Tommy stops again, scratching his head. “He fucking dumped you? This close to the date of the dance? For Chrissy mustache-lip Barnes?”

  “Tommy! That’s not nice!” Why am I defending her? It doesn’t matter. She’s not at fault, Andy is. “You want to be mad at someone, take it out on Andy—or you know what, take it out on me! I was the one stupid enough to think someone could actually like me. I’m the idiot for believing he thought I was pretty.” I hang my head, unable to hide my insecurities. I’ve never been embarrassed in front of Tommy, but right now is as close a time as any. My cheeks burn and my ears tingle, afraid of my best friend’s scrutiny.

  “Um, hello!” he shouts, lifting my face with his finger at my chin. “If I ever hear you talk like that about yourself again, I’ll—”

  “What? You’ll beat me up too?” I joke.

  “Gabriella.” Uh oh, I’m in trouble. I never get the full name unless it’s serious.

  I reach out to stop him, finally realizing how silly all this commotion over a dweeb like Andy is, but Tommy raises a hand to my cheek, and the comfortable contact soothes me. His touch is like a second skin—something I’ve never second-guessed. I love this boy—like a best friend should love her best friend. Like a sister should love her brother.

  “Gabriella Rossi, you are beautiful, kind, sweet, and so freaking smart it scares me. Don’t you ever let a guy make you feel anything different than what I just told you! I’m taking you to that dance. We’ll show all those pathetic freshmen that Gabriella Rossi is a sophisticated, mature woman who hangs around the juniors and has seniors vying for her attention. I’d be honored to escort you and show you the time of your life.”

  My heart stops—like beating ceases and I fear I might die. Tommy has always been chivalrous and selfless, putting me and my concerns before his. But this? Best friend or not, everyone knows upperclassmen don’t associate with freshmen peons at school dances. This would ruin Tommy’s cool kid reputation. Does he love me that much?

  “You would do that for me?” My first instinct is to refuse his offer, but the look on his face—this adoring, soft, thoughtful expression in his blue eyes—I can’t deny that.

  “Gabby, don’t you know I’d do absolutely anything for you?”

  The night of the dance, I’m a bucket of nerves. It’s so unlike me to feel this way around Tommy. We’ve hung out at least three hundred and fifty days of this three hundred and sixty five day year—si
x years in a row. He knows me inside and out. And I’ve memorized him from every possible crevice and corner, but all duded up and dressed to perfection—I’m suddenly nervous, and clammy, and all tingly inside.

  After twirling in front of the mirror in my teal blue taffeta party dress one more time, the doorbell rings. Mom is no doubt first to the door, flashing her camera in Tommy’s face, ready to record every single second of her daughter’s first high school dance.

  I rush down the steps the best I can in Gina’s silver kitten heels, and falter when I take in the sight of him.

  Dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, a tie that matches the color of my dress to absolute perfection, and his hair gelled back and styled impeccably, my jaw drops to my chest. “Wow, dude. You clean up nice.” I wish to say so much more, but I use the bit of sarcasm to mask my frazzled nerves.

  “Gabriella,” he says, walking toward me, his hand behind his back. “You look gorgeous. Like, wow! You’ll be the prettiest girl there.”

  His words are so sweet my insides melt. I step down the last stair and reach up to kiss his cheek. When I pull back, Tommy presents me with a clear plastic box.

  I take it from him and gawk in amazement at the exotic corsage he’s picked out for me. Orchids, tea roses, teal blue tulle to match my dress, and instead of the ordinary silver elastic band to secure it to my wrist, a string of dainty pearls dangles from behind the arrangement.

  “It’s beautiful, Tommy. Thank you!”

  “A beauty for my beauty. Are you ready to go?”

  The way he enunciates my opens up this Pandora’s Box of feelings I’ve never felt before.

  Without delving any further into the flood of emotions coursing through me, Mom snaps a picture as Tommy places the corsage on my wrist. I can’t help feeling that there is magic in the air tonight. I know this isn’t a date—the boy’s like my brother, for Christ’s sake—but I’ve never felt this euphoric in my entire life.

  “Douchenozzle, ten o’clock.”

  “Hmm?” I hum, too enthralled by the mystique of my first formal dance to notice that Tommy’s pointing out the guy who stood me up.