The Girl He Left Behind

Prologue: Goldfish

**JASMINE POV**

I was on the balcony of a mansion that wasn't my home, sketchpad on my knees, when I heard a car pull into the drive. I leaned over the railing to look.

Japheth.

He didn't slam the car door the way he usually did, showing off for whoever was watching. He just stood there a second too long before he moved, and even from three floors up I could see something was wrong with his face.

I grabbed my drawing and ran.

Our families had been tangled together as long as I could remember — my parents worked for his, had worked for the Montgomerys since before I was born. I knew which stairs in this house creaked. I knew Japheth Montgomery better than I knew most of my own relatives, which was probably why I could tell, from three floors up, in half a second, that something was wrong.

By the time I made it downstairs, he was already in the foyer, letting his mother hug him hello more than actually hugging her back. She had her arms out wide and he stepped away the second he could. Japheth hated being babied. Which meant whatever had happened to put that look on his face, he didn't want anyone asking about it.

So obviously, I was going to ask about it.

He took the stairs two at a time and nearly walked straight into me. I was standing right in the middle of them, sketchpad hugged to my chest.

"Peaches!" He blinked, surprised, and just like that, whatever had been on his face a second ago was gone, replaced by the usual smirk. "What are you doing here, goldfish?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. Here we go.

"You're a bully, Japheth," I said, not looking at him.

"Well, you *look* like a goldfish." He stretched his eyes wide, mocking me. "And what's that?" He nodded at my sketchpad.

"Nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing." Before I could step back, he'd already snatched it out of my hands.

"Give it back."

"As if you actually know how to draw." He was already flipping through it, grinning like he already knew what he'd find, which was nothing, because I wasn't any good, because I never showed anyone, because —

He stopped flipping.

I watched his face change. The grin slipped, just slightly, like he'd forgotten he was supposed to be holding it in place.

"You did these?"

"Give it back, Japheth."

He didn't. He kept going, slower now, and I felt my whole stomach drop because I knew exactly which page was coming.

He found it.

He went very still.

I couldn't read what he was thinking. I'd known him my whole life and I genuinely could not tell whether he was about to laugh at me so hard I'd never live it down, or say something worse than laughing — something that would actually mean it.

"Who's this."

It wasn't a question. He knew exactly who it was — him, badly drawn, hearts scattered around his stupid head, because I was twelve, and I hadn't thought anyone would ever see it.

I could lie. I still had time to lie.

"That's you," I said instead.

He didn't say anything back.

For a second that felt worse than anything he could have said. Japheth always had something to say — that was half of who he was. Watching him go quiet felt like watching him disappear somewhere I couldn't follow.

"Say something," I said, hating how small my voice came out.

He closed the sketchpad slowly, like it might be something breakable now. When he looked up, whatever had been on his face when he first walked through the door — that look like he wanted to cry — was gone completely, replaced by something I didn't have a name for.

"Why didn't you show me?"

Not *why did you draw this*. Not *this is weird*. Just — why didn't I show him.

"Because you would've laughed."

"I'm not laughing."

"You will. Later. When it's funnier to you than it is right now."

He didn't argue with that, which somehow hurt more than if he had. He held the sketchpad out, and when I reached for it, he didn't let go right away.

"You looked upset earlier," I said. "Before you saw me. What happened?"

Something shut behind his eyes. "Nothing happened."

"Japheth—"

"Drop it, Peaches." His voice came out sharper than I'd ever heard it, sharp enough that I actually flinched. He noticed. His jaw tightened like he was angry at himself for it.

"Okay," I said quietly. "I'm dropping it."

We sat on the stairs anyway, shoulders almost touching, neither of us saying anything else — which, for a boy who filled every silence in every room he ever walked into, was its own kind of answer. Whatever had put that look on his face, he wasn't going to tell me. Not that day.

But I wasn't going to forget it, either.