Come Back to Me
by Coleen Patrick
Publication date: March 4, 2013
Genre: YA Contemporary
Synopsis:
Whitney Denison can’t wait to start over.
She thought she had everything under control, that her future would
always include her best friend Katie… Until everything changed.
Now her life in Bloom is one big morning after hangover, filled with
regret, grief, and tiny pinpricks of reminders that she was once happy.
A happy she ruined. A happy she can’t fix.
So, she is counting down the days until she leaves home for Colson
University, cramming her summer with busywork she didn’t finish her
senior year, and taking on new hobbies that involve glue and glitter,
and dodging anyone who reminds her of her old life.
When she runs into the stranger who drove her home on graduation night,
after she’d passed out next to a ditch, she feels herself sinking
again. The key to surviving the summer in Bloom is unraveling whatever
good memories she can from that night.
But in searching for answers, she’ll have to ask for help and that
means turning to Evan, the stranger, and Kyle, Katie’s ex-boyfriend.
Suddenly, life flips again, and Whitney finds herself on not only the
precipice of happy but love, too, causing her to question whether she
can trust her feelings, or if she is falling into her old patterns of
extremes.
As she uncovers the truth about her memories, Whitney sees that life
isn’t all or nothing, and that happy isn’t something to wait for, that
instead, happy might just be a choice.
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Come Back to Me
(From Chapter 6)
55 days.
What if Colson isn’t the answer?
I ignored the thought and continued to face the liquor cabinet, the bottles shifting into pairs as my vision glazed over.
A
tiny frisson of cold moved from my heel and up my spine to prickle at
my scalp. I pictured my newly short hair standing on end, like hundreds
of tiny spikes framing a carrot-orange cartoon sun.
I froze, avoiding my reflection in the mirror-backed wall of the cabinet. The tingling returned. Was someone behind me?
I
dropped my head. My heart pounded under my chin. My bangs curtained
my face, but I took in my shoes, the floor, the craft store bag, fur . .
. wait, fur?
I turned around and sighed. “Bug.”
She
stared at me, still, as if she too saw a ghost. Her fur stood up in
tufts and shocks around her head, but that was just Bug. Imperfect
breed, imperfect hair. Not that Bug knew that. According to her, she
was a purebred. She didn’t seem to know that the pretty auburn and dark
brown coat around her head faded to an almost dirty white on her back
and legs, or that her slim build didn’t match her squashed up face, or
that she had a funny name, or that she was the result of a full
pedigree/mutt hook up. She’d never believe any of it.
I shook my head, pushing my fingertips into my eyebrows.
“What are you doing, Bug?” My mom wasn’t home. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her without my mom.
Bug walked to the craft bag and sniffed. She sat down in front of it.
“There’s nothing for you in there.” I picked up the bag and headed for the stairs. Bug’s tiny but imperious steps followed.
I turned around. “Do you need to go outside?”
If
a dog could roll her eyes, she would’ve. I swore she looked insulted,
as if she didn’t have a paper-lined crate in the laundry room.
“Are you hungry?”
Bug
ignored me, pushing her nose into my bag. She wouldn’t come to me for
food anyway. My mom’s culinary skills were what turned her from my
shelter rescue into my mom’s sidekick. Whatever. Glitter was the only
thing on my agenda right now.
The
air conditioning turned on, and I jumped, catching my reflection in the
mirror again. I frowned and moved to close the liquor cabinet doors.
A
crazy but funny idea popped into my head—me covering all the bottles
with glue and glitter. I looked at Bug. As if she could read my mind,
she cocked her head. “I’m just saying it would be hilarious to see
their reaction.”
I
imagined my dad pouring himself a drink out of a sparkly, fuchsia
Jameson bottle—right into a matching bejeweled highball glass. Except
the enjoyment would only last for a split second, just like the first
hit of alcohol. Yes, I wanted that initial sense of relief, the
momentary lapse in emptiness.
Until tomorrow, when I’d have to start all over again.
I swallowed. Glitter. I shifted all my focus to glitter.
AUTHOR BIO
Coleen Patrick grew up in New
Jersey, Virginia, Michigan, Louisiana, and Indiana. Always being the
new kid, she learned that books and friends are precious—and dessert.
She never met a dessert she didn’t like (except for flan).
When she’s not writing, reading (or avoiding flan), she enjoys TV, arts
and crafts, quoting movies, and trying to take cool photos.
She lives in Virginia with her husband and two kids.
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