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  hell with tourists dodging me and paparazzi grinning as they

  snapped my photo. The first day hadn’t been so bad — nobody had

  known it was me, thanks to the over-large taffy visor. I wasn’t

  really sure if it was something to be thankful for, considering

  satellites could pick up my beacon of bright fuchsia on the visor,

  but whatever.

  The second day was by far the worst. Cameras went off like

  wildfire, and I’m pretty sure that a chick tried to stick taffy that I

  had touched down her shirt. I didn’t even want to know the reason

  behind that one.

  People gathered around. They expected me to sing the jingle,

  like always. I wanted to kill myself. Why didn’t I die in that

  accident?

  “Seaside Taffy,” I began, my voice cracked. It hadn’t cracked

  since I was twelve. Again, I wanted to die. “Loads of fun, in your

  tummy! Yum, yum, yum…” I swear I could feel Bob snickering

  from twenty feet away; it never got old. “Ice cream, taffy, treats

  galore! Don’t forget to stop at our store!” I gave a dramatic bow.

  I expected applause, or at least some sort of

  acknowledgement that I had, in fact, just given the best

  performance of my life.

  What did I get? One solitary clap. One person. I cringed,

  thinking of the pity clap. It’s the type of applause every performer

  dreads hearing. Swearing, I turned around. It was a girl. She looked

  about as old as a first grader.

  “Want some taffy?”

  I held out a piece of taffy, and the mom suddenly looked

  horrified, like I was planning on putting a taffy trail all the way to

  my car in order to abduct her child.

  They hurried away, and I was stuck again with a crowd of

  people trying to get around me while I shook my bucket. “Seaside

  Taffy!” I yelled louder this time and threw my hands out in the air.

  Might as well commit, since this was my hell for the next few

  months.

  “Seaside Taffy!” I flailed my arms again and a piece of taffy

  went flying out of my hand, right into the back of someone’s head.

  Great, add assault to my record.

  When the person turned around, I was a little shocked,

  because to be honest, I thought I had hit some punk kid.

  Not. The. Case.

  “Seriously?” The girl stomped toward me, all five feet of her,

  and glared. She was wearing a hat that said The Best Taffy in the

  World and an oversized sweater, leggings, and boots.

  “It slipped,” I offered lamely.

  She reached for my bucket. I jerked back. “Nobody touches

  the bucket.”

  Wow. I was so ashamed of myself that I wanted to jump into

  the bucket and hide. Was I really getting possessive over my

  bucket? Like some homeless man with his cart?

  The girl reached for the bucket again.

  I snapped. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem?” she repeated, her eyebrows shooting to the

  top of her forehead. Damn, she had pretty eyes.

  I nodded. Since the accident I hadn’t written one damn song,

  so at the moment words weren’t really my thing, and I was

  shamelessly checking her out.

  “My problem…” She laughed bitterly. “…Is that the minute

  your punk rocker self got into this town, our business suffered, and

  you don’t even take it seriously!” She put her hands on her hips

  and scowled. “And now you’re working my corner!”

  “Whoa!” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. Your

  corner? What? Is this Pretty Woman or something?”

  “Did you just call me a prostitute?”

  Yes. Yes, I did. “Nope. More like a call girl. Prostitutes don’t

  dress like blind middle schoolers.”

  “Agh!” She swatted my bucket, making all the candy clatter

  to the ground. Amused, I crossed my arms and watched the fire

  blaze through her eyes. Really it was a pity she dressed so horribly,

  and that she was wearing that awful hat. Though I guess my visor

  wasn’t any better, but still… I made it look good.

  “Just watch it.”

  Brawl alert. I almost expected people to start coming out of

  the alleys with toothpicks in their mouths and newspapers in their

  hands to watch the entertainment.

  How the hell did I get stuck in a Broadway musical?

  Since I was committing to the whole Seaside Taffy act, might

  as well commit to this one too. “Noted, Shop Girl. Noted. Now run

  along.” See? I could be territorial.

  Her eyes widened, and for a second I was shocked again at

  how pretty she was. With a grunt and a cute little curse, she

  stomped off across the street to the competing taffy store.

  I waved in her direction and started the jingle all over again.

  This time really committing by way of throwing in a few AD2

  dance moves that I knew could likely land me in prison if I moved

  too hastily in the wrong direction.

  Three hours later I was seriously rethinking this whole job

  business. It started to rain shortly after my dancing began. No

  doubt people thought it was because of my inability to keep my

  hips from moving with the stupid candy bucket. Great, so I was

  doing a taffy rain dance.

  With a sigh, I readjusted the visor and tried to protect the

  taffy bucket. If my only job was to sell taffy and get people into the

  store, then I didn’t want to be the one loser who got the taffy wet

  and single-handedly took down the longest running taffy store in

  the history of Seaside, Oregon.

  Thankfully, Bob must have sensed my plight, or maybe he

  was tired of me texting him every two seconds asking him for an

  umbrella. I knew it was pathetic, and okay maybe a little bit

  ridiculous, but I was beyond drenched. He motioned for me, and I

  began to walk toward him, but he pointed at my chest.

  My teeth chattered as I looked down at my shirt. I was

  successfully showing everyone with two eyes my nipple ring

  through my tight, wet t-shirt.

  If the mom from earlier was to come by now, she’d be

  horrified. And I’d be put in prison. Not because I had a nipple ring,

  but because this hell-hole of a town was so backward that she’d

  probably assume I was some sort of drug addict.

  Which was only sort of true.

  Anyway, anything would be better than the pouring rain —

  or Seaside for that matter.

  Ah, prison. Such a pipe dream. At least it’s warm there.

  “You’re getting the taffy wet,” a female voice said from

  behind me.

  Slowly I turned around. It was the big-eyed girl from before.

  Only now she was wearing a slick rain coat and rain boots.

  “Caught that, did you?” I sneered. I wasn’t sure why I was

  so irritated. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was withdrawals from

  drugs. But I was pissed that the same girl who verbally attacked me

  from earlier would not only come back for more, but blatantly tell

  me something I already knew.

  “I’m not stupid,” I said, shaking my head while still trying

  to shield the bucket with my body.

  “Sure about that?” she asked, foldi
ng her arms.

  “Are you seriously going to stand out here in the rain and

  challenge my intelligence?”

  “That depends.” Her lips turned upward into a shadow of a

  smile.

  Fine, I’ll bite. “On what, sweetheart?”

  “Are you going to stand in the rain or move two feet and

  stand underneath the overhang from the building?”

  Shit. I looked up. Sure enough there was a healthy overhang

  that could have been shielding me from the rain for the past two

  hours.

  I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I like the rain.”

  She bit her lip and looked around. People walked around us

  with their umbrellas, all trying to duck into the shops until the rain

  stopped. I shivered in response and waited for her to say

  something.

  “You chose the right place to be then.”

  If she only knew I had no choice whatsoever in the matter.

  “Yup, guess I did.” Seriously I was getting nowhere with this girl.

  All flirting genes apparently died in the car accident, while I was

  left very much alive and very much a loser. What a bright future I

  had!

  I walked underneath the overhang and gently pulled her to

  my side. I could see drops of water fall out of my messy blond hair

  and onto my nose. “What’s your name?”

  She shrugged. “That’s not important.”

  Okay, different tactic. “Why the sudden Good Samaritan

  act?”

  She laughed. “Ah, so he has read the Good Book.”

  “Once or twice.” I grinned seductively.

  “Then you should get your story straight.”

  “Pardon?” I had the sudden feeling I was way out of my

  league. Trapped, without a way out.

  “I wasn’t coming to rescue you.”

  “So you were just going to walk by?”

  She threw her head back and laughed, causing the hood of

  her jacket to fall back. Golden brown hair cascaded down her back.

  My mouth dropped open. She really was a beautiful girl.

  “Actually…” She placed a hand on my arm. “I was thinking

  of beating you and then passing you by.”

  “And what purpose would that serve?” I smiled. I couldn’t

  help it.

  “I would feel better.”

  “And I would be beaten on the side of the road? Is my lot in

  life to be killed by roads or something?”

  “Huh?” Her eyebrows drew together.

  “You don’t watch much TV, do you?”

  She shrugged. “We don’t have a TV.”

  “Internet?” My mind was seriously going to explode. How

  did she live?

  “Nope.”

  “Phone?” I was grasping at straws here.

  “For our house?”

  I leaned in, my eyebrows raised up as if to say, Duh.

  And again her teeth held captive her bottom lip as she

  looked away in thought. “I think we used to. But now we just have

  cell phones.”

  “Thank God!” I shouted a little too loudly.

  She shook her head like I was the weirdest person on the

  planet.

  “I, umm…” I shifted the bucket to my other arm and

  scratched my head. “What I meant was…” Channel the Bible. “You

  should be thankful, or blessed, or something that you have, um,

  technology?” Yes, Demetri, she’s going to be eating out of your sticky

  taffy hands in no time.

  “Right.” She chuckled and looked away. “Well, guess I’ll see

  you later.”

  As she walked off, she stopped in her tracks and turned

  around. “By the way, I really did have a reason for coming out

  here… you know, other than to cause physical harm.”

  “Oh yeah?” I grinned slyly and winked, waiting for the

  inevitable.

  “Yeah.” She nodded her head and pointed behind me “Your

  car’s about to be towed. It’s parked in the handicap spot.”

  Chapter Three

  Alyssa

  It was harder than I thought. Talking to him, I mean. To be

  honest, I hadn’t any idea how famous he was until some girls I’d

  graduated with ran into the shop and began giggling like little kids.

  That was kind of how my life was, though.

  Ever since the accident two years ago, I felt shut out of

  everything. Like I was a shadow going through the motions. Trying

  to smile at all the right times, and laugh when it was expected. I

  was the best worker my parents could ask for. I was first to arrive,

  last to leave. First to take up someone else’s shift. I even graduated

  early, so I wouldn’t have to be around the reminders anymore.

  I liked life better that way. Predictable.

  When you planned things, well, it was almost like some

  cruel joke from God. That once you told Him your plans, He’d try

  to ruin them. My parents said it wasn’t God’s fault — they also said

  it wasn’t mine. Did that make it Brady’s?

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and hurried into the

  store. Rain always depressed me. That meant I was living in the

  worst place on the planet. If I needed cheering up, I had to go

  tanning in order to soak up some fake sunlight.

  Last Christmas my parents even put special lights in my

  room, so I would smile more.

  I’ve smiled less ever since.

  Well, until five days ago.

  When that idiot rock star actually stood on a street corner

  and sang about Taffy, and then proceeded to roll his hips to the

  beat in his own head, I wanted to call him a dang fool, but I

  couldn’t pull my eyes away. Something about him was magnetic —

  which should have been my first clue to stay away.

  Brady had been magnetic too. He was perfect, charismatic,

  the star of the football team.

  And look where that love got me.

  A year out of high school, still living with my parents, and

  the inability to drive anywhere more than an hour away for fear

  that I would have a panic attack and die.

  I pushed the door to my parents’ store open. The bell jingled.

  That idiot had started work today, and our sales had never been

  worse. He was such a spectacle that even people who didn’t know

  his music wanted to go check out the taffy store. Which was great

  for our competitors, crappy for us. It’s not as if I could just find

  some famous person and beg them to wear one of our shirts and

  throw taffy at people. What the heck was he doing anyway? I even

  watched him schmooze an old lady. Did the guy have any shame at

  all?

  I would die before I let anything happen to my parents’

  livelihood, and I would happily take Demetri with me. It wasn’t as

  if I had anything exciting going on now.

  Shoving the door to the counter away, I went back to the

  stool and picked up my cell. Ten missed calls.

  “Crap.” I quickly scrolled through the missed numbers.

  It was Mrs. Murray, my counselor. I looked at the clock on

  the wall. “Crap!” I said again, grabbing my keys and running for

  the door. “Dad! I’m going to be late for my appointment!”

  He appeared from the back room. “Oh, okay, Honey. You

  need me to drive you?” His eyes briefly held mine before looking
r />   down at the ground. He knew how uncomfortable cars made me

  after everything that had happened.

  “Um, no. I’ll be fine. It’s only a few miles away. Love you!” I

  heard him tell me to be careful as I ran out the door.

  ****

  I ran into the large beach house and practically beat down

  my counselor’s door.

  “Alyssa! I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” Mrs.

  Murray was in her late forties and wore spectacles that constantly

  slipped down her nose. Her brown hair was always in a bun, and

  she always dressed as if she was in a hurry. In fact, she did

  everything like she was in a hurry. Everything but the listening and

  talking part of her job. I imagined she would probably work in her

  sleep if she could.

  I gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, well, I’m here.” If I didn’t

  show, she would just tell my parents, and then I’d be on suicide

  watch for no reason. At least that was the fear. It wasn’t as if she

  could do that based solely on the fact that I didn’t show up. But last

  time I didn’t show up… well, let’s just say my parents caught me in

  my bathroom staring at a bottle of ibuprofen and flipped. I told

  them I had a headache, but that was the exact moment my dad also

  asked me to open my hand. I swear the bottle had spilled, and I

  was just trying to put the pills back in. But they didn’t believe me.

  Nobody did. Story of my life.

  The smell of peppermint tea greeted me as I waltzed into the

  small office and took a seat on the leather couch. Mrs. Murray did

  an amazing job with the ambiance. I could almost forget that she

  was a shrink, and I was there to tell her all my innermost secrets

  and feelings — almost.

  “So.” She fell into the leather chair across from me and

  pulled out her notepad. “We’re almost to the two-year anniversary

  of the incident.”

  I wanted to give some sort of snide remark. I mean, hello? I

  was living this nightmare. Believe me, I knew exactly what the day

  was. I knew exactly how many days I had left, and even if I could

  forget, my nightmares constantly reminded me of the hell I was

  living every single day.

  “Yup.” I managed to shrug nonchalantly. I should have been

  an actress. With a quick smile I leaned back onto the couch and

  exhaled, knowing what she was going to ask next.

  “And how do you feel about that?”