"It's not that impressive."
"I like a good dive now and then."
Fiona snorted. "Oh, come on, Mom. I'll be trying to play, and you'll be scouring the tables."
"I hardly think I'd be scouring." She looked at Fiona sideways. "You know, I don't have this agenda, like you think I do. To improve everything."
"It sure feels that way," Fiona muttered back.
"I was just trying to make it better," her mom said, shaking her head.
"Make what better?"
"The accident. Your life. I wanted to make it easier."
"By dressing me in pink?"
"Well, it sounds silly if you say it like that." Her mother picked at the bedspread. "You know, I never understood how you never complained. About the scars."
She couldn't help but laugh. "You don't think I complained?"
"Not really. Not like I would have, if it were me." Looking to the wall again, her mom took a deep breath. "Your father and I, we had you two right after we got married. I was so young. I had the whole picture in front of me, how our lives would be. But then you had the accident, and it all changed. I wanted for you have to a certain life, but fate just . . . intervened. And I still don't think I'm over it."
She stopped talking for a moment, still staring ahead. "I hated those scars, Fiona," she said quietly. "Hated them-and the accident. You had a harder life than you should have."
"Mom, it's not that bad."
"You're right, it's not." She patted Fiona's hand and looked her in the eyes. "For all my worry about how hard it was going to be, you handled everything beautifully. So despite how much I hate that it happened, I cherish it a little, too. That accident made you, you. And I wouldn't have you any other way."
Her heart wanted to cry, but she was sick to death of crying. "I hate pink," Fiona said, instead. "And frills. Just so we're clear."
Her mother laughed. "Duly noted." She nodded to the guitar, still in Fiona's lap. "So, about this open mic night."
Fiona bit her thumbnail. "I'm terrified about it, actually."
"Why?"
"Singing my stuff in public-it freaks me out. Like, really freaks me out. I'm hoping this will get me over it."
"Sounds like a good plan."
"But baby steps might be good." Fiona fiddled with the guitar's strings, her voice now nearly a whisper. "Do you want to hear something?"
The prettiest smile crossed her mother's face. "Really?"
Fiona grabbed a Moleskine. Resting her back against the headboard, she sat cross-legged and faced her mother. She leafed through the book. "Okay, here's one. I'm still working on the lyrics-and the bridge."
Her mother smiled and got herself comfortable on the other end of the bed. She didn't seem the least bothered by how long Fiona took-didn't check her watch or ask questions, just rested between the wall and the footboard, waiting.
After Fiona tuned as much as she could, she said, "Here goes," and sang.
Father, brother, friend, and mother / Stolen words and stolen skin
Fear and face and guilt and place / What-ifs and coincidence
Puzzles, pieces / Nos and yeses
Bad days, scars / Notebooks, guitars
Everything that makes me
You say, Be who you are
Be the song, be the scar
Be everything that makes you
'Cause some things just are
Metaphors, heartsick brothers / Shocks straight from your fingertips
Cantaloupe and smirk and hope / The null and the alternative
Puzzles, pieces / Nos and yeses
Good days, scars / What's yours, what's ours
Everything that makes you
I say, Be who you are
Be the twin, fear my scar
Be everything that makes you
'Cause some things just are
FI
Her mom knocked and opened the door before Fi could say, "Come in."
She put a few shopping bags on the bed. "This is the best I could do. Finding warm clothes in July is a challenge."
Fi looked out the window at the blue-skied, 104-degree Memphis morning. She couldn't wrap her head around wearing sleeves, let alone fleece. "I don't think I'll need it, Mom. It's July in Chicago, too."
"It's a ten-hour drive north."
Fi wasn't sure how that negated summer, but she decided not to argue. Her bedroom floor was chaos-three suitcases, one gym bag, one bag for her sticks, a few crates full of supplies, a box of bedding and other stuff for her dorm room, her laptop case. "You don't think we're overdoing it?"
Her mom stood beside her, surveying the lot of it. "Well, you need it all."
"I'm just going for training camp. They haven't promised me the spot yet."
"But if they give it to you, you'll have to stay. There are only five days between summer training and new student orientation."
Fi groaned at the idea of icebreakers with eager, recent high school graduates. At least Jackson would be there to share the pain, since both would start with only one semester behind them. Jackson had taken-and easily passed-a few classes over the year. The dean at Northwestern had agreed to accept only Fi's second semester grades-which was more than she had expected, honestly.
All of it was more than she'd expected. After sending the email, she and Ryan had agreed that two weeks was a good time frame for a reply. If she hadn't heard back by then, she'd assume the bridge to NU had officially burned.
Within a half hour of pressing send on that email, she'd accepted the inevitability of a no. She was still online, searching every Division Two team she'd talked to in high school, when the reply appeared in her in-box.
Fi, so glad to hear from you. Why don't you give me a call? Candace Starnes
She stared at the email for almost two full minutes before screaming. Her father tore into the office, like he expected to find a murder victim. Fi pointed to the computer screen. He read the email over her shoulder and let out a giant whoop.
Once they'd calmed down, Fi made the call. Her father picked up the other line and listened in on mute. At first, her voice came out shaky, but Starnes was conversational. How had Fi liked her classes? What was Milton like, she didn't know it well. How was her family? How was she holding up, was the loss getting a little easier?
As they talked, Fi's voice began to sound more like her own. She nearly forgot this polite woman-her mother would love her-was the Northwestern University women's lacrosse team coach. Nearly forgot until Candace Starnes brought it up.
"So, Fi-tell me about the Milton lacrosse team."
"Um. Well, they're club. And . . ." She bit down to keep herself from blurting they suck.
But Starnes already knew. "Not up to your level, are they?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you been training?"
"I've tried-on my own. I've lost ground, though."
"It will be hard work, going from a club team to D-One."
"Yes, ma'am, I know. But I can do it."
On her end, Starnes paused. Fi and her father looked at each other nervously. Fi bit at her fingernails until her dad walked over and pulled them out of her mouth.
After a heart-pounding eternity, Starnes said, "Tell you what, Fi. We've got training camp in July. Why don't you come up and work with the team? We'll see how it goes."
"See how it goes?"
"I've got a spot for a third-string midfielder. Let me be clear-I'm not committing that spot to you. If all goes well at camp and the school decides to admit you, you still wouldn't start, and you won't get money. That might be an option later, but lots has to happen between now and then."
Fi took a long, slow breath and looked at her father. He nodded, and she said, "Okay. That's fair."
"Good answer. So, forward me your transcripts. I'll send you the camp information, and I'll see you in July."
And here she was, packing for training camp. Her mother shoved a pink sweatshirt-pink?-into one of the bags. Fi sank to the bed, suddenly dejected. "What if they send me home?"
"We'll figure something out," her mom said, sitting beside her. "There are other schools you can talk to."
"I want this one."
"I know, sweetie." She placed a hand on Fi's back, lightly scratching it. "I think it'll work out. I really think you'll get to stay."
"Why?"
"Mother's intuition."
Fi shook her head, unconvinced. "I can't make any mistakes. I don't have any left."
"Well, if you figure out how to go through life without making a mistake, please pass on the wisdom. I could use it."
She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yeah, right."
Her mother sighed. "I know you think I pushed you too hard. But-I just didn't want you to make the same mistake I did."