Rose-Ann "Rosie" Mae Connolly is freshly emancipated and finally returning to her home in the OBX after 3 months away. 16-years-old and living alone, she's ready to have the summer of a lifetime with her friends-since-middle-school pogue crew. But w...
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If there's one thing you should know about Rosie, it's that she hates crying.
It made her feel weak. And she hated feeling weak. She especially refused to cry in front of others. Because once you've seen someone break down, it changes your view of them—intentional or not.
The last time she'd cried in front of her friends was in the 8th grade. JJ had shoved her off a boat and she cut her arm open on the blade of the motor. Granted, Rosie did cry February 14th as the life slowly left her mother's eyes. But she was alone then. And ever since, Rosie had come up with a routine to avoid crying at the thought of her loss.
When she felt her eyes beginning to water and her throat tightening, Rosie would pick up her least favorite book (one she'd stolen from a library a long time ago), Twilight. She'd divert her mind to Bella Swan's stupid life until she couldn't remember what she was upset about in the first place.
So it was no surprise when Rosie scrambled for the cursed book upon entering the house she hadn't been inside since the day her mother passed. She wasn't sure what had triggered it specifically: the dying vegetable garden her mom had worked so hard on, her mother's forgotten glasses on the kitchen counter, or just the overall feeling that something was missing. But sure enough, Rosie snatched the stolen book and flipped to a random page.
"Your scent is like a drug to me, like my own personal brand of heroin."
Rosie turned her nose up at the line.
"At least he's hot," she grumbled to herself.
The 17-year-old flipped mindlessly through a few more pages until she couldn't take it anymore. She thoughtfully placed the book in the front room of the small house, in case she'd need it again soon.
The four-room house felt odd. Rosie felt as if she didn't belong, despite having lived in it for nine years. She knew she would have to box up and clear out her mother's things at some point, but the thought weighed her down and made her long for her book again.
Rosie pushed the uneasiness to the back of her mind and set to finish her unpacking.
Before she knew it, it was already 8:00 PM and her stomach was rumbling. She'd have to go out and get groceries tomorrow, but until then she'd snack on something at John B's. The teenager quickly put a swimsuit on underneath her outfit and set out for the Chateau again.
The 3-minute drive was quick, and Rosie was glad to be out of the suffocating house. She pulled the Mini-Cooper into the familiar gravel driveway for the second time that day and killed the engine. Rosie skipped up to the front door and swung it open, not bothering to knock. She frowned at the empty room before her.
"Hello? Anybody home?" she called out.
Silence.
Rosie huffed and walked back out to the porch. She squinted her eyes into the distance, trying to catch sight of her missing friends.
