32. OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

33. THE HARDEST SHELL OF ALL

34. CHATHAM PEER

35. WHO YOU GONNA BE?

36. BOOTS

37. EGGS AND POTATOES

38. NOW WE’RE COOKIN’

39. RUNAWAY

40. THE FEELING OF BEING ROBBED

41. FELINE KINDER

42. TO REVEAL A SECRET

43. A LESSON FROM MOBY

44. THE SUN WILL COME OUT

45. THE ONES WHO STAY

46. WHAT YOU SEE

47. THE BIG ONE WITH THE LADDER

48. A GIFT FROM PAPA

49. THE SHELTERING TREE

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

UNTIL NOW

There are two kinds of people. People who like surprises and people who don’t.

I don’t.

And yet here is Aimee Polloch, my friend since first grade, marching through our front door as loud as a summer crow. “Delsie. I have the best surprise.”

Uh-oh.

“So,” she begins, “you know that Michael and I tried out for the summer production at the Cape Playhouse, right?”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Michael got a great part, but I . . . I got the lead! The lead! Can you believe it?” She goes dead serious. “Wait. Autographs. Do you think people will actually ask for them?”

“I think we’ll have to get a red carpet leading up to your front door.”

“This is no joke.” She leans forward a bit. “Do you know how many famous people started acting at the playhouse?”

“I think you’ve mentioned it,” I say, smiling.

After one giant step, she stands right in front of me. “I really need your help, though!”

“My help? Why would you need my help? You know I’d rather hang glide in a hailstorm than be in a play.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need you in the play, Delsie. I just need you to help me with my part. The play is Annie,” she says, wide-eyed.

“The hard-knock-life Annie? The movie we watched?”

She rolls her eyes. “It was a play long before it was a movie.”

“Whatever, Aims. You know theater isn’t my thing.”

“Well, it’s just that I really want to be . . .” She waves her hand in the air like a magician. “I want to be au-then-tic.”

“So? I don’t understand how I can help. Wouldn’t Michael be better?”

“No. He can’t help me. Not like you can. Michael has . . . a family.”

I feel like I’ve tripped but haven’t hit the ground yet.

“Tell me,” she says. “What’s it like . . . really like . . . to be an orphan?”

The ground seems to move.

She leans in. Talking. Talking and talking. Something about me being lucky while I just stand there caught in between wanting to disappear and wanting to help her. I feel around for an answer to her question, but I have none.

I’ve thought about my mother, of course. I’ve wondered where she went to and where she’s been. But I guess Aimee is right; I was abandoned . . . and I am an orphan. But is it dumb to say that I have never really thought about it like that?