That spring, Vance Cumberland made himself right at home on Nolia Farms. Quite an odd occurrence to have town royalty parading around dirt and plants. Even odder, it seemed like he’d been there from the start, along with the tobacco barns and chickens. The guy wore fun and carefree so fittingly that he somehow drew Raleigh out of his shell and calmed Peg’s moodiness. Sure, Vance disrupted our routines and chores, but he was such a good sport about slopping the pigs and collecting eggs from the henhouse that we decided to put up with him.

From comments whispered loud enough for me to hear in line at the grocery store and questions asked at day care pickup, it was pretty clear that Vance was using the guise of befriending Boss as his reason for spending so much time out on the farm. My hands were too full with tending to the kids and dealing with Pa’s moods to really care one way or the other.

Or that was what I repeatedly told myself until Malorie Fitzgerald started carrying on and on about going to prom with Vance.

“I already have my dress. It’s fuchsia, tea-length, with lots of ruffles. Vance will love it. He likes me in pink.” She pulled a history book out of her locker, closed the door, and leaned against it, swooning like a fool.

Why that prissy girl thought I’d want to know all that made no sense. In stained jeans and a plain black T-shirt with my long hair in my face, I looked nothing close to Malorie’s teased brown hair, pale face painted with makeup, pin-striped Jordache jeans, and bright-orange top.

“My mom is on the prom committee and so I got to choose the theme. It’s going to be a paradise theme after The Blue Lagoon. Vance could totally be Christopher Atkins’s twin, don’t you think?”

I had no idea who that guy was, but I nodded my head like I did. Malorie was already rattling on about helping make tissue-paper flowers the exact same pink as her dress, so I zoned out and focused on the Just Say No poster on the wall behind her. I know the First Lady Nancy Reagan’s campaign was to say no to drugs, but I sure wished I could just say no to other things. Like playing nice to this girl when I’d rather whack her with my history book for going on and on about Vance as if she were making a point to claim him in front of me.

“Are you going to the prom?” Malorie asked.

I looked away from the poster and gazed at nothing in particular inside my locker. “No. It’s not my thing.” Wanting to get away from her, I fumbled with wiggling a notebook free from underneath the clutter in my locker, nearly causing an avalanche.