We just passed by a tree. Send.

Oooh there's a girl on the sidewalk with ice cream. Send.

Now I want ice cream. Send.

Do u have ice cream. Send.

"Are you spamming him?"

Nora looked up. "Maybe," she said. Willow shook her head, and she grinned.

They were almost at Nolan's apartment building now—just a couple streets away. She'd been periodically updating him on their ETA since leaving Willow's house. Okay, well, updating was a strong word. More like informing him of goings-ons. Very important goings-ons.

He hadn't texted back yet. Maybe he wouldn't at all. But that was okay. She would keep "updating" him anyway.

We're a street over now. GET REAAADDYYY

Nolan was sitting on the front porch when they pulled into the parking lot. He stood, and she laughed. "Oh, he didn't," she said.

"What?" Willow asked.

Nora tossed open the door. "Nolan Haynes!" she said. "Is that ice cream?"

He reached the car and handed her a pint of triple chocolate chunk ice cream and a metal spoon.

"What?" Nathan gasped and twisted around in his seat. "Where's my ice cream?"

Nolan settled next to Nora and buckled his seat. "Sorry, Mr. Sison."

"Nathan."

"Nathan."

"You have to request it," Nora said. She dished out a spoonful of ice cream. Yum. "You're the best, Nolan. Seriously."

He shrugged. "It was Caleb's idea."

"Gimme some of that, would ya?" Willow reached for the ice cream and Nora handed it over.

"Hey, hey." Nathan nudged Willow as she scooped some. "Be a pal and share, yeah?"

"No. You have germs."

Nathan gasped, and she laughed.

"I'm glad you decided to come," she said, turning her attention back to Nolan. "It'll be fun."

He nodded, but he didn't look sure.

"You'll get to hear the band live on stage," she said, wriggling her eyebrows. "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. Unless you count next week. And the week after that."

He chuckled. "You guys are playing?"

"Mm-hmm!" She smiled. "Not an original tonight, though."

He nodded.

The trip to Holy Trinity was filled with laughter, ice cream, and music. When they arrived, they went straight for the sanctuary, which was already filled with teenagers. Andy, Max, and Erin were already on stage, laughing as they drank water from their water bottles. There were some groups clustered around the room, joking around and chatting before Ryan's sermon. And, of course, some people had decided to sit down. Nora smiled. It was funny, really. How everyone gravitated to the same spots, even when unassigned.

"Look who's here!" Andy called as they approached the stage. Nolan shifted awkwardly as they reached the landing, and she gave him an encouraging smile. "And you brought No-No!"

"Good to see you decided to come, dude," Max said.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"And don't worry," Willow said. "The nickname will die eventually. Five years ago, one of the kids called me Wiggy. I didn't hear the end of it for, like, two months."

"Oh my gosh, Wiggy!" Erin gasped. "I can't believe I forgot about that."

"Walked right into that one," Willow muttered.

Nora wrapped her arm around Willow's shoulders. "That's totally back now. You're aware."

"I'm aware."

"You have no one to blame but yourself, Wiggy," Andy said. "Wigster. Wiggy-Miggy. Wig—"

"Shut up!"

They laughed.

"You mind? You're cramping my style."

They turned, and there was Ryan, his eyebrows raised. Wow. It was time to start already?

"He's the one who got me to sit at your table," Nora whispered conspiringly as they slipped into available seats in the front row.

Nolan's eyebrows rose. He looked at Ryan with renewed interest. She smiled.

Ryan took his place at the podium, cradling the microphone lazily in his hands. "Yo, yo, yoity!" he said. The chatter dwindled. Nora turned in her seat, watching as stragglers drifted toward the pews. "If you all could take your seats, that would be bomb diggity."

"Oh, Ryan, no," a girl called from the crowd.

"Not good?"

"Definitely not good."

"Good, tell my dad that the next time you see him. He didn't believe me."

Everyone laughed.

Ryan went over announcements, telling them about the sleepover and the upcoming community service. As usual, his announcements were sprinkled with jokes, made by him and her fellow youth groupers. Groupies? She wasn't sure.

"Okay," Ryan said. "Let's get this show on the road and bring our band back up here, yeah?"

Nerves fluttered around her stomach as she and the others ambled up to the stage. She was in autopilot, rehearsing song lyrics and chords as she took her place and grabbed her guitar.

Her eyes found Nolan's. She smiled and waved. He waved back.

Max tapped the drums once, twice, three times. And then it was time to play.

✝

Nora hoisted herself onto a table and plopped her shoeless feet onto the chair.

It was nights like tonight that made her forget the bad. All of the laughter, the beautiful chaos, the light. Their set had gone great. Ryan's sermon had been amazing. The pizza was delicious. And, as Willow stepped up to their makeshift home plate—a literal plate, paper of origin—and wielded a neon orange plastic bat with confident hands, the remnants of stress and fear faded into nothingness.

She couldn't fully enjoy making the music video. But she could enjoy this moment, with these people—Willow, who wriggled her eyebrows at Andy, playing pitcher with an inflatable beach ball; Erin, who sat in a nearby chair, notecards in hand; Max, who waited in line to bat; and Nolan, who hopped up onto the free space at her side. Her family.

"You've got this!" Nora cheered.

"You bet I do!" Willow yelled back.

Nolan's lips twitched. Whatever tension he'd been clutching before Max talked to him seemed to be gone.

"How're you doing?" she asked.

He started to answer, but Andy and Willow distracted them before he could properly form the words.

"You're gonna strike!" Andy said, twisting his foot on the pitcher's mound—or, for the less creative, a piece of construction paper labeled pitcher's mound with permanent marker. "You're going down."

"That would be a bit more convincing if you'd beaten me ever," Willow replied. "At trivia or baseball."

Nora laughed softly. "Let's try that again," she said, turning back to Nolan. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," he said. "Why?"

"You just seemed...off earlier," she said.

He frowned. "Sorry about that. I was...dealing with something."

"Oh, you don't need to apologize," she said. "What was going on, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Parent stuff." He shrugged and reached for the back of his neck.

Oh.

"Well, I'm glad you're doing better," she said. "If you ever need to talk about that sort of stuff, I'm here for you."

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks," he said. He nodded toward the game. "Why aren't you playing?"

She crossed her legs and planted her elbows on her knees. "I absolutely suck at trivia. And I can assure you I would never make it in a professional baseball league. Or a league made for six-year-olds."

He snorted.

"Yeah, tragic, I know." She laughed. "But I've decided I'd rather live than have Willow murder me in my sleep and make it look like an accident."

"Fair enough."

"She could do it. She's majoring in forensic science, and she plans on going to law school. That's the law and the order."

"You'd be screwed."

"Exactly, my friend. Exactly."

"Okay, Willow!" Erin shouted over the pandemonium. She regarded one of the cards. "Who was the first tool maker in the Bible?"

Andy's team oohed at the difficulty of the question. Andy's triumphant grin faltered when Willow just smiled. "Tubalkain," she said.

All eyes went to Erin as she checked the back of the notecard for the answer. "Correct!"

Nora, the rest of the spectators, and Willow's team cheered. Honestly, the best part was Andy's slack-jawed gape, as though he shouldn't have fully expected this to happen.

"Come on, Candy Cane." Willow snickered. "Throw the ball!"

He did, and she slammed the bat home. The ball soared into the outfield, almost into the out-of-bounds zone, where a small group was playing a game of the human knot.

"How did she know that?" Nolan asked as Willow raced toward first base and Andy's team scrambled to get the ball.

"Insane, right?" Nora said. "It's like the girl has a Bible shoved into her head."

Willow reached and zoomed past second base.

"Is there a way for someone to do that? Shove information into someone's head?" she continued. "If so, I need to find them so they can put all my schoolbooks in there so I never have to study again."

"Maybe Google will help us find them."

She grinned.

Willow reached home base and thrust her fist in the air to the backdrop of her team's whoops and hollers. Nora clapped along with the rest of them, cupping her hands to add strength to her cheer, as though Willow had won a legitimate tournament rather than a round of Bible baseball.

"Youth group isn't half bad," Nolan said.

"Really?" she asked. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Does that mean you'd consider coming back?"

He didn't answer, his eyes on the game as the next player stepped up to home plate. But Nora didn't need a response.

✝

Nora inched her way into the house, willing the hinges not to creak.

That was the worst thing about living in an old farmhouse: the creaking. Just the threat of it made her heart thunder, which only served to stress her out even more—what if he could hear it? What if, because of her loud heart, she wouldn't be able to hear him shifting out of his recliner and dragging his feet toward the foyer?

As she tiptoed through the foyer and up the stairs, she held her guitar case close to her chest and strained to hear any sign of movement besides the soft padding of her sneakers on hardwood. Nothing. Not even a slurred comment at the TV. Had he gone to his room already? Had he left the house, forgetting to turn off the TV?

If he's home, please let me get to my room without him noticing. Please, please, please. Please don't let him come to my room.

She winced. Even though she knew, in theory, that God heard every prayer and was able to deal with them all at once—because He was, you know, God—she always fought a twinge of panic when her racing mind requested more than one thing at once. What if she'd asked for too much?

She reached the landing and crept down the hall. Her dad's door was closed. No sign of life.

She paused. He's not...

She closed her eyes. She was just being dramatic. He wasn't dead.

"You idiot!"

She flinched and then froze, caught by fear and relief. See? Not dead. And, from the sounds of it, he was downstairs.

She let out a soft breath of air and continued down the hall. Her room was so close. Just a few more feet...

She closed her door softly behind her and pressed herself against it. Thank You.

She flicked on her light, set her guitar case on the floor in front of her bed, and grabbed her pajamas. She made it. She was okay.

But no sooner had she changed into them and dropped into her bed, phone in hand, when a series of sharp, staggered creaks erupted from the hall.

"Nora!" her dad shouted.

No.

She flung herself out of bed, raced over to her light, and swiped off the switch. Darkness flooded the room as she dove into bed and threw the covers over her head. Please make him go away. Please, please, please.

Her heart roared in her ears. Her dad's footsteps, his rage, grew closer...

The door slammed open.

She held her breath. He teetered through the room, and she didn't have to see to know that he was falling and crashing into—or maybe just intentionally hitting—everything he past.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Make him go away. Please, God, make him go away.

She couldn't do this again.

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep your shit out of the way?" he snarled. A harsh crash! and a clattering of materials on the floor. What was that? What was that?

"You're worthless. Do you hear me? Worthless!"

A tear slipped down her cheek. Please, please, please.

"Your mom would agree with me, you know."

She covered her mouth with her hand to block a sob.

"Hey! Listen to me when I'm talking to you, you worthless wife killer!"

He ripped the comforter away, and she shrieked. His face was there. It was right there, with its overwhelming stench and hate-filled eyes. "Dad, please—"

"You killed her!" he screamed. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't call the police right now, you little shit!"

She sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sor—"

"That's not going to bring her back, is it?" He slammed his hand down into her pillow, and she flinched, scrambling to the opposite side of the bed. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "What, you think I'm going to hit you?"

Her lips trembled.

"You're not worth it," he said. He leaned close. "You're. Not. Worth. It."

He stepped back. She sat there, frozen, as he stumbled back through her room. It was only when the door slammed behind him that she collapsed. Her cries shook her entire body, ripped through her throat, her lungs. She wrapped her arms around her aching stomach. Take it out, she begged. Take out the hurt. Please.

Would my mom really think I'm worthless, too?

What did he break?

She scrambled from her bed. She couldn't chance turning her light back on, so she grappled her way through the darkness, wiping her eyes and struggling to banish her tears.

But when her eyes landed on what her dad had shattered, there was no stopping them. "No," she moaned.

She fell to her knees. No, no, no.

A shaky hand unzipped her guitar case, trembling fingers wrapping around her guitar's neck. Pieces of its body scattered the bottom of the bag. The strings darted in all directions.

She pressed a hand to her mouth. Breathe.

But she couldn't. Her guitar was cold and broken and it was broken and it was—

She brought the neck to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.