Page 1 of Just for the Plot

PROLOGUE

BENNETT

Bennett—Sixteen years old

“Bennett, hurry up.” Gabby, mybig sister, bangs on the bathroom door. “Bower will be here any second and I don’t want you in the shower when she arrives.”

I open the door, startling her so much that her hand falls to her chest.

“What’s the big deal? She’s just your friend,” I reply, trying not to act like the annoyed sixteen-year-old that I am, because my sister takes care of me. She makes sure there’s a roof over our heads—even if it’s a one-bedroom apartment that we share—and despite the toll on her, she brought us closer to Almond Bay so I have a better chance of getting scouted for baseball.Yes, I’m grateful. But she’s still annoying me right now.Hence the rant.

“I know, but this is the first time she’s going to be at our place since we’ve moved, and well, I don’t need your scrawny body waltzing out in a towel.”

I glance down at my jeans and T-shirt and then back up at my sister. “Not naked.”

“I can see that, thank you.”

Bower has been friends with Gabby for almost a year now, but because of their schedules, including school, I’ve never met her, only heard abouther.

I know she’s funny.

She cares for my sister.

And that her dad is the manager at the Olive Garden they both work at, and if Gabby asks for it, she’s always given overtime, because Bower’s family understands our situation.

Foster kids growing up until Gabby turned eighteen, when she pulled me out of the system with her, begging our foster parents to let us, even swearing they could keep the government assistance, just notto botherus.

Still don’t know how she was able to do that, but now we’re out on our own. My job is to train while she works to pay our bills. And there are months when all we eat is leftover soup from Olive Garden that’s going to be thrown out along with stale breadsticks, but we make the most of it.

Now that I’m sixteen and she’s twenty-four, we have a system that works for us. A system that keeps us out of trouble, that keeps us together, and that will lift me into a position to make the most of our dreams.

Gabby glances around our small, five-hundred-square-foot apartment. “Should I vacuum again?”

“No.” I groan as I move past her. “She’s your friend. I don’t think she’s going to care that you vacuumed twice before she arrived.”

“I know, you’re right, but her family has been so supportive of us. I just want her to know that we’re okay.”

“She will know,” I say as I flop back on the couch, the smell of Gabby’s Crock-Pot chicken making my stomach ache. It’s rare when she buys chicken because it’s so expensive, but when she does, I devour it, especially since it’s a far cry from the barely buttered noodles or soup we usually eat.

Knock. Knock.

Gabby’s eyes fly to the door and then back to me. Whispering, she says, “That’s her. Be nice.”

“As if I wouldn’t.” I roll my eyes while she answers the door. If anything, if it’s important to my sister, then it’s important to me.

“Gabby,” a sweet but excited voice sounds through the apartment. “Oh my God, this place is so cute.”

“Thank you. It was a good find after, well, you know…”

After Gabby had to live in a car for a week while I stayed with a friend because her abusive boyfriend hit her in the head with a bottle, but you know, we’re not talking about that anymore.

My fingers curl into the cushion of the couch as I attempt to regulate the anger that’s still simmering in the pit of my stomach from that situation. I can’t think about it or I might just take retribution.

“Oh, you must be Bennett.”

I glance up, my eyes focusing on the drop-dead gorgeous girl in front of me.

Holy.