Meet Me in the Blue

Copyright 2022 A.M. Johnson Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, and song titles contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders. The author concedes to the trademarked status and trademark owners of the products and franchises mentioned in this fiction novel and recognizes that they have been used without permission. The use and publication of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental. Editing and Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Publishing Proofing: Kathleen Payne, Payne Proofing Formatting Cover Design: Kate Farlow, Y’all That Graphic Cover photo/model: Chip Pons Dedication Epigraph Content Warning Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Epilogue Author's Note Playlist Acknowledgments Other Books by A.M. Johnson For Kristy Because you understand, and I love you for it. “Or if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing, Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip, Carry me when you go forth over land or sea; For thus merely touching you is enough, is best, And thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried eternally.” Walt Whitman, “Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand” from Leaves of Grass CONTENT WARNING Grief, death of parent. LUKA The Beginning 9 years old BLADES OF GRASS ITCHED at my skin while the salty pine-scented air pinched at my nose. It was too quiet here. Even though we were still in Washington, I missed my city. I didn’t care that Mom had said it was dirty and dangerous. I lay in my front yard, hoping for sun and noise as goose bumps ran across my arm. I guess I should have been happy it hadn’t rained all week, but the soil was damp enough it seeped into my shirt and jeans anyway. If we were still in Seattle, I’d be with Mika and Alistair riding scooters at Centennial Park, not dying a slow death in my front yard. Could you die from boredom? I exhaled and closed my eyes, resolved to ask Dad about the percentage of people who died of boredom every year. After a few minutes, a cloud decided to block the sun, and I opened my eyes with a quiet gasp. A strange boy stared down at me with giant brown eyes. “Who are you?” I asked, annoyed at the dumb look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or about to cry. “Rook,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “I live next door.” “What kind of name is Rook?” He shrugged and rubbed his hands over his shirt as I sat up to get a better look at him. His skin looked soft, the brown color of it almost matched his eyes. I didn’t know if thinking a boy’s skin looked soft was a normal thing to think, but I didn’t care. He was the one staring at me like a weirdo. “My dad likes chess,” he said, but his eyebrows dipped like he wasn’t sure what he said was true. “Or maybe the letter R? My brother’s name is Reese.” “My little sister’s name is Nora.” Rook nodded, his curious brows furrowing, like I’d said something important as I stood. “What’s your name?” “Luka.” I scratched at my skin, and he stared at my arms. My skin was pale compared to his and spotted with pink lines and dots of dirt. “I think I’m allergic to Hemlock Harbor.” His smile was sideways as he snorted. “Or maybe the grass. You should ask my daddy, he’s a doctor.” “So is mine.” We had a silent standoff until he ran his hand over his neatly clipped hair. “Guess that’s one thing we got in common then.” He glanced over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, my mom said I’m not supposed to go into the woods by myself…” He kicked at the ground with the toe of his sneaker, his knobby knees sticking out on his long legs. “You think… well, maybe would you—” “Sure,” I said, too eager. Swallowing, I found my voice again. “I mean if you’re inviting me, yeah?” His smile made my stomach do a somersault, and I couldn’t understand why. I blamed the strange tofu stuff Mom had made for lunch. “Yeah, come on… it’s kind of spooky and dark, but if you’re not scared, I can show you the old fort I found. “Old fort?” “Yeah… it’s run down, but I like to read in there sometimes, when my mom isn’t home. Dad doesn’t care if I go into the woods alone.” He puffed out his chest and it made me want to stand taller. “Sounds cool,” I managed to say. “I should ask my mom.” “Oh yeah, me too.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Be right back.” I headed into my house, ignoring my little sister as she ran after me. My mom was in the kitchen, mixing what looked like juice in a glass pitcher. “Thirsty?” she asked, and I shook my head. “The boy next door asked if I could play. Is that okay?” “Dr. Whelan’s son?” she asked, smiling big enough I felt bad for being mean to her this morning about