It Started with Goodbye

It Started with Goodbye

Christina June



Chapter 1


Tatum, they have your license plate on camera. This is as good as it’s going to get.” Mr. Alves stood at the head of the table in the plush conference room.

I stared blankly at him, still trying to process what he was saying. My head was spinning, and it sounded like he was speaking Greek while his cheeks were stuffed full of mashed potatoes.

My stepmother, Belén, poked my shin with the toe of her pointy pump. “Tatum Elsea, Mr. Alves is trying to help you.”

I yelped, even though it didn’t hurt. “You didn’t need to kick me,” I said loudly, making sure my dad, Mr. Alves, and the people in the next office over heard me.

“Tatum,” my dad warned, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Tom, could you please run through the deal again? Tatum, you need to listen. This is your future.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, eyes down, guilted. The temperature in the room seemed to increase with each second that ticked by on the wall clock. I wiped my palms on my skirt.

Mr. Alves cleared his throat. “Right. Here we go again.” He looked at me over his glasses. “You’re expected to confirm the figures seen on the security camera at four thirty-seven p.m. on June ninth, exiting Mason’s Department Store.” He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and glanced down at the paper in his hand. “Ashlyn Zanotti and Chase Massey. Is that correct?”

“Correct,” I said, and checked out my reflection in the table’s polished surface. This was torture.

“The official charge for both is grand larceny, because the total amount stolen exceeds two hundred dollars. Normally in Virginia, you would be charged with the same felony, since you were the driver. However, as you have no record, you’re issuing this statement, and there was no merchandise found on your person or in your car, the commonwealth attorney has agreed to reduce it to a misdemeanor instead.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Belén said. “This is still going to affect your college applications, you know. I was reading on the Focused Parent blog about the impact of criminal charges. You’ll have to disclose it, Tatum.”

It was so typical of her to bring up that ridiculous blog. Just because the author was an “expert” and was on TV all the time did not make him the authority on life. If I’d had the power to take away her voice temporarily, like in The Little Mermaid, I might have used it. I bit the inside of my cheek instead.

“The silver lining is that we can petition to have your record expunged.” Mr. Alves offered me a sad smile, while Belén exhaled the biggest sigh of relief the world has ever heard.

“That’s good,” I said quietly, to the table. At least this snafu wouldn’t follow me forever.

Mr. Alves continued. “Mr. Massey, age nineteen, will obviously be charged as an adult.”

Had I heard that right? I picked my head up. “Um, Mr. Alves, did you say nineteen?”

“Yes,” he said, his glasses sliding lower on his nose. “Why?”

My eyes grew wide. “He told her he was seventeen.”

Belén’s hair rustled against her blouse as she shook her head, no doubt with disappointment over the ineptitude of teenagers, especially that of my best friend, Ashlyn.

“It seems that Mr. Massey did more than falsify his age. He also chose not to disclose his long list of previous offenses.” Mr. Alves flipped through the pages in his hand. “Vandalism, assault, petty theft—it goes on and on.”

“Huh.” I’d always known Chase wasn’t good boyfriend material, for sure not good enough for Ashlyn, and his finer points were sadly the reason I found myself in what the commonwealth attorney wanted to call “the getaway car” that fun-filled afternoon. But a repeat offender? For Ashlyn’s sake, I’d tried my best to look past the scruff on his face, the ink peeking from beneath his sleeves, and the way he leered at me when Ashlyn’s back was turned. And for my trouble, for trying to watch out for her, it landed me here, in this uncomfortable wooden seat, between my dad and the stepmonster, facing completely ridiculous, unnecessary charges.

“These are the people she’s keeping company with?” Belén sat up straighter and eyed my dad from over my head. Not only was she pretty, if you liked robotic, she was tall and often used that to her advantage when she wanted to remind all of us that she was in charge.

“I didn’t know, all right?” I protested. “I hope you realize I wouldn’t have been spending time with a criminal if I’d been aware of that piece of information.”

My dad and Belén exchanged another look I interpreted as skepticism. I was sure that any trust I had earned over sixteen years of being Dad’s daughter and eight years as Belén’s stepdaughter went right out the window the second the security guard came charging out of Mason’s after Chase and Ashlyn, but still, I thought they knew me better. Clearly, I thought wrong.

Dad patted me on the shoulder to remind me that this wasn’t the time to argue. I sighed as Mr. Alves called for his secretary to come in and take down my statement. A young redhead sat down next to Mr. Alves with a laptop, and started typing as soon as I began speaking.

“Well, after school that day, Ashlyn had told me she wanted to go to Mason’s to get a new pair of flip-flops and some nail polish.” The weather was finally warm enough to wear sandals and short skirts, and Ashlyn wouldn’t be caught dead with bare toes. “She let me know on our way to the parking lot that Chase was coming, which ticked me off.”

“Be polite, Tatum.” Belén narrowed her eyes in disapproval.

I sighed and rested my chin in my hand. “I drove because I knew that if I was the one with the wheels, I could make sure we weren’t there all day. The less time I spent with Chase, the better.” When Ashlyn and I got to my car—the sensible navy hybrid I shared with my stepsister, Tilly, on weekends—Chase’s hulking frame was leaning against my trunk. A cigarette dangled between two fingers, smoke curling upward. I wrinkled my nose, not just at the nasty smell but at Chase himself.

“So is it accurate that you questioned Mr. Massey’s character right from the beginning of his relationship with Miss Zanotti?” Mr. Alves gestured to the redhead to make sure she got that.

Christina June's books