The Locket by Stacey Jay Page A

Mitch off, but I could tell he wasn’t really mad.
    “Mitch is right. If I’d known, I would have given you my crown at homecoming last year,” I said, still laughing so hard I could barely form the words.
    “I’ll get you later, girl. You just wait.” Isaac’s threat was accompanied by a heated look that made my pulse pick up. I sincerely hoped he’d “get me” later, preferably as soon as Mitch dropped us off at my house and we could sneak up to my room while my parents were watching TiVoed episodes of Iron Chef .
    “Homecoming’s only a couple of weeks away,” Mitch said. “You know you two are going to be king and queen again. It’s not too late for Isaac to show the rest of the senior class how to sparkle.”
    “I think Katie does a better job of sparkling,” Isaac said with a sincerity that made me blush. “You looked awesome last year.”
    “She was awesome in the play last night,” Mitch said. “You should have seen her. I was shocked. I thought she was going to suck.”
    “Thanks, Mitch.” I forced a laugh, shrugging off the apprehension clutching at the back of my throat. The conversation was similar to the one Mitch and I had at the original cast party. So what? It didn’t have to mean anything.
    “No, you were good. You really were.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I’m not going to miss another one,” Isaac said. “Next time you get to go onstage, I’ll be there, I promise.” His smile made me smile, but I couldn’t help but think that there wouldn’t be a “next time.”
    I’d been at the understudy stuff since freshman year and only had to fill in one time. The spring musical was the last play left before Isaac graduated, and I highly doubted he’d have time to come home from college to see me perform even if I managed to land a full-fledged speaking part of my own my senior year.
    But, whatever. It didn’t matter. Isaac and I were together. That was the most important thing, the only important thing.
    “What a beautiful day,” I said, turning my attention to brighter thoughts.
    The view from the bridge was one of my favorites. Nashville’s skyline stood out in crisp relief against a perfect blue sky while the Cumberland River rolled slowly by, reflecting the antenna of the Sommet Center, where Isaac had taken me to a Predators game last February. He loved hockey. I loved popcorn and giant hot dogs and the excitement of screaming along with the crowd, so it all worked out.
    “We should come back and do this again,” Mitch said. “I forgot how much I love riding bikes.”
    “Remember when we rode our bikes across the highway to get McDonald’s ice cream in third grade?” I asked, the memory sending a shiver across my skin even now. Our parents had nearly killed us. Dead. I’d never seen my dad so mad. “I thought we were going to be grounded forever.”
    “That was all you, Minnesota.” Mitch shook his head at me. “That was your big idea.”
    “It was not, it was Isaac! It was always Isaac,” I protested. Isaac had gone out of his way to get us in trouble as kids, his daredevil nature inspiring Mitch and me to heights of bravery and stupidity we never would have achieved on our own.
    Isaac was the one who dared us to sneak into the old mill when it was still condemned, instigated a race across the deep end of the pool when all three of us could barely swim, and had to call the fire department when he’d talked me into climbing out on his roof and I’d been too scared to climb back in. Isaac had been trouble when we were little, but Mitch and I had loved him for it. Without him, our play adventures wouldn’t have been nearly as exhilarating.
    “Not that time,” Mitch said. “It was you who had to have ice cream at ten in the morning.”
    “Yeah, it was totally you,” Isaac agreed. “Remember, you already had your piggy bank in your backpack when you showed up at my house.”
    “Then we had to break the bank when we got to McDonald’s to pay for the ice cream,