Sarah johnson's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Sarah Johnson had read two hundred love stories and lived none of them. She sat on the front steps of her blue mansion, a dog-eared paperback open on her knees. The hero was about to kiss the heroine in the rain. Sarah pressed her thumb against the page and sighed. She was twenty-three. She had a braid with red at the tip, freckles, and a heart stuffed full of other people's romances. What she did not have was anyone to kiss in the rain. She knew every face on this block. The mail carrier. The old woman with three cats. None of them made her stomach flip the way the books promised. That was the trouble. You could not fall into a great love when there was no one to fall toward. "You dropped this," a voice said. Sarah looked up. A boy she had never seen held her bookmark between two fingers. Dark hair, green eyes, a grin that tilted too far to one side. It was the silk ribbon her mother gave her. It must have slipped from the pages. "That's mine," she said, and reached for it. He pulled it back an inch. "Prove it. What page were you on?" Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Two hundred and twelve. The rain scene. Now hand it over." He laughed. The sound burst out of him, loud and snorting, like a pig. He clapped a hand over his mouth, then gave up and let it come. Sarah felt her own mouth twitch. "Jake," he said, dropping the ribbon in her palm. "I just moved in. Two houses down. I knocked on the wrong door looking for someone, saw this on your step, and figured I'd make myself useful." "Sarah." She closed her fingers around the ribbon. His blush sat high on his cheeks, bright and permanent. He had freckles too. "Two hundred and twelve," Jake repeated. "You read these for fun?" "I read them because real life never does this." She lifted the book. "Nobody stands in the rain here." "Bet I could run faster to the corner than you," he said, out of nowhere. Sarah blinked. "What?" "You look like someone who hates losing." He pointed down the walk. "First one to the mailbox." She should have said no. Instead she stood, kicked off one shoe, and bolted. Jake yelped and chased. She reached the mailbox first and slapped it, laughing, breath ragged. He arrived a step behind, snorting that ridiculous laugh again. "Rematch tomorrow," he said. Tomorrow. Sarah's heart did the thing. The thing from page two hundred and twelve. It had never once done that for the mail carrier. She tucked the ribbon into her pocket and looked at this stranger who already knew she hated losing. The block was not empty anymore. For the first time, there was someone to fall toward — and she had no idea what to do about it.