Book 1: You're the Best of Me

Josephine

Prom night was supposed to be magical. The kind of evening people tucked away in their hearts and remembered for the rest of their lives.

Instead, I was losing a battle with one stubborn curl.

It refused to stay where I wanted it, springing free every time I smoothed it into place, as though it had declared a personal rebellion against me.

After the fifth attempt, I surrendered with an exasperated sigh.

Maybe perfection simply wasn’t in the cards tonight.

Gathering my chestnut-brown hair into an effortless-looking updo, I left a few soft wisps to frame my face before twisting the rest into a low bun at the nape of my neck. The overlapping sections created delicate layers that looked far more complicated than they had actually been to make.

Taking a steadying breath, I finally looked up.

For a long moment...

I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

At five-foot-seven and two hundred pounds, mirrors had never been, especially kind. They never let me forget the things I spent so much of my life trying not to notice. Every curve. Every softness. Every insecurity reflected back with merciless honesty.

But tonight...

Tonight felt different.

The cerulean gown didn’t hide my body.

It honored it.

Its elegant tailoring embraced every curve with quiet confidence, while my softly pinned hair and carefully blended makeup completed a version of myself I had almost forgotten was possible.

She looked...

beautiful.

The thought startled me.

I wasn’t sure I believed it.

But for the first time in a very long while...

I wanted to.

Turning slowly, I watched the skirt bloom around me.

The asymmetrical neckline swept gracefully across one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Soft pleats gathered across the fitted bodice before flowing into a sculpted waistband, where long panels of fabric drifted effortlessly with every movement.

There were no sparkling crystals.

No elaborate embroidery.

Mom and I had chosen a dress that relied on craftsmanship instead of decoration. Its beauty wasn’t found in glitter.

It lived in movement.

Graceful.

Timeless.

Almost weightless.

For years, I’d searched mirrors for flaws.

Tonight...

I found something else.

Possibility.

A shy smile escaped before I quickly looked away, almost embarrassed to have caught myself admiring my own reflection.

Excitement fluttered through my chest, tangling with nerves until I could no longer tell them apart.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Josephine Copeland!” my mother called from downstairs. “Get your cute butt in here!”

A laugh slipped free.

“I’ll be right there, Mama!”

Fastening the straps of my heels, I hurried downstairs.

With every step, my heartbeat grew louder.

My palms suddenly felt damp against the satin of my gown.

Halfway down the staircase, I wondered if everyone in the house could hear it.

Then...

I saw him.

The rest of the world quietly disappeared.

My eyes found my prom date, and for one impossible heartbeat, I couldn’t quite believe he was standing there waiting for me.

Jason Krupp.

Regatta champion.

Captain of the hockey team.

Student Body President.

The boy every girl at St. Andrews knew by name.

Yet none of those titles came to mind when I looked at him.

He wasn’t the school’s golden boy.

He wasn’t the captain.

He wasn’t the champion.

He was simply...

Jase.

My best friend.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored black Armani suit that seemed made just for him. A crisp white shirt and slim black tie completed the look with effortless elegance.

His dark hair had already escaped whatever attempt he’d made to tame it, a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

I secretly liked that better.

It made him look less like the boy everyone admired...

and more like the Jase who had been by my side since we were eight years old.

Behind his back, he was hiding something.

A corsage.

Or at least he thought he was.

Jason crossed the room until only a breath separated us.

Neither of us spoke.

We never really needed to.

His hand rose slowly, his fingertips brushing my cheek with a tenderness that stole every coherent thought from my mind.

Warmth blossomed beneath his touch, spreading all the way to my ears.

His gray-green eyes searched mine.

Then, so quietly it felt like the words belonged only to us, he whispered,

“You’re breathtaking, Jojo.”

My heart forgot how to beat.

Every cruel thought I’d ever believed about myself...

Every insecurity I’d carried for years...

Every fear that I would never be enough...

Melted beneath the certainty in his eyes.

And for one impossibly fragile...

impossibly beautiful...

moment...

I believed him.

If I had known what tomorrow would bring...

I would have held on to that moment just a little longer.

Jason

Standing in the Copelands’ foyer, my eyes drifted to the sweeping oval staircase that spiraled through the heart of the house. Majestic white balustrades curved gracefully around each landing while a polished black mahogany handrail wound upward like a ribbon, disappearing beneath the skylight several stories above.

I’d seen that staircase hundreds of times.

It still managed to steal my attention.

Maybe it wasn’t the architecture anymore.

Maybe it was the memories.

Jojo and I had spent half our childhood ignoring every lecture from our parents by sliding down those glossy handrails, laughing until one of us inevitably landed in an undignified heap on the marble floor.

Josephine once told me the estate had belonged to her grandmother before her mother inherited everything. The house. The grounds. Even the priceless artwork that lined nearly every wall.

It suited her family.

Elegant without ever needing to announce it.

My gaze lingered on the staircase, carrying me back to the day she moved from Queens.

I was eight when the moving truck rolled into the neighborhood.

The movers had barely lowered the ramp before a girl in ripped jeans, a faded One Direction T-shirt, and an expression that dared the entire world to bother her jumped down carrying a battered bicycle that looked almost as stubborn as she did.

I’d lived in Beacon Hill my whole life.

That afternoon, I was coasting down the sidewalk on my skateboard when fate decided we’d meet the hard way.

Neither of us saw the other.

We collided so hard we both ended up sprawled across the pavement.

I was already apologizing when she glared at me like I’d personally ruined her entire day.

She dusted off her jeans, grabbed her bike without a word, and marched away.

I remember sitting there thinking...

Well... she’s terrifying.

The next afternoon, she wandered over to the neighborhood basketball court.

I figured she’d watch us play.

Instead...

She dismantled every ounce of confidence we had.

The second the basketball touched her hands, everything changed.

Jumpers.

Crossovers.

No-look passes through impossible openings.

By sunset, every one of us had been humbled.

My ego never really recovered.

Somehow...

My best friend did.

I’d dated other girls over the years.

Homecoming dates.

Movie dates.

Even a few relationships everyone at school assumed were serious.

None of them ever really knew me.

Jojo did.

She knew the version of me the rest of the world never saw.

The one who woke at three in the morning because another panic attack convinced him he couldn’t breathe.

The one who could stand before thousands of cheering spectators during a championship game...

yet hesitate before walking into a crowded room alone.

She never tried to fix me.

She never looked at me with pity.

She simply sat beside me.

Sometimes we’d talk.

Sometimes we wouldn’t.

She’d stay until my breathing matched hers again.

Somehow...

she always knew exactly how long that would take.

“Here she is!”

Mrs. Ophelia Ashford-Copeland’s voice pulled me back to the present.

I looked toward the staircase.

And promptly forgot how breathing worked.

Josephine stood beneath the skylight, framed by late afternoon light cascading through the glass above.

She smiled the instant our eyes met.

Then gathered the skirt of her cerulean gown and hurried downstairs with the same excitement she’d had ever since we were kids.

“Jase!” she squealed. “We’re really going to prom!”

Before I could answer, she launched herself into my arms.

I caught her on instinct, lifting her clear off the floor as we both laughed.

“Yeah,” I said.

“We’re really going to prom.”

Jojo had spent years believing people noticed her weight before anything else.

What she’d never understood...

was that I’d always noticed everything else first.

Her smile.

The dimple that appeared only on her left cheek.

The way she laughed without checking whether anyone else was laughing too.

The kindness she gave away so freely that most people never realized how rare it was.

And tonight...

She was breathtaking.

Behind my back, I tightened my grip on the corsage Mom had helped me choose.

“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve got something for you.”

I brought it into view.

Three ivory roses.

Blush spray roses.

Baby’s breath.

Eucalyptus.

Champagne ribbon.

The moment she saw it...

her entire face unraveled.

Her eyes shimmered.

She laughed.

Then looked seconds away from crying.

Only Jojo could cycle through five emotions before I’d even managed to slip the corsage onto her wrist.

“Don’t you dare cry before we leave,” I teased.

“I’m not crying,” she insisted, blinking furiously.

“You literally are.”

“It’s allergies.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“To flowers?”

“They’re... emotional allergies.”

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the corsage.

There had never been any question.

We were always going together.

It was simply what we’d always planned.

As I fastened the satin ribbon around her wrist, Mr. Frederick Copeland barreled into the foyer carrying his mirrorless camera like a war correspondent arriving at the front lines. At six-foot-five, the former NBA player somehow managed to be both intimidating and one of the gentlest man I’d ever known. The shutter erupted.

Click.

Click.

Click-click-click-click.

He photographed the corsage.

The hug.

Jojo pretending she wasn’t crying.

Me pretending I wasn’t laughing.

Every awkward, perfect second in between.

Judging by the grin on his face, he would’ve happily kept shooting until sunrise if Mama Ophelia hadn’t finally shooed us toward the front door before we ended up late for prom.

At the time...

I thought we were preserving the beginning of one of the happiest nights of our lives.

I didn’t know we were also preserving the last moments before everything changed.