Chapter 1

On this brisk October day, I should have relished the honor being bestowed upon me. So why wasn’t I leaping from my chair with both arms reaching for the heavens, pumping my fists in victory like an Olympian gold medalist standing tall on the middle podium? Why? Because that outgoing, confident girl was nothing like me. The reserved me sat on a folding chair in front of the entrance to City Hall with my shoulders slumped, chin on my chest, heart thumping, and my sweaty hands wringing in my lap on top of the dark blue dress that draped over my tightly pressed knees.

To my mortification, standing on my right, the mayor continued his animated speech from behind the lectern. “Miss Gallo is the quintessential citizen. And, my God, only eighteen years old.”

I cringed at his use of the Lord’s name in vain.

“She graduated our beloved Central High School earlier this year,” the mayor continued. “An A student, Emily found time to help the needy in town, from helping those with unexpected medical hardships to children in need of supervision or companionship. Father Nico even praised her for helping out at his church’s Sunday school.”

The pregnant silence that followed forced me to look up. The mayor was grinning at me.

“So with great honor,” the mayor said, “I am presenting the town’s highest honor to Miss Emily Gallo. It may not be the Presidential Medal of Freedom, but Miss Gallo’s exemplary contributions to our little town earned her the Citizen’s Award she is being given. Emily, please come here.”

The large crowd in front of City Hall stood as one and a thunderous applause erupted. My cheeks flushed bright red as I stood and plodded toward the mayor as if a hangman’s noose awaited. When I covered the short distance, the mayor whispered for me to turn around. I did and he lifted the red, white, and blue ribbon with the medal dangling on it over my head. I lowered the raised collar of my jacket, tilted my head forward, and lifted my shoulder-length brown hair off the back of my neck. He fastened the ribbon clasp and patted my shoulder.

“Speech! Speech!” people shouted from the crowd.

Nausea overwhelmed me. Although a great student, my one and only C+ was given to me by my Speech teacher. And I think she had been generous. Large groups intimidated me. Small groups intimidated me. It intimidated me whenever I was the center of attention. My mother had drilled into me my entire life that pride was a sin. That I should be humble, unassuming, modest. That had turned me into a wallflower. I subconsciously smoothed my long bangs, making sure they covered the thick scar on my forehead. But I didn’t move, not until the mayor placed both hands on my shoulders and nudged me behind the lectern.

The crowd burst into laughter. At 5’6” and being four steps higher than the audience, I was now mostly hidden to them. I couldn’t move. The urge to vomit was strong. The only reason I was able to hold it back was because of the traumatic embarrassment I had suffered in Speech class. It had been one of my first speeches and, as I stood in front of the class, the fear and anxiety went right to my belly. I doubled over and leaned on the front of Tara Wilson’s desk. And then I couldn’t stop the volcanic eruption, spewing vomit into Tara’s face. Into her wide, startled eyes and open, gasping mouth. In her hair, face, and the front of her blouse, leaving a puddle of puke on her lap. To this day, Tara hadn’t spoken to me even once. Who could blame her? That Speech class had been right after lunch period.

The mayor laughed and dragged me out from behind the lectern. It was broad daylight, but it was as if someone had shined a spotlight on me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide until there was no one remaining in the town square. Maybe in the town. I opened my mouth to talk. Nothing came out. It was parched. I made saliva and swallowed while the delay made me even more nervous. It was better when the crowd was laughing at me. Now they were staring at me. Gawking. I felt like a freak. Finally, my throat relaxed and words came forth.