We Were Beautiful

It's been a year since fifteen-year-old Mia Hopkins was in the car crash that killed her older sister and left her terribly scarred. The doctors tell her she was lucky to survive. Her therapist says it will take time to heal. The police reports claim there were trace amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. But no matter how much she tries to reconstruct the events of that fateful night, Mia's memory is spotty at best. She's left with accusations, rumors, and guilt so powerful it could consume he

It's been a year since fifteen-year-old Mia Hopkins was in the car crash that killed her older sister and left her terribly scarred. The doctors tell her she was lucky to survive. Her therapist says it will take time to heal. The police reports claim there were trace amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. But no matter how much she tries to reconstruct the events of that fateful night, Mia's memory is spotty at best. She's left with accusations, rumors, and guilt so powerful it could consume her.

As the rest of Mia's family struggles with their own grief, Mia is sent to New York City to spend the summer with a grandmother she's never met. All Mia wants to do is hide from the world, but instead she's stuck with a summer job in the bustling kitchens of the cafe down the street. There she meets Fig--blue-haired, friendly, and vivacious--who takes Mia under her wing. As Mia gets to know Fig and her friends--including Cooper, the artistic boy who is always on Mia's mind--she realizes that she's not the only one with a painful past.

Over the summer, Mia begins to learn that redemption isn't as impossible as she once thought, but her scars inside run deep and aren't nearly so simple to heal ... especially when Mia finally pieces together her memories of the night Rachel died.

I stood on the porch, my arms wrapped around myself, trying to stop the shivering. It wasn't the cold--the weather was unseasonably warm for May. It was the remaining loon calling from across the lake. They mate for life. I remember my mother telling Rachel and me that when we were young. That night, after my father went to sleep, I sat on the deck, listening as I had ever since my mother left. Listening to the loon call again and again. Every night, I sat out there, listening. The long, mournful sound would echo across the lake and raise goose bumps on my arms.

But one night I sat until all the color had faded from the sky, until the bats stopped swooping toward the water trying to catch their fill of mosquitoes. I sat there long after my father came out to tuck a blanket around me, pausing for a moment with his hand on my shoulder before stepping back inside and pulling the screen door shut behind him. I sat there until I could see my breath, and the only noises were the sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind and the distant sound of a dog barking. But no call ever came. I'm not sure which was worse: the sorrowful calls or the silence. As long as she was calling, she had hope. The silence was heavy with despair.