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The Last Song

By Sparks, Nicholas

Grand Central Publishing

Prologue

Ronnie

Staring out the bedroom window, Ronnie wondered whether Pastor Harris was already at the church. She assumed that he was, and as she watched the waves breaking over the beach, she questioned whether he was still able to notice the play of light as it streamed through the stained-glass window above him. Perhaps not-the window had been installed more than a month ago, after all, and he was probably too preoccupied to notice anymore. Still, she hoped that someone new in town had stumbled into the church this morning and experienced the same sense of wonder she'd had when she'd first seen the light flood the church on that cold day in November. And she hoped the visitor had taken some time to consider where the window had come from and to admire its beauty.

She'd been awake for an hour, but she wasn't ready to face the day. The holidays felt different this year. Yesterday, she'd taken her younger brother, Jonah, for a walk down the beach. Here and there were Christmas trees on the decks of the houses they passed. At this time of year, they had the beach pretty much to themselves, but Jonah showed no interest in either the waves or the seagulls that had fascinated him only a few months earlier. Instead, he'd wanted to go to the workshop, and she'd taken him there, although he'd stayed only a few minutes before leaving without saying a single word.

On the bedstand beside her lay a stack of framed photographs from the alcove of the small beach house, along with other items she'd collected that morning. In the silence, she studied them until she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her mom poked her head in.

"Do you want breakfast? I found some cereal in the cupboard."

"I'm not hungry, Mom."

"You need to eat, sweetie."

Ronnie continued to stare at the pile of photos, seeing nothing at all. "I was wrong, Mom. And I don't know what to do now."

"You mean about your dad?"

"About everything."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

When Ronnie didn't answer, her mom crossed the room and sat beside her.

"Sometimes it helps if you talk. You've been so quiet these last couple of days."

For an instant, Ronnie felt a crush of memories overwhelm her: the fire and subsequent rebuilding of the church, the stained-glass window, the song she'd finally finished. She thought about Blaze and Scott and Marcus. She thought about Will. She was eighteen years old and remembering the summer she'd been betrayed, the summer she'd been arrested, the summer she'd fallen in love. It hadn't been so long ago, yet sometimes she felt that she'd been an altogether different person back then.

Ronnie sighed. "What about Jonah?"

"He's not here. Brian took him to the shoe store. He's like a puppy. His feet are growing faster than the rest of him."

Ronnie smiled, but her smile faded as quickly as it had come. In the silence that followed, she felt her mom gather her long hair and twist it into a loose ponytail on her back. Her mom had been doing that ever since Ronnie was a little girl. Strangely, she still found it comforting. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"I'll tell you what," her mom went on. She went to the closet and put the suitcase on the bed. "Why don't you talk while you pack?"

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

"How about at the beginning? Jonah mentioned something about turtles?"

Ronnie crossed her arms, knowing the story hadn't started there. "Not really," she said. "Even though I wasn't there when it happened, I think the summer really began with the fire."

"What fire?"

Ronnie reached for the stack of photographs on the bedstand and gently removed a tattered newspaper article sandwiched between two framed photos. She handed the yellowing newsprint to her mother.

"This fire," she said. "The one at the church."

Illegal Fireworks Suspected in Church Blaze Pastor Injured

Wrightsville Beach, NC-A fire destroyed historic First Baptist Church on New Year's Eve, and investigators suspect illegal fireworks.

Firefighters were summoned by an anonymous caller to the beachfront church just after midnight and found flames and smoke pouring from the back of the structure, said Tim Ryan, chief of the Wrightsville Beach Fire Department. The remains of a bottle rocket, an airborne firework, were found at the source of the blaze.

Pastor Charlie Harris was inside the church when the fire started and suffered second-degree burns to his arms and hands. He was transported to New Hanover Regional Medical Center and is currently in the intensive care unit.

It was the second church fire in as many months in New Hanover County. In November, Good Hope Covenant Church in Wilmington was completely destroyed. "Investigators are still treating it as suspicious, and as a case of potential arson at this point," Ryan noted.

Witnesses report that less than twenty minutes before the fire, bottle rockets were seen being launched on the beach behind the church, likely in celebration of the New Year. "Bottle rockets are illegal in North Carolina, and are especially dangerous considering the recent drought conditions," cautioned Ryan. "This fire shows the reason why. A man is in the hospital and the church is a total loss."

When her mom finished reading, she looked up, meeting Ronnie's eyes. Ronnie hesitated; then, with a sigh, she began to tell a story that still felt utterly senseless to her, even with the benefit of hindsight.

1

Ronnie
Six months earlier
Ronnie slouched in the front seat of the car, wondering why on earth her mom and dad hated her so much.

It was the only thing that could explain why she was here visiting her dad, in this godforsaken southern armpit of a place, instead of spending time with her friends back home in Manhattan.

Ronnie was so enveloped in misery, it took a second for her to recognize Mozart's Sonata no. 16 in C Major. It was one of the pieces she had performed at Carnegie Hall four years ago, and she knew her mom had put it on while Ronnie was sleeping. Too bad. Ronnie reached over to turn it off.

"Why'd you do that?" her mom said, frowning. "I like hearing you play."

"I don't."

"How about if I turn the volume down?"

"Just stop, Mom. Okay? I'm not in the mood."

Ronnie stared out the window, knowing full well that her mom's lips had just formed a tight seam. Her mom did that a lot these days. It was as if her lips were magnetized.

"I think I saw a pelican when we crossed the bridge to Wrightsville Beach," her mom commented with forced lightness.

"Gee, that's swell. Maybe you should call the Crocodile Hunter."

"He died," Jonah said, his voice floating up from the backseat, the sounds mingling with those from his Game Boy. Her ten-year-old pain-in-the-butt brother was addicted to the thing. "Don't you remember?" he went on. "It was really sad."

"Of course I remember."

"You didn't sound like you remembered."

"Well, I did."

"Then you shouldn't have said what you just said."

She didn't bother to respond a third time. Her brother always needed the last word. It drove her crazy.

"Were you able to get any sleep at all?" her mom asked.

"Until you hit that pothole. Thanks for that, by the way. My head practically went through the glass."

Her mom's gaze remained fixed on the road. "I'm glad to see your nap put you in a better mood."

Ronnie snapped her gum. Her mom hated that, which was the main reason she'd done it pretty much nonstop as they'd driven down I-95. The interstate, in her humble opinion, was just about the most boring stretch of roadway ever conceived. Unless someone was particularly fond of greasy fast food, disgusting rest-stop bathrooms, and zillions of pine trees, it could lull a person to sleep with its hypnotically ugly monotony.

Okay, she wasn't the worst mom. She really wasn't. And when she was feeling generous, Ronnie might even admit that she was pretty good as far as moms went. It was just that her mom was stuck in some weird time warp in which kids never grew up, and Ronnie wished for the hundredth time that she'd been born in May instead of August. That was when she'd turn eighteen, and her mom wouldn't be able to force her to do anything. Legally, she'd be old enough to make her own decisions, and let's just say that coming down here wasn't on her to-do list.

But right now, Ronnie had no choice in the matter. Because she was still seventeen. Because of a trick of the calendar. Because Mom conceived three months earlier than she should have. What was that about? No matter how fiercely Ronnie had begged or complained or screamed or whined about the summer plans, it hadn't made the tiniest bit of difference. Ronnie and Jonah were spending the summer with their dad, and that was final. No if, ands, or buts about it, was the way her mom had phrased it. Ronnie had learned to despise that expression.

Just off the bridge, summer traffic had slowed the line of cars to a crawl. Off to the side, between the houses, Ronnie caught glimpses of the ocean. Yippee. Like she was supposed to care.

"Why again are you making us do this?" Ronnie groaned.

"We've already been through this," her mom answered. "You need to spend time with your dad. He misses you."

"But why all summer? Couldn't it just be for a couple of weeks?"

"You need more than a couple of weeks together. You haven't seen him in three years."

"That's not my fault. He's the one who left."

"Yes, but you haven't taken his calls. And every time he came to New York to see you and Jonah, you ignored him and hung out with your friends."

Ronnie snapped her gum again. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother wince.

"I don't want to see or talk to him," Ronnie said.

"Just try to make the best of it, okay? Your father is a good man and he loves you."

"Is that why he walked out on us?"

Instead of answering, her mom glanced up into the rearview mirror.

"You've been looking forward to this, haven't you, Jonah?"

"Are you kidding? This is going to be great!"

"I'm glad you have a good attitude. Maybe you could teach your sister."

He snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I just don't see why I can't spend the summer with my friends," Ronnie whined, cutting back in. She wasn't done yet. Though she knew the odds were slim to none, she still harbored the fantasy that she could convince her mom to turn the car around.

"Don't you mean you'd rather spend all night at the clubs? I'm not naive, Ronnie. I know what goes on in those kinds of places."

"I don't do anything wrong, Mom."

"What about your grades? And your curfew? And-"

"Can we talk about something else?" Ronnie cut in. "Like why it's so imperative that I spend time with my dad?"

Her mother ignored her. Then again, Ronnie knew she had every reason to. She'd already answered the question a million times, even if Ronnie didn't want to accept it.

Traffic eventually started to move again, and the car moved forward for half a block before coming to another halt. Her mother rolled down the window and tried to peer around the cars in front of her.

"I wonder what's going on," she muttered. "It's really packed down here."

"It's the beach," Jonah volunteered. "It's always crowded at the beach."

"It's three o'clock on a Sunday. It shouldn't be this crowded."

Ronnie tucked her legs up, hating her life. Hating everything about this.

"Hey, Mom?" Jonah asked. "Does Dad know Ronnie was arrested?"

"Yeah. He knows," she answered.

"What's he going to do?"

This time, Ronnie answered. "He won't do anything. All he ever cared about was the piano."

Ronnie hated the piano and swore she'd never play again, a decision even some of her oldest friends thought was strange, since it had been a major part of her life for as long as she'd known them. Her dad, once a teacher at Juilliard, had been her teacher as well, and for a long time, she'd been consumed by the desire not only to play, but to compose original music with her father.

She was good, too. Very good, actually, and because of her father's connection to Juilliard, the administration and teachers there were well aware of her ability. Word slowly began to spread in the obscure "classical music is all-important" grapevine that constituted her father's life. A couple of articles in classical music magazines followed, and a moderately long piece in The New York Times that focused on the father-daughter connection came next, all of which eventually led to a coveted appearance in the Young Performers series at Carnegie Hall four years ago. That, she supposed, was the highlight of her career. And it was a highlight; she wasn't naive about what she'd accomplished. She knew how rare an opportunity like that was, but lately she'd found herself wondering whether the sacrifices had been worth it. No one besides her parents probably even remembered the performance, after all. Or even cared. Ronnie had learned that unless you had a popular video on YouTube or could perform shows in front of thousands, musical ability meant nothing.

Sometimes she wished her father had started her on the electric guitar. Or at the very least, singing lessons. What was she supposed to do with an ability to play the piano? Teach music at the local school? Or play in some hotel lobby while people were checking in? Or chase the hard life her father had? Look where the piano had gotten him. He'd ended up quitting Juilliard so he could hit the road as a concert pianist and found himself playing in rinky-dink venues to audiences that barely filled the first couple of rows. He traveled forty weeks a year, long enough to put a strain on the marriage. Next thing she knew, Mom was yelling all the time and Dad was retreating into his shell like he usually did, until one day he simply didn't return from an extended southern tour. As far as she knew, he wasn't working at all these days. He wasn't even giving private lessons.
How did that work out for you, Dad?
She shook her head. She really didn't want to be here. God knows she wanted nothing to do with any of this.

"Hey, Mom!" Jonah called out. He leaned forward. "What's over there? Is that a Ferris wheel?"

Her mom craned her neck, trying to see around the minivan in the lane beside her. "I think it is, honey," she answered. "There must be a carnival in town."

"Can we go? After we all have dinner together?"

"You'll have to ask your dad."

"Yeah, and maybe afterward, we'll all sit around the campfire and roast marshmallows," Ronnie interjected. "Like we're one big, happy family."

This time, both of them ignored her.

"Do you think they have other rides?" Jonah asked.

"I'm sure they do. And if your dad doesn't want to ride them, I'm sure your sister will go with you."

"Awesome!"

Ronnie sagged in her seat. It figured her mom would suggest something like that. The whole thing was too depressing to believe.

Questions and Explanations for the Prologue and Chapter 1

The questions in this book serve multiple purposes. Not only are they designed to check your comprehension and understanding of The Last Song, but they also encourage you to think critically about the literary text. It's important not only to know what happens in the novel, but also to be able to analyze the text and make connections outside of it. In addition, the questions check your knowledge of essential literary terms and your knowledge of standard grammar and usage rules, as well as your vocabulary. The formats of the questions mirror those found in important standardized tests, such as the ACT and SAT.

You should do your best to answer each question. If you are having difficulty, a detailed explanation to guide your reasoning process is provided after each question. It is designed to teach you how to answer the question rather than just providing you with the correct answer. Reading the explanation will be beneficial even if you are certain of your response; use it to verify that you have the correct response.

The ten questions on the prologue and chapter 1 focus on grammar and usage, vocabulary, literary terms, characterization, and style. Some of the questions combine two or more of these areas, requiring you to synthesize your knowledge, make inferences, and interpret the text. The questions are designed to determine both your current level of understanding of the novel and your ability to answer higher-level questions.

The following sentence tests your ability to recognize grammar and usage errors. The sentence contains either a single error or no error at all. If the sentence contains an error, select the one underlined part that must be changed to make the sentence correct. If there is no error, select choice D.

1.

Ronnie's mother many steps to ensure that her daughter enjoys the summer with her father, not engaging her in verbal sparring during their drive New York to North Carolina.

In order to answer this question correctly, you must be able to understand what is being tested. Choice A tests verb tense, choice B questions the placement of a modifier, and choice C questions the appropriate preposition.

Choice C questions the choice of prepositions. Standard usage has movement occurring from a point of origin to (or toward) the point of destination.

The following two questions test your vocabulary. Choose the word or set of words that, when inserted in the sentence, best fits the meaning of the sentence as a whole.

2.

Ronnie was _______ about not enjoying spending her summer with her father, no matter what her mother and brother said.

In order to select the best word, you not only need to know the definition of the word, but you also need to insert the words into the sentence to make sure the resulting sentence makes sense.

3.

Although Jonah appears _______ to spend time with his father, Ronnie is _______ to even visit him.

Not only do you need to know the words' definitions to answer this question, you also must use both words in the sentence to make sure the resulting sentence makes sense. In addition, notice the clues in the sentence. The word although sets up a contrast; the structure of the sentence indicates that the two words are going to have dissimilar or even opposite meanings.

Question 4 asks you to analyze how an author's choices contribute to the novel's overall structure and meaning.

4.

The last sentence of the prologue, "Ronnie hesitated; then, with a sigh, she began to tell a story that still felt utterly senseless to her, even with the benefit of hindsight," achieves each of the following goals EXCEPT:

First, reread the sentence to see what you notice. The question indicates that three of the four choices are indeed revealed through the sentence.

Choice D is a test of your comprehension. Does the sentence state that Ronnie hasn't had enough time to deal with the events of the summer?

Question 5 tests your comprehension and your ability to use strong and thorough textual evidence to draw an inference from the text.

5.

All of the following contrasts are either mentioned directly or alluded to in the prologue EXCEPT those between:

You should eliminate choice A if both religious and atheistic beliefs are mentioned or alluded to in the prologue. You should eliminate choice B if both summer and winter are mentioned. You should eliminate choice C if a time prior to the current time period is mentioned, and you should eliminate choice D if the prologue refers to correct or incorrect decisions made by the characters. What is not eliminated will be your answer.

Question 6 requires you to make an inference based on textual evidence.

6.

What is the primary purpose of the prologue?

The key word in the question is primary, which means main. Therefore, although many of the choices may be true of the prologue, one of the choices should clearly outweigh the others.

The exposition, choice A, is the background information, which answers all the questions that a reporter asks- who, what, where, when, why, and how? Suspense, choice B, is a situation where more questions are raised than are answered. The goal of building suspense is to entice the reader to keep on reading. The protagonist, choice C, is the main character. Not only should the prologue mention the protagonist, readers should also learn a lot about who the character is and what the character is like. The conflict, choice D, is the main problem or issue of the novel.

Question 7 tests your knowledge of literary terms.

7.

"She'd felt like a prisoner being transferred to a rural penitentiary." Identify the literary term used in this sentence.

Question 8 tests your comprehension and your ability to differentiate among different types of irony.

8.

Ronnie's mother tells her, "I'm glad to see your nap put you in a better mood." This is an example of what type of irony?

A good definition of irony is "a situation where there's a contrast between appearance and reality." In cosmic irony -choice A-no matter what a character does, the world seems to be against him or her. The most famous example of this is the Greek myth of Oedipus, who was fated to grow up and kill his father and marry his mother, no matter what he or anyone else tried to do to prevent this.

In dramatic irony, choice B, the words and actions of the characters have a different meaning for the reader than they do for the characters themselves. This is the result of the reader having more background information than the character does. For example, in Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet, the audience knows that Juliet is not really dead when Romeo discovers her body in the crypt, but he does not, and so he stabs himself.

Situational irony, choice C, is when the outcome is the opposite of what is expected. In Macbeth, Macbeth's misinterpretation of the witches' prophecies is an example of situational irony because he expects their words to mean one thing, but in reality they mean something entirely different.

Verbal irony, choice D, is saying one thing but meaning the opposite. In Julius Caesar, when Mark Antony talks about the conspirators as he stands over the body of dead Caesar, he says, "And Brutus is an honorable man." Clearly, Antony does not think Brutus is really honorable.

Question 9 tests your knowledge of literary terms.

9.

Ronnie bemoans the "zillions of pine trees" that she notices from the car window. Identify the figure of speech used to portray her frustration.

Again, knowledge of literary terms will help you to answer this question. Hyperbole, choice A, is an overexaggeration to make a point. An example would be, "Everyone who reads this learning guide will know what hyperbole is because hyperbole will be explained a bazillion times." A metaphor, choice B, is a comparison between unlike things without using a connective word-For example, "LeBron James is an animal on the basketball court." Onomatopoeia, choice C, is a word that suggests the very sound it describes, such as buzz, sizzle, and boom. Personification, choice D, is giving nonhuman things a human characteristic, such as in "Opportunity knocked on the door."

Question 10 asks you to draw an inference from chapter 1 regarding the development of Ronnie's character.

10.

Based on her words and actions in chapter 1, Ronnie can best be characterized as:

You need to read and understand the chapter to know what Ronnie thinks, says, and does. Then you need to understand the two words for each choice. Remember, both words need to be an accurate description in order for the choice to be considered correct.

2

Steve

Steve Miller played the piano with keyed-up intensity, anticipating his children's arrival at any minute.

The piano was located in a small alcove off the small living room of the beachside bungalow he now called home. Behind him were items that represented his personal history. It wasn't much. Aside from the piano, Kim had been able to pack his belongings into a single box, and it had taken less than half an hour to put everything in place. There was a snapshot of him with his father and mother when he was young, another photo of him playing the piano as a teen. They were mounted between both of the degrees he'd received, one from Chapel Hill and the other from Boston University, and below it was a certificate of appreciation from Juilliard after he'd taught for fifteen years. Near the window were three framed schedules outlining his tour dates. Most important, though, were half a dozen photographs of Jonah and Ronnie, some tacked to the walls or framed and sitting atop the piano, and whenever he looked at them, he was reminded of the fact that despite his best intentions, nothing had turned out the way he'd expected.

The late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, making the interior of the house stuffy, and Steve could feel beads of sweat beginning to form. Thankfully, the pain in his stomach had lessened since the morning, but he'd been nervous for days, and he knew it would come back. He'd always had a weak stomach; in his twenties, he'd had an ulcer and was hospitalized for diverticulitis; in his thirties, he'd had his appendix removed after it had burst while Kim was pregnant with Jonah. He ate Rolaids like candy, he'd been on Nexium for years, and though he knew he could probably eat better and exercise more, he doubted that either would have helped. Stomach problems ran in his family.

His father's death six years ago had changed him, and since the funeral, he'd felt as though he'd been on a count-down of sorts. In a way, he supposed he had. Five years ago, he'd quit his position at Juilliard, and a year after that, he'd decided to try his luck as a concert pianist. Three years ago, he and Kim decided to divorce; less than twelve months later, the tour dates began drying up, until they finally ended completely. Last year, he'd moved back here, to the town where he'd grown up, a place he never thought he'd see again. Now he was about to spend the summer with his children, and though he tried to imagine what the fall would bring once Ronnie and Jonah were back in New York, he knew only that leaves would yellow before turning to red and that in the mornings his breaths would come out in little puffs. He'd long since given up trying to predict the future.

This didn't bother him. He knew predictions were pointless, and besides, he could barely understand the past. These days, all he could say for sure was that he was ordinary in a world that loved the extraordinary, and the realization left him with a vague feeling of disappointment at the life he'd led. But what could he do? Unlike Kim, who'd been outgoing and gregarious, he'd always been more reticent and blended into crowds. Though he had certain talents as a musician and composer, he lacked the charisma or showmanship or whatever it was that made a performer stand out. At times, even he admitted that he'd been more an observer of the world than a participant in it, and in moments of painful honesty, he sometimes believed he was a failure in all that was important. He was forty-eight years old. His marriage had ended, his daughter avoided him, and his son was growing up without him. Thinking back, he knew he had no one to blame but himself, and more than anything, this was what he wanted to know: Was it still possible for someone like him to experience the presence of God?

Ten years ago, he could never have imagined wondering about such a thing. Two years, even. But middle age, he sometimes thought, had made him as reflective as a mirror. Though he'd once believed that the answer lay somehow in the music he created, he suspected now that he'd been mistaken. The more he thought about it, the more he'd come to realize that for him, music had always been a movement away from reality rather than a means of living in it more deeply. He might have experienced passion and catharsis in the works of Tchaikovsky or felt a sense of accomplishment when he'd written sonatas of his own, but he now knew that burying himself in music had less to do with God than a selfish desire to escape.

He now believed that the real answer lay somewhere in the nexus of love he felt for his children, in the ache he experienced when he woke in the quiet house and realized they weren't here. But even then, he knew there was something more.

And somehow, he hoped his children would help him find it.

A few minutes later, Steve noticed the sun reflecting off the windshield of a dusty station wagon outside. He and Kim had purchased it years ago for weekend outings to Costco and family getaways. He wondered in passing if she'd remembered to change the oil before she'd driven down, or even since he'd left. Probably not, he decided. Kim had never been good at things like that, which was why he'd always taken care of them.

But that part of his life was over now.

Steve rose from his seat, and by the time he stepped onto the porch, Jonah was already out of the car and rushing toward him. His hair hadn't been combed, his glasses were crooked, and his arms and legs were as skinny as pencils. Steve felt his throat tighten, reminded again of how much he'd missed in the past three years.

"Dad!"

"Jonah!" Steve shouted back as he crossed the rocky sand that constituted his yard. When Jonah jumped into his arms, it was all he could do to remain upright.

"You've gotten so big," he said.

"And you've gotten smaller!" Jonah said. "You're skinny now."

Steve hugged his son tight before putting him down. "I'm glad you're here."

"I am, too. Mom and Ronnie fought the whole time."

"That's no fun."

"It's okay. I ignored it. Except when I egged them on."

"Ah," Steve responded.

Jonah pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Why didn't Mom let us fly?"

"Did you ask her?"

"No."

"Maybe you should."

"It's not important. I was just wondering."

Steve smiled. He'd forgotten how talkative his son could be.

"Hey, is this your house?"

"That's it."

"This place is awesome!"

Steve wondered if Jonah was serious. The house was anything but awesome. The bungalow was easily the oldest property on Wrightsville Beach and sandwiched between two massive homes that had gone up within the last ten years, making it seem even more diminutive. The paint was peeling, the roof was missing numerous shingles, and the porch was rotting; it wouldn't surprise him if the next decent storm blew it over, which would no doubt please the neighbors. Since he'd moved in, neither family had ever spoken to him.

"You think so?" he said.

"Hello? It's right on the beach. What else could you want?" He motioned toward the ocean. "Can I go check it out?"

"Sure. But be careful. And stay behind the house. Don't wander off."

"Deal."

Steve watched him jog off before turning to see Kim approaching. Ronnie had stepped out of the car as well but was still lingering near it.

"Hi, Kim," he said.

"Steve." She leaned in to give him a brief hug. "You doing okay?" she asked. "You look thin."

"I'm okay."

Behind her, Steve noticed Ronnie slowly making her way toward them. He was struck by how much she'd changed since the last photo Kim had e-mailed. Gone was the all-American girl he remembered, and in her place was a young woman with a purple streak in her long brown hair, black fingernail polish, and dark clothing. Despite the obvious signs of teenage rebellion, he thought again how much she resembled her mother. Good thing, too. She was, he thought, as lovely as ever.

He cleared his throat. "Hi, sweetie. It's good to see you."

When Ronnie didn't answer, Kim scowled at her. "Don't be rude. Your father's talking to you. Say something."

Ronnie crossed her arms. "All right. How about this? I'm not going to play the piano for you."

"Ronnie!" Steve could hear Kim's exasperation.

"What?" She tossed her head. "I thought I'd get that out of the way early."

Before Kim could respond, Steve shook his head. The last thing he wanted was an argument. "It's okay, Kim."

"Yeah, Mom. It's okay," Ronnie said, pouncing. "I need to stretch my legs. I'm going for a walk."

As she stomped away, Steve watched Kim struggle with the impulse to call her back. In the end, though, she said nothing.

"Long drive?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"You can't even imagine it."

He smiled, thinking that for just an instant, it was easy to imagine they were still married, both of them on the same team, both of them still in love.

Except, of course, that they weren't.

After unloading the bags, Steve went to the kitchen, where he tapped ice cubes from the old-fashioned tray and dropped them into the mismatched glasses that had come with the place.

Behind him, he heard Kim enter the kitchen. He reached for a pitcher of sweet tea, poured two glasses, and handed one to her. Outside, Jonah was alternately chasing, and being chased by, the waves as seagulls fluttered overhead.

"It looks like Jonah's having fun," he said.

Kim took a step toward the window. "He's been excited about coming for weeks." She hesitated. "He's missed you."

"I've missed him."

"I know," she said. She took a drink of her tea before glancing around the kitchen. "So this is the place, huh? It's got... character."

"By character, I assume you've noticed the leaky roof and lack of air-conditioning."

Kim flashed a brief smile, caught.

"I know it's not much. But it's quiet and I can watch the sun come up."

"And the church is letting you stay here for free?"

Steve nodded. "It belonged to Carson Johnson. He was a local artist, and when he passed away, he left the house to the church. Pastor Harris is letting me stay until they're ready to sell."

"So what's it like living back home? I mean, your parents used to live, what? Three blocks from here?"

Seven, actually. Close. "It's all right." He shrugged.

"It's so crowded now. The place has really changed since the last time I was here."

"Everything changes," he said. He leaned against the counter, crossing one leg over the other. "So when's the big day?" he asked, changing the subject. "For you and Brian?"

"Steve... about that."

"It's okay," he said, raising a hand. "I'm glad you found someone."

Kim stared at him, clearly wondering whether to accept his words at face value or plunge into sensitive territory.

"In January," she finally said. "And I want you to know that with the kids... Brian doesn't pretend to be someone he isn't. You'd like him."

"I'm sure I would," he said, taking a sip of his tea. He set the glass back down. "How do the kids feel about him?"

"Jonah seems to like him, but Jonah likes everyone."

"And Ronnie?"

"She gets along with him about as well as she gets along with you."

He laughed before noting her worried expression. "How's she really doing?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "And I don't think she does, either. She's in this dark, moody phase. She ignores her curfew, and half the time I can't get more than a 'Whatever' when I try to talk to her. I try to write it off as typical teenage stuff, because I remember what it was like... but..." She shook her head. "You saw the way she was dressed, right? And her hair and that god-awful mascara?"

"Mmm."

"And?"

"It could be worse."

Kim opened her mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, Steve knew he was right. Whatever stage she was going through, whatever Kim's fears, Ronnie was still Ronnie.

"I guess," she conceded, before shaking her head. "No, I know you're right. It's just been so difficult with her lately. There are times she's still as sweet as ever. Like with Jonah. Even though they fight like cats and dogs, she still brings him to the park every weekend. And when he was having trouble in math, she tutored him every night. Which is strange, because she's barely passing any of her classes. And I haven't told you this, but I made her take the SATs in February. She missed every single question. Do you know how smart you have to be to miss every single question?"

When Steve laughed, Kim frowned. "It's not funny."

"It's kind of funny."

"You haven't had to deal with her these last three years."

He paused, chastened. "You're right. I'm sorry." He reached for his glass again. "What did the judge say about her shoplifting?"

"Just what I told you on the phone," she said with a resigned expression. "If she doesn't get into any more trouble, it'll be expunged from her record. If she does it again, though..." She trailed off.

"You're worried about this," he started.

Kim turned away. "It's not the first time, which is the problem," she confessed. "She admitted to stealing the bracelet last year, but this time, she said she was buying a bunch of stuff at the drugstore and couldn't hold it all, so she tucked the lipstick in her pocket. She paid for everything else, and when you see the video, it seems to be an honest mistake, but..."

"But you're not sure."

When Kim didn't answer, Steve shook his head. "She's not on her way to being profiled on America's Most Wanted. She made a mistake. And she's always had a good heart."

"That doesn't mean she's telling the truth now."

"And it doesn't mean she lied, either."

"So you believe her?" Her expression was a mixture of hope and skepticism.

He sifted through his feelings about the incident, as he had a dozen times since Kim had first told him. "Yeah," he said. "I believe her."

"Why?"

"Because she's a good kid."

"How do you know?" she demanded. For the first time, she sounded angry. "The last time you spent any time with her, she was finishing middle school." She turned away from him then, crossing her arms as she gazed out the window. Her voice was bitter when she went on. "You could have come back, you know. You could have taught in New York again. You didn't have to travel around the country, you didn't have to move here... you could have stayed part of their lives."

Her words stung him, and he knew she was right. But it hadn't been that simple, for reasons they both understood, though neither would acknowledge them.

The charged silence passed when Steve eventually cleared his throat. "I was just trying to say that Ronnie knows right from wrong. As much as she asserts her independence, I still believe she's the same person she always was. In the ways that really matter, she hasn't changed."

Before Kim could figure out how or if she should respond to his comment, Jonah burst through the front door, his cheeks flushed.

"Dad! I found a really cool workshop! C'mon! I want to show you!"

Kim raised an eyebrow.

"It's out back," Steve said. "Do you want to see it?"

"It's awesome, Mom!"

Kim turned from Steve to Jonah and back again. "No, that's okay," she said. "That sounds like more of a father and son thing. And besides, I should really be going."

"Already?" Jonah asked.

Steve knew how hard this was going to be for Kim, and he answered for her. "Your mom has a long drive back. And besides, I wanted to take you to the carnival tonight. Could we do that instead?"

Steve watched Jonah's shoulders sink a fraction.

"I guess that's okay," he said.

After Jonah said good-bye to his mom-with Ronnie still nowhere in sight and, according to Kim, unlikely to return soon-Steve and Jonah strolled over to the workshop, a leaning, tin-roofed outbuilding that had come with the property.

For the last three months, Steve had spent most afternoons here, surrounded by assorted junk and small sheets of stained glass that Jonah was now exploring. In the center of the workshop was a large worktable with the beginnings of a stained-glass window, but Jonah seemed far more interested in the weird taxidermy pieces perched on the shelves, the previous owner's specialty. It was hard not to be mesmerized by the half-squirrel/half-bass creature or the opossum's head grafted onto the body of a chicken.

"What is this stuff?" Jonah asked.

"It's supposed to be art."

"I thought art was like paintings and stuff."

"It is. But sometimes art is other things, too."

Jonah wrinkled his nose, staring at the half-rabbit/half-snake. "It doesn't look like art."

When Steve smiled, Jonah motioned to the stained-glass window on the worktable. "Was this his, too?" he asked.

"Actually, that's mine. I'm making it for the church down the street. It burned last year, and the original window was destroyed in the fire."

"I didn't know you could make windows."

"Believe it or not, the artist who used to live here taught me how."

"The guy who did the animals?"

"The same one."

"And you knew him?"

Steve joined his son at the table. "When I was a kid, I'd sneak over here when I was supposed to be in Bible study. He made the stained-glass windows for most of the churches around here. See the picture on the wall?" Steve pointed to a small photograph of the Risen Christ tacked to one of the shelves, easy to miss in the chaos. "Hopefully, it'll look just like that when it's finished."

"Awesome," Jonah said, and Steve smiled. It was obviously Jonah's new favorite word, and he wondered how many times he'd hear it this summer.

"Do you want to help?"

"Can I?"

"I was counting on it." Steve gave him a gentle nudge. "I need a good assistant."

"Is it hard?"

"I was your age when I started, so I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

Jonah gingerly picked up a piece of the glass and examined it, holding it up to the light, his expression serious. "I'm pretty sure I can handle it, too."

Steve smiled. "Are you still going to church?" he asked.

"Yeah. But it's not the same one we went to. It's the one where Brian likes to go. And Ronnie doesn't always come with us. She locks herself in her room and refuses to come out, but as soon as we leave, she goes over to Starbucks to hang out with her friends. It makes Mom furious."

"That happens when kids become teenagers. They test their parents."

Jonah put the glass back on the table. "I won't," he said. "I'm always going to be good. But I don't like the new church very much. It's boring. So I might not go to that one."

"Fair enough." He paused. "I hear you're not playing soccer this fall."

"I'm not very good at it."

"So what? It's fun, right?"

"Not when other kids make fun of you."

"They make fun of you?"

"It's okay. It doesn't bother me."

"Ah," Steve said.

Jonah shuffled his feet, something obviously on his mind. "Ronnie didn't read any of the letters you sent her, Dad. And she won't play the piano anymore, either."

"I know," Steve answered.

"Mom says it's because she has PMS."

Steve almost choked but composed himself quickly. "Do you even know what that means?"

Jonah pushed his glasses up. "I'm not a little kid anymore. It means pissed-at-men syndrome."

Steve laughed, ruffling Jonah's hair. "How about we go find your sister? I think I saw her heading toward the festival."

"Can we ride the Ferris wheel?"

"Whatever you want."

"Awesome."

Questions and Explanations for Chapter 2

The ten questions on chapter 2 focus on grammar and usage, vocabulary, characterization, literary terms, and making inferences. Some of the questions combine two or more of these areas, requiring you to synthesize your knowledge, make inferences, and interpret the text. The questions are designed to determine both your current level of understanding of the novel and your ability to answer higher-level questions.

The following sentence tests your ability to recognize grammar and usage errors. The sentence contains either a single error or no error at all. If the sentence contains an error, select the one underlined part that must be changed to make the sentence correct. If there is no error, select choice D.

1.

Steve's relationship with his children it outlook for the summer.

Although choice A may appear to be referencing the verb and complement (the word that follows the verb and completes the thought), it is actually testing the use of the comma. If both groups of words before the comma and after the comma are complete thoughts and can stand alone as two independent sentences, then a comma by itself is not the correct way to punctuate the compound sentence. Look at the following example: "I read the paper, my wife made dinner." Both groups of words before and after the comma are complete thoughts, so they need to be joined with a semicolon or with a comma and a coordinating conjunction ( and, but, or, for, nor, so, yet). The example should read, "I read the paper, and my wife made dinner," or "I read the paper; my wife made dinner."

Choice C tests your understanding of the homophones their, there, and they're. Their is a possessive pronoun, showing joint ownership, as in, "This is their house." There is an adverb of place-for example, "Put it there." They're is a contraction for they are -for example, "They're going to the beach."

The following two questions test your vocabulary. Choose the word or set of words that, when inserted in the sentence, best fits the meaning of the sentence as a whole.

2.

The tension was _______ as Ronnie walked out of the car and moved toward her father.

3.

The artist who lived in the house _______ Steve left behind some _______ creations, such as an opossum's head attached to a chicken's body.

The first word in choices A and D are obviously incorrect, and you should eliminate both of these choices. In choice B, avant-garde means daring or experimental. In choice C, sanguine means cheerful and optimistic.

Question 4 checks your comprehension and your ability to make inferences.

4.

Details from chapter 2 suggest the piano might be a symbol for all of the following EXCEPT:

A symbol is something that has meaning in and of itself and also stands for something else. An example might be the American flag, which is a piece of fabric with the stars and stripes on it (literally, it is a flag), but the American flag also symbolizes, among other things, democracy, freedom, and the fifty states. In order for something to serve as a symbol, there must be an obvious association with it.

According to the question, three of the four choices must have some logical connection to the piano, or else the piano couldn't serve as a symbol. In order to eliminate choice A, identify the connection Jonah has with the piano. In order to eliminate choice B, determine if Ronnie has a connection to the piano. Likewise, in order to eliminate choice C, you must determine if Steve has a connection to the piano. In order to eliminate choice D, determine if there is any indication that the relationship between Steve and Ronnie has anything to do with the piano.

Question 5 asks you to analyze the impact of specific details on character development and to use textual evidence to support inferences drawn from the text.

5.

Steve's loneliness is illustrated by all of the following EXCEPT:

Based on the question, you know that three of the four choices do illustrate a sense of loneliness. Thus, you must consider how each choice may be related to the topic of loneliness.

In choice A, the pictures by themselves may not indicate loneliness unless you consider what other items exist in Steve's house and how he feels when he looks at them. Then, think about how often Steve sees his family, especially his children. The pictures serve as a constant reminder that Steve is not with his family. Choice B uses the adjective empty. Empty not only describes the physical state of Steve's house, it also serves as a metaphor for the state of Steve's emotional and spiritual life. Choice C illustrates that Steve isn't just new to the neighborhood; he is the new neighbor that nobody talks to. Choice D is a true statement about a solitary activity. But does this statement signify loneliness? Remember, there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. In fact, this activity may be the one thing Steve does to counter the loneliness he is feeling.

Question 6 asks you to analyze how the author's choices contribute to the novel's overall structure and meaning.

6.

Stylistically, Sparks's withholding of information from the reader-such as simply mentioning "the pain in his stomach had lessened since the morning"-achieves each of the following EXCEPT:

Question 7 checks your comprehension and your ability to draw inferences from the text.

7.

Ronnie's first words to her father, "I'm not going to play the piano for you," indicate what?

In order to make a correct inference, it's important to look at this line in context. In order to answer this question correctly, you need to know what Ronnie is saying and how she is saying it. Ronnie has no desire to see her father and didn't answer his greeting; thus, she clearly is stating this line with a typical teenager's attitude.

Choice A states that Ronnie is no longer able to play the piano, yet this is contrary to her words, which indicate she can play but is choosing not to. Choice B requires an understanding of her tone as she states the line. Choice C indicates that she thinks her father expects her to play for him. Choice D would only be correct if the emphasis was solely on the words for you, and there was never any indication that Ronnie was planning on playing just for her own pleasure.

Question 8 checks your comprehension and your understanding of character development.

8.

Identify all the ways Ronnie's character is developed in chapter 2.

Note that the question asks for ways that Ronnie's character is developed; thus, there will be more than one correct answer. You must select all the correct responses. The methods of characterization include (1) what a character says and does, (2) what a character thinks, (3) what a character looks like, (4) what the narrator tells the reader about a character, and (5) what other characters say about the character.

The five answer choices are all methods of character development. You just need to determine which ones are used in chapter 2.

Question 9 tests your knowledge of literary terms.

9.

In passing, Steve mentions Tchaikovsky. This is an example of what?

An allusion, choice A, is an indirect reference. Some of the most common types of allusions are historical, such as when it's mentioned that someone met his Waterloo, it's a reference to Napoleon; biblical, such as John Coffey in The Green Mile being a Christ figure; mythological, a reference to a Greek or Roman myth, such as someone having the Midas touch; and literary, a reference to a character in a work of literature, such as a couple being like Romeo and Juliet.

Hyperbole, choice B, is an obvious and intentional exaggeration-for example, saying, "This learning guide has discussed hyperbole about four million times."

A metaphor, choice C, is a comparison between unlike things without using a connective word-for example, "LeBron James is an animal on the basketball court."

Personification, choice D, is giving nonhuman things a human characteristic, such as in "Opportunity knocked on the door."

Question 10 requires you to make an inference based on textual evidence.

10.

What is the primary purpose of chapter 2?

3

Ronnie

The fair was crowded. Or rather, Ronnie corrected herself, the Wrightsville Beach Seafood Festival was crowded. As she paid for a soda from one of the concession stands, she could see cars parked bumper to bumper along both roads leading to the pier and even noted a few enterprising teenagers renting out their driveways near the action.

So far, though, the action was boring. She supposed she'd been hoping that the Ferris wheel was a permanent fixture and that the pier offered shops and stores like the boardwalk in Atlantic City. In other words, she hoped it would be the kind of place she could see herself hanging out in the summer. No such luck. The festival was temporarily located in the parking lot at the head of the pier, and it mostly resembled a small county fair. The rickety rides were part of a traveling carnival, and the parking lot was lined with overpriced game booths and greasy food concessions. The whole place was kind of... gross.

Not that anyone else seemed to share her opinion. The place was packed. Old and young, families, groups of middle-schoolers ogling one another. No matter which way she went, she always seemed to be fighting against the tide of bodies. Sweaty bodies. Big, sweaty bodies, two of whom were squashing her between them as the crowd came to an inexplicable stop. No doubt they'd had both the fried hot dog and fried Snickers bar she'd seen at the concession stand. She wrinkled her nose. So gross.

Spying an opening, she slipped away from the rides and carnival game booths and headed toward the pier. Fortunately, the crowd continued to thin as she moved down the pier, past booths offering homemade crafts for sale. Nothing she could ever imagine herself buying-who on earth would want a gnome constructed entirely from seashells? But obviously someone was buying the stuff or the booths wouldn't exist.

Distracted, she bumped into a table manned by an elderly woman seated on a folding chair. Wearing a shirt emblazoned with the logo SPCA, she had white hair and an open, cheerful face-the type of grandmother who probably spent all day baking cookies before Christmas Eve, Ronnie guessed. On the table in front of her were pamphlets and a donation jar, along with a large cardboard box. Inside the box were four gray puppies, one of which hopped up on its hind legs to peer over the side at her.

"Hi, little guy," she said.

The elderly woman smiled. "Do you want to hold him? He's the fun one. I call him Seinfeld."

The puppy gave a high-pitched whine.

"No, that's okay." He was cute, though. Really cute, even if she didn't think the name suited him. And she did sort of want to hold him, but she knew she wouldn't want to put him down if she did. She was a sucker for animals in general, especially abandoned ones. Like these little guys. "They're going to be okay, right? You're not going to have them put to sleep, are you?"

"They'll be fine," the woman answered. "That's why we set up the table. So people would adopt them. Last year, we found homes for over thirty animals, and these four have already been claimed. I'm just waiting for the new owners to pick them up on their way out. But there are more at the shelter if you're interested."

"I'm only visiting," Ronnie answered, just as a roar erupted from the beach. She craned her neck, trying to see. "What's going on? A concert?"

The woman shook her head. "Beach volleyball. They've been playing for hours-some kind of tournament. You should go watch. I've heard the cheering all day, so the games must be pretty exciting."

Ronnie thought about it, figuring, Why not? It couldn't be any worse than what was happening up here. She threw a couple of dollars into the donation jar before heading toward the steps.

The sun was descending, giving the ocean a sheen like liquid gold. On the beach, a few remaining families were congregated on towels near the water, along with a couple of sand castles about to be swept away in the rising tide. Terns darted in and out, hunting for crabs.

It didn't take long to reach the source of the action. As she inched her way to the edge of the court, she noticed that the other girls in the audience seemed fixated on the two players on the right. No surprise there. The two guys-her age? older?-were the kind that her friend Kayla routinely described as "eye candy." Though neither of them was exactly Ronnie's type, it was impossible not to admire their lanky, muscular physiques and the fluid way they moved through the sand.

Especially the taller one, with dark brown hair and the macramé bracelet on his wrist. Kayla would have definitely zeroed in on him-she always went for the tall ones-in the same way the bikini-clad blonde across the court was obviously zeroing in on him. Ronnie had noticed the blonde and her friend right away. They were both thin and pretty, with blindingly white teeth, and obviously used to being the center of attention and having boys drool all over them. They held themselves apart from the crowd and cheered daintily, probably so they wouldn't mess up their hair. They might as well have been billboards proclaiming it was okay to admire them from a distance, but don't get too close. Ronnie didn't know them, but she already didn't like them.

She turned her attention back to the game just as the cute guys scored another point. And then another. And still another. She didn't know what the score was, but they were obviously the better team. And yet, as she watched, she silently began to root for the other guys. It had less to do with the fact that she always rooted for the underdog-which she did-and more to do with the fact that the winning pair reminded her of the spoiled private school types she sometimes ran into at clubs, the Upper East Side boys from Dalton and Buckley who thought they were better than everyone else simply because their dads were investment bankers. She'd seen enough of the so-called privileged crowd to recognize a member when she saw one, and she'd bet her life that those two were definitely part of the popular crowd around here. Her suspicions were confirmed after the next point when the brown-haired guy's partner winked at the blonde's tanned, Barbie-doll friend as he got ready to serve. In this town, the pretty people clearly all knew one another.

Why wasn't she surprised by that?

The game suddenly seemed less interesting, and she turned to leave just as another serve sailed over the net. She vaguely heard someone shouting as the opposing team returned the serve, but before she had taken more than a couple of steps, she felt the spectators around her beginning to jostle one another, knocking her off balance for just an instant.

An instant too long.

She turned just in time to see one of the players rushing toward her at full speed, his head craning to catch sight of the wayward ball. She didn't have time to react before he slammed into her. She felt him grab her shoulders in a simultaneous attempt to stop his momentum and prevent her from falling. She felt her arm jerk on impact and watched almost in fascination as the lid flew off the Styrofoam cup, soda arcing through the air before drenching her face and shirt.

And then, just like that, it was over. Up close, she saw the brown-haired player staring at her, his eyes wide with shock.

"Are you okay?" he panted.

She could feel the soda dripping down her face and soaking through her shirt. Vaguely, she heard someone in the crowd begin to laugh. And why shouldn't someone laugh? It had been such a fantastic day already.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Are you sure?" the guy gasped. For what it was worth, he seemed genuinely contrite. "I ran into you kind of hard."

"Just... let me go," she said through clenched teeth.

He hadn't seemed to realize he was still gripping her shoulders, and his hands instantly released their pressure. He took a quick step back and automatically reached for his bracelet. He rotated it almost absently. "I'm really sorry about that. I was going for the ball and-"

"I know what you were doing," she said. "I survived, okay?"

With that, she turned away, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from here as possible. Behind her, she heard someone call out, "C'mon, Will! Let's get back to the game!" But as she pushed her way through the crowd, she was conscious somehow of his continuing gaze until she vanished from sight.

Her shirt wasn't ruined, but that didn't make her feel much better. She liked this shirt, a memento from the Fall Out Boy concert that she'd sneaked out to with Rick last year. Her mom had almost blown a gasket about that one, and it wasn't simply because Rick had a tattoo of a spiderweb on his neck and more piercings in his ears than Kayla did; it was because she'd lied about where they were going, and she hadn't made it home until the following afternoon, since they'd ended up crashing at Rick's brother's place in Philadelphia. Her mom forbade Ronnie from seeing or even speaking to Rick ever again, a rule that Ronnie broke the very next day.

It wasn't that she loved Rick; frankly, she didn't even like him that much. But she was angry at her mom, and it felt right at the time. But when she got to Rick's place, he was already stoned and drunk again, just as he'd been at the concert, and she realized that if she continued to see him, he'd continue to pressure her to try whatever it was he was taking, just as he'd done the night before. She spent only a few minutes at his place before heading to Union Square for the rest of the afternoon, knowing it was over between them.

She wasn't naive about drugs. Some of her friends smoked pot, a few did cocaine or ecstasy, and one even had a nasty meth habit. Everyone but her drank on the weekends. Every club and party she went to offered easy access to all of it. Still, it seemed that whenever her friends smoked or drank or popped the pills they swore made the evening worthwhile, they'd spend the rest of the night slurring their words or staggering or vomiting or losing control completely and doing something really stupid. Something usually involving a guy.

Ronnie didn't want to go there. Not after what happened to Kayla last winter. Someone-Kayla never knew who-slipped some GHB into her drink, and though she had only a vague recollection of what happened next, she was pretty sure she remembered being in a room with three guys she'd met for the first time that night. When she woke the following morning, her clothes were strewn around the room. Kayla never said anything more-she preferred to pretend it had never happened at all and regretted having told Ronnie even that much-but it wasn't hard to connect the dots.

When she reached the pier, Ronnie set down her half-empty drink cup and dabbed furiously at her shirt with her wet napkin. It seemed to be working, but the napkin was disintegrating into tiny white flakes that resembled dandruff.

Great.

She wished the guy had rammed into someone else. She was only there for what, ten minutes? What were the odds that she'd turn away at the same instant the ball came flying her way? And that she'd be holding a soda in a crowd at a volleyball game she didn't even want to watch, in a place she didn't want to be? In a million years, the same thing could probably never happen again. With odds like that, she should have bought a lottery ticket.

And then there was the guy who did it. Brown-haired, brown-eyed cute guy. Up close, she realized he was way better looking than cute, especially when he got that expression of... concern. He might have been part of the popular crowd, but in the nanosecond their eyes had met, she'd had the strangest sense that he was as real as they came.

Ronnie shook her head to clear her mind of such crazy thoughts. Clearly the sun was affecting her brain. Satisfied that she'd done the best she could with the napkin, she picked up the cup of soda. She planned to throw the rest away, but as she spun around, she felt the cup get jammed between her and someone else. This time, nothing happened in slow motion; the soda instantly covered the front of her shirt.

She froze, staring down at her shirt in disbelief. You've got to be kidding.

Standing before her was a girl her age holding a Slurpee, seemingly as surprised as she was. She was dressed in black, and her stringy dark hair hung in unruly curls framing her face. Like Kayla, she had at least half a dozen piercings in each ear, highlighted with a couple of miniature skulls that dangled from her earlobes, and her dark eye shadow and eyeliner gave her an almost feral appearance. As the remains of her soda soaked through Ronnie's shirt, Goth-looking chick motioned with her Slurpee toward the spreading stain.

"Sucks being you," she said.

"Ya think?"

"At least the other side matches now."

"Oh, I get it. You're trying to be funny."

" 'Witty' is more like it."

"Then you might have said something like 'Maybe you should stick with sippy-cups.' "

Goth-chick laughed, a surprisingly girlish sound. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm from New York. I'm here visiting my dad."

"For the weekend?"

"No. For the summer."

"It does suck being you."

This time, it was Ronnie's turn to laugh. "I'm Ronnie. It's short for Veronica."

"Call me Blaze."

"Blaze?"

"My real name's Galadriel. It's from Lord of the Rings. My mom's weird like that."

"At least she didn't name you Gollum."

"Or Ronnie." With a tilt of her head, she motioned over her shoulder. "If you want something dry, there are some Nemo shirts in the booth over there."

"Nemo?"

"Yeah, Nemo. From the movie? Orange-and-white fish, gimpy flipper? Gets stuck in a fish tank and his dad goes to find him?"

"I don't want a Nemo shirt, okay?"

"Nemo's cool."

"Maybe if you're six," Ronnie retorted.

"Suit yourself."

Before Ronnie could respond, she spied three guys pushing their way through a parting mob. They stood out from the beach crowd with their torn shorts and tattoos, bare chests showing beneath heavy leather jackets. One had a pierced eyebrow and was carrying an old-fashioned boom box; another had a bleached Mohawk and arms completely covered with tattoos. The third, like Blaze, had long black hair offset by milky white skin. Ronnie turned instinctively to Blaze, only to realize that Blaze was gone. In her place stood Jonah.

"What did you spill on your shirt?" he asked. "You're all wet and sticky."

Ronnie searched for Blaze, wondering where she'd gone. And why. "Just go away, okay?"

"I can't. Dad's looking for you. I think he wants you to come home."

"Where is he?"

"He stopped to go to the bathroom, but he should be here any minute."

"Tell him you didn't see me."

Jonah thought about it. "Five bucks."

"What?"

"Gimme five bucks and I'll forget you were here."

"Are you serious?"

"You don't have much time," he said. "Now it's ten bucks."

Over Jonah's head, she spotted her dad searching the crowd around him. Instinctively she ducked, knowing there was no way she could sneak past him. She glared at her brother, the blackmailer, who'd obviously realized it as well. He was cute and she loved him and she respected his blackmailing abilities, but still, he was her little brother. In a perfect world, he would be on her side. But was he? Of course not.

"I hate you, you know," she said.

"Yeah, I hate you, too. But it's still gonna cost you ten bucks."

"How about five?"

"You missed your chance. But your secret will be safe with me."

Her dad still hadn't seen them, but he was getting closer.

"Fine," she hissed, digging through her pockets. She passed over a crumpled bill and Jonah pocketed the money. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her father moving in her direction, his head still going from side to side, and she ducked around the booth. Surprising her, Blaze was leaning against the side of the booth, smoking a cigarette.

She smirked. "Problems with your dad?"

"How do I get out of here?"

"That's up to you." Blaze shrugged. "But he knows what shirt you're wearing."

An hour later, Ronnie was sitting beside Blaze on one of the benches near the end of the pier, still bored, but not quite as bored as she'd been before. Blaze turned out to be a good listener, with a quirky sense of humor-and best of all, she seemed to love New York as much as Ronnie did, even though she'd never been there. She asked questions about the basics: Times Square and the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty-tourist traps that Ronnie tried to avoid at all costs. But Ronnie humored her before describing the real New York: the clubs in Chelsea, the music scene in Brooklyn, and the street vendors in Chinatown, where it was possible to buy bootlegged recordings or fake Prada purses or pretty much anything else for pennies on the dollar.

Talking about those places made her absolutely long to be back home instead of here. Anywhere but here.

"I wouldn't have wanted to come here either," Blaze agreed. "Trust me. It's boring."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Just my whole life. But at least I'm dressed okay."

Ronnie had bought the stupid Nemo shirt, knowing she looked ridiculous. The only size the booth had in stock was an extra-large, and the thing practically reached her knees. Its only redeeming feature was that once she donned it, she'd been able to slip unseen past her father. Blaze had been right about that.

"Someone told me Nemo was cool."

"She was lying."

"What are we still doing out here? My dad's probably gone by now."

Blaze turned. "Why? Do you want to go back to the carnival? Maybe go to the haunted house?"

"No. But there's got to be something else going on."

"Not yet. Later there will be. But for now, let's just wait."

"For what?"

Blaze didn't answer. Instead, she stood and turned around, facing the blackened water. Her hair moved in the breeze, and she seemed to stare at the moon. "I saw you earlier, you know."

"When?"

"When you were at the volleyball game." She motioned down the pier. "I was standing over there."

"And?"

"You seemed out of place."

"So do you."

"Which is why I was standing on the pier." She hopped up onto the railing and took a seat, facing Ronnie. "I know you don't want to be here, but what did your dad do to make you so mad?"

Ronnie wiped her palms on her pants. "It's a long story."

"Does he live with his girlfriend?"

"I don't think he has a girlfriend. Why?"

"Consider yourself lucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"My dad lives with his girlfriend. This is his third one since the divorce, by the way, and she's the worst by far. She's only a few years older than I am and she dresses like a stripper. For all I know, she was a stripper. It makes me sick every time I have to go there. It's like she doesn't know how to act around me. One minute she tries to give me advice like she's my mom, and the next minute she's trying to be my best friend. I hate her."

"And you live with your mom?"

"Yeah. But now she has a boyfriend, and he's at the house all the time. And he's a loser, too. He wears this ridiculous toupee because he went bald when he was like twenty or something, and he's always telling me that I want to think about giving college a try. Like I care what he thinks. It's just all screwed up, you know?"

Before Ronnie could answer, Blaze jumped back down. "C'mon. I think they're getting ready to start. You've got to see this."

Ronnie followed Blaze back up the pier, toward a crowd surrounding what seemed to be a street show. Startled, she realized that the performers were the three thuggish guys she'd spotted earlier. Two of them were break-dancing to music blaring from the boom box, while the one with long black hair stood in the center juggling what seemed to be flaming golf balls. Every now and then he would stop juggling and simply hold the ball, rotating it between his fingers or rolling it across the back of his hand or up one arm and down the other. Twice, he closed his fist over the fireball, nearly extinguishing it, only to move his hand, allowing the flames to escape out the tiny opening near his thumb.

"Do you know him?" Ronnie said.

Blaze nodded. "That's Marcus."

"Is he wearing some sort of protective coating on his hands?"

"No."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not if you hold the fireball right. It's awesome, though, isn't it?"

Ronnie had to agree. Marcus extinguished two of the balls and then relit them again by touching them to the third. On the ground lay an upturned magician's hat, and Ronnie watched as people began tossing money into it.

"Where does he get the fireballs?"

"He makes them. I can show you how. It's not hard. All you need is a cotton T-shirt, needle and thread, and some lighter fluid."

As the music continued to blare, Marcus tossed the three fireballs to the guy with the Mohawk and lit two more. They juggled them back and forth between each other like circus clowns using bowling pins, faster and faster, until one throw went awry.

Except that it didn't. The guy with the pierced eyebrow caught it soccer-ball style and began bouncing it from foot to foot as though it were nothing more than a Hacky Sack. After extinguishing three of the fireballs, the other two followed suit, the entire troupe kicking the two fireballs back and forth between them. The crowd started to clap, and money rained into the hat as the music built to a crescendo. Then all at once, the remaining fireballs were caught and extinguished simultaneously as the song thundered to a close.

Ronnie had to admit she'd never seen anything like it. Marcus walked over to Blaze and folded her into a long, lingering kiss that seemed wildly inappropriate in public. He opened his eyes slowly, staring right at Ronnie before he pushed Blaze away.

"Who's that?" he asked, motioning in Ronnie's direction.

"That's Ronnie," Blaze said. "She's from New York. I just met her."

Mohawk and Pierced Eyebrow joined Marcus and Blaze in their scrutiny, making Ronnie feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"New York, huh?" Marcus asked, pulling a lighter from his pocket and igniting one of the fireballs. He held the flaming orb motionless between his thumb and forefinger, making Ronnie wonder again how he could do that without getting burned.

"Do you like fire?" he called out.

Without waiting for an answer, he threw the fireball in her direction. Ronnie jumped out of the way, too startled to respond. The ball landed behind her just as a police officer rushed forward, stamping out the flame.

"You three," he called out, pointing. "Out. Now. I've told you before that you can't do your little show on the pier, and next time, I swear I'm gonna bring you in."

Marcus held up his hands and took a step backward. "We were just leaving."

The boys grabbed their coats and began moving up the pier, toward the carnival rides. Blaze followed, leaving Ronnie alone. Ronnie felt the officer's gaze on her, but she ignored him. Instead, she hesitated only briefly before going after them.

Questions and Explanations for Chapter 3

The ten questions on chapter 3 focus on grammar and usage, vocabulary, characterization, literary terms, and the ability to make inferences regarding the use of an allusion. Some of the questions combine two or more of these areas, requiring you to synthesize your knowledge, make inferences, and interpret the text. The questions are designed to determine both your current level of understanding of the novel and your ability to answer higher-level questions.

The following sentence tests your ability to recognize grammar and usage errors. The sentence contains either a single error or no error at all. If the sentence contains an error, select the one underlined part that must be changed to make the sentence correct. If there is no error, select choice D.

1.

Ronnie that the residents in her summer home are not as they remind her of people from New York.

The following two questions test your vocabulary. Choose the word or set of words that, when inserted in the sentence, best fits the meaning of the sentence as a whole.

2.

Blaze's "dark eye shadow and eyeliner gave her an almost _______ appearance."

In addition to substituting the definition of the word into the blank, recognize that the adjective relates to the physical description of "dark eye shadow and eyeliner." Imagine what Blaze must look like before you answer this question.

3.

Marcus and his _______ seem to enjoy _______ authority.

Question 4 tests your knowledge and application of literary terms.

4.

"The sun was descending, giving the ocean a sheen like liquid gold." Identify the figure of speech used to describe the scene.

Hyperbole, choice A, is an exaggerated statement used to heighten effect and to emphasize a point-for example, "This learning guide has defined hyperbole a million times already." A metaphor, choice B, is a comparison between unlike things without using a connective word-for example, "LeBron James is an animal on the basketball court." Personification, choice C, is to give nonhuman things human characteristics-for example, saying, "The leaves danced in the wind." And a simile, choice D, is a comparison of unlike things using a connective word, such as like, as, or than. An example of a simile would be saying, "She looked as fresh as the morning snow."

Question 5 checks your comprehension and asks you to determine the type of irony being used.

5.

After getting soda spilled on her, Ronnie thinks, "It had been such a fantastic day already." Identify the type of irony used here.

A good definition of irony is "a situation where there's a contrast between appearance and reality." In cosmic irony, choice A, no matter what a character does, the world seems to be against him or her. The most famous example of this is the Greek myth of Oedipus, who was fated to grow up and kill his father and marry his mother, no matter what he or anyone else tried to do to prevent this.

In dramatic irony, choice B, the words and actions of the characters have a different meaning for the reader than they do for the characters themselves. This is the result of the reader having more background information than the character has. For example, in the Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet, the audience knows that Juliet is not really dead when Romeo discovers her body in the crypt, but he does not, and so he stabs himself.

Situational irony, choice C, is when the outcome is the opposite of what is expected. In Macbeth, Macbeth's misinterpretation of the witches' prophecies is an example of situational irony because he expects their words to mean one thing, but in reality they mean something else entirely.

Verbal irony, choice D, is saying one thing but meaning the opposite. In Julius Caesar, when Mark Antony talks about the conspirators as he stands over the body of dead Caesar, he says, "And Brutus is an honorable man." Clearly, Antony does not think Brutus is really honorable.

Question 6 asks you to analyze the impact of the author's choices regarding character and plot development and your knowledge of literary terms.

6.

Details regarding Will's macramé bracelet are mentioned a couple of times. First, Ronnie notices him wearing it; then he automatically reaches for it and rotates it while talking with Ronnie after he crashed into her. Unbeknownst to readers and Ronnie at this point in time, the macramé bracelet will become a significant object in the novel. This repeated mentioning of it at this early stage of the novel is an example of what stylistic device?

Excerpted from The Last Song by Sparks, Nicholas Copyright © 2009 by Sparks, Nicholas. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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The Last Song By Sparks, Nicholas Grand Central Publishing Prologue Ronnie Staring out the bedroom window, Ronnie wondered whether Pastor Harris was already at the church. She assumed that he was, and as she watched the waves breaking over the beach, she questioned whether he was still able to notice the play of light as it streamed through the stained-glass window above him.

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