Mariah

I was halfway through rewriting the same history paragraph for the third time when I heard Mom’s voice from downstairs.

“Mariah!”

I didn’t answer right away.

Mostly because I already knew what she was going to say.

Then she called again, louder, with the tiniest edge of amusement.

“Jackson Lombardi is here.”

My pen froze mid-sentence.

My heart did something extremely unhelpful.

I sat there for a second, staring at the page like it might explain why ...