Erin Watt - One Small Thing

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author duo of The Royals and When It’s Real comes a sensational new novel about a girl falling for the one boy she should never have met…

Beth’s life hasn’t been the same since her sister died. Her parents try to lock her down, believing they can keep her safe by monitoring her every move. When Beth sneaks out to a party one night and meets the new guy in town, Chase, she’s thrilled to make a secret friend. It seems like a small thing, just for her.

Only Beth doesn’t know how big her secret really is…

Fresh out of juvie and determined to start his life over, Chase has demons to face and much to atone for, including his part in the night Beth’s sister died. Beth, who has more reason than anyone to despise him, is willing to give him a second chance. A forbidden romance is the last thing either of them planned for senior year, but the more time they spend together, the deeper their feelings get.

Now Beth has a choice to make—follow the rules, or risk tearing everything apart…again.

ERIN WATT is the brainchild of two bestselling authors linked together through their love of great books and an addiction to writing. They share one creative imagination. Their greatest love (after their families and pets, of course)? Coming up with fun—and sometimes crazy—ideas. Their greatest fear? Breaking up.

Books by Erin Watt

One Small Thing

When It’s Real

The Royals series

Paper Princess

Broken Prince

Twisted Palace

Fallen Heir

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Timeout LLC 2018

Erin Watt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9781474077163

This book is dedicated to the assistants

and publicists who help manage our lives:

Nicole, Nina, Natasha and Lily

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Extract

About the Publisher

1

“Hey there, pupster.” I laugh as Morgan, the Rennicks’ dog, races across the lawn and jumps up on my khaki pants.

“Morgan, come here,” yells an exasperated Mrs. Rennick. “Sorry, Lizzie,” she says, rushing over to pull the big black mutt off me without much success. She’s small and he’s so big that they’re about the same size.

“It’s no big deal, Mrs. R. I love Morgan.” I crouch down and scratch the big boy behind his ears. He yaps happily and slobbers all over my cheek. “Oh, and it’s Beth now,” I remind my neighbor. I’m seventeen and Lizzie is a name I wish would go far, far away. Unfortunately, no one seems to remember.

“That’s right. Beth, then. Don’t encourage him,” she scolds, tugging on his collar.

I give him a few more rubs behind his ears before releasing him.

“Your mom’s going to have a fit.” Mrs. R frets.

I look down at the dog hairs that are now dotting my white button-down shirt, which was already spattered with food stains from work. “I need to wash up anyway.”

“Still. Tell her I’m sorry.” She drags Morgan away by the collar. “I promise to watch him better.”

“Don’t,” I say. “I love all the time I get with Morgan. It’s worth the punishment. Besides, it’s not like there’s any reason for us to not have a pet now.” I stick out my chin. The reason for our pet-free house has been gone for three years, even if my parents don’t like acknowledging that fact.

Mrs. R falls silent for a moment. I don’t know if she’s holding back curt words toward me for being callous, or toward my mom for being too strict. And since I don’t know, I’m too cowardly to press.

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Mrs. R says finally and gives me a small wave goodbye. She doesn’t want to get involved. Good choice. I wish I wasn’t involved, either.

Morgan and Mrs. R disappear inside their garage. I turn and squint at my house, wishing I was anywhere but home.

I check my phone. There aren’t any messages from my best friend, Scarlett. We talked this morning about going out tonight after my shift at the Ice Cream Shoppe. School starts on Tuesday. For Scarlett, the summer of fun is over. For me, it means I’m one day closer to true freedom.

I roll my head around my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that always appears the minute I see my house. I exhale heavily and order my feet to move forward.

Inside, Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” trickles into the mudroom. Mom’s playlist is set in an eternal 2015 loop of Sam Smith, Pharrell and One Direction, back when One D was still a group with five members. I toe off my ugly black work shoes and drop my purse onto the bench.

“Is that you, Lizzie?”

Would it kill her to call me Beth? Just once?

I grit my teeth. “Yes, Mom.”

“Please tidy up your locker space. It’s getting messy.”

I glance down at my section of the mudroom bench. It isn’t that messy. I’ve got a couple of jackets on the hooks, a stack of Sarah J. Maas books that I’m rereading for the eightieth time, a box of mints, a bottle of body spray that Scarlett bought me at the last Victoria’s Secret sale and some random school supplies.

Stifling a sigh, I pile everything on the Maas books and walk into the kitchen.

“Did you pick up in there?” Mom asks, not bothering to look up from the carrots she’s chopping.

“Yeah.” The food looks unappetizing, but then all food does after I’m done with work.

“Are you sure?”

I pour myself a glass of water. “Yes, Mom. I cleaned up.”

I guess I’m not believable, because she sets down her knife and goes into the mudroom. Two seconds later, I hear “Lizzie, I thought you said you tidied up.”

Ugh. I slam down the glass of water and join her. “I did,” I exclaim, pointing to the neat pile of supplies and books.

“What about this?”

I follow the line of her finger to the messenger bag hanging on the hook in the section next to mine. “What about it?”