My Butterfly

Prologue
     
     
    I ’ve only got one story to tell, and it’s about a girl, and it starts with you. But first I’ve got to do this one thing because I worry if I wait a second longer, I’ll lose even more of what I’ve already lost. I promise, though, there is a method behind my madness. And if everything goes to plan, you’ll see why very soon.
    But like I said, I’ve got this story to tell, though I don’t yet know the ending. All I know is that it can end only one of two ways—with or without you. But despite which way fate will have it, the way I see it, I’m left the same—still in love with the one that got away.
    You’ve given me hell, Julia Lang, just by being you. But then what’s love if it ain’t worth the fight? And I’ve got some fight still left in me.
    ...
    “Are you ready, Will?” a young man with shaggy hair asks from the other side of the glass.
    I anxiously readjust the big microphone hovering above me.
    “Yeah,” I eventually say.
    A restless sigh is attached.
    “Okay,” I hear the man say, “I’m going to start the track.”
    I look through the glass and slowly nod my head.
    My palms are sweaty; my heart is pounding. But it isn’t the young man on the other side of the glass or the taller man sitting next to him who is making me sweat. It isn’t even that I am about to sing in front of them or that I am here at all. In fact, now, right now, I only have one thought cycling over and over in my mind. The only reason I am standing here, gripping an old, metal pin as if it were my lifeline, praying my silent prayers continuously in my head and replaying all the memories that have led me to this place is for a chance that she will hear this song.
    I suspect that she doesn’t know it’s coming. But I also pray that she hasn’t forgotten her promise. I pray silently that this song will make her stop, will make her remember—a different time, years ago, lifetimes ago.
    A soft melody starts playing in my headset. I press the metal pin tighter against my palm. I am waiting for my cue, my lips almost touching the mesh in front of the mic. Then, suddenly, as if by instinct, my mouth opens, and my first words fill the tiny, soundproof room. And my only thought is: Here goes everything .

Chapter One
    Eleven Years Earlier
     
     
    “J eff, is that Julia Lang?” I asked, as I leaned up against my locker.
    “Who?” Jeff asked.
    Jeff was busy digging up remnants of pens from the bottom of his backpack and scribbling faded lines onto the front cover of his notebook. I, on the other hand, knew full well who the girl was, but he didn’t have to know that.
    “Her, trying to stuff that bag into her locker,” I said, directing his attention to the girl.
    Jeff stopped scribbling and looked up.
    “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “She must be from that little, country school.”
    He turned back around, as if not interested, grabbed a book from his locker’s shelf and then slammed the metal door shut.
    “But I know who I’m asking to the homecoming dance,” he said, setting out in the girl’s direction.
    Without hesitation, I grabbed the collar of his shirt.
    “Whoa there, son,” I said, pulling him back. “First of all, homecoming’s months away. Second, you’re not taking her anywhere.”
    “Geez, buddy, watch the threads,” Jeff said in a higher than usual pitch as he paused to readjust the shirt’s collar around his neck. “And why can’t I ask her? If I don’t, someone else will.”
    I kept my eyes on the girl across the hall. She had just gotten the oversized duffle bag into the tiny locker. Impressive, except now I watched as a book slipped from underneath her arm and fell to her bare toes, causing her nose to scrunch up and her eyes to wince in pain.
    “You got a point there, buddy,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
    I handed Jeff a working pen and then quickly pushed past him.
    “I got it,” I said, bending down to pick up the book from the floor at the girl’s feet. “Are you all right?”
    The girl looked up at me, still cringing a little.
    “I’m fine,” she said, softly smiling.
    She took the heavy text book from my hand and shoved it into a row of books already on the locker’s shelf.
    “Thanks,” she said.
    “It’s Will,” I said, extending my hand.
    She stopped, and her stare found my hand. She looked suspicious.
    “I know,” she said, cautiously placing her hand in mine. “Will, it’s Julia.”
    “Julia