Lilly had been the one to come up with his nickname. Duncan Donut. She'd danced around him in one of her tutus that she wore on days she didn't have ballet and sang it over and over again.

Duncan Donut. Duncan Donut. Duncan Donut.

She'd been so proud that she'd run straight to her father, climbed into his lap and told him about it. He’d laughed. He’d told his wife that he supposed that made them pastry chefs.

His mother didn’t even smile.

Lilly had called him that for the rest of her life. He’d never liked it, but he let her because he let her get away with just about anything.

There was only one day when he gotten mad at her. Lilly had done the same thing she’d done on the first day she’d come up with it, although she’d been in her pep squad uniform.

And Veronica had walked by.

Maybe it was seeing her that made him yell at Lilly as soon as the girl he was trying so hard not to love walk by. After all, Lilly had been the one who brought them together. It was really only natural that he called her a bitch and walked away without further explanation.

Then he came home and found her dead.

He felt like there was a giant hole right in his center.

Duncan Donut. Duncan Donut. Duncan Donut.