Excerpt from Not If I See You First by Eric Lindstrom, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"You know, Parker . . ." Molly blurts out with some energy, maybe impatience, but then doesn't continue. She sighs.

"What?" "Never mind."

I want to let it drop, too. I haven't spent enough time with Molly to know if I'm going to like her or just tolerate her— the amount of energy I'm going to put into this depends a lot on which it's going to be—but either way we're going to be with each other more than with anyone else, all day, every day, all year.

"You can't take it back," I say, just as a fact, not an accusation. "I know there's something in there now. Spit it out before it gets infected."

I can hear her breathing. Thinking breaths. I calculate whether to prod her more or wait her out.

"It's just . . ." she finally says. "I know we only just met . . ." Another breath.

"Do you want me to help you?" I ask. "Or let you flounder around some more?"

Molly blows air out her nose. I can't tell if it's the laughing kind or the eye-rolling kind.

"Yeah, sure, help me out." I hear a little of both. A good sign.

Embedded in the concrete path under my sneakers is the bumpy metal plaque describing the founding of John Quincy Adams High School in 1979. I know exactly where I am.

"Here." I hold out my cane. "Fold this up for me?" She takes it. "Why?"

I turn and walk briskly toward the stairs, arms swinging, counting in my head . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . .

"Parker!" Molly scurries after me.

. . . two . . . one . . . step down . . .

I march down the stairs, counting them, hitting them hard and confident, legs straight like a soldier, each time sliding my foot back to knock my heel against the prior step.

At the bottom I keep marching and counting silently till I reach the curb where I know Aunt Celia's car will park. I stop and spin around.

"Cane, please?"

It touches my hand. She didn't collapse it like I asked. I do and slide it into my bag.

"Maybe you're thinking I'm a stereotypical blind girl who's out to prove she doesn't need anyone's charity. But instead of being nice to people who are just trying to help her, she's a bitter and resentful bitch because she's missing out on something wonderful that she thinks everyone else takes for granted."

Now I'm starting to wonder if Molly is just a loud breather, though I didn't notice it in the library and it was pretty quiet in there.

"Am I warm?" I ask.

"Not very. But not everyone has to be."

It takes me a moment to get it—which isn't like me at all—and now it's too late to laugh.

I smile. "Touché."

Aunt Celia's car pulls up and stops.

"I suppose you can tell if that's your aunt's car, just by the sound?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"My dog can do that, too."

I turn my head to face her, something I don't often bother doing.

"I'm starting to like you, Molly Ray. But believe me, it's a mixed blessing."

"Oh, don't worry. I believe it."

The car door thunks open. Aunt Celia calls out, too loudly, "Parker, it's me, hop in!"

I sigh, definitely outwardly.

Excerpted from Not If I See You First by Eric Lindstrom. Copyright © 2015 by Eric Lindstrom. Excerpted by permission of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.