The town wakes early, like it does every day; small towns need a

head start if they're going to have any chance in the world.

Fredrik Backman

Simon Lewis

Age: 24

He always comes back. He never really does abandon us. I think we all knew that, but sometimes we just needed a reminder. We needed to realize that a person like him came from a small town filled with us. That a person as valued and infamous as he managed to begin in this place, miles away from the city.

Nobody really notices Alicante. It's a town in the middle of nowhere. Forests and ponds surround it. That's probably why the entire country ignores us. They may believe that there can't possibly be people living in such a deserted area. Well, there are. I'm one of them.

We're a total of nine hundred and fifty-six people. Yes, we were that specific. You are either born here or you lost your way and found yourself here. If you're the latter, then you decide to stay, because what the heck.

When Jace Wayland happened, well, things got a whole lot crazier than before. We all knew Jace. All the kids here grew up together. We kind of all knew he was different. We could just sense it. His mother had left him as a baby and his father was long gone. Nonexistent. He was dumped on the lawn of the Lightwood house on a cold morning. It was Maryse who found him, bundled up in a blue blanket. When she described his appearance to the town's people, she waved her hands wildly as if in awe. He had honey colored eyes and somehow, if you stared long enough, you'd love him completely. His hair was tawny and long. He had a birthmark right underneath his lips. Suffice it to say, Jace was cared for by all of us. He was our orphan. We treated him as our own.

There isn't much to do in Alicante. We have one diner. One bar. Two shops. And a bunch of old buildings that were ready to collapse. Oh, yeah. Don't forget about the church. We were a small population, but we'd never forget our creator. That was for sure.

Jace was raised by Robert and Maryse, who spoiled him profusely. Of course, they had two other children. A girl named Isabelle, rebellious and abnormally tall. A boy named Alec, reserved and quiet. Surprisingly, Jace fit in. He balanced Isabelle's reckless behavior, even aiding her when she performed stupid stunts. He spoke with Alec in a way that made you believe they were biological siblings.

Time here goes by slow. It's probably because we're always waiting for something. When you live in Alicante, you learn that there are bigger things out there in the world. You learn that you aren't obligated to stay here forever. Still, everyone loved this town. Everyone loved the campfires and the religious gatherings. The tiny carnivals with wacky looking rides. Everyone loved each other. I can say that with a lot of certainty. Nobody visited Alicante. Nobody toured here. Nobody in the outside world gave a crap about us.

That's why, I guess, we stood so strong together.

I don't remember the exact day we noticed just how big Jace could be. Just how far he could reach. We suddenly just did. I recall him scribbling on anything he could get his hands on. We could never understand what he wrote; his handwriting was pretty messy. If you went over to his room, you'd see crumbled up papers underneath his bed, atop his dresser, and covering the carpet. All he did was shrug, changing the subject. I think what he wrote was private. At that time, we were kids. We didn't care. The future meant nothing to us. We simply enjoyed what we had.

Right now, Jace tours the world. His first album sold four million copies. And from there, all hell broke loose. Agents wanted him desperately. They reached out to him in every way possible. He ignored them. He ventured to New York, where he signed with an independent company called the Mortal Instruments. The Mortal Instruments wasn't successful. Actually, it lacked profit, but Jace didn't care. So as soon as his songs were released, the company had fallen into an endless pit of cash. Jace never told the media where he came from. He never mentioned Alicante. He always swept aside any question that revolved around his early life. To him, we were a great secret. We would never be revealed.

And we liked it that way. We liked the fact that millions of people were trying to figure out things about our own Jace and they would never know. They could never imagine that he came from here. A remote area with nothing and everything.

Like I said, he never stays away too long. I guess there's a magnetic pull that drags him back no matter his thoughts. When he comes back, we welcome him normally. Because to us, he is normal. He's just our brother and our son and our friend. That's it.

Jace would come and we kind of all knew the reason why. We knew he wanted to see us. We knew he missed the smells of Alicante. The firewood, the rolling hills, the cigarette smoke. We knew he yearned for home. But mostly, above all else, we knew he came for Clarissa Fairchild.

Clarissa Fairchild couldn't hurt a fly. She smiles too widely, compliments excessively, and lives a life so ordinary it's almost overbearing. Of all the girls in this town, she's the most radiant. I get to say that because we've all pretty much agreed on it. I don't think a guy hasn't had a crush on her, no matter how minimal. She has long, auburn hair. It glistens when the sun shines on it. It's so soft, your fingers feel as if they are numb when grasping the wavy strands. Her skin is pale, but it's not the whiteness of her body that is eye-catching. It is the freckles that cloud your vision. They spot her nose and the bottom of her orbs. They scatter across her chin and down her chest. She has sparkling eyes. They're green and blue and violet and ever-changing. You can't really pinpoint the color. We've argued about it so many times. Jordon thinks they're hazel. Isabelle thinks they're a dark brown. I think they're infinite.

Clarissa was Jace's childhood friend. She was his go-to companion. She was the one who gathered up his notes and placed them neatly on his desk. She was the one who secretly bought him new pencils and pens, fancy and rich in ink. She was the one who cheered him up after he grew frustrated when his pieces didn't sound right. To her, she was just being helpful. She was just being the person everyone knew her has. In his perspective, all her actions felt like they were meant for him.

Then we were teenagers. And as teenagers here in Alicante, you can kind of do anything you want. Pot was pretty limited. Cigarettes became everyone's favorite snack. Graffiti was their way of expression. We were typical youth, invigorated by time and helpless when faced with growing up. We never really saw much of Jace and Clarissa together. We were all in the same places, yeah. Their relationship must have been a little rigid and stretched out. They had drifted apart. Clarissa remained friendly; she had no other choice. Jace continued with his music. And naturally, we worshipped him like a god.

I don't really know where he is now. Nobody does. Perhaps Australia, China, Canada...

The possibilities were endless.

What kept us going was the fact that we knew he'd come back. We knew that Alicante's crooked welcome sign would drag him to our warm houses, filled with our dirty jokes, our serious conversations, and our most private dreams. Besides, as long as Clarissa was with us, he'd have no other option but to pay a visit.

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Hi, fellas. New story. Please review. I honestly don't give a shit about the favorites and follows; they're nice to look at, but they're pretty meaningless. So just give me your opinions. I hope it's not asking for too much.

Update soon.