A Midsummer's Nightmare (26 page)
“Just some crazy-looking paintings.”
“Oh my God,” I said, staring at the psychedelic, colorful paintings leaned up against the wall of the closet. They were the ones from Dad’s condo. I leaned forward to read the sticky note attached to the frame of the closest one.
Hi, Whitley!
I found these when we were unpacking and your dad thought you might want them. There are also some photographs in here that I found in a box. Feel free to decorate the room however you like. Can’t wait to finally meet you!
Sylvia
I’d always imagined an ironing board or extra sheets in this closet. I’d never imagined this, never imagined things that belonged to me.
But this room had been mine all along.
“Hey, Nathan?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you know where I can get some nails and a hammer?”
“Uh, maybe. Why?”
I picked up the brightly colored abstract and carried it
into the middle of my room, standing it in front of Nathan. “Because,” I said when he looked up at me. “I have a project for us.”
“Looks good, munchkin.”
I turned and found Dad standing in the doorway. “Thanks,” I said, handing a nail up to Nathan, who was standing on the chair, so he could hang the last painting. “We’re almost done.”
“I haven’t seen this picture in so long,” he said, picking up the frame I’d put on my dresser. “This was taken—what? Ten years ago?”
“Something like that,” I said. “I was eight, I think. My first basketball game at UK. Mom didn’t want to go.”
“That was a good day.”
I nodded.
“Done,” Nathan said, stepping down from the chair. “The decorating is complete.”
I smiled, looking around my room. I may have only been staying there for another week or so, but I’d be back. And when I came back, this space would still be mine. No matter what.
“Hey, guys,” Bailey said, poking her head through the doorway. “Mom wanted me to tell you dinner is ready.”
“Good, because I’m starved,” Nathan said, walking out the door.
“Me, too,” Dad said, following after him. “Seriously, munchkin, the room looks great.”
Bailey walked inside and looked around the room. “These paintings are weird.”
“I know,” I said. “But I like them.”
She smiled at me. “I’m glad you’re not leaving yet.”
“Thanks,” I said, walking into the hallway and down the stairs with her. “I’m glad, too.”
“All right,” Harrison said, stepping away from the fire.
“Let’s burn those little bitches.”
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said, handing him the pair of flip-flops I’d been wearing the night we met. “It’s not like I’ve worn them since you told me they sucked.”
“It’s meant to be more of a symbolic thing than a prevention technique,” he said, tossing the first shoe on the flames.
It was the next Thursday, the night before I was supposed to go back to Indiana. Harrison and I had taken Bailey shopping for clothes that morning. We’d spent hours at the mall in Oak Hill, letting her try on everything she wanted.
“You’re going to knock ’em dead at school on Monday,” Harrison told her in the checkout line. “The kids at Hamilton High won’t know what hit them.”
When we dropped her off at the house, we picked up
Nathan and headed out to Harrison’s. He’d asked the two of us to sleep over. He’d invited Bailey, too, but she had an all-day cheer camp—a program to prep the new freshman cheerleaders—the next day. But Nathan and I said yes. It would be one last hurrah before I went back to Mom’s and Harrison left for California. And he’d asked me to bring “those goddamn flip-flops.”
Apparently, we were having a ceremonial burning.
Once he’d thrown the second shoe into the fire, he took a seat in the grass beside me. Nathan knelt a few feet away, fooling with the ancient cordless radio Harrison had dragged out to his backyard for us.
“So, when do you two move into your dorms?” Harrison asked.
“Monday,” I said. “The same day Bailey starts high school.”
“Who’s taking you?”
“My mom.”
“What about you, Nathan?”
“Mom and Greg,” he said. “Aunt Sherri’s taking Bailey to school.”
“Uh-oh,” Harrison said, looking at me. “Both your parents on campus? Think they’ll run into each other?”
“Maybe.”
I hadn’t talked to Mom yet. Not since the fight where I’d called her self-absorbed. But Dad promised me that we’d both sit down with her tomorrow, when he took me back to Indiana. Yes, it was going to be awkward and uncomfort
able, but it had been six years since the divorce. It was about time we worked things out. And we were going to do it together.
“So, have you figured out a major yet?” he asked. “Is it Russian? Please pick Russian.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Still haven’t picked.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I think I’ll just be undeclared for a while,” I said. “I’ll take a class in everything that sounds interesting. Figure out what makes me happy. Even if I waste a year or two and have to stay in school longer, I think it’ll be worth it to find something I love.”
“But you’re going to take Russian, right?” he asked. “Just one class.”
I laughed. “We’ll see.”
“When do you start classes, Harrison?” Nathan asked.
“Week from Monday,” he said. “Mom and I are flying out to L.A. the Friday before to check out the area. I think she’s more excited than I am. Speaking of which”—he got to his feet—“I’d better go tell her good night, or she’ll be out here in half an hour doing her best to embarrass me. Be right back.”
I watched him run up to his back door, smiling to myself. I’d been so resistant to having a best friend again, but Harrison had forced himself into my life. I was going to miss him so much. But we’d call and text and maybe, if he talked me into it, I’d even get on Facebook. One thing was for sure—I
wasn’t going to let Harrison go easily. And I hoped he wouldn’t let me go, either.
“Finally,” Nathan said as he located a radio station that played clearly. He scooted over to sit next to me. We were both in shorts, and my bare knee leaned against his as we watched the last shreds of my flip-flops being devoured by the flames, stinking up the delicious smell of the wood fire with burning rubber. “So,” he said. “Are you ready to go home tomorrow?”
“I’m not going home,” I said, shaking my head. “This place is my home. Despite all the shit that went down this summer, it’s my home, more than my mom’s house has ever been.”
“So… the answer is no, then.”
“I guess.” I leaned back on my elbows, stretching my feet out in front of me. “But I’m ready to start school. Even though I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m ready to start figuring myself out, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
We sat in silence for a while, just listening to the fire crackle and the radio sing. Then the song faded away, and it was replaced by another.
“Hey,” Nathan said, brightening up.
“Yeah. Van Morrison.”
“It’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ Our song.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nathan, this is not our song.”
“Fine. What is our song, then?”
“Easy. It’s ‘Wonderwall.’ ”
“Wonder-what?”
I glared at him. “You’re kidding, right? ‘Wonderwall’! It’s by Oasis. One of the biggest hits of the nineties. One of the greatest songs of all time?” When no recognition dawned on his face, I opened my mouth to sing it, but Nathan leaned down and put a hand over my mouth.
“Stop. You can’t sing.”
I batted his hand away. “Shut up. You’re a jerk.”
“Why is that our song?” he asked, laughing.
“Because it’s a classic and it’s deep—at least in a they-were-probably-high-when-they-wrote-it sort of way—and it’s one of my favorites and it has nothing to do with brown eyes. So ‘Wonderwall’ is our song. Deal with it.”
“Whatever you say.” He leaned down and kissed me. It was meant to be just a quick peck, but I turned, pushing my weight down on my left elbow and wrapping my other arm around his neck, twisting my fingers in his soft, dark hair.
“We are going to have so much fun at college together,” I breathed against his lips.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, pulling away just an inch. “You think you’ll come to a basketball game? Watch me warm up the bench once in a while?”
“Only if you’ll join me under the bleachers a few times,” I said.
“I might.”
He leaned in to kiss me again, but Harrison’s shout of “Get a room, you two!” convinced him to pull back.
Harrison came hurrying out of his house, three large
bundles in his arms. “Here you go,” he said, dropping one beside me.
“What’s this?”
“A sleeping bag.”
“We’re sleeping out here tonight?” Nathan asked, taking one of the other bundles from Harrison.
“Yep.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because it’s the last night of our summer together,” he said, unfurling his bundle in the grass beside me. “And it’s fucking beautiful out here, so why not?”
Nathan and I spread out our own sleeping bags. I was in the middle, the boys lying close on either side of me. We talked for a long time, laughing, staring up at the stars, making plans for the future when we’d meet up again. After an hour or so, the boys fell asleep, leaving me in silence.
I wished that moment didn’t have to end. A gorgeous summer night with my best friend and my first boyfriend. It was perfect. And I was
happy
.
But there would be other perfect moments, more friends, more times to be happy—they might not come easy, but they’d come. And no matter what, no matter what ups and downs and ins and outs I faced, I had a family I could turn to. One that would love me unconditionally. It felt good to know that again.
I closed my eyes and nestled down into my sleeping bag. Tomorrow, seeing Mom, would be tough. But I’d get through it. Then, a few days later, I’d get to start over in a new place,
with new people, with no reputation or rumors. No hiding, no wallowing, no begging for my parents to notice me. Just a chance to start over and figure out exactly who it was I wanted to be.
Screw nightmares. I was waking up.
First and foremost, I have to thank my family. My parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins—you have all shown your support and confidence in me. Thank you so much for loving me and making Whitley’s loneliness a complete work of imagination.
Enormous gratitude also goes to the women who make my dreams come true. To Joanna Volpe, who loved this book way before I did—thank you, Jo, for your undying faith in me, even when I don’t always have faith in myself. And, as always, this book would not exist if it weren’t for Kate Sullivan, who loved Whitley at her worst and helped me find her best. You two never let me down.
Thanks also to Cindy Eagan, Lisa Sabater, Tracy Shaw, JoAnna Kremer, Stacy Abrams, and the team over at Little,
Brown. You guys never cease to amaze me! Also, Nancy Coffey and Sara Kendall, who are, in general, fabulous.
Love and appreciation also go to my friends. There are too many of you to name here, but you know who you are. Special thanks go to Loretta Nyhan, Holly Bodger, Lee Bross, Amanda Hannah, Courtney Allison Moulton, and Amy Lukavics, who all helped shape this story in some way, or shaped me as a writer. I couldn’t do this without you all. And thanks, of course, to the girls at YA Highway. I love you guys so much.
And last—but never, ever least—thanks to my readers. You are the reason I write, the reason this job is my dream. Thank you for letting my characters into your hearts.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Kody Keplinger
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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ISBN 978-0-316-20212-1
