Emery Lord - The Start of Me and You

Open Road Summer

Copyright 2015 by Emery Lord

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First published in the United States of America in March 2015
by Bloomsbury Childrens Books
Electronic edition published in March 2015
www.bloomsbury.com

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lord, Emery.
The start of me and you / by Emery Lord.
pages cm
Summary: Paige Hancock starts junior year with a list of ways to take back her life, rather than spending another year as the Girl Whose Boyfriend Drowned. Finding out that Ryan Chase, her long-term crush, is available again might be the key.
[1. Self-actualization (Psychology)Fiction. 2. Best friendsFiction. 3. FriendshipFiction. 4. High schoolsFiction. 5. SchoolsFiction. 6. Family lifeIndianaFiction. 7. IndianaFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L87736St 2015 [Fic]dc23 2014014376

eISBN: 978-1-61963-360-5

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To J (for that year, for every year, for everything)

Of all the places to have something memorable happen to you, Oakhurst, Indiana, had to be one of the worst. Our town was too big for people to know everything about you, but just small enough for them to clench down on one defining moment like teeth clamped on prey. Won the spelling bee in fourth grade? You are Dictionary Girl forever. Laughed a little too hard in sixth grade? You will still be the Guy Who Peed His Pants as you walk across the stage to receive your diploma.

And I was the Girl Whose Boyfriend Drowned.

The day before our junior year began, Tessa sat across from me in our booth at Alcotts Books and Beans, reading while we hid from the August heat. I sucked down the last of my iced coffee and leaned back.

Im gonna look around before we have to go, I said.

Okay. She didnt glance up. Her skin had soaked up the summer sun so that she glowed from the inside out, tan skin disguising the only feature we sharedour freckles. Mine were more pronounced than ever, scatters of pinpoints against my still-pale skin.

I glanced back over each shoulder as I scanned the shelves for TV Writers Boot Camp. No one but my grandmother knew Id been slowly but surely writing a script for my favorite show, The Mission District, about a plucky father-daughter duo running a diner in San Francisco. The script occupied the small, secret spaces of my days, though Id never planned to do anything with it. At least I hadnt until I discovered a summer screen-writing program at New York University. There were a hundred reasons I shouldnt applytoo expensive, too improbable that Id get in, and too impossible that my mom would agree to it before next summer. Still, I kept editing the script, almost compulsively.

Moments before flagging down an employee to help me find the book, I noticed a woman beelining toward me. I recognized herthe mom of someone in my grade, though I couldnt remember whom. By the time she made eye contact with me, it was too late to run off. And to make matters worse, I could sense someone on my other side, surveying the poetry and plays sectionsomeone who would witness every awkward moment heading my way.

Hello, Paige. How are you? Adjusting the sensible purse on her shoulder, she gave me That Look, full of pity. Youd think, given the diversity of the human population, that we would have come up with multiple facial expressions for sympathy. But no. Theres one: eyebrows and mouth downturned, head tilted like a curious bird.

Thats all it took. Aarons grinning face flashed in my mind, an expression that meant he was up to something. The ache of his absence throbbed in the center of my chest, as real as any physical pain Id ever felt. Just as quickly, the guilt entered my bloodstream like a toxin. There I was, clinging to the scraps of happiness that I could finally feel again: coffee and books and an afternoon with my best friend. What right did I have, when he was gone?

Fine, thank you, I said. Id seen That Look on hundreds of faces in the year since Aaron died. People had no idea what it did to me, how it brought back feelings in sharp pangs.

The woman forged on with that grim-but-caring smile. I heard the school built a garden to commemorate Aaron. Thats so nice. I read an article in the paper that

She kept talking, but her voice fuzzed over as I fought off memories of the garden dedication ceremony, the smell of mulch and springtime. The whole sophomore class was herded outside for it last April. Tessa, Kayleigh, and Morgan stood tightly around me, like they could physically shield me from all the stares. Aarons parents and brother shook hands with school-board members and dabbed at tears. The principal said a few words. Hed asked me to speak as well, but I said it should be Clark Driscoll, Aarons best friend.

a fitting tribute, I think, the woman concluded, finally.

Yes, I said. Very fitting.

Well, tell your mom I said hello.

Will do. This fib seemed more polite than asking her name. I forced a smile as she walked away.

As always, I felt like a fraud, accepting condolences from strangers. Aaron Rosenthal and I met after my fifteenth birthday, and we went out for two months. Compared to his parents and friends, I barely knew him. I knew the good thingshow he did goofy stuff just to make me laugh. How he used to lace our fingers together as we walked, squeezing my hand when he was excited about something. And he was always excited about somethingno tough-guy smoke screen like other guys in our grade. Of course, he probably got grumpy sometimes. I just didnt know him long enough or well enough to see it.

I mourned for his life, but I also mourned, selfishly, for myself. The first boy to really notice me drowned in a freak accident, and I would never know the whole of him. The idea of us still hung in the air, but wed never be more than a few golden memories and a bundle of what-ifs. How do you find closure in thatespecially when strangers treat you like a widow to a devoted husband? In post-mourning purgatory, I was stuck like the hardened gum under our booths table.

And thats when I glanced to my left.

The person standing therethe guy whod heard that whole exchangewas Ryan Chase. My ultimate, since-middle-school pipe dream of a crush. I hadnt seen him in months, and hed since become a special brand of hot over the summer. Tan skin, light-brown hair lightened further by the sun. Standing this close, I realized wed probably be the same height if I was wearing heels, but he didnt need to be tallnot with that blue-eyed, broad-shouldered thing happening.

I jerked my head away, mortified. I told myself he hadnt heard that woman talking, but he stepped closer to me and said quietly, Hey. You all right?

I didnt think Ryan Chase even knew who I was, but of course he didPaige Hancock, the Girl Whose Boyfriend Drowned.