As for Emory? Maybe yes, maybe no. She didn’t have to work out all the details this very second, and she could still change her mind if she wanted to. But maybe with Emory, just as with Project Unity, she could be open to compromise? Even if she didn’t yet know what that would look like.
It felt enormous to say yes to such uncertainty. It felt terrifying, too. Could she really trust the world—and herself—enough to take such a leap?
She missed Charlie so much.
She wasn’t happy without him.
She loved him, and the proof of their love was inside her.
You’re my home, Charlie, she’d told him once. Was he still?
Hope filled her chest as she pulled out her phone. She clicked on Charlie’s name. She hit CALL. She raised the phone to her ear and prayed for the right words, whispering, “Please.”
his life had told him one of two things. The ones who hurt him told him that he was born a failure and would die a failure; the ones who wanted to help him told him to follow his dreams, that he could do anything.
For years, Charlie had rejected both perspectives, believing life was a crapshoot. There was no “good” or “bad.” No grand scheme. You were born alone, and you died alone, and if you got lucky, maybe you’d have some decent moments along the way. Or not.
Then he was placed with Pamela and Chris. They fell into the “if you can dream it, you can do it” camp, but unlike the rah-rah foster parents who liked to show off Charlie as their example of Christian charity, Pamela and Chris seemed to mean it.
When they brought Dev into their lives, they told him the same thing.
“Screw your wheelchair,” was how Chris put it. “Screw your handicap, or your ‘challenge,’ or whatevah the hell you want to call it. Listen, buddy, there are things you can change and things you can’t, and when it comes to the ones you can’t, screw ’em.”
He rapped his head. “Take me. You think I choose to mix up my sixes and nines like a damn five-year-old? I’m serious here. You think I choose that?”
“No?” Dev replied.
“Hell no,” Chris said, making Dev giggle. Dev was eight at the time, and such a sweet kid, always wanting to show Charlie stuff or offering him dirty, beat-up sticks of gum.
“Now, let’s take a look at your brother, Chahlie,” Chris continued. From the day Dev joined the family, Chris and Pamela referred to them as brothers. “Poor guy’s so ugly, he can’t even throw a boomerang. Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll nevah come back. Ha! Whatcha think of that, huh?”
Dev giggled and glanced at Charlie.
“I ain’t lying,” Chris said, holding up his right hand as if he were in court. “Am I lying, Charlie, or am I lying?”
“He’s lying,” Charlie told Dev. “He’s jealous because I’m better-looking than he is.”
“Ah, you got me, son,” Chris said, clapping Charlie on the back. “Other than Dev here, you’re the handsomest guy around.”
Partner, buddy, son—that’s what Chris called Dev and Charlie. Pamela called them “her boys,” or sweetheart, or darling, and before Dev joined the household, Charlie had felt like a phony. How could he be good enough to be Chris’s son? Pamela’s sweetheart?
After Dev came, Charlie started to get used to it. He saw that Chris and Pamela weren’t playing games, because he saw for himself how great Dev was. Any parent would be proud to have Dev for a son, just as any guy worth knowing would feel lucky to claim him as a brother.
If it was true for Dev, might it be true for Charlie?
After Dev came, Charlie also started praying, despite remaining unconvinced of God’s existence. Thank you, he said silently. Nothing more.
Then he fell in love with Wren, and he wondered if maybe there was a God.
Maybe.
But if so, He was cruel.
Wren hadn’t spoken to him since the night Starrla showed up at Tessa’s. When he called, she didn’t pick up. When he went to her house, she wouldn’t come to the door. Did she view him differently now because of what Starrla said? Did she not want him anymore? Was she repulsed by him, see him as trash? Charlie was sick from missing her. From worrying what she was thinking about him. Aching for her voice, aching for her touch. Frantic to make things better, but not knowing how.
She was getting on a plane in four hours, and Charlie was beside himself with longing for her. He paced back and forth. Should he go to her? Try to catch her before her flight?
What more could he say?
Would she listen?
He knew from experience that when Wren fell into a funk, she fell hard. Given her refusal to talk to him, it seemed she’d decided to cross him out of her life. End of story.
Charlie couldn’t accept that. Wren wasn’t Starrla. She wasn’t shutting him out to hurt him or make him feel ashamed. He couldn’t believe that of her. But it seemed Wren no longer believed in them. He could help her believe again, but he didn’t know how to get to her. Dammit. He didn’t know what to do.
Dev butted the door to Charlie’s room, ramming his wheelchair into it repeatedly until Charlie crossed the worn carpet and yanked it open.
“Dude,” Charlie said.
“Dude yourself,” Dev said. He wheeled past Charlie and circled around behind him. He butted the backs of Charlie’s knees, saying, “Move your butt. Family conference. Walk.”
“What? No. I’m busy.” He dragged his hand down his face. “What?”
“Mom and Dad want to talk to us in the kitchen.”
“They do? Is something wrong?”
“Less talking, more walking,” Dev said. “Move your butt.”
“Hey. Ouch. Okay, but—”
“Nope,” Dev said, blocking Charlie from getting to his desk. “You don’t need your phone. You’ve been checking that damn thing like it’s going out of style, but you can live without it for ten minutes.” He reversed and rammed Charlie again. “Go, fool.”
Charlie went to the kitchen, nerves jangling, and found Pamela and Chris waiting for him at the table. Dev joined them and jerked his chin at Charlie’s chair.
“Sit, my brother,” he said.
Charlie sat. Pamela and Chris wore matching expressions, and their concern alarmed him. What was going on—and could it wait? Wren’s flight. Four hours. Less than. His brain hurt.
“What’s going on?” he said.
Chris flipped something over to him. His passport. Charlie felt the blood drain from his face.
“Going somewhere, Chahlie?” Chris said. “Anything, ya know, ya want to tell us?”
Charlie glanced at Pamela, whose blue eyes were big and round.
He looked at Dev, who said, “I found the letter from that program. The one in Guatemala.”
Charlie struggled for words. “Uh … I, ah …”
“Project Unity,” Pamela said. “You got accepted. That’s great, Charlie.”
“It is?”
“I wish you would have told us, but yes. They’re lucky to have you.”
“If you’re going,” Dev said. “Are you?”
“No,” Charlie said sharply.
“Hey,” Pamela said. “Charlie.”
He wondered if he was going to be reprimanded. “What?”
She found his hand. “Do you remember when you were a little older than Dev, and you found me crying in the kitchen?”
“Um. Yeah …?”
“You were my age once?” Dev said to Charlie. “Ha.” He turned to Pamela. “Mom, why were you crying?”
“I don’t remember,” Pamela said. “What I do remember was how worried your brother was.” She turned from Dev to Charlie. “I always wondered if maybe that was the first time you realized I was just a person, with problems of my own. Do you think?”
Charlie remembered being scared that he’d done something to make her unhappy. When Pamela assured him he wasn’t responsible, he wanted to find out what was and make it go away.
“We’re all just people,�
� Pamela said, squeezing his fingers. Her manner was so mild that it took Charlie a moment to realize she understood more than she’d first revealed. “Okay, Charlie? We all have things we deal with, but it’s all right. We always muddle through.”
“Yeah, Charlie,” Dev said.
“Yeah, Dev,” Charlie said. “You don’t even know what she’s talking about.”
“I do so.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Boys,” Pamela said.
Chris put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.
Charlie and Dev stopped arguing.
“Charlie, isn’t Project Unity the program Wren applied to?” Pamela asked.
“Yep,” Dev said.
Heat rushed to Charlie’s face. He’d told no one about his application, not even Wren.
“We think you should go,” Pamela said gently.
“What?”
“Hell yeah, if you want to,” Chris said. “For once in your stinkin’ life, we want you to do what you want to do.”
Charlie took a shallow breath. He’d thought that Pamela would be hurt and that Chris would be pissed. Pamela did look concerned, but not hurt, and if Chris was pissed, it wasn’t for the reason Charlie had assumed.
Why had Charlie thought they wouldn’t support him? His biological mother, long ago, had treated him like garbage to be disposed of. Other foster parents had pushed him this way and that. But what had Chris and Pamela ever done to make him feel anything other than loved?
“Mom and Dad said we can visit you,” Dev said. “There’s an active volcano in Guatemala. Did you know that? I totally want to see a volcano.”
“But I already told you. I said no to Project Unity.”
“Dude,” Dev said. “Why?”
“Because …” Charlie blinked. Was it because he was scared his family would fall apart without him, or was he scared that he’d fall apart without them?
“If you don’t know, then call them or whatever and tell them yes,” Dev said. “Tell them you changed your mind.”
“What about Georgia Tech?” he said, feeling slow. “In a week, I’m starting at Tech.”
“I called the dean of admissions,” Pamela said. “They’re happy to let you defer.”
“But Wren said that Emory …” He stopped. Wren said that Emory was happy to let her defer, too, just that they couldn’t guarantee a spot. But since when did life offer guarantees?
“Um, what about you?” Charlie said, his heart pounding.
“Who?” Chris said. He looked around, then held up his palms. “Us? Me and Pammie and Dev here? What’d ya think, Chahlie, that I was going to make you work at the shop till you were sixty-five?”
“We would never want to hold you back,” Pamela said. “We’ll miss you, but we’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Dev said. “Anyway, I can help Dad. I’ve got this.”
Chris slid a piece of paper in front of him, a document of some sort. “Listen,” he said. “Do what ya want, but sign this for me first, would ya?”
The words on the document blurred, but Charlie had seen a version of a similar document once before. This one was different mainly because of the word adult in front of some of the other words. Adult adoptee—that would be Charlie. Adoptive parents? Chris and Pamela. The first time, Charlie had said no, because he was afraid to get attached. But who was he kidding? He already was attached.
Dev bounced in his wheelchair like he needed to pee. “We want to adopt a bouncing baby eighteen-year-old!” he said. He cracked up. “Meaning you! You’re the bouncing baby!”
“Your brother is not a baby,” Pamela told Dev, “but yes. It’s time. Don’t you think, Charlie?”
“It’s been time for a long time,” Dev said
“We shoulda brought it up earlier,” Chris said. “But after that first time we asked, we didn’t want to pressure you. Or, hell, maybe we were gun-shy. So shoot us.” Chris laughed awkwardly and clapped Charlie’s shoulder. “Sign the fucking paper, Chahlie. Do it for your mothah.”
Charlie’s throat tightened. He picked up the pen and scribbled his name, and Dev thrust both arms into the air.
“Yes!” he crowed. “Welcome to the family, dumb-ass.”
“Dev,” Pamela scolded.
“How about ‘welcome to the family, dumb-shit’?” Dev tried. “Can I call him dumb-shit?”
“You can call him Charlie,” Pamela said. “And he was already part of the family. Now it’s just official.”
Chris pushed back his chair and gave Charlie a noogie. “Welcome to the family, dumb-shit.”
After that, everyone moved fast. Pamela called the airline and reserved a ticket for him, to be paid for and picked up at the airport. Chris found a duffel bag and threw in clothes and a toothbrush. Dev wheeled himself to their neighbor’s house, who was a frequent traveler, and came back with a stick of gum and a converter for his electronics.
“Ms. Sheldon said you could keep it,” Dev said. “She says ‘good luck’ and ‘have fun.’ And don’t eat street food.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, humbled by all they’d done for him.
At the airport, in the passenger drop-off lane, Chris turned around from the front seat of the car and pressed ten twenties into Charlie’s hand. That, plus the cash Charlie had saved up, would just pay for his ticket and short-term living expenses.
“Consider it a bonus for that big chair order ya did such a bang-up job on,” he said gruffly. He dug again in his wallet and handed Charlie a prepaid phone card. “And listen. Call us when you get there.”
Charlie, who was halfway out of the van, stopped and said, “My phone. Crap.”
“You don’t have your phone?”
“I don’t have my phone.”
“Does Wren know you’re coming?” Pamela asked. “Have you let her know?”
“No. I guess I’ll—” He looked at the airport. There were so many people. Was Wren already through security? More important, would she listen to what he had to say?
Well, he’d have the entire flight to get her back. He’d either succeed or die trying.
“Charlie,” Dev said from the back of the van. He held up Charlie’s battered Nokia and wiggled it. “See how smart I am?” He grinned and tossed it to Charlie. “Told you, I’ve got this.”
And then there was one more round of hugs and goodbyes, and when Chris finally drove off, it was 3:43. Wren’s flight—their flight—left at six, which meant Charlie didn’t have any time to waste.
But before he mad-dashed through the crowd, he had to talk to Wren. Or try. He needed to hear her voice, even if all she said was, “Hi, this is Wren. Leave a message!”
He flipped open his phone. He tapped the power button, and the screen lit up. Across the top was an alert that made his heart skip a beat.
WREN GRAY
MISSED CALL
She’d called him?
He went to his home screen. She’d not only called him but left four messages and a string of texts as well. His pulse raced, and all of his insecurities came flooding back.
No, he told himself. Breathe. Find out what she has to say and then decide what you want to do.
Except he couldn’t wait that long.
Instead of listening to her message, he hit RETURN CALL and raised the phone to his ear. Something good and certain filled him up, because he knew, suddenly and absolutely, that all would be well.
“Charlie?” Wren said, answering halfway through the first ring.
“Wren,” he said, letting go.
It wasn’t the end of their story. It was the beginning.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Again and again, I am humbled by the outpouring of help that comes my way when I set about to write a book. It would be absolutely impossible to go at it on my own; I am inordinately grateful that I don’t have to.
Thanks to Emily Lockhart, Sarah Mlynowski, Alan Gratz, and Ruth White for being first readers of this one. I gladly took every single one of y’all’s suggestions an
d put them into place as best I could. Thanks to Sterling Backus for talking to me about guns, because I knew nothing. Thanks to the faculty and students at Vermont College writers’ retreat, spring of 2013, for infusing me with hope. I was in a down spot, and y’all lifted me up. Thanks to Andrea Vuleta, bookseller extraordinaire, for early words of encouragement. Andrea, to answer your question, I’ve decided that I don’t mind kicking the hornet’s nest if it’s for the sake of a good story. And huge fuzzy thanks to Bob, for being Bob.
Thanks to my amazing agent, Barry Goldblatt, for adoring Say Anything. I do, too! Thanks to Tricia Ready, his assistant, for—omigod—writing me rap songs about Wren and Charlie. You are so adorable. Thanks to everyone at Abrams for saying to me, “Yes, you are family; yes, you matter; yes, we like your books,” and especially to Morgan Dubin, Laura Mihalick, Jeff Yamaguchi, Chris Blank, Jen Graham, Erica Finkel, Elisa Garcia, Mary Wowk, Alison Gervais, Chad Beckerman, Tamar Brazis, Maria Middleton, Jason Wells, and Michael Jacobs.
Thanks to my editor, Susan Van Metre, who never stops caring, never stops pushing, never stops—ahem—passing the manuscript back to me and saying, in her sweet and innocent-sounding way, “Well, but I wonder if you could [fill in the blank, and by tomorrow, please, and if it involves rewriting the whole frickin’ thing, then so be it!].” ☺ My books would be nothing without Susan. I, as a writer, would be nothing without Susan.
Thanks to Al Myracle-Martin and Alei Throckmorton for reminding me, every day, how magical first love is …
… and thanks to Randy Bartels for showing me, every day, that the magic lives on.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
is the author of the New York Times–bestselling Internet Girls series (ttyl, ttfn, and l8r, g8r), Shine, Rhymes with Witches, Bliss, and the Flower Power series, among many other books for teens and young people. She lives with her family in Fort Collins, Colorado. Visit her online at laurenmyracle.com.
This book was designed by Maria T. Middleton.
Its production was overseen by Alison Gervais and Rachel Poloski.
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