No Place Like Here
Page 1
Praise for Christina June and No Place Like Here
“No Place Like Here is a rich, engaging story about family ties, living with expectations, and a girl finding her voice when it matters the most. Ashlyn’s transformation from pampered boarding school student to self-reliant, courageous young woman is aspirational!”
—ROBIN CONSTANTINE, author of The Promise of Amazing, The Secrets of Attraction, and The Season of You and Me
“Charming, empowering, and full of heart, No Place Like Here is somewhere you will definitely want to go.”
—KIM CULBERTSON, author of Catch a Falling Star and The Wonder of Us
“A rich and warm coming of age story about family, forgiveness, finding yourself, and finding your voice.”
—KELLY DEVOS, author of Fat Girl on a Plane
“Christina June has a marvelous way of writing stories that grab your heart and refuse to let go. Once you start reading Ashlyn’s story, you won’t be able to stop.”
—BRIGID KEMMERER, author of Letters to the Lost
“Heartfelt and immensely readable, No Place Like Here is a beautifully nuanced story about friendship, family, and finding your voice.”
—JESSICA PENNINGTON, author of Love Songs & Other Lies and When Summer Ends
“A contemporary spin on the classic Hansel and Gretel, Christina June’s No Place Like Here is the story of a girl struggling to find her footing amidst unthinkable family hardship. Main character Ashlyn sparkles, the retreat center setting is fresh and fun, and June’s prose is, as always, lovely and affecting. A delightful story that’s sure to charm fans of young adult literature.”
—KATY UPPERMAN, author of The Impossibility of Us and Kissing Max Holden
“No Place Like Here is a Hansel and Gretel retelling that focuses on an important but often-neglected relationship in young adult novels—the one between a teenage girl and her father. Christina June tackles in a direct way the common struggle that many YA readers can sympathize with: the realization that your parents are not always right, and how do you forge your own path that’s right for you? Ashlyn is a brave and relatable character. Through the course of the novel, she slowly comes out of the shell of who she thinks she should be to become who she knows she can be. It is a hard-won personal journey, and by the end of the book readers will be cheering Ashlyn on as she makes decisions from this newly cultivated place inside her. The retreat camp setting is fitting both for the modern-day fairy tale theme and for the romantic ideology of Thoreau, in which one goes to the woods to find herself. Fans of June’s other books will enjoy references to characters they have already come to know and love from It Started with Goodbye and Everywhere You Want to Be, and new fans will welcome the chance to take a break from their lives and retreat into the woods.”
—FLO @ BOOK NERDS ACROSS AMERICA
Also by Christina June
It Started with Goodbye
Everywhere You Want to Be
BLINK
No Place Like Here
Copyright © 2019 by Christina June
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Blink, 3900 Sparks Dr. SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-0-310-76692-6 (softcover)
ISBN 978-0-310-76698-8 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-310-76859-3 (audio download)
Epub Edition April 2019 9780310766988
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Any internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Blink, nor does Blink vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Interior design: Denise Froehlich
Printed in the United States of America
* * *
19 20 21 22 23 /LSC/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For the quiet girls
“Owning our story can be hard but
not nearly as difficult as spending
our lives running from it.”
DR. BRENÉ BROWN
Contents
Praise for Christina June and No Place Like Here
Also by Christina June
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
There is never a good way to find out your father is going to prison. Some are worse than others, though. For example, learning that your father has committed tax evasion via a social media post is on the top five worst ways list.
I might have missed it, if I hadn’t logged on to see if my best friend, Tatum, had posted any new messages for me. We’d spent the last school year apart—me at boarding school in the Shenandoah Valley and her at home, just south of Washington, DC—and we had been making plans for not only my big return home, but for the upcoming school year. Not that I’d actually asked my parents if I could come back for senior year yet. But I would. Soon.
And there, below a photo of Tatum and her boyfriend, was the news article from the Washington Post about my father. And the cherry on top? Cassie Pringle, the girl down the hall, hadn’t even posted it. Her mother had. With the message, “Cass, doesn’t this guy’s daughter go to your school?” Thanks, Mrs. Pringle.
The headline was the worst: “Millionaire Real Estate Developer Evades IRS.” It made my father seem like some creepy super villain who was ducking into shadowy alleys to avoid getting caught by the police. But, in a way, it wasn’t that far off. Instead of an alleyway and the police, my dad hid from the federal government behind a shiny exterior and seemingly pristine business.
I inhaled and exhaled in short, panicky little bursts as I skimmed the first few paragraphs.
Prominent. Community leader. Disappointing. Seven years without paying. Dead to rights. Plea hearing. Guilty. Sentenced. Jail time. No comment.
I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat and shut my laptop harder than I meant to. There was no way. Right? My dad going to jail? I scoffed aloud. No chance. It was a misprint. Had to be. There was no way my parents would keep something like Dad committing white collar crime a secret from me. Was there?
I felt around in my backpack for my phone. I’ll just call home and clear it up. Easy.
I dialed my mother but got her voicemail.
“You’ve reached Celine Zanotti. I can’t answer my phone right now, but please leave me a message and I’ll
get back to you as soon as I’m able. Have a fabulous day.”
Fabulous was my mother’s favorite word. She thought my elitist private boarding school was fabulous. She thought her closet full of shoes was fabulous. She thought our vacations to Miami Beach each summer were fabulous.
Is Dad’s alleged impending doom fabulous?
“Hi, Mom. I just read an article saying Dad is going to jail and thought that was something you would tell me before it hit the national news. So, please call me and let me know what’s going on. Please.”
Two pleases. I’d done it without realizing, but once it hit me, I knew I was scared.
“Call Dad,” I said into the phone. It practically slipped from my sweaty palm. It rang once. Twice. Three times. I was about to slam the phone down on my bed when my dad answered.
“Hello?” Dad’s voice was gruff. Short. Like he didn’t have time for this.
“Hi, Dad.” My voice quavered. “It’s me.”
“Ashlyn, hi. How are you? Getting ready for exams, I hope.” Did I hear him take a deep breath? Was it fear or relief? Regardless, here he was, still managing to tell me what he thought I should be doing. Classic.
I gritted my teeth. “Of course. You know me.” And the kicker was, he didn’t. But that was neither here nor there.
Dad cleared his throat. “Well, I’m guessing you’re calling because you’ve heard about my little setback.”
Little setback? Is that what going to federal prison is? I almost said. “So, it’s true? I wish you had told me yourself.”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “Sweetheart, your mother and I have been trying to determine the best way to tell you. My lawyers and I were able to make a deal with the prosecuting attorney, which thankfully avoided a big trial and the media circus that comes with it. However, it seems we took too long to fill you in. I’m sorry if you were shocked by what you read.”
Sweetheart. It left a sour taste on my tongue. He only used terms of endearment when he was trying to convince me of something. And he was sorry that I was shocked? What a non-apology. Like it was somehow my fault that I’d been surprised by the news he had failed to mention to me.
I pursed my lips. “I’m sorry I was shocked by the fact that you didn’t tell me before the internet did.” As soon as I said it, my stomach dropped like I was on a roller coaster. Clapping back at him never went over well.
My father exhaled into the receiver. “Unhelpful, Ashlyn. This is a very difficult time for me right now. It is certainly not the time to be disrespectful. You were not raised to act this way.”
My chest tightened the way it always did when he criticized me. I wanted to tell my dad it was a very difficult time for all of us right now. Because of him. I wanted to tell him I was angry something catastrophic was happening to our family. Because of him. I wanted to tell him I felt embarrassed and ashamed. Because of him. I wanted to tell him that despite my anger, I was scared. Because of him, and for him as well. But I said none of those things.
“Yes, sir.” It never failed. If I said, “Yes, sir,” he nodded his head and we moved on. But how did we just move on from this?
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. Are you listening?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One, I will turn myself in to the Williams Correctional Facility in two weeks’ time. I will be there for fourteen months and one day, possibly less. Sometimes a sentence will be reduced when an inmate demonstrates good behavior.” He called himself an inmate. I wanted to throw up. “Two, your mother is not herself right now.” Who is she, I wanted to ask, but kept quiet. “She will be checking herself into the Hart Canyon Rehabilitation Center this summer.”
A shriek got stuck in my throat and came out like the whine of a wounded animal. “Is Mom on drugs?”
“No, Ashlyn, your mother is not on drugs,” he said, like I should know better. What did he expect? I just found out my father was a criminal. Anything seemed possible now. “She is exhausted.”
Exhausted was sometimes code for depressed; I knew what that was from my Introduction to Psychology course this year. But a rehab center?
“So, you’re both leaving me,” I said flatly, while my stomach bottomed out.
He sighed loudly again, annoyed. “Your mother and I are handling our business so this family can move forward.” He sounded so matter-of-fact. No nonsense. As if this was just another business transaction and not the total destruction of our family.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. A year ago, I’d had a little run-in with the law myself, but no real harm was done. Unfortunately, my father’s solution to me making one mistake was sending me away to boarding school, where they would be better able to “teach me to make the right choices.” All our conversations over the last eleven months were related to my grades. The two times I’d been home in the past year—Christmas and Thanksgiving breaks—had been a preview to what death must be like since our house was as silent as a tomb, and nearly as empty.
But this? This was something else entirely. Both my parents were abandoning me. My mind emptied itself of the annoyance and filled instead with fear. What was going to happen to them? To me? I imagined everything from having to beg Tatum’s family to let me live in their spare room to living on the street to going into foster care.
Lost in my spinning thoughts, I didn’t realize my father was still talking, taking advantage of my silence to advance his plans for my life. “Instead of spending the summer at school, you will go live with Uncle Ed and Aunt Greta. I want to make sure you’re supported during this transition.”
My mouth dropped open. I was glad we weren’t video chatting. Better that he didn’t see my red cheeks and the steam coming out of my ears. “In Pennsylvania? The middle of nowhere? That’s so unfair. Why can’t I just stay here? There will be plenty of girls here to support me.” It was a page right out of his book as a seasoned business executive: use the other party’s words to make your own argument.
My father blew out a breath that crackled in my ear. “This is so typical of you. Do not talk to me about what is unfair, Ashlyn. We all need to make sacrifices right now. This is not a negotiation.”
My chest seized again. “Fine.” The only person who seemed to be making any sacrifices in this arrangement was me, but that was, unfortunately, normal.
He went on. “I’ve arranged for you to have a summer job. You and your cousin, Hannah, will be working at a wilderness retreat center. The kind of place companies bring employees to do team building. Hannah worked there last year. She loves it. Because Greta and Ed know the owner, Greta was able to pull some strings and get you in as well. You’ll be doing something productive with your time. It’ll be a nice leadership role to put on your résumé when you apply to college in the fall.”
“That’s very nice of them,” I said quietly so I didn’t start shouting. If I were to shout at him, I’d probably say, “You’re ditching me at the edge of the forest?” very loudly. Not that I ever shouted at my dad, but if there was ever a time to start, this was it.
My aunt and uncle were nice people. Aunt Greta was a social worker and Uncle Ed was a high school biology teacher. They sent thoughtful birthday cards and a family newsletter in their holiday card. I knew Hannah had been president of the environmental science club at her school and her older brother Dylan was studying abroad this summer in France so he could “improve his fluency while also getting in a bit of history.” They had all the outer trappings of a perfect family. However, my faith in the accuracy of outside appearances had become significantly skewed over the years. My dad liked people to think we were perfect because he had a job that paid a boatload of money, we had a huge house, he drove an expensive car, and had shiny shoes and could afford to send me to the “best school in Virginia,” which was the line he came up with to avoid telling people I got arrested. Clearly, we were far from perfect if you looked past the surface.
“So, it’s all decided.”
“All decided
,” I echoed with zero enthusiasm. I knew better than to complain further. The sureness in his voice and the fact that he wasn’t trying to convince me that spending my summer in the middle of the woods was a good idea just proved how much he was still in charge. Even when he was about to be locked up.
“You’ll have fun, Ashlyn. This place looks like a stand-up operation. You’ll love it. Hannah wouldn’t go back for a second year if it wasn’t great.”
Hannah and I are not the same kind of girl, I didn’t say. But for my father to know that, he would’ve had to have read the annual holiday newsletter and I would’ve bet my college fund that he hadn’t taken the time to read it further than to confirm that his brother and his family were alive and kicking. He would also have had to pay attention to me beyond making sure my report card was flawless, my clothes were acceptable, and my posture was straight.
“A town car will be coming to pick you up at the end of the week,” my dad rolled on. He, apparently, had been restricted from travelling any farther than a short radius from our house. Mom, he told me, wasn’t up for the drive. I said nothing to protest and wrote it all down in my planner.
When we hung up, I stayed perched on the edge of my bed, staring at the seam in the bedspread. What just happened? My entire plan for the summer, the next school year, and potentially forever, just went up in a puff of smoke. My life was suddenly completely unrecognizable. And I’d said nothing to protest. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I opened my nightstand drawer, took out my purple pocket-sized quote journal, and selected a matching purple marker from my pencil cup.
I twisted my body to get a good angle and wrote on the inside of the drawer:
SILENCE IS A SOURCE OF GREAT STRENGTH.
Lao Tzu
A tiny knot of tension in my chest unraveled and I was able to inhale deeply. Maybe whoever lived in this room next year would see those words. Maybe it would be a source of strength for them in the midst of their own crisis. I didn’t feel strong, but if this quote had survived thousands of years, there had to be some shred of truth to it. Or so I hoped.