I crack a smile. “The interviewer was a woman.”
“My point is,” Laney goes on, undeterred, “you’re always so hard on yourself.”
I release a sigh. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I would have gotten in no matter what I did inside that woman’s living room. Maybe I didn’t need the fancy school or the fancy résumé, or even the perfect interview. Maybe I did it all on my own.
Maybe I can start cutting myself a little slack.
“Eew!” Mia shouts through the newspaper office door. “Ethan! Stop breathing in my face.”
“Well, then stop putting your face near my mouth!” Ethan shouts back.
Laney chuckles. “You should probably get back in there and check your email before Mia bursts a lung.”
“Check my email?” I ask in confusion.
Laney snorts. “Two minutes after getting into Columbia and you’ve already forgotten about us? Hello? The Spartan Press Award? The committee sent out the results via email at four o’clock. Ring any bells? We’ve all been dying in there.”
Oh my God! I completely forgot. Today is the day. December 15. Early decision letters and the Spartan Press Award results!
I dash back into the room, shoving through the crowd by the door. Laney pushes her way after me and hovers behind my chair as I log in to one of the computers and navigate to my school email address.
Everyone sees the email at the top of my inbox and a simultaneous yelp pierces the room, followed by a hushed, anticipatory silence.
I reach for Laney’s hand. She squeezes reassuringly. I pause with my finger on the mouse button, ready to click. Ready to see my future. All of our futures.
As I sit in that chair with my best friend by my side and my entire newspaper staff huddled around me chanting “Four years in a row! Four years in a row!” I realize that it doesn’t matter what that email says. It doesn’t matter if we fill that display case with a thousand more gold trophies.
Because, right now, I feel like I’ve already won.
Epilogue
Three weeks later …
* * *
I drop my paper teacup into the trash and head for the door. “Are you two lovebirds coming?” I call back to Laney and Austin, who are still cuddled together in the booth. “We’re going to be late.”
“Hold your balls,” Laney says, downing the last sip of her coffee.
Austin slides out and offers Laney his hand, pulling her to her feet.
The three of us leave Peabody’s and climb into my car, Laney in the passenger seat and Austin in the back like always. As we drive the few blocks to school, Laney tries to give me a recap of the latest episode of some new comedy show they’ve been watching, but it sounds just as horrible as that other one they both like.
“Is this one full of fart jokes, too?” I ask, grinning at Austin in the rearview mirror.
“No!” he says earnestly. “Well, not really. Okay, maybe there’s a few. But for all intensive purposes, it’s fart-joke free.”
Laney and I share a conspiratorial look, then both burst out laughing.
“What?” Austin asks, leaning forward to stick his head between the seats.
“Nothing!” we sing in unison.
When we get to school, Laney and I say goodbye to Austin and make our way to the newspaper office, pausing in front of the display case to admire our latest gold statue that arrived last week.
On this one, the plaque says:
SOUTHWEST STAR
EDITORS IN CHIEF:
KENNEDY RHODES AND DELANEY PATEL
Laney fought me again. But this time I was insistent. Enough is enough. She deserves the title just as much as I do.
“It really does look good,” she says, pressing her fingertips against the glass.
“I agree. Awards should come in fours.”
She laughs and we walk into the office together. Tomorrow night is another Drop Dead. The issue is due in two days. But I’m much more relaxed this time. Or at least, I’m trying to be.
I sit down at my station and turn on the computer, cringing when that nauseating melody from Excavation Empire blasts through the speakers. “Ugh,” I whine. “Horace has been using my terminal to play that stupid game of his again.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Laney promises.
I close the game and open the file for our latest issue. “I doubt it’ll do any good,” I say, pressing Print on the front page and then leaning over to grab the proof from the printer so I can check it for typos.
“It will if I threaten to cut off his balls,” Laney says nonchalantly.
I stifle a laugh. “That’s a good point.”
“Uh,” a tentative voice says. “Is this the newspaper office?”
I glance up and my heart sputters to a halt when I see who’s standing in the doorway.
It’s none other than Dylan Parker.
His hair is still messy and falling into his face, but he’s no longer wearing his disheveled uniform that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks. Instead he’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt.
He looks amazing.
I launch out of my seat, tripping all over my feet as I stumble toward him. “Y-y-yes,” I stammer. “This is the newspaper office.”
He chuckles. “Oh, good. I heard some talk about ball chopping and I wanted to double-check.”
I flash a look at Laney, but she stares back at me with a clueless expression.
Of course she would.
She has no idea who this is. Dylan is a ghost from another life. Another universe. Another choice.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, trying to keep the shock from my voice.
“Uh,” he mumbles, sounding a little scared, “I just transferred here and I was hoping to join the paper.”
My mouth falls open. He just transferred here? To Southwest High?
Dylan chuckles at my reaction. “Hey, easy there, Crusher.”
I gape at him. “W-w-what did you call me?”
He points down at my hand and I realize I’m still holding the front-page proof. Although, holding is a generous description.
“Crusher,” he repeats. “You’re being pretty merciless on that piece of paper.”
I release my clenched fingers and the proof drops to the ground. Dylan bends down to pick it up and I catch a whiff of that delicious citrus scent of his.
It’s exactly the same.
He smooths out the page and looks at it. “I’ve heard great things about your paper. Do you have any room on the staff?”
I close my eyes and shake my head in an attempt to clear it. I fully expect him to be gone when I open my eyes, having vanished back into the depths of my imagination where I’m positive this whole conversation is taking place. But no. He’s still there. Still looking at me. Still waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You transferred here?”
He laughs again. It’s such a beautiful sound in my ears. “Yes. From the Windsor Academy.” He rolls his eyes. “Thank God. I couldn’t stand to be there a second longer. I tried everything to get out of that place.”
I suddenly have a flicker of a memory. Something Dylan said to me in his room after I discovered he’d confessed to my crime.
“I would have found another way out eventually.”
“How did you finally manage to get expelled?”
He flashes me that scrumptiously wicked smirk. “Expelled? I like the way you think. But I didn’t have to get expelled. I turned eighteen yesterday and before the wax could even melt on my birthday candles, I dropped out, and voilà! Here I am.”
“Voilà,” I repeat softly. Wistfully. “Here you are.”
He stares at me and, for just a moment, our eyes lock. I can feel that same tingle I felt when he first touched me at the coffee shop. “Do I know you?” he asks somewhat dazedly.
I chuckle. “Yeah, maybe in some other life.”
He shakes his head. “No! I know you! You came by the Windsor Academ
y about two months ago. I met you outside the dean’s office.”
I smile. “That’s right. Good memory.”
“You were kind of hard to forget.”
I laugh. “I must have come off a little crazy.”
He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a little.”
I cross my arms over my chest in mock offense. “And you really want to join our newspaper?”
He grins. “If there’s room.”
I turn back to Laney, who waggles her eyebrows at me. “There’s room,” I reply. “In fact, we need a story by tomorrow night about the school board election debate this afternoon. It’s supposed to get pretty nasty. Do you want to take it?”
He looks pleasantly surprised. “Really? Just like that? Are you sure? It sounds like a big story. You don’t even know if I have any talent.”
I shrug. “Something tells me you’ll be great at this. I have very good hunches.”
“Cool.” He grins and turns back toward the door, pausing just long enough to ask, “Hey, did we meet anywhere else? I mean besides outside of the dean’s office. Because you look really familiar.” He scratches his head, seemingly at a loss for words. “I mean, you feel familiar. Kind of. It’s weird. Like déjà vu or something.”
I bite back a smile as I shake my head. “Nope. It was just that one time.”
He stares at me for a long moment and I hold his gaze, daring him to challenge me. “Huh,” he finally says. “Okay then. I guess I’ll see you later.”
I nod. “See you later.”
Then he turns and heads out the door.
I float back to my computer, no longer able to keep the stupid grin off my face.
“Um,” Laney says, gawking at me, “what was that?”
I shrug and slide into my seat. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
“You are totally into that guy.”
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. We only met once. Like I said.”
But I can feel Laney’s glare on my face. I print another copy of the front page, pluck a red pencil from the basket on my desk, and go to work proofing.
“What were you even doing at the Windsor Academy?” she asks.
I circle a misspelled word. “Oh, nothing. I stopped by to see if they had any open spaces. There was a time when I really wanted to go there.”
“Well, it sounds like there’s an open space now,” she points out.
I look up and stare curiously at the doorway where Dylan was just standing. Five minutes ago, it was just a doorway. Now it feels like some kind of magic portal to another world. Another life. One that happened all on its own. Just by letting it.
I guess you never really know who’s going to walk right into your life. Unexpected. Unplanned. Uncertain of what it all means and where it all goes.
I guess that’s the whole point.
“Nah,” I tell Laney, returning my attention to the newspaper. “I think I’m good where I am.”
Date: April 29
From: My Friend the Printer
To: Kennedy Rhodes
Subject: RE: Retirement
Dear Ms. Rhodes,
Thank you for your recent email informing us of your imminent retirement from the award-winning Southwest Star school newspaper.
Although we are sad to see you go, I can promise you that we are not, as you surmised, throwing a raging party to celebrate your departure. Nor have we opened any bottles of champagne, expensive or otherwise. And I do not even own a copy of “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead!” nor would I play it over the loudspeakers if I did.
We will unquestionably miss working with you, as you were, by far, the most dedicated and devoted client we’ve ever had the pleasure to do business with. And, without a doubt, the only client who has ever offered to hire bomb-sniffing dogs to ensure our shop has not been rigged with explosives set by pirates who only target print shops.
I can assure you that we will work closely with the new editor in chief, Mia Graham, to help make the transition as easy and seamless as possible and, as you requested, we will make every effort to search out any unauthorized articles about Excavation Empire that have been unlawfully inserted into the paper. Although, I do feel the urge to remark, as a side note, that I am an avid fan of the game.
We wish you the best of luck at Columbia University next semester. It has been an honor to be your printing partner for the past four years. We look forward to receiving your final farewell issue, and as always, we will handle it with the utmost care and meticulousness that you have come to expect from us.
Regards,
Eric Nettles
General Manager
My Friend the Printer
Acknowledgments
Maybe in some other life, I could have written this book completely on my own, but certainly not in this life! Thank you to everyone who made this book possible. And special thanks to my superb agent, Jim McCarthy; my fabulous editor, Janine O’Malley; and my superstar publicist, Mary Van Akin. Also, thanks to the stellar team at Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group: Caitlin Sweeny, Joy Peskin, Allison Verost, Molly Brouillette, Angus Killick, Simon Boughton, Jon Yaged, Lucy Del Priore, Liz Fithian, Katie Halata, Holly Hunnicutt, Kathryn Little, and Mark Von Bargen. And an extra-sparkly thanks, once again, to Elizabeth Clark who blows me away every single time with her amazing cover designs!
Many many thanks are due to Morgan Matson, Jessica Khoury, and Jennifer Bosworth for the plotting help, the late-night brainstorm sessions, and the longest list of possible titles I’ve ever had … for any book. You guys are the best.
Thanks to Stephanie Uehlein for the German help and to the incredible students at the Chaparral Crier newspaper at Chaparral High School for letting me crash your Drop Dead night.
Thanks to my sister, Terra Brody, for dressing yet another cast of book characters; my parents, Michael and Laura Brody, for their endless support; and to Charlie. There might be a universe out there where you’re not in my life, but it’s certainly not a universe I’d want to live in!
And finally, thanks to you for reading this book. For reading any of my books. And for proving that words and stories matter … in every life.
ALSO BY JESSICA BRODY
The Unremembered Trilogy
Unremembered
Unforgotten
Unchanged
A Week of Mondays
52 Reasons to Hate My Father
My Life Undecided
The Karma Club
About the Author
Jessica Brody knew from a young age that she wanted to be a writer. She started “self-publishing” her own books when she was seven years old, binding the pages together with cardboard, wallpaper samples and electrical tape. Brody graduated from Smith College in 2001 with a double major in Economics and French and a minor in Japanese. She went to work for MGM Studios as a Manager of Acquisitions and Business Development, and then, in 2005, she quit her job to follow her dream of becoming a published author. Brody is the author of two novels for adults—The Fidelity Files and Love Under Cover—and the young adult novels The Karma Club and My Life Undecided. Jessica's books are published in over ten foreign countries including the U.K., France, Germany, Czech Republic, Russia, Brazil, China, Portugal, and Taiwan. She now works full time as a writer and producer, and currently splits her time between Los Angeles and Colorado. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
If …
If I Fail
I
f the Universe Smelled
If My Locker Door Actually Opened
If I Didn’t Have Laney
If We Don’t Win
If They Knew the Truth
If Eyes Could Talk
If I Had Chosen Right
If I Had Said No
If I Don’t Care
If I Spoke German
If Zombies Were Real
If I Don’t Fit In
If I’m Not Fine
If I Escape
If I’m Someone Else
If the House Is a Disaster
If I Freak Out
If Frankie Is Right
If I Start to Believe
If My Reflection Changes
If I Take Twenty-Two Selfies
If My Laptop Attacks Me
If I Master Being a Student
If I Boycott Boys
If I Feed My Addiction
If Sequoia Played Piano
If I Turn Into a Princess
Then …
Then I Find Out the Truth
Then My Dad Gets an Imaginary Assistant
Then I Get a Do-Over
Then I Open the Basement Door
Then My World Flips Upside Down
Then a Baby Cries
Then I Count the Stars
Then I Find My Hidden Stash
Then I Try Another Combination
Then I Fight a Zombie Hunter
Then My Dream Is Excavated
Then I Set Myself Straight
Then I Become a Stalker Again
Then the Dean Plays Hardball
Then I Make a Life-Changing Decision
Then I Get Stonewalled
Then I Question My First Suspect
Then I Make a Plan
Then Frankie Is Enlightened
Then I Become a Scapegoat
Then I Walk into a Crime Scene
Then I Get Domestic
Then I Get Quantumly Entangled
Then I Question Myself
Then I Get My Exercise in the Fiction Section
Then I Quiz Sequoia
Then I Defile the Sacred Uniform
Then My Past Catches Up with Me
In Some Other Life: A Novel Page 31
