Never Always Sometimes

by Adi Alsaid

  “Really? Half the reason I’m going to this thing is because I’m expecting fountains.”

  “Oh, those will definitely be there. As soon as we get there I’m jumping into the milk-chocolate one.”

  “Jumping in? Gretchen, what do you think a chocolate fountain looks like?”

  “No, I know they’re small. I’m jumping in anyway.”

  “Do I get to lick the chocolate off you?”

  “Only the spots I can’t reach.”

  “Awesome. Chocolate and elbows. My two favorite flavors.”

  Gretchen laughed, grabbing their linked hands and playfully hitting his side with their combined fist. She was wearing a flowery perfume that masked the smell of honey, but he could still taste it when he kissed her. Sunlight danced on the leaves of nearby trees and Dave thought, That’s what this feels like.

  o o o

  Screw the gymnasium; this was California.

  The prom committee had rented these huge roll-out carpets and spread them out over the football field. Concert-worthy speakers were set up at every twenty yards. A wobbly stage took over the entirety of an end zone, and when Dave and Gretchen arrived, bands were still unloading their equipment from their parents’ vans. A few teachers in suits were gathered in a circle beneath the Congrats SLO Seniors! banner that hung by the bleachers. They drank coffee and chatted, not yet concerned about being vigilant. The drinks table was lined with sodas and bottles of water, and no one really seemed to care about the lack of spikeable punch since the Kapoors were hosting an after-party.

  “No chocolate fountains in sight,” Dave said, snapping his fingers in an “aww-shucks” kind of way.

  “Good. I was thinking about it and I’m terrified of ants. Being covered in chocolate would attract ants, and that does not seem like a fun idea.”

  “How are you afraid of ants?”

  “I just can’t trust anything that has eyes too small to look into. I don’t know what they’re thinking. They could be plotting my demise and I’d have no idea.”

  “You’re adorable.”

  “Don’t patronize me, ants are a legitimate thing to be afraid of. All those legs. Have you seen an up-close picture of one? That’s the stuff of nightmares.”

  Still holding on to her hand, Dave swung her close to him. She didn’t like being too touchy in public, so he kept himself from hugging her and just stood as close to her as was surreptitiously possible, happy to be close enough that he could stand with his side pressed lightly against hers. He reached for one of the blond tresses that spilled down her temple like something falling in slow motion. “How do you feel about picnics?”

  “Dave, you’re going to give me a panic attack.”

  “Did you say a ‘picnic attack’?”

  Gretchen burst into laughter, smacking him playfully across the chest and then leaning in for a quick peck on the lips. They each grabbed a bottle of water and took a seat along the rows of fold-out chairs that had been positioned in a rectangle around the stage, with plenty of room left in the middle for the wooden dance floor.

  They watched the prom fill up. Dr. Hill came by the stage and announced a few official rules, which had been repeated over and over again on the PA system: no alcohol, no inappropriate dancing, no letting chickens run loose in the crowd (an SLO tradition). Then he wished everyone a good time, and the first band took the stage, a group of sophomores that played electro-pop covers of classic rock songs. Gretchen’s friends joined the two of them off to the side of the stage. They’d started warming up to him again recently, and Dave was thankful for the second chance, happy to prove to them that he wouldn’t hurt Gretchen again. Soon enough the dance floor started to fill up. Dave didn’t feel at all like dancing, and he was thrilled when Gretchen didn’t push him to.

  Instead he watched the stars come out. It felt silly, a bit too much like someone having an end-of-high-school epiphany, some big life lesson washing over him. Except it wasn’t really like that. He looked at the stars with a simple delight, the same way he looked out at everyone on the dance floor, or at the people standing along its perimeter: couples holding hands, friends getting emotional or behaving like they would any other night.

  He spotted Julia walking out onto the field. She wasn’t in prom attire at all, just jeans and a T-shirt, her hair a brighter shade of pink than he remembered it. No shoes. He hadn’t expected her to come at all. She scanned the crowd a little, probably looking for some source of amusement. Dave imagined that if he was nearby, she’d crack some joke, funnier than anything he could come up with. He watched her cross the crowd toward the drink table, read her lips as she mouthed, Where the hell are the real drinks? He felt a momentary pang of longing to be at her side, but then it passed. Gretchen was chatting with Vince, but Dave could tell she’d noticed Julia coming in, too. She’d tensed up a little, the way she did when Julia said hi at school, those handful of times when they stood by making small talk. Gretchen had admitted to jealousy, but she’d insisted that she didn’t want Dave and Julia to stop being friends because of her. If it hadn’t been for Julia, the two of them might not be together at all.

  Dave looked back up at the sky again and at the floodlights pointed down at the football field, casting everyone in an unflattering pale glow, blocking out all but the brightest stars. Music filled the night, coupled with the sound of hundreds of people talking and laughing, living their young lives in tired, unoriginal, and completely unimaginable ways.

  o o o

  Dave tapped Julia on the shoulder. “May I have this dance?”

  Julia turned around, her brow furrowed. Then she saw who it was and relaxed into her usual deadpan. “Dude, I am about to throw up on you.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  Julia shrugged. “Figured I’d stop by and check it out. Skipping prom because it’s lame is kind of a high school cliché.”

  Dave smiled at her. “Would a hug be weird?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said, stepping close and pulling him in. They squeezed each other tightly and briefly, letting go at the same time. “By the way, have you seen Marroney around? It’s embarrassing to be here without my date.”

  “I think he went to go make the hotel reservations.”

  “I hope he’s getting the honeymoon suite like I asked.”

  Dave laughed and picked at the label on his water bottle. “I never thanked you for talking to Gretchen.”

  Julia bit her lip and looked away. He could see her toes digging into the carpet. The band finished a song and awkwardly transitioned into the next one, false-starting a few times before the drummer counted up to four and got them going on a slower cut, one where the electric violinist could finally be heard over the other instruments. “You’re welcome,” Julia finally said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “You would have done the same for me.” She quarter-turned to face the stage so Dave could barely see her profile. “If Marroney had seen us, that is.”

  He thought he saw tears welling up in Julia’s eyes, but then she turned away, grabbing a bottle of water from the table. She opened it, then held it up in the air between them, as if she were toasting a glass of champagne. “To the fire in our hearts,” she said with a smile.

  They watched the rest of the song play out, Dave turning every now and then to look at Gretchen, to reassure her with a smile and a wave. Then Leslie Winters, the class president, came onstage. She was wearing a baby-blue tuxedo, her hair molded into a fauxhawk and dyed to match her outfit. Dave and Julia exchanged a look and shook their heads in silent recognition of the fiasco in Julia’s bathroom. Julia’s hair was in a simple ponytail, with those two strands looped around her ears the way they always were. “Did you dye your hair again?”

  Julia actually blushed. “Shit, you noticed.”

  “Did D
ebbie survive this time?”

  “I went to a salon.” She took another sip from her water, clearly trying to be casual. But she must have noticed Dave gawking at her. “What, I’m not allowed to embrace a cliché or two? I like it, okay? Gimme a break before I pop your collar.”

  Leslie grabbed the mic. “Another round of applause for the band with the name that is officially too inappropriate to say at a school-sponsored event!” She waited for the crowd’s lukewarm cheers to die down, then pulled an envelope out of her tuxedo pocket. “Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” She slid her finger down the envelope’s closure to tear it open. “Not really. We’re all waiting for the after-party and to receive our diplomas next weekend and be done with high school forever. But about six people are quite excited about the contents of this envelope, so I’ll get to it.” She rummaged through the envelope for the paper inside.

  Leslie announced the prom queen and a wave of whoops and cheers moved through the audience. The Miss America song started playing through the speakers, Dave couldn’t tell if it was ironically or not. Dave kept his eyes focused in Gretchen’s direction, like someone staring at the sky waiting for meteors. Then Leslie said, “...and your prom king is...” and Julia tapped him on the shoulder and whispered into his ear, “If you don’t win it was all such a waste.”

  “James Everett!”

  “You were robbed!” Julia yelled.

  “Tonight, I’m going to weep like a jock whose glory days are over.”

  “You and me both,” Julia said. James Everett and the prom queen, Rosie Barajas, took the stage and were crowned, still to the Miss America song.

  “You know,” Dave said. “I’m glad it happened.” He looked at her, gauging her reaction, making sure what he was saying wasn’t insensitive. She seemed at ease, though, calm.

  “What part?”

  “All of it,” he said. “The Nevers, the beach, even those few hours where I had the worst-colored hair on the planet.” Everywhere around him there were ecstatic people, kids drunk on covert alcohol and inappropriate dancing, drunk on the feeling of summer within reach, drunk on the thought that they were done. “You were the first girl I loved, as a friend or otherwise. You’re my best friend, Julia.”

  “You’re my best friend, too, David Sporkful McGee.”

  “Sporkful McGee?”

  “Shut up. Wasn’t my best.” Looking around the football field, her blue eyes were thoughtful, intense. He wondered what she was thinking, how hurt she still was. The royal couple left the stage and another band came up, fiddling with the connections, setting spare guitars up on racks, sending ripples of feedback into the night. “You know, I was thinking of a new list,” Julia said. “The Always. A list of clichés to do throughout college. Frat parties, editorials in the school newspaper about the evils of the administration, paying some creepy dude fifty bucks for a fake ID. There’s a whole new world to be explored.”

  Dave laughed and bumped her with his shoulder. “You have a pen and paper?”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from LET’S GET LOST by Adi Alsaid.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  FIRST OF ALL, a huge thanks to the fantastic team at Harlequin Teen, who’ve made my publishing experience such a good one that my previous dreams about being published feel tame in comparison. From the editorial team to the sales team and everyone in between, the support has been humbling to say the least.

  Tashya and TS, of course, for their editorial guidance. Lisa Wray, for all she does for me on my bookish travels. Amy Jones and Michelle Renaud, for hanging out with me all over the place. Dave Carley, Heather Foy, Melissa Anthony, Brent Lewis. Sigh, there are so many to name. I never quite understood how many people are involved in putting together a book. Now I’ve seen it firsthand, and I’ve met so many of them, and it’s still pretty hard to wrap my head around it. Thank you for all you do.

  Laura, who begged me for information about this book for a long time before I gave anything away, and yet loved me just the same. Also, for taking me on adventures, and for helping me cowrite the greatest pop song the world will ever hear.

  My family, who begged me for information about this book for a long time before I gave anything away, and loved me a little less for it. Just kidding, Mom. Everyone who’s met my family knows they’re all great, and supportive, and deserving of their own paragraph in the acknowledgments sections of my books.

  Annie Stone, for not leaving me completely orphaned. Emilia Rhodes, who, though she orphaned me, had a significant role in the creation of this book. Sara Shandler for her wisdom, particularly in improving the second half drastically. Josh Bank, too, since the pitching room would not be the same without him. Partially because it was his office.

  To the incredibly supportive community of YA authors whom I’ve had the great pleasure of meeting since first getting published, either in person or online. Of course, the supportive community of readers, librarians, bloggers, booksellers, random one-time e-mailers, whom I’ve either met or e-met. I like meeting people, is what I’m saying, especially bookish people. It’s been my favorite part of being published: all the people I’ve met since.

  My teacher friends at the American School Foundation, who let me sit in on high school classes in order to draw inspiration for made-up teens from actual teens, since, as much as we like to pretend, adults forget exactly what it’s like to be a teenager as soon as we’re not one. Brett Sikkink, Carlos Kassam-Clay, Perri Devon-Sand, Renee Olper, Julien Howeveryouspellyourlastname, Mark Abling, Guy Cheney, Amy Gallie, others I’m sure I’m forgetting. John Powell, for giving me a coaching job and still allowing me to run off to do author things. Harry Brake and Daniel Thomas for allowing me to crash their Open Mic nights. I promise no one in this paragraph inspired Mr. Marroney. The students of ASF, of course.

  One last paragraph of friends whose names deserve to be in print: Chris Russell, David Isern, Maggie Vazquez, Edgar Gutierrez, Gonzalo Scaglia, Sergio Rodriguez, Paul Donnelly, Cassie Harrell, John Kennedy (real name), Gillian Horbach, Chris Farkas, Lundon Boyd, Ryan Troe. Joshua Zoller, who always has a hookah ready for me. Dawn Ryan, for her role in making it all happen. Cris de Oliveria, who will one day print my name in her acknowledgments section. Whytnee, Dennis, Bugs, Leah, who are always there to welcome me in NY.

  Finally, a big sarcastic thanks to the jerk who made acknowledgments sections a common practice. I’m very grateful, to a lot of people. But this was stressful.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ADI ALSAID was born and raised in Mexico City, where he now lives after spending time in Israel, Las Vegas and California. His debut, Let’s Get Lost, was nominated for YALSA’s 2015 Best Fiction for Young Adults list. Visit Adi online at www.SomewhereOverTheSun.com, or follow him on Twitter: @AdiAlsaid.

  “Reminiscent of John Green’s Paper Towns, Alsaid’s debut is a gem among contemporary YA novels.”

  —School Library Journal

  Five Strangers. Countless adventures. One epic way to get lost. Don’t miss one of the most anticipated debuts of 2014, Let’s Get Lost by Adi Alsaid.

  Available in ebook.

  Order your copy today!

  Four teens across the country have only one thing in common: a girl named Leila. She crashes into their lives in her absurdly red car at the moment they need someone the most.

  Hudson, Bree, Elliot and Sonia find a friend in Leila. And when Leila leaves them, their lives are forever changed. But it is during Leila’s own 4,268-mile journey that she discovers the most important truth—sometimes what you need most is right where you started. And maybe the only way to find what you’re looking for is to get lost along the way.

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:
>
  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Let’s Get Lost

  by Adi Alsaid

  1

  HUDSON COULD HEAR the car’s engine from blocks away. He stepped outside the garage and closed his eyes, listening, picking apart the sounds so that he would know exactly what he’d have to fix before he even popped the hood.

  Standing there against the garage, listening to the still-far-off car, Hudson could forget about everything else. About school and girls and his future and whether his friends were actually jackasses or just acting like them. With his eyes closed, Hudson could reduce the world to a single engine and nothing more; a world where he could not only name every little part but knew what it was for, how it worked, how to fix it.

  He opened his eyes when he heard the car’s brakes chirp as it slowed to turn into the garage. It was an old Plymouth Acclaim, the kind of car you either happily sent off to die or loved with your entire heart and refused to let go of. It had seen better days, its red paint job chipped and faded, its muffler not doing much muffling. He waved the driver forward to where he was standing. He was still identifying the car’s problems when the girl killed the engine and climbed out.

  He only allowed himself a quick glance at her, knowing as soon as he saw her that she was the kind of girl who could make you think your life was not complete unless she was in it. She was a jumble of contradictions: short but with long legs, fierce green eyes but a kind expression, baby-faced but wise. She was wearing a snug, plain red T-shirt that matched her car. Her hair was down, the black locks reaching just past her chin.

  “Afternoon,” she said, offering a polite smile.