by Jessi Kirby
“Yep,” I lie, “I did.” It’s too early for the lecture I’ll get if I tell her I haven’t started yet.
Her face brightens and she steps fully into my room. “Want me to take a look at what you’ve got so far?”
“No, no, not yet,” I say, too quickly. I hop out of bed and put myself between her and the desk, swooping up my Robert Frost book in the process. “It’s really rough still. Mostly just notes. I’m actually thinking of working in a poem if I can.” I hold the book up like a shield, hoping the Post-its sticking out from every direction are evidence enough I really have gotten started. “Dad has all the best ones marked in here.”
Her smile falters, almost imperceptibly. “Oh. Well that’s . . . good. That’s fine.”
Immediately, I feel guilty. I’ve just pushed a button I didn’t mean to. The one where she somehow thinks I value his opinion over hers, like it’s a competition. Poetry over pragmatism. “Actually,” I add quickly, “I’m really excited, because I think I can find one that ties in perfectly with all the things you were talking about last night.”
She clears her throat and ignores my attempt to smooth things over. “I put a roast in the Crock-Pot for dinner. Keep an eye on it and if the liquid gets too low, add a little broth. I’ll be home around five.”
“Okay,” I answer. Without another word she steps back into the hall and reaches for the knob to close my door.
“Hey, Mom?” It surprises me when I stop her, but something in me wants to ask a question I thought about all night after reading Julianna’s journal.
“Yes?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly.
I want to ask if she ever let go of something she dreamed of or hoped for. If she had things she used to want to be, or do, that she never got to. Instead I say, “It’s sad that they died so young.”
She gives me a quizzical look.
“Shane Cruz and Julianna Farnetti, I mean. They missed out on so much.”
My mom’s face softens a touch. “They did,” she says, nodding. “It was very sad. And that’s why the family offers the scholarship every year—to give other young people a chance at everything the two of them missed out on.” She pauses and looks at my desk again. “Maybe that’s something you should keep in mind as you write your speech. You deserve that chance, Parker. Work hard today, okay?”
“Of course,” I answer. And I promise myself that I will.
The stillness of the house when I get out of the shower is both heavy and familiar. My mom’s boutique has demanded her time as far back as I can imagine, so I’m accustomed to being at home alone. Lots of times, I actually prefer it. But this morning it’s unsettling. Julianna’s journal is still sitting right there in my bag, and no one in the world knows I have it. No one in the world would know if I opened it up and read more about who she was and what she wanted, and all the things she missed out on. But I can’t, I tell myself. Or rather, I shouldn’t.
What I should do, what I need to do, is actually get started on my speech. A week and a half isn’t a lot of time to write something that so much depends on, so I sit down at my desk and turn on the computer. While it powers on I crack my window to let the fresh air in, and I light the vanilla candle on my desk, both of these things part of my work ritual. And then I take a deep breath, open a new document, and close my eyes a moment to focus. How to begin? A strong opening line. I open my eyes and the cursor blinks impassively on the blank page. I think of Julianna’s handwriting.
“Tell me, what do you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I type the question and let it float there in black and white. Wonder for a moment what my most honest answer would be, if it were all up to me. Then I delete it and the blank page seems fitting. I really don’t know.
Downstairs I pour a bowl of cereal and eat it at the counter in front of my mom’s laptop. It’s open to her e-mail, which I close before checking my own. Nothing. I try Facebook, hoping maybe Kat sent me one of her slightly inappropriate messages there. Again, nothing. Just for the heck of it I type Trevor Collins’s name in the search box and click on his page when it comes up.
Apparently I’m not the only one awake early with time to kill. He’s just added a new album entitled Going Big. I smile and open it, curious. It’s all snowboarding photos, which makes sense. He’s carved out his own path in the snow since he got here, one that’ll take him around the world for competitions after we graduate.
In the first one he’s in his race uniform, leaning hard into the mountain to make a turn at an obviously ridiculous speed. Following that is a shot of him holding up a trophy, eyes bright and cheeks red from the cold. I click on the next one and it literally takes my breath away.
It’s of him impossibly high in the air, back arched against the blue of the sky, hand grasping his board behind him. The photo itself is impressive, but that’s not what gets me. It’s the expression on his face, a mix of intensity and pure love for what he’s doing at that moment. It makes me wonder if I ever look like that doing anything. It really is impressive, and it’s no wonder he’s got sponsors lining up. And girls, for that matter. I click away quickly at the thought, like if I stay too long, he might be able to tell I’ve been there looking. Thinking about him.
I close the computer and sit back on the couch, restless. I don’t know what to do with today, let alone my one wild and precious life.
Julianna seemed to, though.
I get up and climb the stairs to my room, justifying what I’m about to do with every step. And this time, when I sit on my bed with her journal in my hands, it’s surprisingly easy to open it up.
May 22
Mr. Kinney said he wants us to write about who we’ll be in life, starting with who we are right now. Honestly, that seems like an impossible thing to do. I don’t know if you can ever truly see yourself in the present. It’s too close. It’s easier to see who you were in the past. If I look back, I can see exactly who I was four years ago, before I met Shane.
I showed up here beyond shy, not trusting anyone, and scared of everything—from all the kids who seemed like they’d always known each other to having to start over when life as I knew it had just ended. I was an outsider in this school, with what felt like no chance of fitting in. The first day was the worst of my life at that point. I learned what it meant to feel like I was utterly alone, to go an entire day without talking to anyone, to feel invisible. It’s crazy to think, but I might’ve stayed that way, become a totally different person than I am now, if Shane hadn’t seen me the next day. That was when I learned what it felt like to walk down the hallway with him by my side, and that changed everything.
I was late to school that day. He was too, and we met in the office. He asked if I was all right (I’d been crying), I said I was fine, he said I was a liar, and it made me smile. He walked me to class and I didn’t protest, but I didn’t speak, either, because he was so perfect. I didn’t want to ruin it. When we got to the door, I didn’t want to go in, and I could tell he didn’t want to leave, but he said he’d find me at break, and he did. He was waiting for me outside of my next class, and we had our first date in the school cafeteria over undercooked cinnamon rolls and lukewarm hot chocolate.
He claims our first date was actually a few days later, when he brought me to the top of the mountain in a gondola and we ate Chinese food out of cartons and watched the lights from town twinkle below us while the stars spread out like tiny lights far above us. I remember that night too, because I felt like someone different. Better than who I was before.
But that first day we met is one of those things you look back on, and see, so clearly, that it was meant to be. He saved me from being lost and out of place, and that’s what he’s been doing ever since. I showed up here in pieces. He put me back together.
He was the first person to really see me, and he’s been my first everything since then.
My first kiss—in the rain, under an umbrella of pine trees, with the smell of the
rain rising around us. My first “I love you,” whispered soft as the snowflakes that fell all around a few months later. He’s the first person I’ve given every bit of myself to, and the only person I’ve ever truly loved.
After four years we know each other’s hearts and souls. We’ve grown and loved and fought and everything in between, which is why, to talk about who I am, I have to start with him. The person I am now, and who I want to be in the future, is wrapped up tight in Shane, and in us together.
I can’t imagine it, or me, any other way.
I close the journal, but the last line lingers. I can’t imagine it any other way either, not at all. It’s impossible to picture her the way she described herself before Shane, so scared and alone. I wonder, for a second, the same thing she did. Who would she have been if she hadn’t met him that day? Would her name have been one in the box that I passed over without a second glance? The things she wrote about in her journal, her entire life, might have been different. She might never have been any of the things she was with Shane. They might both still be alive instead of ghosts in our town.
As tragic as the end of their story is, I’m glad it started out this way. A real-life, meant-to-be love story. I don’t want to stop reading. I flip through the pages, decide I could definitely finish it in a day, and make myself a deal: I can read it, but when I finish, I’ll seal it back up and take it to Summit Lake. Back to Julianna, like I’d decided before. I won’t talk about or show it to anyone. I’ll act like it never existed.
7.
“I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice”
—“THE SOUND OF TREES,” 1916
My phone buzzes from my desk, startling me more than it should. I glance at the number before I pick it up. Kat, of course.
“Morning, sunshine. Little early for you to be awake on a day like today, isn’t it?” I say.
She yawns. “Jesus, yes. I need some coffee.”
“I thought you might say that.” It’s the perfect excuse for her to go stalk Lane some more.
“So meet me at Kismet,” Kat says, like she’s read my mind.
I glance down at the journal, weighing my options. “Maybe later. I’m kind of busy right now.”
Kat’s sigh comes over the phone like a gust of wind. “Really? What are you busy with? Sitting in your sweats, watching The Notebook? She forgets who he is every time, P.”
“Shut up.” I laugh. “One of these days you’re going to sit down and watch it with me and I guarantee you’ll bawl your eyes out. It’s that good.”
“Whatever. So you’ll meet me then? I have a plan. A brilliant plan that needs to be hashed out over coffee, with a view of Lane.”
“A plan for what?”
“For our last hurrah before graduation. It came to me in a dream.”
It’s my turn for blatant sarcasm. “Really?”
“No. But it may as well have. It’s that good. So just meet me over there in a half hour, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll see you in a few.” I hang up. Look around the room. So much for curling up with the journal and reading all day. Maybe it’s better this way, though. I can make it last, stretch out the story instead of reading it all in one sitting. I’ll go to the coffee shop and hear Kat’s plan, which, just like all her others, will involve ten things I would never be allowed to do.
The trick will be talking without mentioning Julianna’s journal. It’s the kind of thing that Kat would die over, and the thought of her reaction alone is a huge temptation to say something. She wouldn’t believe I’d found it. And she definitely wouldn’t believe I’d actually taken it and read it. I almost don’t believe I did either. I give it one last look, then slide it back into the envelope and put it under my bed, safe for later.
“Are you even listening to me?” Kat asks. We’re sitting at the same table we did yesterday, drinking the same drinks, but this time the café is full of kids from school who have nothing better to do with the snow day. Between the hiss of the espresso machine, the voices of everyone all around me, and Julianna Farnetti’s words in my head, I haven’t really heard a thing Kat’s said since we sat down.
“I was listening,” I say. “Your plan has something to do with ditching school, lying to our moms, and me somehow avoiding being grounded for the rest of my life, right?” It’s a guess, but those are usually the core elements of her schemes. I don’t need to listen to know that. Instead, I’d been thinking about Julianna and Shane, and what it must’ve been like to be that wrapped up in each other.
“You were not listening,” Kat says, taking a sip of her mocha and scanning for Lane. “If you were, you wouldn’t have missed the part about this being the best plan I’ve ever come up with and you not being allowed to say no. Which means you’re in by default now.”
“Fine,” I say, “whatever.” I stir the contents of my mug into a spiral of whipped cream and chai. We’ve never actually carried out one of her plans, anyway. It’s just talk.
“Really? You’re in? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I say. And it’s true. Nothing’s wrong, I just know she won’t take no for an answer, so the best way to get back to my house and Julianna’s journal is to go along with it. “So wait—what did I just agree to?”
A mischievous smile spreads across her face. “To ditching Senior Ditch Day next week, telling your mom you’re staying at my house for the night, and then taking a little road trip with me instead.” I nod, and she pauses before adding, “And possibly bringing Trevor Collins and Lane with us.” Now she sits back, arms crossed over her chest, beaming at the genius of her plan.
I laugh. “Sure, yeah. That’ll totally work. Nothing wrong with that plan at all.”
“There’s not.” She shrugs. “Just depends on you having enough guts to actually do it. We won’t get caught, but if we do, what’s your mom gonna do at that point? Ground you from college?”
“Where would we go on this road trip?” I ask, just for fun.
“Anywhere.” She leans forward on her elbows and grabs my hands. “That’s the point, Parker. It’d be a couple days of freedom to get out of here and go wherever we want. Personally, I vote for the beach.”
“What beach?”
“Oh my God. Any beach that we could drive to. Use your imagination.” She drops my hands and sits back in her chair again. Takes a deep breath. “Come on. Say yes. You owe it to yourself and me to do this before you leave.”
“It’s not much of a plan—”
“It’s a wide open plan. With room for possibilities. We can figure out the rest as we go.”
I look at her, my best friend, and think of how, just like Shane with Julianna, a lot of who I am right now I owe to Kat. She’s the one who pushes me out of my comfort zone when I let her, who forces me to do things I wouldn’t have the guts to do when I don’t, and who is always asking me her own version of the question Mr. Kinney put on the board for Julianna and her class. The same one I’d asked myself this morning.
“Maybe,” I say finally. “But we’d have to figure out an actual plan first. Like with money, and a schedule, and maps.”
Kat grins triumphantly. “Which is where you come in. That’s the lame but necessary stuff you’re good at, so it’s perfect.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon holed up in Kat’s bedroom, planning our last-ditch senior trip, which I still don’t really see us taking. I search every beach we can make it to and back from in two days. She looks through magazines and picks out scandalous clothes and tiny bikinis for us to bring. I compare motel prices at every one of the beaches I find, and she plans how we’ll get the boys to come along, and where we can all get fake IDs. By the time I get home, our plan has us leaving the day the rest of the senior class ditches to go float the river south of town and driving up the coast to San Francisco for a night out before we come back home the next day and my mom has not the slightest clue that I was out of town. Seizing the day. Sure.
&n
bsp; When I walk through my door and stomp the snow off my boots, the same quiet from before greets me. It’s past five, when she said she’d be home, but Mom is still gone at her shop, or maybe having a drink with Lucy, who’s her grown-up version of Kat, and who’s going through a nasty divorce for the third time around. I turn up the thermostat, slide out of my coat, and think maybe Kat was right. Maybe my mom wouldn’t notice at all if I left for a day, or even two. Except the scholarship reception is so close I know she’ll be in hyper-preparation mode, which would be the biggest problem to get around. I’d have to have my speech written, practiced, and in the bag for her to even consider letting me stay at Kat’s the weekend before.
In the kitchen the roast in the Crock-Pot looks overdone and unappetizing, so I settle on my second bowl of cereal today, this one eaten standing in the kitchen. I eat fast, because I don’t have any time to waste. I need to get started tonight, for sure. No more putting it off. I repeat this to myself all the way up the stairs to my room. But once I change, and light my candles, and settle in, it’s not with my own words.
May 23
Shane and I skipped seventh period today and drove out of town, down to the creek where we could tangle ourselves together under the sun and sky and forget the rest of the world existed. “I miss you,” he whispered into my neck. I watched the aspen leaves dance above me in the breeze that kissed as much of my bare skin as he did, and then I closed my eyes and answered back without any words. After, we lay there for a long time, watching the clouds drift by, listening to the sound of the trees, and feeling the freedom of being just us together.
