I nod, even though it doesn’t.
“Thanks for playing along with all of this,” I say. “It’s been ceremonial for me. I get now why people have graduations, weddings, and funerals to mark beginnings and endings. There’s something to be said for making a big deal out of it. Goodbyes shouldn’t be ignored.”
Benson holds up his hand for an approaching cab and nods. “I think I get it. And if you don’t say a proper one, you leave everything hanging and you can’t move on.”
There’s more truth to that than he could ever know.
But I can’t make up for the goodbyes I’ve missed. I can only make the most of the ones I still have—like the one with Benson.
We slide into the cab. “Do you know that I’ve never walked over the Brooklyn Bridge?” he says, after letting the driver know that’s where we’re headed.
I shrug. “I actually haven’t, either,” I admit. “You probably think it’s totally cheesy and out of a romantic comedy, but I thought it would be a fitting way to end the night and to say goodbye to New York.” I look out of the window to the nearly deserted streets. “There are very few hours where you feel that New York belongs to only you, and the sunrise is one of them.”
Benson opens his mouth to say something, but then shuts it. He leans his head against the window and rubs at his eyes.
My iPhone buzzes and I let myself wonder—only for a second—who it could be. I pull it out of my purse to check.
Two messages.
Waverly: Don’t you. Don’t you. Don’t you forget about me. Love you, Corrinne.
Kitsy: Couldn’t sleep, and I thought, hey, Corrinne’s up. Call me on your way to Cornell and tell me everything.
I put my iPhone back in my purse, and I snuggle against Benson’s shoulder.
As we start driving across the Brooklyn Bridge, the earliest signs of dawn start to show themselves.
The city goes from twinkling night to waking morning. Shades of pink start to creep into the cracks between the skyscrapers.
I turn around and watch as Manhattan gets smaller and smaller through the taxi’s back window.
Later today, this will happen again. The city—and my past—will get smaller and smaller as I head toward Ithaca, and Cornell—and my future—will get larger and larger until I’m standing right in it.
In Brooklyn, at the corner of Tillary and Adams Streets, we get out of the cab and start walking across the pedestrian bridge toward Manhattan.
Aside from a few ambitious early-morning joggers who pass us every so often, there’s no one else on the footbridge, but morning car traffic whizzes below us.
We walk in silence until Benson takes my hand. “You’ve been my favoritest girlfriend, Corrinne.”
“Thanks,” I say. “We’ve had a lot of fun.”
And it’s true. Even if Benson and I aren’t meant to be forever, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t matter at all.
Rebounds aren’t only important in basketball.
He stops and turns to face me. I feel the traffic rumbling underneath us, and we’re surrounded on all sides by the East River. The sky is now layers of pink and blue, and the skyscrapers look like giant black shadows against the morning sky.
I can’t believe I’ve lived here my whole life without doing this walk.
If Benson and I were in love, this would be the perfect ending to a movie. We’d kiss. Music would play. The credits would roll. Audiences might even cheer.
But we’re not in love.
I look at Benson, and I can tell he knows what I’m about to say.
He nods. “I’ll head back to Brooklyn and catch a cab. This is your goodbye.”
I look toward Manhattan and realize that when I get there, everything’s going to be different.
Because when I make it over the bridge, I’ve crossed over into tomorrow—and to the next part of my life. And I know that I need to start that next phase on my own.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He waves his hand at me. “It’s light out. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” I say. Maybe Benson understood me better than I ever thought he did.
Benson gives me a peck on the cheek before he turns around and heads back to Brooklyn. “Text me that you make it home, Corrinne,” he says over his shoulder. “And like you said, don’t be a stranger.”
“Bye, Benson,” I call out, meeting his eyes one last time.
For the first time, getting off schedule feels exactly right. I should’ve always planned to do this walk alone. After all, it’s my goodbye.
Maybe I didn’t create the perfect schedule after all. Maybe letting it be sometimes is better.
After a while, I start the walk toward Manhattan on my own. I take small steps, mostly because my feet are killing me, but partly because I’m trying to delay the inevitable, of reaching the end of the bridge. Unfortunately, this doesn’t stop the sun from coming up.
I think back on the night.
Maybe there is no art to goodbye.
Maybe it’s not what you wear, where you go, or what you to do that make a perfect goodbye.
Maybe it’s simply the last person you hug. The one you save for very last. The one who sends you off into a big new world.
And I just used mine up on Benson Harris, Mr. Expiration Date.
While he’s a great guy, I messed this night up royally.
I let my pride get in the way of what I really wanted and spent a summer running from my own true feelings. Even though I’ve survived a recession and managed to get into an Ivy League school, I’m still a total idiot.
Once I’ve crossed the bridge, I try to hail a cab, but they’re all off-duty. Finally, I slump onto a nearby bench and watch the traffic pass by.
I need to get back to the apartment soon, but for now, I want to wait one more moment before entering the new day.
Then, I see a tall boy approaching in the distance. He looks about my age and he’s wearing a maroon football jersey. As he gets closer, I realize it’s a Broken Spoke football jersey. Not many schools have Mockingbird mascots.
As the boy gets closer, I realize it’s Bubby. It’s definitely Bubby.
“Bubby?” I call out. I can’t help but smile, although I’m wondering if I’m experiencing a sleep-deprived mirage. Or if I’m dreaming—because I’ve had dreams like this before.
I find myself standing up and starting to walk over to him. Then all of sudden, I’m running.
“I found you,” he says, wiping sweat from forehead. He looks around. “And you’re alone.”
I throw my arms around him for a giant hug.
He’s real. His muscles feel as solid as ever.
“How’d you know?” I ask, trying to read his expression. “How did you know that I would be here?”
He sits down on a bench, and I sit down next to him.
He’s out of breath. “Kitsy,” he answers between gasps. “She forwarded me your itinerary.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
Bubby leans back. “After I ran into you at Starbucks, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and our goodbye. Or lack of goodbyes. I knew it was your last night, so I called her.”
I playfully whack Bubby. “So you knew I’d be at the concert? That’s why you texted Rider.”
He nods. “I thought you knew that already. But then I realized I wasn’t being fair. Last night wasn’t supposed to be about me, so I left. But then I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d take a walk on the chance you might be here.”
I nudge my purse. “You know I have a cell phone, right? You could’ve just called me. I’m been checking my phone all night, hoping you would.” I shake my head. “You were the whole reason for the schedule, anyway. I sort of became obsessed with goodbyes after we didn’t have one in Broken Spoke.”
And there. I’ve said it.
“I didn’t want it to end that way, either,” Bubby says.
I nod. “I know, but I was mad. I think I still have some growing up to do in
that department.”
He leans closer. “Just so you get your facts straight, I was always planning on telling you about New York, Corrinne,” he says. “You’re the whole reason I applied for the internship in the first place. Well, that and it being the New York Times. I thought we could spend the summer together and see if what we had could make it beyond phone calls and prom.”
“If you wanted to be with me, why didn’t you just tell me that?”
Bubby rolls his eyes. “I called you eighteen times the week after prom, Corrinne,” he says. “If I had called you any more, it would’ve been considered stalking in nearly all fifty states.” He waves his hand. “Then, Hands told me he saw you had a boyfriend on Facebook, so I tried to let it go.”
“I did,” I say. I look at the sun, which is slowly climbing its way up the skyscrapers. “But I don’t have one anymore.”
It’s then that I realize more than just Benson and my relationship expired this morning. I’ve also stepped out of the past and into the now.
“I figured I had missed my chance,” Bubby says.
My iPhone timer goes off in my purse.
I’m seriously regretting both the timer and the duck ringtone.
Bubby raises his eyebrows.
“That’s the last alarm. That’s the one that signals the end,” I say.
I stand up, spotting a cab with an on-duty light.
“So are you going?” Bubby asks.
“I should be,” I say. “Maybe our next lives will have better timing. Thanks for finding me, though. I like this ending better than our last one.”
Maybe this is that growing-up feeling that Waverly mentioned. Sometimes, you have to let things go and realize that if you missed your chance, and that was your own fault.
“I’m sorry, Bubby,” I say. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you over the interview and I should’ve answered your calls. Sometimes, for an eighteen-year-old, I act pretty childish.”
Bubby stands up, too. “Hug?” he asks. “I’m sorry this didn’t go differently. Prom. The summer. Last night. But I’m still glad I found you.”
“Me too,” I whisper. “I wonder whoever put the word good with bye. It’s stupid. There’s nothing good about them.”
The cab pulls over to the curb.
When I go in to hug Bubby, he pulls me in tight. I-can-smell-his-cologne tight.
“Hey!” I say. “This doesn’t feel like a goodbye hug.”
I pull away but I don’t let go of Bubby’s arms.
“I have to go,” I say. “My family is waiting. Cornell is waiting.”
I hold up my index finger to the cab, hoping the driver will give us one more minute.
“Quack, quack, quack,” goes my phone again.
I silence the alarm. “I’ve decided I’m not really big on goodbyes after all,” I say. “Bubby, I have to ask. Where are you going to school?”
Bubby smiles out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been meaning to mention that. Last week, I got off the waiting list at Ithaca College.”
I squeal. “Ithaca as in the-college-that-shares-a-town-with-Cornell Ithaca?”
“They have a good journalism program and a decent football team,” he says, shrugging. “And it’s out of state.” He takes my hand. “And it might even save me a goodbye and give us a second chance.”
“So this doesn’t have to be it?” I ask.
“Maybe not,” he says. “I have a week to decide.”
The cab driver honks his horn.
“Give us a minute, buddy!” Bubby hollers.
I think New York must be rubbing off on Bubby. Aggression is sexy on him.
Bubby looks around. “Let’s get breakfast,” he pleads. “I know a Starbucks around here.”
“You’re making me get off schedule,” I say. “Again.” I throw my hands up. “But who cares if I’m a little late? They say being accepted to an Ivy is the hardest part. Nellie can wait.”
I wave off the cab driver.
“Who’s Nellie?” Bubby asks me.
“You’ll find out . . . and we’re not going to Starbucks,” I say. “We’re doing a greasy diner. I’ve been up all night, and I’ve been waiting for this goodbye for months.”
“Sounds perfect,” Bubby says, letting go of my hand. “But hold on a second.”
Bubby reaches into his pockets and pulls out plastic flip-flops. He places them neatly down on the street.
“Kitsy told me you’d be needing these, so I stopped by a CVS.”
I take off my heels and slip into the flip-flops. Heaven.
Kitsy must be my fairy godmother.
And Bubby must be my prince.
And this is my fairy-tale ending. I guess you don’t have to be a princess to get one of those.
I kiss Bubby and then we walk off into the streets of Manhattan, my palace, and into the future.
I nearly forgot that people can feel as much like home as a place can.
And, hey. Maybe not all goodbyes are the end—and that’s what makes them good.
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU TO THE READERS of Where I Belong and A Long Way from You. I hope you like this novella. Your overwhelming love and support for my writing is what made this sequel possible. Thank you for keeping my characters alive on the page and in your hearts. Write me at [email protected] with your thoughts.
To Corrinne, my original heroine, I had such fun returning to you. Thank you for letting me know how you were doing. ☺
To Sarah Dotts Barley, thank you for your time, attention, and wisdom. I love working with you, and I’m very lucky to have you as an editor.
Alison Klapthor, it’s another beautiful cover. Thank you.
To the HarperTeen staff, thank you for believing Corrinne deserved another chance at the stage. This novella is all of ours, and I’m very excited to be part of the HarperTeen Impulse imprint. (So very twenty-first century.)
To my agent Leigh Feldman and her assistant, Jean Garnett, thank you for rooting me on and letting me focus more on writing and less on the other “stuff.” I couldn’t do this without you two.
To Sarah Burningham, you’re my Little Bird. Thanks for helping spread the word about my books.
To the VCFA community, especially the Magic Ifs, thank you for being my people. YAM.
To my friends, I’ve had fun watching you all grow up, just like I have Corrinne. You all are my Muses, so thank you for being such charismatic people. For the sake of my writing, please continue to be hysterical and entertaining.
To my parents and my sister, Aliceyn, thank you for being my wonderful family. You all inspire me with your own dedication to your work and enthusiasm for life.
To Cory and Cricket, you both are perfect, and I love you to pieces.
Excerpt from Where I Belong
Read how Corrinne met Bubby in
Where I Belong
Letter to Reader
Dear Reader,
Have you ever heard of the Butterfly Effect? I learned about it in science class last year. Probably the only lesson I remember because it’s way more relevant to real life than the three types of sediment rock or the properties of noble gases. And it’s also not revolting, like dissecting a frog. Basically, the butterfly effect is a chaos theory, attributed to a guy named Edward Lorenz. Here’s the CliffsNotes version: A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, and it sets off a tornado in Texas. It means the smallest moments of the past, even the ones that don’t have anything to do with us, affect our future and our future selves.
When Wall Street nearly collapsed, I didn’t pay much attention. I used to care a lot more about the hottest starlet’s weight fluctuation than the current prices of stocks. But when the economic problems caused my dad to lose his seven-figure job and me to move to a Texan town that’s so teeny tiny it’s not even on Google Maps, I realized how seemingly distant events can change your life forever.
This is the story of how I was transformed. How the pieces of the global economy toppled
like dominoes and made a teenage ice princess from Manhattan (me) melt and find her long-dislocated heart. So if you hate me at first, keep reading. You might just surprise yourself. I know I did.
And just think, somewhere right now a butterfly might be flapping its wings and altering your future in some peculiar, yet beautiful way.
Sincerely,
Corrinne Corcoran
Chapter 1
Family Meeting
MY IPHONE LOUDLY SINGS A LITTLE DITTY.
She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes.
The Barneys saleswoman, dressed in a hideous avocado green dress, gives me a look of disgust. Maybe she doesn’t like Paul Simon’s music. Stupid, it’s a classic, and I don’t have to change my ring tone each time Lady Gaga makes a costume change. Have you ever been to a party where twelve people have the same ring tone? So pathetic, it’s almost as bad as two girls having the same signature scent.
From a distance, I am pretty sure the avocado lady is rolling her eyes: Maybe she’s one of those people who don’t believe in using cell phones in public? Please, isn’t that why they were invented? To make us mobile? And look around, Miss Barneys employee; I am the only customer on floor three, the designer collection department. It appears that whole recession thingamajig scared everyone else away.
She keeps staring at me, and I know it isn’t my clothes: I am wearing an Alice and Olivia summer white dress and Jimmy Choo pink heels with my mousy brown hair slicked back. And she’s the same shopgirl who still hasn’t brought me the pair of Hudson jeans that I asked for more than twenty minutes ago. She’s probably ignoring me because I am a teenager. I just hate age discrimination, but I still refuse to shop in Juniors. First of all, I am a size five in Juniors and only a size four in Womens. Second of all, most of the clothing in Juniors is cheap. I might be only sixteen years old, but I own plastic. That should count for something. The saleslady keeps on glaring at me like it’s a new pastime, so I finally silence my phone. It’s my mother anyway, and I don’t want to talk to her.
I don’t want to talk to anyone. I shop alone. Sure, I’ll occasionally have lunch with friends at Fred’s, the restaurant at Barneys. And I’ll be sociable and make a courtesy loop or two of the store afterward, but I won’t wardrobe (aka power shop) with them. They’ll either move too slowly or claim they spotted that yellow eyelet Milly dress first. And right now, I am shopping for my first year at boarding school. This is serious. There are no Barneys in the middle of Connecticut, and online shopping should always be a last resort. And of course I don’t do malls on principle.
The Art of Goodbye Page 6
