up?
No, Dad. All taken care of.
Was that what she was being punished for? Telling her dad that Lindsay’s parents would be there?
Dad, Zoe . . . She’d lied to a few people. Mom, too. Not about this, of course. But about the shrink. Why she’d wanted to see him. Maya promised herself she wouldn’t lie to anyone again, ever.
I’m so sorry . . .
Her stomach still felt terrible—hollow and weak from the blackberry brandy. She hated those girls so much. Why had she ever wanted to be friends with them? That seemed the really punishable thing—bad judgment.
And Miles. Especially Miles.
She remembered the way he had looked at her, so solemn. She remembered how he’d said, It will be our secret, Maya, our secret always . . .
And he’d been in on it. He’d been in on it the whole time, even as he touched her face, even as he . . .
Maya was breathing in cold water now. Her sweater stuck to her and her whole body was shivering, numb . . . and she hadn’t been watching where she was going. She’d missed her block and now she was practically at the West Side Highway, cold wind pushing into her wet face, burning her wet eyes. Why? The word was loud inside her. She wanted to scream it. Wanted to fall down on the sidewalk and sob.
They were going to post that video on YouTube. Maya had heard Nikki say it. They would post it and everyone at school would see it and her teachers and her parents and . . .
“Maya.”
My life is over .
“Maya!”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder, and saw him coming toward her in a windbreaker, the hood up. She saw his feet pounding the sidewalk, splashing in the puddles, his stride quickening, becoming a jog. He said her name again and yelled at her to wait and that’s when she knew this was real, not in her head.
Over .
Maya turned away from him. She ran and ran, fast as she could.
Part Two
Today I left my family forever. I put City Island in the rearview and drove off with my Great Love. We’re heading West, because that’s where people always go to make their lives better. Bill says that. He writes poetry, too. He has a big, leather-bound book of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever seen. Someday, all of his poems will be about me.
I know I’ve never mentioned Bill in here before, which is WEIRD. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. He’s all I think about, and still this is the first time I’ve written his name on one of these pages. But it’s like Bill says: Life works in strange ways. Sometimes you don’t see your future until you’re heading straight into it. Sometimes you don’t know you’re in love until it swallows you whole.
From the diary of Clea Spector
August 21, 1981
7
Evelyn Spector woke up with her heart in her mouth. She could have sworn she heard the phone ringing, but it must have been a dream. Evelyn’s brain playing tricks on her again. She looked at her digital alarm clock: 3 A.M. Every single night for the past week she’d woken up at 3 A.M. sharp. It was almost as though she had a ghost in her house, jolting her awake. And in a way she did, didn’t she?
Jack Spector. Grady Carlson. Evelyn had more than one ghost. Clea.
Two weeks ago, her younger daughter’s boyfriend had called her. Evelyn had been pleased to hear his voice. She’d heard about Brenna on the news, of course. That woman breaking into her home, that man killing himself, right in front of her . . . Such a dangerous job she’d chosen for herself, and these days it seemed more dangerous than ever.
But outside of a brief phone call (with Evelyn calling Brenna, no less) they’d barely spoken since. She’d had to get almost all the information about the break-in from her granddaughter—the only one in Evelyn’s family who could be bothered to tell her anything. Perhaps Brenna and her boyfriend are inviting me for dinner , Evelyn had thought when she’d heard his voice on the phone. After all, it is their turn .
But
No, Dad. All taken care of.
Was that what she was being punished for? Telling her dad that Lindsay’s parents would be there?
Dad, Zoe . . . She’d lied to a few people. Mom, too. Not about this, of course. But about the shrink. Why she’d wanted to see him. Maya promised herself she wouldn’t lie to anyone again, ever.
I’m so sorry . . .
Her stomach still felt terrible—hollow and weak from the blackberry brandy. She hated those girls so much. Why had she ever wanted to be friends with them? That seemed the really punishable thing—bad judgment.
And Miles. Especially Miles.
She remembered the way he had looked at her, so solemn. She remembered how he’d said, It will be our secret, Maya, our secret always . . .
And he’d been in on it. He’d been in on it the whole time, even as he touched her face, even as he . . .
Maya was breathing in cold water now. Her sweater stuck to her and her whole body was shivering, numb . . . and she hadn’t been watching where she was going. She’d missed her block and now she was practically at the West Side Highway, cold wind pushing into her wet face, burning her wet eyes. Why? The word was loud inside her. She wanted to scream it. Wanted to fall down on the sidewalk and sob.
They were going to post that video on YouTube. Maya had heard Nikki say it. They would post it and everyone at school would see it and her teachers and her parents and . . .
“Maya.”
My life is over .
“Maya!”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder, and saw him coming toward her in a windbreaker, the hood up. She saw his feet pounding the sidewalk, splashing in the puddles, his stride quickening, becoming a jog. He said her name again and yelled at her to wait and that’s when she knew this was real, not in her head.
Over .
Maya turned away from him. She ran and ran, fast as she could.
Part Two
Today I left my family forever. I put City Island in the rearview and drove off with my Great Love. We’re heading West, because that’s where people always go to make their lives better. Bill says that. He writes poetry, too. He has a big, leather-bound book of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever seen. Someday, all of his poems will be about me.
I know I’ve never mentioned Bill in here before, which is WEIRD. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. He’s all I think about, and still this is the first time I’ve written his name on one of these pages. But it’s like Bill says: Life works in strange ways. Sometimes you don’t see your future until you’re heading straight into it. Sometimes you don’t know you’re in love until it swallows you whole.
From the diary of Clea Spector
August 21, 1981
7
Evelyn Spector woke up with her heart in her mouth. She could have sworn she heard the phone ringing, but it must have been a dream. Evelyn’s brain playing tricks on her again. She looked at her digital alarm clock: 3 A.M. Every single night for the past week she’d woken up at 3 A.M. sharp. It was almost as though she had a ghost in her house, jolting her awake. And in a way she did, didn’t she?
Jack Spector. Grady Carlson. Evelyn had more than one ghost. Clea.
Two weeks ago, her younger daughter’s boyfriend had called her. Evelyn had been pleased to hear his voice. She’d heard about Brenna on the news, of course. That woman breaking into her home, that man killing himself, right in front of her . . . Such a dangerous job she’d chosen for herself, and these days it seemed more dangerous than ever.
But outside of a brief phone call (with Evelyn calling Brenna, no less) they’d barely spoken since. She’d had to get almost all the information about the break-in from her granddaughter—the only one in Evelyn’s family who could be bothered to tell her anything. Perhaps Brenna and her boyfriend are inviting me for dinner , Evelyn had thought when she’d heard his voice on the phone. After all, it is their turn .
But
Similar Books
