Almost Impossible

by Nicole Williams

  No wonder I’d just read the same page for the ninth time and still hadn’t processed it.

  Slamming down my book with a grumble, I heard my phone chime in my pocket. Usually I was annoyed when I got a call during reading or writing time, but this one was a welcome distraction.

  “Mom!” I answered.

  “Daughter!” she greeted back.

  “Oh my gosh, what time is it in London?” I sat up, trying to calculate the difference.

  “Time to call you. That’s what time it is.” She didn’t sound tired, despite it being probably 4 A.M.

  “I miss you. How are things?” I wasn’t sure where the tears came from, but I suddenly felt them burning the surface of my eyes. Thanks to her schedule and time zone issues, we’d only gotten to exchange texts and emails since she left.

  “I miss you more because I’m the mom and that’s my right, but things are going pretty darn great tour-wise. They’d be going even better if you were here, because I swear to God, Jade, you were a better stage manager at fifteen than these supposed professionals. Last night, they set my acoustic guitar out for the opening set, you know, instead of that electric one I kind of need to rock ‘Wallflower Flunkie.’ ”

  Hearing her voice made me smile. “What did you do?”

  “We played the first-ever acoustic version of ‘Wallflower Flunkie.’ The crowd went berserk. It was killer. You would have loved it.”

  I laughed as I pictured the scene, plucking at the frayed hems of my cutoffs. “What are you going to be playing acoustic next? ‘Rebel Honey’?”

  Mom laughed on the other end. “I like it, Jade. I’ll have to run it by Seraphina and Kai. See what they think.”

  “Tell them hey for me. And remind Kai that she needs to order new guitar picks. She’s got to be running low.”

  “I’ll do both,” Mom promised. “Enough about me, what have you been up to?” She paused, like she was waiting for me to start rattling off a whole checklist of things. “What are you doing right at this very moment?”

  I glanced down at my book and journal before scanning the park for something I could tell her that didn’t involve admitting I was reading a book I’d already read ten dozen times.

  “Right this very moment?” I said, hoping it would buy me another minute to come up with something genius.

  “Jade Eleanor Abbott. If you are reading one of those books of yours on a Friday night all by your lonesome, I am going to haul my ass to the airport and catch the first flight to California.”

  Okay, so this really wasn’t the right time to tell her what I’d been up to. “Mom—”

  “Jade. Go. Do. Experience.”

  I plucked at the grass. “I’ve traveled to six continents and thirty-one countries and I’m still not even an adult in the eyes of the government. I have gone and done and experienced.”

  She was quiet for a moment, but I knew what she was getting at. Kind of. I’d done a lot in seventeen years of life, but I’d missed out on a lot, too. This was what this summer was all about, and here I was, reading under a tree like I would have been if I were currently in London with the Shrinking Violets.

  “You don’t have to worry about taking care of me or Seraphina or Kai, baby. We’re big girls. I know you do a great job at it, but we can take care of ourselves, too. You don’t have to worry about equipment or tour schedules or anything but being a seventeen-year-old.” I heard noise in the background, but then what sounded like a door closing came next, and it was quiet again. “I want you to make friends and have fun and get into trouble.” She stopped when she realized what she’d said. “A little trouble. Not too much, but some. I’m giving you my permission.”

  My head fell back into the tree. “I don’t know the parameters for some trouble. Can you define it?”

  “You’ll know it when you feel it. You have good instincts.”

  “All right. I’ll try.”

  “No, Jade Eleanor. You’ll do.”

  After I hung up with Mom, I lingered under the tree for a few more minutes, giving everything a chance to settle. But then I got a text from her that read: I’m en route to Heathrow. I know you’ve still got that book in your hand. I can feel it all the way across the Atlantic.

  Technically, the book wasn’t in hand but beside me on the ground; however, mentioning that would only make her bribe the taxi to drive faster. So instead, I leaped up from the ground and collected my stuff, typing in a quick response so she knew my Friday night was on the move.

  When I passed Quentin’s house, I gave it a sideways look because just in case he was spying on me again, I didn’t want him to know I was also spying on him. The clutter in the yard had been picked up, and no infuriating boys were stretched out on the porch steps. Dad and Mom must have been home for the night because there was an SUV in the driveway that hadn’t been there before, but Quentin’s truck was still there.

  After I passed his place, my gaze wandered to my aunt and uncle’s, where I could see something big and brown on the front porch that had not been there when I left. It was a box. A big one.

  Maybe a late delivery or something.

  As I headed up the walkway, though, I realized the box was open, and inside was a whole mess of worn paperback books. There was a note propped on top of the heap, so that’s what I reached for first.

  Enough to get you through the whole summer. Enjoy.

  I didn’t need to know who it was from—it was obvious. My head whipped toward Quentin’s house, my blood warming when I started to shuffle through the heap of books. They were all romance novels. The ones with cheesy covers and silly titles displayed in enormous cursive letters.

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t read those kinds of books. At all. Embarrassed, I tried wrestling the box through the doorway, but it was too heavy, so I wound up dragging it in behind me.

  “Jade? Is that you?” Aunt Julie’s voice chimed from the kitchen. “Did you see the present on the front porch?”

  “It’s a real gift,” I mumbled, feeling like I was about to pull a muscle from dragging an elephant’s weight of books a few feet.

  “I would have brought it in, but Quentin said he wanted you to be surprised by finding it on the porch.”

  I was taken aback that Aunt Julie knew Quentin. It made sense—he did live down the block, after all. But their worlds felt so…different.

  “It was quite the surprise. I can’t wait to return the favor.” I was already scheming ways to pay him back. “So you know Quentin?” Aunt Julie would be on my side if anyone would. The loather of all things of a trouble-like nature would definitely be with me on this.

  “A little, yeah, but I didn’t know you knew him.” She poked her head out of the kitchen. “He sure is a nice boy, Jade. Not so bad to look at, either.”

  “Not so great to look at, either,” I muttered. Her side-eye made it apparent that lie was fooling no one. “Do you know his family or something?” I asked, to change the subject.

  “We’ve exchanged waves and said hi, but no, I wouldn’t say I know them or anything. They moved in about a year ago. They seem like a nice family, busy but nice. Then again, who wouldn’t be busy raising that many kids? And with that big of an age gap.” Aunt Julie shook her head and grimaced, like four kids ranging from baby to teenager under one roof was in the same vein as capital punishment.

  I couldn’t believe Aunt Julie didn’t look at him and see a dozen different caution signs flashing above his head like I did. Then again, she wasn’t worried about having her heart thrown into a shredder if she got too close.

  “Hey, Aunt Julie?” I paused to make sure I had her attention. “How would you feel about me going out tonight?”

  The look she gave me led me to the conclusion she didn’t understand the question. “As in…now?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I motioned at the front window.


  “Where would you be going?”

  I rolled my weight from my heels to the balls of my feet, not sure why I was asking when I probably already knew her answer. “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

  “Alone? With someone?”

  When I answered her with a raise of my shoulders, she braced her hands against the counter ledge. “What time do you plan on being back?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Is one an acceptable time?”

  Her eyes went as round as they could. “One o’clock in the morning? I don’t think so.” When she saw me slump in front of her, she took a breath. “Listen, you’re just getting settled in here. There’s no reason for you to be going out ‘somewhere’ and not getting home until one.”

  “Mom used to let me,” I replied, trying not to sound like I was whining.

  Aunt Julie gave me one of those sad smiles, like it would somehow make the verdict easier to swallow. “Sweetie, I’m not your mom.”

  Didn’t I know it?

  Plastering on a smile of my own, I turned to go upstairs. “I’m heading up to my room. Do you mind if I leave the box of books in the foyer for the night?” There was no sense in dragging them upstairs when I had no intention of keeping them.

  “That’s fine. Have a good night.” Aunt Julie lifted her hand from the sandwich she was making for Uncle Paul’s lunch and waved at me. She was still in her slacks and blouse, her hair and makeup looking as fresh as they had this morning.

  “See you in the morning,” I said, jogging up the stairs, adrenaline pumping in my veins as my plan started to hatch. Quentin had thrown down the gauntlet, and I wasn’t the type who walked away from a challenge. He was daring me, calling me out, knowing I wouldn’t rise to the occasion—I’d show him he didn’t have any idea what kind of girl I was.

  Shutting my door behind me, I moved across the room to the window and opened it. It didn’t open all noisy and creaky like most of the windows I’d crawled through. I should have known Aunt Julie’s windows would be streak- and squeak-free.

  After turning off all my lights, I changed from my cutoffs and tunic and into a flowy knee-length dress. I wasn’t sure why I was going with a dress when I’d be climbing from a window and taking part in some TBD adventure tonight, but it was the first thing I’d reached for.

  Not sure if Aunt Julie would stick her head into my room tonight—I really hoped she wouldn’t—but just in case…

  Grabbing a few pillows from the window seat, I stuffed them under the blankets on my bed until I’d created a pillow teenager sound asleep beneath the covers.

  Stepping back to inspect what I’d done, my stomach curled into knots. I hated the idea of going behind Aunt Julie’s back and sneaking out, but this was the only way I was going to get to experience real, true teenage life, since Aunt Julie treated me like a toddler who had to be monitored at all times. I was responsible and made good choices—I’d proven that my whole life—and my actual parent had never minded when I’d crawled out of windows or explored the city alone. In fact, she would encourage it.

  The window was huge—made for climbing from—and the distance from the roof to the ground was nothing compared to other heights I’d jumped from. I jogged across the dark yard. The lights were still on downstairs, but it was getting close to ten, which was bedtime. Aunt Julie was as meticulous about that aspect of her life as she was about the others.

  Quentin’s house was quiet as I approached, his truck still parked in the driveway. My heart was hammering in my chest, seeming to echo into the quiet night. I felt the rush of the unexpected, the thrill of doing something I probably shouldn’t have been, and the dread of what would happen as a result. It was a strong mix of emotions sweeping through me, but I liked it. A lot.

  Since I wasn’t sure what time he was planning on leaving for the night, I took a seat on his bumper. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he found me here.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  It wasn’t a window that whined open but a front door. He didn’t rush away like he was worried about getting caught; he bounced down the stairs and loped across the yard like he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing him leave. Maybe his parents were cool with him heading out at night.

  He didn’t see me at first. Not until I’d stood up and come around the side of his truck. When he noticed me, a smile slipped into place, his eyes flashing like he’d been expecting me all along.

  He turned to face me, leaning into the driver’s door. “So you didn’t like your present?”

  My mouth twitched as I moved closer. “I hated it.”

  “Good.” Saying nothing else, he opened his door and motioned me inside.

  “Nice dress.” His words matched the appraisal in his eyes.

  I tugged at the hem, wondering why I felt so self-conscious. Maybe it had something to do with the way he was looking at me. “I wasn’t sure what you had in mind for the night, but hopefully it’s dress-appropriate.”

  “Totally.” He didn’t step aside as I crawled into his truck, so my shoulder brushed across his chest. Which meant I felt like a million volts had just shot through my rotator cuff. “My plan was to hang upside down on the monkey bars all night, so really, you couldn’t have picked a better outfit.”

  I rolled my eyes as I scooted across the bench seat.

  As I buckled up, I glanced into the backseat. It was in the same condition as his yard had been earlier. Foam nunchakus, plastic dinosaurs, and a car seat.

  When Quentin climbed in, he saw me checking out the back. He lifted his chin as he fired up the truck. “That’s how I roll.”

  He said it like he was the epitome of cool, making me laugh. “I’ve never seen a car seat in a teenage guy’s car. Or a Captain America shield, for that matter,” I said, noticing a few more items scattered across the floor in back.

  Quentin’s forehead creased. “You know? I haven’t either. Must mean I’m a rare breed. One of those one-in-a-billion types.”

  He backed out of the driveway slowly, checking his mirrors more than once. He was a responsible driver, which gave me hope we weren’t heading to some kind of satanic rave in an abandoned warehouse tonight.

  “You really like yourself, don’t you?” I said.

  “Hey, I’m a great guy. There’s a lot to like.”

  When he caught me rolling my eyes after he put the truck in drive, he said, “Okay, so you’re one of those girls who’s into the self-loathers.” He tapped his hand against the steering wheel, thinking. His shoulders fell at the same time his expression went dark and brooding. “No, I don’t like myself. At all. I’m a piece of crap, deserving of nothing. I don’t know why anyone could ever like a parasite like me. I want to lock myself in a dark room and listen to dark music and contemplate dark things.” When he peered over at me, I grumbled and shook my head.

  He had a comeback for everything. Instead of confirming or denying what “kind of girl” I was and what “kind of guy” I liked, I stayed silent. His truck wasn’t so quiet, though. It was loud—not one of those designed to make noise, but more as if it was approaching its expiration date.

  “You’re one of those boho chics, eh? Keeping Urban Outfitters in business?” Quentin glanced over at my dress as we headed down the street.

  “What’s Urban Outfitters?” I asked, pulling at the hem again. “And what’s a boho chic?”

  “You know.” He nodded. “Someone who dresses like you.”

  I glanced down at my dress, my sandals, my fringy cross-body purse. No idea what he was talking about. “I shop at thrift stores and the occasional vintage shop.”

  He shrugged again, like I was confirming his point. “Boho chic.”

  I twisted in my seat so I was facing him. “Yeah, if you ever try calling me a boho chic again, I’m going to dump that pile of books you left me on your head.”


  He grinned at the windshield. “No labels?”

  “No thank you.”

  “Why not?” he asked, turning down onto a busy main road.

  “Because labels confine you. They don’t let you move outside of them. We labelless nuts of the world can be whoever we want, whenever we want.” I rolled down my window a little, feeling like I needed the fresh air. That might have had to do with how good he smelled, all wet-haired and fresh from the shower.

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It is,” I replied.

  A couple of minutes passed as we continued down the road to our mystery destination. I could have asked, but he probably wouldn’t have told me, and really, I didn’t want to know.

  “So. The story. What’s yours?” Quentin asked as he turned onto the street that ran along the ocean. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean since getting here, and I felt like a kid rolling down the window so I could stick my head out and smell the night. The air wasn’t so briny down here like it was along the Washington and Oregon coasts, but it still had that nice sea smell.

  “Which one?” I asked, surfing my arm through the window after I pulled my head back in.

  “The all-encompassing one.”

  I stiffened as I thought about explaining that one. “Long story.”

  “They usually are.” He turned into a big parking lot, managing to snag a spot up front that someone was leaving.

  Were we going to the beach? As nice as that sounded, I’d be surprised if this was Quentin’s big plan.

  “Let’s see.” I tapped my chin as he parked. “I was born, I lived, and now I’m here. There’s the end.”

  He snorted and turned off the engine. “Come on. Really?” He spun in his seat so he was facing me. “Some girl suddenly moves in a few houses down from mine and I get no details?”

  I blinked, debating how much to tell him. We didn’t know each other, not really. The few conversations Quentin and I’d had were more focused on challenging or teasing each other than delving into our pasts. “The couple is my aunt and uncle, and I’m only here for the summer,” I said, opening the door. He opened his, too. “Sorry. That’s about as juicy as it gets.”