by Cameron Lund
THIRTY-FOUR
SO WHAT I DIDN’T know is that pulling a fire alarm is a misdemeanor, which means it goes on my record and I could actually go to jail.
Luckily that doesn’t happen.
What happens is this: Andrew and I come out of the cupboard eventually and are taken down to the station. Andrew’s uncle calls his parents, who then call my parents, and soon they’re all at the police station with me, pulled out of bed in pajamas and bathrobes and all with something to say. My parents have never been so mad at me (not just about the alarm, but also the hotel room, and the whiskey, and the whole resisting arrest thing), and when they eventually tire of yelling, Andrew’s parents step in and take over. In the end, I’m fined seven hundred dollars, which I’ll be working for months at the video store to pay back. I would say that spending all summer with Dean is the worst thing I could possibly imagine, but it beats jail. Barely.
Andrew is thrilled by the fact that I’m officially a criminal. When I wake up the morning after prom, his truck is waiting in my driveway. I’m supposed to be grounded until graduation, but my parents give me five minutes to talk to him. Secretly, I think the exception is because of how excited they are that we’re together; I have to keep reminding my mom we’re too young for her to make jokes about our babies.
When I open the door to his truck, I’m struck immediately by the smell of pizza. He’s wearing his glasses—which I love—and when I see him I’m suddenly shy, remembering everything that happened between us. What’s funny is I don’t really feel any different after having sex with Andrew. It turns out losing your virginity is kind of like having a birthday. No one can tell just by looking at you if you’re seventeen or eighteen, if you’ve slept with one person or ten or no one at all. I thought having sex would magically change me, but Andrew didn’t turn me into the girl I am now. I did that all on my own.
“I brought you breakfast,” Andrew says, holding a pizza box in my direction.
“It’s morning,” I say back. But I climb in beside him and open the box, toasting my slice of pepperoni against his.
“Should I have asked for mushrooms?” he asks. “I heard you like those now.”
“Shut up.” I shove him with my shoulder.
He’s grinning and adorable. “You know, I never would have guessed that between us, you’d be the felon.”
“You still have time,” I say, my grin matching his. “Don’t count yourself out.”
“You’re right. I’ve got way too much time this summer to get up to no good now that I’m out a job.”
“But you didn’t pull the alarm! Your uncle can’t blame you for what I did.”
“I’m an accessory to the crime, remember?”
“Speaking of accessories,” I say with a wicked smile, “any chance you can get your hands on a fireman uniform?”
“If you wanted me to do a sexy fireman dance for you, you should have thought of it before you pissed off the whole Prescott fire department.” He picks a pepperoni off his slice and pops it into his mouth. “I’ve been thinking of telling my parents I’m not a vegan, actually. It seems like the right time, you know, while everyone’s so mad at you.”
I laugh, leaning over to kiss him. “I guess love makes you do crazy things.” At the word love, his smile gets even wider and I see his cheeks redden. It still doesn’t feel real. We love each other. He’s mine and I’m his. That’s worth seven hundred dollars.
Graduation comes a week later, out on the field at school, under a big white tent. Hannah, Andrew, and I go together, piled into Hannah’s Jeep with the old wrappers and the trash bags, just like always. I was worried things might be weird now between the three of us, now that two of us are dating—but the thing is, as Hannah puts it, nothing has changed at all. “You and Andrew have been dating since sixth grade,” she told me, waving my concerns away when I asked.
Hannah is officially back together with Charlie, which doesn’t make me happy, but I know it’s my job as her best friend to support her no matter what. He’ll probably break her heart again. I’ll just have to be there for her when he does.
When we get to the field, we mingle with the parents for a bit, taking so many pictures it feels like prom all over again. But I don’t mind it now; this is something to remember. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
I want to check the mirror before the ceremony starts, so I head into the school, through the multipurpose room and into the women’s bathrooms. The school is empty and quiet—quieter than I’ve ever heard it, and it strikes me that this might be the very last time I’ll ever be inside this building, seeing this shiny linoleum floor, the blue and white tiles on the walls.
I’ll never come back here, not if I can help it. But it still feels sad in a way.
I push open the swinging bathroom door and then stop, surprised. Danielle is sitting on the ledge of the sink, her face smudged with mascara. When she sees me, she hastily reaches a hand up to wipe away tears.
“Sorry,” I say, letting the bathroom door bump me on the butt. I hesitate for a second, trying to decide if I should leave her alone or step farther into the room.
“In or out, Collins?” she asks, her voice dry.
I take a few hesitant steps forward. “Are you okay?”
“Obviously not.”
I turn back around. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll just leave you alone.” I open the door and begin to walk out.
“No,” she says, her voice small. “Wait.” It’s unsettling to hear her sound so vulnerable, like a little girl, like someone who doesn’t have full control of every situation. I close the door again.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” she says.
“I can’t wait to leave,” I say, but I know what she means. High school always seemed kinder to Danielle, everyone rooting for her, always on her side. But maybe high school was just as hard for her. Maybe she was just better at dealing with it.
“Did you know it was Ava?” she asks, fiddling with the tassel on the front of her graduation cap. “Writing the notes.” I shuffle over to her and climb up next to her on the sink, feeling water seep into the bottom of my robe. It surprises me that she’s still so upset about what Ava did—not because it’s silly to be, but because Danielle has always seemed so strong.
“I would have told you.”
“You wouldn’t have told me,” she says, her tone emotionless. I realize she’s right. I wouldn’t have wanted to get involved. Maybe I would have told Hannah instead, hoping that Hannah would do the right thing.
“Would you have believed me?” I ask.
“Probably not,” she answers. “You’ve never liked me much.”
“That’s not true,” I say, feeling defensive.
She looks at me pointedly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve never liked you much either.”
Her words should hurt, but somehow instead of feeling insulted, I’m relieved. It’s nice to get it out in the open, to be able to stop pretending. “It’s nothing against you,” she says. “You just don’t like any of the same things that I like. I can feel you rolling your eyes at me every time I talk. You think just because I like doing my hair and makeup, and looking nice, and flirting with boys that I’m dumb.” She doesn’t sound angry or aggressive—just very matter-of-fact.
“I don’t think you’re dumb,” I say. “I think you’re . . . intimidating.” I pause before the word, nervous that she’ll laugh or throw it back in my face.
“It’s just so high school,” Danielle says. “Isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Pretending to like the people we hang out with. Hanging out with people we don’t like because we’re supposed to.”
“Well, there aren’t very many people at school to choose from.”
“But I like Sophie way more than I like you,” she says. “No offense. But for some reason
I hang out with you way more. Because there are four of us. That’s just the way it is. I don’t even know how it started. Hannah, I guess. And Andrew. They liked you, so I had to like you. But all you did was act like you were so much cooler than me, because you could skateboard and liked old movies and were friends with the guys. And then, oh wow, this hot college guy liked you, and that just made you even cooler. What makes you so special?”
“But,” I protest, finding her hard to believe. “But you’re Danielle fucking Oliver. You’re cooler than everyone!”
She laughs, hiccupping a little bit. Even like this, even while crying and feeling sorry for herself, she still looks amazing. “I know,” she says, licking her thumb and wiping the mascara away from under her eyes. “You know,” she says, studying the smudges on her fingers, “I think this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.”
“Some friends,” I say, laughing.
“I thought it could have been you,” she says, “writing the notes.”
“What?” I ask, my voice rising. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah. But then I realized you’re a terrible liar. You couldn’t have gotten away with it.”
I laugh and flick some water at her.
“Hey! I’m in fancy graduation robes here!” But she’s laughing too, the mood between us light. It’s like we’ve spent all of high school in a bubble that’s finally burst. Now is the time to ask, if I ever want answers.
“So did you even like Andrew?” Even though he’s mine now, even though I’m sure of it—my chest still feels tight. I realize that this is what love is—this constant ache for the rest of my life that someone or something could take him away.
“Course not,” she says. “I’ve liked Chase for like ten years, Collins. I thought that was obvious.” She takes her graduation cap off and studies herself in the mirror, bringing her hands up to flatten the stray wispy pieces around her forehead. “Andrew was so jealous of your college boy he was about to explode. So I knew we could help each other out. I’m a manipulative bitch, remember?”
“You’re not a bitch,” I say, meaning it.
Our eyes meet in the mirror and she smiles. “Do you think we’ll stay friends after we graduate?”
“No.” It feels freeing to finally speak the truth. “And that’s okay.”
She sighs. I know she’s thinking about Ava.
“You guys will make up,” I say.
“I know I need to be nicer to her.” She stares down at her hands, her fingernails still shiny and black. “I think maybe we’re meanest to the people we love the most because we want to believe they’ll love us no matter what.”
Before I think about what I’m doing, I take her hand and squeeze. “Ava still loves you. Just give it some time.”
“Thanks.” She smiles, and it’s a real one—the kind that shines through her eyes.
“We should go back out there,” I say. “Face our future and all that.”
We get up off the sink and leave the bathroom together, still hand in hand, heading back out to the field to see everyone. When we reach the big white tent with all the chairs, she squeezes one more time and then lets go, veering off to where Chase and Ava are standing. Chase throws an arm around Danielle, pulling her close, and I see the flash of hurt on Ava’s face before she breaks into a resigned smile. I hope they make up eventually, but maybe they won’t. Maybe some friendships are meant just for high school. Maybe Danielle and Ava no longer fit together, no longer speak the same language.
I wave to them and then head over to Andrew and Hannah, pulling them into a tight hug, just the three of us.
“I’ll miss this,” I say as the graduation march begins.
I know it’s not the end, not just yet. We still have all summer before we’re pulled in different directions. Andrew and I have two months before we have to go long-distance. But we’ll never be the exact same as we are right now. We’ll never have eighteen-years-old, summer-before-college ever again, when we’re free and optimistic, when we’re all in love for the first time and the world is spread out before us, untouched and shimmering.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if Andrew and I will stay together forever, if he’ll always be my best friend, my favorite person, my most important somebody. I hope so. I hope I’ll be eating pizza with him until we’re too old to chew. But I know I can’t plan it all out right now. I can’t look for answers in a book, can’t map everything out before it happens.
Sometimes life isn’t perfect. It isn’t a movie. I can’t direct it, can’t edit out the scenes that I don’t like. Life is messy and complicated and full of misunderstandings. And that’s okay. Whatever happens, I can’t wait.
I’m so ready.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a kid, when I imagined the ideal writer version of myself, it looked like this: me, alone in a cabin somewhere, on an island, or a beach, or on top of a mountain surrounded by trees. And while part of that has come true (I have written on several different islands), the truth is that writing is not something you do alone; there are so many people who have helped and cheered me along every step of the way.
First, I must thank my parents, who have always been supportive of my love of the arts (whether that meant driving me to rehearsals, plying me with piles of books each Christmas, or encouraging me to write on weekend mornings instead of watching cartoons). I’m thankful that the words “I’m bored” were always met with suggestions of how to fill my time with art and music. Thank you for understanding that I was never going to take a typical path and for cultivating my creativity. To my dad for inspiring in me a love of stories by reading to me each night before bed. To my mom, who, when I was feeling down about my music, said “I think you should be a writer” and changed the course of my life.
A huge thank-you to Shirin Yim Bridges. I started your class with an idea for a story, and now I get to share it with the world.
To my original writers group and the rest of the Richmond gang: Amanda, Jessica, Sara, Joey, Irene, Remi, and Erich. Thank you not only for your brilliant writing expertise, but for letting me text you endlessly about my anxieties, and in general for your magical unicorn friendship.
To the other writers who read my first drafts and helped me shape this story: Cassia, Cady, Jenn, Julie, and Marjorie. You’ve been with Keely and Andrew since the beginning. And to the rest of Shirin’s Army, thanks for your company and support and late-night glasses of cognac.
Thank you to Jody Gehrman, Sabrina Lotfi, and Renée Price for your beta reads and your enthusiastic championing. You fairy-godmothered this book and got her ready for prom.
I am incredibly lucky to have so many amazing friends. To the Doobs—with a friend like you, I play the right part. To my magical book club, thank you for being hilarious, intelligent, feminist queens who are always ready with a Harry Potter reference. Endless love to 4th Floor South, the Gauchos, and the whole Bae Area crew! You’re all my family and I am so thankful to have so much laughter in my life. If high school me—who was lonely and insecure and afraid of the future—could have seen you all coming, she would have been so proud. I know we will all stay friends forever and I can’t wait to eat pizza with you until we’re too old to chew. If this book sells well, I promise to buy the commune.
And of course, thank you to my amazing agent, Taylor Haggerty, and the rest of the Root Literary team (special shout-out to Melanie Figueroa for picking me out of the slush!). Thanks to my incredible editor, Julie Rosenberg, and to everyone else at Razorbill, for believing in this book and making my dreams come true. Thank you to Heather Baror-Shapiro for bringing this book abroad, and to Mary Pender-Coplan for film. Thanks to my designer, Maggie Edkins, and my illustrator, Carolina Melis, for my beautiful cover. To the marketing and publicity teams at Penguin for everything you’re doing to share my story.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you t
o the readers. Without you this would all be meaningless.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cameron Lund is a young adult author, singer/songwriter, and pizza enthusiast. Originally from the middle of the New Hampshire woods, she moved to the beach to study film at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and has stayed out west ever since. Her love of travel has taken her to more than twenty-five countries--there's nothing she loves more than writing while on an adventure somewhere, preferably with a view of a waterfall. The Best Laid Plans is her first novel. Find Cameron on Twitter and Instagram @camloond.
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