DEDICATION
For Mark Uhlemann and Francisco Calvo,
who inspired this book;
Jordan Hamessley, who fell in love with it;
and Alessandra Balzer, Donna Bray,
and Kristin Daly Rens, who saved it.
EPIGRAPH
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incensing relics of it
—SHAKESPEARE, ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, ACT 5
CONTENTS
Dedication
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from I’m Not Your Manic Pixie Dream Girl
Four
Five
Back Ads
About the Author
Books by Gretchen McNeil
Copyright
About the Publisher
ONE
I GLANCE AT THE WALL CLOCK FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME IN the last half hour. Ten minutes. In ten minutes, I’ll be a high school graduate.
I cannot freaking wait.
“How much longer, Annie?” Sonya asks, nibbling at the nail on her pinky finger. Unlike me, she’s afraid of graduating. Afraid of change.
I smile. “Ten minutes and counting.”
“This blows,” Greer groans, her chin resting in her hand. “I wish Mr. Girabaldi would let us leave already.”
Our AP English teacher sits hunched over his desk, immersed in a well-worn paperback, while our class lounges in small groups. AP exams have been passed and semester projects turned in, so he’s allowed us to socialize during our last final of the year. “At least he gave us a free period.”
“Not good enough.” Greer rolls her head to the side and her eyes land on Frankie O’Hearn, her longtime crush, who sits at her desk in the corner, typing languidly on her phone. “I can’t wait for this weekend.”
I laugh then drop my voice. “You mean you can’t wait to see Frankie in her bikini.” I hope I sound flippant, as if I totally don’t care that Frankie’s joining us for our houseboating weekend on Shasta Lake.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Greer whispers, “that I invited her.”
Of course I do. “Of course not.” Why should I feel threatened by Frankie? Just because she’s the most beautiful girl in school who also happens to have beaten me out for the valedictorian speech at tomorrow’s graduation and who also happens to be my boyfriend’s ex? Why would I have a problem with her?
“Ten, nine, eight,” the class begins to chant.
I swing around to look at the clock. Greer sits upright, immediately alert, and even Sonya shakes off her anxiety to watch the countdown.
“Five, four, three,” we join in, “two, one.”
Our four years at Redding High School come to a close. Reams of loose notes flutter through the air as several classmates rid themselves of the year’s research and bolt for the door. “Thanks for that!” Mr. Girabaldi shouts after them good-naturedly. Then he turns to the rest of us. “Good luck, everyone. And congratulations.”
As we stand to gather our bags, I reach out and hug Sonya. “We made it.”
“We made it,” she echoes, pulling away. She smiles and runs a hand over her short Afro. “I wouldn’t have without you, Annie.”
She believes that because I help manage her anxiety, but the truth is that I couldn’t have survived the last couple of years without her. High school has been marred by my mom’s cancer and my dad’s inability to deal with it. It’s been years of chemo and surgeries, then when we realized that hope was gone, my dad emotionally checked out while I was left to deal with my mom’s decline, and eventual death, last year. Sonya was by my side through all of it, the only person I could talk to, and the sudden realization that she’ll be halfway across the country at Brown in a few months is utterly depressing.
“Get a room,” Greer says, shaking her head. The crisp ends of her blond bob whip across her face, sticking to her thick lip gloss. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The hall looks as if a bomb went off. Paper airplanes whizz above my head while binders and locker detritus accumulate on the hard tile floor as a mass of students celebrate the beginning of summer vacation. Through the chaos, I see a bright white smile, sparkling brown eyes, and a short, spiky Mohawk weaving toward me.
Jack Cruz has always been the cool kid in the back of the bus, cracking jokes and acting wild with his buddies Rob and Terrence. They’re all smart—honors classes and top grades and plenty of college offers—but also always on the brink of trouble. I’d watched Jack from afar since we were freshman, but I’d never thought for an instant that he’d even noticed me until he asked me to the back-to-school dance last year.
I wanted to say yes. So desperately. But my mom had just started another round of chemo and my dad was ringing up a hefty bar tab after work every night, and I just . . . I couldn’t. I was afraid. And so I turned him down.
Which was when he asked Frankie out.
They dated all junior year, but broke up last summer. By then, I had adopted a new motto—no regrets—and so senior year, I asked Jack to homecoming.
We’ve been inseparable ever since, and now with our last summer looming before us, we’re determined to spend every moment of it together, experiencing all the things we’ve always been too afraid to do, starting this weekend with the houseboating trip and some off-limits spelunking at the old Bull Valley Mine.
And we’re not going to talk about college. It’s too depressing. Especially since Jack will start at UC Davis while I head farther south to Stanford. Close enough that we fantasize about a long-distance relationship. Far enough that we know deep down it probably won’t work.
Which is why you need to stop thinking about it.
“Baby!” Jack cries, the moment he sees me.
I smile and open my mouth to respond just as Frankie steps in front of me.
“Jack!”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “He was talking to me,” I say, elbowing past her. “His girlfriend.”
“Oh, sorry,” Frankie says, looking anything but. “Habit.”
There’s only one thing that can ruin my summer with Jack, and her name is Francis O’Hearn. I can still picture the look on her face when we saw us at homecoming together—like she wanted to tear me limb from limb. Whatever prompted her to dump Jack, she clearly regretted that decision, and had immediately set out on a seek-and-destroy mission to win him back.
So while I’m not thrilled that Greer invited Frankie for the weekend, I’m certainly not going to let Frankie see it. I smile, linking my arm through Jack’s. “Old habits,” I say sweetly, “die hard.”
Jack tugs on my arm. “We should go. Later, Fran—”
“Jack,” Frankie says
, interrupting him. “Do you think you could pick me up Sunday morning? I’m not really sure where the boat launch is.”
I roll my eyes, making no attempt to hide my annoyance. What is this, the nineties? There’s an app for that.
“Sorry,” Jack says. “Rob’s giving us a ride.”
“And his car is full,” I add.
“We’ll pick you up,” Greer blurts. “My brother and me.” I can hear the flutter of nervous excitement in Greer’s voice. I’m not sure she thinks she actually has a chance with Frankie, but I appreciate she’s embracing the no regrets motto of our summer.
Frankie’s eyes trail slowly from Jack’s tense features to Greer’s beaming face. “Great.” Short of Jack offering her a ride, Greer and her twin brother, Graham, were the next best thing. They were both in love with her, and Frankie adored the attention. And treating them both like shit.
“Crisis averted.” I take Jack’s hand as we turn toward the parking lot, glancing back over my shoulder in time to catch the dark scowl on Frankie’s face. “See you guys at graduation.”
TWO
AS EXPECTED, MY DAD’S SHASTA COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE SUV is noticeably missing from the driveway when Jack pulls up in front of my house. Twenty minutes later, we’re entwined on my bed, shirts on the floor.
Its ninety degrees outside, and probably closer to one hundred in my room, where the air conditioner hasn’t been on long enough to make a dent in the buildup of hot air. My body feels sticky pressed next to Jack’s, but I don’t care. I only want to feel his hands on my skin, his lips grazing mine. It blocks out everything else.
Maybe this will be it? I think of the condoms I have stashed under the sink, tucked away in a box of tampons—i.e., the one place my dad would never look—but so far, we haven’t used them.
I mean, I want to. I really do. But every time we get close, I think of my mom. She was super Catholic and had put the fear of God—literally—into me about sex before marriage. Why can’t I shake that fear? She’s dead, and not only that, but one of the last things she’d said to me while she was delirious on pain meds, her body an emaciated shell, was that I should live with no regrets. It’s become my motto, and yet when it comes to sex, I’m still afraid.
I feel Jack’s hand on the button of my shorts, fumbling to unhook it. He’s been incredibly patient with me, and I want to say yes. I want this to be it.
“No.”
Jack stops immediately, his hands withdrawing. He sits up. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyebrows knitted together. “I thought maybe you wanted to.”
“I did.” I swallow. “I do. I’m just . . .” Afraid? Ashamed? Dammit, why can’t I kick my sense of guilt over this?
“We don’t have to.” Jack smiles and places his hand on mine. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”
He had sex with Frankie. He told me so. And he wasn’t a virgin then either. I feel childish and silly in comparison. Those other girls weren’t afraid. Why am I trapped in some 1950s concept of sex?
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say, covering my eyes with the back of my hand. I kind of want to cry, but I have no idea why.
Jack laughs. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Annie. That’s why I love you.”
I peer at him from beneath my arm. “There are about a million things wrong with me, and you know it.”
“Please.” He lies beside me, head propped up on his elbow. “You’re smart. Kind. Cute. Funny.” He gestures to my bookcase, overstuffed with history books mixed in with volumes of Victorian and Edwardian detective fiction. “And an adorable nerd.”
“Takes one to know one,” I tease.
Jack winks, then glances at the Taylor Swift posters on my wall. “Okay, there is one thing wrong with you.”
“What?”
“You have shitty taste in music. But that’s the biggest fault I can find.”
I push him away from me playfully. “How dare you?”
He climbs back on top of me, pinning my wrists against the mattress. “Maybe if I force you to listen to ska punk nonstop this weekend, I can brainwash you into liking it?”
“Or make me homicidal.”
He leans down, touching the tip of his nose to mine. “As long as we’re homicidal together, I won’t mind.”
I gaze into his brown eyes and melt. I want to tell him how terrified I am of losing him when we go off to separate colleges this fall, how I want to have no regrets once we do.
Not like Mom had.
But before I can even attempt to explain the thoughts swirling around in my brain, Jack kisses me lightly on the lips. “I love you, and I know you love me. Sex isn’t going to change that, okay? So we can wait as long as you want to.”
It’s like he can read my mind.
He rolls onto his side, draping his arm around me as I snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, and for about the billionth time since our first date, I’m struck by how lucky I am.
“So what did you tell your dad about Sunday?” he asks.
“I told him that my friends and I are buying booze with a fake ID, renting a houseboat for two nights, and trespassing in an old mine.”
Jack pulls away from me. “Are you serious?”
I manage to hold my poker face for a split second before laughing. “Yeah, no. Sheriff Kramer would lock me in my room for the rest of the summer. Sonya and I told our parents we’re going to an Ivy League mixer in Sacramento.”
He lets out a long breath. “Damn, I thought I was going to have to enter Witness Protection there for a moment.”
“My dad doesn’t hate you that much,” I say, but inside I cringe at the lie.
“Yes, he does.”
He’s right.
“He’s pulled me over four times since homecoming. Never issued me a ticket, of course, because I haven’t done anything wrong, but do you think that’s a coincidence? Do you think he’s pulled over every Mexican kid in a red pickup?”
Knowing my dad, probably yes. “Okay, he’s a little overprotective.”
Jack looks me in the eyes. “If he came home right now and found me in bed with you, he’d probably shoot me on the spot.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Oh, really?” he asks playfully. “Throw yourself in front of the bullet?”
Now it’s my turn to be serious. “There’s a nine millimeter in the safe in my dad’s room and, I should warn you, I passed my marksmanship exam last summer, so . . .” I let my voice trail off suggestively.
Jack laughs. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yep.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Well, it doesn’t.” Then he leans closer, lips tantalizingly close to mine, and smiles. “But I know something else that will.”
Because there are things other than going all the way.
THREE
I FIGHT THE URGE TO PLUG MY EARS AS THE REDDING HIGH School Chamber Choir warbles their way through some crappy musical theater song about climbing mountains, clenching my jaw as I maintain the smile carefully plastered across my face.
Mom would have liked it.
I swallow, pushing her memory away, and fight to keep the tears from welling up. It’s been a long time since I cried over my mom, and I don’t want to start now. Being second in our class has some advantages—like early admission at Stanford and getting the benefit of the doubt when I told my dad that Sonya and I were going to Sacramento tomorrow—but sitting in the front row at our graduation isn’t one of them. It feels as if every set of eyes in the auditorium is on me, and I don’t want the whole audience to be front and center for my emotional meltdown, so I just sit there under the sweltering stage lights, biting my lower lip, while beads of sweat trickle down my neck beneath my polyester graduation gown.
“How long is this song?” I whisper through gritted teeth, trying to distract myself.
Beside me, Sonya fidgets. “It seemed shorter in rehearsal.”
A figure passes in front of us, bl
ocking the glare of the lights, as members of the theater department present an interpretive dance number at the edge of the stage. I let out a breath, thankful to be removed from the spotlight for a few minutes, and turn to Sonya. “Did you tell your mom about tomorrow?”
Sonya glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “I lied to her, if that’s what you mean.” Her dark skin flushes crimson, and a wave of guilt passes over me. I tell myself that I’m doing this for Sonya’s own good—she’s got to loosen up before she goes off to college or she’s going to be on the same path as David Kang, Rob’s older brother, who had a full-on nervous breakdown his sophomore year at Yale. I don’t want that to happen to my best friend, and if she can’t figure out a way to let off some steam, the fallout could be catastrophic.
But am I helping by asking her to lie to her mom? Our parents work together, so our stories have to match if we’re going to pull this off, but I can see the strain on her face, and I can’t help but think I’m making things worse.
The choir and dance performances end and we all applaud politely. I take the opportunity to steal a peek at Jack, who sits three rows behind me. His Mohawk is obscured by his blue, square-brimmed hat, but I spot his huge smile right away. He sees me too, then nods back to his left.
Something about the glimmer in his eyes sets my cop’s-daughter brain in motion. What is he trying to tell me? I shake my head slightly, trying to signal that I don’t understand.
Just wait, Jack mouths to me, then turns toward the back of the risers.
I follow his gaze and instantly understand. At the end of a row, Rob and Terrence sit side by side—Kang and Katzenstein, an alphabetical pairing that Principal Andrews is going to regret until his dying day. I can see ripples in Terrence’s blue gown as his hands fiddle with something beneath its folds. Meanwhile Rob, eyes still forward, reaches down beneath his riser.
He must have taped something beneath his seat. Probably during yesterday’s rehearsal. As if to confirm my theory, he straightens up and hands a small object to Terrence, who quickly squirrels it inside his robe.
Oh no. They’re planning a graduation prank.
My eyes involuntarily trail to the tall, staunch figure standing in the aisle near the emergency exit. My dad volunteered to “police” graduation, presenting an imposing figure to deter senior pranks. Will he blame Jack for what’s about to happen? Jack’s half brothers have been in trouble with the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office since I was in elementary school, plus he’s got two cousins serving time for armed robbery, and though they share little more than the Cruz surname with my boyfriend, my dad hasn’t been able to shake the association.
Relic Page 1