As he rode, he kept an eye out for people he knew. It was stupid because as soon as he saw someone, he’d duck and try to disappear. Hankinson was a decent-sized city, but it still felt like there was nowhere to hide.
Jake locked his bike to the rack and crossed the road to the high school. The varsity football team was practicing on the south field. They were grunting and slamming into cushions. Jake clenched his fists. He was supposed to go out for junior varsity football, but then he’d bailed.
He shouldn’t even be looking at the football players. Jake kicked at the grass under his sneakers. People wouldn’t say anything to his face, but he could feel them watching, waiting for him to make his next move. Well, he was done with moves.
Some girls disappeared through a side door, their elbows linked. He recognized Kyra, short and curvy with a helmet of black hair. Her mom had hired Jake to mow their lawn over the summer. Kyra was always lying out on the deck in a bikini, her pink phone in her hand. She giggled whenever Jake pushed the mower by her. He’d never said anything. Maybe it was a jerk move to ignore her, but what was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to lead her on.
Jake pushed his hair off his face. His best summer friend, Mona Lisa, had convinced him to grow it out, and it was finally getting long. Hopefully high school would be different. He took a shallow breath and walked into the building.
Up on the bleachers, Jake was wedged between a skinny dude picking at his fingers and this small girl everyone was staring at. She had long brown hair and bright purple toenails.
As he jiggled his knee up and down, he scanned for Teddy, hoping to see him. Or maybe not. Maybe hoping Teddy had moved over the summer. That would suck. Or not.
“Welcome, students!” A man wearing a striped tie tapped a microphone.
Jake glanced at the girl with the purple toenails. He noticed two kids holding up their phones to take pictures of her while she stared straight ahead like it wasn’t happening.
“My name is Mr. Bauersmith,” the man said. He had a bushy mustache that looked like a caterpillar. “I’m the principal at Hankinson High School. In four years you’re going to be sitting in this same gym for graduation. But first things first . . . welcome to the beginning.”
A few girls clapped. Jake knew one of them from eighth grade. Marin Banerjee. They’d gone to the winter semiformal together. They’d kissed on the dance floor and he’d said that her breath smelled like candy corn. Marin had spent the rest of the night crying, encircled by a pack of angry girls. Jake couldn’t figure that out. It wasn’t like candy corn was a bad thing. He’d told his friend Mona Lisa about it this summer. She was from Atlanta, but her grandparents had a cottage down the road from his family’s cabin on Cayuga Lake. Mona Lisa said girls didn’t want to be told that their breath was anything less than perfect.
The principal talked for a few more minutes and went over some school rules. He paused to stroke his mustache with his thumb, which gave Jake the chills. Jake didn’t have much facial hair yet, but whatever peach fuzz he had, he shaved off.
“As we do every year,” Mr. Bauersmith said, “I’m going to have all the incoming ninth graders break into small groups. Every group will have a peer advisor who is a junior or senior and has been assigned to guide you through your ice-breaker activity.”
A few people groaned. Jake actually didn’t mind these kinds of activities. It was like student council. Another thing he hadn’t gone out for this year. In eighth grade he’d been the vice president of his class.
“It’s your choice what you do,” the principal said. “Your group can do a time capsule or a make a collage or help change the letters in the marquee outside the school. I’m going to pass out sheets with suggestions. But before I do, I’ll leave you with the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson. ‘Life is a journey, not a destination.’”
As the principal began calling names and numbers, Jake pushed his hair out of his eyes. He saw a few guys from middle school across the gym. They were probably talking about football. He turned away.
“Jake Rodriguez!” the principal called out. “Group eighteen. Alicia Montaine is your peer advisor.”
Just as Jake stepped off the bleachers, he noticed Teddy by the victory banners. His hair was bleached golden and he’d gotten taller. The last time he’d seen Teddy was at junior high graduation. The last time they’d talked was on the bus home from the eighth-grade trip to Washington, DC.
Jake felt like he was being pulled under a wave, churned out of control, not knowing which part of his body was going to smash the sand. He was about to look away, like they’d done last spring, but then Teddy smiled at him. It was light and easy, as if nothing had ever happened.
WHITNEY
WHITNEY COULDN’T BELIEVE that Zoe Laybourne, daughter of Sierra Laybourne, was in her orientation group. Five people in each group, and she got Zoe!
This more than made up for the fact that her sister was her peer advisor. Who thought of that messed-up idea? She and Alicia had the same mocha skin and hazel eyes, but other than that, they were nothing alike. Mostly, they hated each other.
Whitney had recognized Zoe Laybourne as soon as she walked into the gym. It was surreal, seeing the long brown hair and wide-set eyes that she’d always seen in pictures. Zoe was shorter in real life, but it was definitely her. Whitney pointed her out to her new friend Laurel and some other girls. Within seconds everyone was whispering and sneaking pictures of Zoe.
As her group settled under the basketball hoop, Whitney kept her cool. She said her own name, Whitney Montaine. The two guys and that girl Mia introduced themselves. But then, when it was Zoe’s turn to talk, Whitney lost it.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she gushed to Zoe. “It’s just so—”
“Whit,” Alicia said to her. “Chill.”
Whitney felt like a moron, but then she let it slide. Maybe it sounded stuck-up, but she was used to people liking her. Alicia said someday Whitney would crash, that her life couldn’t always be so charmed. Well, Whitney wasn’t going to let Alicia get her depressed with that kind of talk. Her mom’s friend Glenda did her braids yesterday, and she was feeling great in her skirt and gold sandals. Even her best friend, Kyra, said she looked cute, and Kyra never complimented her. Mostly, she just whined about wanting Whitney’s clothes.
Kyra’s dad, Mr. Bauersmith, was the principal. Maybe Kyra knew why Zoe Laybourne, daughter of a movie star, was in Hankinson. Maybe it had to do with that clip of Sierra Laybourne that went viral a few weeks ago. Oh my god! She’d been yelling at Zoe in the clip, saying things like “Let me the hell in now, Z!” and “You’re being a spoiled brat!” Whitney reached for her phone but then set it down. Alicia would murder her if she texted Kyra to ask what she knew. Her sister didn’t understand how close she and Kyra were. Back in middle school people called them Whitra. Either that or Kyrney.
Whitney checked out the freckles across Zoe’s nose. She didn’t look like a spoiled brat. She also didn’t look anything like her famous mom. Maybe Zoe resembled her dad? Whitney had read how Sierra Laybourne had never told anyone the identity of Zoe’s dad, but Zoe probably knew. It was probably just a publicity stunt.
“I’m Zoe Laybourne,” Zoe said. “I know it’s random that I’m here. I’m staying with my aunt.”
“Who’s your aunt?” Whitney asked.
“Jane Morrison. She lives on Breakneck Hill.”
“That’s so cool!” Whitney smiled at Zoe. Her mom was a real estate agent, so she’d have to ask her to look up all the info on Jane Morrison’s house. “I used to take a drama class on the hill. We live ten minutes from there.”
“Whitney,” Alicia said. “Let Zoe talk.”
“It’s okay,” Zoe said. “There’s not much to say. I got here a few days ago.” She fiddled with the buckle on her adorable orange bag. It probably cost a thousand dollars.
“Is your mom here with you?” that guy Jake asked.
Whitney was glad he said it because she was dying to know.
Jake was cute with longish blond hair. When he’d introduced himself, he said he went to Loch Middle. Laurel, her new friend from summer soccer, also went to Loch. She was planning to drill Laurel about Jake, see if he had a girlfriend.
“No . . . my mom’s in Arizona,” Zoe said, smiling. She had perfect teeth and didn’t even wear braces. Whitney was counting the seconds until her braces came off.
Mr. Bauersmith clapped his hands into the microphone. “Students! Now that you’ve all introduced yourselves, you should begin talking about your ice-breaker activity.”
“Any ideas?” Alicia asked.
“What about a time capsule?” Jake suggested. “I’m into art. I could draw a picture or a cartoon for it.”
This small red-haired guy raised his hand. What was his name again? Gregor?
“We could put on a recital for senior citizens,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I play cello.”
Whitney wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t stand being around old people. They smelled icky, like mothballs and pee.
“That’s an interesting idea, Gregor,” Alicia cooed. Whitney glared at her sister. Alicia was faking nice and would no doubt make fun of Gregor and his recital later. Alicia could be brutal that way.
“I play piano,” Zoe said.
“The thing is,” Alicia said, “it’s not community service. We’re supposed to do the activity today.”
“I play piano too,” Mia said quietly. Mia had gone to Weston Middle with Whitney. She was tall and supersmart but also bizarre, like she could stare at nothing for a whole period. People said she was always stoned, but Whitney seriously doubted that.
“That’s nice to hear,” Alicia said in her fake-friendly voice.
Whitney rolled her eyes. Kyra’s dad had made that speech about how they were all going to be here in four years wearing caps and gowns, collecting their diplomas. Maybe they could do something that tied into that. . . .
“I’ve got it!” she said. “Let’s meet up again at graduation, the five of us. Right here under this basketball hoop. It’s kind of like, See you on the other side.”
“And . . . what?” Alicia asked. “That’s your whole idea?”
Whitney ignored her sister. Zoe was smiling at her, and that was all she needed. “No, what I was going to say is that we could write notes today. Letters to our future selves. We’ll seal them all together. When we meet at graduation, we can open them.”
“That sounds cool,” Jake said.
Alicia rotated her nose ring. Whitney’s dad was furious when their mom had taken Alicia to get her nose pierced. Her parents had gotten into one of their epic fights over that one.
“I don’t think I’ll be here in four years,” Zoe said. “But I can write a note.”
“Okay.” Whitney grinned. “That’s what we’ll do.”
Alicia shook her head. She was two years older than Whitney, but they’d never hung out. She hadn’t seen Whitney in action, had never seen how much people followed her.
“You,” Whitney said, pointing to Alicia, “need to find a place in school to hide our letters.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Alicia asked.
“Ask around,” Whitney said. She reached into Alicia’s lap for paper and pens. “We need a big envelope for the letters. Can you find that, too?”
Alicia sighed as she stood up. She’d gained a lot of weight over the summer. It was like she hated Whitney for staying thin.
“Now let’s write our letters,” Whitney said.
Which was exactly what everyone did.
GREGOR
GREGOR’S PALMS WERE moist, and his braces were chafing his dry lips. He’d never met a girl like Whitney Montaine. She was gorgeous and funny and also really nice.
Gregor eyed the lined paper that Whitney had just handed him. He wasn’t going to write her name, but he knew exactly what his hope and dream for high school was. Girl. Gorgeous. Funny. Really nice.
“There’s a hole inside a fire extinguisher cabinet near the stairwell in the basement,” Whitney’s sister Alicia said, looking up from her phone. “If you reach behind the fire extinguisher, you can find it. People used to stash . . . ahem . . . illegal substances there last year. But they graduated.”
Gregor glanced nervously at the others. The tall girl Mia was staring straight ahead like she hadn’t even heard illegal substances. The famous girl was smiling serenely. The only person Gregor knew from middle school was Jake Rodriguez, but he was in the popular crowd. Drugs were probably no big deal to him. Wow. Welcome to high school.
“Who told you about that space?” Whitney asked.
“Like I’d say,” Alicia said.
It was cute the way Whitney and her sister bickered, but you could see they were close. That was the opposite of how things were with Gregor’s sister. All Erica cared about was running and her sleazy boyfriend. A few times this summer Russell had slipped his hand up Erica’s shirt while Gregor was watching TV in the same room. Gregor fantasized about beating the crap out of Russell, punching his face and giving him a bloody nose. Of course, Russell was double his size and solid muscle. But a guy could dream.
When Whitney leaned over to continue writing, Gregor looked at the tan skin on her back where her shirt was sliding up. He felt pulsing deep in his gut as he imagined touching her there.
Stop!
Gregor was wearing loose shorts, but still. The last thing he needed was to be the guy with a boner at freshman orientation.
MIA
MIA WATCHED EVERYONE texting and talking as they left the gym. She crouched over, tugged open the laces on both her sneakers, and then slowly tied them again. She was trying not to make it look obvious that she was stalling for time. Not like it mattered. Everyone probably already thought she was weird. She knew that in middle school people said she did drugs, which was nuts. She’d never even seen drugs before.
When the gym was empty, Mia slipped out to the hallway and walked toward the basement stairs. The thought of starting school tomorrow in this huge building filled with twelve hundred people made Mia want to throw up.
Mia was tall, almost five-eight, and she hated the way she looked. Nothing was happening in the boob department, her eyes bulged, and her short hair was greenish from swimming in Sophie’s pool. It didn’t help that Mia’s mom kept saying she should do something about her appearance. Like she had any clue what to do.
When she finally reached the basement, she checked her watch. Her dad wasn’t coming for another half hour. Maybe it was dorky to wear a watch, but it was something to fixate on when she was nervous, like when Whitney’s sister made her introduce herself. She’d practically regurgitated the strawberry Pop-Tart she’d eaten for breakfast.
Mia paused at the bottom of the stairs. There it was, the fire extinguisher cabinet. Just looking at it made her heart race. She opened the glass door, angled her hand behind the shiny red fire extinguisher, and then pinched her fingers into the hole, pulling out the curled-up envelope.
On the front, Alicia had written Group Eighteen Freshman Orientation Project. Do not open until graduation!
The first letter Mia pulled out was her own.
Dear Mia,
To future you: I want to do well and get good grades and travel. Maybe leave the country? But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson for college. In four years I’d better have a clear escape plan.
Mia
It wasn’t like Mia was going to write something profound. Not if she thought people were going to see it. She set her letter on the floor and pulled out the next one.
Dear Gregor,
My hope and dream for high school involves a girl. I don’t even need to write her name. In four years I’ll remember who she is. I hope I make first chair cello, and I think maybe I’ll start drums. I hope I like high school. I can’t believe I’ll be eighteen the next time I read this. I’ll be driving. I’d better be going to college. If I’m not, then get your (our) act together, okay? Like, now!
Gr
egor
He probably liked someone with sun-streaked blond hair and a real bra size. Guys always fall for the obvious girls. Mia reached for the next letter.
Jake,
I want to buy a new phone with the money I made mowing lawns this summer, but that’s short-term. Hopes and dreams for high school: student council? Get back into sports? In four years . . . maybe I’ll go to art school like my dad. Honestly, I can’t picture what life will be like in four years. Will people still have iPads? Will all cars drive themselves? Well, this was kind of dumb. I can’t think of anything else to say.
Take care,
Jake
Jake was cute in an all-American way. Definitely out of Mia’s reach. Like she even had a reach.
The next letter was from Sierra Laybourne’s daughter. Mia couldn’t wait to tell Sophie about Zoe. Sophie went to Immaculate Conception, an all-girls Catholic school where despite the reference to egg meeting sperm, nothing exciting ever happened.
Dear Zoe,
I don’t know what to say. If you’re reading this someday, Whitney and Jake and the others, thanks for not making me feel like a freak today. I doubt I’ll be at graduation when you open these letters. I’ll probably be back in LA. Look me up if you come out there!
Z
Mia folded up Zoe’s letter. A few weeks ago she’d seen that clip of Sierra Laybourne screaming like a crazy woman and calling her daughter a brat. Even when she saw the video, before she ever imagined she would meet her, she felt so bad for Zoe. Mia would die if her mom were famous and did something like that. Mia would also die if people stared at her the way they did at Zoe today.
The last letter was from Whitney.
Dear Whit,
Hey, future me! I want to do well and be in school plays and travel and have fun. But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson. When I’m reading this in four years, I’d better have an escape plan.
Love,
Whit
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