Yet in my haste, there was something I didn’t notice.
That one free seat, it happened to be located directly next to a certain someone.
Professor Martin’s favorite student. Professor Martin’s only child.
I plopped down right beside Cole Martin-Hammer.
Of course I did.
I could have buried my face in my palms. I could have raised my hand and demanded a seat transfer. I could have spat at that boy, or punched him, or screamed.
But you know what?
Why give him the power?
I stuck my hand out and said this moment was long overdue. I told him I look forward to getting to know the real Cole. I promise not to judge. And if he, or anyone else, should judge me?
Then hell, I vow not to care.
COLE
My pops asked if I wanted to go with him to the homecoming game.
I said sure. Sounds like fun.
I’d never in my life attended a football game before tonight, but I have to say, it was kind of how I’d always imagined it. The air was brisk. The smell was corn doggy. The boys stared at the field. The girls stared at their phones. The smart boys talked to the girls. Wiley was in the very top row, videotaping the action. Brian was in the Bulldog Ring of Honor, surrounded by his family and a bunch of drunks.
There was one thing that surprised me tonight. Something I truly didn’t expect.
My sudden irrelevance.
Apart from Wiley and Big Mack, and the occasional Scrotes sighting, I barely knew a soul at the game. For reals.
I’m a thing of the past. I don’t know these new seniors. I don’t know their faces, don’t know their names. And, more than anything, I don’t know their gossip.
Where’s the big party tonight? Who’s bringing the good stuff? Who’s gonna get lit? Who’s gonna get liver failure? Who’s gonna hook up? Who’s gonna bump uglies? Who’s gonna make babies? Who in this stadium is about to make a mistake so monumentally moronic that it will fundamentally change who they are as a human being forever?
Who just sucks?
I watched these strangers. I studied them closely. Obviously Earl is never going to get me to care one bit about football, so I spent the night fixated on these kids’ faces. I tried to learn their stories.
The homecoming queen, receiving her tiara and sash, bursting with joy as her so-called princesses give her the side eye.
The slacker in the stands, drooling after the girl two rows up, failing to realize that all that stands between him and her love is a simple shave of the ’stache.
The band nerd in the college beanie, playing her heart out but playing too hard, not understanding that sometimes she needs to take a breath.
The big boy on the field, the one with the paunch, who Coach won’t stop yelling at: “Get your head in the game. Get your head in the game.”
Huh. Maybe I do know these kids.
I don’t know everything about them. I don’t know the intimate details of their actual lives. I don’t know their dilemmas, don’t know their dreams. But I know these seniors. I understand their world. I can see it from the bleachers, from my bird’s-eye-view. I see the interconnections, the invisible strings.
And, just as I think that, I hear something.
Swwst. Psswt.
It’s beneath me. Underneath my feet.
Pswpsst. Spwst.
I peer between my legs, below the stands. I can see two people. Two boys. One is tall, dark-skinned, and rocking turquoise pants. The other is as puny as a rat.
The tall kid says something. The little boy’s eyes go wide and white. The older one smirks. He leans in, cups his hand, and whispers another scandalous secret. Then he pulls something out from his back pocket. It’s a long, tubelike snack, and—
Oh my Gerd.
That kid. The lanky kid with the bright-ass pants.
That’s—
No way.
Neil?
Half of me knows I have to run down there right now. I’ve got to command Neil to cease with the slander, to stop corrupting that poor tiny frosh. I need to beg and plead him not to repeat my mistakes. I must definitively declare that this isn’t the way.
The other half of me knows there’s really no point. It’s out of my hands. I can’t change the changeling. That’s not how things work.
To tell him who to be, or to let him be?
That is my question. That’s always the question. . . .
I’ve never been good at making decisions.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the following people and one cat:
To Alex Glass, whose instincts I trust more than my own. Thank you for the otherworldly agenting, and for letting me ride shotgun as you embarked on your own road. I’ll be the Renée Zellweger to your Jerry Maguire any day.
On a related note, thank you to Christian Trimmer, for performing endless plastic surgeries on this book until it was finally beautiful. You pushed me to my absolute artistic limits, and I’m terrified of knowing what happens in the alternate universe in which our paths never intersect (answer: my life is immeasurably worse, but you do win that one tennis match).
Thank you to Krista Vitola, for merging into my lane at the last possible second. Additional thanks to the entire visionary team at Simon & Schuster: Justin Chanda, Krista Vossen (like I always say, one Krista V. isn’t enough, you gotta have two Krista V’s), Hilary Zarycky, Katrina Groover, Chava Wolin, Penina Lopez, and a special thank-you to Catherine Laudone. Thanks also to Francesco Bongiorni, for the mind-altering cover art.
Thanks to Jason Richman, Josh Adler, and Julian Rosenberg, for all the showbiz support, and for being so alliterative.
Thank you to Sylvie Greenberg, Jordan Carr, and Andrew “Andrea” Molina, for the middle draft reads. No Jordan, Big Mack isn’t based on you. Yes Molina, Nikki is based on you.
Thanks to Channing, for casually strolling across the keyboard every single time I was about to write an important sentence. You nearly prevented this horrible book from ever existing. Thank you for your service.
An unfathomably huge thank-you to my magic feathers and best friends, Team Steinkellner: Kit, for the fashion descriptions and unreal sense of story, Emma, for the alcove lunches and boundless inspiration, Brian, for the, uh, stuff, Dad, for the joke-writing genes and also the sensitive crybaby genes, and Mom, for every last nugget of advice, whether unwanted or yearned for, whether pragmatic or woo woo. Many thanks also to Team Khademi: Monib, Julie, Casey, and all seven rodent-dogs.
Finally, thank you times infinity plus one to the love of my life, Court/Raj. When I first conceived of the idea that became this novel, we were fighting our way through the darkest year imaginable. Days into my work on the final draft, I happened upon your engagement ring. Now, three short months after the book’s release, we’ll be married. And all this time, you’ve been lifting me, listening to me, leading me down the road, one arm around my waist, the other thrust to the sky. Thank you for the enduring companionship and the daily joy. I love you. I love you. Caught it.
Teddy Steinkellner
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO COPYRIGHT © 2017 RYAN CALIENDO & JAYNA WEISCHEDEL
TEDDY STEINKELLNER is the author of Trash Can Days and Trash Can Nights. He is a graduate of Stanford University, where he majored in English and American Studies. He currently lives in Los Angeles with his wife, Courtney, and their cat, Channing. Learn more at teddysteinkellner.com.
Simon & Schuster • New York
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ALSO BY TEDDY STEINKELLNER
Trash Can Days: A Middle School Saga
Trash Can Nights: The Saga Continues
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Teddy Steinkellner
Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Francesco Bongiorni
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The text for this book was set in New Caledonia.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Steinkellner, Teddy.
Title: Two roads from here / Teddy Steinkellner.
Description: First edition. | New York : SSBFYR, [2017] | Summary: “Five high school seniors face one life-changing decision and two very different roads”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016028165| ISBN 9781481430616 (hardback) | ISBN 9781481430630 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: High schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Choice—Fiction. | Decision making—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Adolescence. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Dating & Sex. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship.
Classification: LCC PZ7.S826432 Tw 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016028165
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