Any Place But Here

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by Sarah Van Name


  “God, that was a lot.”

  “Congratulations,” Kitty said, giving me one last hug.

  “Congratulations to you,” I said. “You finished your junior year.”

  “We all finished our junior year,” she pointed out.

  “Congratulations to us all,” Claire said. “What do we want to do now?”

  “I was supposed to pack,” I said.

  “I should pack, too,” Kitty said.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Claire said. “Where do we—oh!”

  She looked startled.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I had a New Year’s resolution to spend more time on and near water.”

  “You did that,” Kitty said.

  “Yeah, but I said at the beginning of the year that I was going to take us out on the river on a kayak, and I never did.”

  “You’re supposed to check those out at the athletics office,” Kitty said, frowning. “I don’t think they’re even open now.”

  “The office is closed, but the kayaks are right there. No one’s going to get mad at us for taking one without filling out a form.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “We’ll put on life vests,” Claire said as if making a great compromise. “It’s the safest way of breaking the rules I can imagine.”

  Kitty stayed silent for several long seconds before she broke into a grin. “Fine. Okay. I will be a rebel in this one specific way.”

  Claire turned to me. “June?”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. “You promised, right?”

  “I did.”

  Claire led us out of the building and into the bright, hot sun, splitting into a run as soon as she hit the grass. Kitty and I chased her down the hill to where the faded red kayaks and life jackets stood, stacked neatly in covered racks. Together, we pulled out a boat—“These are two-person kayaks, right?” Kitty asked, to which Claire said dismissively, “Two to three people, I’m sure”—and kicked off our shoes. Kitty draped life vests over our shoulders and tightened the straps like a camp counselor, and after some splashing, we made it into the boat: Claire at the front, then Kitty, then me, squeezed in tight. We used our paddles to push off from the muddy edge. Before I knew it, we were way out from shore, floating in the river.

  The school was spread out like a postcard on the riverbank. I thought I could see Ellie on the balcony of Oma’s condo, but I couldn’t tell for sure; at that size, she would have been just a dot, one tiny part of a pointillist masterpiece. Kitty sighed happily, Claire leaned back—and with that miniscule shift in weight, the boat flipped over.

  The life vests kept us on the surface, but I still shrieked.

  “Shit!” Kitty yelled.

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Claire screamed, but that was that: we were swimming, and now—

  Now here we are, the water cold and singing with sunlight all around us, our home close enough for comfort but far enough away for adventure. We are kicking off from the boat and looking up at the sky, and I can feel this moment from the edges all the way into the middle, the sky so far above me and the river so deep below.

  Claire dives and rises laughing, pulled by her life vest back to the surface. She says, “It feels good, try it,” so we all do. We get our hair wet and our eyes wet and the world blurs into water and light. We go down, and then we come up.

  Acknowledgments

  For me, writing a second book was significantly more difficult than writing a first. Between The Goodbye Summer and Any Place But Here, there were almost three years of daily writing that occasionally felt pointless, and I’m grateful for everyone in my life who helped create the conditions—support, stability, joy—that enabled me to keep writing.

  More specifically, thank you to:

  Nell Pierce, for advocating for this book and believing in me as a writer. Also, for making me start outlining (even if that wasn’t something you intended to do). I hate outlining, but it turns out it’s popular for a reason. It really helps!

  Annie Berger and everyone at Sourcebooks who worked on Any Place But Here, for turning it from a Word document into a real, and much better, book. Working with Annie is a revelation. It is a wild, wonderful feeling to have someone read your work, know precisely what you were trying to do, and offer good ideas to improve it.

  Claire Sorrenson, for her thoughtful, sensitive read and critique at a time when she had plenty of other things to attend to. Read her short stories!

  All the places where I spent time writing this book: Austin, Texas; Orlando, Florida; London, England; Durham, Boone, Pittsboro, Holden Beach, and Topsail Island, North Carolina; Florence and Camporsevoli, Italy; Washington, DC; and New York City. Special gratitude to Cocoa Cinnamon, where I wrote the last few pages, and Bean Traders, where I wrote quite a bit of the rest of it. Everywhere I went, I never had a better cup of coffee than at Bean Traders, and I never will.

  Lemon Tree House, for creating a perfect cocoon in which to do my first editing pass on this book (and start the next one). Those two weeks at Camporsevoli were a world unto themselves; I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere more beautiful. Thanks in particular to Jason for thunderstorm gnocchi; to the entire evening karaoke crew (Lynn, Dana, Tierra, Jill, Jacquetta, Nicole, et al.) for the songs and the laughter; and to Julie Jolicoeur, for building and sustaining it all.

  My training partners and instructors at the Coalition, who kept me safe, sane, and strong while I was writing this book, and still do. Thank you in particular to DC, for heel hooks and rhythm, and to Jaimie, who taught me that anger is a gift.

  DYWC—Barry and Julia especially—always.

  The dog park: Jaret, Alissa, Chloe, Xander, Clare, Carter, Allie, Alex, all of the babies, and all of the dogs. I would fight about food with you any day. Thank you for all your support and your unwavering agreement that summer is the best season.

  Bethany, for bad television recommendations, conversations about fitness and relationships, and always answering my stupidest texts.

  Melissa, for every time we were talking across a twelve-hour gap and had the same thought at the same time; for Mr. Brightside.

  Nathan, for your willingness to do the literal act or emotional equivalent of cooking a five-course pasta meal any time it’s necessary. And, also, for Mr. Brightside.

  Chloe, for your jokes and your love, for garage podcast listening parties, for always being the second person to read everything I write.

  Lucy, for poetry, Paris, and the saying “two things can be true.”

  My married-into-family, the Azevedos, for green bean casserole and earnest puns.

  My first family—Mom, Dad, Allyn, and Scott—for everything, everything. I cannot narrow it down.

  And Ben. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. I love you infinitely.

  About the Author

  Photo © Ben Azevedo

  Sarah Van Name grew up in North Carolina and attended Duke University. She is the author of The Goodbye Summer. She lives and works in Durham with her husband, Ben, and her dog, Toast.

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