There’s a few more but suddenly they seem dumb. Zeke still isn’t moving and clearly this is a terrible idea and it’s going to ruin our presentation later.
I’m moments from bolting when Zeke stands up and takes three steps until he’s right in front of me. It’s just like that night in my room, only maybe it isn’t at all. Maybe—
“Why are you doing this?” he whispers in French.
I swallow hard and wonder if I could grab my water bottle before trying to answer. Instead, I smack the baseball into the mitt a few times, the first time I’ve done it in four years.
God, it feels good.
“C’est Wrigley Field,” I whisper back. I hold up the picture that was distorted by my bag, a color printout of Wrigley Field. I hold it up in front of us, just like Zeke had done for the A to Z Tours. “It may not look like it, but if you stare closely at this picture, you’ll see the stadium that was built in 1914. It’s been called Weegham Park, and then Cubs Park, until it became known as Wrigley Field in 1927. It’s the oldest National League ballpark—”
“I know this, Abby. But I don’t get what you’re doing. The tours were for places in France, situations in French. This is—”
“This is about us.” The words are coming out fast and furious but I don’t want him to walk away, and I don’t want him to interrupt. It’s too important. It’s too important because of all the times I misunderstood what was really happening between us. “The situations we planned over the past month and a half, they might have taken place in France, but they were about us. It was a world we created. A world where we played in French and a world where I fell in love with you. You, Zeke. All of you.”
I take a deep breath because his eyes are wide and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop me anytime soon. That and I might pass out otherwise. “And so whether we’re in Chicago and you’re playing for the Cubs, or against the Cubs, or whether we’re pretending to be in France, it’s about us. It’s about us looking at what’s in front of us and turning it into what we want it to be.”
He’s still not speaking, so I have only one thing left in my arsenal. And then I’ll give up and we’ll walk back to class and hopefully the presentation won’t be a huge failure.
“Je t’aime de tout mon coeur.” I love you with all my heart. I stare at his Adam’s apple, watch as he swallows hard, the way his body shifts from side to side as though it’s not sure whether to come closer or move away. “I know it’s too late, and I feel ridiculous saying it—”
“Je t’aime aussi. Tellement.”
I love you too. So much.
My eyes shut as I take in his whispered words in the empty park. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I judged you. I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was right in front of me and—”
“Abby, stop.” His words are soft. So soft I want to hold them in my hands, cup them gently so that I don’t lose them. He didn’t say arrête like he did in my room before we kissed that second time. He didn’t say stop like I did when I shut everything down.
This is a new language all together. It’s English words in the world we built out of French, and it means so much more than stop. It means that even though the distance from A to Z is the entire alphabet, even though Chicago is half a country away from San Diego, and I want to go to France and maybe he’ll be in the major leagues, it means that we’re going to work it out.
It means the distance from A to Z is really just an alphabet of possibilities.
And that sometimes, even with the whole alphabet at your disposal, the better thing to do is meet in the middle, to feel Zeke’s hands on my face, to drop the mitt and ball and throw my arms around his neck and close the distance completely.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If I truly thanked everyone who deserved my gratitude, this section would be longer than the entire book. So this is just scratching the surface of the people who helped to get this book in your hand.
None of this would be possible without the support, hand-holding, expert edits, therapy, late-night emails, Gchats, Facebook chats, and most importantly, friendship from my agent Rena Bunder Rossner. Thank you for taking a chance on me, not just once but over and over again. And I’m sorry if I’m the crazy client. Know that I only show my crazies to people I adore.
One of Rena’s greatest gifts to me was putting this book in the hands of editor extraordinaire Annie Berger. I thought Abby and Zeke were just real in my head, but sometimes I think you know them in ways I don’t. Thank you for taking a chance on me and on this story, and for everything you’ve poured into it. Remember, we have an agreement: editor for life.
The team at HarperTeen/Epic Reads Impulse has been incredible. Thank you to Heather Daugherty for the gorgeous cover and beautiful layout, Hayley Lown and Kara Levy for being the eagle eyes that kept me from looking ridiculous, Valerie Shea for checking to make sure my high school French was accurate, Kim VandeWater for her marketing skills, and Kim Stella for her behind-the-scenes talent. You have all been truly amazing to work with!
Amy Pine and Megan Erickson: If I was the type to build shrines, I would build embarrassingly large ones for you both. In addition to making every book I write stronger and better, you were the ones who told me that I needed to write this story and cheered me on. I am beyond grateful to you both for being my CPs, and to the fabulous Lia Riley who joined our happy little club. Having writing buddies like you is probably illegal in some states.
I couldn’t have made it to this place without some talented author friends. Laurel Snyder, Marieke Nijkamp, and Rachel Simon—you never feel far away when I need help, and bring encouragement to a new art form. Sarina Bowen, Jen Blackwood, Olivia Hinebaugh, Ami Allen-Vath, Katie Bailey, K. K. Hendin, Lex Martin, Rachel Lynn Solomon, and Dahlia Adler, thank you for being wonderful fellow writer friends, for reading my words, and sharing your stories.
Thank you to Nina Black, for forcing me to share my first manuscript with you and not laughing when I made you read it as I sat beside you. And for reading every book since. To Zehava Cohn, for nurturing me as a writer and being my friend. And to Rachel Sollinger, an amazing co-conspirator, for loving the same books and not thinking I’m nuts. Or at least, not saying it out loud too often.
Jennifer Zwiebel, my first writing partner, you inspire me at every turn, and Jessica Hirsch, I adore you, plain and simple.
Humungous thanks to Daphne Price, Devorah Katz, Rachel Mesch, Idana Goldberg, and Joe Richter, who are the types of old friends (and frequent readers) that writers dream of.
Jill Kushnir LeVee, Anat Geva, Tamar Shapira, Deborah Hamilton, Chava Alpert, Inbar Kirson, Rebecca Ben-Gideon, JAR, Lori Sagarin, Kara Rosenwald, Tamar Cytryn, and all the friends who have made my Chicago/Ramah/CJDS life rich and full. I thank the gods daily for all of you.
And to Molly, Vered, and Lena, for being the readers I dream of when I write my books.
To my family. My mom for sending me to French school and helping me believe I can do anything, always. Happy, Lou, and all the Feigelsons, who learned it was best not to ask too many questions during this process (and Sara for pointing out the craziness in all of it), and Ginette, whose presence in my life I value so much. And my sister Jessica, for reading my stories (multiple times), giving great feedback, and for everything, everything. To all my family, thank you.
I miss my dad, every day. But I think I would be mortified at the idea of you reading the kissing scenes.
Jonah, Micah, and Toby. This book literally wouldn’t be possible without your passion for everything baseball (go Tigers!), and your understanding when I was lost in thought, sitting in a coffee shop, or hiding in the bathroom writing. All baseball knowledge is thanks to you, and all the mistakes are mine alone. I know one day you three will be the types of good men that I dream up for my main characters. I know it because I see it already.
And Josh. No hero I create could be as remarkable, loving, and supportive a partner as you. I am grateful beyond words to have you in my life every day. I lov
e you, hp. Always and forever.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Rachel Levin
Originally from Canada, NATALIE BLITT now lives in the Chicago area with her husband and three sons, where she dreams up young adult novels. Natalie currently works at an education think tank. She knows a lot about baseball. She has no choice.
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BOOKS BY NATALIE BLITT
The Distance from A to Z
COPYRIGHT
THE DISTANCE FROM A TO Z. Text copyright © 2016 by Natalie Blitt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © 2016 ISBN 9780062433336
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FIRST EDITION
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