Sign up for our newsletter to hear
about new and upcoming releases.
www.ylva-publishing.com
The Space Between
by Michelle Teichman
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
EPILOGUE
About Michelle Teichman
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
Fragile
Stowe Away
Never-Tied Nora
A Story of Now
Coming from Ylva Publishing
Ex-Wives of Dracula
Where the Light Plays
Dedication
To Nicole, who was the first person to read this book in full and give me the thumbs up to submit it for publishing. I guess I put all my eggs in the right basket!
To Ally, who has always been my biggest fan. We did it!
To my editor, Jove Belle. Thank you for everything. I truly believe this book became better with your help and vision. Thank you for helping me make it the best possible version of the story that it could be.
Finally, to my readers. Thank you for picking this book up and taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoy it!
CHAPTER 1
Harper barreled down the stairs, looking for her red Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt. In her hurry, she crashed into her sister.
“Watch where you’re going, spaz,” Bronte said. She looked at Harper and seemed to take in how distressed she was, because her voice softened. “Hey, I’m just teasing, Harp. You okay?”
Thank God she had Bronte to guide her through the first day of high school. Beyond being the most popular girl in school, she was also an adolescent anomaly. She actually liked Harper and wasn’t afraid to be nice to her, even in public. Sure, there had been a few years when they didn’t get along, but that was when they were younger and their interactions involved a lot of hair pulling and Barbie doll beheadings. They’d mellowed out since then. Bronte and Harper weren’t just sisters anymore; they were also close friends. Some of her friends had already been warned not to talk to their older siblings in the hallways at school. Bronte, on the other hand, was excited for them to hang out together. Since she was seventeen and a senior, Bronte could even drive them there, sans parental supervision and all.
“I’m just nervous,” Harper said.
“You have nothing to worry about.” Bronte put a hand on her shoulder and walked the rest of the way down the stairs with her. “You already know me, and to be honest, that’s all you need to know.” She spoke with a confidence that Harper—for all of her own popularity—had often tried to emulate but was never quite able to match. “Just stick to what I told you and you’ll rule the school.” She gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed back up the stairs. “By the way, I’m borrowing your Tommy T-shirt,” she called over her shoulder. Harper groaned.
Okay, this wasn’t such a big deal. Bronte was right. With her advice, Harper had easily taken over the reign of the popular crowd in middle school—Bronte’s constant visits to the campus hadn’t hurt—and if she just kept up with Bronte’s instructions, the torch of the high school in-crowd would be passed from her to Harper as well. Still, Harper had her doubts.
High school was a lot bigger than middle school, with almost five times more students. That was a lot more kids to impress, and a lot more people to convince she had it all together and that whatever she said should go. She was starting with a ton of people who wouldn’t know her, so how could everyone be expected to fall in line and follow the leader?
Watching movies about high school hadn’t helped. Sure, the groups were almost always the same across the board, but the tenuous reign was presented as something that could easily be lost by one big mistake. If she did something stupid enough, not even Bronte would be able to save her.
Unlike Bronte, she wasn’t a born leader. It might have something to do with the fact that she had, in essence, been following her sister her entire life. High school wasn’t likely to be any different. With both their parents working long hours, Bronte had pretty much taken Harper’s social education upon herself. Bronte had shown her many things that only popular kids seemed to know at her age, like how to smoke a cigarette without coughing. She was even getting the inhaling down pretty good. She’d smoked a joint, and Bronte had already gotten her drunk a half dozen times. Bronte had also given Harper almost free-run of her closet, and had even convinced their parents that she was old enough to start wearing makeup. The more Harper thought about it, the more it seemed like she had the best big sister in the world.
“I’ll show you who not to talk to as soon as we get there.” Bronte returned wearing Harper’s T-shirt. As she took in Harper’s oversized pajama shirt, her eyes narrowed. “Oh-my-God-get-dressed!” She blurted out the sentence as one word. “We have to leave in like five minutes if I’m going to show you all the loser hangouts to avoid,” she said with urgency and exasperation, as if she were going to teach her which wire to cut on a time bomb.
Harper hurried up the stairs and rushed to get ready. She quickly chose between her navy blue and the black bra—the black one gave her more confidence for some reason—and decided on a charcoal grey V-neck that was pretty tight on her, but she liked how it hugged her flat stomach and showed off the curves of her chest.
After pulling the T-shirt over her head, she hauled her long, light brown ringlets out of the neck and set them to the front of her shoulders as Bronte had taught her. Her sister had woken up extra early that morning to give Harper the long, loose twists with her curling wand, but warned her that this would not be an everyday event. She said that she was welcome to borrow it and work the curls in on her own, but that getting up at 6:30 a.m. was not going to happen again that semester. Pleased with the light touch of gold eye shadow and brown mascara that made her green eyes pop, Harper grabbed her favourite black hoodie and ran down the stairs before Bronte could change her mind about waiting for her.
“Lose it.” Her sister pointed at the sweatshirt as soon as she appeared.
“But it’s fall. It’s getting cold outside,” Harper whined.
Bronte rolled her eyes. “Don’t let anything happen to this or I’ll kill you.”
Harper watched wide-eyed as Bronte took off her brown leather jacket and handed it to her. She was speechless. This jacket was Bronte’s prized piece of clothing, the one she wore when she wanted to drive boys crazy or convince the poor sap at the liquor store that she was nineteen and really had forgotten her ID at home. Harper wanted to tell her that she couldn’t take it, that it was too special. Then she remembered that they were talking about a worn-in leather jacket and she felt silly.
“Just put it on and don’t ever say I’m not a kickass sister.” Bronte thrust the jacket at her.
Harper did as she was told before swinging her black messenger bag over her shoulder. Bronte had told her that backpacks were so minor-niner.
Bronte looked her over. “Ready?”
She nodded as Bronte grabbed another jacket, and then they headed out the door. Thei
r mom and dad had already left for work, and Bronte was careful, as always, to lock up and test the door before they left.
The ride went all too quickly. Before she was ready, her new school came into sight and that nervous feeling came back. It was excitement. It was the unknown. It was giving Harper a stomachache.
The sky shined with blue, and she couldn’t see a cloud on the horizon, making the September morning somewhat less foreboding as they turned onto the street in front of the school. She’d told her best friend, Alexis, and their other friends, Melissa and Jen, that she would meet them by the middle doors. Bronte had vouched that this was where her group usually met.
“That’s the ravine where the stoners hang out.” Bronte pointed to the wooded area just beyond the school grounds. “It’s fine to smoke their weed, but don’t talk to them in the halls and, for God’s sake, don’t even think about dating one. That’s the parking lot where the seniors wait for niners and then throw them down the hill. Never go there unless escorted by one of us,” she said seriously. “You’ll be fine once they realize who you are, but avoid it for now. Hippies…goths…keeners.” She kept pointing out the groups as they drove along. “Finally, fresh meat.”
As she looked at the boys and girls her own age, that uncertainty began to wiggle in her tummy again. They stood awkwardly hiking their backpacks up and looking around for new friends or old ones, and Harper was happier than ever that she had her big sister with her that morning.
“This is going to be such an awesome year.” Bronte pulled her car into the parking space right in front of the school, directly across from where Mara and Katie were already waiting.
“Great spot. I can’t believe it was open.” Harper unbuckled her seatbelt, and Bronte laughed.
“It’s open because it’s my spot.” She shook her head, and her beautiful brown hair swayed in front of her face. Harper hoped hers looked the same when she moved her head like that.
“What do you mean?” It wasn’t like they were in the school parking lot. It was a parallel parking space across the street, in front of one of the neighbourhood houses.
“Oh, Harp, so much to learn,” Bronte teased. She put her arm around her as they crossed the street to meet Katie and Mara. “Just make sure you don’t let that pesky education push out any of the important things I teach you,” Bronte whispered to her just before they reached her friends. “Hey, bitches.” Bronte removed her arm from around Harper’s shoulder so that she could hug her friends hello.
“Hey, Harper.” Mara surprised her by pulling her into a hug. Katie did the same.
“Hey,” she responded, trying to look cool about it. Some of the niners watched, clearly envious. When Alexis, Melissa, and Jen walked up, Harper felt like she was back in her element, and they giddily ran over to hug her as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Mara, Katie, and Bronte easily opened the circle for her friends. Bronte might be right; this was going to be an awesome year.
* * *
Harper’s homeroom class was English, and if anything, it seemed the most palatable option first thing in the morning. Jen and Melissa had to start out with pool. Looking like a drowned rat wasn’t the best way to begin a high school career, and she knew from Bronte’s horror stories that there wasn’t enough time for them to shower, change, do their hair, and put makeup back on before the next class. Something on that list inevitably suffered.
Harper arrived just before the bell sounded and was forced to take one of the seats in the front row. Her homeroom teacher was on the younger side and had her dark-black hair in a cute bob. She wore a white blouse with a floral skirt and wasted no time in giving them their reading list for the first semester.
“Welcome to your homeroom and my ninth grade English course. My name is Ms Cox. To do well in my class, all you have to do is try.” Ms Cox walked through the aisles. When she returned to write something on the whiteboard Harper noticed that her bra straps were somewhat visible through her tight, white blouse. It was an odd thing for her to notice, and she worried that people might be able to see her bra straps through her shirt as well.
Own it. Bronte’s words went through her head. Wearing a real bra and a thong was not supposed to make her squeamish. It was supposed to be hot, and it was supposed to drive boys crazy.
“As long as you are trying in this class,” Ms Cox continued, “you cannot fail.”
Harper decided that she liked Ms Cox. As she went through the attendance list, Harper turned to check out some of the students as their names were called. The twisting grew old, so she looked forward and waited for her own name.
“Isabelle Harper?” Ms Cox called.
“Actually, it’s Harper Isabelle.” She gave a slight hand raise to acknowledge her presence.
“Oh.” Ms Cox looked over her paper and made a note. “Okay, thank you, Harper.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boy sitting to her right—Taylor, maybe—smiling at her. She returned it and looked back at the teacher. A boy smiling at her was nothing new, but Taylor was cute. Bronte would approve of his stylishly gelled hair and designer jeans.
Her sister had handpicked the two boyfriends Harper had in middle school, and told her to get rid of Andrew that summer as there would be a much higher caliber of boys waiting for her in high school. If she wanted, she could probably even get an eleventh grader to look her way. Bronte was especially proud of that part. Dropping Andrew was easy as she’d never cared for him in the first place. His lips felt thin and hard, and she always thought kissing an iguana would feel about the same. She had only done it a few times, but it was enough to turn her off for good. Doug, the tragedy that had come before Andrew, kissed by swallowing her entire mouth in his big lips. He had been easily dismissed as well.
Since she was popular, she had her pick of the guys, and as soon as she let one drop, she decided if he should remain cool or not. No one ever questioned her, because her friends didn’t feel they had the right to ask. The only person she’d ever had to explain herself to was Bronte, and as Bronte was making most of her decisions for her, that hadn’t been a problem so far.
“Sarah Jamieson?” Ms Cox looked around the class for a response.
“Loser!” was coughed out of the side of someone’s mouth. A few people laughed. Harper had never heard the name before, so she assumed she went to the other middle school, along with the kids who laughed at her.
“Who said that?” Ms Cox looked for the culprit. Harper looked around too, but several people sported the same guilty smile. Ms Cox cleared her throat. “Sarah Jamieson?” she said again.
Three seats behind her, a hand tentatively shot up and back down hastily. Ms Cox nodded and moved on quickly, as if to save the girl further embarrassment. Harper craned her neck around to see the girl, but her face was hidden. All she could make out from her seat was a black canvas backpack with patches ironed onto it, a pair of worn-in sneakers with the laces undone and hanging loose, and a pair of pale, ripped jeans. She returned her attention to the front of the class.
Ms Cox set her attendance sheet on her desk. “Now, if the first person in every row would come grab the books for the rest of your row and pass them back, we can get started on our first book this year.”
Harper grabbed seven copies of To Kill a Mockingbird, took the best looking one for herself, and passed the rest to the girl behind her. She began to flip through the pages for something to do, but it wasn’t necessary. She’d already read this book several times. It was a great way to start the year since she would ace the assignments on it.
Ms Cox must have seen her grin, because she approached with a knowing smile of her own. “Any relation, Harper?”
She nodded. “It’s one of my dad’s favourite books.”
“You’re related to the writer?” the guy who might have been named Taylor asked. Before she could answer, she heard a snicker and a soft “moron” come from a few rows back. She was sure the voice belonged to Black Backpack and Ripped Jeans.
“I was named after her.” The conversation ended there as the bell sounded. It was time to move from their homeroom and to the next period. Soon it would all be routine.
* * *
Harper’s second class was math, which she hated, followed by geography. At the beginning of lunch, she took a quick minute to find the locker she’d been too busy smoking to find before class that morning. Thankfully, it was on the first floor. She dropped off the heavy math and geography textbooks, but kept To Kill a Mockingbird in her bag. It was comforting to have it with her.
As she was positioning the new mirror on the inside door of her locker, a pair of worn-out, untied running shoes appeared in the reflection, along with pale jeans that were worn through where the heels scuffed the ground. Harper turned. The owner of the locker opposite hers was a girl with shoulder length, jagged-cut blonde hair, the tips dyed purple. A black canvas backpack with patches rested on the floor at her feet. The girl didn’t have a mirror in her locker, so she couldn’t see Harper unless she turned around. Turn around. Harper needed to see her. Why had this person been labelled a loser before the end of first period on the first day of high school?
Popularity was such a capricious friend, and she felt bad for those who didn’t have it. To her surprise, Maybe-Taylor walked up and gave the girl a big hug. Hadn’t she called him a moron in class? When they embraced, his face blocked the girl’s, and Harper found herself straining to see more than wisps of the blonde and purple hair that fanned over Taylor’s black peacoat.
“Who’s got your attention?” Alexis’ voice pulled Harper’s stare from across the hall. “He’s hot,” she said appreciatively. Taylor disengaged from the grungy looking girl, who now frustratingly had her head ducked in her canvas knapsack.
“Yeah,” Harper agreed. “He sits next to me in homeroom.”
“Lucky.” Alexis hit her arm playfully. “Why’s he friends with that loser?” she asked, disdain in her voice.
The comment didn’t surprise her. They could judge a person fifty feet away based on how she dressed, her hairstyle, her countenance. “Maybe he copies her homework.” She shrugged and linked her arm through Alexis’. “Let’s go have a smoke so we can eat. I’m starving.”
The Space Between Page 1