“How did it turn out?” Mom asks, a little too casually. “Did Fiona sell any art?”
I grimace. In all the excitement, I forgot to ask Fiona how her sales went. “She sold a lot,” I say, struggling to remember what was on the clipboard list. “I’m not sure what exactly, but definitely a lot.”
“That’s wonderful,” YiaYia says. “Even if her art is wacky.”
Rodney snorts. “I liked Dessa’s better.”
“Thanks, dude.” I try to ruffle his hair, but he ducks away and sits on the floor in front of our parents.
“And what about yours?” Mom asks. “Did anyone . . . ?”
“I sold it,” I say, grinning. “Twelve hundred bucks.”
The room explodes with congratulations. Mom plants a kiss on my forehead just as YiaYia exclaims, “I’m so proud of you!” I hug everyone, taking my time when I get to Cyrus. In just a minute I’ll have to tell them about Fiona’s offer, but for now, I just want to bask in this moment where everyone is together, and no one is disappointed.
But eventually they all settle down, and I know it’s time.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” I sit on the couch across from my parents, between YiaYia and Cy. I reach for his hand, and he takes it.
“What’s up?” Dad asks.
I breathe in through my nose, and let it out slow. It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. “Fiona offered me a job.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath, as if the whole room is inhaling. Mom looks stricken. “What job? When?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to ignore the furious beating of my heart, and the way Cyrus is gently tugging on my hand, trying to get me to look at him. But if I do, if I see the doubt in his eyes, I might change my mind.
“She wants me to be her paid assistant for a whole year. Then she’ll write me a letter of recommendation.” I turn toward Cyrus and finally meet his gaze. “I might have a shot of going to college after all. I have to do this.”
He drops my hand like it’s burned him. “So what, you’re leaving us, just like that? Just when you and I—no.” He stands up, his face contorted with pain. “I can’t do this.”
“Cyrus, wait.”
I reach for him, but he pulls away and storms out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.
I stare at the space that held him just a moment ago, aching to run after him. But I can’t. Not now. Not yet.
“This is all happening so fast,” Mom says. “Your dad just got this job. He was able to push his start date back, but we’re leaving day after tomorrow. Maybe we should all go to Charleston and think about it for a few weeks. There’s no rush, is there?”
“I’m sure Fiona would understand,” Dad agrees.
“No,” I say softly. “I don’t need to think about it. I want to do this.”
Mom twists her hands in her lap. “I don’t know . . .”
“I’d keep an eye on her,” YiaYia says, patting Mom’s hand. “She could live here.”
“And I could use the money I make to chip in with groceries and stuff,” I add, taking YiaYia’s hand in mine. “And maybe even save up enough to help pay for my first year of college.” I pause. “If I get in, I mean.”
“You will,” YiaYia says.
I smile gratefully at her. But I need more than YiaYia on my side. Not because it’s a traveler rule, but because I won’t feel good about this if the people I love don’t support me.
“Mom? What do you think?”
She stares down at her hands, her fingers twisting her rings.
“Geri,” Dad says gently. “It’s okay.”
She looks up at me, her eyes watery. “We’ve never been apart for more than a few days. I’m not sure you’re ready to be on your own.”
“Mom . . . maybe it’s you who’s not ready.”
She wipes at her eyes. “I’m not.”
Dad leans forward, his hands on his knees. “If you take this job, and then get into college, that’s a full five years away from the families. And after that, well . . . you might never come back.” His forehead creases with sadness. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I look down at my hands, at my fingers, still stained with white tile grout from last night. A few months ago, “What do you want?” would have been the easiest question in the world to answer. College. But now I know there’s more than one path for me. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, each one leading off into a million different directions. Maybe I’ll still end up in college, and maybe I won’t. Maybe the future holds something entirely new, something I haven’t even considered. For once, that doesn’t scare me.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit. “But whatever it is, I’m not going to find it until I see what else is out there. Until I have an adventure of my own.”
Mom looks at me, her eyes still a little red. “Never stop moving?”
I reach across the coffee table and take her hand.
“Never stop moving.”
• • •
Cyrus opens the door as soon as I knock. “Is your dad awake?” I ask, peering into the dimly lit RV.
“He went with Mr. M for a beer after the show. The modern art short-circuited their brains.”
I follow him inside, but before the door has even closed behind us, his lips are on mine. We slam into the wall, a tangle of hands and heartbeats. His mouth travels from my lips to the skin under my ear, then down my neck to my collarbone. I don’t want this to stop. I don’t want this to ever stop.
He picks me up and sets me on the kitchen table. The cool laminate sends a shiver through my legs. His lips press against mine again, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I slide my hands under his T-shirt and up his stomach, until the fabric is pushed up around his neck. What happened inside the house doesn’t matter. What he said, what I did, none of it exists. The whole world disappears.
He tugs at the top of my shorts, his fingers warm against my stomach. I reach down to help him, but in the seconds it takes for him to pull away, to give me space to move, I realize what’s happening. What we’re doing.
“Cyrus—stop. We can’t.”
“We can.”
I shake my head. “We should talk first.”
“I don’t want to talk. I just want to kiss you.”
“I know.”
We look at each other, our chests heaving. Then he sighs, and rests his forehead against mine. “You’re right.”
He steps back, and I immediately miss his hands on my waist. But as the air cools around us, a strange look comes over his face. Like he’s remembering why I’m here, and why he left.
“Is it time for the vote?” he asks, his voice suddenly hard.
I knew he’d ask this—if I were him I’d ask the same thing. “Actually, there isn’t going to be a vote. They said it’s up to me.”
He exhales, long and slow. “So . . . this is it. You’re not going to travel anymore.”
He rubs the back of his head and looks up at the ceiling. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I’m not even sure what’s going on inside my head. Kissing him leaves me breathless, but also makes me feel like I’m full of air at the same time. Like I’m floating away, my brain disconnected from my body.
“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says, “and now you’re leaving. Just when we’re finally starting to figure this—us—out.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. I used to dream of lying like this, listening to his heart and knowing that every beat was for me. But even in my wildest dreams, I didn’t imagine having this . . . and letting it go.
“Maybe this doesn’t have to be the end. Maybe . . . maybe we can still be together.”
“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says, “and you’ve been right in front of me. I don’t want to do it from hundreds of miles away. I want to do it for real.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I have to do thi
s.”
He pulls away and slides down the fridge to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.
His shoulders shake, and a tear rolls down his nose and lands on the floor. I want to tell him that everything is going to work out, but we both know that’s a promise I can’t keep. Instead, I kneel and hold him as he cries. It’s all I can do.
• • •
The sun shines through the trees as I walk down YiaYia’s street to the parked RVs. The McAlisters left early this morning, but the rest of the families are waiting for me at the curb. As I near them, I realize this is it. The last day before my new life begins. I can’t tell if I want to run toward the future or walk as slowly as possible.
“All packed up?” I ask.
“And ready to go,” Dad says. “All that’s left is the hard part.”
“Saying goodbye,” Mom says. “For now.”
Jeff shakes his head. “We’re gonna miss you, kid. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
“And if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
He heads back toward the RV, his gait exactly like Cyrus’. I turn back to my parents, and catch my Dad reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
“Dad, I’m fine. I’ve got the money from the sale, and I’ll have my first paycheck in two weeks.”
“Hush,” he says, and pulls two twenties out of his wallet. He hands them to me. “Recognize these?”
A familiar streak of purple ink zigzags across the top of Jackson’s head. I look up at Dad, amazed. “You kept them?”
He taps the bills in my hand. “That’s the first money you ever made selling your artwork. There was no way I was going to spend it on something like gas.”
I hug him tightly. “Thanks, Dad.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”
Mom wraps her arms around us, and a second later I feel Rodney collide into us too. “Group hug!” he screams.
Mom throws out her arm and catches Cyrus by the shirt. “Get in here.”
We all embrace, and I swear in that moment I want nothing to change. But then Rodney lets go, and so does Mom, and the feeling passes.
“Okay, it’s time to go,” Mom says. “We’ll let you guys say goodbye.”
Then they’re gone, leaving only Cyrus and me standing on the curb.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me around the side of his RV. As soon as we’re out of sight, his lips are on mine. I lean into him, letting my mouth say everything I can’t.
When he finally pulls away, I can barely breathe.
“I had to do that one last time.”
Dad hits the horn in two short bursts.
“Gotta go,” he says. But neither of us moves.
“I’ll miss you,” I say, my voice cracking.
He pulls me toward him, and we cling to each other.
The horn honks again.
“Come on,” he says quietly.
We walk back around the corner. At the sound of the RV engines starting up, ready to leave without me, it feels like I’m going to split apart, right here on the sidewalk.
But then Cyrus gives me one last crooked smile as he climbs into his RV, and I wave goodbye—to him, to my parents, to my old life—as they drive down the street, and disappear around the corner.
I take a steadying breath, the hardest part over. I’m still here, still standing. I turn toward home. YiaYia’s making lunch, and Fiona’s coming over in an hour to talk about what’s next. I told her I want to work on portraits, starting with one of Taryn. Her wild red hair is going to be tough to capture. I’ll probably need to experiment with color, and maybe even metallics to get the shine just right.
But that’s okay. I’m up to the challenge.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing Your Destination Is on the Left was a journey. Like Dessa, I sometimes felt lost, like I was on the wrong path, or like I was failing to achieve the goals I had set for myself. There were times it seemed like I was never going to finish. Luckily, I had something else in common with Dessa—an amazing community of people who lifted me up, pushed me when I needed pushing, and above all, believed in me.
The first person I’d like to thank is my incredible agent, Jim McCarthy. Jim, you are one of the best people I’ve ever met. Your passion, intelligence, and humor have been a life raft and an inspiration, and I will be forever grateful for you. Thank you also to the unstoppable team at Dystel, Goderich & Bourret—I am deeply proud to be represented by such an incredible agency.
I also want to thank Catherine Laudone, my wonderful editor at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers. Catherine, you helped me find the heart of my story, and reminded me that the devil is in the details. You also gave me permission to write some truly mushy kissing scenes. My book is so much better for having been edited by you. I’m also extremely grateful to everyone at S&S BFYR that has worked tirelessly to make my dream a reality. From editorial to design to marketing, you guys are superstars.
I also want to thank the many, many critique partners and beta readers who gave me feedback during not only the two years it took to write this book, but the many years of writing that came before it. First and foremost, I want to thank Juliana L. Brandt. You were my first writing friend, and I learned (and continue to learn) so much from you. You are one of the most talented and empathetic people I’ve ever met, and you have a superhuman ability to know when I need to complain and when I need to suck it up. I feel very lucky to call you a friend.
I also want to thank the Fellowship—Bess Cozby, Hannah Fergesen, and Ashley Poston—all of whom are top-notch human beings and gorgeous writers to boot. You guys keep me sane. A special thank you to Hannah, who got me over the finish line with this book (your line edits are intense and magical, just like you), and Bess Cozby, who is aggressively supportive of me and my writing. No negative self-talk allowed! You three are the loves of my life.
I’m also very grateful to my early readers and beta readers—Corrie Shatto, Ifeoma Dennis, Shana Silver, Diana Urban, Charlie Holmberg, Fiona McLaren, Courtney Gilfillian, Jay Coles, Rebecca Enzor, and Roselle Kaes. You guys put up with a ton of early draft shenanigans, and never once complained. A special shout out to Allison Ziegler, as well—you are an amazing writer and critique partner, and I love being your friend. Let’s go back to that fabulous bar in Philly and talk about books, magic, and mayhem.
Special thanks also go to Uwe Stender, Brent Taylor, and the rest of #TeamTriada, for becoming my found family in the last year—I am so grateful to you all for supporting me and welcoming me into your ranks. I’m also grateful to Bree Barton and the Electric Eighteens. You guys are inspiring and fabulous, and your books are going to take the world by storm. I’m so happy you’re in my life.
I also want to thank the Highlights Foundation, for providing me with a comfy cabin, amazing food (Hi, Amanda!), and a beautiful setting. I am convinced that Cabin 16 is both haunted and magical, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m also grateful to Highlights for bringing Jessica Spotswood, Tiffany Schmidt and me together. The two of you have become incredibly important parts of my life over the last few years, and I am so honored to call such talented, smart, wonderful women my friends. Let’s go walk in the woods.
I’d also like to express how grateful I am for the YA community as a whole. Between the wonderful publishing people I’ve met in New York to the brilliant writers and readers I talk to almost every day on Twitter, I have approximately 8,000 times more friends than I did when I started writing. We have the best community ever and I feel so lucky to be a part of it. A special thank you to Brenda Drake, for everything she does for writers, and to Jen Gaska, for hosting my cover reveal on her amazing website, Pop! Goes the Reader. I am so happy to have met you and become friends over the last year.
Okay, now it’s time for the hard part. I put off writing my acknowledgements for a long time (sorry, Catherine!) because I didn’t know how I was going to adequately express h
ow endlessly grateful I am for my family. First and foremost, my sister. Diana, you’re a force of nature. You are smart and kind and talented and so, so wise, and the fact that you believe in me makes me believe in me. I love you. Thank you also to Michael, for being relentlessly enthusiastic about my writing. I’m so happy I know you.
I also want to thank my grandma, Nonie, for supporting me and loving me and always believing in me. You are the heart of our family, and I love you more than words. Thank you also to my uncle Mark, who is brilliant and provides me with endless support. When you say something is a good idea, I know I can take that to the bank. Thank you also to my godmother, Gail, for being there for me through thick and thin. Seeing you is my favorite part of coming home.
Now it’s time for the really, really hard part.
Dad, you mean the entire world to me. You raised Diana and I to be strong and independent, but also to be kind and hardworking and patient (I’m still working on that last one), and I am who I am because of you. Every time something happens in my life, good or bad, you’re the first person I want to tell. Thank you for always believing in me, and for never letting me give up on myself or my dreams. I love you, Dad.
And finally, the biggest thank you of all goes to my husband, Patrick. You are my best friend in the entire universe, and I literally could not have done this without you. I wouldn’t want to do this without you. The last ten years have been the best of my life, and I could not ask for a better partner. I love you, and I love who you help me to be. I can’t wait for our next adventure. Allons-y!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© 2018 BY DAVE CROSS
LAUREN SPIELLER is an author and literary agent who lives in New York City with her husband. When she isn’t writing, she can be found drinking lattes, pining for every dog she sees, or visiting her native California. Your Destination Is on the Left is her debut novel. Visit her at LaurenSpieller.com and follow her on Twitter (@LaurenSpieller).
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