Authors: Alexis Bass

Love and Other Theories (32 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

I
t’s annoyingly hot outside when I leave for college. Trip helps us load up the cars with boxes to drop at the post office on our way out of town, and suitcases with my clothes and books that are too heavy and therefore too expensive to mail. I overhear Jason refer to Trip as “the muscle.”

Shelby’s here too, reading off my mom’s checklist to her as she circles the boxes, examining their labels before Trip loads them. After the car is full, my mom brings us lemonade, and Shelby, Trip, and I sit on the front steps with our legs stretched out.

“Don’t you have any advice or pearls of wisdom, or something to tell her, Trip?” Shelby says.

Trip shakes his head, but a small smile creeps over his face. “Try not to drink too much.”

I shake my head at the reminder. I almost can’t even laugh about it.

“Coming home is the best part about leaving,” he says. “You’ll see.”

“I thought the unknown was the best part about leaving,” Shelby argues. There’s a real conviction in her voice.

“All right,” Trip says. “The unknown. That’s the best part about coming back too.”

Last night Danica, Melissa, Shelby, and I exchanged gaudy silver friendship bracelets that look like chains, acknowledging that they are destined to be ugly and out of style next year and we’ll have to buy new ones. But it still didn’t feel quite like I was really leaving.

I feel it now, that I’m truly going away, as Shelby makes it official and says, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Trip has his face turned away from us entirely. Shelby and I both notice at the same time. It makes us smile. “Are you going to be okay, Chapman?” she asks, patting his back as she stands up.

“I’ll be fine, Shels,” he says. He’s smiling, but he won’t look at either of us for longer than a glance.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Shelby calls to me. “I mean—you know what I mean.” She shakes her head, and even though she’s all the way at the curb, I can tell by the way she looks to the sky and bites her lower lip that she’s fighting back tears. She waves one more time before climbing into the car she bought with the money from her dad and driving away.

Trip and I stand facing each other by his truck, just like we did last year when we said good-bye. And just like last year, I kiss him. He’s Trip Chapman, and leaving without kissing him just doesn’t seem right.

I wipe at my cheeks and sure enough, there are tears.

“Damn it, Aubrey,” Trip says, looking away. His eyes are glassy.

“This is harder than I thought,” I tell him. It’s probably the last time we’ll ever kiss and we both know it. We’re not pretending that it doesn’t mean anything, or that it means more than good-bye. We might make the same mistakes. We have scars, though it’s easy to forget how they got there, how much they once hurt. This detach is different, but it still has to happen.

“We did all right,” he says, opening the door to his truck. I think he’s talking about how we managed to stay friends all summer, but then he adds, “That was a pretty great good-bye.”

He gives me a look then,
the
look. The one that makes everyone blush and smile, and I am no different.

WE LEAVE FOR Barron that afternoon, stopping overnight just four hours away, and arriving the next morning. My brothers play Frisbee on the lawn outside my dorm while my parents help me unpack.

My roommate’s name is Marie. She’s from Florida, and her hair is curly like Danica’s. She has more books than I do, and she smells like coconut. I wish I knew what she was noticing about me.

Our parents get along really well, and they stop helping us unpack halfway through to stand in the middle of the room talking like they’re old friends who haven’t seen each other in ages. Marie and I exchange a look—eyes wide, shaking our heads at them—and I feel the first pangs of homesickness. I wonder what Danica’s roommate is like; if Melissa has started packing for State or is still putting it off. I wonder what Shelby’s doing. If she’s given up on theories or if she’s made up new ones.

My parents leave to go to their hotel room and get cleaned up before we go to dinner with Marie and her parents. I walk out with them to collect the last few things I’ve left in the car.

“I’ll see you in two hours,” I say, waving to them. It’s probably the tenth time I’ve said it since we walked outside.

My mother comes up to me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Do you want me to stay?” she asks.

I do want her to stay, but I know she can’t. “No, it’s okay.” I shake my head and say it again. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

I watch them drive away, seriously thinking about running after the car and taking back what I said about it being okay that my mother leave. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I turn back toward my dorm room. The cement path leading up to it is new and smooth; the building is new, too, big and brick to match the others. But in the corner there are initials, probably drawn with a stick by students when the cement was still wet, reminding me: people have been here before you, and you’re going to be okay.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
must first thank my parents for always telling me that I could be anything I wanted to be.

An extremely large and very lavish thank-you to my incredible agent, Suzie Townsend, for understanding and loving this book and having the best plans for its future. And for that one particular editorial note that changed everything for the better. ☺ To Joanna Volpe, Kathleen Ortiz, Pouya Shahbazian, Danielle Barthel, Jaida Temperly, Jackie Lindert, Jess Dallow, and everyone at New Leaf Literary, Inc. I couldn’t be in better hands.

Thank you to my editor, Rosemary Brosnan, for her amazing insight, for inspiring me to take this story the places it needed to go, and for being wonderful company. Thank you to everyone at HarperCollins: Renée Cafiero, Barb Fitzsimmons, Olivia de Leon, Jessica MacLeish, Andrea Pappenheimer and her sales team, and Kim VandeWater.

I am so grateful for the talented group of women I get to call my critique partners: Jean Marie Ayana, Shelley Batt, and Tanya Spencer. Thank you for “getting me,” and for sharing your brilliance, for listening to me ramble, and, of course, for the laughter. A special thanks to Gloria Kempton, whose
Writer’s Digest
class brought us together.

A huge thank-you also to Christa Desir, the first one to read this book; your notes made revising possible, even fun.
And another big thank-you for telling me to stop complaining about revising and just do it already (best advice), and for being so wonderful and teaching me more than you know.

Thank you!—to all the bloggers who helped reveal the cover, and to everyone who helped spread the word about this book.

This is in part a story about friendship, so I have to thank my friends who’ve impacted me so much: Lea, for being an awesome and supportive—and hilarious—cousin. Rowdy, for never leaving me “alone on the page.” Karisa, for being just as infuriated about Joey choosing Dawson over Paris as I was, and for always wanting to talk for hours about life and books and “our stories.” Lyndsey, for being my first writing partner—I swear we share the same imagination. Stefanie, for being my middle school writing partner who was just as obsessed with
Jurassic Park
as I was. Brittany and Kelsey, for all those nights spent overanalyzing and for “no rescue.” Brienne, for book talk and real talk. Ashley, Alyssa, Amy, Andrew, Crystal, Emily, Jen, Leslie, Liz, Ryan, Val—we have too many stories to fit in one book. John and Luke, for support and for being great company eight hours a day five days a week. Sheri & Tom, Sarah & Lucas, for cheering me along, and for forgiving all those vacations I spent buried in my laptop.

And thank you, Justin, for calling me a writer out loud in front of everyone even when I insisted it was a secret. For taking me out of my comfort zone, for telling me “the stories behind the football game” so I could invest, and for always understanding when I disappear to write. And also, of course, for the first word in the title of this book.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALEXIS BASS
grew up in Washington, went to college in Arizona, and currently lives in Northern California, where she works in marketing. This is her first novel. You can visit her online at
www.alexisbassbooks.com
.

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.

CREDITS

COVER DESIGN AND HAND LETTERING BY JESSIE SAYWARD BRIGHT

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