The Miles Between (21 page)

A reporter? No. Perhaps the messenger who delivered the car and was trying to cover his identity? Maybe. A figment of my imagination? Possibly. Or perhaps someone else? Or something else? Something. “Of course. A reporter,” I answer. “That was probably it. Good night, Mrs. Wicket.”

I join the others and we begin walking back to Carroll Hall. When we are a safe distance away from the crowd, Mira raises a victory fist and whispers, “No one missed us!”

“We're off the hook,” Aidan adds.

“And I'll be able to stay at Hedgebrook.”

“And I'm still alive,” Seth says. “With Lucky
and
extra credit.”

We pause at the hallway where we must part ways, Mira and I to our wing of the dorm, and Seth and Aidan to theirs.

“It's like we were never gone,” Seth says.

“Oh, we were gone, all right,” Mira replies, admiring her red pumps.

“What happened today?” Aidan asks, like he is freshly stunned.

We are all dazed, thrown yet another curve from what
we were expecting. I look at my three road-trip renegades. I have no answers. I only know that in a vast and infinite universe, somehow today, I feel less small, less forgotten, less afraid, and infinitely more ready for another day.

“Life, Aidan,” I finally say. “And trying to explain it is like trying to explain a lambadoodle to someone who can only see a woolly sheep.”

Mira lightly pokes Aidan on his chest. “Pay attention, Cowboy. It's The Day That Never Ended. Remember?”

“And it's also the day Destiny Faraday smiled at least a dozen times,” Seth adds.

Aidan scratches his head and smiles. “Did hell freeze over?” Mira punches him, and they fall into giggles and close muted conversation.

“Could be,” Seth answers, even though Aidan is no longer listening, and right there, Seth bends over and kisses my cheek. “See you at breakfast,” he says and walks away with Lucky still asleep in his arms.

 

 

 

I
LOOK AT THE CALENDAR
. October 20. Its own once-in-a-lifetime kind of day. I smooth my hand over the page. I don't tear it or crumple it. I don't want this day to pass before its time. Next to the calendar is a pink sealed envelope. I slide it from my dresser and tuck it into my pocket, to be mailed later, my long-overdue letter to Mr. Gardian.

There is shuffling in the hall. Mira pokes her head in. “Breakfast, Des.”

Like I don't know.

“On my way, Mira.”

“I'll save you a seat between me and
Seth
.”

“Mira!” I turn sharply, then stop. A saved seat next to Seth. Certainly not the end of the world. Not at all. “Like I said, on my way,” I answer.

I tuck my sheet beneath the mattress, folding the corner the way Aunt Edie—the way Mrs. Wicket—showed me on my first day. Routine, the lifeblood of Hedgebrook. At least it was. Today Seth will be at breakfast, and I will sit next to him. And today—who knows?—maybe Cook will even stir the lumps from the oatmeal.

“On my way,” I whisper again, this time to no one but myself, and I hurry to join the others.

 

 

 

I
OWE ENORMOUS THANKS
to Jill Rubalcaba, Jessica Pearson, Melissa Wyatt, Marlene Perez, Karen and Ben Beiswenger, Shirley Harazin, Catherine Atkins, Lisa Firke, Amy Butler, Laura Weiss, Kristina Cliff Evans, Lisa Harkrader, Cynthia Lord, Amy McAuley, Nancy Werlin, and Amanda Jenkins, for reading first drafts, snips, and wild calls for help, answering questions from the bizarre to the mundane, and offering an endless amount of support and encouragement.

I am grateful to the amazing staff at Henry Holt—too many to name and I know I would surely leave someone out—but they make the publishing process a delight with their professionalism, wisdom, and enthusiasm. So many thanks to you all.

Rosemary Stimola is one brilliant lady, and I am so grateful she is my agent. Thanks for all the hand-holding, advice, hard work, and friendship, Ro.

My editor, Kate Farrell, continues to be the most supportive and wise editor a writer could ask for. I am blessed. Thank you, Kate.

An ocean of gratitude to my precious family, Dennis, Karen, Jessica, and Ben, who are a never-ending source of inspiration for me. They make the ride wild, fun, sometimes bumpy, and always interesting. My infinite love and thanks go to them.