Page 1 of Road Trip to Forever
PROLOGUE
Patrick
Ten years old
“It’s not your turn,”I yell.
I stomp my foot on the driveway and fold my arms over my sweaty shirt. Isaac, my older brother, ignores me and shoots the basketball into the hoop. It swishes through the net, and then I charge toward the loose ball, but Isaac gets there first and knocks me out of the way.
“You snooze, you lose, Patrick. Gotta be faster than that, little bro.” He laughs and dribbles the ball between his legs.
I grumble and kick the tire of Mom’s gray Volvo parked in the driveway. There’s a small dent in the hood from where we hit it when we were playing yesterday morning. We haven’t told her about the damage yet, but she’s definitely going to be mad.
I hear the rumble of a car and as I look toward the sound, I see a minivan driving up the street. Bright red, like a fire truck. I haven’t seen it before. It stops two houses down before inching forward and turning into the driveway next to ours.
There was a For Sale sign outside the home about a month ago. I know Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins moved so they could be closer to their grandkids in Georgia. I’ve been wondering about our new neighbors. I don’t have a lot of friends, so I hope it’s a kid my age so I’ll have someone to play with.
“Patrick,” Isaac says from behind me. “You’re up.”
I ignore him. I’m too busy watching the car door fly open. The sun is bright and I have to hold my arm over my eyes to see anything because of the glare. A blonde girl tumbles out and falls to the pavement.
I jolt forward, about to ask her if she’s okay, but she moves too quickly. She barrel-rolls across the driveway and leaps up. When she’s back on two feet, she dusts off her elbows and glances around. She spots me right away, and immediately crosses the grass between our yards. The blades are damp from the humidity in the air, making water droplets stick to her shins.
I hate summer.
It’s way too hot.
It doesn’t seem to bother her, though. She’s smiling.
When she’s two feet away, she stops and sticks out a hand for me to shake.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is high and light. It sounds like Mom’s when she’s trying to make me feel better after I fall off my bike and scrape my knee on the ground. “I’m Lola.”
I blink, confused. I’ve talked to girls before. Sally sits at my lunch table, and sometimes Jenna and I play on the swings together at recess. But none of them ever come up and justtalkto me.
“Hi,” I answer after a minute. “I’m Patrick.”
Her hand still hovers between us, and I don’t think she’s going to drop it until she gets what she wants. I reach out and intertwine our fingers. My palms are sweaty, and there’s dirt under my fingernails from playing outside, but hers are clean and soft.
I’ve never held a girl’s hand before. I wonder if she can hear my heart beating in my chest. It’s really fast, like when I sprint around the track during P.E. class and it’s hard to breathe.
She stares at me with blue eyes. Bright blue, like the ocean. Her head tilts to the side, and I stare back. There are freckles covering her entire nose. Lots of them. They remind me of pencil marks, like someone drew them on her face in art class, one by one, and forgot to erase them. They look really cool.
Her long hair is pulled up in two high pigtails that swish back and forth. There’s a Band-Aid on her arm and a barely visible scar above her lip. I can only see it if I squint really hard, and I wonder if anyone else has ever found it.
She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
“What are you looking at?” she asks.
“Uh.” I point to her arm. “Your Band-Aid.”
“It’s from falling out of a window. My brother was so mad becausehecouldn’t climb down the side of the house, and he didn’t think I could either. Girls can do anything boys can do, though; sometimes we can even do things boys can’t do. So, I proved him wrong. Scratched my elbows on some rocks at the bottom, but it was worth it.”
“Whoa,” I breathe out. “That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” She grins and drops our hands. I forgot we were still holding onto each other. “How old are you?”
“I’m ten. How about you?” I ask.
