Page 1 of Waiting For Ever
Prologue
Everly
Everyone knows. I can tell by the way they won’t make eye contact as they hurry past me down the hall. The whispers. I want to scream at them that it’s all a lie, but I just keep my head down and clean out my locker.
“Miss Davis? You’re going to be late to homeroom. You don’t want to ruin your perfect attendance this late in the school year, right?” Dr. Nia Franklin’s voice, like warm melted butter, created a lump in my throat and pressure behind my eyes.
I try to nod my head in acknowledgment, hoping it sends her on her way.
“Everly, is everything okay?”
Nope. Didn’t work. Points for trying. I face her with unshed tears threatening to spill over onto my cheeks.
“Okay, honey, let’s go to my office. C’mon. I’ll get you a pass for homeroom.”
As the late bell rings, I sweep the rest of my stuff into the oversized backpack I brought today and follow her down the now empty hallway to her office—one of my favorite places in this school. It’s bright, cheery and . . . peaceful. I don’t have many—or any—places I feel peace anymore. Did I ever? I can’t recall another one right now except maybe my bedroom. I’m going to miss my bedroom. And Dr. Franklin. Not Coach Cruz. I won’t have to hear him ask me to join cross-country every day in P.E. class. Organized sports? Not my thing. I just like to run. It quiets the noise in my head. Adding some level of competition to it would defeat its purpose.
“Evvie, what’s going on? You know you can talk to me.” Dr. Franklin, Oak Valley High’s guidance counselor, closes her office door and motions for me to take a seat in one of the two chairs in front of her desk.
I always sit in the one closest to the windows. I like the way the morning sunlight feels on my face from that chair. Even when it’s not the morning, I still pick it.
Shrugging the backpack off my shoulder, it sinks to the ground next to me and flops over sideways with the weight of all the crap I accumulated in my locker over most of senior year. I don’t know how to answer her question. Just thinking about it exhausts me. I guess that’s the biggest thing. I’m tired. Tired of it all. I know I can talk to her and have plenty of times throughout high school. She’s been helping me plan my college career since my first day of freshman year. Now, three months before I graduate, I just want to leave and never come back.
“I’m leaving OV.” I opt for succinct.
She blinks once, twice, then leans back in her chair, folding her hands and resting them across her stomach.
Keeping my focus on her until one tear slips down my cheek, I lower my gaze to my clenched hands. I really don’t want to break down and lose my shit in front of her. After a couple deep breaths, I swipe the wet trail from my face and look at her squarely in hopes of conveying my mind is made up.
“You’ve got three months left. You’ve easily secured valedictorian unless Eli Tran has a perfect record for the rest of year and you . . . don’t. What’s happened that you can’t stick it out for three more months?”
She’s watching me. I can feel it even though I’ve lowered my eyes again. I don’t want to see the look on her face. Whether it’s disappointment, concern, pity, I don’t want to know.
How do I tell my favorite adult at this school all the shit that’s happened in the last month? Maybe she’s heard the rumors herself. She doesn’t act like she knows. She seems genuinely surprised by my leaving. Maybe I can tell her the truth. I just don’t want to hear her try to talk me out of it. My mind is made up. I don’t like school anyway, at least not the people part, especially now. The learning part is easy, effortless, and therefore unstimulating. But the people . . . This is why I prefer losing myself in fictional worlds to connecting with living humans. I wish the real world could be more like my make-believe ones. Full of funny, ride-or-die best friends, swoony boyfriends that give “touch her and die” energy and happily ever afters that make for the sweetest of daydreams. But my world here in Oak Valley has become whatever the opposite of that is. Maybe that’s the problem. I project some fairy-tale expectation onto real life, and it doesn’t measure up, like my older sister, Olivia, always accuses me of.
“I just need to go. I need a fresh start away from here.” Without looking up, I see her nodding. I hold my breath and plead silently with the powers that be she accepts this without debate.
“Okay. Where will you go and how can I help?”
Exhaling a long breath through barely parted lips, I say, “I’m going to stay with my mom’s best friend in Blue Lake.”
Chapter 1
Everly
So far, starting over sucks. I wish I could see it as an adventure. A blank canvas. A fresh start. Mostly I just feel alone, anxious and kind of sick to my stomach. As lives go, mine before wasn’t particularly spectacular, but it was mine. And to protect my family—what’s left of it—I moved to Blue Lake. I like the idea of doing it for self-sacrificing reasons, like for my sister, who doesn’t deserve the fallout of my drama. But the bigger reason, the hard one to admit, is that I was just done. Done being blamed. Done being bullied. Done looking over my shoulder wondering what the next thing would be and when it’s coming. Small towns can be tough. And Oak Valley is no different. The generations of loyalty, however misguided, alternately intrigue and sicken me. It amazes me how the schoolyard antics extend to the adults. Everyone weighs in, and it becomes a frenzied dog fight if you wrongone of theirs. Sadly, I thought I wasoneor at least lived on the perimeter of the chosen ones. It doesn’t matter now. I crossed a line. Except I didn’t. I know I didn’t. But it didn’t matter. The thing aboutbeing a chosen one is you get to tell the story, and no one disputes the telling.
One thing I can say about Blue Lake is it’s beautiful and remote, the perfect place to disappear. Okay, that’s three things. But I’d love to do just that—disappear. I’d prefer to go back to being the invisible bookworm I’ve been most of my life, and this town where no one knows me, and I know no one except Allie, might be the perfect place to do it. And the scenery doesn’t suck. What does suck is not knowing. Not knowing what to expect, what comes next, where I fit in. I feel calmer when I can plan for every possible scenario. For now, staring out the wall of windows overlooking the glass surface of the lake beyond Allie’s backyard is allowing me to breathe. Really breathe. For the first time in months.
I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up and forget for just a second before it all came crashing back through my mind. The weight didn’t settle on my chest until I felt like I was suffocating. Here, I can go outside without looking over my shoulder. Although I won’t be going back to school, but I was over school anyway. It’s not how I envisioned finishing my senior year, but Dr. Franklin made a call. I’ll finish my senior year remotely through Blue Lake High School. I think I’ll like it—remote learning. My anxiety likes it already. And everyone agrees this is the best option for all of us. All of us being me, my sister and my mom. Even Allie, who’s never lived with a kid twenty-four seven, likes the idea of gaining a helper. I decide to be as invisible as possible and as helpful as possible when I’m not invisible. Like now.
I take a deep breath before I head downstairs to greet her and start my first day of work. I take one last look around my new room. Bed made. Clothes picked up. It looks like no one lives here. A perfectmilitary brat. With another deep breath, I step into the hallway and close the door.
***
“Morning, Evvie. How’d you sleep?” Allie leans against the far counter in the kitchen and sips from the steaming mug in her hand. She’s what I’d guess regular people callgranola. Even though she owns and operates the local fitness center, not exactly granola, she’s equally committed to the outdoors and the earth. Maybe it’s more accurate to say she’s a health nut. Whatever the label, she oozes it from every pore. She has that glow people talk about in commercials. Her skin is tan even coming off winter. Her hair shines even twisted into a knot on top of her head. And she looks like someone in her twenties instead of her early forties.
“Great. Thanks. It’s so quiet here,” I answer with the cheeriest smile plastered on my face. The truth is the quiet is deafening. And because it’s so quiet, every little rustle of leaves pierces like thunder. I lay motionless and wide awake most of the night pondering if even turning over in bed might be heard down the hall.
