Chapter 1: Willow- 1 - Willow I don''t mean to be dramatic, but me floating facedown on a half-deflated pool float shaped like a piece of pizza feels like an apt representation of my current mental state. Dramatic? Unmoored? A tiny bit ridiculous? Yes, yes, and definitely yes. I roll over onto my back--an act that takes considerable effort due to the deflated-pizza situation--and stare up into the sunshine. LA is not cooperating with this moment of angst. If anything, it''s more beautiful than normal. The sky is almost hyperpigmented blue, and my mom''s new fountain bubbles cheerfully from the lawn. I can hear her speaking to her team through the open window, and her voice is its usual calm timbre, which is one of her superpowers. Mary Haverford never breaks under pressure.
Except for last night? Our conversation had definitely cracked her otherwise impenetrable surface, and I''m still trying to figure out why. It had all been going so well. I had my entire speech prepared. Even Bea said it was flawless. All I had to do was explain to my mom the many reasons why it would be a great idea to move in with Bea to complete my senior year at the international school where her dad teaches film part-time. The reasons were as follows: cultural experience, relatively affordable (because I have a built-in host family plus a tuition discount from Bea''s dad, it would actually cost less than my LA prep school), time with family, and an interesting experience to write about in college essays. I thought I was batting a thousand. It''s hard to pinpoint exactly when it went completely off the rails.
Was it when I uttered the words "senior year abroad"? Or was it "leaving home early"? Because she''d looked stunned. Stricken, almost. And then hurt. That was the part that surprised me the most, because I honestly thought she''d be relieved. With me in Paris, she could focus 100 percent of her time on her work as opposed to her regular 99 percent. My mom and her business partner, Drew, have their entire staff assembled in our dining room for a meeting, and her voice floats from the open window. "A strong contingency plan is crucial for this event. There are a lot of moving parts, and I can''t risk damaging this relationship.
" She clearly isn''t worried about damaging our relationship. Why had my mom looked so petrified when I told her my idea? Is it because me going to Paris wasn''t her idea, and therefore she can''t micromanage it? I look longingly toward the pool chair where my phone is perched. I want to talk all this through with Bea, but she is in an intensive ballet program this summer, practicing her arabesques and fouetté turns while being yelled at by a variety of terrifying ballet headmistresses. That means it will probably be another hour before I can expect to hear from her, and I am literally counting down the seconds. Bea will know what to do. She always does. My pizza float bumps up against the wall and I push off with my feet, launching myself into the deep end. If I''m going to feel this adrift, I may as well be this adrift.
Mom''s voice again. ". we have to leave absolutely nothing to chance." I sigh and flop forward onto the pizza slice so my arms and legs can drag in the water. This is the problem. My mom has no tolerance for leaving things to chance, whereas I am in a constant state of wanting to take chances. Last night had only highlighted the realization that had been creeping up on me for the past year or so. My mom and I are so different, we may as well be existing on separate continents, and no matter how much I want to pretend that isn''t painful, it is.
A part of me had thought that once we arrived in LA, we''d build a mother-daughter relationship like the one Bea has with her mom, but two years in I only feel farther from her. Maybe that''s part of my wanderlust. Once I''m out in the world, there will be a physical reason for the distance between my mom and me. Maybe then it won''t hurt so much? "WILLLLLOOOOOOOOWWWW!" I hear them before I see them. The back door of the house flies open and Drew''s son, Noah, and an unidentified number of Noah''s preteen friends all sprint out onto the pool deck. Ever since Mom installed the pool, Noah and his friends have been a permanent fixture in my life. They are obnoxious, loud, and wherever they go, the heady scent of Axe body spray follows. I don''t even have time to take cover.
The boys catapult into the pool, and I immediately lose custody of the pizza float, which--okay. Fine. But before I can fully recover, one of them starts shooting me with a Super Soaker, and another does a backflip off the diving board, somehow managing to land directly on top of my head while another attempts to swipe my sunglasses. "Argggh--Noah, call off your goons!" I yell, then I swim for my life, making my way to the side where my phone rests, and send a text to Bea as I pull myself out of the water. SOS. Noah swims up next to me, churning his legs to keep his head above water. "Willow, did you get my text about going out with me on Friday?" He grins, showing off a glistening mouth of braces, and the hooligans closest to him break out into a series of hoots. I have to give him props for his bravery.
And persistence. This is the third time he''s asked me out this month. I sigh and set down my phone. "Noah, I''d be happy to go to the movie with you but not on a date . You''re twelve." Two soggy eyebrows go up, and he does his best to give me a suave look. "Thirteen next summer. You''re only three years older than me.
" You have to admire that kind of misplaced confidence. He goes to the same prep school as me, which means Drew is paying an astonishing amount of money for these lackluster math skills. "You''re twelve and I''ll be seventeen in three weeks. We''re five years apart." I try to keep my voice gentle--because rejection sucks no matter how old you are--but I''m beginning to lose patience. "So I''ll take that as a maybe," Noah says, flashing me a shiny braces-laden smile. "You''ll take that as a no," I say sternly. "You''re too young.
Besides, I don''t even date people my age." He tilts his head to the side, smacking his left ear. "Why not?" Because high school relationships are stupid, limiting, and distracting. Because I don''t believe in the whole Cinderella thing. Because why would I spend my time falling for someone when I plan to take off the moment I can? I point to the deep end of the pool. "Could you look for my earring at the bottom? I think it fell off earlier." He takes the bait, splashing me in his rush. I throw a towel around myself and sink back into the lawn chair, settling my sunglasses over my eyes.
The sun beats down on me as Mom''s words from last night pound my brain. Willow, now is not the time for travel. It''s time to get ready for college. Have you read through the college prep books I left on your dresser? I did read the books. The problem is that none of them have any tips for what to do if the mere thought of one more year of awkward silences between you and your mother makes you feel like you''re sitting in the center of a hornet''s nest. The situation got so critical that I made the desperate move of texting my dad for backup. But all he responded with was a heart emoji and a quick Talk soon. Not holding my breath on that one.
Although my dad is the one much more likely to be up for me taking the unconventional route, at the moment he is also up to his literal eyeballs in toddlers. Any offspring that is not attempting to swallow small objects at all hours of the day naturally gets pushed to the bottom of the list, and even when he does remember to call me, he''s so exhausted, he can barely form full sentences. Which I get. People obviously have lives. My phone begins to ring, snapping me back to the pool, where the boys now appear to be engaging in ritualistic hazing. When I see the name on the screen, I sigh in relief. Finally. I hit answer on the video call.
"Night, Bea." "Morning, Willow," she says. As transcontinental best friends, it''s our customary greeting. She''s sitting on the balcony of her family''s apartment. Behind her is the city spread out so dark and glittery, it makes the edges of my heart ache. For a moment I consider not telling her, but of course Bea, being Bea, immediately homes in on my actual mood. "What''s wrong with your face?" she demands. "Nothing is wrong with my face," I say, doing my best to not be offended.
Bea can be very blunt. "This is the way it looks. How was ballet?" "Willow, something''s wrong," she insists. "Your eyes are squinty and you''re fake smiling. What is it? Is your dad not answering your calls again?" This is literally the only thing I can''t stand about Bea. Anytime I try to hide The Feelings, she insists on dragging The Feelings out. My dad and his family are spending a month in Australia visiting Chloe''s grandmother, who is not doing very well. No, I was not invited.
Yes, that''s completely fine. I mean, yes, I was supposed to spend most of my summer with them, and Melbourne is high on my list, but those tickets were expensive. I shrug, trying my best to look nonchalant. "I haven''t been able to talk to him in like a week, but that''s because the time change threw them off. The real problem is that I''m being hit on by prepubescent boys." Noah has given up on my nonexistent earring and is now attempting a.