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[Prologue]

In the beginning the five of them made a promise. It was the day before the first day of high school. They wrote those letters to their future selves, hid them in a secret place, and vowed to unearth them at graduation.

From the noisy, crowded gym at freshman orientation (day 1) to the noisy, crowded gym at graduation (day 1,387), four years of high school seemed infinite.

On that first day they had no clue that one of them would experience the worst of losses (day 691) and another would watch her family break apart (day 38) and another would fall deeply and dangerously in love without buckling up for the ride (day 1,045). There would be a fatal car accident (day 123), a supreme betrayal (day 489), a kiss with the most unlikely person at a waterfall in the woods (day 943), and a walk along the Seine in Paris (day 352), where a long-held secret is definitely not discussed.

And then there would be that night (day 1,386) when it all unraveled.

But back to day one. The beginning.

 

 

FRESHMAN YEAR

SEPTEMBER

GREGOR

“Do you realize this is going to be life-changing?” Dinky asked Gregor.

Gregor opened his eyes wide like shut up, but Dinky didn’t seem to notice. Sometimes his friend missed social cues. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

They were in the backseat, speeding toward the high school. The air smelled like fruity skin cream, and on the floor at Gregor’s feet, there was a pair of turquoise sneakers and a pink sports bra. Gregor tried not to look at the bra, but his eyes kept wandering back to it.

“By life-changing,” Dinky said, “I mean, this year is going to change our lives.”

Gregor’s sister, Erica, groaned from the front.

That was exactly what Gregor didn’t want, to give his sister any ammunition. She was only a year older, but she acted like she was twenty.

“Seriously,” Erica said as she smeared moisturizer onto her calves. She smirked at her friend, who was driving. Erica didn’t have her license yet. She didn’t even turn sixteen until next June. “It’s your freshman year of high school, guys. It’s not like you’re going to law school.”

“Newbies,” Erica’s friend murmured, flicking on her blinker and turning into the nearly empty parking lot.

“Exactly,” Erica said. “Newbies.”

Gregor stared out the window, his cheeks burning as hot as his bright red hair. It was bad enough that his dad had insisted Erica take him along when she went to cross-country practice. He thought it would be good for Gregor to see the high school before anyone was there, to find his locker and homeroom and the orchestra room. Gregor was relieved when Dinky agreed to join, but now he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.

As they got out of the car, Erica said, “Russell might be picking me up after cross-country. If he does, can you take my brother and his friend home?”

“Sure.” Her friend stretched her arm into the back and grabbed the turquoise sneakers but not the pink sports bra. “I guess that’s fine.”

“If you talk to Mom or Dad, don’t tell them I went with Russell,” Erica said to Gregor as she shut her door. “Get out at Dinky’s house and walk from there. Tell them I went for a run.”

Without even saying good-bye, the girls jogged toward the track, leaving Gregor and Dinky alone in the parking lot, staring at the massive brick building that was going to be their school in, oh man, three days.

“Your sister is hot,” Dinky said, grinning. They started toward the side door. It was propped open with a brick. “Forget that Russell dude.”

Gregor punched Dinky’s arm. Dinky and his sister? No way.

“That’s what high school will be like,” Dinky said, popping his shoulders as he walked. This was Dinky’s version of a strut. “Cute girls. Big dudes with facial hair. You have to think about being cool. I want to be drum major, maybe even next year. You should go out for band with me. Do drums too.”

“I’ve got cello,” Gregor said. He’d been playing since he was five. That was who he was, what he did.

“You’re a prodigy on cello. We all know that. But you can play drums, too. Girls like drummers.”

Dinky pulled the side door open, and they peered down the long corridor. It was quiet and dark in there, and the floors were so shiny, they seemed wet. Gregor had been to Hankinson High School before, for Erica’s holiday concert and a few school plays, but now it felt huge and intimidating. He unwrapped a piece of gum for himself and handed another one to Dinky.

“Should we go in?” he asked.

“I guess,” Dinky said quietly.

Neither of them moved. Gregor squished the gum between his molars. With his braces he wasn’t supposed to chew gum, but he could do it as long as he was careful.

Just then they heard the tinny jingle of “Pop! Goes the Weasel.” It was getting closer and closer. The ice cream man.

“Do you have any money?” Dinky asked.

Gregor reached into his pocket. “Yeah . . . some.”

“Should we?”

“Sure. We can look around the school at orientation instead.”

They sprinted across the closely cropped emerald lawn and waved down the ice cream man. Dinky ordered a Chipwich. Gregor got a Creamsicle.

“Awesome,” Dinky said, spitting his gum into the napkin. “Thanks.”

The ice cream truck blared its music and steered up the hill toward the football stadium.

“Anytime,” Gregor said as they sat on the curb.

Gregor licked his Creamsicle, sucking the sweet flavor out of his braces. The cheerleaders were shrieking in the stadium, and the runners were doing stretches over at the track. The whole thing made his stomach flip like crazy.

“High school is big, you know,” Dinky said, gnawing at his frozen cookie. “You’ll start out one person and finish as someone completely different.”

Gregor wiped his chin with a napkin. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. So far in his life, nothing major had happened. It was mostly cello, school, video games, his family, his friends. He’d made out with a girl from orchestra last year. It was awkward, about as sexy as kissing a Pez dispenser. Maybe his life was a little boring, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted it to be changed.

 

 

ZOE

The driver stepped out of the black SUV and nodded at Zoe. “Are these your bags?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she was hot even though it was only sixty. Zoe glanced down. She was wearing ripped jeans and a yellow tank top. Her mom, who was Sierra Laybourne, always said yellow wasn’t her color. There were toothpaste droppings on Zoe’s left boob that looked like bird poop. She hoped no one would recognize her in the airport and take a picture. If they did, she’d smile and act like everything was fantastic. That was what she’d been doing her entire life.

The driver slammed the back shut and walked around to open her door. His square jaw was frozen into a frown. He reminded Zoe of her mom’s bodyguard from last spring.

Behind the driver, their house loomed majestic with massive stone columns. She and her mom had been in Coldwater Canyon for a year, and this place was huge even by LA standards. It freaked Zoe out—all the long hallways and empty rooms. It didn’t help that kids back in eighth grade told her that a producer drowned in their pool twenty years ago. That was a creepy image whenever Zoe went swimming.

Zoe buckled her seat belt. It hadn’t started out as a terrible day. Just this morning she and Sierra had gotten pedicures by the pool. Her mom let her pick the color for both of them, and she’d gone with purple. It had seemed like a typical day, a flurry of texts for her mom, a rug being delivered, a cook who specialized in raw foods. The one strange thing was that her mom’s manager, Max, had locked himself in the office, hissing into his phone.

But then, an hour ago, their housekeeper walked into Zoe’s room. “I’m so sorry to be the one telling you this,” Rosa said, “but you need to pack.”

“For what?” Zoe asked. She’d been texting with a few girls, planning what to wear for the first day of ninth grade. “Are my mom and I going somewhere?”

Rosa pinched the bridge of her nose. They no longer had a nanny on weekends, so the housekeeper was Zoe’s main point of contact.

“No, it’s you,” Rosa said, her eyes crinkling sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Zoe. Max just told me too. Your mom’s already left for Arizona. She’s going to be getting help again. Longer this time.”

Back when Zoe was in seventh grade, her mom had gone to rehab to “rest and focus on her goals,” as she’d described. It was only two weeks, so Zoe had stayed in LA with her nanny.

“So where am I going?” Zoe asked after a second.

“Max said you’re flying to Hankinson this afternoon,” Rosa told her. “He set it all up.”

Zoe bit at her thumbnail. She knew things were getting worse with her mom, but it wasn’t like anyone was talking about it. It wasn’t like anyone ever talked about anything.

“What?” she asked, her voice rising.

Rosa touched her arm. Their housekeeper was on the older side and had a granddaughter around Zoe’s age who she sometimes brought over.

“I know it’s not fair,” Rosa said, “but you can try to make the best of it.”

“What is Hankinson, anyway?”

“It’s in New York State. Your aunt lives there. That’s nice, right? You’re going to stay with her for a while.”

Her aunt? She’d never even met her mom’s sister before. The only evidence she existed were pictures of her in old albums, and the fact that she always sent birthday presents for Zoe—a sweater or a necklace. She signed the cards Aunt Jane. That was more than what Zoe knew about her father, which was nothing. No evidence at all. She’d asked about him, but her mom had always said it wasn’t important.

Rosa disappeared into the hallway. She came back a few minutes later wheeling two pink suitcases.

“The car will be here in an hour,” she said. “I’ll go get your ski coat, and then I can help you pack.”

“But it’s September,” Zoe said. “Why do I need my ski coat?”

Rosa wiped at her eyes like she was tearing up. “It gets cold in New York.”

As the SUV meandered down the long driveway and waited for the gate to open, Zoe realized that packing her ski coat meant that Rosa knew she’d be in Hankinson until winter. She cried the whole way to the airport while the driver adjusted the volume on the music.

 

Two days later Zoe was twenty-seven hundred miles across the country at her aunt’s house in central New York State. Her feet were tangled in the sheets, her belly cramping like she was getting her period.

She clutched her phone, quiet in her hand. A zit was erupting on her chin. Great . . . her perioda zit, and a new school all in the same day.

“Zoe?” Jane shouted upstairs. “Ready for breakfast?”

Jane was her mom’s older sister. She’d told Zoe to call her Aunt Jane, but that felt too weird. From what Zoe had pieced together, her mom and her aunt had had a fight before Zoe was born and had barely talked since.

“Orientation starts in forty minutes,” Jane added.

Zoe pressed her face into the pillow. She so didn’t want to go to freshman orientation at some school she’d never heard of until two days ago. She checked her phone. Still nothing.

“Zoe?” Jane was walking up the stairs. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, I’m up,” Zoe said. She was only wearing underwear and a tank top that stretched tight over her stomach. She never let anyone see her this naked—not even her mom. That was what her mom’s horrible outburst in London had been about. Zoe wouldn’t let her into the dressing room to see how flabby she looked in that stupid bikini. Her mom’s body was so perfect, straw-thin thighs and her famous Pilates-flat stomach. How could Zoe have known that someone would record her mom screaming outside her dressing room door and that it would go viral? The thing was, her mom wasn’t even a shouter. Usually, when she was mad, she’d go in her room and give Zoe the silent treatment. Zoe guessed that the meltdown meant her mom was drinking again, which she hadn’t done since she came out of rehab two years ago.

“I’m just checking that you didn’t fall back asleep,” Jane said through the closed door. “The waffles are almost ready. Do you want yogurt, too?”

So far Jane seemed nice enough, though Zoe was less than thrilled that she was forcing her to go to orientation today and to start at the local high school tomorrow.

“I don’t get why I have to go,” Zoe had told her over dinner the night before. It was make-your-own tacos, something she’d never done before. Just like she’d never had ice cream at a roadside stand or done her own laundry or been inside a Walmart. “As soon as Sierra gets home, I’ll be going back tomy school.” Zoe went to a private school in Santa Monica called Topanga Day. She’d gone there since fourth grade.

Jane had shaken her head. “You’re here, so you’ll go to school. It’s what your mom would want.”

How did Jane even know what her mom would want? They hadn’t talked in fifteen years.

That was last night. Now Zoe sat up in bed and touched her volcanic zit. She’d give it a good squeeze later, after orientation. Jane sneezed. She was right outside the door.

“Just waffles, please,” Zoe said. She slid her phone into the small orange bag that her mom bought her in London before everything had fallen apart.

“See you downstairs,” Jane said. “I don’t want to harass you, but we need to leave in twenty minutes.”

As Zoe wriggled on a bra under her tank top, she paused to examine her toenails. On the airplane ride east, she’d decided to leave her purple polish on until she saw her mom again. She’d texted her mom to tell her that, but Max had written back instead. Sierra doesn’t have her phone with her in Arizona. That was all he’d said.

 

 

JAKE

Jake hopped on his mountain bike and hung a left. It was hot out, almost ninety. It didn’t feel like it should be high school orientation today. It was more like a day to be cooking out at the lake. By the time Jake went over the train tracks, his calves were burning and sweat was slipping down his back.

As he rode, he kept an eye out for people he knew. It was stupid because as soon as he saw someone, he’d duck and try to disappear. Hankinson was a decent-size city, but it still felt like there was nowhere to hide.

Jake locked his bike to the rack and crossed the road to the high school. The varsity football team was practicing on the south field. They were grunting and slamming into cushions. Jake clenched his fists. He was supposed to go out for junior varsity football, but then he’d bailed.

He shouldn’t even be looking at the football players. Jake kicked at the grass under his sneakers. People wouldn’t say anything to his face, but he could feel them watching, waiting for him to make his next move. Well, he was done with moves.

Some girls disappeared through a side door, their elbows linked. He recognized Kyra, short and curvy with a helmet of black hair. Her mom had hired Jake to mow their lawn over the summer. Kyra was always lying out on the deck in a bikini, her pink phone in her hand. She’d giggled whenever Jake pushed the mower by her. He’d never said anything. Maybe it was a jerk move to ignore her, but what was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to lead her on.

Jake pushed his hair off his face. His best summer friend, Mona Lisa, had convinced him to grow it out, and it was finally getting long. Hopefully high school would be different. He took a shallow breath and walked into the building.

 

Up on the bleachers, Jake was wedged between a skinny dude picking at his fingers and this small girl everyone was staring at. She had long brown hair and bright purple toenails.

As he jiggled his knee up and down, he scanned for Teddy, hoping to see him. Or maybe not. Maybe hoping Teddy had moved over the summer. That would suck. Or not.

“Welcome, students!” A man wearing a striped tie tapped a microphone.

Jake glanced at the girl with the purple toenails. He noticed two kids holding up their phones to take pictures of her while she stared straight ahead like it wasn’t happening.

“My name is Mr. Bauersmith,” the man said. He had a bushy mustache that looked like a caterpillar. “I’m the principal at Hankinson High School. In four years you’re going to be sitting in this same gym for graduation. But first things first . . . welcome to the beginning.”

A few girls clapped. Jake knew one of them from eighth grade. Marin Banerjee. They’d gone to the winter semiformal together. They’d kissed on the dance floor and he’d said that her breath smelled like candy corn. Marin had spent the rest of the night crying, encircled by a pack of angry girls. Jake couldn’t figure that out. It wasn’t like candy corn was a bad thing. He’d told his friend Mona Lisa about it this summer. She was from Atlanta, but her grandparents had a cottage down the road from his family’s cabin on Cayuga Lake. Mona Lisa said girls didn’t want to be told that their breath was anything less than perfect.

The principal talked for a few more minutes and went over some school rules. He paused to stroke his mustache with his thumb, which gave Jake the chills. Jake didn’t have much facial hair yet, but whatever peach fuzz he had, he shaved off.

“As we do every year,” Mr. Bauersmith said, “I’m going to have all the incoming ninth graders break into small groups. Every group will have a peer advisor who is a junior or senior and has been assigned to guide you through your ice-breaker activity.”

A few people groaned. Jake actually didn’t mind these kinds of activities. It was like student council. Another thing he hadn’t gone out for this year. In eighth grade he’d been the vice president of his class.

“It’s your choice what you do,” the principal said. “Your group can do a time capsule or a make a collage or help change the letters in the marquee outside the school. I’m going to pass out sheets with suggestions. But before I do, I’ll leave you with the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson. ‘Life is a journey, not a destination.’”

As the principal began calling names and numbers, Jake pushed his hair out of his eyes. He saw a few guys from middle school across the gym. They were probably talking about football. He turned away.

“Jake Rodriguez!” the principal called out. “Group eighteen. Alicia Montaine is your peer advisor.”

Just as Jake stepped off the bleachers, he noticed Teddy by the victory banners. His hair was bleached golden and he’d gotten taller. The last time he’d seen Teddy was at junior high graduation. The last time they’d talked was on the bus home from the eighth-grade trip to Washington, DC.

Jake felt like he was being pulled under a wave, churned out of control, not knowing which part of his body was going to smash the sand. He was about to look away, like they’d done last spring, but then Teddy smiled at him. It was light and easy, as if nothing had ever happened.

 

 

WHITNEY

Whitney couldn’t believe that Zoe Laybourne, daughter of Sierra Laybourne, was in her orientation group. Five people in each group, and she got Zoe!

This more than made up for the fact that her sister was her peer advisor. Who’d thought of that messed up idea? She and Alicia had the same mocha skin and hazel eyes, but other than that, they were nothing alike. Mostly, they hated each other.

Whitney recognized Zoe Laybourne as soon as she’d walked into the gym. It was surreal, seeing the long brown hair and wide-set eyes that she’d always seen in pictures. Zoe was shorter in real life, but it was definitely her. Whitney pointed her out to her new friend Laurel and some other girls. Within seconds everyone was whispering and sneaking pictures of Zoe.

As her group settled under the basketball hoop, Whitney kept her cool. She said her own name, Whitney Montaine. The two guys and that girl Mia introduced themselves. But then, when it was Zoe’s turn to talk, Whitney lost it.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she gushed to Zoe. “It’s just so—”

“Whit,” Alicia said to her. “Chill.”

Whitney felt like a moron, but then she let it slide. Maybe it sounded stuck-up, but she was used to people liking her. Alicia said someday Whitney would crash, that her life couldn’t always be so charmed. Whitney wasn’t going to let Alicia get her depressed with that kind of talk. Her mom’s friend Glenda did her braids yesterday, and she was feeling great in her skirt and gold sandals. Even her best friend, Kyra, had said she looked cute, and Kyra never complimented her. Mostly, she just whined about wanting Whitney’s clothes.

Kyra’s dad was the principal, Mr. Bauersmith. Maybe Kyra knew why Zoe Laybourne, daughter of a movie star, was in Hankinson. Maybe it had to do with that clip of Sierra Laybourne that had gone viral a few weeks ago. Oh my god! She’d been yelling at Zoe in the clip, saying things like “Let me the hell in now, Z!” and “You’re being a spoiled brat!” Whitney reached for her phone but then set it down. Alicia would murder her if she texted Kyra to ask what she knew. Her sister didn’t understand how close she and Kyra were. Back in middle school people called them Whitra. Either that or Kyrney.

Whitney checked out the freckles across Zoe’s nose. She didn’t look like a spoiled brat. She also didn’t look anything like her famous mom. Maybe Zoe resembled her dad? Whitney had read how Sierra Laybourne had never told anyone the identity of Zoe’s dad, but Zoe probably knew. It was probably just a publicity stunt.

“I’m Zoe Laybourne,” Zoe said. “I know it’s random that I’m here. I’m staying with my aunt.”

“Who’s your aunt?” Whitney asked.

“Jane Morrison. She lives on Breakneck Hill.”

“That’s so cool!” Whitney smiled at Zoe. Her mom was a real estate agent, so she’d have to ask her to look up all the info on Jane Morrison’s house. “I used to take a drama class on the hill. We live ten minutes from there.”

“Whitney,” Alicia said. “Let Zoe talk.”

“It’s okay,” Zoe said. “There’s not much to say. I got here a few days ago.” She fiddled with the buckle on her adorable orange bag. It probably cost a thousand dollars.

“Is your mom here with you?” that guy Jake asked.

Whitney was glad he said it because she was dying to know. Jake was cute with longish blond hair. When he’d introduced himself, he said he went to Loch Middle. Laurel, her new friend from summer soccer, also went to Loch. She was planning to drill Laurel about Jake, see if he had a girlfriend.

“No . . . my mom’s in Arizona,” Zoe said, smiling. She had perfect teeth and didn’t even wear braces. Whitney was counting the seconds until her braces came off.

Mr. Bauersmith clapped his hands into the microphone. “Students! Now that you’ve all introduced yourselves, you should begin talking about your ice-breaker activity.”

“Any ideas?” Alicia asked.

“What about a time capsule?” Jake suggested. “I’m into art. I could draw a picture or a cartoon for it.”

This small red-haired guy raised his hand. What was his name again? Gregor?

“We could put on a recital for senior citizens,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I play cello.”

Whitney wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t stand being around old people. They smelled icky, like mothballs and pee.

“That’s an interesting idea, Gregor,” Alicia cooed. Whitney glared at her sister. Alicia was faking nice and would no doubt make fun of Gregor and his recital later. Alicia could be brutal that way.

“I play piano,” Zoe said.

“The thing is,” Alicia said, “it’s not community service. We’re supposed to do the activity today.”

“I play piano too,” Mia said quietly. Mia had gone to Weston Middle with Whitney. She was tall and supersmart but also bizarre, like she could stare at nothing for a whole period. People said she was always stoned, but Whitney seriously doubted that.

“That’s nice to hear,” Alicia said in her fake-friendly voice.

Whitney rolled her eyes. Kyra’s dad had made that speech about how they were all going to be here in four years wearing caps and gowns, collecting their diplomas. Maybe they could do something that tied into that. . . .

“I’ve got it!” she said. “Let’s meet up again at graduation, the five of us. Right here under this basketball hoop. It’s kind of like, See you on the other side.”

“And . . . what?” Alicia asked. “That’s your whole idea?”

Whitney ignored her sister. Zoe was smiling at her, and that was all she needed. “No, what I was going to say is that we could write notes today. Letters to our future selves. We’ll seal them all together. When we meet at graduation, we can open them.”

“That sounds cool,” Jake said.

Alicia rotated her nose ring. Whitney’s dad was furious when their mom had taken Alicia to get her nose pierced. Her parents had gotten into one of their epic fights over that one.

“I don’t think I’ll be here in four years,” Zoe said. “But I can write a note.”

“Okay.” Whitney grinned. “That’s what we’ll do.”

Alicia shook her head. She was two years older than Whitney, but they’d never hung out. She hadn’t seen Whitney in action, had never seen how much people followed her.

“You,” Whitney said, pointing to Alicia, “need to find a place in school to hide the envelope with our letters.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Alicia asked.

“Ask around,” Whitney said. She reached into Alicia’s lap for paper and pens. “We need a big envelope for the letters. Can you find that, too?”

Alicia sighed as she stood up. She’d gained a lot of weight over the summer. It was like she hated Whitney for staying thin.

“Now let’s write our letters,” Whitney said.

Which was exactly what everyone did.

 

 

GREGOR

Gregor’s palms were moist, and his braces were chafing his dry lips. He’d never met a girl like Whitney Montaine. She was gorgeous and funny and also really nice.

Gregor eyed the lined paper that Whitney had just handed him. He wasn’t going to write her name, but he knew exactly what his hope and dream for high school was. Girl. Gorgeous. Funny. Really nice.

“There’s a hole inside a fire extinguisher cabinet near the stairwell in the basement,” Whitney’s sister Alicia said, looking up from her phone. “If you reach behind the fire extinguisher, you can find it. People use to stash . . . ahem . . . illegal substances there last year. But they graduated.”

Gregor glanced nervously at the others. The tall girl Mia was staring straight ahead like she hadn’t even heard illegal substances. The famous girl was smiling serenely. The only person Gregor knew from middle school was Jake Rodriguez, but he was in the popular crowd. Drugs were probably no big deal to him. Wow. Welcome to high school.

“Who told you about the space?” Whitney asked.

“Like I’d say,” Alicia said.

It was cute the way Whitney and her sister bickered, but you could see they were close. That was the opposite of how things were with Gregor’s sister. All Erica cared about were running and her sleazy boyfriend. A few times this summer Russell had slipped his hand up Erica’s shirt while Gregor was watching TV in the same room. Gregor fantasized about beating the crap out of Russell, punching his face and giving him a bloody nose. Of course, Russell was double his size and solid muscle. But a guy could dream.

When Whitney leaned over to continue writing, Gregor looked at the tan skin on her back where her shirt was sliding up. He felt pulsing deep in his gut as he imagined touching her there.

Stop!

Gregor was wearing loose shorts, but still. The last thing he needed was to be the guy with the boner at freshman orientation.

 

 

MIA

Mia watched everyone texting and talking as they left the gym. She crouched over, tugged open the laces on both her sneakers, and then slowly tied them again. She was trying not to make it look obvious that she was stalling for time. Not like it mattered. Everyone probably already thought she was weird. She knew that in middle school people said she did drugs, which was nuts. She’d never even seen drugs before.

When the gym was empty, Mia slipped out to the hallway and walked toward the basement stairs. The thought of starting school tomorrow in this huge building filled with twelve hundred people made Mia want to throw up.

Mia was tall, almost five-eight, and she hated the way she looked. Nothing was happening in the boob department, her eyes bulged, and her short hair was greenish from swimming in Sophie’s pool. It didn’t help that Mia’s mom kept saying she should do something about her appearance. Like she had any clue what to do.

When she finally reached the basement, she checked her watch. Her dad wasn’t coming for another half hour. Maybe it was dorky to wear a watch, but it was something to fixate on when she was nervous, like when Whitney’s sister made her introduce herself. She’d practically regurgitated the strawberry Pop-Tart she’d eaten for breakfast.

Mia paused at the bottom of the stairs. There it was, the fire extinguisher cabinet. Just looking at it made her heart race. She opened the glass door, angled her hand behind the shiny red fire extinguisher, and then pinched her fingers into the hole, pulling out the curled-up envelope.

On the front, Alicia had written Group Eighteen Freshman Orientation Project. Do not open until graduation!

The first letter Mia pulled out was her own.

 

Dear Mia,

To future you: I want to do well and get good grades and travel. Maybe leave the country? But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson for college. In four years I’d better have a clear escape plan.

Mia

 

It wasn’t like Mia was going to write something profound. Not if she thought people were going to see it. She set her letter on the floor and pulled out the next one.

 

Dear Gregor,

My hope and dream for high school involves a girl. I don’t even need to write her name. In four years I’ll remember who she is. I hope I make first chair cello, and I think maybe I’ll start drums. I hope I like high school. I can’t believe I’ll be eighteen the next time I read this. I’ll be driving. I’d better be going to college. If I’m not, then get your (our) act together, okay? Like, now!

Gregor

 

He probably liked someone with sun-streaked blond hair and a real bra size. Guys always fall for the obvious girls. Mia reached for the next letter.

 

Jake,

I want to buy a new phone with the money I made mowing lawns this summer, but that’s short-term. Hopes and dreams for high school: student council? Get back into sports? In four years . . . maybe I’ll go to art school like my dad. Honestly, I can’t picture what life will be like in four years. Will people still have iPads? Will all cars drive themselves? Well, this was kind of dumb. I can’t think of anything else to say.

Take care,

Jake

Jake was cute in an all-American way. Definitely out of Mia’s reach. Like she even had a reach.

The next letter was from Sierra Laybourne’s daughter. Mia couldn’t wait to tell Sophie about Zoe. Sophie went to Immaculate Conception, an all-girl Catholic school where despite the reference to egg meeting sperm, nothing exciting ever happened.

 

Dear Zoe,

I don’t know what to say. If you’re reading this someday, Whitney and Jake and the others, thanks for not making me feel like a freak today. I doubt I’ll be at graduation when you open these letters. I’ll probably be back in LA. Look me up if you come out there!

Z

 

Mia folded up Zoe’s letter. A few weeks ago she’d seen that clip of Sierra Laybourne screaming like a crazy woman and calling her daughter a brat. Even when she saw the video, before she ever imagined she would meet her, she felt so bad for Zoe. Mia would die if her mom were famous and did something like that. Mia would also die if people stared at her the way they did at Zoe today.

The last letter was from Whitney.

 

Dear Whit,

Hey, future me! I want to do well and be in school plays and travel and have fun. But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson. When I’m reading this in four years, I’d better have an escape plan.

Love,

Whit

 

Mia spread her letter out right next to Whitney’s. Mia had gone to middle school with Whitney. She was gorgeous and talented and the only popular kid who’d never made fun of her, never asked if she was on drugs.

But then this! Back at Weston Middle, no one would have believed that Whitney Montaine and Mia Flint had the same goals, that they both wanted an “escape plan.” And yet here it was. In writing.

Mia fitted the envelope back into the hole. If she had a girl crush, it would totally be on Whitney. Not that she’d ever tell that to Sophie.

 

 

JAKE

Jake: Truth or dare?

 

Mona Lisa: Hey, summer friend! Haven’t heard from you since July. And . . . truth.

 

Jake: Hey to you, too. Okay, truth. How many boys have you kissed?

 

Mona Lisa: Eight. Yes, that’s three more since I got back home to Atlanta after I saw you this summer. Do you think I’m a slut?

 

Jake: Ask me the same question.

 

Mona Lisa: How many girls have you kissed? I know that girl Marin with the candy-corn breath and someone from your Dominican heritage camp.

 

Jake: The SAME question.

 

Mona Lisa: Oh, you mean how many BOYS you’ve kissed?

 

Jake: One. A guy from my new art class. His name is Owen.

 

Mona Lisa: Does this mean you’re over Teddy? I don’t think I can spend another summer vacation at the lake with you pining over him.

 

Jake: It means I finally kissed a guy.

 

Mona Lisa: Please tell me you’re over Teddy.

 

 

ZOE

Zoe definitely shouldn’t have come to the cafeteria. At least it was just ninth-grade lunch and not the upperclassmen, too. The older kids were nymphos. Every time the bell had rung this morning, she’d had to push through packs of them grinding all over each other.

To top it off, people were staring at her in the halls. It was the same at orientation yesterday. They’d known right away who she was. She could hear them whispering about that video of her mom from London. People were saying how Sierra Laybourne had had a mental breakdown and that was why Zoe was here. Whenever Zoe heard her mom’s name, her throat tightened and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Zoe?” shouted a girl from her orientation group. It was Whitney, the bubbly one. She was waving at her. “Hey . . . Zoe!”

Whitney was sitting at a round table with two other girls. One was blond and Barbie-doll pretty. The other had black hair, blue eyeliner, and was in her math class this morning. Kyra, maybe? Zoe could tell right away that these were the popular girls.

Zoe started across the cafeteria. Most kids were wandering aimlessly with their trays, but Whitney and her friends were totally chill. Zoe sat in the empty chair and set her pizza and fruit cup in front of her. Of course she landed at the popular table on day one. That’s how it was when your mom was a celebrity. It didn’t have anything to do with you.

“I’m Laurel,” said the blond girl.

“You were in math with me,” the other girl told Zoe.

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “You’re Kyra, right?”

Kyra squealed. “She knows my name! I can’t believe she knows my name!” She screamed like she was trying to get people to look over.

A bunch of kids turned and stared at Zoe, checking out the greasy pizza on her tray. She should have gone with the salad bar.

“Shut up!” Whitney hissed. “Talk about her like she’s here!” Then she turned to Zoe. “How’s it going so far?”

“Fine, I guess.” Zoe peeled back the foil on her fruit cup.

“Is everyone being stupid because of your mom?” Whitney asked. “Not like I’m the exception.”

It was cool the way Whitney put it out there. Most people never mentioned Zoe’s mom, and yet the entire conversation revolved around her in an unspoken way.

“A little,” Zoe said. “A teacher asked if I could get him my mom’s autograph.”

“Damn!” Whitney shook her head. “They’re not supposed to do that. Who was it?”

“No big deal,” Zoe said, trying hard to breathe. Oh god. Watch one of them post that online. Then Max would call and give her the lecture: be discreet, you’re in the public eye, we have an image to preserve. She’d gotten that lecture her whole life. She could probably sing it to the tune of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Max had been her mom’s manager for twenty years, and he called the shots about everything in their lives.

“If that teacher keeps bothering you,” Kyra said, “tell me, and I’ll tell my dad.”

“Kyra’s dad is the principal,” Whitney said, sipping her water. “Mr. Bauersmith. She’s going to work the favors in high school.”

“Lucky!” Laurel said. “My dad never gets me anything.”

“Not too lucky,” Kyra said. “He’s cheesy. Did you see his mustache?” Kyra glanced at her phone and then at Zoe. “Besides, I’m not lucky like Zoe. You must get everything. Do designers send you free clothes? Do you have a chauffeur?”

The canned pear tasted sour on Zoe’s tongue. She dropped the plastic spoon onto her tray.

“Stop it,” Whitney said to Kyra.

“Whatever.” Kyra craned her head around the cafeteria. “Did you see Brock? Wasn’t he going to join us at lunch?”

“Kyra and Brock are together,” Whitney explained to Zoe.

“We just celebrated three months,” Kyra said.

Zoe pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Was she really going to have to puzzle together the friendships and couples here at Hankinson High School? None of it would matter once she went back to LA.

“Was that clip of your mom calling you a spoiled brat for real?” Kyra asked all of a sudden. “Or was it a publicity thing? I’ve heard that—”

“Kyr!” Whitney slapped her palm over Kyra’s mouth. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Whatever,” Kyra said, pushing Whitney away. “God, high school is so boring.”

To stop the tears from coming, Zoe studied the clock on the wall. She’d only been in lunch for eleven minutes.

 

 

MIA

The doorbell rang several insistent buzzes. Sophie.

“Come on in!” Mia shouted, but she didn’t get off the couch. She was indulging in her latest obsession: looking up pictures of Zoe. It was wild to type Zoe Laybourne and see images from Zoe’s toddlerhood when she clutched a panda bear, her zitty period—probably seventh grade?—all the way until the paparazzi had gotten pictures of her and her mom in the airport leaving London after that horrific video went viral. Zoe was wearing a black tank top and huge sunglasses and seemed grown-up and glamorous. That was what fascinated Mia. Like, how could that girl in the pictures be the same Zoe she saw in the halls? At school Zoe seemed small and lost, definitely not a celebrity. Too bad they didn’t end up in any classes together, because Mia would really like to bond with Zoe and help her adjust to life in Hankinson. Of course, Mia hadn’t worked up the nerve even to smile at her yet.

Sophie was knocking hard on the door and turning at the knob. Mia’s parents must have locked it when they went to the gym. Mia closed the screen with Zoe’s pictures and hopped up to let Sophie in. She’d come over early for their standing Saturday night movie date.

“Finally!” Sophie said, kicking off her sandals and glancing at the tablet in Mia’s hands. “What took so long? Were you getting your Zoe Laybourne fix again?”

Mia wished she hadn’t told Sophie about her little hobby. Even though Sophie was her closest—or maybe only—friend, Mia sometimes felt like she couldn’t trust her, like Sophie wouldn’t think twice about slinging dirt if she needed to.

“No,” Mia said. “Just doing homework.”

“They’re giving you homework already?” Sophie twisted her long sandy hair in a pile on her head. Classes at Immaculate Conception didn’t start until Monday.

Mia nodded. She’d actually done all her homework this morning. It had taken only twenty minutes. So far high school seemed like a cakewalk.

“Did you do it?” Sophie asked. She smoothed her short blue sundress around her thighs. Sophie was much curvier than Mia and already had real hips and woman boobs. Whenever she wasn’t in her school uniform, she wore minidresses. She liked to brag that guys checked out her legs. Personally, Mia thought Sophie’s thighs looked like two honey-baked hams. Not that Mia would say that to Sophie, even though Sophie didn’t think twice about telling Mia that she was a skeleton.

“Do what?” Mia asked.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Shave your legs. When we texted two hours ago, you said you were finally going to do it.”

“Oh yeah,” Mia said. She was probably the last girl in the world to shave. Sophie said it was time she stopped having hairy Neanderthal legs. “Yeah, I sort of did it.”

Sophie leaned down and swiped her hand across Mia’s bare calf. “Nice. Does it itch?”

“A little.”

“Hang on,” Sophie said, touching Mia’s other leg. “Why did you only shave one leg?”

“Oh.” Mia adjusted her shorts on her hips. They were size zero and still loose. Size-zero hips and a double-A bra. Puberty was definitely taking its sweet time. “That’s what I meant by sort of.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Why on earth would you shave one leg?”

Mia shrugged. Back when she was in the shower it had seemed like a good idea. “I wanted to make sure I liked it.”

“Liked it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess like how you wear new shoes around inside before you go outside with them.”

“You’re weird,” Sophie said. She grabbed a glass from Mia’s cupboard and poured herself some milk. Mia hated plain milk—it actually made her gag. Another way that she and Sophie were different. Sometimes Mia wondered if they’d even be friends if they didn’t live on the same street.

“Where’re your parents?” Sophie asked, setting her empty glass in the sink and wiping off her milk mustache.

“Where do you think? The gym.”

Mia’s mom and dad worked out seven days a week. That was their obsession, along with their jobs. When they left for the gym every morning or evening, Mia wondered how they could possibly tone another part of their bodies, but in general they were more robot than human.

“I’m bored.” Sophie nodded toward Mia’s parents’ room. “Want to try on your mom’s clothes?”

“Okay . . . I just have to pee.”

When Mia got back from the bathroom, Sophie was standing in front of her mom’s closet, tugging her sundress over her head. Since Sophie’s face was obscured by blue fabric, Mia stared at her boobs. They swelled out of her beige bra and formed a thin slit where they met in the center. Mia wished she could touch right there, the cleavage, to see if it felt sweaty or squishy or what.

“Should I try on your mom’s green emerald wraparound or her cocktail dress with the satin?” Sophie asked, dropping her sundress onto the floor.

Mia quickly looked away. That last thing she wanted was for Sophie to know she’d been checking out her boobs. She didn’t even know why she did that. Did it mean she was gay? Her uncle was, so maybe it ran in the family. But whenever Mia watched a movie, she thought the guys were cute, not the girls. And at school there was Brock Sawyer. Mia would give anything to kiss Brock. She couldn’t see what he liked about horrible Kyra. Kyra did not deserve someone as amazing as Brock.

Maybe it was that Mia wanted to check out other boobs until she got her own.

Or maybe boobs were interesting even if you were straight.

Or maybe Sophie was right. Maybe Mia was just plain weird.

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