The Day Before
ALSO BY LISA SCHROEDER
I Heart You, You Haunt Me
Far from You
Chasing Brooklyn
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse hardcover edition June 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Lisa Schroeder
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Schroeder, Lisa.
The day before / Lisa Schroeder.—1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Amber, hoping to spend one perfect day alone
at the beach before her world is turned upside down, meets and feels a
strong connection to Cade, who is looking for his own escape, for a very
different reason.
ISBN 978-1-4424-1743-4
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3.
Beaches—Fiction. 4. Family life—Oregon—Fiction. 5. Oregon—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.5.S37Day 2011
[Fic]—dc22
2010034567
ISBN 978-1-4424-1745-8 (eBook)
This one is for all of you
who feel the fear and do it anyway,
in writing and in life.
You inspire me!
The Day Before
Contents
Acknowledgments
A Different Kind of Day
Ready, Set, go
Practice Makes Perfect, I Hope
Good Morning
Three Years Ago
Only Good Things
There is Only One Sky
My Mom
Not Today
Sorry, Mom
How it Has to Be
Fill My Soul
Missing you, Madison
Morning Waves
Like a Painful Song
Two Years, Nine Months Ago
Treasure Hunt
Mixed Feelings
My Heroes
Beautiful Boy
Like
Something Special
Ah, to Be a Snail
Secrets
A Keen Observation
Two Years, Six Months Ago
Shocking
Never Before
Trapped
Radio for Help
What a Feeling
Hold on
Ninety-Nine Degrees
Spread the Luck
Well … We Both Watch Movies
Off-Limits
Observant
Special
My Turn
Two Years, Three Months Ago
His Turn
No Place Better
Gonna Build us Some Fun
From Nothing Comes Greatness
Waiting to Be Rescued
Surprise
Secret Revealed
The Story
One Year, Six Months Ago
No Choice
Where’d that Come From?
Lucky Me
More than Just Pictures
Spooked
Tell Me your Story
Sinking
Whatever it Takes
Yes, it’s Really Me
Our Next Destination
One Year Ago
Not all that Sweet
Through Death you Appreciate Life
Don’t Think the Worst
Relax
I Heart Ghosts
Haunted Indeed
Hold on
Sorrow in the Air
Nine Months Ago
In the Moment
That’s Better
Eight Arms and a Hundred Questions
20/20
RSVP
Look Around
Release me
Holding the Line
Please Try
Worth a Shot
Soaking Wet
Nine Months Ago
Unexpected
Three’s a Crowd
Sugar and Spies
I’m Lucky
Six Months Ago
Extraordinary
Some Friendly Insight
Me and Him
Dark Thoughts
Our Day
Six Months Ago
Caught
A Good Son
Together Again
Unnecessary
That’s More Like It
Piling it on
Hints of Truth
Six Months Ago
More Surprises
Where I Belong
Music is Such an Aphrodisiac
Take me there
One Month Ago
Me and you
The Feeling’s Mutual
So Much Goodness
A Dream Come True
Kissing
Wrap me up
Burning Bright
Don’t you Know?
Smoke and Mirrors
Let Chance Decide
I Surrender
Two Weeks Ago
Two Weeks Ago
Taking Control
Going, Going—Where?
The Reveal
His Story
Dangerous
Taking Chances
Go Away
The Truth Hurts
What if
One Week Ago
A Familiar Place
A Discovery
Alike More than Different
Imagine
An Agreement of Sorts
Sweet Dreams
Messy
Crunch Time
Three Days Ago
Stronger than I Thought
Hearts in the Sand
Here We Go
The Road Back
I Want the Happy Ending
Getting Closer
And Closer
One Day Ago
Thank you, God
That’s What it is
Is that a Promise?
Parting is Just Plain Sorrow
He’s a Good Example
Two Weeks Later
Acknowledgments
Annette Pollert, thank you so much for your enthusiasm and all of your work to make this book the best it could be. On every page you pushed me—kindly and gently—but you pushed, and for that I’m incredibly grateful.
Sara Crowe, I cannot express how much I appreciate your rock solid support and belief in me. A million times, thank you.
Cindy Hanson of the Oregon Coast Aquarium, thank you for your help with my research. Any errors in regards to your fantastic facility are mine, and mine alone.
Bryan Bliss, thanks for asking around and helping me check very important facts. It’s
true—you’re awesome.
Finally, I want to thank all of my fans who lift me up with kind words and deeds. People like Maddie, Alex, Kathleen, Sara, Jack, Alyson, Candace, Avonlea, Teresa, Hailee, Skyanne, Anna, Maryanne, Elizabeth, Jessica, Katie, James, Emma, Jasmine, Kristen, Lauren, Delaney, Savannah, and many other wonderful people. Your support means the world to me, really and truly.
a different kind of day
Some mornings,
it’s hard to get
out of bed.
Sleep lures you
like a stranger
with a piece of candy.
Follow me.
It will be okay.
I promise.
You know better,
but still you follow,
because you really do
love candy.
When you finally
open your eyes,
late for everything
and your whole day
screwed,
you curse that bastard,
Mr. Sandman.
It’s happened to me
a hundred times.
But not today.
Today was different.
Anticipation is the best
alarm there is, and it shook
me awake before
my phone even had
the chance.
As I move around my room
with my iPod on and earbuds in,
my girl P!nk sings strong,
and I feel like I have
superpowers.
The power to
let myself go,
let myself be,
let myself live
the next
twenty-four hours
in a way
I have never lived
before.
ready, set, go
In the bathroom
I get myself ready,
quiet as a sunrise.
I grab my backpack
containing
the essentials—
extra clothes,
just in case;
my drumsticks,
just because;
my camera,
just for fun;
and a box of jelly beans,
just like always.
I s l i n k
into the dark kitchen,
clutching the note
I wrote last night.
I thought of everything.
The note goes in front
of the food-splattered
Betty Crocker Cookbook
that sits on a stand
in the middle of the counter,
like a revered queen on her throne.
The hardest part
is unlocking the door,
walking out,
and leaving it all behind me.
There’s a moment
when the dead bolt clicks
and I
freeze,
waiting to hear
if footsteps
will follow.
The footsteps don’t come,
so I go.
practice makes perfect, I hope
So long.
Good-bye.
See ya later.
Every day
for the past month,
when I’ve left the house,
I’ve tried to pretend
it was the day.
So long, Mom.
I’ll think of you
when I watch movies,
see birds in the sky,
and read all your motherly notes
that I’ve saved over the years.
Good-bye, Kelly.
I’ll think of you
when I hear a violin’s song,
see a pile of library books,
and remember all the secrets we’ve whispered
since we were small.
And even though
he doesn’t live here anymore,
I still say to him,
See ya later, Dad.
I’ll think of you
when I hear about the latest techie gadget,
watch a Mariners’ game,
and bravely confront the spiders
you used to battle for me.
Today I think the words.
Tomorrow they’ll expect me to say them.
I hope I can say them.
good morning
The chilly air
slides its arms around
my warm, anxious body,
and as I breathe in
its faint floral scent,
I feel myself begin
to relax.
While Mom watched
the news last night,
I stayed and watched too,
instead of retreating
to my drum set.
The weatherman said
it’s supposed to be nice today.
A sunny day in March,
a rare treat for Oregon.
Next week is spring break.
It’ll be raining by then.
Sure as Mom will be
curled up on the sofa
with her afghan,
drinking tea by the gallon,
watching movie after movie,
and hoping,
wishing,
praying for an escape
from the heartbreak,
it will
r
a
i
n
I walk down the sidewalk
of Englewood Avenue.
Ten years of memories
line the street
and wave.
Images
of riding bikes,
jumping rope,
playing hide-and-seek
swarm my brain
like bees.
I shake my head and walk faster.
When I turn the corner,
the limousine is waiting.
The driver says, “Good morning.”
My response to him
is quick and awkward,
the way it is
when I have to say
those words to someone
I don’t know.
And then I tell myself,
You better get used to it.
Three years ago
Dear Amber,
It breaks our hearts that you don’t want to meet us. We are hurt, but we also understand that it is a bigshock. Perhaps you just need more time to get used to the idea.
We think about you every day, and have so manyquestions for you. What do you look like? What activities do you enjoy? What foods are your favorite?
I will tell you a little bit about us, and maybe as we move toward meeting one another, it will help you to not be so afraid.
The most important thing to know about me is that I love children. I have been a child-care provider for over twenty years. I get notes from parents telling me those first children I cared for years ago are now doing well in college!
Allen also loves children, and has spent his life working in the educational system, as a teacher, a vice principal, and now, for the past few years, a principal. He is the kindest man you’ll ever meet. He has a big heart with a huge capacity to love.
We’d love to hear from you. Please write back? I’ve enclosed our contact information along with our picture. I thought you might be curious about us the way we are curious about you.
We really hope to hear from you.
Love,
Jeanie and Allen
only good things
I don’t have to tell the driver
where we’re going.
He knows.
I arranged this weeks ago.
Since there’s no bus
that goes to the beach,
my choices were
a taxi or a limo.
I chose the limo
because the next
twenty-four hours
are not about
holding back,
being cheap,
thinking hard,
taking crap,
feeling bad.
They’re about
being me,
loving life,
finding joy,
playing hard,
taking risks,
and who knows what else.
To plan it all
would take away from
the fun and excitement
of what’s to come.
Let the day
reveal itself to me
in its own time,
in its own way.
I am yours, Today.
I am yours.
there is only one sky
As we head west,
the sun begins to rise
behind us,
turning the sky
sweet shades
of pink and orange.
The sky makes me think
of my mother.
When, as a curious five-year-old, I asked her
why she chose my name,
she explained
Amber means “sky”
in another language.
“You, sweetheart,”
she told me,
“you are my sky.”
I remember her answer
because I didn’t know
what it meant
to be someone’s sky.
As I stare out at
the body of blueness
splashed with orange,
pink, and white streaks,
so magnificent
I want to tuck the entire
masterpiece into my bag
and keep it forever,
I finally understand.
my mom
If I am her sky,
she is my sun.
Warm,
bright,
and
ever present.
Even in the darkness,
I am comforted knowing
she is there,
always there,
even if I can’t see her
or feel her.
While I play
loud and strong
on my drums,
she walks
quiet and soft
in the woods.
She looks for birds,
marks them in her book,
and finds joy in
discovering the new.
Peace and quiet,