Never Eighteen
Table of Contents
Title Page
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Day One...
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Day Two...
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
The End...
Chapter Twenty-One
Memories...
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Never Eighteen Playlist
About the Author
Copyright © 2012 by Megan Bostic
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Graphia, an imprint of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,
write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,
215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Graphia and the Graphia logo are trademarks of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
www.hmhbooks.com
The text of this book is set in Garamond.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Puhlication Data
Bostic, Megan.
Never eighteen / by Megan Bostic.
p. cm.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Austin, aware that life is short, asks his best friend
and secret love, Kaylee, to take him to visit people and places in and around Tacoma,
Washington, so that he can try to make a difference in the time he has left.
ISBN 978-0-547-55076-3
[1. Conduct of life—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Sick—Fiction.
4. Cancer—Fiction. 5. Death—Fiction. 6. Tacoma (Wash.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B649555Nev 2012
[Fic]—dc22
2011001029
Manufactured in the United States of America
DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
4500334943
Dedication
To my parents, who always believed in me,
even when I didn't believe in myself.
To Rusty, without whom this story
would not have been written.
And to my daughters, Mary and Rachel.
They are my light.
Day One...
Chapter One
I had the dream again. The one where I'm running. I don't know what from or where to, but I'm scared—terrified, really. I wake drenched in sweat. Jumping out of bed, I immediately head to my computer.
I need to get some things done this weekend, and I'm running out of time. God, I hope Kaylee can help. What if she asks what I'm doing? I can't tell her, can I? No. She'd try to stop me, I'm sure of it. Shit, I hope she doesn't have to work. I should have checked. Without her Mustang, I may not be able to do this, and I want to, I need to. Otherwise, things may just continue as they always have: painful, motionless. Like treading water. You stay afloat, but you never really get anywhere. A flash, a flicker of life, that's all I want. I don't think it's too much to ask.
I sit at the computer and stare at the monitor, wondering where to begin. I need to make a list. It's hard, but soon it all comes rushing to me—people, places, things. Over and over I think of Kaylee. I want her to be there. Need her to be beside me through all of it.
I type until my thoughts die down, come to a stop. I hit Print, grab the list, and shove it into the pocket of my jacket, hanging on my closet door. I look in the mirror. I've changed so much in the last year, physically, emotionally, mentally. I may be smaller now, but my heart and mind are stronger.
These last few months I've come to realize that life doesn't wait. If we stand still it passes us by, and by the time we understand that, it may be too late. The people I see this weekend—I hope they're okay with this. I want them to take hold of it and not let go. I hope they at least listen. If they don't, it will kill me.
I grab a shoebox that's been sitting in my closet. It held the new pair of green Converse high-tops my mom bought me before the school year started. Cool shoes. I take the lid off the box and put it on my bed. I pack the box with books, CDs, pictures, my poetry notebook, things that are important to me. I won't have everything I need until Sunday night. On Monday, it goes to Kaylee's for safekeeping.
It's late, and I have a full weekend ahead of me. I put the lid back on the shoebox and place it on the top shelf of my closet. Out of sight. There's no need for my mom to find it. She wouldn't understand.
I shut off the light and climb back into bed. My body's tired, but my mind keeps working, churning. I'm anxious, nervous, thinking of what to say, what to do. Sleep comes with difficulty, but in the end, it still comes.
Chapter Two
"Where are you off to?" Mom pries, like moms do, as I head out the door, down the walk, past her. She's already outside on her knees, pulling weeds, needing to keep busy these days. It's cold out, but at least it's not raining like it usually does in the Pacific Northwest in September. It wouldn't matter anyway. She'd garden in the heat, the rain—hell, probably even the snow. Gardening is a sanctuary of sorts for her, her place to escape, her place to forget. She leans on her garden heavily these days, but I'm hoping to change that. It would be nice if she could just enjoy it again.
"Just going out for a while," I answer, still groggy. My body wanted to stay in bed longer, but my mind was ready to get the weekend started.
"Is that all you're eating for breakfast?" She eyeballs me suspiciously, nodding to the shiny red apple in my hand. I don't have much of an appetite these days, and on top of the anxiety I feel this morning, the apple seemed like the only thing I could handle.
"I'm not that hungry," I answer. She doesn't press, and her suspicious expression relaxes into one that I can describe only as love with a hint of sadness.
"When will you be home?"
"I'm not sure. Probably past dinner," I answer. I hope she doesn't grill me. Telling my mom my plans would be worse than telling Kaylee. She'd probably tell me I'm crazy, that I should mind my own business. In fact, she probably wouldn't let me out of the house. It's best to remain vague.
She stares into my eyes knowingly, smiles, and says, "Watch for cars."
I'm seventeen and my mom still tells me to watch for cars. I suppose she feels like her job is near ending, but that as long as I'm here and she's here, she has to look out for my safety and well-being. After what happened to Jake, I can't really blame her. It's true what they say: a mother's work is never done. As I continue down the walkway, then the sidewalk, I feel my mom's eyes on me until I'm well out of her sight.
Chapter Three
My first stop is Kaylee's house. She's been my best friend since third grade, since the day she started school at Skyline Elementary, the day I came to her rescue on the playground. It's also the day I fell in love with her.
She lives four blocks away. What would be an easy walk for most drains me. I ring the bell and wait. Her mom answers the door.
"Hi, Mrs. Davis. Is Kaylee here?"
"Austin, I don't know why you insist on calling me Mrs. Davis. I've already told you to call me Jen. Everyone calls me Jen. Even the girls call me Jen when they're mad at me." She laughs.
Two bad things happened in sixth
grade. One of these things is the reason I can't bring myself to call her Jen. I have too much respect for her.
"Kaylee's still in bed, Austin," she says.
"Can I wake her?" I ask.
"If you dare."
I climb the stairs, then slowly and silently open the first door to the right, Kaylee's room. I sneak in quietly, not wanting to scare her; I sit down on the edge of her bed and stare. She's so beautiful lying there, her arms wrapped around the stuffed cat I gave her for her birthday that she so lovingly named Stinky Cat. There have been so many times I've wanted to tell her I love her but couldn't. If she didn't feel the same, it would have put this weird spin on our relationship, and I would rather have her like this, as a friend, than not at all. So, I keep quiet.
Wanting to remember her right here in this moment of beauty and sleep, I pull my Cyber-shot out of my pocket. A gift from my grandmother, my camera is my most prized possession. It goes everywhere with me. You never know when you might come across something funny, or strange, or moving, or even incredible, as Kaylee is to me right now. I snap the picture. I check the digital image before it disappears. Perfection, thank God, because no second chances, as the clicking wakes her. Her bright blue eyes open slowly, blink a few times, then rest on my face. She smiles up at me, a smile I could imagine only belonging to an angel.
"Yo, Kaylee. 'Sup," I say, a private joke between the two of us. We both love the movie Superbad and have watched it together at least a million times.
"Hey," she answers. It sends my pulse racing and my spine prickling. She stretches her arms up over her head and lets out a massive yawn.
"Ew," I say. I fan my hand in front of my face, suggesting that her breath stinks. She punches me lightly in the arm.
"Are you working today?" I ask.
"No."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Whatever you're doing," she answers. My heart nearly leaps through my chest.
"Well, you better get up. We have a long day ahead of us."
"What's going on?"
"I have a million places to go. Can you drive me?"
"Sure. I'll be down in twenty," she says. She throws back her covers. I catch a glimpse of her pajamas, which are just gray UW sweat shorts and a white tank top, but still my pulse quickens again. I keep that image in my head as I go downstairs to wait.
"Hi, Aaauuuustin," Jordanne, Kaylee's youngest sister, greets me. She always pronounces my name like that, as if she has a southern drawl.
"Hi, Jordanne. How are you today?"
"Good. Whatcha doin'?" she asks.
"Waiting for Kaylee," I answer.
"Why?"
"Because we're hanging out today."
"Do you love her?" The question catches me off-guard.
"We're friends. Friends love each other."
"I'm friends with Billy Fletcher, and I don't love him."
"Maybe you're too young," I say.
She ignores the answer, continues with the interrogation. "Are you going to marry her?"
"No." That I knew for sure.
"Why?"
"It's complicated," I answer, hoping that ends it.
"Well, will you marry me, then?"
I laugh. "Let me think about it. That's a serious commitment, you know." She shrugs and runs off, giggling.
Seconds later, Maddie, the middle sister, comes barreling down the stairs in her pajamas.
"Hi, Maddie," I say. When she looks up at me, her face flushes red, and then she turns around and runs back upstairs.
I hear her screaming, "Kaylee! Why didn't you tell me Austin was here? I'm in my pajamas! God, you're such an idiot!"
I can't help but laugh. I've seen Maddie in her PJs loads of times, but now that she's thirteen and has boobs, though small ones, she must feel a little more self-conscious about it. I think both Jordanne and Maddie have crushes on me. If only their sister felt the same.
A few minutes later, Kaylee comes down the stairs, smiling, blond hair still wet from showering. She's wearing jeans and a blue sweater. She looks hot.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Ready."
"Where are you kids off to?" Mrs. Davis asks just as we're about to leave.
"Mom! Do you have to know everything?" Kaylee cries.
"It's okay," I say, touching her shoulder, then turn to her mom. "I have a few things I need to take care of this weekend. Things I've been meaning to do for a while now. I need Kaylee to drive me. We might be out kind of late. Is that okay?"
She stares me in the face with understanding, nods, and, without a word, heads back toward the kitchen.
Chapter Four
Kaylee's car, her prized possession, her baby, her red 1969 Ford Mustang. She bought that car with the money she made working at the café in the Lakewood Barnes and Noble, a job she applied for because of her addictions to coffee and books. Pride and Prejudice is her favorite. The car's not in mint condition by any stretch of the word—rust spots, torn leather interior, windshield wipers that only work on high—but it's hers. She owns it. She earned it.
More than once I've wondered if it would get us where we're going, be it Seattle, downtown, or just around the block. It hasn't failed us yet. I hope it won't today. I slide into the passenger seat, buckle my seat belt, and put my feet up on the dash, which Kaylee immediately slaps down.
"Get your feet off Candy. She doesn't like that," she says.
"Candy? Is that the name this week?" Kaylee has wanted to name her car since the day she bought it. All classic cars have names based on their personalities, she told me once. So far, this car has been Glory, China, Cherry, and Blaze. Now Candy.
"You should name it Apple," I say.
"Apple? Why Apple? That's stupid."
I pull the apple I brought from home out of my pocket, hold it up, toss it, turn it around. "Because she's red, shiny, smooth, and sweet."
"No, it's Candy. Plus, it's the same thing."
"Candy is not part of the four basic food groups," I say, chuckling, then take a huge bite.
"Sure it is. Candy, coffee, pizza, and gum, right?"
"You're such a dork," I say. She sticks her tongue out.
"You could have gotten your own driver's license, you know. Then I wouldn't have to chauffeur you around all the time."
"What's the point? Besides, I like it when you chauffeur me around."
"Whatever. Where are we going first?" she asks.
"Jake's house," I say, mouth full of apple.
"Jake's house?" she asks.
"Yep."
"Why?"
"I want to talk to his mom."
"Ooookaaaaaay," she says as she starts the car.
I touch her arm. "Wait. Turn the car off." When she does I say, "If I tell you what I'm doing, do you promise to still drive me?"
"I guess so."
"There are some things I want to do, some crazy things, some wild things, some fun things, things I've never done, things I've never seen."
"Seems like a reasonable request."
"There are also some people I want to visit. People I haven't talked to in a while."
"Like Mrs. Briggs."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That is the part I'd like to keep to myself."
"Gotcha. So we're off to Jake's then."
"Yep."
Kaylee turns the key in the ignition and shifts Candy into drive.
"Wait—one more thing," I say, pulling my camera out of my pocket.
"What?"
"We need a picture first," I say.
Kaylee leans in close, puts her arm around me. I breathe her in, smell the chewing gum in her mouth, and imagine tasting it on her lips before shaking that thought off. I hold my arm out and take a self-portrait of us. Looking at the screen, I see Kaylee made a goofy face behind me and held bunny ears over my head. So immature, yet so cute.
"Let me see," she says, grabbing for the camera.
"No. Later," I tell her. She pouts but pulls away
from the curb and heads to Jake's.
Jake Briggs lived north of Forty-Eighth Street on the west side of Pearl. Although his neighborhood is only a couple miles from our own, it's what I guess you would call the other side of the tracks—houses a little smaller, yards a little less manicured, kids a little tougher. White trash is what others call it, though I don't like the term myself.
Jake was the third of our trio. He and I had been friends since kindergarten, and he gladly accepted Kaylee when she started coming around. We had other friends, but the three of us were pretty much inseparable. I don't remember how Jake and I came together, really; we must have just clicked. We could just talk and laugh for hours at a time about nothing at all.
Everybody loved Jake. He was funny, smart; there wasn't anything not to like. Girls loved him; he was good-looking, had cool hair—as Kaylee would say, he was hot. Plus, he was good at everything: drama, music, soccer, but especially skateboarding. His skateboard was a part of him, like some freakish growth. Jake idolized Tony Hawk, spent much of his free time at the skate park, and had tons of awards proving his talent.
He had loads of practice time, being an only child to a single mom who worked more than she parented, out of necessity rather than choice. Sixteen years old, unmarried, she was abandoned by Jake's dad when she was pregnant. She had no choice but to get a job and depend on friends and family until Jake was old enough to unlock the front door himself. When he wasn't hanging out with Kaylee and me, he was out late riding that damn skateboard. Unfortunately, that thing he loved the most had a hand in his death.
One Friday night, about two years ago, Kaylee and I had gone to Jake's to watch a movie, more than likely Superbad. What can I say? We're freaks. I remember the movie ended pretty late. When we left, Jake followed us out with his skateboard.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm just going to go out for a bit until my mom gets home."
"Jake, that's crazy," Kaylee said. "It's dark."
"I do it all the time, Kaylee. Look, I've even got reflectors on my coat and my board. I'm not stupid, you know."