The Story of Us
Authors: Deb Caletti
I wondered if love—mine
or anyone else’s—wasn't safe
anywhere near me.
C
ricket has a very long week ahead of her—her entire family has come together for her mom’s wedding, and it’s supposed to be a time for celebration. But for Cricket, the timing couldn’t be worse.
For years Cricket’s been half of the perfect couple, destined to be together forever. Now, because of what she’s done—something she would give anything to take back—Janssen has walked away. Maybe for good.
Cricket has always panicked in the face of change. Now she is forced to face her fears and decide once and for all what she wants, and how she’s going to get it. Over the course of the week, secrets will be revealed, bonds will be tested, and Cricket’s confusion—and her desires—may very well send her spiraling down a path she never thought she’d take … with no idea where it will lead her.
DEB
CALETTI
is the award-winning author of
The Queen of Everything
;
Honey, Baby, Sweetheart
; and
The Nature of Jade
, among others. In addition to being a National Book Award finalist, Deb’s work has gained other distinguished recognition, including the PNBA Best Book Award, the Washington State Book Award, and
School Library Journal
’s Best Book award, as well as finalist citations for the California Young Reader Medal and the PEN USA Literary Award. She lives with her family in Seattle. You can visit her at debcaletti.com and become a fan on Facebook.
Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Jacket photograph copyright © 2012 by Getty Images
Author photograph copyright © 2012 by Jason Teeples
SIMON
PULSE
Simon & Schuster, New York
Watch videos, get extras, and read exclusives at
the
story
of
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Also by Deb Caletti
The Queen of Everything
Honey, Baby, Sweetheart
Wild Roses
The Nature of Jade
The Fortunes of Indigo Skye
The Secret Life of Prince Charming
The Six Rules of Maybe
Stay
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
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition April 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Deb Caletti
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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.
Designed by Karina Granda
The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon.
Full CIP data is available from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4424-2346-6
ISBN 978-1-4424-2348-0 (eBook)
To my daughter, Sam, and to my son, Nick, with endless gratitude for your love, generosity, good hearts, and just plain great company throughout our own life-adventure. I love you guys so much.
And in memory of Jupiter, our beloved pal.
Thank you to my two dear, steadfast partners: my agent, Ben Camardi, and my editor, Jen Klonsky. I’m counting my blessings just thinking about you guys. Thank you as well to all of Harold Matson Company, most especially Jonathan Matson. They’ve been supporting me and my books for a good long time now, and I am grateful. Simon & Schuster, too, has always been my publishing family, and all of these folks work their tails off in the name of book love. Thank you for bringing your talent and energy to our books: Jon Anderson, Bethany Buck, Mara Anastas, Paul Crichton, Lucille Rettino, Michelle Fadlalla, Laura Antonacci, Venessa Williams, Jessica Handelman, Dayna Evans, Katherine Devendorf, Julie Doebler, Carolyn Swerdloff, Dawn Ryan, and the entire sales force, with an extra hug of appreciation to Leah Hays and Victor Iannone.
On every acknowledgment page so far I have thanked my family, and if you knew them, you’d understand why. So, to my funny, giving, and always-supportive clan, thank you for being there. And for letting me steal your stories. And for a million other things. Evie Caletti, Paul Caletti, Jan Caletti, Sue Rath, Mitch Rath, Tyler Rath, Hunter Rath, and the entire, extended clan—you are the best.
And to John Yurich, my husband, who, I swear to you, is sun and goodness every single day—thank you for the story of us. Steve and Audrey Yurich raised a fine man, and I am ever so thankful for that.
one
I found out something about myself as all those boxes piled up: I hated change. Hated it, and was bad at it. I suppose I got my feelings about change through some genetic line, because my mother, Daisy Shine, had left two husbands-to-be at the Sea-Tac Airport in order to avoid it. Imagine the spinning baggage carousel going round and round, the roaring liftoff of planes. The landings. The comings and goings. And some guy with his dreams in a suitcase, and my mother nowhere in sight.
Far as I knew, there were no airports on Bishop Rock, which was a lucky thing for Dan Jax. For all of us. I loved Dan, and this was one wedding that I … Well, I hoped she married the guy, I really did. The other ones were assholes, and she was right to leave them. But you got to wondering. You know, if she could do it. Maybe some people just had trouble with forever.
Outside, Ben beeped the horn of his truck. My brother was always on time. And, change? Whatever. He was fine with it. Jupiter—her, too. She’d see her leash and your car keys in hand, and her little butt would start swiveling in circles of joy. She didn’t know if she was going to Gram’s or to Taco Time, or if she’d land at the vet getting shots, but still there was the hopping around and the
yay, yay, yay
dog dance. She loved the ride anyway, no matter where she ended up.
But not me. What’s to love about uncertainty? Nothing. It’s scary—a big black hole of possible outcomes. Change requires bravery, and I don’t even like to walk into creepy basements alone. Sometimes I’ve even wished there was a human pause button, where you could choose some point in your life where you could stay always. Here’s the time I’d pick: my sophomore year of high school, when Janssen and I were crazy in love and my stupid brother still lived at home, and we’d all have those breakfasts on Sunday. Janssen would walk down the road and knock on the door, and Mom would be up early, and we’d have bacon and French toast, and Jupiter would sit by the table being her best self for a dropped crust. Sure, maybe things could get better than that, but things could get worse, too. I’d take it because I knew where I was then. I knew where home was. Things were sure.