One Trip Around the Sun
Copyright © 2015 by Amy Roe
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Cover Art by Kellie Dennis, Book Cover by Design,
www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
“Why did you do that?” I flip over my iPad, pointing the camera in the direction of the pink polka-dot corkboard where my calendar hangs. I’ve only just noticed that a pink heart is drawn over June 18. “I don’t need a reminder for my own birthday.”
“Who says I did it? Maybe someone slipped into your bedroom while you were sleeping.”
Chelsea Benson and I met in third grade when we were paired up in PE to run a three-legged race together on Field Day. We lost the race, but we’ve been inseparable ever since. When we aren’t in the same room, we’re talking on the phone, instant-messaging, or texting.
“Ha, I’m not that lucky.” I flip over to my stomach and prop my iPad on a pillow, so we can still see one another.
I’ve never snuck anyone into my bedroom, and I probably wouldn’t have the nerve to do it even if someone wanted to be snuck in. Incidentally, at the moment, no one does.
On June 18, I’ll turn seventeen. Looking at the calendar, all I can do is wonder where the hell the time has gone. “Where did the past year go? I thought sixteen was
the
year to make memories, Chels, but it was a total disappointment.”
Out of three hundred sixty-five days, fifty-two weeks, twelve months, or one trip around the sun, I figure I would have something worth remembering.
It’s late evening, and the view on the other end of the iPad is becoming dim, so when I see a flash of light on Chelsea’s face, I know right away what she’s doing.
“Stop it!” I hold my hand up to block the webcam.
“What? I didn’t do anything,” she lies.
“You’re taking screenshots of me. Just knock it off!” I flip the camera again, so she’s forced to look at the darkness that is the back of my pillow.
“Dude, you look like a pinup model right now.” She sits up in her bed and yells, “Connor!”
“You’re on crack, Chelsea,” I mumble before burying my face in my comforter.
I hardly look like any sort of model. I guess it helps that she can’t see that I’m wearing my brother’s worn-out Iron Maiden T-shirt and size-nine denim shorts. Chelsea, on the other hand, is a size five with legs that go on for miles. She’s the one who looks like a model. Her extra-small T-shirts wouldn’t even fit over my boobs. If that isn’t enough, she has natural golden-blonde hair and big blue eyes. This is a stark contrast to my long amber hair and matching eyes that are too big for my face. According to her—if I were to believe her—I’m so beautiful that guys are afraid to approach me, and I’m curvy, not chubby. I call bullshit.
“Reese, baby.” Connor’s face appears on my iPad, and I flip the camera again, so he can see me.
He and Chelsea have been going out for six months, and since summer break started, he’s always with her. It’s been putting a little cramp in our BFF time.
“Hey, Connor. What’s up?” I cross my arms and lay my head down on them as I talk to him.
“Doesn’t she look like a pinup model right now?” Chelsea encourages his pervy behavior in the background.
“Mmhmm…babe, you’re so fucking hot!” He narrows his eyes, licks his lips, and checks me out until I flip my blanket over myself.
“Stop, you freak!” Embarrassed, I hide my face in the blanket.
“You’ve got the goods, girl!” He always says that to me.
Whatever.
“Okay, go away now!” I peek back at my iPad to make sure he’s gone. When I see Chelsea’s face, I relax and kick off the blanket. “Seriously though, what did we do this past year?” I whine.
Neither of us says a thing for a good minute or more. I look around the room and at the ceiling as I scan my memories.
“Nothing exciting I guess. We talked about doing lots of things,” Chelsea replies.
“That’s all we did though—talk.” I’m so disappointed.
Chelsea walks across her bedroom and into the bathroom. “Well, the good thing about that is, tomorrow, you get to start another year. So, what do you say we make seventeen
the
year?”
Immediately, I get butterflies in my stomach from just thinking about some of the memories that I’d like to make. “Okay, yeah. Let’s make seventeen
the
year!” I’m now staring at the ceiling in, I assume, her bathroom. “Really, Chelsea?” I should probably just be happy that she had enough decency to lay the iPad down before she peed.
“Yeah, really. Let’s go get coffee.”
I’m always up for a coffee run. I yank my hair tie, freeing my insanely curly hair from the messy bun that it’s been trapped in all day, and I run a brush through it. I slip my shorts off and throw on a pair of jeans but leave on Kyle’s Iron Maiden T-shirt. Flying down the stairs, I jump from the third step to the landing with a loud thud.
“Nice shirt, Reese,” Kyle says.
I cross the family room and enter the kitchen. I grab my car keys off the bar and stand next to the back door while slipping my feet into my Toms.
“It was in my pile.” I smile, knowing that he really doesn’t care.
“Make sure it finds its way back into my bedroom and not to Chelsea’s shrine, will you?” He takes another bite of cereal.
I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk in front of our house and hop into my car. Chelsea has had a crush on Kyle since the day we met. When we lost that race on Field Day, he was the first person at my side, telling me how good we did, and that was all it took. Over the past nine years, she has lifted things out of his room whenever she comes over. T-shirts, guitar picks, photos, a pillowcase, and other miscellaneous things are tacked to a wall in her bedroom, and we’ve dubbed it The Shrine. It’s just strange, but so is Chelsea.
It’s a perfect evening. The telltale signs of a small-town summer in Clinton, Wisconsin, are all present as I drive across town. Kids are passing a football back and forth on a side street, the smell of a bonfire is filling the air, and moms are pushing strollers as they enjoy a walk with their friends. Between being born and raised in this town and working at the daycare, I know mostly everyone who lives here, and I spend the drive waving at people as I pass by.
I spot Chelsea’s car and park in the spot next to it.
Walking into the coffee shop, I’m smacked in the face with the delicious smell of brewed coffee. I am a coffee addict. I can drink it all day. I would like to bathe in it and then slather coffee-scented lotion all over myself. I actually think about Googling that when I get home. Surely, someone sells coffee-scented lotion.
I spot Chelsea waiting for me at a table by the window. Two coffees are sitting in front of her, and she’s already flirting with a guy at the next table. Amused, I shake my head.
She engulfs me in a hug when I reach her. “Happy birthday!”
“My birthday is tomorrow, Chels.”
“It’s your birthday weekend. You get to celebrate the entire weekend.” She lets go of me and steals a glance at the guy she was talking to.
“Oh, okay!” I roll my eyes and slip into my seat. “Know him?” I pull the lid off my coffee before taking a sip, and then I check a message that I got while I was driving.
“Yeah, he goes to The Pit.” She glances between the two of us before finally giving me her undivided attention. “So, what are you doing tonight?” Chelsea asks with a grin that promises she’s expecting me to do something with her.
Knowing her, it’s probably something I don’t want to do. My phone vibrates, drawing my attention away from Chelsea.
I look down at my phone and then back up to her. “Apparently, I’m going to my gramma’s.” I hold up my phone for her to see the text that my mom just sent me.
“After your gramma’s, go to The Pit with me,” she pleads.
“No!” I totally expected her to suggest that.
The Pit is just outside of town, a few miles back in the woods. Every weekend, high school kids invade the big clearing down by the river. They sit around a huge fire pit and listen to music while they drink, smoke, and make out. I think ninety percent of the girls in this town have lost their virginity down there.
