Authors: Gwendolyn Heasley

Tags: #Fiction, #Schools, #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #High schools, #Adolescence, #History, #Love & Romance, #United States, #State & Local, #Self-actualization (Psychology), #Family & Relationships, #New Experience, #Texas, #Moving; Household, #Family Life, #Southwest, #Parenting, #Family life - Texas, #Grandparents, #Grandparenting

Where I Belong (26 page)

BOOK: Where I Belong

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Holy Holly Golightly, Corrinne! Even when you are trying hard, you can’t manage to filter yourself and end up hurting your best friend.

“Oh, Kitsy,” I say. “I like it here. It’s a good life with good people like you and my grandparents and Hands.”

Kitsy gulps down her beer. “It’s only interesting for you, Corrinne,” she says, “because you’ve seen other things. I’ll never go anywhere else or even eat anywhere but Sonic or Chin’s. And now you are leaving, so I won’t even get to hear about the other places there are. Cable will become my only outlet to the world again.”

“But great things happen here,” I say, and stand up. “Broken Spoke just won State; that’s, like, every Texan city’s dream. Anyways, you don’t have to stay here for the rest of your life.”

Kitsy pushes herself up off the grass.

“I think I will be here,” she says. “That’s how it goes when you are from Broken Spoke. I’ll marry Hands, we’ll be semi-happy, and we’ll wait another fifty-two years to win another State Championship, so we can feel really happy again. I’ll be, like, a grandma by then. Meanwhile, you’ll be fabulous and successful in New York. And one day you are going to come across me on Facebook and be like, ‘Oh yeah, Kitsy Kidd.’ And then you’ll unfriend me because what’s the point of being friends with some girl you knew for four months once.”

Kitsy starts to walk back to the keg.

Where did my ra-ra, pep-and-go cheerleading friend disappear to, and who is this girl? I never realized the magnitude of Kitsy’s fear of being stuck here, but then again I never asked.

“Whoa, Kitsy,” I say, chasing after her. “You can go to college too. Maybe even in New York. We could be roommates. And then you could help me with my makeup every night. And I’ll help you with—well, I don’t know what I’ll help you with, but I’ll think of something.”

I try to grab Kitsy’s hand, but she pulls it back. Over the past fall, I’ve never seen Kitsy sad, never mind crying. And on the State Championship day. I feel like a monster.

“Really?” Kitsy says, and stops walking away.

“Yes, really,” I say, and I mean it too. I know just how unexpectedly life turns out. “Let’s go have fun. We still
have all of December and the holiday formal. And you can visit me on your spring break. I’ll get a job at school and save for the ticket. Then we can go to the city and to the MoMA, even though I hate museums. We’ll still be friends, Kitsy. If anything, I am loyal. You did meet Waverly, right? If I’d stick by her, why wouldn’t I stick by you?”

“Oh, that Waverly,” Kitsy says. “Thanks, Corrinne. I’ve got to fess up: I originally liked you only because you were from New York, but now I just like you for real.”

“I figured that,” I say, and dust the grass off my jeans. “When I got here, I wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with likable qualities. So where’s that superstar Bubby? I have a congratulatory hug for him.” And I wink at Kitsy.

“No way,” she says. “No freaking way. Now that you are leaving, you like Bubby?” she asks. “That’s absurd. Why didn’t you crush on him, like, two months ago? It would have saved me from having to hear Rider sing—or whatever he does with that mike—quite a few times.”

Kitsy keeps yapping, but I see Bubby, surrounded by half the females of Broken Spoke, at the keg.

“Hold that thought, Kitsy,” I say, and put my cup down. “By the way, we’ll always be friends. This is chapter one.”

As I am walking over to Bubby, a familiar car pulls onto the field: Rider’s car. We’ve pretty much avoided
each other since the rodeo except for two more attempts on his part to get Phil Porticelli’s number.

Rider rolls down his window: “Hey, Levi’s,” he calls out.

What I should do? Ignore him and keep walking toward Bubby, the guy who sold T-shirts for me at the rodeo? Or head for the guy who attempted to swap spit with my friend?

What I actually do: walk right up to his car.

“Hi, Rider,” I say, standing a safe distance from the car. “Big game, huh?”

Rider sighs deeply before exiting his car. “Thank God you’re here, Corrinne. I came because what else is there to do in Broken Spoke, but this scene is totally pathetic,” Rider says, looking around with a snarl. “How is everyone okay with the fact that today is going to be the greatest day of their entire lives and they are only in high school? It’s so small-town depressing.”

And I can’t blame Rider for thinking that way because I thought that way not long ago.

“I kind of know what you mean,” I concede, meeting his eyes. “But here’s the thing: So what if this is the greatest day of their lives? Or even our lives. It is magical to actually belong somewhere and get to celebrate its successes.”

Feeling part of that is worth all the stuff that led up to
this, even the part when my credit cards got frozen.

Rider inches closer. “I thought you were different, Corrinne. For a while I felt sure that we met on another level, one that wasn’t about Sonic and the field and the Spoke. I thought it was about music and connection. I guess I was wrong. Go have fun with the other Spokers. I see Bubby looking at you now,” Rider says, pointing toward Bubby and the kegs.

“I will have fun,” I say, backing away from Rider and his car. “And Rider, I don’t think it’s going to work out with Mr. Porticelli. You see, I am pretty sure he only works with musicians who actually have potential for commercial success. I am not exactly sure who your market is. There’re enough emo musicians out there. Maybe if you were a bit more hometown hottie. And speaking of hotties, I have to go,” I finish, and turn to finish my walk toward Bubby.

Okay, okay, I haven’t completely mastered the filtering concept, but Rider’s a douche bag; he totally used me.

Maybe if I read more, I would have seen that whole rocker-woos-girls-with-lyrics-and-flowers-because-he-wants-to-use-her-for-contacts cliché happening. But the thing about being in the middle of a cliché is that when it’s happening to you, the experience feels so unique that you can’t imagine anyone else has felt anything like it. Ever.

Walking toward Bubby, I wonder if he really likes me
or if it’s just another cliché: boy wants girl because girl doesn’t like him. Girl decides she does like boy, so boy no longer likes girl. What if it’s all a game to Bubby, just like it was with Rider?

But you can’t live life on the sidelines, so I saddle up next to Bubby, and I pull a key chain of Manhattan’s skyline out from my purse. I bought it at the touristy “I Heart New York” airport shop.

Dangling the chain in front of Bubby’s eyes, I say, “Here’s a charm of Manhattan from your good luck charm, Manhattan.” When he takes it from me, I add, “And you owe me big for leaving New York early to come to the game.”

Bubby admires the key chain before he slips it into his pocket. “Thanks, Corrinne. How exactly can I make it up to you?”

“You can answer a question: Why do you like me? Is it because you are used to getting what you want?”

“No, Corrinne,” Bubby says. “That’s you. And who says I like you?”

“You like me,” I say. “I know that. But now I want to know why.” And I silently add, To make sure you aren’t using me because my friend’s dad has front-row Giant tickets.

“If someone were to like you, Corrinne, I think it would be because you surprise people. You turned out to
be not who I thought you were, and I like that.”

“So you do like me?” I say, and step toward him. “How about a kiss?”

Bubby gives me an are-you-serious? look but then moves closer.

He takes my left hand in his, raises it to his lips, and he kisses it softly. I feel more like a princess than I ever have, including the six consecutive Halloweens I dressed up as one. Finally: a true gentlemen.

In front of nearly all of Broken Spoke, I kiss Bubby. As Waverly always says, public displays of affection should be left for the big moments, only the ones that change your life, like your wedding. I figure this one has to count.

Everyone, including Kitsy with her pom-poms, cheers.

“So, Manhattan,” Bubby says, “is this how the story ends? Girl gets smart and finally picks the right boy?”

“Bubby,” I say, “I have no idea how this story ends, and that’s okay.”

Acknowledgments

To my readers, thank you for taking this journey with my characters. I encourage you all to construct something to put into the world—be it a story, a picture, a song, whatever. There’s no better feeling out there.

I want to especially express gratitude to everyone who helped make a little girl’s dream into an (almost) adult woman’s reality. In my opinion, all great artistic endeavors are collaborations. There are many people whose names deserve cover space just as much as mine.

To my mediabistro class and Carla, thank you for being the spark.

To Leigh Feldman, your offer to represent me is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. And I was a pretty spoiled kid, so that says a lot. I am forever in your debt for your generosity, support, and talent.

To Catherine Onder, my amazing editor extraordinaire. You took a manuscript, which showed at best promise and heart, and you breathed life into it. I can’t ever thank you enough for the time, talent, patience, and dedication you gave to my novel. Your name deserves big billing—in bright, illuminated marquee lights—for
everything you did for this book.

To Maggie Herold, my copy editor, I’m sorry. I know I didn’t make your job easy. Thank you for polishing my rock into a gem. I wish I could somehow grant you the recognition you deserve for your role in my novel.

Thank you to all my friends. In the words of Brian Andreas, the inventor of the beautiful StoryPeople collection, “Don’t you hear it? she asked & I shook my head no & then she started to dance & suddenly there was music everywhere & it went on for a very long time & when I finally found words all I could say was thank you.”

And Leah, I like to think that somewhere you are enjoying this at least 1 percent as much as you liked
Harry Potter.

And finally, thanks Mom, Dad, and Aliceyn. You dug me a foundation of concrete, but you also helped me build wings as light as feathers. Please know that wherever I fly to, I will always return home, which has been many physical places but is always with you all.

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About the Author

Gwendolyn Heasley
is a graduate of Davidson College and the University of Missouri–Columbia, where she earned her master’s degree in journalism and studied why humans like celebrity gossip so much. When she was a little girl, she desperately wanted to be the next Ann M. Martin, so she’s grateful that the recession rendered her unemployed and made her chase her nearly forgotten dream. She now lives in New York City and eats too much mac and cheese for an adult.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Credits

Cover design by Alison Klapthor

WHERE I BELONG
. Copyright © 2011 by Gwendolyn Heasley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heasley, Gwendolyn.
Where I belong / by Gwendolyn Heasley.—1st ed.
      p. cm.
Summary: When sixteen-year-old Corrinne Corcoran’s father loses his job, she is forced to give up her privileged Manhattan lifestyle and move to Broken Spoke, Texas, where she discovers that life is more than shopping sprees and country clubs.
ISBN 978-0-06-197884-5 (pbk.)
[1. Self-Actualization (Psychology)—Fiction. 2. Moving, Household—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Grandparents—Fiction. 6. Family life—Texas—Fiction. 7. Texas—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H3467Whe 2011      2010017847
[Fic]—dc22      CIP
AC

FIRST EDITION

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