A Week of Mondays (42 page)
Authors: Jessica Brody
“He was. I mean, he is. I mean, I hope he will be.”
Owen's mom gives me an odd look.
“I mean, I'll go find him,” I say, backing away. She watches me curiously from the doorway as I stumble to my car.
I get in and close the door.
Where could he be?
Did he really stay at the carnival?
I pull out my phone and send him a text message.
Me: Where are you?
There's no answer. Well, I guess I'll wait here. I mean, he has to come home eventually, right?
I turn on the engine and listen to three more songs from my playlist. But with each song, I'm feeling less and less like I'm on top of the world and more and more like I've made a huge mistake.
I can't stop thinking about Owen's injured face when I ditched him at the carnival. When I told him I'd text him later and then ran off with Tristan.
The memory of it now is like a punch in the chest.
What if that was my last chance?
What if the universe only gave me one more day to get it right and I failed?
What if I wake up tomorrow and it's Tuesday and Owen wants nothing to do with me anymore?
What ifâ
My phone beeps. I fumble to pick it up and swipe it on, my fingers trembling.
Owen: I'm in your room. Where are you?
I don't even take the time to tap out a response. I throw the phone onto the passenger seat and peel out of the driveway. I get to my house in a record fifty-three seconds. I park at the curb, scramble out of the car and up the tree in our front yard.
Of course, I could use the door.
It's my own stupid house.
But I don't want to risk bumping into anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone.
The tree is a lot harder to climb than I've ever given Owen credit for. It takes core muscles that I just don't have and balance that I never thought I needed. I look across to the window. It's already open. Apparently this is how Owen got inside as well. Holding on to the trunk for as long as possible, I shimmy along the branch that connects with the house, trying not to look down for fear of losing my nerve. That's when I realize the branch I'm standing on is a lot lower than the windowsill. I peer beneath my feet, my vision blurring when I see how far above the ground I am.
Why didn't my parents build a one-story house?
I suck in a breath, rest my hands on the windowsill, and jump, using all my strength to hoist myself up and scramble inside. I tumble onto the floor of my bedroom with an
oomph
.
Owen jumps up from my bed and runs over to me, helping me up. “Are you okay? What on earth are you doing? Why didn't you use the door?”
“All we ever really get is today,” I say breathlessly.
His forehead furrows. “What?”
“That was my fortune. It said, âAll we ever really get is today.'”
“Your fortune cookie was empty. So was mine.”
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath. “No, it wasn't. I mean, yes, today it was, but yesterday, it wasn't. And the day before that it wasn't. But none of those other days matter, because all we ever really get is today.”
“Objection,” Owen says playfully. “Witness is acting irrational.”
“Objection,” I counter. “Irrelevant.”
“Objection. Absolutely relevant.”
“Permission to approach the bench?” I ask.
Owen scowls. “Huh?”
But I'm already moving. The gap between us is already closing. My arms are already wrapping around his neck, pulling him down to me. My lips already know exactly where to go.
It doesn't take long before he's kissing me back. Before his hands are on my waist, lifting me off the ground.
We topple backward, landing on the bed. It's clumsy and uncoordinated and us.
Owen pulls back and looks at me.
“Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?” he whispers, stroking my face.
I smile. “No.”
“A bloody long time.”
He dives for my lips again, kissing me hard.
And it's good.
And it's like falling.
And I hear music. The kind you can dance to. The kind that drowns out the rest of the world. Because when you find what you're looking forâwhen you finally get it rightâeverything else is just noise.
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7:04 a.m.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Bleary and disoriented, I pull my heavy eyes open and stare at my phone. It's sitting on my nightstand, the screen lit up from an incoming text.
My hands are shaking with anticipation as I reach for it and swipe it on.
When I see the message waiting for me, a heavy weight drops into the pit of my stomach, making me want to throw up.
I can't stop thinking about last night.
No. It can't be. This isn't happening. It's a dream. It's just a bad dream.
I slap my cheeks, trying to wake myself up.
Please,
I beg silently, then I say it aloud, “Please!”
I shut my eyes tight, then open them again. The screen slowly comes back into focus. That's when I first notice the sender's name.
Owen.
I bolt upright.
Owen?
I blink three times and look at it again, certain I must have misread it.
But the name doesn't change.
Owen is the one texting me? Not Tristan?
I glance around my room, searching for evidence, but everything looks the same. I paw at the screen of my phone, scrambling to get to my calendar. I need to see the date. I need to be one hundred percent sure. But before I can open it, another text arrives.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
With my heart in my throat, I click the message. It's from Owen. And it says:
Happy Tuesday.
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Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: A million billion gazillion thanks to Janine O'Malley, Brendan Deneen, and Mitchell Kreigman for letting me tell Ellie's story to the world.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: Crazy-huge and blindingly shiny thanks to Jim McCarthy, a superhero in disguise as an agent. (Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.)
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: Thank you to the stellar hardworking people at MacKids who keep believing in me book after book and who keep making it all look so easy (even though I know it's not)âMary Van Akin, Angie Chen, Joy Peskin, Allison Verost, Molly Brouillette, Angus Killick, Simon Boughton, Jon Yaged, Lauren Burniac, Lucy Del Priore, Liz Fithian, Katie Halata, Holly Hunnicutt, Kathryn Little, Stephanie McKinley, Mark Von Bargen, and Caitlin Sweeny.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: Elizabeth Clark, you continue to blow my mind with your staggeringly brilliant cover designs. You really outdid yourself this time! Thank you!
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: Thank you to Terra Brody, who makes everything more stylish ⦠even my characters. And to my insanely supportive parents, Michael and Laura Brody.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: Squishy hugs to my pups, Honey, Gracie, Bula, and Baby! If you don't understand why they deserve their own thanks, follow me on Instagram. You'll get it.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: As always, thanks to Charlie. If I had a week of Mondays, I'd spend them all with you.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Jessica Brody: The biggest, bubbliest, giddiest thank-you goes to my readers. There will never be a day of the week when I'm not grateful for you. There will never be a book where I don't tell you that.
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A
LSO BY
JESSICA BRODY
The Unremembered Trilogy
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Jessica Brody
knew from a young age that she wanted to be a writer. She started “self-publishing” her own books when she was seven years old, binding the pages together with cardboard, wallpaper samples and electrical tape. Brody graduated from Smith College in 2001 with a double major in Economics and French and a minor in Japanese. She went to work for MGM Studios as a Manager of Acquisitions and Business Development, and then, in 2005, she quit her job to follow her dream of becoming a published author. Brody is the author of two novels for adultsâ
The Fidelity Files and Love Under Cover
âand the young adult novels
The Karma Club and My Life Undecided
. Jessica's books are published in over ten foreign countries including the U.K., France, Germany, Czech Republic, Russia, Brazil, China, Portugal, and Taiwan. She now works full time as a writer and producer, and currently splits her time between Los Angeles and Colorado. You can sign up for email updates
here
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CONTENTS
You Better Slow Your Mustang Down
They Call Me Mellow Yellow (Quite Rightly)
It's Easy to Trace the Tracks of My Tears
Who's Bending Down to Give Me a Rainbow