While I’m waiting, I walk over to the hair-care aisle to see if she’s been restocked. At first I can’t find her, start to panic. I remind myself it’s okay, that this is just a mind-made form of her, not the real person, which is impossible to capture in an image or the words of anyone else’s fuzzy recount, including mine. Especially mine. Anyway, I’m still relieved when I find the box. Hi, Mom. I miss you. You were right about Abram.
A few minutes later, prescription in hand, I walk out the automatic doors and find him leaning down and petting my dad’s early Christmas present: a golden retriever rescue we named Whale. The dog is alternating between looking up at the glowing Redbox screen in front of him, and becoming obsessed with licking off the lotion I applied to Abram’s redeveloping tennis calluses earlier. Something’s wrong with him. I feel like Whale wants to film the canine version of Prescription for Love with Abram’s dog and then rent it repeatedly, unable to control himself, just as his crazy dog-mother couldn’t. As soon as he’s past these tricky teen-dog years, I’ll let him make the best decision of his life, at CVS, too.
ABRAM
YEP, I’VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG, in and out of the store, visiting with Whale the dog, watching my girl be nice to Mindy from the vitamin section. Juliette invited me this time; extended the invitation twenty minutes ago, in my basement. We drove separately, thinking we’d re-create the magical awkwardness of that night we first chatted, but primarily so she could get some solo driving practice. I followed behind her to make sure she did okay, and, hmm, she almost turned left into the wrong lane, accidentally rolling up onto the grassy median that divides the road. She recovered nicely, but she has a ways to go before she’s ready to merge onto any highways.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“Just one second,” I say, standing up and digging into my pocket.
It’ll be tough to compete with Ben Flynn’s early Christmas present, especially when Juliette doesn’t want me to get her anything out of fear she’ll hate it and accidentally hurt my feelings. Meanwhile, she keeps ordering stuff online with her dad’s credit card and having it shipped directly to my basement’s sliding door, per the extra-specific instructions on the package. The SHIPPED FROM address is a PO Box, the shipper’s name ANONYMOUS, but it’s got her Secret Santa signature written all over it. So far, she’s gotten me linen sheets for the dorm-room bed she’s acting like she won’t be spending a lot of time in but really will, and new strings for my racquet with the latest in obnoxious lefty-spin technology. Already played with them at the club a few times, in preparation for my comeback this spring. My dad would’ve loved them. And he really would’ve loved the reason why I’m playing again: not because I think it’s what he’d want me to do, but because I want to do it.
“You didn’t buy me anything, did you?” she asks, as I hide it behind my back.
“It’s more of a graduation present than a Christmas gift.” The dog is sniffing at my hands, trying to decide whether to eat the remaining lotion or my surprise. I bring it around to show Juliette.
“Big Red,” she says, accepting the gum with visible relief. Then she turns the package over and finds the tickets. Two of them, naturally, for a European cruise this summer. Wiped out my mom’s Abram’s College Gift fund, but the whole cruise aspect was Mom’s idea, because she thinks it’ll make her worry less about my safety, as well as my tendency to lose important documents.
I put my hands in my pockets, rocking back and forth as I say, “We’ll avoid Moscow, check out Paris for a few days, and we’re less likely to get mugged in a dark alleyway on a boat.”
“My hero.”
“Plus, we’ll be closer to home.”
She nods, knowing I mean the ocean.
“They’re refundable, in case you change your mind.”
“I’m done changing my mind,” she says firmly. Then she smiles, leans forward, and lets me revisit the feeling of her lips on mine, which will never get old, even when we’re old, gray whales.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jay Clark is the author of The Edumacation of Jay Baker, which was named a Bank Street College Best Book. He’s also a random blogger. Surprisingly popular entries like “How to stop hating people in 21 minutes” and “8 tips for posting your best selfie yet!” can be found on his website: jayclarkbooks.com. He lives in Columbus, Ohio. Sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
Henry Holt and Company ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Jay Clark
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
Publishers since 1866
Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
macteenbooks.com
All rights reserved.
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
First hardcover edition 2015
eBook edition March 2015
eISBN 9780805096385