Chasing Days

Chapter 1

Chapter One

☾

Sunday

2 weeks

My best friend Teddy likes to quote a famous Greek philosopher saying something like, the only constant is change. For instance, this weekend, hundreds of men and women, men and men, and women and women said I do. Early this morning, tears pierced the day for grandparents who died in the night. Today, millions of mothers and fathers will hold their newborns for the first time.

Change is a constantly unfurling ribbon of joy and heartbreak and emotion and sometimes it feels massive, overwhelming, and as if the world spins away from me and I can't keep up.

After being waitlisted, students receive notice the art school they secretly applied to sent the thick envelope-that's Teddy. I'm going to miss him so much. I worry I might miss him too much. I heard him whooping with excitement from next door and expect a call any minute.

One-minute passes. Nothing. I saw the mail delivery person stuff the envelope in their mailbox. Two-minutes. Still no call or text. He doesn't bash the front door down with excitement.

At any given moment workers are laid off, players get laid, lovers make love, and virgins lose it-except me. (Not that I'm thinking about that, but I am, actually. All the time lately.) Pirates lay siege. Treasures wash ashore. People get lost and find themselves where X marks the spot-exactly where they didn't expect themselves to be, despite what the compass said.

Cataclysmic life changes are happening now and now and now.

And here I am, dipping my spoon into a carton of ice cream, digging for the thick vein of fudge, and packing my backpack for the last two weeks of high school, waiting for my best friend to call or text or send a confetti blast of glee through the window, but he hasn't...

Change is happening.

Cataclysmic change.

I'm not sure I like it. I'm not sure I'm ready.

My cheek absorbs the cool from the window as I lean against the glass, watching the stars flicker to life. I shove the sash past the first two sticky and stubborn inches to get some fresh air. I inhale the dewy, almost-summer night.

Teddy's muffled voice, in a one-sided phone conversation, stirs the air between the walls that separate our houses.

A little sinker casts itself into the pool of my belly as I wonder why he didn't call me first. I doubt he's talking to his parents; he avoids contact with them as much as possible and vice versa. It's too late for him to be on the phone with anyone at the school, confirming, then double and triple checking that there wasn't a mistake. That it's for real. I can't imagine he'd have called H, even though her mother is also an artist and she wrote a letter of recommendation for him.

I chew my pen cap, the domed kind that has the perfect amount of give with each bite. I swap this out for another bite of ice cream and then cross an assignment off my list. Two down, one to go.

I spin in my seat and stare at the shiny new document waiting for me to declare why I'd ban Ulysses by James Joyce. For the record, I wouldn't, I'm all for freedom of speech. But Mr. Dicostanzo divided the class into two groups to write a persuasive argument for or against the novel. Unfortunately, he dumped me in the nay pile. Which is almost like a hay pile, but I'm not the needle. Just an ordinary piece of straw, kind of like the color of my hair.

I exhale, fluttering my bangs off my forehead. If I held onto even the thread of an expectation that Mr. Dicostanzo would answer my question, I'd ask, "Why couldn't we pick for ourselves whether we'd include it in the curriculum or throw the hardcover into a blazing bonfire?"