Chapter 1 #2
We exchanged a few texts over the summer, but she didn’t offer up any photos, and I didn’t ask.
I’ve been off social media ever since the accident, so she’s probably just as curious about me as I’ve been about her.
I googled myself once, just to see what she might find.
But luckily, none of the news outlets were allowed to use my real name since I was a minor at the time.
I’ve got a clean slate, exactly what I wanted.
I can’t waste it.
When she pulls back, I force a smile I don’t quite feel to my lips. This is the new me. The happy, easy, friendly me with no dark past, no sob story, no baggage. If I fake it long enough, maybe one day it might actually be true.
“You look exactly how I pictured you,” she says, gaze darting from my dimples to my brown hair, cataloging every detail, not with judgment, more as if she’s trying to commit them all to memory.
She bites her lip when she’s done, a blip of uncertainty passing over her features before she sighs.
“Okay, this is probably going to sound crazy, but I’m just going to get it over with.
My name isn’t Nova Smith, like the university sent you.
It’s Nova Monroe. My parents are sort of, well, famous, so they decided to send a fake name as a precaution.
That’s probably why you couldn’t find me online.
I promise I wasn’t being a total bitch not friending you or following you or anything.
I just don’t really do that stuff because my name is already out in the public and I have absolutely no desire to be famous. Like, at all.”
She cringes back and squints as if bracing for impact.
“Cool, me neither.” I shrug. “I turned my Instagram off a year ago and I have no regrets.”
“Excellent.” A moment of silent agreement passes between us. I won’t ask about her famous parents. She won’t ask why I went off-line. We’ll exist to each other how we want to, no outside factors at play.
It’s exactly what I wanted.
It’s also terrifying.
My stomach flips, a burn surging up my throat as unexpected anxiety spikes. What if I’m not enough?
I met Mabel in preschool. We were inseparable since we were three, always by each other’s sides.
I’ve spent the past year without her practically in hiding.
And before that, she did most of my living for me.
I went where she told me. I hung out with whoever she wanted to hang out with.
I have no idea how to be on my own, who I am without her to guide me.
It’s part of the reason we clung so tight—I needed someone to lead, she needed someone to follow.
We fit comfortably in those roles, until suddenly, we didn’t.
“I hope you don’t mind I took this bed.” Nova fills the silence, casting a furtive glance toward her side of the room.
I can’t help but notice the soothing view of evergreens outside her window.
“My brother’s an athlete, so I moved in a week early with him, and I still can’t believe this happened, but”—she pauses to scoff and roll her eyes—“his room is literally directly across from us, and I can’t spend an entire year staring through his window. It’s too creepy.”
“That’s his room?” I blurt, unable to stop myself from immediately looking over. The lights are off, and as far as I can tell, it’s empty.
Nova moans into her palm. “It’s awful, right? Maybe we just agree to keep the blinds closed at all times. I will die if I accidentally catch him having sex. Like, die. For real.”
A laugh surges up my throat, erupting more like a snort, as if my body forgot how. “Is he your twin or something?”
“Yeah. Imagine me, but a foot taller and way less fun. I’ll introduce you guys later. Do you need help unpacking?”
“Oh.” I turn and look at the stack of boxes and luggage taking up the bulk of my half of the room. “I guess?”
“Great! I’ll do your closet. I love organizing clothes. My mom always gets tons of things sent to her, and without me, it’d probably never leave the foyer.”
I bite my tongue as curiosity niggles. We have a deal. I won’t be the one to break it. “Is that what you want to study?” I ask instead as she unzips my first suitcase. “Fashion?”
“No. Maybe? I don’t know. I’m such a cliché.
These are cute.” I look up from my box full of school supplies.
She’s holding up my favorite pair of ripped jeans.
Before I can say thanks, they’re folded, put in a drawer, and she’s on to the next pair.
“I have no idea what I want to do with my life. All I know is I want to be normal. Have a normal job, with a normal husband and a normal family. No drama. No tabloids. No press. Just…” She sighs wistfully. “Normal.”
After the year I’ve had, normal sounds pretty perfect, but I can’t quite match it to her.
The pieces don’t fit. I’ve only known her for five minutes, but already, the term normal seems totally incongruous to who she is.
Her bubbly personality. Her outgoing excitability.
She’s the type of girl born to stand out.
“What about you?” she asks. “Do you know your major?”
“Marine biology,” I answer swiftly, ignoring the sudden bolt of heat spiking down my chest. Fear. Anxiety. Imposter syndrome. I push it all away as I arrange the notebooks on my desk, afraid if I look up, she’ll see the truth in my eyes.
“That’s so cool! I didn’t even know they had that here, being, well, Upstate New York and all. I would’ve thought, like, Hawaii.”
“They actually have a great program,” I explain, the words coming easily, since I’ve said them so many times.
Mabel used to push, and push, and push. Come to California with me!
Please, please, please! We can study on the beach.
We won’t need winter coats. We can get out of here.
That was what she always wanted. To leave.
To escape. To be somewhere else. But I like knowing my mom is only a short drive away.
I like having four distinct seasons. I like having that little bit of familiarity, that sense of security.
I like feeling safe. “Professor Carson, the head of the biology department, worked on the Great Barrier Reef for twenty-five years before moving back here and opening her lab. I heard it had something to do with taking care of a sick family member. But she created this amazing exchange program with a sister school in Australia for marine biology majors. There are only two spots, but if I get one, I can spend my junior year abroad, studying down there.”
“That’s awesome! Australia is amazing.”
“You’ve been?”
“A few times.”
I pester her with questions, my eagerness overtaking my insecurity. Sure, the idea of moving halfway around the world in two years is completely nerve-racking. But marine biology is probably the only force in my life bigger than my fear.
Turns out that whatever her famous mom does, it involves a lot of travel.
Nova’s been all over the world. France. Italy.
Thailand. Japan. We spend the next two hours in a nonstop stream of conversation, moving from one country to the next, then from one topic to another.
Even though we don’t have much in common, it feels easy.
She’s planning to join the Drama Club. I’m a wannabe scientist. She’s from LA.
I grew up outside of Albany. She’s into music.
I watch nature documentaries. Her parents are divorced.
Mine are deeply in love. When I ask her what brought her to Swiftmore, we finally connect on a poignant level.
Her mother grew up close by, and Nova spends every summer at her lake house.
She’s wanted to come here for her entire life.
It feels like home, she says. She loves the seasons, how outdoorsy the campus is, how isolated it is from the rest of the world.
“College is new enough, you know? I wanted to be somewhere that felt at least a little familiar. I wanted that bit of comfort, so I’d feel safe enough to explore everything else, if that makes sense?”
It does.
It makes too much sense. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, aching and angry.
I place my palms against my mattress, taking a break from unpacking as I count to four and breathe.
My gaze lifts to the photo I tacked to the wall of Mabel and me—thirteen years old, heads pressed together, blonde and brown hair a halo around us.
We’re smiling with ice cream melting over our lips.
It’s the last time we really fit like two pristine puzzle pieces, not yet rippled and warped at the edges.
She never got it.
She never understood.
And somehow, Nova already does.
“Plus,” she continues, unaware, “my mom practically blackmailed my brother into coming here too, so—”
“Oh, thank god,” a new voice interrupts and I spin. A girl fills our doorway, tall and lean with long legs, warm blue eyes, and the curliest blonde hair I’ve ever seen. “I finally found some estrogen in this place. Have you been in our hallway? I swear, the entire house is all guys.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nova says with a smirk.