No Place Like Home Page 13

  His face doesn’t give me any hint of what he’s thinking. I turn to Ashia, who gives me a shrug and a silent I can never figure him out.

  “Bren, say something.” I tap him on the shoulder. “Please tell me you’re not wishing I was leaving after all.” I’m positive I’m a stronger version of who I was six weeks ago, but he’s making it hard to stand here and wait.

  His lips crack into a small smile. “I’m trying to find the right words,” he says.

  Bren is at a loss for words? Well, that’s something new.

  “If you’d left,” he says, and stops. “Kenzie, if you’d left, I would have lost a friend, and so, no, I’m definitely not wishing that. I’m wishing I had the courage to hug you right now.”

  I summon up my brave and bold, step over to Bren, and whip my arms around him. He squeezes tight—one of those hugs that says so much without any words at all.

  When I let go, Shelby and Tate stare at me from down at the end of the hall. I wave.

  “I have a little work to do to apologize to everyone around here, and I was hoping you’d help me,” I say to Ashia and Bren.

  They both agree, and for the first time in this whole adventure, I walk to what is most definitely my homeroom, in my school, with my friends.

  chapter thirty

  I spend the next week doing two things. One, making things right. And two, begging Mrs. Summers and the student council to hear me out. All week long, I take my pictures, insisting that I am official yearbook staff and these are important assignments. I’m ready to face whatever wrath is coming at me.

  On Friday, Mrs. Summers finds me after school and asks if I can stay for rehearsal. “I can’t give you back the role of Dorothy,” she says, “but if you’re willing to be in the chorus, we’d love to have you.”

  I’m so excited about what she’s saying, but I do have one question before I say yes. “Is the cast okay with me coming back? Because I can’t do it if I’m going to upset everyone by being there.”

  She smiles. “Yes, we took a vote and it was an almost unanimous decision to let you come back,” she says. When my face scrunches into a Yeah, that must be my nemesis who voted no face, she laughs. “Shelby said, and I quote, ‘If you’re saying I am the star and she has to settle for dancing in the shadows, then sure.’ ”

  I have to laugh too, because quite honestly, I expected nothing less from the girl. We’ll have to learn to exist on this planet together eventually. Especially if I decide to try out for the lead in next year’s musical.

  And Friday night, I get a text from Tate.

  Need note taker when secretary can’t make meetings. You interested?

  I can’t expect a smiley face at the end of that text, but at least there isn’t a thumbs-down.

  Yes. Thank you.

  Don’t thank me, he texts back.

  Well, you can’t win them all.

  * * *

  I spend the next few weeks continuing to make it up to everyone, and working hard in every role I’ve been given. Dad has one more weekend away before he settles into his new job, which he’s very excited about. And that makes me the kind of happy that makes everything in the world better.

  On the plane ride back from Chicago, I relax in my seat, both a little sad and a whole lot of happy that this is the last adventure for a while. Yeah, I’m okay with that.

  When we get to the airport, I’m surrounded by busy travelers rolling their suitcases along the shiny floor, and all I can think is that life is kind of like an airport. Plenty of people will land in your life, and others will take off to new destinations for one reason or another. Some flights won’t matter much at all, just another listing on the screen, while some departures will break your heart into a million tiny pieces that only time can heal. But then there are the delays that maybe are the best thing you didn’t even know you needed.

  We’re about halfway down the escalator on the way to baggage claim when I look up to a big surprise.

  Ashia, Bren, and Divi are waiting at the bottom, holding bright, colorful signs—signs for me!

  WE MISSED YOU!

  SO GLAD YOU’RE BACK!

  WELCOME HOME, KENZIE!

  In all the time Dad and I have been on the road (or, really, up in the air), we’ve never gotten this kind of greeting. I’m practically dancing as I run down the last few steps toward my friends.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask.

  They all laugh. “We figured you deserved a little welcoming party,” says Ashia. “Plus, we wanted to make sure it was just a weekend trip and that you’re back for good.”

  I let her words sink in.

  Home isn’t about a pin on a map. It’s the place you can’t wait to get back to after you’ve been away. It’s the people you can’t wait to get back to, even after your biggest adventure.

  I take another look at the poster-board signs, and as I stand here, carry-on bag slung over my shoulder, I’m more sure than ever that this is where I want to be.

  Welcome home, Kenzie.

  Acknowledgments

  Pieces of my experiences, as well as traits of the people I’ve met, often find their way into my stories. But unlike Kenzie, I’ve never had to search for a place to call home. Thank you, Buffalo, for truly being the City of Good Neighbors. There really is no place like home.

  Thank you to my agent extraordinaire, Uwe Stender, whom I snagged with sponge candy and Seinfeld references one fateful day in Pittsburgh. I couldn’t have predicted that a tall German with a sense of humor and a tiger-toughness would be the one helping make my dreams come true, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Thank you to my editor, Alyson Heller, who not only makes my stories take shape, but who also will hop in a shopping cart to re-create my cover in the Wegmans parking lot. This awesomeness can’t be found just anywhere, folks. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being such a big part of my books’ finding their way to the shelves.

  Thank you to the entire Aladdin team, including Jessica Handelman and Rebecca Vitkus. You all amaze me with your talents. And Annabelle Metayer, who illustrates the most beautiful covers I could ever ask for.

  I’m so grateful for my writing communities and writer friends—BNCWI, RACWI, The Guild, The Sweet Sixteens, You’ve Got This, SCBWI, and Team Triada (You too, Brent Taylor!). And my writing group (even if we sometimes talk more than write), Adrienne Carrick, Claudia Seldeen, Kate Karyus Quinn, Sandi van Everdingen, Jenn Kompos, and Alyssa Palombo.

  To my writing buddies who have been along for the ride and still stick with me—Summer Heacock, Triona Murphy, Kim Chase, Brenda Drake, Heather Cashman, Stephanie Wass, Jessica Collins, Jenny Lundquist, Dana Edwards, Pam Brunskill, Erica Secor, Rhonda Battenfelder—and my BNE crew, Stephanie Faris, Ronni Arno, Gail Nall, Alison Cherry, Rachele Alpine. Nancy Eckerson and Terri Skurzewski for your smiles and support whenever I need them. And to Catherine Dowling, who definitely deserved to have her name in a book and never got the chance.

  For this book specifically, and for a million other reasons, thank you to Janet Johnson, Jennifer Maschari, and Jen Malone. You ladies are sprinkled throughout everything I do, and I’m so grateful to have you by my side.

  Thank you to Fiona Ash for quickly making the fictional Fiona exactly who I needed her to be. (And to John, because you both deserve thanks for the many things you’ve done for me!) Thank you, Amy Teal, for answering my school musical questions, Kristin Rae for my wonderful bookmarks, Gaby Zapata for your beautiful design work, and David Etkin and the SH Middle crew for making such fun book trailers! To Ilene Franz for being one of those people who inspires me every time we talk, and Barbara Marale for encouraging a young writer in third grade when I got my first issue of Panther’s Pause and dreamed of publishing a book someday.

  And to some amazing librarians—Heidi Ginal, Christina Carter, Janice Cosenza, and Brandon Morrisey, for your continued support and for fostering a love of reading in kids.

  A huge thank-you to my kid r
eaders for The BFF Bucket List. I hope you enjoy this one too. Tyler, Brooke, Ava, Paul, Camryn, Drew, Madison, Novalee, Malaina, Caitlin, Sahana, Lola, Jing-Lu, Lucia, Hannah, Kiersten, Eliana, Jessica, Isabella, Cecilia, Allison Marie, Lorelei, Madigan, Sammy, Nora, Maddie, Brenna, Giuliana, Chiara, Lea, Shaina, Ashley, Raye, Jami, Macie, Manhasset Public Library Tween Girls Book Club, South Davis Elementary School’s fifth grade, and Dodge Elementary.

  To my wonderful local booksellers at Monkey See, Monkey Do—Kim Krug, Kathleen Skoog, Kim Burg, Amy Nash, Kathy Witter—and Kim and Mike at the Amherst B&N. I really appreciate your support!

  My favorite writing spots—the Audubon Library, Wegmans, Barnes & Noble, and Spot Coffee—thank you for giving me places to write that are surrounded by books and food!

  To the schools, kids, and teachers who continue to influence my writing. Thank you, Coronation Drive friends, Sweet Home Middle, East Side Elementary, Riverview Elementary, Heim Elementary, and my Maplemere crew. Who knew that all we went through in sixth grade would become writing material someday?

  To my friends—those of you I’ve known most of my life, and those I’ve met along the way—I cherish our friendships and thank you for all your support. You all mean the world to me.

  Thank you to Anne, who helped me get the ending just right because it was my turn for “What’s another word for . . . ?” To Ankur for being the best host and for always being excited for me. To my FLGT girls—Wendy, Sara, Allison, Jen, Christine, Sabrina, Amy Romus—thank you isn’t enough to let you know how much I love you all.

  To my family, which extends to places like Rochester, Canada, and Virginia, to name a few. Thank you for your support and encouragement. I am blessed to have you.

  To my dad, Bill, who keeps buying my books and giving them away to his friends, who reads middle-grade because his daughter wrote it, who watches his grandkids while I write, and who has always made me believe in myself because I watched him go after his goals. I love you.

  To my incredible mother, Sandy. She believed in me, cheered me on, and always encouraged me to do what I love. I miss you every single day, Mom, and I will take your lessons and your kindness with me wherever I go.

  Thank you to my husband, Rob, who listens when I talk about characters and plot points and gives me his feedback, even if I don’t always use it. I love sharing our adventures together.

  To Moira, Christine, and Adrienne, whom I officially declare my sisters. You have steered me through so much. And to make you smile like you always do for me—Moira: root beer; Adrienne: Red River; Christine: St. Patty’s Day. I love you ladies.

  To my kids, Nathan and Kiley. I love watching you as you devour books, write your own stories, and create beautiful pieces of art. Be bold and brave. I love you.

  CARMEN { 6:00 P.M. }

  USUALLY LYNNFIELD MIDDLE SCHOOL’S gym smells like sweaty socks and armpits.

  But tonight, everything is different.

  Tonight, the gym smells like perfume, hairspray, and the pizza that everyone devoured right away. And instead of getting pelted in the face during a vicious game of dodgeball or doing a million jumping jacks, my friends and I are about to make history when we perform our band’s hit song, “Hear Us Roar.”

  The room buzzes with excitement. Our classmates gather at the makeshift stage the drama club constructed, some pushing to get as close as possible, others taking selfies in front of the giant sign the decorating committee hung up with our name, Heart Grenade, written across it.

  Suddenly the room goes dark and the audience erupts in cheers. This is it. Our moment!

  A single spotlight turns on, illuminating me.

  I look out into the crowd and soak up the moment as my classmates’ shouts wash over me. I picture myself as they might. My long black hair is flat-ironed sleek and shiny, and the light from above draws attention to my red streaks. My satin dress poofs out at the bottom, and the short white leather jacket looks amazing over it. I have on Mom’s vintage biker boots with the big silver buckles, and hot pink tights add the perfect touch. I’m rocker cute, as my best friend, Tess, likes to say.

  “Hello, Lynnfield Middle School!” I yell into the microphone. The sound of my voice sweeps through the gym. “We’re Heart Grenade, and we’re ready to rock!”

  Tess starts playing the drums, Faith comes in on the bass, and as Claudia launches into her signature guitar riff, the lights go up over the whole band, and our classmates go wild.

  I open my mouth to start singing . . . and something soft smacks me in the head.

  “Ouch!”

  And just like that I’m jolted out of the best daydream ever and back into the worst reality ever. Because instead of being in the middle school gym performing with Heart Grenade like I’m supposed to be tonight, I’m surrounded by beige-and-maroon-striped wallpaper in a very tiny and very crowded hotel room with my family.

  My eyes land on my ten-year-old brother, Lucas. He’s dressed in a gray suit that’s too short for him, and his dark hair is all spiky, even though Mom told him it would be really nice if he just combed it straight. But his appearance isn’t what I care about; it’s what is in his hands. He’s holding Pandy, my bear that I may still sleep with, although I’d never admit that to anyone. He dances around me and dangles Pandy in front of my face.

  I yank her away from him. “Get your grubby hands off of my bear.”

  “Gladly. I’ve got some reading to do anyway.” Lucas pulls my diary from under his pillow on the bed.

  “Give me that!” I reach to grab the notebook with the hand that isn’t holding Pandy, but he pulls it away from me. I have no idea how the little sneak got hold of it, since I packed it deep down into my duffel bag, but there’s no way I’m letting him see what’s inside. He’d never let me live down the pages I filled about how cute my bandmate Claudia’s brother is.

  “Mooooom,” I yell, but she waves a hand at me. She’s talking on the phone in rapid-fire Spanish to my aunt Sonia, or “the mother of the bride,” as everyone keeps saying, and is trying to convince her that something to do with the flowers is going to be all right. But meanwhile, this diary situation most certainly is not going to turn out all right.

  I tackle Lucas and thankfully wrestle the notebook away from him, but not before getting an elbow to the gut and a knee to my head.

  “You’d better sleep with one eye open,” I warn him. “I’m not going to forget this.”

  “Ohhhh, I’m so scared,” he replies and rolls his eyes.

  “You look like Christmas,” my seven-year-old brother, Alex, says, and my attention shifts to him. Yep, I have two younger brothers. Two annoying little brothers. It’s pretty much the worst ever.

  “Christmas?” This is March; that holiday is long gone.

  “Yep, with that green dress and those awful red streaks you put in your hair, you make me want to watch Rudolph and hang ornaments on the tree.”

  “Whatever! You’re the ridiculous one, with your purple tie and sweater vest,” I say.

  “If you say so, Jolly Old Saint Nick.”

  “I don’t look like Christmas,” I tell him, but I walk over to the mirror. The girl who stares back at me isn’t happy at all. Instead of the cute black dress I gazed at every time we went to the mall, the one I’d planned to buy for our big concert, I have on a junior bridesmaid dress that’s about as pretty as a pillowcase. It’s made of some stretchy fabric that bunches up around my waist and digs into my armpits. And it’s green. Not the cute emerald green or Kelly green that all the celebrities wear these days, but bright elf green. My brothers are right; with the red streaks in my hair, I’m ready to deck the halls and have myself a merry little Christmas.

  “I’m suddenly in the mood for milk and cookies,” Lucas says, coming up behind me.

  “That’s it,” I announce. “I refuse to wear this!”

  I go to my suitcase and pull out my jeans with the rhinestones that I wore on the drive here because right now, no dress is better than wearing this one.
I try to reach behind and unzip the offending dress, so I’ll at least look the part of the lead singer even if I’m not rocking out with everyone back at school.

  “Not a chance,” Mom says. The phone is still up against her ear, so I pray maybe she’s talking to my aunt instead of me. “You’re not putting that on,” she says, crushing all my hopes.

  “But why not? The ceremony is over, and we took a million pictures of me in this awful thing. Can’t I wear these now?”

  “You’re wearing the dress your cousin picked out for you. It’s your cousin’s night, so you’ll do what makes her happy.”

  What about what makes me happy? It was supposed to be my night, I want to say, but it’s no use trying to convince Mom. I can tell from the glare she gives me that I won’t win this argument.

  I try a different approach and decide to talk to Dad instead. He’s always the easier one to convince, especially when it involves ice cream before dinner or staying up past my bedtime. Dad’s a sucker for my sad face, and sticking out my bottom lip and looking especially pathetic always seals the deal.

  I’ve studied the bus maps, and even though we are almost three hours from home, if I take the six thirty p.m. bus, I might make it back so I can sing with the band. Imagine everyone’s surprise and delight if I showed up. They’d be so excited, especially since they were all upset when I broke the news that my parents were making me go to this wedding. It was awful; we all cried a little bit. Well, except Genevieve, who got really, really quiet. She’s probably thrilled to be in the spotlight since she only joined a month ago as a backup singer and now she gets to take my spot in the lead.

  “Dad, what do you think about taking me to the bus station before you all go to the reception? I can go home early, sing with the band, and stay with Tess.”

  “Yeah, and he can also drop me off at the airport for a flight to Disney World,” Alex says, and I want to scream. “There’s no way you’re going to be allowed to ride the bus alone.”