The Accidentals(25)

It’s a long shot that he’ll be available to answer my question now. But I wait anyway. The ocean is blue and pretty, with little whitecaps. I take a photo and consider whether or not I should text it to Haze. Is that just mean?

Before I can decide, my phone rings in my hand. The number is unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Rachel?” a guy’s husky voice says. “It’s Jake.”

For some reason I get a warm flutter in my chest at the sound of his voice. “Hi,” I say carefully. “Thanks for calling me.”

“Hey—no problem!” His voice is so cheerful that I find myself smiling into the phone. “Is your summer going any better now?”

I watch the Pacific Ocean sparkle at the shoreline. “A little? I’m standing on a beach in California right now.”

“No way! I’m standing on a beach in Massachusetts. Well, I’m looking out the window at it, anyway. We’re, like, patrolling both coasts at once. You see any pirates on your end?”

“No,” I say, still smiling like a dope. Phone Jake is even cuter than Email Jake.

“Me neither. Good thing.”

“Right.”

“So about your bookstore trip…”

“Yeah?” I’ve already forgotten that this call has a purpose. “I’d love to get a jump on the reading.”

“Do you know if you’re taking the English lit class first semester, or the Russian one? Any idea?”

“I’d love to take the Russian one, but I don’t know if it’s up to me.”

“Well, I know we’ll read Anna Karenina. And if you end up in the other English class, they start with Chaucer. I think?”

“Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll read Anna Karenina and hope for the best.”

“You’ll probably get a class schedule in two weeks or so. You could just wait and find out.”

“But I need my very own L to paste on my forehead.”

He chuckles into my ear. “Then don’t let me stop you. Mine fell off for the summer, but I’ll have it superglued up there again in a few weeks.”

“Right.” I’m hit with a sudden burst of nerves. “It won’t be long now.”

“You don’t sound so happy about that. Are you worried?”

“Yeah.” I feel so hollow inside. Like I don’t have anything left of myself to make new friends and impress new teachers.

“I’m kind of nervous about next year too,” he admits. “For different reasons than you. But my mom always tells me to ask—what’s the worst that could happen?”

Mine already happened. It’s still happening. “Um, I don’t know. You first.”

“Easy. The worst thing that could happen is I’ll make myself crazy all year trying to impress the astronomy department at Claiborne College. Then I’ll get rejected.” His voice turns gravelly.

“You really want to get in? Nothing else will do?”

“All my other choices are distant seconds. And it will be really embarrassing if I don’t get in.”

“Hmm. But if nothing else will do, they’ll hear that. Just be crystal clear about how much you want to be there, that counts for a lot. Everyone wants to hear that someone cares, you know?”

“You’re really smart, Rachel Kress.” I hear a smile in his voice.

“People tell me that all the time,” I tease.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your worst-case scenario?”

“Um…” What to say? “I’ll throw up during my a cappella audition.”

“But then they’ll know you really care.”

“Oh shut up!”

He laughs. “All right, so maybe it wouldn’t make the right first impression. But I think you can do it. If that’s really the scariest thing in your life, you’re not doing so badly.”

If you only knew…

“It’s good to talk to you. I have to get ready for work, though.” He sighs. “If it’s not too late a night, at least I’ll get an hour with my telescope on the beach afterwards. Supposed to be a full moon, unfortunately.”

“That’s bad?” I guess from his tone. “Wait, are you a werewolf?”

“Wait, you’re not?”

We both laugh like crazy people.

“The brightness of the moon hides other objects,” Jake explains. “I can’t see the smaller stars when the moon is strutting her stuff.”

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Yeah. Enjoy your vacation at the beach.”

“Thanks,” I reply a beat too late. Vacation is a weird word for my trip to California. But I’m not about to explain right now. “Talk to you soon,” I say, hoping it’s true.

“Bye!”





A bell tinkles on the door of the little bookstore. I like the place immediately, with its wooden fixtures piled high with new books. The bookstore smells of paper and big thoughts.

“Do you have Anna Karenina?” I ask the young woman behind the counter.

“Of course,” is her answer. “Which translation?”

I falter, having no idea.

“The Pevear is popular.”