When It Happens Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER I - last days of summer

  CHAPTER 2 - first days of falling

  CHAPTER 3 - homeroom survivor

  CHAPTER 4 - cafeteria survivor

  CHAPTER 5 - staring at me

  CHAPTER 6 - looking at juice

  CHAPTER 7 - the idea of him

  CHAPTER 8 - not that i’m desperate

  CHAPTER 9 - this remote island

  CHAPTER 10 - living proof of the impossible

  CHAPTER 11 - when you connect

  CHAPTER 12 - more determined than ever

  CHAPTER 13 - yin and yang

  CHAPTER 14 - something real

  CHAPTER 15 - my everything

  CHAPTER 16 - the problem with dave

  CHAPTER 17 - the problem with popularity

  CHAPTER 18 - better for her

  CHAPTER 19 - already over it

  CHAPTER 20 - a better plan

  CHAPTER 21 - conundrum

  CHAPTER 22 - dots

  CHAPTER 23 - i enjoy a good pen

  CHAPTER 24 - mr. applied guy

  CHAPTER 25 - you just know

  CHAPTER 26 - soul mates

  CHAPTER 27 - real love

  CHAPTER 28 - different direction

  CHAPTER 29 - finally found

  CHAPTER 30 - the only one

  CHAPTER 31 - the little things

  CHAPTER 32 - one of those talks

  CHAPTER 33 - real experiences

  CHAPTER 34 - shocking facts

  CHAPTER 35 - shocking discoveries

  CHAPTER 36 - points

  CHAPTER 37 - probability

  CHAPTER 38 - room 523: the right words

  CHAPTER 39 - room 523: this horrendous jealousy

  CHAPTER 40 - so much more

  CHAPTER 41 - just not good enough

  CHAPTER 42 - space

  CHAPTER 43 - time

  CHAPTER 44 - heavy info—part one

  CHAPTER 45 - heavy info—part two

  CHAPTER 46 - into the night

  CHAPTER 47 - into the unknown

  CHAPTER 48 - end of familiar

  CHAPTER 49 - edge of possibility

  Teaser chapter

  HE KEEPS LOOKING AT ME....

  By Music Theory, I’m drifting happily along in a pink bubble.

  “What’s up with Tobey?” Laila says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been staring at you since he walked in the door. Don’t you notice anything?”

  I look over at Tobey. He quickly looks away.

  “Drool much?” Laila says.

  “I was only seeing if he was looking at me!”

  “Protest much?”

  “Okay, people!” Mr. Hornby says, clapping his hands together. He sits down at the piano and begins to play. We’re supposed to hum along. While we hum, I look at Tobey. He’s really tall, like maybe six-one, which you can tell from the way he’s folded up in his chair. His hair is dark and his skin is pale. I’m drawn to those eyes again. They’re big and deep blue. Almost a violet color. And he has these really long eyelashes.

  Tobey catches me looking at him. When he sees me, his eyes get even bigger.

  It’s really weird, but for a few seconds we’re both just staring at each other. Why is it that when I look at him now, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time?

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  SPEAK

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Viking,

  a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2006

  Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2008

  Copyright © Susane Colasanti, 2006

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Colasanti, Susane.

  When it happens / Susane Colasanti.

  p cm.

  Summary: High school seniors Sara and Tobey attempt to figure out

  what is important in life as they try to balance their preparations

  for their futures with their enjoyment of the present.

  [1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. High schools—Fiction.

  3. Self-actualization—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C6699Whe 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005026405

  eISBN : 978-0-142-41155-1

  .S.A.

  Set in Fairfield and Gill Sans

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product

  of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume

  any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  FOR DERRICK, who proves that soul mates really do exist.

  The creative visualization used to manifest this book was inspired by . . .

  The Visionaries

  Anne Rivers Gunton, who saw my destination from way down the road; Regina Hayes, who knew the best path to travel; Jill Davis, who noticed there was a journey in the first place

  The Yin

  Laila Dadvand, for always knowing our fate; Allison Granberry, who will never ever settle; Sara Dhom, summer camp goddess extraordinaire; Nancy Bennett, the most awesome science teacher in this solar system; Michelle Shaw, my soul sister in the search for true love; Eileen Harvey, the sweetest Gram that ever was

  The Yang

  Jim Downs, for your unwavering support, all those walks, and believing in trust; Tim Stockert, a fabulous sourc
e of positive light; Joe Torello, who understands about five-dollar bills at Serendipity; George Pasles, the definition of eccentric creativity; Mike Ippoliti, kindred organization freak spirit; Shawn Lindaberry, for making Tobey the ideal boy that he is

  The Saviors

  Chad Parker, for saving those original pages when they morphed into rectangles; Andrew Hertzmark, boy-behavior analyst expert; Sharon Gannon and David Life, continuing to redefine New Year’s Eve; David Ippolito, who helped me feel whole again, and for those magic changes on The Hill; Shakti Gawain, meditation guru; Universal Energy, for always showing me the way

  The Sound

  This would have been a different story without these musicians, who always took me where I needed to go: James Taylor, R.E.M., John Mayer, Eminem, Simon & Garfunkel, Sting, Coldplay, John Lennon, Led Zeppelin, Dave Matthews Band, Fleetwood Mac, and, of course, The Cure.

  CHAPTER I

  last days of summer

  august 28, 7:23 p.m.

  “So.”

  “Yeah?” I say. But I already know what she’s going to say. She’s asked me the same exact question every day this summer. And the answer is always no.

  Maggie’s like, “Did he call?”

  “You need to get over yourself,” I say, “because it’s not happening.”

  The prospect of starting senior year next week without a real boyfriend is the worst. Not some math dork or physics geek I end up liking just because he’s there. I mean a boyfriend who’s everything I want. The whole package.

  “Sara,” Maggie says. “Do you realize what this means?”

  I decide to ignore her. Maggie has this idealistic image of romance that I don’t think exists in real life. I mean, I’ve been trying to believe it does all summer. But Dave never called.

  “This can only mean that he’s planning something huge,” Maggie says.

  “Colossal,” Laila says.

  “So huge it’s gonna blow your mind,” Maggie says.

  Dave’s this new guy who transferred to our school from Colorado at the end of last year. This gorgeous Greek-god type on the basketball team. Ever since he sat next to me at the junior meeting—out of all the prettier, more popular girls he could have sat next to— I’ve been waiting for him to make a move. We talked a few times after that, but nothing major happened. So when he asked for my number on the last day of school, of course I wrote it in his yearbook, thinking he was going to call me like the next day. But then . . . nothing. Maggie keeps insisting that he likes me, but if he’s so interested, why didn’t he call?

  I hate that a boy is making me feel this way. And I hate that I’m letting it happen.

  I go, “Next topic!”

  Maggie turns to Laila. “How long do you think it’ll take him to ask her out?”

  “He’ll do it the first day,” Laila says. “Second, tops.”

  “Can we get back to the game?” I say. “Can’t Fight This Feeling” plays through the Putt-Putt Mini Golf speaker system.

  Laila goes, “Fine. Favorite scary-movie scene.”

  “Oooh!” Maggie says. “That’s a good one!”

  “I try,” Laila says.

  I smack my hot-pink golf ball way too hard.

  “I know mine,” Maggie says. “It’s from that one Freddy movie where he’s under the girl’s bed? And he slices through it and . . . like she falls underground or something. I forget how it went. But I woke up with scratches all down my neck.”

  “Hey!” Laila says. “I remember that! Wasn’t that, like, in eighth grade?”

  “I think so.”

  “Wild,” I say.

  My golf ball bounces off a plastic pink flamingo and, confused, rolls back to me.

  Even though we’re all best friends, we basically only know each other about eighty-five percent. That’s why we made up the Game of Favorites. Once we got past our standard favorites, we moved on to asking the most random questions. Where you find out the meat-and-potatoes stuff you usually never get to know about another person.

  I would go next, except the only scary-movie scene I can think of is the one where Dave dies of laughter over my even considering the remote possibility that he might like me. So I tap Laila’s golf club with mine and say, “I pass. Your turn.”

  Laila has to think about this one. Her golf ball glides past the flamingo and stops right next to the hole. She plays mini golf perfectly. Just like she does everything else perfectly. She even had the perfect summer, interning at Overlook Hospital. She’s going to be a pediatrician. Every single person in her family is a doctor. Except her brother. But that would be because he’s eight.

  “Okay,” Laila says. “Remember how we rented An American Werewolf in London last Halloween?”

  “Yeah?”

  “And remember when they realize they’re walking on the moors when they’re not supposed to?”

  “Um . . .” I glance at Maggie. She makes a face like, I have no idea what this girl is talking about.

  “So scary,” Laila says.

  Maggie looks me over. “So how much weight did you lose?” she asks.

  “Like five pounds.”

  “And what did you eat again?” Laila says.

  “Just . . . you know. Less.” All I wanted to do was fit into my jeans from tenth grade. And now I’m there.

  “Don’t do that again.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you had any idea how much starving yourself damages your metabolism—”

  "Hey, Laila?”

  "year>" "Yeah?”

  “But I look good, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So there you go,” I say. “And I didn’t starve myself. I ate stuff.”

  “Like what?” Maggie says. “Two rice cakes and a carrot?”

  “For your information I also had some lettuce.” The truth is, I imposed a personal embargo against my daily Dunkin’ Donuts fix. But Laila and Maggie don’t know how bad my addiction to icing was, and I’m embarrassed to admit it. It’s shocking what cutting out junk food can do for you.

  We walk over to the next course that has this impossible windmill.

  “Okay,” Maggie says. “Goals for senior year.”

  “Simple,” Laila says. “I’m going to be valedictorian.”

  “Oh, what, salutatorian isn’t good enough?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Laila’s always had this problem with being second at anything. Her dad is this total control freak. Laila can’t do anything after school and she’s only allowed to go out on weekends and she can’t even date anyone. I don’t know how she survives.

  “Actually?” I say. “You’re supposed to state your affirmations in the present tense. As in, I am valedictorian.” I’ve been reading this book called Creative Visualization. It’s all about creating the life you want by imagining that it already exists. Since my second goal this year is to achieve inner peace, I’m focusing on what I want my life to be.

  Laila’s like, “Wait. Is that more of your Zen enlightenment hoo-ha?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “It is. And it works.”

  “Well, good luck overcoming the legacy of Michelle,” Maggie tells Laila.

  “Seriously, it’s like she has this special-order brain that comes preprogrammed with every piece of useless information you need to ace high school.” I rub my golf club on the plastic grass. “But if anyone can beat her, it’s you. You go.”

  “Thank you, I think I will. Next?”

  “I’ll go,” Maggie says. “I want to be smart.”

  “You’re already smart!” I insist.

  “No, I’m not. Not like you guys.”

  I concentrate on examining the waterfall at the end of the course. Because what she’s saying is kind of true. Not that we would ever tell her. It doesn’t even matter, though. I’d trade my brain for Maggie’s body in a second. Not only is she a drop-dead gorgeous blonde, but she’s had a string of drop-dead gorgeous boyfriends since seventh grade. Maggie also has more clothes tha
n anyone I know, including the popular crowd. She was even friends with them until junior high. As long as you meet their two requirements of being beautiful and rich, you’re considered privileged enough to hang out with the inner circle. But Maggie’s also sweet and loyal and will fiercely defend me to anyone who looks at me the way they did. They even told her to stop being friends with me because it was damaging her reputation. Good thing Maggie iced them. And I’m embarrassed to admit it, but their rejection still hurts.

  “I’ll prove it,” Maggie says. “Who’d you get for history? ”

  “Mr. Sumner,” I say.

  “See? I got Mr. Martin. They even have smart and stupid history!”

  “You’re not stupid!” we both yell together.

  “Whatever.”

  “So,” I say. “How—not that you aren’t already smart because you are—but how are you going to do that?”

  “You’ll see,” Maggie says. “Okay, Sara. What’s your goal?”

  Here’s the thing: I want to reinvent myself this year. I’ve been a nerd since forever. My life for the past three years has been the same tired routine. Same honors classes with the same set of ten kids, same endless piles of homework, same waking up the next day to do it all over again. I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin. Something has to happen. Like an amazing boy. I know he’s out there. I just have to find him. And it would be awesome if that boy was Dave.

  “I’m going to find a real boyfriend,” I say. “Someone who’s the whole package.”

  They both look at me.

  I’m like, “What?”

  “Nothing,” Laila says.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m just wondering where you intend to find this perfect male specimen. Haven’t you already gone out with all the halfway acceptable guys we know?”

  “She’s only had two boyfriends,” Maggie says.

  “Exactly. She’s exhausted the supply.”

  “Yeah, well . . . that’s why I’m thinking about getting to know guys in other classes,” I say. “How random was it that Dave sat next to me at the meeting? It just proves that I could sit next to anyone I want. Like in assemblies and pep rallies and stuff.”

  “You don’t go to pep rallies,” Laila says.

  “But I could! That’s the point!”