Waiting for You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  August-October

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  November-January

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  February-April

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  May-June

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Acknowledgements

  VIKING

  Published by Penguin Group

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  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

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

  First published in the U.S.A. by Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2009

  Copyright © Susane Colasanti 2009

  All rights reserved

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Colasanti, Susane.

  Waiting for you / by Susane Colasanti.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Fifteen-year-old high school sophomore Marisa, who has an anxiety disorder,

  decides that this is the year she will get what she wants—a boyfriend and a social life—

  but things do not turn out exactly the way she expects them to.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15549-3

  [1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction.

  3. Anxiety disorders—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.

  6. Family life—Fiction. 7. Divorce—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C6699Wai 2009

  [Fic]—dc22

  2008046977

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  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 everyone out there who is still waiting

  August-October

  1

  The best thing about summer camp is the last day. Because that’s the day you get to go home and live like a normal person again.

  Don’t get me wrong. Camp was freaking awesome. I spent the entire summer in Maine at a special camp for the arts. My dad gave me his old Nikon camera and taught me how to develop photos last year, and ever since then photography has been my passion. There’s something about vintage film that captures the Now in a way digital can’t. It just makes everything look softer somehow. And the whole old-school method of developing your own photos exactly how you want them is really cool.

  So yeah, I learned a lot more about photography at camp and had a ton of practice. I’ve also been playing the violin since seventh grade, so I had violin lessons there, too. We even had a concert last night.

  I’ve only been home for like three hours but I’ve already participated in the following critical post-camp activities:

  • Took a real shower. With water pressure. That actually got me clean.

  • Remembered what air-conditioning felt like. Did a little happy dance at the supermarket.

  • Put on clothes that didn’t smell like mildew. They also did not feel permanently damp.

  • Sat on the couch and watched TV.

  • Got a cold drink from the refrigerator. Ice rules.

  The only thing left on my list is to get together with Sterling for the first time since June, so I’m majorly stoked. I can’t wait to see her. Not just because she’s my best friend, but because school starts in a week and we’re getting psyched for it.

  I love the beginning of the year. It’s all about renewal and reinventing yourself, becoming the person you’ve always wanted to be. You can go back to school as a whole new person and have a totally different time. Every year I get all excited about how everything’s going to be different, but it never really is. I’m tired of always being disappointed. This has to be our year.

  It feels good to knock on Sterling’s door with “Wheel” playing in my head. Like I’ve come full circle after a long journey, even though I’ve only been at sleep-away camp for two months. But this is such a “Wheel” moment. That song rocks. The best part is where John Mayer says how our connections are permanent, how if you drift apart from someone there’s always a chance you can be part of their life again. How everything comes back around again. I have a theory that the answers to all of life’s major questions can be found in a John Mayer song.

  Sterling flings the door open. Her hair isn’t brown anymore. Now it’s blonde.

  “Oh my god, your hair!” I yell.

  Then she grabs me and we’re hugging and squealing and doing this thing where we’re hopping around.

  “I know!” Sterling goes. “It was supposed to come out more like yours, but the stylist said your color is complicated.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were dyeing it?”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised.”

  “So, what do you think?” Sterling twirls around so I can
inspect her hair from all angles. It’s a lighter blonde than mine, since my hair has different shades of blonde mixed in, and I’m not sure if it works with her coloring.

  “It’s hot,” I say. Maybe I just have to get used to it.

  She points to my usual stool in the kitchen. “Sit,” she says.

  Sterling took over the kitchen when she was twelve because her mom can’t cook. Plus, she’s never here. And Sterling got sick of eating things like hot dogs and Tater Tots and those instant pasta sides every night for dinner. So one day, Sterling announced that she was doing all of the cooking. Now she takes cooking classes and everything. Her mom was thrilled. The agreement is that Sterling puts what she needs for the week on the grocery list and her mom gets everything.

  There are four different pots going on the stove. Vegetables in all different colors compete for space on the counter. Two place mats are set out across from each other on the other counter where we always sit, with cloth napkins and schmancy silverware.

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” I go.

  “Of course I did. What kind of lame welcome home dinner did you think I was making?”

  “Yeah, but it’s so . . . extensive.” I had to beg my parents to let me come over to Sterling’s for dinner since it’s my first day back and all, but they finally let me. And we’re going to a pier party after.

  “Only the best for you, friend girl.”

  “Wow.” Something bubbles in one of the pots. Everything smells so good. “Thanks for doing all this.”

  “Please. You’re the one who’s doing me a favor. No one’s tried any of this stuff yet. Well, except for me, but I’m not exactly impartial.” Sterling picks something out of a bowl and stuffs it in her mouth. “I can’t stop eating these,” she says. “Try one.”

  I peer into a bowl of weird-shaped cracker thingies that look like someone cut them out of cardboard. “What is it?”

  “Feng Shui rice crackers.” Sterling used to have this tone with me when I asked her what something was, like, How can you not know this? But now she’s used to my culinary ignorance. My family is basically the meat-and-potatoes kind.

  Slowly, I stretch my hand into the bowl, as if a rice cracker might bite me. They feel kind of sticky. But I don’t want to insult Sterling, so I take a small bite of my cracker. “Hmm.”

  “Aren’t they so good?”

  I guess I’m not a rice cracker person. “They’re . . . different,” I tell her. Which I know will make her happy. That’s like the highest compliment you can give Sterling about anything going on in her kitchen. She’s into the exotic.

  “I know.” She chomps into another cracker. “I’ve already eaten like a whole bag of these.”

  It’s hard not to be jealous of Sterling. She’s so tiny, but she eats constantly. If I even look at a doughnut I immediately gain five pounds.

  Sterling darts to the stove and multitasks between two pans and a massive pot.

  “What are you making?” I ask.

  “Risotto. Wait, I have to concentrate on this part. It’s all about the timing.”

  While we’re eating, Sterling tells me about her new lifestyle plan. She got on the self-improvement train the first day of summer vacay and is riding it right into sophomore year. “Okay. So.” She puts her fork down. “Do you need more sauce?”

  “No, I’m good.” Everything tastes incredible. Sterling could be a professional chef right now, and people eating at her restaurant would never know she’s only fifteen. You know, if she stayed hidden in the kitchen and all.

  “So,” she goes. “You know how I’m kind of high-strung?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Guess what I’m into now?”

  “Uh . . . competitive Ping-Pong?”

  “No.”

  “Auto repair?”

  “No! Guess real guesses.”

  “I give up.”

  Sterling puts her hands up, like, Wait for it. Then she announces: “Yoga!”

  “Yoga?”

  “Is that cool or what?”

  I’m kind of leaning toward “or what.” If it was anyone but Sterling, I’d agree that it’s cool. But she’s the most hyperactive person I know. Her attention span is nonexistent unless a recipe is involved. She can’t even sit still for more than three minutes. And now she’s doing yoga? How is that possible?

  Of course, I can’t say any of this. I’m her best friend. I have to be supportive.

  So I go, “Is it fun?”

  “It’s already changing my life! I can feel my concentration improving.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “Totally. Now you.”

  We do this every year. We get together before school starts, when all of the electric energy of possibility is zinging around, and make a pact on how we want our lives to change.

  “I’m tired of waiting for my real life to start,” I go. “Like, when’s all the good stuff finally going to happen?”

  “Now! This is our year!”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can just tell.”

  I really hope she’s right. There’s only so much waiting a person can endure until they start thinking that maybe nothing exciting will ever happen to them. Like, ever.

  “Your waiting is over,” Sterling insists. “Trust me.”

  The problem with the last few days of summer? Is that you can’t hold on to them. They zoom by way too fast. You live through them in a dream until they’re over. And then everything slows down to a glacial pace again.

  Usually I’m not nervous until the day before school starts. But today I’m already nervous because we’re going to Andrea’s pier party tonight and everyone will be there. Or at least the one person I’m extra nervous about seeing will be there.

  When we get to Andrea’s house, we go around back and find her sitting on the sand. She waves us over.

  “Hey, you guys,” Andrea says. “How was your summer?”

  “Awesome,” we both say together. I glance around for him while trying to look like I’m not looking for anyone.

  And then I see him.

  There’s a volleyball game and Derek is serving the ball. His shirt is off and his bathing suit is sexy. It’s red and has a thin neon orange stripe along the seam. It’s so perfect that he plays volleyball because he’s got that classic California surfer boy look. If we didn’t live in Connecticut, you’d totally think he was from San Diego or something.

  I watch him play. I haven’t fully absorbed how perfect his body is yet.

  “Hello! Earth to Marisa!”

  I snap out of my Derek trance. Sterling and Andrea are looking up at me. When did Sterling spread her towel out? How long was I staring at Derek? And did everyone see me staring at him like a total loser?

  Okay, remain calm. Remember: Control your thoughts to control your actions.

  I spread my towel out and try to concentrate on what they’re saying. As usual, Sterling’s drooling over some boy who’s too old for her.

  “Who’s that?” she asks Andrea.

  “Who, Dan?” Andrea goes. “He’s my brother’s friend from college.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Like, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” Sterling wants to know.

  Andrea gives her a look.

  “What?”

  “Why can’t you like boys your own age?”

  “Ew! Maybe because they’re gross?”

  She has a point. But so does Andrea. Sterling always likes guys who are way out of her age range. And then she complains when all they do is flirt with her.

  “I’m just saying,” Andrea goes.

  “Yeah, well I’m just saying that Dan is seriously hot,” Sterling says. “Can you introduce me?”

  Andrea scrunches her face up.

  “What?” Sterling goes.

  Andrea’s all, “Forget it.” But she obviously thinks Sterling’s a slut for going after older guys. Sterling’s never done anythin
g with any of them, though.

  Sterling’s like, “Could it be any hotter?”

  I go, “In hell, maybe.”

  “The water’s great,” Andrea says. “You guys should go in.”

  “Sweet. Coming?” Sterling asks me.

  “I’m good.”

  “I’ll go,” Andrea says. “I’m completely crispy.”

  At first, I watch them in the water and talk to some girls I know from orchestra and convince myself that I shouldn’t stare at Derek anymore. But that doesn’t really work, because I keep sneaking looks at him.

  And then something amazing happens. Something seriously life-altering.

  Derek looks over at me and smiles.

  He’s smiling right at me!

  I think I smile back, but I’m not sure if my face is working right. He does this little wave thing and goes back to the game.

  I wish it could stay like this forever, with the anticipation of everything.

  It’s always weird seeing everyone when summer’s over. There are kids who got tanner. Kids who got thinner. Kids who totally changed their hair. It’s interesting to see how people reinvent themselves over the summer. I wonder if anyone thinks I’ve changed.

  Walking home in the dark, I see Nash out on our dock. He’s sitting under the lamplight, probably getting a head start on whatever we have to read for English. It’s so weird that I don’t really know him anymore, because he used to be such a fixture in my life. We played together in third and fourth grades. We practically lived out on the dock all summer, swimming in the river and playing water games. But then everything changed when middle school started. I just didn’t feel like hanging out with him as much anymore. The thing is, I can’t remember why.

  We’ve known each other forever. Far Hills is one of those small Connecticut towns where everyone knows everyone else. Where you go to school with the same exact kids from kindergarten until you graduate. Plus, Nash and I are neighbors. He lives three houses down, and we still use the same dock for swimming in the summer (our town is on a peninsula, sticking out into Five Mile River).