Far from You
Also by LISA SCHROEDER
I Heart You, You Haunt Me
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2009 by Lisa Schroeder
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of
Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Schroeder, Lisa.
Far from you / Lisa Schroeder.—1st Simon Pulse ed.
p. cm.
Summary: A novel-in-verse about sixteen-year-old Ali’s reluctant road trip with her stepmother and new baby sister, and the terror that ensues after they end up lost in the snow-covered woods.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-8988-2
ISBN-10: 1-4169-8988-9
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Stepfamilies—Fiction. 3. Survival—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.5.S37Far 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008025268
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
Dedication
For my mom, with love
While other kids
went to Disneyland,
you took me
to Grandma’s house
and the library.
What a
lucky little girl
I was.
Thank you.
Acknowledgments
Lindsey Leavitt and Lisa Madigan, you complete me. Thank you for your wisdom and insight, and your willingness to read at the drop of an e-mail. Sara Crowe, agent extraordinaire, a million times, thank you for all that you do. Michael del Rosario and the fine folks at Simon Pulse, I appreciate your efforts and hard work more than I can say. Scott, Sam, and Grant, thanks for your unwavering enthusiasm. I’m pretty sure when God was handing out families, He saved the best one for me. Kate, Deena, Emily, and Tina, my Author2Author blog buddies, thanks for letting me join you. I’ve learned so much from you! Sally, you are, and always will be, my jukebox hero, and I just want to say thanks for being my loving, supportive friend. Dan, Dolores, and Margie, thanks for the laughs and making work fun. To my friends in the LJ hood, thanks for being there through it all. Jason Wade, you don’t know me and you’ll probably never read this, but I just had to tell you that I’m not sure I could have written this book without your music in my ears.
Finally, thank YOU, wonderful reader. Thank you from the bottom, top, and sides of my ever-grateful heart.
Far from You
Contents
day four
softly snowing
part 1: every thing’s always changing
here she comes
just breathe
the short version
our time is now
the peace I need
me and God
holes of the heart
what to do?
the good stuff
almost the perfect day
the best
oh, so gently
before, after, and somewhere in-between
the long version
Lost Without You
a gift of love
could it be?
spicy
doesn’t add up
do I have to go to school?
do I look like I care?
thank God for Johnny
now what?
you’re welcome
woof
where’s my fairy godmother?
trust in me
is that on the SATs?
yes or no?
getting jerky with it
on the tip of my tongue
getting personal
not a solo artist
not hungry
foul
the answer
hold on tight
what does it mean?
mixed-up
I need to believe
trying to understand
doesn’t fit
broken
imagine
desolate
a tangled web indeed
ahoy, matey
motherly love
a lover of news, I am not
one strange plot twist
suffocating in silence
miles apart
I hate bowling
byob
brain-radio
the cookie monster
autumn perfection
lucky number seven
they should be admitted
absence makes the heart more desperate
making up is hard to do
take the kitchen sink over me
better pack the Goo Goo Dolls CD
good-bye, my Blazing Boy
pacifier is my new middle name
two words: Holiday Inn
keep it coming
no fair
happy thanksgiving
missing you
let’s go
sleepyheads
awake
this can’t be happening
day one
heated
into the night
the good and the bad
this isn’t Hollywood
from scared to petrified
day two
merry Christmas early
hocus-pocus
failed miserably
a first
getting to know you
kumbaya
answers
dreaming
melting hearts
I hope he knows
day three
out of our cold hands
gone
a snow-angel friend
alice in winter wonderland
from bad to worse
grow wings, little one
sometimes prayers do work
believe
still breathing
a light
all alone
what was it?
part 2: with angels we will fly
day four, continued
really empty
are you there, God?
a glove-box breakfast
coming undone
it’s a deal
deals were meant to be broken
ignited
in the eyes of the beholder
what’s in a name
lost
by the numbers
I am…
day five
a message
one last try
at last
up, up, and away
floating
holding on
torn
part 3: family keeps us warm
gone but not forgotten
baby, oh baby
wishing
what did you say?
order, please
melting
answered prayers
confused
time to start stitching
the best medicine
clear skies
helicopter dog
discoveries
flying through the rabbit hole
day four
We’re alone
with only
the cold
and dark
to keep us
company.
I know them
so well now,
they’re like
old friends.
Familiar.
Old friends
who have stayed
too long
and need to go.
I wish
the angel
would have stayed.
For a second,
I felt warmth.
I felt safe.
I felt love
as she whispered
my name,
“Alice,”
and floated
toward me
before she
disappeared.
Was I dreaming?
Hoping?
Hallucinating?
So hungry.
So tired.
Cold.
I look out the window,
and although it’s dark,
the moon
as if a faraway
floodlight
is hung
from the sky.
So much whiteness.
Everywhere.
Come back,
angel.
Let us fly
away
from
here.
Please.
Come back.
softly snowing
Memories
fall
like
snowflakes
upon
my dreams.
Me and Mom,
a piece of art,
a promise,
a hug.
Me and Dad,
a thousand tears,
a bouquet,
a loss.
Me and Blaze,
an autumn day,
a walk,
a kiss.
Me and Claire,
a flowing skirt,
a song,
a fight.
The snowflakes
toss and tumble,
each different
and yet
the same.
The snowflakes
of my life.
part 1
every thing’s always changing
here she comes
Muffled voices
outside my door
that October morning
woke me
and took me
from a peaceful place
to one I’d come
to hate.
When one of them
stepped into my room,
the hallway light
landed on my
closed eyelids,
urging them
to open
like a hand
pulling on a
doorknob.
“It’s time,” Dad said.
I didn’t open my eyes.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t speak.
“Ali, you awake?”
I gave a little grunt.
The event
wasn’t worth
wasting breath on.
“We’ll call you later.
When she’s here.”
Pause.
“I love you,” he said
quickly and quietly.
It’s pretty sad
when you have to
think about it
before you say it.
just breathe
The clock read
4:13 a.m.
My dog, Cobain,
slept at the foot
of my bed.
I changed directions
and curled up
next to his warm body,
feeling the rhythm
of his breathing.
I stroked his golden fur,
and my heartbeats
s o f t e n e d.
He breathed.
I breathed.
Soon my breaths
were slow and steady,
in sync with his.
Cobain.
My oxygen tank.
He breathed.
I breathed.
The garage door
rumbled open
beneath me.
They were gone.
Gone until
with her.
Then there’d be me.
He breathed.
I breathed.
They knew her name.
But they wouldn’t tell me.
It’ll be a surprise, Victoria had said,
like a surprise is a good thing.
My stepmom.
Victoria.
She reminded me
of a chameleon lizard,
with her annoying habit
of curling her tongue up
just slightly,
and touching her top lip,
when she was
concentrating.
A chameleon.
One minute sweet as chocolate cake.
The next, sour and possessive,
like an old banker.
Once upon a time
he and I were close.
Dad.
We’d cook together,
watch basketball together,
and make up silly jingles together,
since advertising
is his line of work.
Things changed.
Victoria moved in.
He changed.
It’s like he tried
to move on
to greener pastures,
but the tractor in the barn,
once adored,
became a nuisance
and kept him connected
to the painful past.
I squeezed in closer
to Cobain.
He breathed.
I breathed.
I could see Dad
holding his new
baby girl.
Smiling.
Happy.
Totally in love.
He’d breathe.
She’d breathe.
Then there’d be me.
the short version
Mom got cancer.
Cancer sucks.
She died.
Dad remarried.
The end.
our time is now
After a while
I got up,
showered,
and put on my favorite jeans,
a white shirt,
my black jacket,
and my combat boots.
I grabbed my battered,
scuffed-up
guitar case
and headed outside.
The sunlight streamed
through the tree in our front yard,
lighting up the yellow leaves,
creating a brilliant
golden statue
that moved magically
when the breeze blew.
Amazing.
I love fall.
Fall in Seattle.
The season of
warm colors.
I thought about calling Blaze,
to see if I could talk him into going,
but he likes church
about as much
as the queen likes profanity.
It’s the one thing
between us
that feels like
a tiny splinter
in your foot.
Painful and annoying,
but difficult to remove.
Blaze and I met
at a concert
last spring.
Our eyes locked
just as Mudhoney
took the stage,
and it was like a rocket
blasting off
into space.
I felt heat
and my body trembled
and forces
beyond my control