Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost

  Contents

  Paper Planes and other things we lost

  Copyright

  Other Titles by Michele G Miller

  Other Titles by Mindy Hayes

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Just Another Day

  Can't Let Go

  It Sure Is Monday

  What About Your Friends

  Make it Happen

  Then I Met You

  Words I Might Have Ate

  If You Asked Me To

  Here We Go Again

  Missing You Now

  Livin' on the Edge

  Everything Changes

  Free Your Mind

  I'm Gonna Be

  My Lovin'

  Can I Trust You With My Heart

  Smells Like Teen Spirit

  Dreams

  Welcome to Paradise

  Wishing on a Star

  Take a Little Trip

  Where'd You Go

  Standing Outside the Fire

  I Love Your Smile

  Everybody Hurts

  Thought I'd Died and Gone to Heaven

  Would I Lie To You

  What Part Of No

  Wild One

  Ache

  Hey Jealousy

  I'll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me

  She Don't Know She's Beautiful

  Keep On Walkin'

  Insane in the Brain

  All That She Wants

  What Is Love

  Reason to Believe

  Come and Talk to Me

  Can't Help Falling in Love

  That's the Way Love Goes

  I Saw The Light

  Hip Hop Hooray

  When She Cries

  Nothin’ My Love Can’t Fix

  All I Want

  Achy Breaky Heart

  She’ll Go To Pieces

  I Will Remember You

  Someday I Suppose

  Will You Be There

  Can’t Break It to My Heart

  End of the Road

  Here’s Where the Story Ends

  What Might Have Been

  If I Didn’t Have You

  A Thousand Miles From Nowhere

  I Still Do

  In A Week or Two

  Hello City

  Keep Coming Back

  Breathe Again

  If You Want Me to Stay

  Shiny Happy People

  It Was A Good Day

  I’m So Into You

  I Feel Lucky

  Do You Believe in Us

  Save the Best for Last

  Paper Planes Series

  Author Notes

  About the Authors

  Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost

  Copyright © 2016 Michele G Miller and Mindy Hayes

  Revised Nov 2017

  Published by Enchanted Ink Press

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1533491275

  ISBN-10: 1533491275

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. Copyright infringement is against the law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Samantha Eaton-Roberts

  Cover designed by authors, executed by Designs by Starla

  OTHER TITLES BY MICHELE G MILLER

  From The Wreckage Series - Coming of Age Dramas

  From The Wreckage

  Out of Ruins

  All That Remains

  West

  After The Fall (NA Suspense)

  Into the Fire - Dani’s story

  The Prophecy of Tyalbrook Trilogy - YA Fantasy Romances

  Never Let You Fall

  Never Let You Go

  Never Without You - Coming 2018

  Individual titles

  Last Call - New Adult Romance

  Awaken the Soul, A Havenwood Falls novella (YA Fantasy)

  CO-WRITTEN WITH Mindy Hayes

  Paper Planes Series - Sweet Contemporary Romances

  Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost (YA)

  Subway Stops and the Places We Meet (Adult)

  Chasing Cars and the Lessons We Learned (NA)

  Nothing Compares 2 U, a 10 Things I Love About You novella

  Visit my website for updates

  https://michelegmillerbooks.squarespace.com

  OTHER TITLES BY MINDY HAYES

  The Faylinn Series - YA Fantasy

  Kaleidoscope

  Ember

  Luminary

  Glimmer (a Faylinn novella)

  The Willowhaven Series - Adult Romance

  Me After You

  Me Without You

  Me To You – Coming 2018

  aIndividual titles

  The Day That Saved Us – Coming of Age Romance

  CO-WRITTEN WITH MICHELE G. MILLER

  Paper Planes Series - Sweet Contemporary Romance

  Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost (YA)

  Subway Stops and the Places We Meet (Adult)

  Chasing Cars and the Lessons We Learned (NA)

  Nothing Compares 2 U, a 10 Things I Love About You novella

  Visit her website for updates

  http://www.mindyhayes.com

  YOU'RE CIRCLING THE ATMOSPHERE, UNSURE IF I'LL DISAPPEAR

  I'M NOT GOING NOWHERE

  OPEN YOUR EYES

  I'M ALWAYS GONNA BE YOUR SAFE PLACE TO LAND

  - CHRISTIAN BURGHARDT, SAFE PLACE TO LAND

  PROLOGUE

  Dear Amber,

  Did you know you’re more likely to be attacked by a shark than die in a plane crash? I find that interesting since I never go in the ocean, but I’ve been on a plane ten times. So, I guess I’m more likely to die in a plane crash than be attacked by a shark, but maybe it’s different for you.

  I thought beginning this letter as if you already know me would make the concept of a total stranger writing to you a little less weird, but now that I’ve thought about it, I realize my fascination with plane crash facts might be weirder. But I like weird. So, hi. If you didn’t catch it from my return address, I’m Ruby Kaminski from Fremonton, California. My mom died on Flight 397 with your parents. Though, can we really say they died when we have no idea what actually happened to them? Let’s refer to them as MIA. No, I’m not in denial. I’m painfully aware that they aren’t coming back, but I like facts. And the truth of the matter is most of the people on Flight 397 are MIA.

  You’re probably wondering how I managed to get your address. I have my ways. Besides, I thought it might be good to connect with someone who understands what I’m going through. Though I believe our circumstances are entirely different, and there’s no way for me to understand what you’re going through, I’m hoping we can relate to one another on some level.

  Do you ever wonder if, after the plane exploded, the passengers were washed up onto a remote island, and now they are kicking back, drinking coconut milk and sun tanning under a palm tree? Maybe they are eating fresh seafood cooked over a fire and sleeping under the s
tars?

  It’s a nice thought, don’t you think?

  If you’re okay with weird, feel free to write me back. I’m full of it.

  Sincerely,

  Ruby Kaminski

  JUST ANOTHER DAY

  Brett

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 1

  “Happy New Year!”

  “Screw you.”

  Screw. You. Those are my first words of the new year? Ha! Bet this is going to be a stellar year.

  “Awe, give me a kiss.” The shrill voice shouts the slurred words in my ear. I may be deaf now, thank you very much. Bright pink cable knit sleeves drape around my neck, the wearer’s dark blonde mop of hair assaulting me. She isn’t at all familiar. What the heck, man? I pluck her wrists from my shoulders and she falls away. Freedom! I make my escape.

  A heavy beat ricochets off the wall as I work my way upstairs. I stop midway and glance over the banister. There’s a sea of bodies occupying the dim room below. Revelry is everywhere. It’s 1993—a new year. The year of graduation, the year we start college, the year we become adults. A circle of girls bursts into laughter directly below me, one of them blowing a noise maker, as their hips move to the rhythm pulsating from the speakers. I should be down there, too. They’re celebrating the beginning of a new year. I’m celebrating the end of the old one.

  I turn my back to the revelers. Closing my eyes, I press my knuckles between them and rub the skin in circles. Between the obnoxiously loud music, cheerful party goers, and asthma-inducing cigarette smoke, I’ve developed a headache in the three minutes I’ve been here. Why does she do this to herself?

  Man, these parties suck. The smoking and drinking, the random hook-ups sessions and fights . . . and the crap like this—the random body before me. The poor guy is propped against the wall, passed out between two steps. I carefully step over him. How far would he roll if I shoved his shoulder? Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Wow. My foul mood is her fault.

  I move forward, side-stepping a couple near the top of the stairs, and scan the hallway. She’s nowhere to be found. On to knocking on doors it is. Man, this knight in shining armor routine is old. I’m sick of coming to her rescue, but here I am doing it again.

  Slamming my fist on each door, I jiggle the handles and call out her name.

  “Amber?” The first door glides open, revealing a room full of teens sitting in a cloud of smoke staring back at me. No Amber.

  Door two is locked. No answer. I pound harder. “Amber?”

  “She’s not in here,” a vaguely familiar voice replies. How many doors have I knocked on looking for my sister in the past six months? Too many if people recognize us.

  The door at the end of the long hallway opens, the party host himself walking out. Dude’s dressed for July at the beach, not January in Pennsylvania, with his open button-up shirt and low hanging shorts. What an idiot.

  “George, where’s Amber?”

  “Hey, man.” George lifts his hand for a high five. “Happy New . . .” His salutation cuts off as I stalk forward. I hurry his way before he can think to close the bedroom door. I should have saved my breath; he doesn’t bother with discretion. The prick.

  He stumbles, his bloodshot eyes blinking rapidly as his back hits the wall. I crowd his personal space, rejecting his high five and pressing my palm into his chest. The potent stench of alcohol and sweat rolling off him could singe nose hairs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” If she’s in this room . . . I compose myself and shove open the door.

  My eyes leave George’s face and he inches away. Forget him, Brett, he’s not worth the swollen knuckles.

  There she is.

  Okay, maybe he is worth the hassle. My jaw clenches.

  Amber’s perched on the edge of a disheveled king-size bed. Her face is blank as she slips her shirt over her head. I inhale deeply, averting my gaze and locking the door behind me. Ruffled pillows, floral paintings, and a feminine wallpaper border decorate the room. This is his parents room? Sick.

  “No lectures.”

  “Psh, why would I bother wasting my words on one of those?”

  “Brett.” Her eyes and her tone hold a plea. I’ve heard it before.

  Remain calm. “I’m bringing you home.”

  I should take hold of her skinny shoulders and shake her like a rag doll until she learns some sense, but the method wouldn’t work on her. Nothing works with her. I’m prepared to tell her as much when her tears begin.

  “Did he—” How do I ask the question? Did he hurt you? Force you? Why is she crying?

  “Hmmm?” She swipes her knuckles across her damp cheek. “Did he what?” She gapes at me. “Oh! No. B, I’m fine. He . . .” Her words tangle together and she stops trying. I roll my eyes. It’s hard to find the energy for anything more.

  Walking into the adjoining bathroom, Amber flips on the light and straightens herself. She wipes at the black streaks below her eyes, a tissue pressed against her lips as her fingers comb her hair into something presentable. It’s as though I’m watching a scene from a movie. One I’ve seen many, many times. I recognize these movements for what they are; she’s putting herself back together again. Humpty Dumpty’s tune echoes in my mind again. When will rescuing her stop working? At what point will she no longer be able to put herself back together again?

  Her hands press palm down on the vanity as she leans forward. She stands there, her nose pressing against the mirror, studying her reflection for two whole minutes before she straightens, shakes her head, and flips off the light.

  We leave the house in silence.

  She slips into the passenger seat of my car and buckles up. “How was your date?”

  How typical of her, ignoring what she’s done and speaking to me as though it’s merely another mundane day. I close my eyes, gripping the steering wheel.

  Calm down, Brett.

  She’s struggling.

  She’s hurting.

  I need to help her figure things out, but, man, I want to run away from this—from her—and everything I’ve taken on over the past six months.

  Amber coughs, rubbing her hands together, blatantly reminding me of the below freezing temperatures and the fact that we’re sitting in an ice box. I crank the engine and the heater kicks on.

  “My date was great,” I shift into drive. “Right up until the moment I had to leave and rescue my idiot sister.”

  Her sharp inhale is like a sneeze in a library. Recognition dawns on her face. A wry smile crosses her lips as my angry one challenges her. “You’re right.” Her head cocks to the left, her brow lifting. “I am an idiot,” she concedes.

  Before June, I would have laughed and gloated at her easy concession. Not tonight though. Tonight, I don’t want to be right. I don’t want to see my sister in this light. I simply want her to stop what she’s doing.

  Yep, happy New Year to me.

  CAN’T LET GO

  Ruby

  MONDAY, JANUARY 4

  “Dupa!” Nana’s arm jets out of the driver’s side window as she shakes her fist.

  “Nana!” I can’t stop laughing at the confused look on the cyclist’s face as he whizzes across the intersection. “You can’t go around cursing at people in Polish.”

  “Why not?” she asks indignantly, adjusting her sunglasses. “He was a dupa.”

  I should stifle my laughter like an adult would after hearing a toddler swear, but it’s so funny I can’t help myself. “Because it’s rude.”

  “Well, he was rude. And he probably doesn’t even know what a dupa is. Half a brain he must have for darting in front of our car and flipping me off for laying on the horn. I could’ve killed him.” After a beat, she gasps and covers her mouth. “I’m sorry, Ruby Alina. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I resist the urge to sigh. My fingers disappear into the sleeves of my gray sweater as I shift in my seat. “Nana, you don’t have to apologize every time you make a reference to death.”

  “But I do. You don’t need any more re
minders.” Her cold, wrinkled hand comes to rest on my own sweater-covered one and she squeezes.

  If only she knew I’m only reminded when she makes a point of calling herself out. Too many people feel the need to tiptoe around me and avoid anything that might make me think of Mom. I’m not a ticking time bomb, but they treat me like one.

  An airplane flies overhead and I watch out the passenger’s side window as it soars across the blue and disappears between the white. Thousands of airplanes take off each day and reach their destination, but my mind is filled with the ones that don’t.

  It’s more likely for someone to die in a tsunami than a plane crash. That’s amazing. A stupid gigantic wave is more likely to be the demise of a person than as a passenger on a plane falling from the sky. And yet, that’s how I lost her.

  “You know . . .” Nana hesitantly speaks up. “There was this other family involved in the crash. The parents left behind some kids your age. A boy and a girl. Twins, I think.”

  Where is she going with this? She knows I’ve gone through the flight roster a million times, looking at the names of all the people who died alongside Mom. I looked into their families in as much detail as news articles would let me. I know exactly who she’s talking about. Brett and Amber Pratt. Their names won’t leave my head. They lost both of their parents—not just one—and right before beginning senior year, same as me. At least I still have Dad. They have no one.

  “I thought if you needed someone to talk to, someone who understands exactly what you’re going through, it might make you feel better. I made some phone calls and got their home address. If you want to write them a letter, you may find you’re not alone.”