Bold

  BOLD

  By Julia Swift & Andrew Landis

  Text copyright © 2013 Julia Swift & Andrew Landis

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance between the characters and any real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  BEFORE

  1 – Sasha

  AFTER

  2 – Sasha

  3 – Will

  4 – Sasha

  5 – Will

  6 – Will

  7 – Sasha

  8 – Will

  9 – Sasha

  10 – Will

  11 – Will

  12 – Sasha

  13 – Will

  14 – Sasha

  15 – Sasha

  16 – Will

  17 – Sasha

  18 – Will

  19 – Sasha

  20 – Will

  21 – Sasha

  22 – Will

  23 – Sasha

  24 – Will

  25 – Sasha

  26 – Will

  27 - Sasha

  28 – Will

  29 – Sasha

  30 – Will

  31 – Sasha

  32 – Will

  33 – Sasha

  34 – Will

  35 – Will

  36 – Sasha

  37 – Sasha

  38 – Will

  39 – Sasha

  40 – Will

  41 – Will

  42 – Sasha

  43 – Will

  44 – Sasha

  45 – Will

  46 – Sasha

  47 – Will

  48 – Sasha

  49 – Sasha

  50 – Will

  51 – Sasha

  BEFORE

  1

  Sasha

  An airplane flies overhead. I duck behind a tree on the side of the road. The plane is miles up in the air, but it could decide to come down to hit a building. Not that there are any tall buildings in Palmdale. Palm trees, the desert and a collection of strip malls along the highway, then some houses and more desert. Except for the Air Force base. That could be a target. But even the base is spread out, hard to hit.

  I’m back on the sidewalk and I don’t think anyone noticed. People tend not to notice me. I’m one of those pale, shy girls. I hate being a stereotype, but I can’t control the shy part so I tried to get a tan last year. Instead I turned lobster red and started shedding my outer layer of skin like a snake. We’ve got lots of snakes out here at the edge of the world. The high desert. As far out as you can live and still commute into Los Angeles. We moved here because my dad hated the city. He and Mom emigrated from Russia before I was born. They wanted choices for my brother, Xander. L.A. was the dream of the free world. To my mom it still is. Fifty different flavors of ice cream in the grocery store. Out here we just get 30. She feels deprived even though she won’t touch ice cream, too many carbs.

  My dad is obsessed with the clean air out here. Easy to have clean air when your only neighbors are snakes.

  My dad noticed I was shedding. Generations of our family lived in the snow, in Siberia. My grandmother used to claim she was descended from royalty. Pale skin, dark black hair, the sign of royalty. He wants me to be proud of my heritage.

  Too bad here in California, dark hair, pale skin equals shy girl. My genes won’t give me any other choice, so I’m going with it. Shy is me, I’m comfortable with it, the world is comfortable with it. If I wear baggy clothes, my mom complains no one can see my curves, but they also can’t see my fat. If I stay out of the sun, I’ll have amazing skin when I’m older. If I don’t blow dry my hair, it will stay strong and shiny. If I don’t wear makeup, my skin will be clear. Except for that new healthy skin makeup. I hate that. You try to look pretty now, you should have to pay later. There has to be some justice.

  My brother sits in his pickup truck in front of our house, if you feel like being generous and calling it that. In the ’50s, they called them bungalows, but really it’s one step above a shack. All my dad cares about is that it’s all ours. It’s land that we own.

  Except for the land under the topsoil, the oil company owns that. They can drill all they want. He hates it when I remind him. It’s his little piece of heaven, with his pride and joy. Xander his pride and me his joy, when I’m in a good mood and smile like a good little girl, which is almost never.

  Xander didn’t even pull in the driveway, and he’s not getting out of his pickup truck. Bet he had another fight with his girlfriend.

  “Hey Xander.”

  He doesn’t answer. The truck is turned off but he’s holding onto the steering wheel tight, like he’s speeding and needs to keep control. I climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t look at me.

  “I did something stupid, and I don’t know how to undo it. You better get out.”

  “Let me help.”

  “Sasha, you can’t get me out of this one.”

  He’s still gripping the wheel, staring in the rearview mirror.

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “I don’t know if anyone saw.”

  Sirens blare as a cop car turns down our street. Before I even see the lights and believe this is really happening, Xander turns the key and speeds into traffic.

  “Put on your seatbelt.”

  “Let me out.”

  “I can’t.”

  He turns a corner fast and my boobs slam against the side door. Ow. I’m going to have a bruise. Not that anyone will see. How can I be worrying about that now?

  “Sasha, tell me what to do.”

  “Stop, explain it to them.”

  “How? I can’t even explain it to you.”

  “You were sitting in front of our house. They know who you are, where you live. You have to stop.”

  He turns to look at me. I’m getting through to him. Xander slams his foot on the brake. I see through his driver’s side window a truck thought we were going to sail through the intersection. Too late for the semi to stop now.

  Xander senses my fear and turns, facing the oncoming truck.

  “Hold on.”

  He lets go of the wheel to hold my hand.

  AFTER

  2

  Sasha

  You know when you’re walking on the sidewalk and you see someone you recognize, a kid from English class, your mom’s friend, the hot guy you kissed at camp when you were eight, who doesn’t even remember you exist now, and you almost smile, so they know you see them. Then there’s that long walk the rest of the way until they pass you. What are you supposed to do, smile more, talk? No way. My default, look at the ground, like the leaves brushing by are so fascinating. Or, if you’re lucky, there will be a caterpillar you can pretend you think is cute if they ask what caught your eye. But they never ask, because you are invisible. Or at least I am. But not today. No more time to waste. Life is too short. I will not throw it away being too afraid. But I am scared. Baby steps. Here I go.

  I make myself look up even though it’s Will, the new guy who moved into the falling apart old house across from the school that always has someone new living in it because no one can stand the noise from all the obnoxious high school kids. All the other kids, because, of course, I’m not only invisible but quiet, too.

  He’s not a kid. He’s not older, just cooler. Not a kid, not a boy, but a
guy. So I look up and do my almost smile, so I can’t be accused of smiling if someone is watching and wants to make fun of me for having a crush. Not that anyone would see me. But that’s the secret about us invisible kids, we all know you’re always watching us, waiting for us to mess up so you can point and laugh. But he’s not watching me. His buds throw a basketball. Boom. It almost hits my head, but I move just in time. They weren’t aiming at me, they were throwing him the ball and Will grabs it and is off to the hoops, a crowd of girls watching.

  How do those girls stay so thin? All they ever do is sit around watching the guys play. Waste of time. But they’re not invisible and that’s my new promise right? To try to break out of this shy thing, put myself out there in the world. What’s the point of living if you’re watching it from the sidelines on the bench? So I head to the bench. Hey, for me, it’s a move up.

  “What happened to your neck?”

  It’s Carmen. One of the perfect girls, except she’s actually nice, usually. Everyone stares at my scar.

  “Car accident.”

  “Wow. Were you like, thrown into the street and run over?”

  Amber loves gossip.

  “My brother’s truck was run over, by an even bigger truck.”

  “Can I see?”

  They all crowd to see and touch. Amber is not so gentle. I pull away. Carmen looks at me strangely, like I’m an alien.

  “Did you float out of your body and die?”

  “No.”

  They are clearly bored by this response.

  “But it changed my life.”

  That’s not enough for Amber, but Carmen is still looking at me as everyone turns to watch Will and his buds to see who can hang onto the rim the longest. Well, they haven’t asked me to leave. Maybe this breaking out of your shell thing isn’t so hard. What was I afraid of all those years?

  I lean on the bench, letting my muscles, which have been so tense they hurt, relax. The bench slides back with a screech. Everyone stares and it’s not the cool-you’ve-got-a-scar stare. I want to run and hide. But they’d see me run. And when I woke up after the accident I promised myself, if I live through this I’m going to really start living. So they are all staring, at least I’m not invisible.

  3

  Will

  There’s that girl, the one with the scar. She’s lucky everyone knows where her soft spot is. Mine, no one knows. So they poke at it all the time.

  Jake Jenkins is giving me attitude. Thinks he can dribble around me. Jake Jenkins who suspects the girls don’t dig him anymore because they’ve got eyes on me. I hear the girls only started checking out our pick-up games after I moved here. He shoves, I shove back. He bets I’ll back down, but I won’t. Jenkins pushes me again. Trips me. I can take him with me, but don’t. I can handle hitting the blacktop, getting scratches that for a second look like Chex sprinkled with blood. Sometimes it’s good to have marks on you because when you look in the mirror and it hurts, there’s something to blame.

  4

  Sasha

  Okay, I think we’ve already established I’m weird, but I have a freaky confession. I actually like school. Sometimes I can’t wait for the bell to ring. In class, most of the time you don’t have to do anything. You can sit and space out and daydream. And, you’re surrounded by really cute guys for your daydreams. And my daydreams are good, I’m an expert with years of experience. I’ve been known to disappear into a fantasy so deep that I can actually feel every breath I take spreading through my body, like every cell is alive. I worry someone will notice my bosoms are heaving like in some old-time romance novel, but when I look to see if Will sitting next to me notices, he’s staring out the window. Staring at him makes my leg get all hot, not “ooh sexy hot,” I mean really like 110 degrees in Death Valley hot, even though I’m nowhere near touching him.

  I want to stop daydreaming and start living, but I have no idea how. I should pay attention to Ms. Healey. She’s giving us our geometry homework. It’s a given I can finish it in five minutes while watching YouTube and chowing on edamame and diet soda. Geometry is all about proving theorems and looking at everything from different angles and perspectives. School is easy. It’s the kids who don’t know how to go inside their heads and concentrate that have a hard time. Going inside is no problem for me. It’s coming out into the real world that should be my real homework. I thought about sending an application to Real World, but please, like they would ever pick me. They want kids who act without thinking, talk without caring how they look and jump without knowing where they’re going to land. That’s not me.

  I’m procrastinating. Class is out and other kids are talking, laughing. Will and Carmen are flirting, and I’m still in my head. So no more, here I go. Carmen blew him off, so I'll just walk up to him.

  But, of course, he takes off the minute she turns away. He doesn’t even notice I’m following him. He’s going into The Spectator room. No way I’m following him in there. The school paper is not for me. First of all, it’s a club, so you have to talk to people. Second of all, you have to think of stories and then interview people. Even if I thought maybe Real World would want a freaky shy girl they could pull out of her shell on the show, I know there’s no way I’m ready to walk up to strangers and ask them questions. But I followed him here. Doesn’t that count for something?

  5

  Will

  “You’re late, jock-o.”

  Amber, the rock star editor, already made up her mind about me. Every school’s got an Amber. An overly ambitious smart girl who wants everyone to believe she doesn’t care about her looks. She’s all about the work. Too bad everyone knows she spent hours copying the fake models in the Ivy League brochure she slips under her pillow every night where she dreams about the day she opens her acceptance letter and is called up to the Mothership.

  “I tried to get here early, but Coach wanted to talk to me about something.”

  I shouldn’t have lied. Now she’ll worry I have other priorities. Yes, basketball is mega important to me. But it isn’t everything anymore.

  “I won’t let it happen again.”

  She turns to face her minions. I slide into the nearest available seat. I don’t know a single person in the room.

  “This year, our paper will undergo a massive change. We’re no longer going to publish a print edition.”

  Hooping and hollering. Some guy pounds on his desk. I flinch. I’ve never been to a war zone, but I’ve seen the movies and I’ve heard my dad’s stories so many times. And ever since the day I don’t want to talk about, not yet anyway, when I hear a loud bang I have to stop myself from jumping out of my skin.

  Why is everyone excited? I know nobody reads newspapers anymore, but suddenly a wave of anxiety builds in my throat. I had seen myself bringing home the paper and sliding it in front of Mom on the kitchen table like Dad used to do when his articles went to print. Amber quiets the room and points out the debut of the online only version will still be hard-hitting. I feel somewhat better. Relieved. After she orders the students to divide into the subgroups they worked in last year, I join the newbies around her desk.

  It’s just me and a scrawny-looking dude with black glasses.

  “Know what a Hasselblad is?”

  We both shake our heads. Amber sighs heavily, annoyed.

  “Our amazing photographer went off to Cal Arts so we’re looking to replace her.”

  We both say we want to write. The scrawny dude just moved here, too.

  “Can I see your clips?”

  I open my backpack and hand Amber two of my articles from the sports page at my old school. I hope she doesn’t ask for more. They’re all I have. She stops on a photo from a baseball game.

  “Is that you?”

  I nod. It was the night we were eliminated from the playoffs. Amber scans my articles. The guy with the black frame glasses sees she’s not impressed with my work and passes a sleek, black professional portfolio to her. My dad used one of those. Amber pages through the st
ories, all encased in plastic with a spiral binding. Over her shoulder, I spy a photo of a young girl studying by the light of a flashlight in the back of a van. The headline reads, “Valedictorian Surprise: She’s Homeless.”

  Amber’s face sparks.

  “I remember reading about her online. Her family lost everything during the housing bust, but they didn’t want to move to a new school district senior year so they secretly lived in their van. How’d you land such a big story?”

  “Last spring, when the Missouri came this close to topping the levee outside of West Alton, our classes were cancelled for a week so we could pack sandbags and stack them around the business district. Every day while we would fill and stack, fill and stack until we couldn’t lift a piece of paper, I noticed this one blue van with tinted windows never moved from across the street. I knew if the levee broke, that vehicle would be underwater so I walked toward the van to post a warning note. I was surprised my classmate, Kristin, jumped out of the van. I warned her she had better move, the levee might break, but when her father opened his door I could see the van was jam-packed. That van was their home.

  “Luckily, the waters crested that night without overrunning the town and life went back to normal for everyone, except for Kristin and her family. I wrote the article to expose the irony that so many people were willing to help protect a bunch of buildings, but nobody wanted to reach out to a suffering family.”

  Amber wondered how he convinced Kristin to go public. I want to know why I thought writing a sports story was a good idea.

  “When I came clean to Kristin about being a reporter, she surprised me by saying it was okay to reveal the truth about her family, under one condition. I wait until after finals. She had enough pressure already. My story went viral and some guy miles away created a Kickstarter campaign on Kristin’s behalf. More than 20,000 people contributed all sizes of donations. Her parents rented an apartment, and Kristin has enough to cover four years of college tuition.”

  “You changed someone’s life.”