Page 2 of Second Chance Vacation

As I watch her bike disappear down the street, I am reminded…this is it.

It’s over.

She’s gone.

Yet, time keeps moving.

I have to finish packing.

I need to load up the car.

I leave for college tomorrow, and what used to be a source of excitement is tainted.

Despite my excitement before, I suddenly have nothing to feel excited about.

The framed photo of Viv and I meets my bedroom wall as it crashes to the ground. I’m not even sure that I’m mad, but I have so many emotions bottled up inside of me that I need to do something. Cracked and shattered glass litters the floor, yet I don’t feel any better. In an effort to clean up my outburst, I reach for the glass, only to slice open my palm.

“Are you okay?” Hannah’s voice carries as she shoves my bedroom door open and finds me cradling my hand to my chest, a dull throbbing as the blood trickles down my wrist.

My eyes meet hers, and I wait. I wait for the shoe to drop, for her to say I told you so, for her to remind me why she didn’t want this for us.

I say it to her anyway. “Viv and I broke up.”

A shocked expression looks back at me. I almost expect her to give me sympathy. Hug me and tell me that it’ll get better—she does none of those things. The tightness in her expression tells me before she even speaks.

“Well, I told you—”

I reach up with my free hand and slam my bedroom door, leaving her standing in the hallway.

Not right now, Hannah.

ONE

GEN

Just. Out. Of. Reach.

I heave as I struggle to push my body’s limits, attempting to untack the last piece of the border from the top of the bulletin board in my classroom. It’s the last day of summer school, and I’m ecstatic at the idea of having three and a half weeks to myself before I have to set up my new classroom for the fall semester. Sweat pebbles along my hairline as I, in a glorious triumph, pull the strip of cardstock that has been taunting me from the cork. Deconstructing my classroom wouldn’t be this difficult if the school would just invest in air conditioning during the summer months. I glare at the thermostat mocking me with the summer heat, and it reminds me of just how much I am looking forward to a nice, cold shower when I get home.

“Yoo-hoo!”

My head swivels as Savannah’s all too familiar voice carries into my classroom, a venti-shaken iced green tea in her hand. She’s a sight for sore eyes after an excruciatingly long week of teacher in-service.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be telling me that tea is mine.” I flex my wrist with agimmemotion.

“Uh—obviously. Only you insist on getting the most boring thing on the Starbucks menu.”

“It’s refreshing. It’s like ninety-five degrees outside,” I mumble.

It’s also low-calorie, but I don’t say that part out loud. The moment the cup is in my hand, I take a massive gulp, the clean, refreshing liquid bringing my body temperature down to moderately comfortable.

Savannah’s eyes roll before she takes in my now barren classroom, already void of its charm. If we traveled back in time to a week ago, she would be looking directly at some of my favorite quotes fromThe Giver, the book we most recently read in my class, in punch-out letters across the now dreary expanse of cork.

“So what’s up, Sav? Or are you just here to keep me company?” I say with a laugh as I look around the room, tinkering with my locket between my fingers. “Although, I will say, if it’s the latter, you have impeccable timing because I just got done.”

“Saint-Tropez.”

Not this again.

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