Hope is what makes you look outside the window to see if it’s stopped raining.
Hope is what makes you believe he’ll text you back.
Hope is why you buy your jeans a little tight.
Hope is why you put a spoon under your pillow and wear your pajamas inside out when you hear there could be a snow day.
Hope is why you get out of bed in the morning, and why you dream at night.
Hope is what makes us believe that things can only get better.
Hope is what keeps us going.
DELILAH
Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get more complicated, Harvey happens.
On the day I’m hosting a schoolwide Halloween/birthday party—something I never thought I’d do in my lifetime—a hurricane that’s supposed to blow out to sea in the Carolinas takes an abrupt and unexpected turn and makes its way up the Eastern Seaboard. Hurricane Harvey goes from a trickle of rain to a hammering on the roof, and the lights flicker as Jules and I sit in my bedroom, crossing off details on a checklist.
“I’ve got a bunch of six-packs of Coke and twelve bags of potato chips,” I say. “And I talked my mom out of bobbing for apples, but she’s still insisting on making vegetables in the shape of a skeleton with dip.”
“This is going to be the worst party in the history of parties,” Jules mutters.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I argue. “My mother andEdgar’s mother are going to be there. I didn’t think beer pong would be a viable option.”
It’s totally lame to throw a party at my house for Edgar’s birthday with his own mother there as a guest—but this is the only way our plan is going to succeed. Besides, it doesn’t matter if my reputation tanks because of this, since if it works, Oliver will be here, and he’s the only one whose opinion matters to me.
It’s been a week since Jessamyn was released from the hospital, a week that we’ve spent plotting with Oliver and the characters in the book, to make sure that this swap is flawless. Edgar has been mostly out of the loop, consumed with taking care of his mom. He says the hardest part is how normal Jessamyn seems. With the exception of the antiseizure medication she has to take every day, and a headache that won’t go away, she might as well just be fighting the common cold.
“Has Edgar told Jessamyn why we’re really throwing this party?” I ask. “Does she even know that we’re trying to get her inside the book?”
“No. She still doesn’t believe any of this is real. Edgar thought it would be better if she didn’t know what we’re planning. That way she’s more likely to agree to be here.”
It makes sense. Jessamyn totally didn’t buy Edgar’s secret-portal theory; even seeing Oliver alive and talking was something she managed to dismiss as a hallucination caused by medication. Since this all hinges on a wish, it won’t do any good for Jessamyn to actively doubt the process. For all we know, that could be the one thing that makes this go wrong.
Hanging on the back of my closet door is the costume Iborrowed from Ms. Pingree and the drama department. Jules is going as Sally fromThe Nightmare Before Christmas.She was the one who made the astute observation that if this switch actually did pan out, we were going to end up with a guy in a prince costume in the middle of a high school party. Since it is only a week away from Halloween, it made perfect sense to dress everyone up—so that if Oliver and Maureen do arrive in the present day, nobody will blink an eye.
“So,” Jules asks, her gaze sliding away from me. “Did you hear from Chris? Is he coming?”
I look up at her. “I had to invite him. He’s Edgar’s best friend. Well, Oliver’s. You know what I mean.”
“It’s going to be so awkward,” Jules says. “I haven’t talked to him . . . since I ended things. And I didn’t exactly give him a reason.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay with all this? With Edgar leaving?”
“I kind of have to be, right?” She meets my gaze. “Let’s be real. He wouldn’t stay out here with me if the cost is losing his mom.”
“For what it’s worth,” I tell her, “he really did like you. He’s just got much bigger problems to think about right now.”
She forces a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.”
I laugh, glancing at Jules’s ripped black tights, the studded leather cuffs on her wrists, the safety pin she’s wearing as an earring, the thick black eyeliner. “That’s terrifying,” I say. “Remind me to never get in a fight with you.”
Suddenly there’s a crash of thunder, and the lights dim andthen buzz back to life. “I cannot believe this,” I mutter. “What if no one shows up?”
“Does it even matter? The only people whohaveto show up, will. Besides, there’s nothing like a little natural disaster to spice up a party.” Jules glances at her phone. “I have to go home and change. I told Edgar I’d pick him and his mom up at seven, and my face paint alone takes half an hour.” We both stand up, and impulsively she hugs me. “It’s gonna work.”
“It has to,” I say.
