Chasing Brooklyn
Also by LISA SCHROEDER
I Heart You, You Haunt Me
Far from You
Chasing Brooklyn
LISA SCHROEDER
Simon Pulse
New York London Toronto Sydney
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
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse hardcover edition February 2010
Copyright © 2010 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.
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please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949
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Designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Schroeder, Lisa.
Chasing Brooklyn / Lisa Schroeder.—1st Simon Pulse ed.
p. cm.
Summary: As teenagers Brooklyn and Nico work to help
each other recover from the deaths of Brooklyn’s boyfriend—
Nico’s brother Lucca—and their friend, Gabe, the two begin
to rediscover their passion for life, and a newly
blossoming passion for each other.
ISBN 978-1-4169-9168-7
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Grief—Fiction. 3. Nightmares—Fiction.
4. Interpersonal relations—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.5.S37Ch 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009019442
ISBN 978-1-4169-9882-2 (eBook)
ISBN 978-1-4169-9168-7
For Michael del Rosario—
I couldn’t have done it without you
Acknowledgments
It takes many, many people to make a book and then to get said book into the hands of readers. I’d like to take this opportunity to shine the light on the team of people who have worked tirelessly behind the scenes on my behalf. Please know I appreciate your work more than I can say.
A HUGE thank-you to:
The electric editorial team—Bethany Buck, Jennifer Klonsky, Mara Anastas, Anica Rissi, Annette Pollert, Emilia Rhodes, and Michael del Rosario.
The pristine production team—Carey O’Brien, Brenna Franzitta, and Ted Allen.
The delightful design team—Cara Petrus and Mike Rosamilia.
The marvelous marketing team—Lucille Rettino, Bess Braswell, and Venessa Williams.
The legendary library and education marketing team—Michelle Fadlalla and Laura Antonacci.
The perky publicity team—Paul Crichton and Andrea Kempfer.
The SUPERspectacular sales team, who are too many to list here unfortunately, and a special shout-out to Victor Iannone for his enthusiasm and Jim Conlin because the third book might not be here if it weren’t for his incredible support of the first.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn
One year ago today
I lost my boyfriend, Lucca.
He was
an artist
like me,
a dreamer
like me,
a nature lover
like me.
We met in September
of our sophomore year.
By November,
he was my first
“I love you”
boyfriend.
Some thought it was impossible
after only two months.
I’d reply, love doesn’t tell time.
Love is simply there
or it isn’t.
Every day,
in every way,
it was there.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico
One year ago today
I lost my brother, Lucca.
He was a son,
a brother,
a friend.
The whole school was in shock when he died.
Just six months earlier,
another guy from our school died.
Everyone went on about too much tragedy.
Want to know about tragedy?
Come to my house.
Every damn day, it’s here.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn
It’s early when I take flowers
to his grave.
I don’t want to see
anyone else.
The yellow Gerber daisies
aren’t flashy,
but beautiful in their own special way.
Like he was.
How many times
have I wondered
if he’d still be alive
if I had stayed home?
How many times
have I wondered
if there’s anything
I could have done?
How many times
have I replayed
it all in my head?
More than there are
blades of grass in this cemetery,
that’s how many.
Last New Year’s Eve.
He said he’d be careful.
He said he wouldn’t drink.
He said he loved me and he’d see me soon.
I was in North Dakota, at Grandma’s, for the holidays.
We talked just a few hours
before it apparently happened.
In the early morning hours,
while I had sweet dreams
of me in his warm, loving arms,
my phone filled with messages.
Messages from friends telling me
my boyfriend was
dead.
#277
Dear Lucca,
I don’t like cemeteries. Although, does anyone
really like cemeteries?
I mean, really? So many
dead people, and they’re just creepy. But here I sit
in one, writing you a letter.
I remember one year when I was six years old,
Daddy drove me through a cemetery Halloween
night. He said when he was younger, he liked to
have spooky fun in a graveyard. I was excited,
until we got there and walked around. He told me
we might get lucky and run into a real live ghost. I
turned around and ran back to the car as fast as I
could, crying so hard I thought I was going
to throw up.
But for you, I’ll do anything. Hope you like the
daisies.
Love always,
Brooklyn
Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico
I go by myself
to see Lucca.
Ma will be too loud,
wailing for him to come back,
as if Heaven will hear her cries and do as she says.
Yellow daisies tell me Brooklyn’s been here.
His flower girl.
I brought nothing.
Just myself.
Seems fitting.
Feels like that’s all I’ve got anymore.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn
At home, in my room
I pull out the shoebox
filled with Lucca
keepsakes.
Notes passed
between classes
with words of adoration
and little cartoons
telling the story
of me and him.
Love
Pictures of us
smiling
making faces
kissing
around town
one sunny afternoon.
Joy
Ticket stubs
from time shared
together at
plays,
movies,
concerts.
Happiness
After a while,
I put the box away,
joy,
and happiness
right along with it.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico
On the way home
I stop at the park
where we used to
run
slide
swing
jump
boys being boys,
our happiness measured
by how far we could jump from the swings.
Today I swing,
my legs pumping hard and fast
to that magical place where it feels like any second,
my feet will touch the clouds.
But this time, I don’t jump.
I
just
stop
pumping.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn
I grab my Lucca notebook
and make the weekly trek
to Another Galaxy.
Lucca loved going to
the comic book store
where the shelves are filled
with the best of
art and storytelling.
It was his home
away from home.
Now, I find strength in the pages
of the skinny little books.
Who doesn’t love to see
characters overcoming
the greatest of odds?
So I go, combing the boxes,
picking up a couple each week
with some of my allowance.
I keep them by my bed
and when I can’t sleep,
I pull a comic out
and hope a little of the
courage and strength
comes to me
through the pages.
Tom Strong is my favorite.
Sure, the story is good.
But it’s his name
I love the most.
When I get to the store,
the sign says CLOSED.
New Year’s Day.
A holiday.
I forgot.
The anniversary of the day
your boyfriend died
will do that to a girl.
Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico
Time for a run.
How far today?
Five miles?
Six?
It’s only noon.
I have the whole afternoon.
Might as well go eight or nine.
“Don’t you want lunch?” Ma calls after me.
I wave at her and head out.
Lunch can wait.
Everything can wait.
Time to run.
Mon., Jan. 2nd—Brooklyn
The walls of death
are closing in around me.
My best friend, Kyra, calls to ask
if I’ve heard the news about Gabe.
Gabe Gibson, Lucca’s friend.
The driver that night.
The one who survived.
When she tells me what’s happened,
her words hit me hard,
like a hammer to my heart,
I fall to the floor.
“Brooklyn?
Brooklyn!
Are you okay?”
It’s hot.
Stifling.
Need. Air.
“Brooklyn!
Should I come over?”
I make it outside,
where the sun is setting,
the sky a canvas splattered
with vibrant red and orange.
Clouds stretch across the sky
like cotton balls pulled apart by a child.
It looks so soft, I close my eyes,
trying to imagine the sky
wrapped around me,
comforting me.
But it’s impossible
to feel comforted
in this uncomfortable
moment.
“Brooklyn, speak now or I’m calling 911!”
“Kyra—” I whisper,
and that’s all I can manage.
Every part of me feels
numb.
“I know,” she says.
“I know. You okay?”
“No … no!
How could he…
I don’t …
Are you sure?
I mean really?
God, I feel sick.
Was it an accident or—?”
“Don’t know.
A drug overdose.
That’s all they’re saying.”
My mind races,
a million questions
chasing one another,
eluding any
logical answers.
He lived.
He made it.
A second chance,
given to one
and not the other.
And this?
This is what he did with it?
“I can’t believe it, Kyra.”
“I’m so sorry, B.
I knew this would upset you.”
“I gotta go,” I say.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As the red and orange
fade into grayness,
I can’t hold it in
anymore.
I sob and think,
Why, Gabe?
Why?
Mon., Jan. 2nd—Nico
I’m so pissed,
I can’t stop throwing things.
I threw the Guitar Hero guitar across the room and broke it.
If Lucca was alive, he’d be pissed too.
Except if my brother was alive,
his friend wouldn’t have gone off the deep end,
so they’d both still be here
and there wouldn’t be anything to be pissed about.
I don’t care how guilty you feel about driving your car into a tree,
you don’t go and do something stupid like that.
Asshole.
I don’t get it.
Was he trying to punish himself?
No. He didn’t punish himself.
He punished
his bandmates,
his family,
a whole school.
A school that’s had more than its fair share of grief.
I pace the floor, my heart racing while I resist the urge
to throw more stuff around.
Finally, I put on my running shoes.
I’ll run until I can’t run anymore.
Mon., Jan. 2nd—Brooklyn
Gabe was one of those guys
who was full of life.
Always talking.
Always laughing.
Always wanting to be the center of attention.
Big guy
with a bigger smile
and the biggest heart.
After Lucca died,
it changed Gabe.
Of course it wou
ld.
He went from front and center
to just fading into the background.
We hung out for a while
after it happened.
Didn’t talk much.
Mostly we sat in his room,
me writing letters,
him strumming on his guitar.
Still, we promised
we’d help each other through it.