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
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.”