Chasing the Sun

  Also by Melanie Hooyenga

  The Flicker Effect

  FLICKER

  FRACTURE

  FADED

  * * *

  The Rules Series

  THE SLOPE RULES

  THE TRAIL RULES

  THE EDGE RULES

  * * *

  Anthologies

  THE ART OF TAKING CHANCES

  LOVE ON MAIN

  Copyright © 2020 by Melanie Hooyenga

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CHASING THE SUN is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Left-Handed Mitten Publications.

  Book design, cover design, and ebook formatting by Left-Handed Mitten Publications.

  Author website: melaniehoo.com

  Email: melaniehooyenga@gmail.com

  Facebook: facebook.com/MelanieHooyenga

  Twitter: @melaniehoo

  Instagram: @melaniehoo

  Newsletter: melaniehoo.com/hoos-letter

  For everyone longing for the time

  when we could hold hands with abandon

  Contents

  1. Sage

  2. Neb

  3. Sage

  4. Neb

  5. Sage

  6. Neb

  7. Sage

  8. Neb

  9. Sage

  10. Neb

  11. Sage

  12. Neb

  13. Sage

  14. Neb

  15. Sage

  16. Neb

  17. Sage

  18. Neb

  19. Sage

  20. Neb

  21. Sage

  22. Neb

  23. Sage

  24. Neb

  25. Sage

  26. Neb

  27. Sage

  28. Neb

  29. Sage

  30. Neb

  31. Sage

  32. Neb

  33. Sage

  EPILOGUE – Neb

  To You, the Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Melanie Hooyenga

  1

  Sage

  It takes a brave man to ask his ex-girlfriend for a detailed list of everything he did wrong in their two-year relationship, but that’s exactly what Paxton Juarez, former love of my life, has done.

  I slam the cupboard door shut and toss a bag of pretzels on the counter, then grab a couple sparkling waters from the fridge.

  Elbows propped on the counter, my best friend Naomi McGinnis peers at me over her phone. “He seriously sent a list? Like specific questions?”

  I open the email app on my phone, pull up his message, and lower my voice to impersonate Pax. “Am I selfish?”

  Naomi nods, her red curls bouncing.

  “Did I not care for you enough?”

  “Duh.”

  “Am I possessive? What is wrong with me, mentally? Did I care for your mental state of mind? What kind of a boyfriend am I?”

  She lets out a low whistle. “Holy spaceballs. Isn’t it a little late for him to suddenly care how he treated you?”

  I toss my phone on the counter. “It’s been a month since we broke up right after he graduated and I finally feel like I’m moving on. Why can’t he just crawl in a hole and stay there?”

  “He’s still trying to control you,” she says, her gaze jumping between me and her phone. We’ve been down this road before, but it always leads to the same place: me feeling horrible and stupid and weak. Naomi’s house is filled with self-help books and she’s spent the first half of summer break trying to convince me that what Pax and I had was not love—it was abuse.

  I didn’t want to hear that word at first, but she’s helped me accept it and try to move on. I used to be stronger. Could think for myself and knew what I wanted, or didn’t want, but now I’m left floundering.

  My head drops to my arms on the counter.

  “You’re not answering him, right?” Her tone holds a hint of caution, like she doesn’t want to tell me what to do but also doesn’t want me to write back. “Sage Winters, please tell me you’re not considering replying.”

  I shrug, face down. “It might be cathartic. You know, finally show him that he doesn’t hold any power over me anymore.” I peek at her over my arm.

  She’s smiling at my self-help speak.

  “I feel so stupid.”

  “You’re not.”

  “You’d never let a guy turn you inside out.”

  Her lips purse. “I’d like to think not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t let guys get to me.”

  My head pops up. “Who?”

  She brushes me off with a head shake and the corner of her mouth lifts. “It’s too soon to acknowledge.” The pretzel bag crinkles as she grabs a handful. “Will you promise to wait before replying?”

  I appreciate that she doesn’t flat out tell me not to. Because as much as I want to be rid of Pax, I’d also really love to have the final word.

  Before I can answer, both our phones buzz with a text.

  Naomi reads it before I can grab my phone.

  “Ooh, Kit’s having a bonfire.”

  “Tonight?” It doesn’t really matter when. I won’t go. I never go. And Naomi understands this.

  At least I think she does.

  “Later this week. For his new neighbor. Neb. Connelly I think.”

  “Why do you know his last name?”

  She shrugs. “I know things. So, do you want to go?”

  I spin my phone in circles in time with my pounding heart. The unread text lights up the display, taunting me with a night of fun that should make me happy. It’s not like I’m doing something wrong considering it. My gut twists and the pressure in my chest makes it hard to breathe. A fun side effect of Pax controlling my every move is now I panic when forced to make a decision. Combined with my nervousness around crowds—like at a party—and my body shuts down.

  My silence is my answer.

  “Really?” she asks. “It’ll just be a few of us. Kit Cordero doesn’t have enough friends to have a legit party.”

  I glance at the text.

  Kit: welcome to the Neb-orhood bonfire Saturday!

  I groan. “No, but Theo does, and he’ll invite half the school.” Naomi’s twin brother makes friends everywhere he goes and for some inexplicable reason he’s besties with Kit, who still has the sense of humor of a middle schooler.

  She bites a pretzel in half and chews, thinking. “It could be fun. And you need to get out of the house.” She takes another bite. “Summer’s halfway over and you’ve barely been outside.”

  I straighten. “I’ve been outside.”

  “Your backyard doesn’t count.”

  “But it’s a nice backyard.” My voice is as weak as my argument.

  “Come on, it’s been months since you’ve gone OUT out. Just consider it. For me?” Her bright green eyes lock on mine and my resolve wavers.

  “I’ll think about it.” I don’t bother crossing my fingers with the lie, and shift the conversation to something safer. “Where are you at with the vlog?”

  Naomi flattens her hands on the counter and bites her lip. “Change of plans.”

  “But I love the idea! You’ll be the perfect—” I wave my hand as I grapple for the right words. “Teen advice person.”

  Her curls practically vibrate as she nods. “Oh I�
��m still doing it, but I’ve decided a podcast would be better. I want people to focus on what I’m saying, not what I look like.” With her pale skin, light dusting of freckles, and poof of red hair, there is definitely a lot to focus on. But all of it’s good.

  “Do I need to pep talk you, Ms. Queen of Self-Esteem?”

  She smiles and it brightens her entire face. “Nope. I’ve done a lot of research, and while video is undeniably the leader with online viewership, podcasts have a broader appeal.”

  I shove a pretzel into my mouth, considering this while I chew. “But the rest will be the same?”

  “Still called Three Good Things. Still a mix of self-help and dating advice.” She flicks invisible crumbs from her shirt. “Even if my dating life is sadly uninspired. But I need help with episode titles, Ms. Star English Student.”

  I blush at the compliment. Regardless of what’s happened with my personal life, school has always been something I could control. I still haven’t figured out what an interest in reading and writing means for a college major or a career, but I have all of senior year to worry about that.

  “Hold that thought,” Naomi says before hustling down the hall to the bathroom.

  As soon as she’s gone, my confidence wanes. My finger trails over the dark screen of my phone. No one will miss me. Like Naomi said, I haven’t been around all summer. Or really for the past couple years. One party isn’t going to change that.

  I tap the screen and reply to the text thread.

  Me: sorry, can’t make it. school shopping with mom.

  Naomi bursts out of the bathroom holding her phone out like it scalded her. Her scowl turns to frustration, then concern, all in a matter of seconds.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just can’t.”

  She sighs as she flops into the chair next to me. “So what are we doing instead?”

  Before I can thank her for putting up with me, my phone dings with a text.

  Unknown: I’m starting to get a complex that you don’t want to meet me

  2

  Neb

  My hand hovers over my phone, like if I concentrate hard enough I can take it back. Because that wasn’t to the whole group—it was only to Sage—and I hit send without thinking.

  Before I moved here, I was confident, outgoing. Before, I didn’t think twice about going to a party or hanging out with friends, even if they aren’t really my friends and it’s a pity party because I don’t know anyone. But now everything’s different.

  And Sage hasn’t replied.

  It’s cool of Kit to help me meet people before school starts. When we were kids and I’d visit Mom on holidays and over summer break, we’d play in our adjoining backyards, but once we hit high school, our casual acquaintanceship dissolved into shouted hellos from the driveway and promises to catch up.

  Which we never did.

  Until now.

  This is probably Mom’s doing. Her way of “showing she cares.” She’s been appropriately attentive since I moved in last month, but she stopped being a full-time parent seven years ago and her skills are a bit rusty.

  Sage: who is this?

  My eyes close and I let out a groan. I’m such a dumbass. She never saved my number from the group text.

  Me: sorry! this is Neb

  Me: Kit’s friend

  If my bed would swallow me now, that would be great.

  Sage: oh. hi. saving now haha

  Sage: sorry I can’t make it, but new clothes are very important

  Despite her playful tone, the excitement I felt when I first texted fades.

  Me: so I hear

  I look down at my flannel that’s so worn you can practically see through it. At my cargo shorts with a tear in the leg from a camping trip last spring.

  Me: I should probably do that too

  Sage: gotta make a good impression, right?

  Did I misread her? She seemed down to earth, like she wasn’t into the superficial crap like some of the girls I know, but maybe I was wrong.

  Sage: my advice - don’t try to turn yourself into someone you’re not

  Okay, this is what I expected from her. It’s hard to get to know anyone from a group text, but she never seemed fazed by Kit and his friend Theo.

  Me: so don’t dye my hair blue and pierce my nose?

  Sage: unless that’s what you’re into

  Is that what she’s into?

  Me: blue hair does not suit me

  Sage: and piercings?

  Me: not for me

  Sage: so what is?

  I drum my fingers against my phone. What if she has blue hair and a nose ring and I inadvertently offend her? I don’t want to dig myself into a hole, but I also don’t want to play games.

  Me: I’m into camping, outdoors, that sort of thing. I’m all natural

  And now I sound like an ad for fricking granola.

  Sage: and astronomy

  A prickle of something—pride, and a little surprise—crawls through my chest.

  Me: you picked up on that?

  Sage: only after the first 50 times you mentioned it

  Me: it was not 50

  Me: maybe 20

  Sage: it’s cool

  Me: what are you into?

  I feel bad I haven’t picked up on her interests from the group texts, but she tends to play off what others are saying instead of starting the conversation.

  Sage: I like observing people. and reading

  Sage: boring stuff

  Me: I bet you learn a lot about people that way

  There’s a pause that stretches into a moment that twists into an almost awkward silence. I count to ten, one number with each breath, then try again.

  Me: are you a senior too?

  Sage: is Neb short for something?

  Our texts come through at the same time and I smile. Then I take a breath. It’s easy to get lulled into a false security when texting a stranger, but Sage doesn’t seem like she’s ready to go below the surface.

  Sage: yes

  Me: yes

  Sage: lol, are you gonna tell me?

  I smile again, and the tightness that’s gripped my heart for the past month starts to loosen.

  Me: it’s short for Nebula.

  Sage: like the woman from the Marvel movies?

  My eyes roll skyward and I silently curse Dad and his obsession with astronomy. Just as quickly, my jaw falls open. That’s the first time I’ve had a normal reaction to him since—

  Me: thankfully no. call it a parental obsession with outer space

  Sage: don’t make me google

  Me: a nebula is basically a giant cloud of gas and dust. in space

  Sage: wow, that had to be rough growing up

  Me: I went to the same school my whole life so most kids were used to it

  At the start of middle and high school some people tried to make fun of my name—older kids flexing and all that—but Dad taught me to be proud of who I am and my name is part of that. When I didn’t react, the jerks gave up. Plus nebulas are pretty badass.

  Sage: I think it’s cool. but I’m surprised no one calls you Starlord

  I snort a laugh.

  Me: my best friend Yoshi does

  Yoshi calls me that but until now he’s the only one who’s ever made the connection.

  Sage: so is that off-limits?

  I adjust against my pillow. Over the years, I’ve learned people are gonna call you what they want, so her courtesy of asking is surprising.

  Me: he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it

  Sage: noted

  Me: is Sage short for anything?

  I’m guessing not, but maybe she’s willing to share surface stuff.

  Sage: actual lol

  Sage: and no. just the boring plant. not much of a story except my parents thought it sounded pretty

  Sage: not that I’m saying I’m pretty

  Sage: I’ll stop now

  Laughter bursts out of me, bringing tears to my eyes.

  Me: it
is pretty

  Mom’s head pokes in the door of my room. Her long hair is pulled into a knot-thing near her neck and dirt streaks her clothes. A hesitant smile plays on her lips, like she doesn’t want to interrupt but can’t help herself. “I thought I’d never hear that sound again.”

  “What sound?”

  Her smile slips to a frown. “You laughing.”

  And just like that, the heaviness crashes around me. The feeling like I’m slipping back into the darkness that’s overwhelmed me all summer. The reality that Dad’s gone filling every molecule in my body, making it hard to breathe.

  She must see it in my face because she steps into my room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  I wave her off. “I know you didn’t.”

  She nods at my phone. “Who are you talking to?”

  The words ‘just this girl’ trip on the end of my tongue. Mom knew about Jennie because we dated for over a year. She inferred that we broke up because when I moved in, I never mentioned her. But I’m not ready to have her nosing around Sage and jumping to conclusions before I know what’s going on. Or before we meet.

  As if on cue, my phone buzzes with another text, but it’s not Sage. It’s Yoshi, saving me without even realizing it.

  “Yoshi.”’

  My phone buzzes again, texts from Sage and Yoshi filling the screen.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends.” Mom sighs, and for a second I feel bad about lying to her. She’s making an effort, and I haven’t made it easy on her.

  “Kit’s having a bonfire later this week.”

  “That sounds fun.” She picks at a fleck of paint on the door jamb like she wants to say more. We haven’t talked about curfew or any other rules like that because I don’t have any friends except Kit and he lives next door.