A Breath of Eyre
3.5/5
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About this ebook
Emma Townsend has always believed in stories--the ones she reads voraciously, and the ones she creates. Perhaps it's because she feels like an outsider at her exclusive prep school, or because her stepmother doesn't come close to filling the void left by her mother's death. And her only romantic prospect--apart from a crush on her English teacher--is Gray Newman, a long-time friend who just adds to Emma's confusion. But escape soon arrives in an old leather-bound copy of Jane Eyre. . .
Reading of Jane's isolation sparks a deep sense of kinship. Then fate takes things a leap further when a lightning storm catapults Emma right into Jane's body and her nineteenth-century world. As governess at Thornfield, Emma has a sense of belonging she's never known--and an attraction to the brooding Mr. Rochester. Now, moving between her two realities and uncovering secrets in both, Emma must decide whether her destiny lies in the pages of Jane's story, or in the unwritten chapters of her own. . .
"Captivating and heartrending. . . Definitely one for the favorites shelf."--Kelly Creagh, author of Nevermore
"A rich, wonderful, smart adventure, steeped in romance. I fell into this book in the same way Emma falls into Jane Eyre and I didn't want to fall back out again." --Lesley Livingston, author of Once Every Never and the Wondrous Strange trilogy
Eve Marie Mont lives with her husband, Ken, and her shelter dog, Maggie, in suburban Philadelphia, where she teaches high school English and creative writing. Her debut women's fiction novel, Free to a Good Home, was published by Berkley Books in 2010.
Eve Marie Mont
Eve Marie Mont lives in suburban Philadelphia, where she teaches high school English and creative writing. Visit her website at www.evemariemont.com.
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Reviews for A Breath of Eyre
42 ratings10 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5First off, many thanks to Kensington for providing me with a review copy of this book. It's one I've wanted to read since I heard about it, so I was thrilled at the chance to get my hands on it early.
I'm a HUGE fan of Jane Eyre. It's one of my all-time favorite books. I was excited to read a new take on it. Guess what? It went far beyond everything I'd hoped for.
I was expecting a retelling, I guess. I thought that it would be kind of like every other retelling-same story with a few new elements.
But it wasn't.
It gave me the chance to view Jane Eyre in a whole new light.
It let me see what might have happened had Jane had a stronger voice, if she had been able to keep her resolution to stay away from Mr. Rochester after the incident with Bertha. It let me see Bertha in a whole new light, and I think that was what I appreciated/loved the most.
Every time I've read Jane Eyre, I've kind of glossed over Bertha as the insane first wife of Mr. Rochester. I never once stopped to consider WHY she was the way she was, who might have driven her to complete madness, and what her dreams might have been. After reading A Breath of Eyre, I'd like to go back and reexamine my feelings on Bertha. I'd like to give her a chance.
I loved that the overall moral of the story wasn't win at all costs or shame the mean girls into being nice (though I loved that one time when Elise got hers. Man, I didn't like that girl.). The point was really to find your own voice, to be able to be heard above the clatter. When Emma finally found her voice, I rejoiced.
Mont's writing is fantastic. I didn't feel like she ever got bogged down in the minutia, nor did she resort to cliches. She just wrote solid, beautiful words.
Yes, it was a YA romance. Yes, it had elements of YA that can drive people nuts. NO, it did not drive me nuts at any point. No, I did not find it mundane. I found it powerful, moving, and inspirational. There's a message of forgiveness, both through Emma's experiences as Jane and her interactions with Gray. I love that she could take what she learned as Jane and apply it to her life.
Here's an example of one of my favorite lines:
"The sign of a true woman isn't the ability to recite French poetry or play the pianoforte or cook Chateaubriand. The sign of a true woman is learning to listen to her own voice even when society does its best to drown it out." (p. 300)
Isn't that WONDERFUL?!
This is one of my new favorites, and I will absolutely be getting copies of the next two books. I'm giving this a 'Pick Me' for being fabulous! - Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Looking at the cover and reading the description, A Breath of Eyre seems like a fun take on a famous novel. However, the actual novel takes a different turn. A Breath of Eyre is less of a story about living in the past or retelling a popular plot, and more of a lesson that the life one is living is a story all in itself. Emma feels suffocated in her life. Her mother is dead and her father seems odd and worried around her, like she could break at any moment. She finds an escape in Jane Eyre while reading it for a school assignment. When she wakes up in Jane's place, she has to make the decision of whether she wants to live out a new identity, or return to her old life. What I really appreciated about this novel is that her transportation, if you will, into Jane Eyre's life wasn't a snap of the fingers kind of thing. There is an even that triggers it and a logical explanation as to why she found herself in such a place. I also liked how it kind of resembled The Wizard of Oz in the way that the same people and places that were in her real life became anew in Jane's world. I was expecting much more of the historical fiction and retelling of Jane Eyre than I actually got. This is not necessarily a disappointment, just unexpected. Emma is in Jane's place for a relatively small amount of time, however; her journeys effect her greatly in her real life. In that way, Jane Eyre is more of a means of contrast to Emma's own life. It encourages her to find what is worth cherishing in real life and it helps her to get through some sticky situations. On that note, the plot of the novel really exceeds the Jane Eyre adventures. There is a lot going on, including relationships with boys, parents, and the effects of bi-polar disease on the family. I would consider A Breath of Eyre to be more of a contemporary then a historical fiction or fantasy novel. In addition, it is not necessary to have read Jane Eyre to understand A Breath of Eyre.This novel is the first of a three part series. I'm not sure if it will be a series in the traditional sense, or more of companion novels (as in you wouldn't have to read one to understand the next). A Touch of Scarlett (based off of The Scarlett Letter) is scheduled for April 2013, with A Phantom Enchantment (based off of The Phantom of the Opera) to come out April 2014. I am incredibly excited for these next two as I will be able to connect to them more then the first. I loved The Scarlett Letter and although I didn't read the book, The Phantom of the Opera is my favorite play.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I really enjoyed this book. I wasn't sure what to expect based on the title and I'm glad that I took the story as a story rather than expecting "Jane Eyre". Don't get me wrong, the main characters themselves have trauma and drama to contend with and they both are melancholy. Jane Eyre was never my favorite Jane Austin book so I don't have it memorized to know if her parts of Jane Eyre were 'accurate' but other than the first part of entering the Jane Eyre story (it was a little slow) I found the flipping between the modern day and the "Eyre" world to be a unique and entertaining read. What I did like is that while you were in the world of Jane Eyre she took a spin on the Jane Eyre characters and had you look at them in a different way. I liked the blend of young, modern teen drama with the austere age of Jane Eyre. I liked how, due to experiencing life through living as Jane Eyre, the main character (Emma) matured and managed to deal with some of the trauma/drama she's experienced/is experiencing in her young life. I'm interested in reading the rest of the series.If you enjoy a well written book revolving around young adult themes, hero/heroines that deal with things like death, suicide, conflict, social drama mixed with some alternate world/time travel then I would recommend reading this book.*Received this book as a LT Member Giveaway*
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I love the story of Jane Eyre and this book successfully captures every last bated breath moment of that tumultuous story. It moves smoothly between modern schoolday life and the glamorous life of a governess.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I can't help but feel disappointed this book didn't live up to my expectations that Emma would be truly living out Jane Eyre within the story world of Jane Eyre. It turned out to be more of a reflection of Jane Eyre with hints at it in this character's regular teen life.Not to mention how anti-Rochester it is! Here, I figured lovers of Jane Eyre really like Rochester, flaws and all. Too much feminism in this story and you just get a watered-down, uninteresting and un-Rochestery version of Rochester in Emma's boyfriend. Sure, I feel for tragic Bertha and the story makes a great case for her, but Rochester and Jane are the reasons pretty much everyone likes the original novel. It's weird to read an anti-Rochester book based on a fan reinterpretation of Jane Eyre.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Breath of Eyre was a sweet story about a teenager's self discovery, her family's past and about what she wants for herself. From reading the description you might think you were about to read a time travel type of book. But this definitely wasn't the case. I loved how Mont was able to get her heroine Emma, into the story of Jane Eyre, not in actuality but in her mind. I won't ruin just how that is pulled off but I thought it was well done and made the story more believable/enjoyable to me.
When I first read the description I thought this was going to be a typical teen romance with some interesting twists coming from her jumping into the story of Jane Eyre. I was way off the mark. This is more of a heavy read centering on issues such as depression, suicide, family turmoil, societal classes and prejudice. So if you are looking for a light romantic young adult book this is not it.
The story itself and all of details were well put together and the characters very believable in their personalities and development. Each character served a distinct purpose in the development of the story.
I know almost all of us can look back on our high school years (or heck if you're still going through them) and sympathize with the treatment that Emma and her friend receive while attending a private school that is usually for students from families with a much higher income. Issues are brought up here that go beyond the normal teenage hazing of a public school.
Emma's experiences with her family make you really think about all the little things we leave unsaid and how they could be effecting our overall relationships with our friends and family. While the tone of the book can be a bit of a downer at times the overall delivery did not leave me feeling sad.
I would definitely recommend this one to any reader who wanted to try out a YA book that dares to dig deeper, much more so than a lot of the other YA I have read recently.
On an additional note: I discovered that there are at least 2 more books due to come out, one dealing with Phantom of the Opera and the other The Scarlett Letter. I am pretty sure Mont will do just as good of a job with those two stories. However, knowing that they are going to use the same girl, Emma as the main character makes me less inclined to read them because I feel her story has been told. Plus, I am really not interested in those 2 titles that will be part of the upcoming books. - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I will be the first to admit that I don't read the classics. I have never read Jane Eyre. But there was something about this book that drew me so I tossed my name in the hat for it. And I am glad that I did.I was very impressed by the character of Emma Townsend. She starts out as a teen who has a stepmother that she doesn't care for and attends a private school on a scholarship that she hates. Typical teen attitude in that the world is out to get her. By the end of the book, she becomes a very impressive young lady.Actually Ms. Mont does a wonderful job with all of her characters. Even the villains are shown to have redeeming qualities. And they are all so realistic and really contribute to the book. While the pacing in the book was spot on in most places, I did find it rather slow in the first scene in Jane's time. Otherwise it was one of the books I couldn't put down. I basically spent all day yesterday reading it. I am really glad that I have been introduced to Ms. Mont's work as I will be keeping an eye out for more. Most of the young adult books that I have read were fantasies and I enjoyed being introduced to the new to me genre within a genre.I rate this book a 4.5 and suitable to any readers.--I received this book through GoodRead's First Reads program in exchange for an honest review. No monies have or will exchange hands.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I loved this novel! It was the exact right mix of fantasy(daydreaming?) and reality. I love contemporary fiction. I love fantasy. Mix em up and I'm in heaven. Throw in one of my favorite literary novels and I have actually died and gone to heaven!! This one even dealt respectfully with the issue of Bipolar Disorder. Teens do have it hard. They've got all those hormones going on, then all those issues, that now seem so small to us as adults, but to the teens reading YA, seem HUGE! They were to me. Like what to wear and who liked who and what I got on my Algebra test. But throw in being a scholarship student just trying to be invisible so you don't incur the wrath of the popular girls, a stepmother who you can't stand, and a weird change in your relationship with the boy you've known since you were a toddler and now you're crushing on and you've got even bigger problems. Oh, and then there's that whole living Jane Eyre's life thing. Kinda tough. Just a note- This is absolutely not a retelling of Jane Eyre or Emma living the life of Jane Eyre. It goes back and forth between the present and Jane Eyre.The thing I loved about this book was that there was a plausible explanation for Emma being in Jane Eyre. I won't say why, but something happened to her that would account for her possibly dreaming the whole thing even though it felt real. And even though Emma knew the story of Jane Eyre, she only vaguely remembered bits and pieces of the story while she was in it so that she had to make her own decisions and didn't try to copy the decisions that Jane had. She grew to really love her time at Thornfield and she really doesn't know anything about the strange goings on in the house or the secret Rochester is keeping from her, from everyone. And Emma comes back from Thornfield and has to deal with real life. And it's tough. Things aren't easy and Emma isn't exactly one for facing up to hard things. And then she escapes again to Jane Eyre when she should be facing something hard.I loved the way a minor, but forceful character in Jane Eyre was brought to life and concentrated on. I also loved that the people at Thornfield were all familiar to Emma, from her English teacher to the librarian. And that the truths in Jane Eyre made Emma question the truths in her own life and show some true character growth. While I didn't love Emma in the beginning, I admired her in the end for the things she did to help the people she loved.Some of the sides characters were really lovable. Emma's troubled friend Gray was very genuine. I knew from the moment he started trading wisecracks with her that I would love him if I were her. They'd known each other forever, their mothers being best friends. Their circumstances were different, his family wealthy, hers not and her mother dead. But they were still thrown together because his mother kept in touch. There were hints about him being a player before but in this book he was sincere and caring and I really loved him. There was also Michelle, Emma's roommate, tough on the outside, but just the same scared girl on the inside, thrown to the wolves of the super rich and their unfortunate target because she was on scholarship and spoke her mind. And the hippie like Owen who is so down to earth despite his father's incredible wealth. This novel blows all the other fall into another character book books out of the water. The contrast between the present and the book kept it from being a copy or rewrite of Jane Eyre and made it something really enjoyable to read. It was fast paced and the romance, though it kept you guessing (no love triangle!) was perfect. And this is a series! The next book is A Touch of Scarlet with the book pairing being The Scarlet Letter. And there is a scene from that book in the end of the book (I read the ARC). There is also a great quiz in the back to take to see what literary character you are. It was fun and actually enlightening for me to take.I highly recommend this book for lovers of YA contemporary, historicals, fantasy, romance, or just a really great book! I am really looking forward to A Touch of Scarlet. *Just a note, I don't think you have to read Jane Eyre, but I think it helps. Some references are vague and you may not understand. The emphasis wasn't a retelling of Jane Eyre or living in the book of Jane Eyre.HeatherI received an ARC of this novel from the author for review. This in no way influenced my opinions of the novel. Thank you Eve Marie Mont for the ARC.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Breath of Eyre by Eve Marie Mont is a coming of age story about a girl named Emma. Emma is a bit of a loner. She lives with her dad and step-mom, with whom she feels she has little in common. She also attends a prestigious prep school on scholarship. This doesn't make her very popular with the queen bee on campus who makes it her mission in life to make her chosen 'pet' as miserable as possible. Unfortunately for Emma this year's 'pet' is her roommate, Michelle. Michelle is also a scholarship student and she feels vastly out of place. She is very talented and brave but has some anger issues. Emma also has some major boy trouble. She has a crush on her English Teacher but also has love/hate feelings for her longtime friend, Gray Newman. Emma receives her mom's old copy of Jane Eyre for her birthday and serendipitously decides to write a paper on Jane. However things get crazy when Emma is transported into Jane Eyre and becomes none other than Jane herself. The lessons Emma learns as Jane applies to her own life as well. These lessons help her deal with the past as well as the present. The situation though different have similarities. Emma starts to doubt Jane's choices as well as her own. Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books of all time. So of course this book would interest me. Eve Marie Mont did a great job translating the classic story while also making it modern. Mont points out that we have a lot we can learn, good and bad, from literature. Overall this was a great read. I enjoyed both sides of the story, Jane and Emma's. A Breath of Eyre also made me look at Jane Eyre in a different light as well. A Breath of Eyre really is a breath of fresh Eyre.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Emma Townsend is a lonely girl of 16 who attends a boarding school, Lockwood, on scholarship (meaning that she is looked down upon by most of the other students who are from wealthy families). Her childhood friend, Gray Newman, 18, good looking and popular (and who Emma now considers to be out of her league), is even dating one of the snobbiest girls from Lockwood, Elise Fairchild. Elise and her friends fit the typical popular rich girl stereotypes – Elise is as beautiful as she is mean, and her friends do her bidding and help her gang up on students they consider to be inferior.Emma’s mom died when Emma was quite young, and she has a stepmother, Barbara, who tries to be a mom to Emma but Emma isn’t having any of it. Instead, she still pines for her mother. Otherwise, Emma focuses on trying to be a writer (she keeps a journal), and daydreams about her handsome Brit Lit teacher, Mr. Gallagher (who reminds her of Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre). In fact, Emma is writing a paper about Jane Eyre for her class project.In the meanwhile, Emma’s finally gets a friend – her new roommate, Michelle, also a scholarship student, and the two of them find a third friend in a boy from Braburn (where Gray attends), Owen Mabry. One night while the three of them get caught out in a storm, Emma is hit by lightening. Somehow, she finds herself back at Thornfield in the 19th Century, and she has stepped into the life of Jane Eyre. The characters from the book also happen to resemble those from her real life: for example, Mrs. Fairfax looks just her French teacher, and Mr. Rochester is of course Mr. Gallagher. When she finally wakes up from the lightening-induced coma (using her mother’s dragonfly pendant instead of - say - ruby slippers to help her get back), everything is different for Emma, who has learned, after all, that there is no place like home.Discussion: There are resemblances to The Wizard of Oz as well as Jane Eyre in this story, along with some aspects of time travel and questions about changing history. There is also a re-interpretation of Bertha’s story from Jane Eyre, with Emma/Jane painting her as a much more sympathetic figure, victimized by her status as a depressed woman in a society which, not unlike Emma’s Lockwood School, marginalized any female who was different. On the whole, however, I liked the contemporary story much more than the time when Emma was back at Thornfield. For one thing, I thought there was far too much of direct quoting from Jane Eyre – I’ve read that book so many times it was actually kind of boring to me to have so much of it rehashed word for word. I also thought that while there is an argument to be made for a feminist interpretation of the plight of Bertha Mason, the author changed the facts of the original story somewhat in order to do it. In this one case in which she didn’t actually use the original verbatim, I felt it would have been far more effective to do so.Third, there are times when she conflates the characters of Gray and Mr. Gallagher, both of whom take on some of the traits of Mr. Rochester. I think she should have stuck with one or the other.Finally, the author was developing an interesting plotline about Michelle’s father that she dropped. I thought for sure that the person who handed Michelle the roses toward the end of the book would figure in that relationship, but it was not taken any farther. On the other hand, it seems that Emma’s story continues in a book to come, in which she apparently goes back into the world of The Scarlet Letter. Perhaps Michelle’s story will continue as well.Evaluation: This story will no doubt be found very rewarding for fans of Jane Eyre retellings. The author also is to be commended for handling the time travel "logistics" better than many such books.
Book preview
A Breath of Eyre - Eve Marie Mont
A Breath of Eyre
Eve Marie Mont
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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Emma’s adventures continue in A Touch of Scarlet, by Eve Marie Mont.
Copyright Page
To Ken ...
wherever you are is my home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The seed for A Breath of Eyre was planted in high school when I read Jane Eyre for the first time and fell in love with Jane and Rochester’s story. Since then, I have reread the book countless times, and in all those readings, the book has never lost its magic. It is fitting that I am back in high school once again, as a teacher this time, and while I don’t have the privilege of teaching Jane Eyre, I hope my book might prompt some readers to seek out Charlotte Brontë’s original to see what all the fuss is about.
A huge thank you goes out to my multitalented agent, April Eberhardt, for searching for and finding the perfect home for this story; your positive attitude and humor kept me sane, and more important, kept me writing. To my wonderful editor at Kensington, Martin Biro, thank you for having faith in A Breath of Eyre and for talking about Emma and Gray like they’re real people; your intelligence and insight have made this a much better book. Thanks also to the warm and savvy team at Kensington/K Teen for embracing A Breath of Eyre and for doing all in their power to get it into the hands of readers.
Thanks to my friends and colleagues who supported me with early reads, brainstorming sessions, moral support, or just good conversation, especially Ashley Seiver, Barbara Kavanagh, and Taylor and Lisa Klein. A big shout-out to my students for reminding me every day that teenagers are smart, funny, compassionate, complex, and concerned about their world; you provide me with endless material and inspiration.
To the incredible group of young adult and middle-grade writers in the Apocalypsies and the Class of 2k12, thank you for being a community of professionals who truly nurture and support one another. It has been a pleasure taking this ride with all of you, particularly Heather Anastasiu, who read my sprawling mess of a manuscript and gave sound advice on plot and pacing while making me smile.
Thank you to my extended family for their constant love and support; I love you all so much. And a special thanks to my immediate family—Mom and Dad, you filled our house with books and ideas and made me the person I am today; Pete, our infrequent but long phone calls always raise my spirits and my confidence; and Phil, your generosity with your time and advice has made me believe in myself as an author, not just a writer.
Thank you most of all to Ken, my prop and my guide
throughout this entire journey. Without you, true love would exist only in books.
... and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended—a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.
—Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre
PART 1
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There was no possibility of taking a swim that day. My stepmother had planned a sweet sixteen party, and the guests were about to arrive. I’d told Barbara at least a dozen times that I didn’t want a party, but she insisted, saying if I didn’t have one, I’d regret it later. And now that the day was here, setting a record for heat and humidity that summer, the only thing I regretted was that we didn’t have central air-conditioning. That voice inside my head began to call me, that invisible cord tugging at my chest, drawing me to the ocean. But it was almost noon. The swim would have to wait.
Reluctantly, I threw on a tank top, cut-off shorts, and flip-flops and headed downstairs. The first thing Barbara said when she saw my outfit was, You’re not wearing that, are you?
I looked down at myself. It would appear that I am.
No, that won’t do,
she said, clicking her tongue and studying me as if I was beyond hope. Go upstairs, honey, and change into something pretty.
I raised my eyebrow at her, taking in the sight of her dramatic eye makeup and her piles of well-sprayed blond hair. Barbara had been raised in the rich and fertile soil of Georgia, fed a steady diet of debutante balls, diamond jewelry, and Dolly Parton hair. Her favorite color was yellow because it’s the color of sunshiiiine!
I’m perfectly comfortable in this,
I said. Besides, it’s, like, a gazillion degrees in here.
Honey, you don’t know heat till you’ve been to Savannah in summertime. Anyway, that’s even more reason to dress in something that’ll make you feel pretty.
Pretty being the end-all-be-all of life. Gray Newman’s going to be here,
she sang.
Oh God. Gray Newman was coming to my party. Gray of the soulful hazel eyes that fooled me into thinking he had hidden depths, when really he was just a spoiled rich kid who spent his summers lifeguarding and seducing the sorority girls. At least, that’s what I’d heard; we didn’t exactly travel in the same circles.
His mother, Simona, had been my mom’s roommate in college and later became my godmother, so Gray and I had been thrown together a lot as kids. Since my mom died, we only saw each other once or twice a year when we got dragged to each other’s milestone events. The fact that he was going to be here in my house for my party mortified me. I didn’t want him to see what a loser I was, to know that I had no friends, that I wasn’t popular like he was. The urge to cut and run grew so strong I could feel it in my bones.
Reluctantly, I went back upstairs to change. On a whim, I put on my bathing suit underneath the green-and-white summer dress I’d chosen. I glanced at myself in the mirror and made a quick assessment. Face: too pointy. Hair: too flyaway, and not at all helped by this humidity. Body: too pathetic. I pulled my hair off my neck and scooped it into a ponytail, partly because it was too hot to wear down and partly because I knew it would annoy Barbara. Ponytails are for horses,
she’d say, or some other ridiculous gem of Southern wisdom.
When I got back downstairs, I saw that Aunt Trish, my cousins, and Grandma Mackie had all arrived together. Next came the neighbors, Bill and Rita, followed by Cassie, a woman I’d made friends with at the real estate office this summer. And yep, that was it. Saddest sweet sixteen party in history.
I went around saying hellos and collecting presents and cards, beginning to hold out hope that the Newmans weren’t going to come. But around 12:30, their oatmeal-colored Subaru pulled up in front of our house, and my stomach fell. I watched Gray get out of the car, pick up his little sister Anna, and give her a piggyback ride to the door. Mr. Newman came in carrying an organically grown zucchini the size of a small infant, and Simona held out my present, which appeared to be wrapped in tree bark. They both hugged me, Simona clutching me for so long it was uncomfortable.
Happy birthday, Emma,
she said, tears welling up in her eyes. You look more like Laura every day.
I never knew what to say to this.
Gray squatted down so Anna could dismount, then gave me a slow, uncomfortable perusal, glancing briefly down at my chest, I suppose to see if anything interesting was happening there. It wasn’t. Despite nightly pleas to a God I only half believed in, I remained a disappointing five foot three with barely any curves. Gray was even taller than the last time I’d seen him, and he’d definitely filled out. With his close-cropped hair and slightly broken-looking nose, he looked hard and proud, but also sort of haunted—like a medieval saint trapped in the body of a Marine.
Anna ran into me, hugging my legs so I was staring down at her long red hair. Hey, beautiful!
I said. You’re getting so big.
I just turned seven,
she said.
And I just turned sixteen.
"I know, she said.
Gray told me, like, a million times."
So give Emma her present,
Gray reminded her.
His voice was deeper than I remembered. A few years at a private school had chipped away at his Boston accent, but a hint of it remained. I found it irritatingly sexy.
Anna handed me a small package and demanded that I open it immediately. Okay, okay,
I said, laughing and making a small tear in one corner. When I pulled off the last of the wrapping paper, I was holding a turquoise leather journal inscribed with my initials. Wow,
I said.
Do you like it?
I love it!
She broke into an embarrassed smile, and then, mission accomplished, went running off to see if there was anyone to play with. I must have looked a little stunned because Gray felt it necessary to add, Before you go getting all touched, it was my mom’s idea. She remembered you used to write.
Oh,
I said, wanting to slam him into something sharp and hard. Why did guys have to be like this? Was it possible for them to admit they had any feelings other than the sports-induced grunting variety?
So,
he said, are you still?
Still what?
Writing?
Not so much.
Why not?
I don’t know. I guess I haven’t been inspired. What about you? Are you still lifeguarding?
No.
Too busy doing keg stands and scoring with fraternity chicks?
He glared at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to punch the wall. I don’t do that anymore, Townsend.
Which one?
Either.
I studied his face for traces of sarcasm. Even if he was being sincere, it was sort of an unwritten rule that Gray and I had to give each other a hard time. When I was five years old and he was seven, I kissed him under the apple tree in our backyard. He responded by giving me a bloody nose. We’d been sparring ever since.
After a few seconds of awkwardly staring at each other, I rolled my eyes and went to join the rest of the party in the kitchen. Everyone was hovering by the whining air conditioner except my poor dad, who stood outside on the deck in front of a hot grill. Why Barbara had planned a cookout for the middle of a heat wave, I had no idea. Grandma Mackie was sitting at the table, sipping her old-fashioned, content to be ignored even though she was probably the most interesting person there. I noticed her drink was getting low, and Grandma didn’t like her drinks getting low.
Can I make you another?
I said.
A small one,
she said. Just tickle the glass.
I think you’ve had enough, Elspeth,
Barbara drawled. My grandma was eighty-three years old and had been drinking old-fashioneds since practically World War II. I didn’t think one more was going to kill her. And Emma, you know I don’t like you making alcoholic drinks for your grandmother. It isn’t appropriate.
Dad always lets me make them,
I said, playing the real parent
card.
I know, but he shouldn’t. Elspeth, let me get you a nice sweet tea.
If I wanted tea,
Grandma said, I’d go to the Four Seasons. Right now, I’d like to have a drink at my granddaughter’s birthday party.
She winked at me, then made a waving motion with her hand, ushering me down to her level. Who’s the David?
Who?
That beautiful Michelangelo statue,
she said, pointing at Gray.
I covered her finger with my hand. That’s Gray Newman, Grandma. You remember. Mom’s godson?
I don’t remember him looking like that,
she said, polishing off her old-fashioned. Delicious.
I didn’t know if she was talking about her drink or Gray Newman.
My cousins were eyeing him with interest, too. Ashley and Devin were thirteen-year-old twins who resembled the creepy sisters from The Shining movie, especially as my aunt insisted they dress in the same outfits. I shuddered to myself and went into the den to make my grandmother’s drink. Gray followed me in and watched me from behind, presumably with the intention of making me nervous.
Quite a party you’ve got here, Townsend,
he said. He always called me Townsend, like I was one of his swim team buddies. Your parents, my parents, and a bunch of relatives.
You forgot to mention yourself,
I said, which should make it fairly obvious that I didn’t write the guest list.
He laughed and nodded an unspoken touché. I told Barbara I didn’t want a party.
You have to have a party on your sixteenth birthday,
he said. But you could have invited some friends. I was expecting a room full of teenage girls.
I was about to tell him I didn’t have any friends, but it seemed too naked a statement to make to Gray. Like leaving raw meat out for a wild dog. So sorry to disappoint,
I said, turning away from him and tugging at my necklace. I could feel the heat rising to my face, and I hated myself for it.
You’re not playing this right,
he said. The more people you invite, the more presents you get.
But there’s nothing I want.
Nothing you want?
he said, feigning shock. You’re not a very good Lockwood girl, are you?
Lockwood Prep, the school I attended, had a reputation for girls with trust funds and designer wardrobes who received brand-new SUVs on their sixteenth birthdays. Gray was right: I was not a very good Lockwood girl. And he would know. He’d been dating Lockwood’s poster girl, Elise Fairchild, for six months. She was as Lockwoodian as they came.
So,
I said, trying to steer the conversation away from me, this is your last year at Braeburn.
Two years ago, Gray’s parents had transferred him from Sheldrake, the public school in Waltham, to Braeburn Academy, an alternative school that was all about kumbaya and kindness.
If I have to sit through one more ‘harmonic huddle,’
he said, making made air quotes with his fingers, I’m gonna impale myself with a drumstick.
That might be a little extreme,
I said, extracting a tiny smile from him. Have you thought about where you’re going to college?
I poured two inches of whiskey into my grandma’s highball glass.
I’m tired of thinking about it, actually.
His eyes darted restlessly, like it was paining him to have to talk to me. My mouth went rigid, and I retracted, turtle style. I was thinking of something cutting to say when his cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket and glanced down at the display. I have to answer this,
he said and abruptly left the room.
For some reason, I felt embarrassed and enormously disappointed. What had I expected, for Gray Newman to engage in hostile banter with me for the duration of my party? I stayed in the den for a few minutes so it wouldn’t seem like I was chasing after him, then went back out to the kitchen and gave Grandma her drink. Everyone was engaged in conversation, so I stepped outside to see if my dad needed help at the grill.
Hey, kiddo,
he said when he saw me. Ever eat a tofu dog before?
Can’t say that I have,
I said, smiling.
I sidled up next to him, relishing this brief time alone with my father. For the past few years, we’d grown distant. Well, really, he’d grown distant. He’d be standing right in front of me smiling, but I’d know that his mind was somewhere else. He was a fisherman for the local fleet, handsome in a Gary Cooper way, meaning he could look rugged or elegant, depending on the context. In the middle of summer when his skin was almost bronze, he looked like a weathered lobsterman, but around Christmas when he wore a tuxedo to take Barbara to the Boston Pops, he looked like a movie star. Now, with sweat staining the back of his shirt and a damp, sunburned face, he looked like the browbeaten husband he’d become.
Why don’t you let me finish up out here?
I offered. Go inside and cool off.
That’s okay,
he said. You’re the birthday girl. Go back and talk to your guests.
How could I tell him this was the last thing I wanted to do?
Reluctantly, I went back inside. Nobody seemed to care that I’d returned, so I ended up wandering around the first floor, feeling like I was at someone else’s party. In her zeal to keep the chip baskets filled, Barbara stumbled upon me in the living room and seized the opportunity to give me a lecture on feminine wiles.
What happened to Gray?
she asked in her irritating drawl, her heavily mascaraed eyes wide with alarm.
He got a phone call.
Well, honey, take this opportunity to go upstairs and reapply your makeup. Your face is all splotchy and your hair is a disaster. Go now, while Gray is occupied.
I wanted to scream at her, to tell her how awful it made me feel when she looked at me like I was some kind of mutant. Why could I never be good enough for her? Why could I never please her?
It was on days like this that I missed my mother most, even if I could barely remember her. In my mind she was bright and beautiful and wild—an orange poppy or a beautifully plumed bird. Summer mornings, we used to rush down to the beach to go swimming or build castles, and summer nights we’d catch fireflies until it was too dark to see. The ocean was the place where I felt closest to her. I clutched at her necklace—a silver dragonfly with blue and green glass wings—and felt an ache for her that took my breath away.
I had to get out of there. I had to go to the beach and swim—swim until my head cleared, my muscles ached, and my skin went numb—until I couldn’t feel anything at all. I knew it would be rude to leave my own party and I’d probably pay for it later, but at that moment, I didn’t care. It was almost as if I had no choice.
While the guests were eating their veggie burgers and tofu dogs in the kitchen, I snuck out the front door, determined to walk to the stony beach at the end of our block. The only thing that shook my resolve was seeing Gray Newman sitting on my curb, staring down at his phone like it had just bitten him. I intended to walk right past him and continue with my mission, but he shouted, Yo, Townsend!
Startled, I turned around. Yo, Townsend? Really?
Where are you going?
he asked. He looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe I was leaving my own party.
To the opera,
I said. My sarcasm was a defense mechanism. Truthfully, acting cool and aloof all the time exhausted me, particularly when the last thing I felt about Gray was aloof. His face hadn’t registered my joke, and he was still looking mortally wounded. Are you okay?
I asked, getting serious for a minute.
His eyes crinkled, like he was working something out in his head. Yeah, I’m okay,
he said. I just keep choosing the wrong girls.
His face looked so sad and earnest, but I couldn’t help feeling a sense of joy at this confession. He stood up and walked over to where I was standing. Barbara’s earlier pronouncement about my splotchy face and messy hair echoed through my head, and I felt sweat beading at my temples. Somehow even in the full glare of the sun, Gray managed to look cool and unflustered. You got a boyfriend, Townsend?
My face grew even hotter than before. There’s a constant stream of them coming in and out of my house, haven’t you noticed? I have to beat them off with a stick.
He laughed out loud, and I was surprised by how good this made me feel. Then he knitted his brow and stared at me. You know, our schools are, like, five minutes from each other. It’s weird that we never see each other.
Yeah,
I said, wondering where he was going with this.
Do you ever go into town?
Waverly Falls?
He nodded. No, I don’t drive, remember?
Oh, right. Are you going to get your license soon?
Eventually,
I said. My dad’s not a huge fan of the idea. He’s afraid if I get my license, I’ll take off and never come back.
Is that a possibility?
I don’t know,
I said. It’s tempting.
You don’t like Lockwood, do you?
I paused before answering. No, not really.
Understatement of the century.
Why not?
I couldn’t very well say, Because of people like your girlfriend, so I just shrugged and said, I don’t belong there.
It was an honest answer, and he gave me an honest response. I know.
I was wondering whether to be offended by this, but I got the sense he’d meant it as a compliment. Then he added, I don’t belong where I am either,
and I knew my instinct had been correct.
We stood staring at each other for a few seconds, but instead of feeling awkward like it had before, this time it felt heavy and meaningful. I didn’t want to stop looking at him, and then the staring contest grew too intense and I actually felt a little breathless. Finally, because I didn’t know what else to do, I said, Well, I’m going to go now.
You’re really leaving?
he said, his face an open book of disappointment.
Just going for a quick swim,
I said, clutching my necklace. His glance flickered briefly to the pendant, then rose to meet my eyes.
Be careful, okay?
I will. My dad’s a fisherman, remember?
And my parents own an organic food store. That doesn’t make me a vegan.
I laughed and nodded. I’ll be careful.
He smiled, but his face still looked sad. I think it was because his eyes turned down at the ends. Happy sweet sixteen, Emma,
he said. Sincerely. Without a trace of sarcasm.
Feeling a little rattled that he’d called me Emma and not Townsend, I turned toward the beach and felt his eyes on me as I walked away.
The beach was practically deserted. The TV and radio had been airing warnings to stay inside, but there were a few brave souls sitting with their beach chairs in the surf. I took my shoes off and stepped onto the pebbly sand, feeling my feet scald the moment they touched ground. I ran to the water for relief.
The tide was running high, the ocean churning up foam and seaweed. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the briny air as I watched a sailboat skim along the horizon. I imagined it was sailing somewhere exotic: Bermuda, Jamaica, St. Croix. Somewhere with soft trade winds that carried the scent of jasmine and hibiscus. I longed to be on it.
I took off my clothes and waded into the water, feeling its coolness envelop me. After a few more steps I couldn’t resist diving in and swimming out a little farther. Once I was out past the breakers, I began a steady and relentless crawl, swimming like I was trying to reach the horizon. My heart was beating fast, but I felt tremendous. Alive. When I finally grew tired, I turned onto my back and let my head float on the water, looking up at a cloudless sky. My ears were underwater, so all I could hear was the magnified sound of my own breathing, hypnotic and soothing.
Somehow I could lose myself in the ocean the same way I could lose myself in a good book. Maybe it was because both involved suspension—a suspension of weight, a suspension of disbelief—a willingness to surrender to something greater than oneself. Cradled by this enormous sea, everything else melted away. I felt alone yet not lonely. I had felt far lonelier back at the house.
Time lapsed in that lazy way it can on the ocean, and after a while, I lifted my head and spun around to get my bearings. I’d never been out this far before, and never on my own. But I didn’t panic. I was a strong swimmer, and I liked a challenge. I turned onto my stomach and began swimming to shore, even though I was reluctant to return to my party and face the wrath of Barbara. When I felt my chest tightening, I paused and treaded water to catch my breath. The undertow was strong; I’d barely covered any ground.
I was feeling pretty exhausted already, and my earlier confidence was waning. I resumed my crawl, hoping I had enough energy left to make it back to shore. Cutting through the waves, I kept my eyes closed, praying that I’d open them to see the beach within range. But when I stopped to check, I’d made virtually no headway at all. The realization made me weak with fear. My breathing was ragged, and salt water stung my eyes and nostrils. My muscles burned from the effort of swimming against the tide, and my limbs felt rubbery and slack.
Panic set in as I tried to find the beach through wet eyelashes. My blood was pulsing in my ears as I took in the first few gulps of water, making me choke and sputter. My lungs burned in my chest, and this sent me into a panic spiral. I stopped swimming and did the worst thing I could possibly do: I began to flail. I could feel myself losing control, sinking under, and for one startling moment, I knew I was going to drown. I, Emma Townsend, on my sixteenth birthday, was going to die of extreme stupidity.
I could no longer see the beach, only water and darkness and foam. My brain suddenly went hot, and my mind grew very still and quiet—so quiet that I thought I heard chanting, an angelic chorus of voices calling to me from beneath the sea. I stopped struggling for a minute and floated, surrendering myself to the music. I knew that if I wanted to, I could let the waves overtake me and sink to the bottom to join those voices. It would be so much calmer down there without all this noise and tumult. It might even be peaceful. And I was so tired of fighting. Letting go would be easy.
It was human voices that woke me out of my trance. They were calling out to me, their voices crystallizing as I regained consciousness. One seemed to be calling my name. There was no panic in the voice, only a deep sense of purpose. Hearing it, I knew that I had to keep swimming.
Back at the house, I had told Gray that there wasn’t anything I wanted. But that wasn’t true. I wanted to go to Paris. I wanted to write a novel. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted so many things.
Buoyed by this revelation, I mustered all my remaining strength and resumed my swim toward shore, letting the voices guide me. I don’t know where this surge of energy came from—adrenaline, survival instinct—but I was swimming now with a power I didn’t know I had. The tide had carried me so far down the beach that I could see the lighthouse blinking out on the point. Just below it, the shoreline jutted out into the ocean like a bent arm, the tip curving toward me like a miraculous hand.
I swam with singular determination, my arms burning, lungs heaving, knowing I couldn’t stop. Not until my palms felt hard sand. As I neared the shoreline, I got caught in the heavy surf. Water came crashing over my head, spinning me under the water, dragging my back and legs along the rocky bottom. I clawed my way along the ocean floor and let the water barrel over me, so long as it was moving me closer to shore. Finally, a mammoth wave tossed me onto the sand, where I collapsed, sputtering water out of my nose and mouth and opening my eyes to the silhouette of my saviors, the beacon of the lighthouse flashing behind one of them like a halo.
C
HAPTER
2
The next thing I remember was waking with the feeling that I’d had a terrible nightmare. I lay in the darkness for a few minutes, feeling my heart race as I remembered that it had really happened. I had