Yearbook Read online

  Yearbook

  Allyson B. Condie

  © 2006 Allyson Braithwaite Condie.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company ([email protected]), P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Condie, Allyson Braithwaite

  Yearbook / Allyson Braithwaite Condie.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Students and teachers share their struggles in life, the joys they experience, and their testimonies throughout one year at Lakeview High School.

  ISBN 978-1-59038-690-3 (pbk.)

  [1. High schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 5. Mormons—Fiction. 6. Christian life—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.C7586Ye 2006

  [Fic]—dc22 2006019743

  Printed in the United States of America

  R. R. Donnelley and Sons

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  For the past, present, and future

  high school students everywhere

  Especially my boys

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I have been very blessed to have the support of my family and friends throughout the writing of Yearbook. My husband and children have provided all sorts of help, including (but not limited to) comic relief, positive encouragement, ideas, feedback, and soggy Cheerios. My parents, Bob and Arlene, and my grandmother, Alice, have always given me all of the time and love in the world.

  I have benefited enormously from feedback from Elaine, Nic, and Hope, who offered the kind of feedback that is a writer’s dream—both honest and enthusiastic.

  And finally, many thanks to Lisa Mangum and Chris Schoebinger at Deseret Book. They made this new author feel like she had a story worth telling.

  Prologue

  Lakeview High School

  It was the first day of school at Lakeview High School, and everyone was afraid of something.

  Michaela Choi was afraid that Ethan Beckett was never going to ask her out on a date.

  David Sherman was afraid that someone had discovered that he was the one who had “streaked” through the seniors’ graduation party last summer—wearing running shorts, gigantic sunglasses, a rainbow clown wig, and his father’s old moon boots. Worse, he was afraid that someone else might try to take the credit.

  Andrea Beckett was afraid that someone would find her weak spot, the chink in her armor, her Achilles heel. She was afraid of knowing what it was herself.

  Principal Downing was afraid that she was going to die.

  Mr. Thomas, an English teacher, was afraid that he simply might not have the energy to care about his students this final year before he retired. He wrote his name on the board and looked out at his empty classroom. He took a deep breath.

  In another part of the school, his son, Owen Thomas, first-year teacher in the music department, was also looking out at his classroom. He felt that he had stopped breathing altogether. He was afraid that the students were going to eat him alive.

  Avery Matthews was afraid that she wasn’t going to make the volleyball team. She was also afraid of spending too much time by herself. She turned the corner by the gym to look at the final cut list for the team and felt her heart accelerate.

  Ethan Beckett, the fastest runner on the boys’ cross-country team this year—so far—was afraid of being caught unprepared.

  Julie Reid was afraid that no one would notice her. She was more afraid that someone would.

  The doors to the school swung open and closed, once, twice, a thousand times, and all the students came in, bumping into each other and walking down the hall together and passing one another. They brought backpacks and watches and notebooks and ideas and heartbreaks and earphones and aspirin and makeup and mirrors and memories and testimonies and doubts and questions. Stories were everywhere.

  The bell rang, and the school year began.

  Chapter 1

  September

  Michaela Choi

  Friendships can surprise you. You can meet someone and think, “That’s impossible, we’ll never be friends,” and then find out later that you get along perfectly. You can have a best friend and then drift apart over time and lose touch with each other. You can spend half your time daydreaming about how you wish a friendship might turn into something more.

  Ethan and I have been friends for a long time. The kind of friends who hang out a lot, who have been in all the same classes since elementary school and who like each other just fine. We’re two of a handful of Mormon kids in the area, so we’ve been thrown together a lot our whole lives. I’d like to think we both know there’s a little chemistry there, but I don’t know that he even thinks about me as anything more than a friend.

  I have been around him too long. The new girls are always more interesting. People always feel bad for the new girls at school, but at least the guys look at them as potential dates when they arrive. That doesn’t usually happen to those of us who they’ve seen throw up during third-grade dodgeball.

  I thought about this as I stood at the cooler after practice with the rest of the girls’ cross-country team, downing my Gatorade and talking to my teammates. Well, let’s be honest. I was also watching Ethan while pretending not to, something I’ve gotten pretty good at doing these days. He sprinted across the finish line with that fluid, easy run of his, and then turned to yell something back at one of the other guys. From where I was standing, I couldn’t hear what either one of them said, but I could hear Ethan laughing, and I could imagine the way his eyes would turn up at the corners when he did, like a reflection of his smile. I’ve never met anyone who loves running as much as Ethan does.

  Like I said, I’ve known Ethan for years, but this is Ethan’s first year running long-distance, and there is something wonderful in the way he discovers something new. I’ve never seen him throw himself into something like this, without reservation or holding back. I wonder how someone I have known so long can still surprise me. Does he see anything in me that surprises him?

  Some of the guys drifted over and joined the girls’ team at the cooler. “It’s later than usual. Anyone want to get something to eat at Bob’s Burgers?” suggested Dave Sherman. “I’ve got room for four more in my car.”

  “Sure,” said Jana. “I’ve got room for three.” She turned to me. “Mikey, do you want to ride with me?”

  “Okay,” I said. What I really wanted was to ride with Ethan, but there was no way to arrange that without losing my dignity. “Let me go call my parents.” Since I don’t
have a cell phone, that meant a trip to the school’s pay phone. “I’ll be right back,” I called, turning to jog away, and almost running into Ethan in the meantime. “Hey,” I said, surprised by the actual physical fact of him after all my abstract daydreaming.

  “Hi, Mikey,” he said. “Where’s everyone headed? Do I really smell that bad?”

  A lame joke, but kind of cute nonetheless. “Dave suggested getting something to eat at Bob’s.”

  “That sounds great,” he said. “Are you going?”

  Of course I was, especially now. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll see you there,” I called back as I ran off. At first, I felt proud of myself for playing it cool, but then I realized that he probably just thought I had to go to the bathroom really bad or something. I hurried so that Jana wouldn’t have to wait for me too long.

  •••

  There’s nothing that can send a place into chaos faster than twenty hungry teenagers, and I hung back a little as we all piled into Bob’s. I ended up standing next to Ethan at the end of the line without too much work on my part. It made me wonder if he was trying to stand by me too. “It’s going to take forever to get any food,” he said to me.

  “Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

  He leaned in conspiratorially, so close I could see the freckles dusted across his cheekbones and nose. “Good thing I rummaged in Dave’s car on the way in and found these.” He held up a bag of gummy bears, pale and clumped together in a dusty ball. “I’ll even share them with you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to pretend that all kinds of electricity hadn’t been running through me when Ethan was close.

  “Hold out your hands.” I complied, and he shook some of the bears out for me. I popped a red one into my mouth and grimaced.

  “Are they as stale as they look?” Ethan asked, eating a green one before I could answer. “Yuck. They’re even worse.” He looked around. “I guess we should do Dave a favor and get rid of them. Do you want me to take care of yours too?”

  I nodded, and our hands brushed as I gave the bears back.

  “Save my place for me,” Ethan said, and moved toward the trash can.

  I surreptitiously tried to remove red gummy from my teeth but was caught by Dave, bearing a tray of burgers like they were precious jewels.

  “Beckett!” said Dave as he passed by the two of us. “Don’t think I don’t know where you found those gummy bears. And don’t you throw them away, either. I’m saving them.”

  “What on earth could he use these things for?” Ethan asked me. “Slingshot ammunition?”

  “To poison his enemies before the state race?” I guessed.

  “For batting practice?”

  Dave passed by us again on his way to get some straws. “For your information, I am going to enter the Sherman Family Gingerbread House Contest this Christmas for the first time ever and take down the competition, namely my aunts and my grandma. And my strategy involves gummy bears. Also gummy frogs, gummy rats, and . . .”

  Ethan rolled his eyes and Dave stabbed him in the arm with a straw.

  Since we were the last to order, our number was the last one called. Everyone else was almost finished when we finally sat down to eat. The only place left was a booth on the other side of the restaurant from everyone else, so we headed over there together, Ethan carrying the tray and me holding our drinks. The condensation from the drinks dripped down the sides and over my fingers as we wove in and out through the chairs and slid into the booth. I tried and tried, but there was no way I could even imagine that it was a date. Maybe I could ask Ethan out. We were sitting alone together. It could happen. I unwrapped my hamburger and took a bite.

  My hamburger crunched, which made me mad. What was all that lettuce doing on it? I specifically said no lettuce, and no mayonnaise . . . and now there was a splotch of mayonnaise, looking an awful lot like bird poop, that had dripped on my leg.

  “They didn’t put anything on my hamburger,” Ethan said. “Where’s my extra mayo?”

  I looked at him, and another splotch of mayonnaise dripped onto my foil wrapper. Ethan’s eyes caught mine. “I think I have your burger,” I said, setting it down. “Do you still want it?”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “You’ve already started. It’s fine.”

  Did he think I had bad breath, or mono, or just that sharing a hamburger was gross? He bit into my hamburger and made a face at the taste. “You sure don’t like much on these, do you?” he said. “This is pretty dry.”

  Things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. I was still sweaty from training, wearing the shorts and T-shirt I’d worn for practice. I was eating his hamburger, which was a mess and tasted like some sort of thick salad. I felt like scraping my teeth with the toothpicks on the table. And I could tell that Ethan wasn’t enjoying my hamburger very much, either. Should I go ahead and ask him to a movie? I decided against it, seeing as my shirt front was now decorated with his mayonnaise.

  Then I got a lucky break. “Mikey,” said Jana, stopping by our booth, “I’ve got to take off. It’s later than I thought, and I’m supposed to babysit tonight. Can you get a ride with Ethan?”

  Yikes. What would he say? “Sure,” Ethan said. “I’ve got room.” He grinned at me. “Now that no one’s waiting on us, let’s get some new burgers. Yours is disgusting.”

  While we were eating, we talked about practice that day. His light gray eyes lit up and he kept laughing and gesturing in that animated way that I love. We finished our burgers and then, on our way out the door, I spied the ancient Space Invaders machine. “Hey, Ethan,” I said, “I have some quarters. Do you want to be humiliated by a girl?”

  Many quarters later, the score was six games to four, my favor. We walked out the door into the night. It was still a little light and it still felt like summer. Maybe better than summer. We rode home with the windows down and the music playing, talking about the upcoming race. I’d run the course last year at state, but Ethan hadn’t, so I told him about some of the tough spots. We talked about the English class we have together. We talked about lots of things.

  Ethan pulled into the driveway of my house. “You’d better enjoy this feeling, because it won’t happen again,” he said, as I opened the door.

  Stunned, I stared at him. “What?”

  “You know, the feeling of beating me. Next time we play Space Invaders, I’m going to win.” His mouth twisted into a smile. “Although I might have to go back and practice every night.”

  Relieved, I laughed. Our eyes locked for a minute before I panicked and climbed out of the car. “You’d better practice. See you tomorrow!” He waved.

  I carried my shake into the house and lifted off the lid. It was soupy. The taste of mayonnaise and lettuce was still in my mouth, even after the new burger, and my hair felt sticky and sweaty. My autobiography for English class still needed to be written. A trig assignment that I didn’t even know how to begin lurked in my backpack. But Ethan Beckett had said, “Next time.” It was a perfect night.

  •••

  If only perfect nights translated into perfect days. The next day, I was starting to seriously worry about the status of my autobiography for English. I can’t stand it when a school assignment consumes my whole life! There were plenty of other things I needed and wanted to think about instead of that dumb autobiography: my other classes (trig is NOT going well, by the way), the cross-country meet coming up, and, above all, how to get Ethan Beckett to ask me out on a real date instead of just hanging out together. I was spending more time thinking about how to write about my life than I was actually living it! You can’t tell me that there isn’t something wrong with that.

  Finally, two days before it was due, I threw my hands up in surrender and went in to talk to my teacher, Mr. Thomas, during lunch. I don’t do that very often. Lunch is one of the best parts of the day, and not just because I get to eat. It also means that I get to talk with everyone, and Ethan and I usually sit at the same table with our friends. But, since
I have workout after school, lunchtime was my only option.

  “How do I know where to start?” I asked Mr. Thomas. I sat on the other side of his huge desk, which was snowed under with papers and student journals. How did he manage to have so much to grade so early in the year, I wondered. “Do I start with all my ancestors, and go from there? Or do I start with what I can first remember? Or when my parents met?”

  Mr. Thomas smiled. “Yes.”

  Well, that was helpful. He could tell that I was confused, so he continued.

  “Any of those would be a good place to start,” he said. “Think of writing as unraveling a sweater—grab a thread and start pulling. All the connected strands will start unraveling too. Everyone is full of stories. What you need to find out is how and where your stories connect with the stories of others. Then you’ll see what people and events are important for you to write about. One of the most important parts of life, Michaela, is realizing that the things you do affect other people. You can’t do anything without it impacting someone else, and they impact you too. You’re more than just a face in the yearbook or a name on a roll . . . and so is everyone else.”

  Mom has been reminding me of the Golden Rule—you know, “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you”—my entire life. It was strange to hear a version of the same thing coming from Mr. Thomas. I don’t know if he’s a member of the Church or not. Instead of asking him, though, I nodded my head and went to my next class, thinking about what he’d said.

  •••

  That night, I sat down at the computer, determined to get something on paper. I grabbed a thread—my first memory, which was of rescuing earthworms left stranded on the sidewalk after the rain, wearing my favorite yellow plastic boots with ducks on them—and started pulling. As I wrote, a lot of different people showed up in the pages. My parents, of course, and my little brothers. My best friend, Krista, who just moved to Colorado. My third-grade teacher, who told me I was the worst student at math she’d ever had. Talk about scarring someone for life! My Beehive leader, who was the funniest and kindest person I’ve known. My grandparents, who live in Korea, where my grandfather is a mission president. Lots of people were running around in my autobiography. I bet some of them would be surprised. Little did they know what I remembered of them from when our lives met up! Little did they know what I was documenting, both good and bad!