CHAPTER ONE
Today was Abigail Hawk’s birthday—lucky number thirteen. She now had the privilege of calling herself a teenager.
Big whoop.
She didn’t see any benefit to the label. Pimples, popularity, body image angst, more homework. None of that sounded very appealing. But this was the age where she should be breaking through the paper tape of the finish line of adolescence. She had survived childhood! She was moving on to phase two. But instead of relief, there was a lingering knot of worry sitting and festering in her stomach like a bad burrito. She needed a plan to get through all the ages that ended with “teen” without a blip on the woe-is-me radar.
It was true that some of her past plans to improve her life hadn’t fared so well.
Learning to be a hairstylist by practicing on her Barbie’s hair.
Fail.
Building a cabin in the backyard so she could have some privacy.
Fail.
Starting a blog about building a cabin in the backyard.
Double fail.
But this new plan was going to work. It was going to be her greatest feat, her coup d’état (a fancy French word for overthrowing the government, which sounded a lot like what she was getting ready to do with her teen years). The plan was solid. She hoped. Because by far, her greatest fear was that she’d end up being one of those teenage girls who cried into her pillow at night because she had no friends.
Because currently she didn’t.
Have any.
Friends.
“Abigail! Let’s go!” her mother yelled up the stairs.
She quickly stuffed her cross-body bag with all the essentials—journal/sketchpad, water bottle, and phone. She wrapped a blue checkered scarf around her neck, even though it was September, because it made her feel more European.
She tied back her frizzy blonde hair and sighed. Today was the day she would begin her plan to become an artist—one where she’d travel the world with her own exhibit and laugh at the jokes of millionaires clamoring to buy her art while she sipped expensive mineral water collected from an ancient spring.
She closed her eyes and smiled, savoring the thought.
“Abigail! I have a manicure appointment! If you want me to drop you off, we have to leave now!”
Abigail stomped down the stairs hoping her mother would hear the anger in her steps. She didn’t exactly blame her mother for the divorce, but her mother’s decision to pack up the SUV and move her and her two older sisters across the country to Raleigh, North Carolina was the reason Abigail had to concoct a stupid plan to begin with. How else was she to cope with having no friends on her thirteenth birthday?
Well, she shouldn’t say she had no friends. Technically, she had one. But she wasn’t sure he counted. His name was Daniel. She’d met him at the North Carolina Museum of Art last weekend when she was mapping out her I’m-turning-thirteen-seven-year-plan-to-avoid-adolescence-and-become-a-famous-artist plan.
Daniel was thirteen. Maybe. She wasn’t sure, and for some reason it hadn’t come up. Their first meeting had been…strange.
She’d been standing in front of a contemporary painting when a boy approached and stood beside her. She’d only taken notice of him because he had been wearing a baggy jacket over a black vest and collarless white shirt that was loosely tucked into his tan pants. It looked like he’d pulled out clothes from a dusty trunk he’d found in his grandparent’s attic in an old farmhouse in New Hampshire.
The meeting had gone something like this:
“This one’s not worth a fart in a whirlwind,” Daniel said with a snicker.
Abigail looked over at him like he was a dead rat the family cat had left at the door.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said upon seeing her expression. He stood a little taller, pushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, and cleared this throat. “This picture has existential value, don’t you think?” He rubbed his dimpled chin in contemplation while holding a small red book over his heart.
The book may have been his most secret thoughts, or just as likely, something he carried to complete his attempt to impress people.
“Do you even know what that word means?” she asked. Because she didn’t know what it meant, and she wanted to be impressed with his knowledge of such a big word, but at the same time, she was thinking he was 100% crazy and was just making up nonsensical garbage.
He looked over at her with his steely blue eyes and lifted his chin ever so slightly.
“Existential. E-x-i-s-t-e-n-t-i-a-l. Existential is a philosophical way of thinking. It sees humans with will and consciousness as being in a world of objects which do not have those qualities.”
First, she did a quick translation in her head of what she thought the word really meant. Humans possess something the world around them does not.
Second, she scanned the room to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently walked into a spelling bee. There was no one else around except for a security guard dressed in the museum’s uniform—royal blue polo shirt and black pants. He seemed to take account of them with unbiased professionalism.
Abigail considered walking away, but since this boy had just given her a new word she hadn’t known (and yes, she had a thing for words), she pursed her lips and countered with the intention of being disagreeable instead.
“No. I don’t think it does. Have existential value.” She let the word roll off her tongue as though she had used it hundreds of times.
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
Abigail folded her arms, tucking the museum brochure she’d been carrying around under one arm. The arm folding was her defense mechanism whenever she felt uncomfortable.
There was a brief awkward silence, and then he laughed. And not just a chuckle. He slapped a knee with his hand and howled. For some reason, this angered her. She glanced over at the guard. He was picking at something in his teeth with his tongue.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
He wiped one of his eyes with the back of his hand then grinned at her.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, extending his hand.
Her only thought at that moment was--no, you’re weird.
She shook his hand like it was a bit of toilet paper she’d just pulled off the bottom of her shoe. “Abigail,” she said warily.
Her lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to affect his good humor.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. Have I seen you here before? You look familiar.”
“No,” she said flatly, though she’d been to the museum last week with her mother, and it was likely that he had seen her. She couldn’t help but feel like she had just been the brunt of a joke, and she wasn’t quite ready to be best buds.
He opened his jacket so she could get a full view of his vest. “You probably don’t remember seeing me because I’m often in disguise.”
She debated at this point whether she should just walk away. Honestly, isn’t that what most people would do? But the situation was akin to standing at the edge of a pool of freezing water. She didn’t really want to jump in, but a part of her wanted to show how tough she was. No wimping out.
Abigail sighed, though she masked it by releasing it slowly through her nose. “And why do you disguise yourself?” she asked, bracing herself for a long explanation which she’d already decided was going to be ridiculous.
“My mom works here,” he said. “And frankly, I get tired of being recognized by her cohorts.”
She stored the word cohort in her mind vault, deducing that it meant coworker.
“Oh Daniel, how you’ve grown,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “How handsome you are young Daniel.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Don’t you have a girlfriend yet?”
He rolled his eyes.
Abigail smiled and unfolded her arms. Now this was something she could relate to. Her mother’s long string of friends were equally annoying. Normally, they gushed over her frizzy blonde hair, and told her how lucky she was to have hair with so much potential. Inside she’d be cringing because she hated her hair. It was so thick and unruly it could have had its own zip code.
Anyway, that’s how Daniel and she had become sort of friends. She didn’t even know what school he went to or what his last name was. That’s why she wasn’t completely sure he counted as a real friend, but he would have to do because she needed someone to spend her birthday with. Otherwise, she would have been stuck with her mother’s idea of a celebration, which would no doubt amount to her mother inviting her new adult work friends and asking them to bring their kids to stand in as Abigail’s friends.
No, thank you.
The only hiccup in her birthday plan was that she’d let it slip to Daniel that today was her birthday. The fact that she was choosing to spend it with him at the art museum wasn’t exactly her proudest moment. But a girl had to make do with what she had. He’d said he was going to plan a big surprise for her at the museum. She had told him no gifts, and he’d assured her that what he had in mind was better than any gift. She hadn’t asked him to explain.
That was a huge mistake.
Today was Abigail Hawk’s birthday—lucky number thirteen. She now had the privilege of calling herself a teenager.
Big whoop.
She didn’t see any benefit to the label. Pimples, popularity, body image angst, more homework. None of that sounded very appealing. But this was the age where she should be breaking through the paper tape of the finish line of adolescence. She had survived childhood! She was moving on to phase two. But instead of relief, there was a lingering knot of worry sitting and festering in her stomach like a bad burrito. She needed a plan to get through all the ages that ended with “teen” without a blip on the woe-is-me radar.
It was true that some of her past plans to improve her life hadn’t fared so well.
Learning to be a hairstylist by practicing on her Barbie’s hair.
Fail.
Building a cabin in the backyard so she could have some privacy.
Fail.
Starting a blog about building a cabin in the backyard.
Double fail.
But this new plan was going to work. It was going to be her greatest feat, her coup d’état (a fancy French word for overthrowing the government, which sounded a lot like what she was getting ready to do with her teen years). The plan was solid. She hoped. Because by far, her greatest fear was that she’d end up being one of those teenage girls who cried into her pillow at night because she had no friends.
Because currently she didn’t.
Have any.
Friends.
“Abigail! Let’s go!” her mother yelled up the stairs.
She quickly stuffed her cross-body bag with all the essentials—journal/sketchpad, water bottle, and phone. She wrapped a blue checkered scarf around her neck, even though it was September, because it made her feel more European.
She tied back her frizzy blonde hair and sighed. Today was the day she would begin her plan to become an artist—one where she’d travel the world with her own exhibit and laugh at the jokes of millionaires clamoring to buy her art while she sipped expensive mineral water collected from an ancient spring.
She closed her eyes and smiled, savoring the thought.
“Abigail! I have a manicure appointment! If you want me to drop you off, we have to leave now!”
Abigail stomped down the stairs hoping her mother would hear the anger in her steps. She didn’t exactly blame her mother for the divorce, but her mother’s decision to pack up the SUV and move her and her two older sisters across the country to Raleigh, North Carolina was the reason Abigail had to concoct a stupid plan to begin with. How else was she to cope with having no friends on her thirteenth birthday?
Well, she shouldn’t say she had no friends. Technically, she had one. But she wasn’t sure he counted. His name was Daniel. She’d met him at the North Carolina Museum of Art last weekend when she was mapping out her I’m-turning-thirteen-seven-year-plan-to-avoid-adolescence-and-become-a-famous-artist plan.
Daniel was thirteen. Maybe. She wasn’t sure, and for some reason it hadn’t come up. Their first meeting had been…strange.
She’d been standing in front of a contemporary painting when a boy approached and stood beside her. She’d only taken notice of him because he had been wearing a baggy jacket over a black vest and collarless white shirt that was loosely tucked into his tan pants. It looked like he’d pulled out clothes from a dusty trunk he’d found in his grandparent’s attic in an old farmhouse in New Hampshire.
The meeting had gone something like this:
“This one’s not worth a fart in a whirlwind,” Daniel said with a snicker.
Abigail looked over at him like he was a dead rat the family cat had left at the door.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said upon seeing her expression. He stood a little taller, pushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, and cleared this throat. “This picture has existential value, don’t you think?” He rubbed his dimpled chin in contemplation while holding a small red book over his heart.
The book may have been his most secret thoughts, or just as likely, something he carried to complete his attempt to impress people.
“Do you even know what that word means?” she asked. Because she didn’t know what it meant, and she wanted to be impressed with his knowledge of such a big word, but at the same time, she was thinking he was 100% crazy and was just making up nonsensical garbage.
He looked over at her with his steely blue eyes and lifted his chin ever so slightly.
“Existential. E-x-i-s-t-e-n-t-i-a-l. Existential is a philosophical way of thinking. It sees humans with will and consciousness as being in a world of objects which do not have those qualities.”
First, she did a quick translation in her head of what she thought the word really meant. Humans possess something the world around them does not.
Second, she scanned the room to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently walked into a spelling bee. There was no one else around except for a security guard dressed in the museum’s uniform—royal blue polo shirt and black pants. He seemed to take account of them with unbiased professionalism.
Abigail considered walking away, but since this boy had just given her a new word she hadn’t known (and yes, she had a thing for words), she pursed her lips and countered with the intention of being disagreeable instead.
“No. I don’t think it does. Have existential value.” She let the word roll off her tongue as though she had used it hundreds of times.
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
Abigail folded her arms, tucking the museum brochure she’d been carrying around under one arm. The arm folding was her defense mechanism whenever she felt uncomfortable.
There was a brief awkward silence, and then he laughed. And not just a chuckle. He slapped a knee with his hand and howled. For some reason, this angered her. She glanced over at the guard. He was picking at something in his teeth with his tongue.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
He wiped one of his eyes with the back of his hand then grinned at her.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, extending his hand.
Her only thought at that moment was--no, you’re weird.
She shook his hand like it was a bit of toilet paper she’d just pulled off the bottom of her shoe. “Abigail,” she said warily.
Her lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to affect his good humor.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. Have I seen you here before? You look familiar.”
“No,” she said flatly, though she’d been to the museum last week with her mother, and it was likely that he had seen her. She couldn’t help but feel like she had just been the brunt of a joke, and she wasn’t quite ready to be best buds.
He opened his jacket so she could get a full view of his vest. “You probably don’t remember seeing me because I’m often in disguise.”
She debated at this point whether she should just walk away. Honestly, isn’t that what most people would do? But the situation was akin to standing at the edge of a pool of freezing water. She didn’t really want to jump in, but a part of her wanted to show how tough she was. No wimping out.
Abigail sighed, though she masked it by releasing it slowly through her nose. “And why do you disguise yourself?” she asked, bracing herself for a long explanation which she’d already decided was going to be ridiculous.
“My mom works here,” he said. “And frankly, I get tired of being recognized by her cohorts.”
She stored the word cohort in her mind vault, deducing that it meant coworker.
“Oh Daniel, how you’ve grown,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “How handsome you are young Daniel.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Don’t you have a girlfriend yet?”
He rolled his eyes.
Abigail smiled and unfolded her arms. Now this was something she could relate to. Her mother’s long string of friends were equally annoying. Normally, they gushed over her frizzy blonde hair, and told her how lucky she was to have hair with so much potential. Inside she’d be cringing because she hated her hair. It was so thick and unruly it could have had its own zip code.
Anyway, that’s how Daniel and she had become sort of friends. She didn’t even know what school he went to or what his last name was. That’s why she wasn’t completely sure he counted as a real friend, but he would have to do because she needed someone to spend her birthday with. Otherwise, she would have been stuck with her mother’s idea of a celebration, which would no doubt amount to her mother inviting her new adult work friends and asking them to bring their kids to stand in as Abigail’s friends.
No, thank you.
The only hiccup in her birthday plan was that she’d let it slip to Daniel that today was her birthday. The fact that she was choosing to spend it with him at the art museum wasn’t exactly her proudest moment. But a girl had to make do with what she had. He’d said he was going to plan a big surprise for her at the museum. She had told him no gifts, and he’d assured her that what he had in mind was better than any gift. She hadn’t asked him to explain.
That was a huge mistake.