IN THE
MIDDLE OF
NOWHERE
Julie Ann Knudsen
Copyright © 2012 by Julie Ann Knudsen. Cover and CHAPTER heading image copyright © Cover and CHAPTER heading image copyright © Yulia | Dreamstime.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
CONTENTS
BOOKS BY JULIE ANN KNUDSEN | DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY | CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | CHAPTER THIRTY | CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE | CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO | CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE | CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR | CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE | CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX | CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN | CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT | CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE | CHAPTER FORTY | EPILOGUE
ABOUT JULIE ANN KNUDSEN
BOOKS BY
JULIE ANN KNUDSEN
The Complete Trilogy:
In the Middle of Nowhere – Book 1
Somewhere at Last – Book 2
Everywhere I’d Go – Book 3
www.julieannknudsen.com
To my family.
This book wouldn’t have been possible without your support.
CHAPTER
ONE
My iPod blared through my room and woke me instantly. My eyes snapped open, but I quickly knew there was a problem. Half of my body was still asleep. I rolled onto my back and realized that my whole left side was completely numb. In a matter of seconds, the numbness went away and was replaced by the feeling of thousands of tiny pins and needles jabbing me.
I had to get up before the music traveled through my paper-thin walls and woke my brother. I jumped out of bed, forgetting about the shooting pain in my left hand, arm and leg. I stumbled as I reached my dresser, but managed to switch off my iHome before collapsing onto the floor.
I sprawled on my back, on top of my white shag area rug. I moved my arms up and down making fake snow angels like I did when I was a kid, hoping to rid myself of the pain that consumed more than just my left side.
If I could have, I would have stayed on my floor for the rest of the day, for the rest of my life. I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I ran behind and missed the ferryboat to school. My mother would scream from one end of the house all the way to the other, as she swept up cat hair and hurried my brother and me along.
As I moved my limbs up and down I thought about how wonderful it would be if I could travel back in time to when I was little again, to a time when I was truly happy. Back then, my realities were Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and my only worry was how these mystical bearers of gifts would enter my house, undetected, and not set off our alarm system.
Even though the numbness was fading from the outside of my body, I couldn’t help but sense as though it was taking over the inside of me. I wanted to feel again. I wanted my old life back, my old school, my old friends and my old mom.
Then I heard it, the unmistakable footsteps as they climbed the hardwood stairs and traveled across the hallway floor, reverberating toward my room at the very end.
I jumped up and quickly locked my door before anyone could open it.
The knocking came anyway.
“Getting dressed,” I yelled. “Be right down.”
I threw off my pj’s, grabbed a T-shirt and pair of jeans and headed toward the bathroom where I would attempt to get ready for another useless and sucky day.
• • •
I almost missed the 7:00 A.M. ferry that was to take me across Casco Bay from my new home on Pike’s Island to the Maine State Pier in Portland’s Old Port section. Unlike the elementary school, which was located on the island, the junior high and high schools were located three miles across the bay, on what the locals referred to as the “mainland.” Portland had two high schools, which made the student body of my sophomore class a manageable size of about two hundred kids.
Everyday, the other year-round students and I would take the Casco ferryboat to and from school, even in the cold, dead of winter. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like crossing the small inlet of ocean in the middle of January, even if it were only going to be for twenty minutes. There was a closed cabin and heaters inside, but I was chilled to the bone most days and it was still only the middle of September.
Once there, the other kids and I would board the dull, yellow school bus that would take us on a mile-long drive and drop us in front of the cold, concrete steps that led to the large and looming front entrance of Portland High.
Everyday after I got dropped off at the dock, my mother would head back and bring my brother, James, to his elementary school, which was a block away from our house on the island.
And just as I had suspected, my mother ranted and raved about how late the two of us had been that morning.
“Hurry up and get in the car!” she yelled. “You’ll both have to eat dry cereal again today.”
My mom grabbed her car keys, while James and I grabbed our backpacks and headed out the door. We were lucky that she was even awake and able to drive us at all.
I missed the days when my mother would gently and lovingly wake me before school. She would sneak into my bedroom and plant butterfly kisses on my plump, seven-year-old cheeks. Sometimes my mom would even wear her favorite lime-green, paisley apron as she happily made homemade, chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, right after she propped up a bottle for my baby brother as he lay in his bouncy seat.
I could sense that poor baby James wanted to eat the pancakes, too, as his little blue eyes followed the fork from the plate right into my mouth before I began to chew the yummy meal.
Today we had to make do with the tiny boxes of cereal we always had on hand in case of an emergency, like the one this morning.
I relished the quiet car ride as I munched on my Froot Loops. I stared out the window at the homes and street signs we passed on our way to the ferry and read: JUNIPER, MAGNOLIA and WISTERIA. I wanted to try to memorize all the names because, even though the island was only two miles by two miles wide, I still found myself getting lost sometimes when I’d venture outdoors, in need of some alone time.
James broke the silence and spoke with a mouthful of Cheerios. “When can I go on the ferryboat to school? That’s not fair that Willow can go on it and I can’t!”
I turned around from the front seat and shot him a dirty look. My eight-year-old brother was so annoying and his ridiculous question didn’t even deserve an answer. Our mom gave him one anyway.
“I told you before, James. You have two more years on the island and then you’ll take the ferry over to Portland for middle school. Only two more,” my mother emphasized as she held up two of her fingers.
Thankfully, our Jeep Cherokee pulled up to the pier and I climbed out, but not before my mom rolled down her window.
“Have a nice day!” she shouted after me, loud enough for the other kids to hear. They turned and stared. I was completely embarrassed. I gave my mom a quick wave, turned and braced myself before boarding t
he boat ride to hell.
CHAPTER
TWO