Chasing Brooklyn

Chasing Brooklyn

Also by LISA SCHROEDER

I Heart You, You Haunt Me

Far from You

Chasing Brooklyn

LISA SCHROEDER

Simon Pulse

New York London Toronto Sydney

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other

names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s

imagination, and any resemblance to actual events

or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

First Simon Pulse hardcover edition February 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Lisa Schroeder

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks

of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases,

please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949

or [email protected].

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Designed by Mike Rosamilia

The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.

Manufactured in the United States of America

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Schroeder, Lisa.

Chasing Brooklyn / Lisa Schroeder.—1st Simon Pulse ed.

p. cm.

Summary: As teenagers Brooklyn and Nico work to help

each other recover from the deaths of Brooklyn’s boyfriend—

Nico’s brother Lucca—and their friend, Gabe, the two begin

to rediscover their passion for life, and a newly

blossoming passion for each other.

ISBN 978-1-4169-9168-7

[1. Novels in verse. 2. Grief—Fiction. 3. Nightmares—Fiction.

4. Interpersonal relations—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.5.S37Ch 2010

[Fic]—dc22

2009019442

ISBN 978-1-4169-9882-2 (eBook)

ISBN 978-1-4169-9168-7

For Michael del Rosario—

I couldn’t have done it without you

Acknowledgments

It takes many, many people to make a book and then to get said book into the hands of readers. I’d like to take this opportunity to shine the light on the team of people who have worked tirelessly behind the scenes on my behalf. Please know I appreciate your work more than I can say.

A HUGE thank-you to:

The electric editorial team—Bethany Buck, Jennifer Klonsky, Mara Anastas, Anica Rissi, Annette Pollert, Emilia Rhodes, and Michael del Rosario.

The pristine production team—Carey O’Brien, Brenna Franzitta, and Ted Allen.

The delightful design team—Cara Petrus and Mike Rosamilia.

The marvelous marketing team—Lucille Rettino, Bess Braswell, and Venessa Williams.

The legendary library and education marketing team—Michelle Fadlalla and Laura Antonacci.

The perky publicity team—Paul Crichton and Andrea Kempfer.

The SUPERspectacular sales team, who are too many to list here unfortunately, and a special shout-out to Victor Iannone for his enthusiasm and Jim Conlin because the third book might not be here if it weren’t for his incredible support of the first.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn

One year ago today

I lost my boyfriend, Lucca.

He was

an artist

like me,

a dreamer

like me,

a nature lover

like me.

We met in September

of our sophomore year.

By November,

he was my first

I love you

boyfriend.

Some thought it was impossible

after only two months.

I’d reply, love doesn’t tell time.

Love is simply there

or it isn’t.

Every day,

in every way,

it was there.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico

One year ago today

I lost my brother, Lucca.

He was a son,

a brother,

a friend.

The whole school was in shock when he died.

Just six months earlier,

another guy from our school died.

Everyone went on about too much tragedy.

Want to know about tragedy?

Come to my house.

A year later, tragedy is still here.

Every damn day, it’s here.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn

It’s early when I take flowers

to his grave.

I don’t want to see

anyone else.

The yellow Gerber daisies

aren’t flashy,

but beautiful in their own special way.

Like he was.

How many times

have I wondered

if he’d still be alive

if I had stayed home?

How many times

have I wondered

if there’s anything

I could have done?

How many times

have I replayed

it all in my head?

More than there are

blades of grass in this cemetery,

that’s how many.

Last New Year’s Eve.

He said he’d be careful.

He said he wouldn’t drink.

He said he loved me and he’d see me soon.

I was in North Dakota, at Grandma’s, for the holidays.

We talked just a few hours

before it apparently happened.

In the early morning hours,

while I had sweet dreams

of me in his warm, loving arms,

my phone filled with messages.

Messages from friends telling me

my boyfriend was

dead.

#277

Dear Lucca,

I don’t like cemeteries. Although, does anyone

really like cemeteries?

I mean, really? So many

dead people, and they’re just creepy. But here I sit

in one, writing you a letter.

I remember one year when I was six years old,

Daddy drove me through a cemetery Halloween

night. He said when he was younger, he liked to

have spooky fun in a graveyard. I was excited,

until we got there and walked around. He told me

we might get lucky and run into a real live ghost. I

turned around and ran back to the car as fast as I

could, crying so hard I thought I was going

to throw up.

But for you, I’ll do anything. Hope you like the

daisies.

Love always,

Brooklyn

Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico

I go by myself

to see Lucca.

Ma will be too loud,

wailing for him to come back,

as if Heaven will hear her cries and do as she says.

Yellow daisies tell me Brooklyn’s been here.

His flower girl.

I brought nothing.

Just myself.

Seems fitting.

Feels like that’s all I’ve got anymore.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn

At home, in my room

I pull out the shoebox

filled with Lucca

keepsakes.

Notes passed

between classes

with words of adoration

and little cartoons

telling the story

of me and him.

Love

Pictures of us

smiling

making faces

kissing

around town

one sunny afternoon.

Joy

Ticket stubs

from time shared

together at

plays,

movies,

concerts.

Happiness

After a while,

I put the box away,

the love,

joy,

and happiness

right along with it.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico

On the way home

I stop at the park

where we used to

run

slide

swing

jump

boys being boys,

our happiness measured

by how far we could jump from the swings.

Today I swing,

my legs pumping hard and fast

to that magical place where it feels like any second,

my feet will touch the clouds.

But this time, I don’t jump.

I

     just

     stop

pumping.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Brooklyn

I grab my Lucca notebook

and make the weekly trek

to Another Galaxy.

Lucca loved going to

the comic book store

where the shelves are filled

with the best of

art and storytelling.

It was his home

away from home.

Now, I find strength in the pages

of the skinny little books.

Who doesn’t love to see

characters overcoming

the greatest of odds?

So I go, combing the boxes,

picking up a couple each week

with some of my allowance.

I keep them by my bed

and when I can’t sleep,

I pull a comic out

and hope a little of the

courage and strength

comes to me

through the pages.

Tom Strong is my favorite.

Sure, the story is good.

But it’s his name

I love the most.

When I get to the store,

the sign says CLOSED.

New Year’s Day.

A holiday.

I forgot.

The anniversary of the day

your boyfriend died

will do that to a girl.

Sun., Jan. 1st—Nico

Time for a run.

How far today?

Five miles?

Six?

It’s only noon.

I have the whole afternoon.

Might as well go eight or nine.

Don’t you want lunch? Ma calls after me.

I wave at her and head out.

Lunch can wait.

Everything can wait.

Time to run.

Mon., Jan. 2nd—Brooklyn

The walls of death

are closing in around me.

My best friend, Kyra, calls to ask

if I’ve heard the news about Gabe.

Gabe Gibson, Lucca’s friend.

The driver that night.

The one who survived.

When she tells me what’s happened,

her words hit me hard,

like a hammer to my heart,

I fall to the floor.

"Brooklyn?

Brooklyn!

Are you okay?"

It’s hot.

Stifling.

Need. Air.

"Brooklyn!

Should I come over?"

I make it outside,

where the sun is setting,

the sky a canvas splattered

with vibrant red and orange.

Clouds stretch across the sky

like cotton balls pulled apart by a child.

It looks so soft, I close my eyes,

trying to imagine the sky

wrapped around me,

comforting me.

But it’s impossible

to feel comforted

in this uncomfortable

moment.

Brooklyn, speak now or I’m calling 911!

Kyra—