In One Life and Out Another

In One Life and Out Another J. Mercer Bare Ink Copyright Copyright © 2023 J. Mercer All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property, and no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Published 2023 / Bare Ink Printed in the United States of America Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-9872567-2-5 E-ISBN: 979-8-9872567-1-8 Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9872567-3-2 Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901338 IN ONE LIFE AND OUT ANOTHER / written by J Mercer Cover designs by Robin Vuchnich Copy edits by Erika Manternach This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, companies, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book, and the publisher and author are aware, the designations have been capitalized. Contents Before... Epigraph 1. Either divorce... 2. ...or not. 3. Either high school dance... 4. ...or studio. 5. Either Hannah... 6. ...or Whitney. 7. Either yes... 8. ...or no. 9. Either volunteer... 10. ...or work. 11. Either extra credit... 12. ...or extra time. 13. Either dance... 14. ...or party. 15. Either lies... 16. ...or truth. 17. Either past... 18. ...or present. 19. Either learning to fight... 20. ...or learning to fold. 21. Either lost... 22. ...or found. Quote ...After Before... I had a picture from the day my life split. I did my best not to look at it. The grass was an intense green behind us, and we held half-eaten ice cream cones in our hands. Hannah’s perfect teeth matched her wide smile and endless wavy mane, while Whitney’s short smile emphasized her round mouth and blunt bob. My grin was pressed thin, and my hair was back in a messy bun, the finer strands loose around my face—boy catchers, my dance teacher called them. Though, at that point, it had only been Hannah who’d caught any boys. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Whit had asked, right after Hannah took the picture. “The mall,” Hannah decided, because she did most of the deciding. “Don’t we always go to the park on Marin’s birthday?” “It’s fine,” I said, as my parents’ voices lifted out our open windows on wings of fighter jets. We were two full houses away. “Is that your dad?” Hannah asked. Surprised, because my dad was a comfortable pile of big feet and wandering thoughts. He did not raise his voice. At the subsequent howl, Whitney muttered, “That’s definitely your mom.” My mom won all tournaments in the art of theatrics. “Do you think something happened?” I asked, my mind scanning the scattered relatives who could’ve gone extinct. Except, my parents wouldn’t be screaming at each other if someone had died, wouldn’t be throwing bombs and land mines—you never and I always and how dare you! "Stay here, okay?" I told Hannah and Whitney. "I’ll be right back." Then I raced the rest of the way home, flew up the steps, and slammed every window shut. The most unsettling thing about this was that my parents didn’t fight. They spent most of their time doing the very opposite of that, which was not talking at all. It led me to wonder what the screaming meant—were they finally going to put each other out of their misery and get a divorce, or was this the start of them working things out? Epigraph There is a story that lays a course of two roads diverged in a yellow wood. If you ride to the left, you'll lose your horse, but to the right it will be your head. — Robert Frost/Russian folk tale mashup Chapter 1 Either divorce...I had my own car. A moving vehicle. A medium of freedom. No longer was I stranded at my mom’s on her nights. No longer could she tell me she wasn’t comfortable with me driving her car, or complain about the wear and tear, or bug me to play a game of Scrabble.I was finally seventeen. Freedom wasn’t too much to ask.The first place we went was the mall. Hannah was shopping for a romantic comedy—she themed our mall excursions this way—and I was buying myself a birthday gift.Dad had been the main force behind the car, and my mom had gotten me all her favorite things: a new yoga mat, citrus-blend essential oil, and a worry stone.Hannah nudged me while I paid for the lavender eau de toilette I’d asked for, and as I glanced up, her eyes and head directed me toward the display a few feet away. Our ex-BFF Whitney was there, fingering a headband, her back to us.She was so strange these days, and always by herself. Once in a while, she had a boy with her—weird-looking older boys with long hair and pinched faces. Boys, and sometimes her little sister, but no friends. I never saw her with a friend.Slipping a headband under her sweatshirt, Whitney snuck out of the store. Hannah followed while I grabbed my bag and change from the cashier.“Can you believe that?” Hannah muttered as I caught up.“She’s never worn a headband in her life,” I agreed. Because they hurt her ears.“She hardly washes her hair.”The platinum blonde did make even Whitney’s pale roots seem clogged with dust and dirt, but it worked for her. Besides, our past should count for something.Hannah took one look at my face and looped her arm through mine. “Calm down. You know I’m not serious.”I could see from where we were, maybe ten paces behind Whitney, that she was hugging herself as she walked. She was also hunched over, and the only times I remembered her standing like that were when she was sad. “Maybe we should ask her to eat lunch with us.”“I thought we