Tomorrow Belongs to Us

Table of Contents TOMORROW BELONGS TO US 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 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Epilogue Excerpt from Love Among the Ruins Booklist Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright TOMORROW BELONGS TO US Lily Zante Chapter 1 LANCE The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my stomach hollows out. It's the bloodcurdling screams behind me which make me turn around. A young woman sprints towards me. It’s someone I know. It’s Heidi. Heidi who doesn’t understand. Heidi who always corners me after every lecture, asking for further explanations. But now her bulging eyes are filled with terror. Unblinking, she bolts towards me. Everything around me slows down but the movements are jerky, jagged. It's like watching an eight-millimetre movie with a projector playing and the film running in distorted slow motion. She screams again, one long ear-splitting, shrill scream, and that's when I see him. The man behind her. His expression is blank. His eyes aren’t focused. He’s walking calmly, his hand shoved deep into his coat pocket, and then he pulls it out from within his huge jacket. A rifle. Long and thin and silver. It can’t be real, is my first thought. It looks like a toy. It has to be, because it looks comical, and surreal and out of place on a college campus in the Fall, where the trees are a medley of golden orange and red. For a fleeting moment, I’m relieved it’s not bigger and bulkier—that it’s not an assault rifle. My body relaxes as if this is a good thing. I look up at the guy, he lifts his hand, takes aim, then smiles. “Bitch!” he yells, his voice thick with venom. This is real. My reflexes snap into action. I sprint forward, time slows down, stops, almost, and I grab the girl. I spin her around, shielding her body with mine. A loud noise explodes in the air, like a bomb going off, a noise that is out of place here. My shoulder cracks into two, as though a meat cleaver has sliced clean through it. And then I see Cassie, her laugh infectious and wild as she runs around with her water gun, aiming at me as she fires. She doesn’t stop until I’m drenched. My nine-year-old daughter’s smile is the last thing I remember. ~~ MEGAN “Have you heard?” Arla ploughs through my front door like a heat-seeking missile. “Heard what?” I close the door and watch my friend march into my living room as if she owns this place. “You haven't heard?” “Heard what?” I echo. She switches the TV on and turns to the local news channel. It looks like something has happened, and now I remember that people at work were talking about something, but I didn't pay any attention to it because I had a report to do. I stare at the screen because Arla stands and stares at me as if I should know about this. A reporter talks against a backdrop of police cars and officers. Groups of shocked students huddle together, hugging and comforting one another. A police officer commends college security who were able to apprehend the student but the main topic is about a college professor who was shot in the altercation. “Onlookers say that Lance Turner, a professor at Redmond College in Boston, shielded the shooter's victim from fatal injury, but was himself shot in the process.” “That’s… that’s …” It can’t be him. “Is that …?” Lance Turner? I gasp. My mouth turns dry. The man who walked away and left me. “The shooter, now in police custody, is believed to be an ex-boyfriend of the young woman who was targeted. Thankfully she is safe and well. Let us, once more, turn our attention to the man who is being hailed as a hero in what could have so easily become a tragic event.” “Mr. Turner!” Arla exclaims, clapping her hands wildly. “Your Mr. Turner. Can you believe it? He’s a professor at Redmond College now.” Arla's eyes are wide open, like her mouth. She reminds me of a fish. “He’s not my Mr. …” But my words taper to a whisper. I stare at the screen as tiny explosions erupt in my chest. He’s been here the entire time? In the background, the reporter’s voice is sharp and clear. “Lance Turner, the forty-three year old mathematics professor has been teaching at Redmond College for …” At Redmond College. I try to process the news, struggling to make sense of it all—the shooting and the shocking new detail that Lance Turner, my high school teacher, the man I was obsessed with as a student, the man I’ve tried to forget, has been here the whole time. Not far away in Nebraska like the rumors I’d heard, but here in Boston. I struggle to breathe and sit down trying to take it all in but it feels as if someone has drilled a hole in my lungs. It’s been eleven years since I last saw him. Now he’s on the TV; it’s a photo of him. My stomach churns, throwing up all sorts of feelings at a man who cared for me, who listened to me, who became more than just my high school teacher. This is the first time I’ve seen him in eleven years and it’s jarring. His face is hard to forget; there’s grey in his hair now, and it’s short, like a buzz cut. His face is smooth, and they’re still there, his high sculpted