Again Again - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

E. Lockhart is the author of the New York Times bestselling novels We Were Liars and Genuine Fraud. Her other books include Fly on the Wall, Dramarama, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, and the Ruby Oliver Quartet: The Boyfriend List, The Boy Book, The Treasure Map of Boys, and Real Live Boyfriends. Emily lives in Brooklyn, New York. Visit her online at EmilyLockhart.com and follow @elockhart on Twitter.

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1

A Love Story 

This story takes place in a number of worlds. 

But mostly in two. 

It was the third day of Adelaide Buchwald’s summer job, the summer after her junior year at boarding school. 

That summer she would fall in and out of love more than once, 

in different ways 

in different possible worlds. 

In every world, she was consumed with the intense contradictions of her heart. 

Adelaide wanted to be rescued and 

she wanted independence. 

She was inclined to laziness, 

curiosity, and 

magical thinking. 

She was all charm and yet deeply miserable. She was a liar and she hated liars. She loved both truly and wrongheadedly. She appreciated beauty. 

Her job was to walk five dogs, morning and night. They belonged to teachers who were on summer vacation. 

EllaBella, 

Lord Voldemort, 

Rabbit, 

Pretzel, and 

the Great God Pan. 

Those were the dogs. The morning she met Jack, Adelaide took them all to the dog run on the Alabaster Preparatory Academy campus. The run was a sandy space, fenced in and surrounded by trees. Looking through the leaves, she could see the spire of the Alabaster clock tower. She unleashed the dogs and sat on a bench while they frolicked. She listened to podcasts about stupid celebrities she didn’t even care about, trying to stop thinking about Mikey Double L. 

Adelaide threw balls for the dogs. She threw sticks. She collected poop in small plastic bags, then threw them in the trash. 

EllaBella said, You’re a gentle human. Can I lean on you? And Adelaide let the dog lean. She stroked EllaBella’s shaggy head. 

She texted her mom about the breakup with Mikey. She had already told her dad the little she thought he needed to know. 

Adelaide and her father, Levi Buchwald, had moved to Alabaster Prep for her junior year of high school. Adelaide lived in a dormitory, and Levi in Alabaster faculty housing. His new home was a small wooden house on the edge of campus. It was furnished with flea-market buys and overloaded with books. He was an English teacher. 

Adelaide’s mother, Rebecca, and her little brother, Toby, had spent the year together in a rental house in Baltimore. Toby was very sick. Rebecca was taking care of him. 

Rebecca was a knitter. She used to own a store called the Good Sheep Yarn Shop, where she taught classes. Much of her home was dedicated to wicker baskets overflowing with skeins of yarn. And plants, which she tended semi-obsessively. Rebecca was a person who focused very intently on the people, plants, and yarn in front of her. 

She texted Adelaide back immediately about Mikey: 

Oh blergh. I’m sorry. You okay? 

Adelaide lied. 

Yeah. 

What happened? 

The last thing Adelaide wanted to do was tell her mother the story of Mikey Double L.

… 

… 

Well, I’m here if you want to talk. Hug!  

Rebecca often used the fat, spouting whale emoji. Adelaide had no idea what it was meant to symbolize. She wrote back. 

Breakup was probably for the best anyway. 

I was sad. But I slept it off and had eggs for breakfast, and now I’m feeling much better. 

You’re very mature.  

Adelaide was not at all mature. And the breakup wasn’t for the best. But she didn’t want her mother to spiral into anxiety. That was something Rebecca was inclined to do, with Adelaide off at boarding school. She wanted to hear that Adelaide ate well, stayed hydrated, got regular exercise, and slept enough. 

When Rebecca spiraled into worry, the result was a series of phone calls filled with urgent requests for reassurance and connection that ended in Adelaide yelling at her mother, so Adelaide had devised a plan of regular texts giving evidence of those desirable behaviors. 

“But I slept it off and had eggs for breakfast, and now I’m feeling much better” was what Rebecca needed to hear. Not 

“I’m puffy and dehydrated from crying and 

for breakfast I ate two Hershey bars and 

truthfully I feel 

unlovable 

and ugly, 

stupid 

and broken. 

I wish I could get a giant injection that would turn off my thoughts.

I would let a creepy doctor with a secret basement lab shoot a 

random glowing substance into my ear if I knew it would stop me from feeling the way I do. 

Last night, I tried binge-watching baking shows and then 

I tried binge-watching zombie shows and then 

I tried listening to happy music and 

putting on a ton of makeup. So much makeup. Then my 

eyebrows (with their makeup) looked scary and 

their scariness made me depressed. 

I was depressed by my own eyebrows. 

I would have tried smoking cigarettes if I’d had any, and 

I would have drunk Dad’s booze if he had any, but no luck on mind-altering substances, so 

I passed out at three a.m. and when I woke up 

I felt even worse and 

my pillowcase was stained with lipstick.” 

No. She couldn’t say that to her mother. 

Adelaide just sent the text about the good breakfast and the night’s sleep. She added a zebra emoji for good measure, thinking Rebecca would like it. Then she put her phone in her pocket. 

The Great God Pan lay on the ground, releasing gas. 

EllaBella stayed close, pressing against Adelaide’s leg. I am thinking you have dog treats in your pocket, she said sweetly. 

Lord Voldemort and Pretzel played chase. Rabbit growled at something on the other side of the fence. 

And suddenly, a boy appeared. He was already in the run when Adelaide saw him, standing under a tree. He had a fluffy white dog on a leash. 

Adelaide recognized the dog. It was B-Cake. B-Cake belonged to Sunny Kaspian-Lee. 

A beat later, Adelaide recognized the boy as well, though she was sure she’d never seen him at Alabaster. He had a sweet V-shaped face and full lips. He was broad in the shoulders, with a narrow nose, smooth-shaven face, delicate ears. His light brown hair was wavy and a little wild. He was the sort of person you’d see immortalized in Roman statuary, his skin a warm Mediterranean olive, his chin and neck strong. He wore a light cotton jacket, a blue T-shirt, loose jeans, and green suede sneakers with blue stripes. The sleeves of the jacket were rolled up. His hands had the slight squashy look of leftover baby fat. 

She knew him. She was certain of it. 

He nodded at her, walked over, and draped himself onto the bench. There was something unusual going on with one of his legs. He walked with a roll of his left hip, and the fabric of his jeans flapped around that leg. 

She remembered his walk.

 The boy released the clip on the leash. B-Cake zoomed over to Rabbit and Rabbit exploded into the air with an anxious yip. 

The boy laughed, covering his mouth with his fist. “Poor puppy,” he said. 

“Hey, do I remember you?” she asked. 

“Me? I don’t know.” 

“I’m pretty sure I do remember you,” she said. “From Boston. Two years ago. We met at a rooftop party when I was in ninth grade.” 

“A party on whose rooftop?” 

“I don’t know. A friend of my friend. It was cold and you let me wear your scarf....