The Distance from A to Z by Natalie Blitt

And then up to eighty, which is quatre-vingt, four twenties, and then four-twenty-one and then. Like seventy, which doesn’t have its own unique number instead it’s just referred to as soixante-dix, as though counting went from sixty-nine to sixty-ten to sixty-eleven. And then from there I skip by tens to trente, quarante, cinquante, and then I slow down again for the bizarre ones. He slides his white sneakers on, easy to do with the laces always open, and unclicks his belt. “Cubs win?” Si asks, slipping on his ball cap and rolling his head to get rid of the kinks. There’s silence in the car when we pull up to the Ballentine dorm, my new home away from home. At Huntington, I’ll spend the next eight weeks geeking out in French, proving my fluency, and securing my exit route in the process: my ticket to France.Įxit ticket, I remind myself over and over again. My need to get to Merritt, New Hampshire, to Huntington University, is all I focus on for the next hour. But still, my anxiety has now been replaced by a singular thought. Jed who’s twenty-eight and Si who’s twenty-five, guffawing like a couple of cartoon characters. It’s Mandarin she wants to learn.”Īnd then they’re both laughing. “Stop playing with her, Jed.” Simon speaks up from the backseat, a yawn distorting his words. ” He pauses for effect and bites the corner of his lip. You’ll learn all the things you want to learn and totally geek out on. We’re stopped at a red light and he turns to look at me head on. But if we can just get to Merritt, get me on campus, I’ll be able to breathe. Your anxiety is written all over your face. It’s a good thing you don’t play poker, he’d laugh. He said once he could tell by the way my blinks slowed, like I was using the movement of my eyes to quiet my breathing.

Perfect games don’t matter, he’d say, his knees bent so he could find my eyes under the brim of my baseball cap. Back when he’d coach my little league team, I’d be up on the mound, breathing unevenly, trying to silently talk myself into not freaking out. If his eyes meet mine, he’ll know how terrified I am. My brother turns briefly to check my face, but I know his tricks so I copy his movement, rotating to look out the window. Fresh air to replace the recycled air I’ve been breathing for the last three days. My whole body is bouncing, just tiny movements but enough that I debate telling Jed to pull over. It’s probably because the stupid minivan is so damn old. My legs shake, my stomach turns, and there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the minivan. IT STARTS WHEN JED MAKES the final turn off I-495.

The Distance from A to Z by Natalie Blitt