Earhart & Noonan: An "Us Club" Novel (#1)(NaNoWriMo15)

2. September

Three Months Later

Hello. My name is Stephen Vaughn...

Hi, Stephen.

...And the first thing I guess I should tell you about myself is how to pronounce me the correct way. Most people think the ph is an ef sound, but it's not. It's a vee sound. I don't get why people say it like Steh-fen when they see it on papers. Like when I get a new teacher.

"Hi! Stefen? Nice to meet you!"

It's not Steh-fen. It's Stee-vehn!

The right way: Stee-vehn Vawn. Because...you know...why not?

I turned twelve back on March 30th. It's the end of September now. Outside the window to the left, I can see the slow-motion ocean going by. It's making me thirsty. The mellow water laps against the highway barrier. It's scary when storms roll in. They look like the apocalypse. I've seen photos of those on Chirp.

...Does the road flood?

I don't know. That's why it bugs me. Why a lot does. My parentals tell me I overthink things sometimes, and it makes me emotional.

Sometimes? Right. Next.

Inside, I smell spearmint. From my gum. I love it. The car radio's on. One of Dad's favorites. "Cheeseburger in Paradise." His fingers drum on the wheel. Mine pull at my "Hope" band dangling around my wrist. I don't feel like tapping along.

Why? Because...I'm moving. What's so fun about that?

That's not how this exercise is...never mind. Smile, Stephen.

No.

Why? This is exciting. You love Portersburgh.

The City.

Portersburgh. That exit sign says so. Home.

No! The City. And it's...it's not home.

You love it here. You always get so excited when Dad takes you to that arcade after soccer games. Or, how about when we cut through to go to your grandparents' house for Christmas? That skyline view?

Yeah! But, that's all visiting!

So?

So! This is different.

Why? You were just daydreaming about that day you and Dad picked out the house.

Because...shut up!

"Think of the fun!"

That's what everybody's been telling me since this dumb thing started. I don't see it. But, what do I know? I've just been sitting in the backseat, mumbling to myself half the time. Like always. Talking to a weird voice in my head that sounds too much like a sometimes-British Ty Burrell for reasons that probably won't make sense to anybody else but me.

"You say something?"

...Great. Dad's overheard an audible spill.

"No," I say, sniffling.

Speaking of habits, some think I have allergies, but it just happens. Like my stupid glasses that won't stay on my face. I've pushed them up twenty-five times since I left. Yeah. I think I need new ones.

And...that's twenty-six. But, who's counting?

I flick my band. I just...want to go home.