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Overview
It’s senior year, and Whitney Richards is tired of the constant pressures to be perfect. When she gets a D in Calculus, her mother immediately hires a tutor, worried Whitney won’t get into the “right” college—her alma mater—with imperfect grades. Her tutor, Taylor, is a quiet, mysterious boy who is unlike anyone Whitney has met before. But Taylor’s rougher upbringing has her mother and friends discouraging any type of relationship.
Tired of having to play a part for everyone else, Whitney quits the cheerleading squad that once defined her social identity, and begins spending more time with Taylor. Her mom and friends worry Whitney is making a huge mistake, and even Taylor begins to show concern for some of her choices. But for the first time, Whitney is in the driver’s seat of her life. Will she be able to find her identity—and God’s plan for her life—before she throws everything away?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780310736714 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Zondervan |
| Publication date: | 02/04/2014 |
| Sold by: | HarperCollins Publishing |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 272 |
| File size: | 911 KB |
| Age Range: | 13 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Amy Clipston is an award-winning bestselling author and has been writing for as long as she can remember. She's sold more than one million books, and her fiction writing "career" began in elementary school when she and a close friend wrote and shared silly stories. She has a degree in communications from Virginia Wesleyan University and is a member of the Authors Guild, American Christian Fiction Writers, and Romance Writers of America. Amy works full-time for the City of Charlotte, NC, and lives in North Carolina with her husband, two sons, mother, and four spoiled rotten cats. Visit her online at AmyClipston.com; Facebook: @AmyClipstonBooks; Twitter: @AmyClipston; Instagram: @amy_clipston; BookBub: @AmyClipston.
Read an Excerpt
Destination Unknown
By Amy Clipston
ZONDERVAN
Copyright © 2014 Amy ClipstonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-310-73669-1
CHAPTER 1
Whitney!" My best friend, Kristin Bailey, rushed across the school parking lot toward me. She balanced her backpack over her shoulder, a small pink gift bag in her hand and a large brown teddy bear on her hip.
"Hey, Kristin." I waited for her to catch up.
"I've been looking all over for you." She nodded toward the large bear grinning at me from her hip. "Look at what Doug gave me." Then she pushed the gift bag toward me, and the rich aroma of milk chocolate filled my senses. "Chocolate hearts. Isn't that romantic?"
"Yeah, that's great. Very romantic." I forced a smile and adjusted the heavy backpack on my shoulder. "Thanks for the candy grams you sent me in homeroom."
"Thanks for the ones you sent me too. What did Brett give you?"
"Nothing yet. I haven't seen him all day." I shrugged to give the impression that it wasn't a big deal, even though it was a huge deal to me. In fact, I got the overwhelming suspicion he was avoiding me when he didn't show up in the cafeteria at lunch. Not a good sign for our first Valentine's Day together.
"Nothing at all?" Kristin's eyebrows pinched together above her nose. "He didn't even send you a chocolate candy gram in homeroom?"
"Nope. I only received candy grams from you, Tiffany, and Emily."
"And you haven't seen him at all today?" I shook my head. Wasn't Kristin listening? She was showered with gifts while I got nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch.
Despite my humiliation, Kristin's eyes rounded with excitement. "I bet he's going to do something huge! Maybe he's planning a romantic dinner at a very exclusive restaurant."
I raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it, Kristin. The most romantic dinner I've had with Brett was spaghetti and meatballs with my parents and my little brother at my house."
"I know he's going to make it up to you." Kristin bumped my arm with her elbow. "I bet he's at the mall buying you expensive jewelry right now."
I opened my mouth to protest her generous assessment of my boyfriend but was interrupted by another friend's voice.
"Girls!" Tiffany Liu approached, her face beaming. "I have big news!"
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Oh my goodness." Tiffany looked from Kristin to me while taking a deep, dramatic breath. "I'm still reeling from the excitement."
She then clamped her hands on my wrists with such force that I yelped.
"Tiff!" I cried. "You're hurting me."
"I'm sorry." Tiffany pushed her long dark hair behind her shoulders and then held up her left hand, palm down. "Just look at what Spencer gave me today."
I peered down at a gold ring with a tiny diamond displayed between two intertwined hearts. I looked up into Tiffany's wide, almond-shaped eyes. "Wow. Does that mean you're ...?"
"You're ... you-re ... you're engaged?" Kristin stammered.
"Well, kind of." Tiffany waved her hand around. "Spencer said it's a promise ring, so we're actually engaged to be engaged. We're going to get officially engaged our senior year in college. That way we can get married after we graduate."
Kristin dropped her teddy bear and bag on the ground and then hugged Tiffany. "Congratulations, Tiff! That's so exciting."
I stared at them, wondering how logical it was for Tiffany to bind herself to Spencer during her senior year of high school. Sure, he was a nice guy, he treated her well, and he was even good looking. Yet I wondered how she could be certain he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with after dating him less than six months. Who knew if they'd even be together when prom rolled around in May? Besides that, our lives were about to change with graduation only four months away. We needed to be thinking about college, not marriage. But I knew I had to be supportive. After all, that was my job as one of her best friends.
"Oh, wow, Tiff. I'm so happy for you." I squeezed her arm. "That's a beautiful ring."
"We have to celebrate," Kristin said. "After all, this is our senior year, and we have to celebrate every holiday together before we all leave for college. It's our last Valentine's Day together."
"You're right, Kristin." Tiffany beamed. "Let's have a party at my house tomorrow night."
"Perfect!" Kristin picked up her teddy bear and bag as she began listing the food items she planned to bring for the big celebration.
I agreed to bring chips and dip, along with soda.
Once the party was planned, Tiffany eyed the teddy bear balanced on Kristin's hip. "What did Doug get you?"
Kristin displayed the smiling teddy bear and bag of chocolates while Tiffany oohed and aahed with approval.
"What about you, Whitney?" Tiffany turned her brown eyes to me. "What did Brett get you?"
"I haven't seen him." I glanced toward my orange Jeep Compass sitting patiently on the other side of the parking lot. The urge to flee from my friends' stares tempted me.
"You haven't seen him?" Tiffany tilted her head. "Not at all today?"
"Nope, but it's no biggie, right? Valentine's Day is just a holiday created by the greeting-card industry to boost sales." I couldn't believe I had just quoted my eleven-year-old brother, Logan. Was I losing my mind?
"I bet he's planning something big for her." Kristin nodded with emphasis. "I'm certain he's going to surprise her with a romantic dinner, roses, and jewelry."
"Oh yeah." Tiffany's expression brightened. "Absolutely. I think Brett is romantic under that tough football-player exterior."
"Sure he is." And I'm the queen of Sheba. I gazed toward my Jeep. "Well, I need to get home. I'll see you tomorrow night."
Tiffany and Kristin waved as I made my way across the parking lot. A cool breeze pushed my long blonde hair back from my shoulders. I shivered while hugging my Cameronville High cheer-team hoodie closer to my body. Once again my mother was right. I should've listened to her and grabbed my jacket, but I thought I'd be warm in the sun. I hit the Unlock button on my key fob and then yanked open the driver's-side door.
"Whitney!" Brett appeared behind me. "Hey." At five foot ten he stood eye level with me. I never seemed to attract guys who were taller than I, which made things awkward when I wore heels. Not that I wore heels every day, but dances were somewhat comical when I was taller than my football-player boyfriend on the dance floor.
"Oh, hey, Brett." I tossed my backpack onto the passenger's seat and then eyed him with suspicion. "Have you been hiding from me today?"
"No, no." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I was looking for you."
"You were trying to find me so you could wish me a happy Valentine's Day, right?"
"Right. Happy Valentine's Day." He opened his backpack and fished out a small pink box of candy with "Happy V-Day" printed across the top. "This is for you."
"Thanks." I set the box of candy on the front seat of my Jeep. I briefly wondered if he'd somehow forgotten today was the most romantic holiday of the year and had run to the nearby pharmacy to quickly buy something during lunch. "Did you get the candy gram I sent you in homeroom?"
"Yeah. Thanks." He looked down at my front tire as if it were the most interesting item on the planet. He was avoiding my stare, and I was getting more and more aggravated by the second.
The awkward silence grew between us like a great chasm. "I'm glad you liked the chocolate." I motioned toward my steering wheel. "I guess I'll see you later. I have to get home."
"Wait." He touched my arm and then pulled his hand back as if my hoodie had shocked him with a bolt of electricity. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh?" I closed my fingers around my keys. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Us." He motioned between us. "What we're doing here."
"What do you mean?"
"I like you, Whitney. You're nice and you're pretty."
Oh no. I bit back a groan as a familiar break-up speech echoed through my mind. My ex-boyfriend, Chad, had broken up with me by using similar words on Halloween during our junior year.
"Let me guess what you're going to say, Brett. This has been fun, but you just want to be friends, right?" I spat the words at him. "I'm a nice girl, but you just don't think of me that way. You want to break up but stay good friends. It will be as if nothing has really changed, though. Did I get it right, Brett? Is that what you wanted to say?"
He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. I'm so glad you understand." He tapped my arm. "Thanks, Whitney. You made this so much easier than I thought it would be. I'll see you around. Happy Valentine's Day."
He jogged off toward the other side of the parking lot while I stared after him, taken aback by his callousness. He'd handed me a cheap box of candy and then broke up with me. To make the situation even worse, somehow I helped him break up with me by guessing what lame excuses he'd give for ending our six-month relationship. And he dropped the break-up bomb on Valentine's Day, which was supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.
* * *
I climbed into the driver's seat and then glanced over to where Brett approached a group of his football buddies. He traded high fives and then fell into step with them as they moved toward the far end of the parking lot. Today was just another day to Brett.
I jammed the key into the ignition and then cranked the engine while contemplating this strange day. In a matter of minutes, Tiffany revealed she was "sort of" engaged, and I broke up with my boyfriend.
The strangest part was that I wasn't as heartbroken as I thought I'd be over losing Brett. Yes, the rejection hurt, and I was offended he'd chosen today of all days, as well as frustrated I'd given him an easy way out by explaining why he was breaking up with me. But instead of feeling dejected, I felt some sense of ... relief.
I contemplated Brett as I steered through the Cameronville High School parking lot and merged onto Main Street. Our relationship had been nothing more than a perception at school. Kristin had told me I was lucky when Brett asked me to the homecoming dance. In the beginning of our relationship, I was honored he wanted me to be his girlfriend. After all, he was handsome, with his light-brown hair and pale-blue eyes. I heard people whisper about how we would be the next prom king and queen.
So much for that prediction.
I merged onto Glen Avenue and headed toward my neighborhood. Deep in my heart I knew my relationship with Brett wouldn't last. There was no spark. When we were together, he always seemed to be distracted, as if I were only part of the background. I wondered if the only reason he was dating me was the same reason I was dating him—because we were expected to be together, since he was the captain of the football team and I was the captain of the cheerleaders. We were supposed to be in love, but it was forced instead of genuine. It was as if we were supposed to hang out at school and at parties. We were meant to go to the homecoming dance together last fall. And, of course, we were expected to go to prom together in May.
I steered past the large brick signs welcoming me into Castleton, the neighborhood I'd known since birth. Brett was good looking, but he was exhausting to be with. I felt as if I had to always be on guard. I had to look perfect and keep the conversation going, even when a comfortable silence was what I craved. I never found a comfortable silence when I was with him. In fact, he never made me feel comfortable.
I turned onto my street and pulled into the horseshoe driveway in front of my family's dark-red brick colonial, which was similar to the other brick colonials in Castleton. The two-story house featured huge windows, an attached three-car garage, a wraparound porch, and a detached three-car garage at the back of the property.
I parked at the top of the driveway and climbed out of the Jeep. A cool breeze sliced through my clothes as I hoisted my heavy backpack onto my shoulder and retrieved the small box of candy. My thoughts moved to last summer as I glanced at the Olympic-sized, in-ground pool and the cabana enclosed inside the wrought-iron fence behind my house. I longed for the warmth and ease of summer as I started toward the back door. Things seemed so easy when I was volunteering as a tutor for summer school, teaching cheerleading at the summer recreation camp, and spending time with friends around the pool before senior year had started. Now I was facing my high school graduation and an unknown future.
I moved past my mother's shiny Mercedes SUV (an almost replica of my father's) and climbed the deck steps leading into the kitchen. I pushed the sliding-glass door open and stepped inside.
"Hello! I'm home." I dropped my backpack onto a kitchen chair, set the candy on the table, and crossed to the refrigerator to pull out the container of my favorite iced tea. I poured a glass and then swiped an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the island. I was settling onto a kitchen chair with my snack when my mother appeared scowling in the doorway.
"Whitney Jean." My mother's voice was disapproving, and I immediately felt my eyes widen at the mention of my full name.
"Hi, Mom. How was your day?" I bit into the apple, hoping her disapproval was caused by something other than me.
"Not good at all. Well, my day actually was good until I got home from my meeting at the club and found this in the mailbox." She stepped into the kitchen and waved around a piece of paper that appeared to be a letter. She was dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a white shirt with a yellow collar, which tipped me off that she'd been at the country club for one of her women's-group meetings, since that's her usual club attire. Only collared shirts and slacks (no jeans!) were permitted at the Cameronville Country Club.
Mom sank into the seat across from me, her platinum-blonde bob bouncing with the movement. She slapped the piece of paper onto the table in front of me, and her brown eyes narrowed. "What's this?"
I peered over at the letter, and the words "progress report" jumped out at me. At first I thought perhaps my brother bombed another test, but my shoulders stiffened when I read my full name next to the word "student."
"I got a progress report?" I studied the document with confusion. "I've never had a progress report in my life. How's that possible?"
"A D on a test will earn you a progress report, Whitney Jean." My mother crossed her arms over her chest. "How do you expect to keep your admission into Kentwood University if you flunk calculus?"
The apple suddenly tasted sour. "I'm not flunking, Mom. I got a D on one test, but I'll do better next time." I sipped my iced tea, hoping to drown my agitation.
"A D means you're not doing well at all." She pointed toward the big, red D next to the word calculus on the letter. "This is going to ruin your 4.0 grade point average. This is serious. Only the best get into Kentwood University. You can't blow this."
"KU is your top choice, not mine." I wrapped the apple core in a napkin and placed it on the table.
"Don't be silly." She shook her head. "Only the best go to my alma mater, and you're the best. You've maintained a 4.0 since middle school. You belong at my alma mater. I can see you now walking across campus with my sorority letters emblazoned across your hoodie."
I squelched a rude reply as I stared at her. I'd heard this speech repeatedly since I was in middle school. It was my mother's dream for me to go to her alma mater and join her sorority as a legacy. Note: her dream, not mine.
"I'll be fine, Mom. I only messed up one test. I'll do better next time." I sipped my iced tea and hoped my mother would drop the subject.
"No, this won't do. You could lose your admission, and I can't stand for that. It's unacceptable. I was able to get into KU due to my good grades and scholarships. I don't want you to miss this chance, Whitney. I only want the best for you. Your father and I vowed to give you and Logan the best opportunities we could, and KU is one of them." She studied the letter with renewed focus. "I've already spoken to Mrs. Jenkins about it."
"You called my guidance counselor?" I asked with disgust.
"Yes, I did." Mom sat up taller. "It's my responsibility to make certain you do your best. Your guidance counselor and I agree that you need a tutor."
"No." I enunciated the word. "I don't need any help. I can figure it out myself."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Destination Unknown by Amy Clipston. Copyright © 2014 Amy Clipston. Excerpted by permission of ZONDERVAN.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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