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The Distance from Me to You

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Praise for The Distance from Me to You"A wilderness adventure dashed with romance and danger . . . readers should find it eas... Lire la suite
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Praise for The Distance from Me to You

"A wilderness adventure dashed with romance and danger . . . readers should find it easy to relate to McKenna’s desire to take risks, prove her independence, and finish the trail at all costs."--Publishers Weekly

 "Gessner writes vividly of the trail and hiking . . . She brings McKenna and Sam to life as well-rounded characters, gradually building their relationship to a satisfying and realistic level. The star of the show here, however, is the Appalachian Trail and the adventures the teens experience on it.
Good romance, great wilderness."--Kirkus Reviews

"Readers will enjoy the compelling, well-paced depiction of the adventure and lore of the AT, and they will be glad to find such a tough-minded, capable heroine in a realistic novel."--BCCB

" A great add to YA collections, especially for those with a taste for the outdoors."--SLJ

"[Gessner] has created a romance and adventure tale in one."--VOYA

"This story combines adventure and romance in a great read, especially for anyone with an interest in hiking. Readers will enjoy this page-turner.."--School Library Connection

Marina Gessner ( is the pen name of Nina de Gramont. Nina is a writer, teacher, and mom, not necessarily in that order. Her work has appeared in RedbookHarvard Review, Nerve, and Seventeen. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and daughter. Follow her on Twitter: @NinadeGramont

Texte du rabat

Wild meets Endless Love in this multilayered story of love, survival, and self-discovery

McKenna Berney is a lucky girl. She has a loving family and has been accepted to college for the fall. But McKenna has a different goal in mind: much to the chagrin of her parents, she defers her college acceptance to hike the Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia with her best friend. And when her friend backs out, McKenna is determined to go through with the dangerous trip on her own. While on the Trail, she meets Sam. Having skipped out on an abusive dad and quit school, Sam has found a brief respite on the Trail, where everyone's a drifter, at least temporarily.

Despite lives headed in opposite directions, McKenna and Sam fall in love on an emotionally charged journey of dizzying highs and devastating lows. When their punch-drunk love leads them off the trail, McKenna has to persevere in a way she never thought possible to beat the odds or risk both their lives.

Wild meets Endless Love in this multilayered story of love, survival, and self-discovery

McKenna Berney is a lucky girl. She has a loving family and has been accepted to college for the fall. But McKenna has a different goal in mind: much to the chagrin of her parents, she defers her college acceptance to hike the Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia with her best friend. And when her friend backs out, McKenna is determined to go through with the dangerous trip on her own. While on the Trail, she meets Sam. Having skipped out on an abusive dad and quit school, Sam has found a brief respite on the Trail, where everyone’s a drifter, at least temporarily.

Despite lives headed in opposite directions, McKenna and Sam fall in love on an emotionally charged journey of dizzying highs and devastating lows. When their punch-drunk love leads them off the trail, McKenna has to persevere in a way she never thought possible to beat the odds or risk both their lives.

Échantillon de lecture
***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***

Copyright  © 2015 Marina Gessner

McKenna couldn’t believe it. Maybe her ears were malfunctioning. Or her brain was playing tricks on her. Either option—deafness or  insanity—seemed better  than  believing the words coming out of her best friend’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Courtney said. She started to cry and put her head down on the table.

McKenna knew this was the moment to reach over and pat Courtney’s head, say something comforting. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Because not only was Courtney getting back together with Jay, she was also backing out of their trip.

McKenna and  Courtney  had  been planning this trip for over a year—a two-thousand-mile hike down the Appalachian Trail—and they were supposed to leave in less than  a week. They’d deferred their college acceptances. They’d spent their life savings on camping gear and trail guides—McKenna had, anyway; Courtney’s father had footed the bill for hers. Hardest of all, they’d talked their parents into agreeing to the plan: two girls hiking the entire length of the Appalachian Trail, from Maine to Georgia.

And now Courtney was changing her mind. For the lamest possible reason: a guy. And not just any guy, but a guy they’d spent the last four months ripping to shreds. Honestly, Mc- Kenna was so sick of talking about him, she could barely get his name out.

All around  them,  the Whitworth  College Student  Union buzzed with conversations and clanking silverware. McKenna’s parents were both professors here, and she had been eating lunch in this cafeteria since before she could remember, the surrounding tables as familiar as her own living room. It was a bright day in early June, sunlight pouring in through  the atrium windows, and McKenna knew that Courtney must feel the same urge she did, to get away from the places they’d seen a million times, to go out in the world and live under that sun. “But Courtney,” McKenna said, keeping both hands firmly

in her lap. “Jay?”

“I know,” Courtney mumbled, her face still buried in her arms.

This trip, this plan, had been McKenna’s dream for as long as she could remember. And now, so close to when they should have been leaving, Courtney  was bringing the  whole thing crashing down.

“Courtney,”  McKenna said again. Even if it  weren’t for the hike, this would be terrible news. She couldn’t stand the thought of Jay breaking her friend’s heart. Again.

“Don’t say it,” Courtney said, finally sitting up. “I know, I

know all of it. And I forgive him. I love him, McKenna.”

What could McKenna say to that?

“I’m sorry,” Courtney said again, her voice calmer after the declaration of love. “I know how much you wanted to do this.”

“I thought you wanted to do it, too.”

“I do. I mean I did. But it’s just too long to be away from him right now. You know?”

McKenna didn’t know, not at all. Even with her eyes red and her face puffy, Courtney looked beautiful. She was the last person who needed to change her life for a guy, let alone Jay. Courtney had shiny blond hair that McKenna—being the only brunette  in her family—envied. Both girls were on the track team, but Courtney was the star, running the mile in under six minutes. Both girls took riding lessons, but Courtney was the one who usually won ribbons when they showed. Most import- ant, Courtney was a loyal friend. In other words, she was worth a thousand Jays, ten thousand Jays, a million.

“Courtney,” McKenna said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Jay will still be here when we get back. You can text or call him from the trail, send him postcards. It’s only a few months.”

“Not a few. Five months, maybe even six. Things are frag- ile right now, McKenna, we’re only just back together. I can’t march off into the woods and leave him. Not right now.” She sounded like she’d practiced her argument, as if she’d antici- pated everything McKenna would say.

Because he’d probably spend the whole six months hooking up with other girls, McKenna thought.

“You’ll be leaving him if you go to Wesleyan,” McKenna

pointed  out.  Jay was going to Whitworth,  here in Abelard, the most boring and predictable of all choices. What was the point of even going to college if you weren’t going to leave your hometown?

“Wesleyan is barely an hour away,” Courtney said. “And anyway, I’m not going till next year. I deferred, remember?”

“You deferred to go on our trip,” McKenna said, finally let- ting herself sound as petulant as she felt. “Not to date Jay.”

“I know,” Courtney admitted.

“Well, what are you going to do next year, then? Bag your first-choice college for a guy? Stay here and go to Whitworth?” McKenna glanced around the Student Union meaningfully. Going to Whitworth would be like going to college in her own house.

“Jay is not just ‘a guy.’ And a camping trip isn’t college, either.”

“A camping trip?” How could she reduce their plan to those two words, make them sound so trivial? McKenna drew in a strengthening breath and said, “Maybe being apart will make your relationship stronger. Like with Brendan and me . . .”

“You can’t compare you and Brendan to me and Jay.”

Well, that was true. Brendan would never cheat on Mc- Kenna. He just wasn’t that kind of person, not a player, but sweet and  honest  and  serious. They’d been  together  three months,  and  Brendan  was headed  to  Harvard  in  the  fall. Would McKenna ever try to stop him from going to the school of his dreams so they could be together? Of course not—not

any more than he would stop her from hiking the Appalachian Trail. They had a mature relationship and they supported each other. McKenna said as much to Courtney, who rolled her eyes. “McKenna,” Courtney said, “you guys are about as roman-

tic as a trail map.”

McKenna ripped her chopsticks apart with a splintery crin- kle. Their sushi sat untouched between them. McKenna poked at the spicy tuna roll but didn’t pick it up. If romance meant giving up your dreams for some undeserving guy, Courtney was welcome to it.

“There are different ways to be romantic,” McKenna coun- tered. “Maybe to you romance is a candlelight dinner. But to me—” She broke off, afraid she might cry if she said it aloud.

To McKenna, romance was a night  under  the  stars. She didn’t need a boyfriend with her to make it romantic. She just needed clean air, the scent of pine. No sounds except crickets and spring peepers and the wind in the trees.

Courtney  reached out  and  touched  McKenna’s hand.  “I know how much this trip meant to you,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it to make you understand that I really am.”

A hundred  arguments still swirled in McKenna’s head. Forget Jay. She could remind Courtney of the forms for the two-thousand-miler  certificate they’d pinned on their bulle- tin boards next to their badges from Ridgefield Prep hiking club. They’d also ordered AT Passports—green booklets to have stamped at hostels and landmarks along the way to document

their  journey. They’d planned  their  itinerary so they could bring Norton, Courtney’s huge, snarly shepherd mix, tracking all the campgrounds that  allowed dogs. They’d spent hours poring over maps and guidebooks. They’d climbed Bear Moun- tain with full packs, training with heavy weight on their backs. They were ready to go.

But instead of reminding Courtney of all this, McKenna kept quiet, because something in Courtney’s voice was telling her that no matter how she begged, the answer would be the same.

“Well,” McKenna said, finally popping the spicy tuna into her mouth, “if you can’t come, I’ll just go by myself.”

Courtney’s eyes widened. Then she laughed.

“No, really,” McKenna said. She sat up a little straighter. Saying it again would strengthen her resolve. “I’ll go by myself.” “You  can’t spend six months  in the  woods by yourself,”

Courtney said. “Why not?”

Six months in the woods by herself. A minute ago, McKenna had felt deflated. Now, under every inch of her skin, excite- ment was gathering, tingling.

“Well,” Courtney said, “it’s not safe, for one thing.” “I’m not going on this trip to be safe.”

She bit off the last word with distaste. Safe was doing what was expected of you. Safe was following the rules, getting good grades, going to college. Safe, in other words, was everything McKenna had done every minute of her whole entire life.

“Seriously, McKenna,” Courtney said, her face scrunching into worry. “You can’t do it alone.”

Of course Courtney didn’t think she should do it alone— nobody would. But the images were already forming in Mc- Kenna’s mind: all those miles of fabulous solitude, her body getting stronger, her mind growing wider. In preparation for this hike she’d read a mountain of books—wilderness guides, memoirs, novels. One of her favorites was by a woman who’d hiked the Pacific Crest Trail alone without even a debit card, and before iPhones and GPS. If she could do it, why not McKenna?

“Your parents will never let you,” Courtney pointed out. McKenna threw down her chopsticks. “That’s why we’re not

going to tell them,” she said.



Crossing the campus quad, McKenna bounced in her hiking boots, which she wore even though everyone around her was in flip-flops and canvas sneakers. She had worn her boots every day for two months, determined that they be perfectly broken in by the time she hit the trail. She was so used to the heavy shoes that she had no problem jumping out of the way as a skateboarder nearly crashed into the student  beside her, his nose buried in his phone. McKenna rolled her eyes. On this perfect day, the breeze tinged with the scent of honeysuckle, the sun shining steadily, almost every single student  walked across campus with eyes glued to a phone.

At home,  McKenna’s stack of trail reading material was

heavily populated  by Thoreau,  and  she thought  of one  of her favorite quotes. In fact she’d used it as the epigraph to her college entrance essay: We must learn to reawaken and keep our- selves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expecta- tion of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep.

Every day, McKenna saw people who’d given up real life for Instagram and Facebook. If she had her way, she wouldn’t be bringing her phone at all. Now that she was going alone, though, she knew it would be crazy to give up that lifeline. But McKenna was determined to keep it in her pack and only use it in case of emergency. She wouldn’t talk or text, not to her parents or Brendan or even her little sister, Lucy.

That would be harder, of course, now that she was going to be on her own.

On her own. She knew the phrase should scare her, but in- stead it brought on a smile. After finally convincing Courtney that her mind was made up, they had worked out the details of their ruse. For one thing, Whitworth  would be off-limits, Courtney could not risk running into McKenna’s parents while she was supposed to be on the trail. Courtney offered Norton, but McKenna decided against it. She wanted as few reasons as possible for Courtney’s parents to try to get in touch with hers. Everything had to look like it was going according to their original plan, the one McKenna’s parents had agreed to, albeit reluctantly.

She unlocked the car door with an electronic beep. Soon

her life would be gloriously free from such noises, nothing but birds and bugs and rustling leaves.

It couldn’t come soon enough.



Her boyfriend, Brendan, was only slightly more enthusiastic about the solo plan than her parents would have been.

“It’s not like some amusement park where all the danger is pretend,” Brendan said. “It’s the wilderness. With  bears and bobcats. And guys named Cletus who keep stills in the woods.”

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” McKenna said.

They were driving to the movies after burgers at the Abelard Diner. In this last week of civilization, McKenna was determined to indulge as much as possible—hot baths, TV binge-watching, and especially food. Despite the huge meal, she fully intended to get a tub of popcorn, dripping with fake butter.

“I’m serious, McKenna,” he said.

Even in the darkish car, she could tell his face looked very concerned. Brendan was not an obviously handsome guy, like Jay. He wasn’t much taller than McKenna, with unruly dark hair. But McKenna loved his face, which was brown-eyed and dimpled  and  crazy intelligent.  Brendan  was very practical. One of only two Ridgefield Prep graduates to get into Har- vard this year, he had his whole future mapped out. Harvard undergrad to Harvard Law School to lobbying in Washington, DC, to eventually starting his own firm. No doubt there was a wife and 2.3 children somewhere in those plans, but he and

McKenna had never talked about that. He wasn’t the kind of guy to marry his high school girlfriend. Practical.

Now, as Brendan listed reasons why she shouldn’t go on the hike alone, McKenna reminded herself that he was only being discouraging because he cared about her.

“It’s called the wild for a reason,” he said. “There aren’t any safety nets. It’s not a joke. There are a thousand ways a person could die out there.”

“Not a person who knows what she’s doing,” McKenna said. “Accidents happen all the time. I’m not saying you’re not

prepared, but especially for a girl—”

“Why ‘especially for a girl’?” Nothing he said could have made her more determined to go ahead with her plan. Brendan should’ve known better. His mom had raised him on her own, and was also one of the best surgeons in Connecticut.

“McKenna,” he said, his eyes barely flitting away from the road. “I don’t think you need me to spell it out for you.”

“Look,” she said. “It’s not like college is the safest place in the world. Statistically,  I’ll be safer on the trail than I would be at Reed. No cars. No keg parties. No date-raping college boys.” They passed under a streetlight, and McKenna could see he

was frowning.

“I’m a smart person,” she went on. “I’m not going to take unnecessary risks. I’m going to camp in designated spots, stay on the trail. I won’t camp within a mile of any road crossings. I know what I’m doing, Brendan.”

Brendan reached out and took her hand. “I wish you’d let

me call you, though,” he said. “It’s going to be so weird, not talking to you.”

“Just think  how happy you’ll be to see me at Christmas break,” McKenna said, “when all that absence has made your heart grow fonder.” He looked dubious, but McKenna pressed on. “So you’ll help? You won’t tell my parents?”

“I won’t tell your parents,” Brendan said. “But that doesn’t mean I like this. That doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea.”

She picked up his hand and kissed it. Maybe he wasn’t in total agreement. But she knew he wouldn’t do anything to stop her. For now that was all she needed.



The next day, McKenna got home from her last day of work for the summer. For three years, she’d been waiting tables at the Yankee Clipper, a breakfast and lunch place. During the school year she just worked weekends, but summers she worked six days a week, and this summer she worked right up to three days before her big departure. Not many Ridgefield Prep students had a job like this. Most of them had parents who were hot- shot lawyers, or hotshot stockbrokers, or hotshot surgeons. The Burneys could afford Ridgefield thanks to Whitworth’s tuition reciprocity program. Because Whitworth would pay McKenna’s tuition at any participating university, her parents didn’t have to save money for college, but could use the money for Ridge- field instead. Not that the Burneys were poor—far from it. Her mother picked up extra money consulting for an architectural firm, her father wrote a blog for a national political magazine

(“Just the Facts,” by Jerry Burney), and both of them pulled in decent salaries as tenured professors. McKenna knew she was lucky. She didn’t envy her classmates, at least not much, for their trips to Europe or their Marc Jacobs handbags. For one thing, she liked working. And material things didn’t particu- larly matter to her. At home, her ancient, thumbed-over copy of Walden was underlined and asterisked to the point where the pages were bloated, warped from overuse. Like Thoreau, she knew possessions were only “pretty toys.” McKenna was interested in the deeper things life had to offer.

She had been hiking most afternoons to get in shape, and today her dad was going to try to make it home in time to join her. He was her original inspiration for hiking the AT. Her whole life, she’d heard the story of how he and his best friend, Krosky, hiked the Pacific Northwest Trail the summer after they graduated high school. Of course, that was part of the reason he’d agreed to let her go. How could he say no after he’d always told her it was the greatest experience he’d ever had?

“Dad?” McKenna called, opening the front door.

Her sister, Lucy, would be at day camp, but at 3:30 both her parents should be home—one of the perks of their jobs as professors was having summers off. Plenty of time to spend with your eldest child before she embarked on a long journey.

“Mom?” McKenna called, making her way upstairs.

She already knew there wouldn’t be a response. Mom was probably at the architectural firm, giving her opinion on the latest blueprints.

Dad probably got held up at his office meeting with an am- bitious poli-sci student. Even in summer, he kept office hours, holding court with adoring students, often bringing gaggles of them home for dinner. Sometimes McKenna wished he was still just an assistant professor with plenty of time to go hiking.

McKenna banged into her bedroom and flopped across her bed, staring at the ceiling. She heard a jangling sound and pushed up on one elbow to see Buddy, the family’s arthritic chocolate Lab, amble into the room. He walked over to where she was lying, licked her face, and put his two front paws on her bed. These days he could only climb up if McKenna gave him a boost.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, “but I’m going to hike the Appalachian Trail all by myself.” She stroked his head. “I’m going to miss you, Buddy.”



Later that  evening after hiking Flat Rock Brook by herself, McKenna found her dad in the kitchen, opening a beer.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “Back from a hike?”

“Yeah,” McKenna said. “Remember you were maybe going to go with me?”

A shadow passed over his face, but he quickly recovered. “Sorry about that,” he said. “An incoming grad student came by my office and I couldn’t get away.”

It annoyed McKenna that  he wasn’t admitting  what she could tell from his face—he had totally forgotten.

“It’s okay,” she said, pouring herself a glass of ice water.

“I spoke to Al Hill this morning,” her dad said. “He’s get- ting his research organized and is really excited that he’ll have your help.”

As part of the bargaining to go on her hike, McKenna had agreed to work for her father’s friend, cataloging his bird re- search up at Cornell. McKenna’s Yankee Clipper money had covered all the gear for her trip. But while out hiking, she’d be using her parents’ credit card, and this job would be a way, at least in part, of paying them back. It was also something McKenna was truly excited about, working with one of the top ornithologists in the country.

“Great,” McKenna said. “Are you home for dinner tonight?” “No, your mom and I are having dinner with a new lecturer.

You can get something together for you and Lucy, right?”

“You bet,” McKenna said, and gave him an encouraging little smile, as if nothing he’d done—or not done—had ever bothered her.














The night before McKenna was supposed to leave, Buddy lay on the floor in a forlorn heap. McKenna’s bed was covered with everything she planned to pile into her pack, plus Lucy, who sat on the pillows, her scrawny ten-year-old legs crossed as she examined the equipment.

“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” she said.

A couple weeks ago Lucy had chopped off her long white- blond hair, and McKenna was still getting used to it. The cut was shaggy and uneven, which somehow made her look like even more of a wild child than when it hung halfway down her back.

“It’ll fit,” McKenna called from her bathroom,  where she was washing her face. For the next several months it would be nothing but Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap, so she was doing her best to luxuriate in the warm water and take full advantage of the mirror.

Their mom poked her head into the bedroom. “Dad has a couple students coming to dinner,” she told them.

“Mom,” McKenna objected, coming out of the bathroom, her face still soapy. “It’s my last night. I was really hoping it could just be us.”

“Sorry, honey, one’s a new TA. He’s going to be helping out with research and this was the only night we could make it work.”

McKenna walked back into the bathroom and splashed her face, giving up her last hopes of having her family to herself for a real good-bye. It was just as well, she thought, grabbing a towel. With guests at the table, there’d be less of a chance for her to let something slip about hiking the trail alone, since there’d be no chance for her to speak at all.

Her mom stood in the bathroom doorway. “I know it’s short notice, but do you want to invite Courtney?”

“No,” McKenna said. “Her parents are having a special good- bye dinner for her, with her favorite meal. Just the family.”

“Well,” her mom said, apology creeping into her voice, “I

did make enchiladas.” “Thanks, Mom.”

After their mom left, Lucy picked up the giant, collapsible water jug. “This is going to take up half your pack when it’s full,” she said. “How much do you think it’ll weigh?”

They filled it to the brim in McKenna’s bathroom and saw that  Lucy was right. It was so heavy, McKenna could barely haul it out of the sink by its plastic handle.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Lucy said.




According to  McKenna’s thru  hiker’s guide,  there  were enough shelters on the AT, spaced close enough together, that some people didn’t even bother carrying a tent. McKenna had no interest in that—she wanted the choice of camping on her own rather than bunking with strangers. But generally there were freshwater sources wherever there were shelters. And if not, McKenna also had a water filter, plus an impressive supply of iodine tablets in case the filter broke.

“Forget the jug, then,” McKenna said. “The smaller water bottles should be fine.”

Lucy picked up the two thirty-four-ounce bottles and slid them into their holders on the exterior of McKenna’s pack.

“Sporty,” Lucy said, shaking a shock of hair out of her eyes. “Sporty,” McKenna agreed.

The doorbell rang and the sound of their father’s enthusias- tic voice carried up the stairs. He was ready to hold court.

Lucy sighed and said, “I’m really going to miss you.” McKenna sat down on the bed. She was dying to tell Lucy

that Courtney wasn’t coming with her, that she’d be going the trail alone. But she couldn’t risk it, and anyway it wouldn’t be fair to make a ten-year-old shoulder that kind of secret. Both girls were rule followers, and Lucy had always been more of a worrier than McKenna.

“Hey,” McKenna said. “Maybe you can do the same hike after you graduate. We could do it together.”

“You mean it?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes widening.




“Of course I mean it,” McKenna said. “By then I’ll know all the tricks.”

Lucy picked up the key ring lying next to McKenna’s col- lapsible pot and cookstove, and blew the whistle. The ring also had a small canister of pepper spray attached. “Is this one of the tricks?” she asked. “To keep away murderers?”

“Well, I got it in case of bears,” McKenna said. “But I’m guessing it would work on murderers, too.”

Lucy nodded. McKenna thought she looked like she might be fighting tears.

“I’ll be fine,” McKenna told her. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” Lucy said quickly. “I’m just going to miss you. That’s all.”

McKenna pulled her sister into her arms, all sixty-three pounds of her. Lucy felt lighter than air and twice as bony.

Their mother’s voice traveled up the  stairs, calling them down to their guests, but McKenna ignored her, at least for a minute. She hoped her parents would remember to pay plenty of attention to Lucy while she was gone. It could get lonely in this house with everyone so busy, everyone always on the way to somewhere else.


Her dad’s new TA, a skinny guy who had a two-year-old daugh- ter, couldn’t believe McKenna’s parents were letting her and a friend hike all alone. If he only knew, McKenna thought, smiling to herself.



“The summer I was eighteen I hiked the Pacific Northwest Trail,” her dad said. “Now, that’s wilderness. We barely saw another soul all summer. Packed in every bite of food we ate. Krosky and I lost sixty pounds between us.”

Both grad students nodded. McKenna had seen a million of them, all hanging on her dad’s every word.

“Compared to the PNT,” her dad said, “the Appalachian

Trail will be like a parking lot.”

McKenna frowned and speared a piece of lettuce. “Maybe we should drive out West tomorrow,” she said. “Do the PNT instead.”

“No, no, no,” her mom said. “The Appalachian Trail is plenty wilderness enough.” She turned to the TA. “McKenna’s always been like that. Don’t ever challenge or dare her. Ridiculously brave, even when she was little. Never had a single nightmare. She watched every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when she was ten.”

Across the table, Lucy, who was prone to nightmares and couldn’t stand ...

Informations sur le produit

Titre: The Distance from Me to You
Code EAN: 9780399173233
ISBN: 978-0-399-17323-3
Format: Livre Relié
Editeur: Random House N.Y.
Genre: Enfants et adolescents
nombre de pages: 352
Poids: 470g
Taille: H216mm x B144mm x T35mm
Année: 2015