Exactly Where You Need to Be

Exactly Where You Need to Be

Turtles All the Way Down meets Love and Luck in this “lively” ( Publishers Weekly ), romantic road trip story about a teen girl’s last chance to have an epic summer with her best friend before everything changes. Florie’s OCD and her mother’s worrying have kept her from a lot of things, like having an after-school job and getting her driver’s license. And now that she’s graduated high school, while her best friend Kacey is headed off to Portland in the fall, Florie’s taking a parent-sanctioned gap year off before starting college. When the decision was made, Florie was on board, but now she can’t ignore the growing itch to become the person she wants to be and venture outside the quaint, boring Washington town she grew up in. Winning tickets to see her favorite true crime podcast’s live show in California gives her the opportunity to do just that, if only for a few days. So—unbeknownst to their parents—Kacey and Florie set off on a road trip to San Francisco. The only downside in Florie’s opinion? Sam, Kacey’s older brother and Florie’s forever crush, is their ride. The Samson Hodge, who Florie hasn’t seen since winter break, and who she’d prefer to never see again, if possible. But Florie is willing to put up with Sam if it means one last adventure with her best friend. Making it to San Francisco and back to Washington without their parents catching on isn’t a given, but one thing is for sure: this trip will change everything. Amelia Diane Coombs is the author of Keep My Heart in San Francisco ; Between You, Me, and the Honeybees ; Exactly Where You Need to Be ; and All Alone with You . She’s a northern California transplant living in Seattle, Washington, with her spouse and their Siberian cat. When she isn’t writing or reading, Amelia spends her time playing video and tabletop games, road-tripping, and hiking the Pacific Northwest. Chapter One ONE Barmouth, WA WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 3 Everyone needs a “bury a dead body in the woods” best friend. I mean, it’s the highest level of friendship possible. Someone you can trust, without question, to cover your ass when life goes sideways. For me, that person is Kacey Hodge. Loyal to her core, my exact opposite in almost every way. If I ever had to bury a dead body in the woods? Kacey would be right beside me, shovel in hand, wiping sweat off her brow. She’s my ride or die. However, I’d rather bury a dead body than help Kacey clean out her bedroom, which is how I’m spending my afternoon. Because I’ve never met someone who owns more clothing and random shit than my best friend. “I can’t believe my mom is making me do this,” Kacey mutters from the depths of her closet, where she’s pulling out her lesser worn items and tossing them into the cardboard box in the center of her bedroom. “I swear, Florie, she’s using college as an excuse to finally purge my room. She’s wanted this for years . It’s so unnecessary.” I’d argue that it’s very, very necessary. Rosemary also said that if Kacey doesn’t clean her room, she can’t go on the Hodges’ family vacation next week. Since that trip is the last remotely exciting thing we’re doing together before Kacey leaves for college, this cleaning spree isn’t optional. I hold up a Russian nesting doll from her knickknack shelf. “Really? Because there’s literally no reason for you to bring a Russian nesting doll to college. None. Whatsoever.” “It’s vintage ,” Kacey says, but, after a hesitation, nods. I place the doll into the box. “Hey, can you turn the speaker up?” I grab the Bluetooth speaker, shaped like a retro radio, off Kacey’s dresser and nudge the volume button on the side. We’re listening to our favorite podcast hosts, Eleanor and Trish, cover the murder of Joan Dawley. “The guy, this asshole,” Trish is saying through the speaker, “hired two felons to kill his wife—” “What a dick,” Eleanor responds dryly, like she’s not the least bit surprised. Trish snorts. “You want to hear the worst part? The plan fell through—one of the hired men was arrested for parole violations—but someone still bludgeoned the wife to death.” Episodes drop every Wednesday, so Kacey and I get together at her house for our weekly dose of Eleanor and Trish. Murder Me Later is more than a podcast to me—it’s held a special place in my anxious heart for the last two years. Because their podcast is about murder, sure, but it’s also about mental health and listening to your gut—one thing I’m often ashamed of, and the other I almost always ignore. Plus, it’s the whole reason Kacey and I are even friends. Even if they hadn’t brought me together with my best friend, I’d still be a huge fan. Maybe it’s weird, but I love true crime. Learning about all the worst-case scenarios, the survival stories, the tragedies, is almost calming. Probably because my obsessive-compulsive disorder feeds off all the unknown bad in the world. For me, the monster you know is always better than the one you don’t. I’ve composed emails to El