Page 5 of Lovestrung

I pushed away my bangs from my eyes, wiping the perspiration away.

“Never mind,” I grumbled.

“Anyway, I just thought that it was time you stopped mooning about you-know-who.”

Immediately, I tensed up and came to an abrupt halt on the quiet street.

“We don’t speak about him.”

“I know,” she sighed. “So, when exactly are you ditching the good town of Charlottesville and your best friend again?”

Feeling more at ease by the change of subject, I started walking again.

“Funny you should ask…I just bought my plane ticket to Rome this morning. My adventure begins one month from today.”

“Are you really going to be away for a whole year?”

The tremor in her voice made me a little teary, too.

“Yeah, I am.”

“I hate those itchy feet of yours,” she groused, making me giggle.

“I know you do, but this is something I have to do. You know that.”

She sighed again in my ear, only this time she stopped pushing. I knew she was unhappy about my plans, but like every good friend – and she was one of the best – she supported me. Once she looked past her own hurt for losing me, as she called it, she’d be happy for me.

Because she was right.

I was the girl with itchy feet. Everyone I knew were aware of it.

Obviously, I didn’t mean that in the literal sense of the word – that would be too weird and require me to see a foot specialist – but because of who my parents were.

Or, more to the point, my dad.

My father was Henry Montgomery, a renowned former explorer just like my grandfather had been. Dad had travelled the world most of his life until the day he met my mother, Vivian, was struck down by lightning and fell madly in love with her.

His words. Whenever I asked Mama if she’d felt the same way, she rolled her eyes while muttering something unintelligible. But I knew better. While Dad was the dreamer and philosopher, Mama was the pragmatist – the sensible one – in our family. Even though she wasn’t a romantic, she could never hide the soft smile or the secretive look in her eyes when she went on to tell us children about the day she’d met our dad.

Because of my heritage, I had a major case of wanderlust, and just like my dad and grandfather had, I longed to explore the world. To be an adventurer and to discover new things.

I couldn’t see myself covering my body in tattoos like Dad had; or to get a big, gold hoop in my ear like Gramps, just like a pirate.

But I wanted to see more than Charlottesville, Virginia.

To wake up to the sound of church bells in Rome.

Or to take a dozen photos of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

Or to walk a stretch of the Great Wall of China.

The world was at my feet.

Too bad the same world held my childhood friend and crush, Ethan Collins, because not only was he my friend, someone I’d known for what seemed like forever. But Ethan was also my foster brother, and that was a whole can of worms that I wasn’t prepared to open. Sure, it had been my own fault – badgering him into giving me my first kiss when I was fifteen had started this stupid crush – but I had hoped it’d fade over time.

Plus, he never saw me as anything else but a little sister – he’d told me himself when I was eighteen and I’d gotten the stupid idea to throw myself at him.

Yeah. Not one of my finest moments.