Excerpt
Permanent Jet Lag
A.N. Casey © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
96 Days Before
On the last day of my freshman year of college, my parents—dressed head to toe in the obnoxious green and gold colors of my school—arrived on the threshold of my dorm room with five extra-large boxes for packing, a tin of mom-baked chocolate chip cookies to cure my assumed “home sick blues,” and two snippets of hometown gossip for my ears only. When you leave home for college, there’s a certain assumption that says you will learn to be independent. You do your own laundry, you buy your own meals, and your parents never come knocking on your door to ask if you’ve done your homework or to ground you for coming home past curfew. You’re alone—blissfully independent and free.
My mother had other ideas. Ideas that filled the voicemail on my cell phone until I could no longer receive friends’ missed calls. Ideas that left a pile of cookie tins in the corner of the room and a dozen more care packages under the bed. Even now, as I finished the bulk of my packing, a poorly knit mom-made sweater hung limp over the side of the latest care package, threads unraveling and fraying in every direction with a note pinned to its sleeve with words I could not remember—words I likely never read.
My roommate sat on the other side of the room upon his stripped-down bed, munching away at the first cookie handed to him. He wore a thick pair of headphones that flattened his usually unruly brown hair. Though the cord was not connected to anything, my mother seemed pleased with this sense of security and began her “top secret” gossip. As though my roommate would care at all about the small-town news of Franklin Creek, California.
“Rylie Graham is getting married!” she squealed. Despite her rising age, my mother’s face still lit up with all the excitement and energy of the young woman I could just barely remember from the photographs on the walls at home. Today, my mother was plump and nearly always flushed in her cheeks. The freckles on her nose were faded underneath a splotchy tan that extended only to the bottom of her neck, and her clothes, though neatly pressed, still appeared crumpled by her slouch and the endless movement of her limbs. She went on and on about the wedding, the beautiful invitations, and the color schemes she hoped they’d use, how she could still remember Rylie as a baby, crawling around at the neighborhood block parties.
I was already aware of this news, of course. The invitation had arrived in the mail two days ago, vividly pink with a handful of red hearts and almost a dozen purple and green flowers decorating the edges. Unless the groom was a botanist, there was no inkling of his presence in the design. To top it off, at the very bottom of the paper, beneath the RSVP notification, was a dried crimson lipstick mark. Nine months since I’d seen her, and I could still vividly imagine Rylie prepping her mouth with that darkened color she had so adored in high school and kissing each invitation one by one.
The invitation was now crumpled up in my suitcase with the rest of my belongings, but the image of it had not left my mind for a second.
“Isn’t it great, Lucas?” my mother asked, and I nodded. “She’ll look so beautiful as a bride.” Another nod. “Just wait until you meet the groom. What a charming young man.” At this, I fidgeted with the zipper on my luggage and forced a smile.
My father, lounging lazily upon my still-sheeted bed, gave me a knowing smile over the top of his third cookie. My mother promptly smacked it out of his hand.
“That’s enough, Tim. Didn’t you hear a word the doctors said? I think one heart attack is quite enough for one year, don’t you?”
“I thought two would make a more interesting story at this year’s Christmas party,” my father replied, grinning.
And so began an argument that lasted through the remainder of my packing, the long trek downstairs, and into the oversized van waiting for us in the parking lot. It continued as my father stabbed the key into the ignition, as my mother pulled on her seat belt, and as I peered through the window and watched San Francisco—all its big buildings and bustling bridges—disappear into the night.
By the time we pulled into the driveway of my childhood home, my parents were just progressing toward the makeup phase of their disagreement, or, as I’d dubbed it over the years, the honeymoon period. They sat, arms tangled in the front seat, kissing and whispering loving platitudes into each other’s mouths with such nauseating enthusiasm that sitting through it was quite like staring at the sun: tolerance came in small doses. I left the car and dragged my luggage up the porch steps alone.
I had come home exactly twice since leaving for college, once for spring break and once after my father’s heart attack, and I was greeted the same each time. Homecoming generally went like this: my oldest sister, now sixteen, would nod her head in my direction over the top of her cell phone, give me a hug if I came close enough, and then resume her texting. My brothers, identical in all but their clothing, would rush in for the tackle. And my youngest sister would wave from the couch—a simple twist of her hand—and then return to her TV show. Today it was an old rerun about a teenage spy, and because the theme song was particularly catchy, the wave was even shorter than normal, barely a twitch of her fingertips.
I disappeared into my room.
From the window of my dorm room in the mornings, I could see the wide expanse of the San Francisco landscape for miles, a hundred buildings huddled together against the fading fog, life bustling below. From the window of my hometown bedroom, I could see the neighbor’s pool. A thoroughly unexciting, lifeless pool. As summer had not technically begun, the water that would soon promise endless good times and relief from the heat was still currently abandoned. A heavy pile of leaves covered much of the surface, but through the spaces between, I could make out a glimpse of the water—a murky, untouched green.
Rylie called at half past eleven while I was cleaning the windowsill for the second time. Her voice was shrill and rushed as she screamed into my ear, “Why didn’t you tell me you were home? I had to hear it from my mom, who heard it from your mom, and I feel like I’m in a weird stupid sitcom, because I’m not supposed to be hearing gossip from your mother, Lucas. You’re supposed to tell your friends when you come home. Clay is pissed.”
As she spoke, I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear. Downstairs, my mom was yelling at the twins, and Dad was swearing about the score of a baseball game. I retreated farther into my room and closed the door.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Sorry?” Rylie let out a long, exasperated sigh, and I thought I could hear her nails tapping against the back of her phone. “Will you meet me somewhere? I haven’t seen you in ages, and everyone misses you. Please?”
“Okay.”
“Is this how this is going to be now? One-worded conversations?”
“Probably.”
Rylie laughed, a deep, chest-rattling sort of sound that in no way matched the high, squeaky pitch of her voice. It was for reasons like this I’d stopped trying to understand her in the third grade.
“You’re an ass, Lucas. Meet me at the flower shop across from the grocery store, okay? Ten minutes, don’t be late. Oh, and Todney is going to be there. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Don’t be late.”
“We have a grocery store?”
“Goodbye, Lucas.”
The flower shop across from the grocery store was a hole in the wall sort of place, stuffed between a liquor store and a dress boutique. There was just one small sign above the cramped door in an almost illegible cursive.
Rylie stood inside, the picture-perfect image of everything I’d always remembered her to be. Rylie was the sort of girl who was unfairly in tune with her body, so whether she was standing, sitting, or falling—drunk—down a flight of stairs at high school graduation, she always managed to come across as prim and proper. She stood now, back straight and her head up with the sort of modelesque posture that looked just natural enough that you knew it was forced. She wore sweats, her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and apart from the crimson red lipstick that was her signature mark, she did not wear a drop of makeup.
Beside her stood a man I could only assume was her fiancé, as he held her hand with the sort of possessive tightness of a dog owner on his pet’s leash. He had dark brown skin and light brown eyes and wore a shirt so blue it seemed out of place next to all the pink flowers. Like Rylie, his back was straight as a pole, but less naturally so; every few seconds, he looked her over from head to toe and then readjusted his stance.
“You’re late,” Rylie said as I approached, but she was smiling. As I drew close, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged the breath right out of my lungs. “I missed you,” she whispered. She pressed a kiss to my temple and then pulled away.
“I’m Todney,” offered her fiancé. He thrust out his hand, and I was immediately introduced to the tightest and yet most enthusiastic handshake of my life. “Rylie has told me all about you. The big-city man. The one who got away.”
“Literally,” Rylie said. “He got out of the prison that is this beautiful, beautiful town.” With each word, she picked out a different flower from around the shop and then gathered them all together like a bouquet. “What do you think?” she asked, holding them close to her chest.
I tried to imagine her walking down the aisle with the flowers in hand, maybe in some elaborate, flowing dress, but all I could see was a red carpet at her feet. “They’re great.”
Todney nodded his agreement. “Perfect.” His small eyes widened in puppylike excitement, and he kissed Rylie with all the vigor and desperation of a soldier leaving for war. She returned the gesture immediately, her surprisingly large hands rushing to grasp at his chest and dig her fingertips into his T-shirt.
I had just enough time to wonder, briefly, what sort of chemical malfunction occurred in the minds of lovers that made them exchange spit quite so eagerly, before the door to the back room flew open and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen staggered out.
Now, I was in no habit of calling men beautiful, and in fact, the word was hardly part of my vocabulary at all. But there was no other way to describe him. Deep brown eyes, a jaw better than Superman, and a T-shirt on just the right side of too-small; he was completely, pant-tightening-ly beautiful. So I did what any warm-blooded American man of perfectly normal masculinity and charm would do—I stared.
Clothes wrinkled and ripped, his dark brown hair sticking up in every direction, he was probably three inches, at least, shorter than I was, and yet he stood with a heightened presence that left me dwarfed in comparison. Like he owned the shop or the town or the whole damn world for that matter.
“So the florist says no tulips, and there are none in the back. I checked myself,” he said, each word tumbling over the last in quick succession, his hands fluttering around as though to conduct an orchestra with each syllable. He gestured in my direction, treating me to the show.
“This the jailbird?” he asked. “Landon? Lillipher? What? It could be the masculine version of Lilly.” Our eyes locked, and he smiled a great toothy smile.
Because I’m no romantic and not nearly pathetic enough to care, I did not imagine the look to mean anything. I told myself that strangers always smiled at strangers like that, and it was absurd to think otherwise. As would be thinking he was actually talking to me. I quickly closed my mouth, two syllables toward a reply, when he turned to Rylie instead.
“Lucas. And yes, that’s him.” Rylie rolled her eyes. Somewhere in my distraction, she’d swept up a new bouquet and was walking in long strips down the store aisle. Her fiancé stood before her, a grin on his face, like it was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Like standing in a crowded shop that smelled too strongly of perfume with a girl only a year out of high school was the end all to end all.
“Lucas, meet Christopher, Todney’s best man. Christopher, meet Lucas, one of my friends from high school.” Rylie gestured between the strange new man and myself twice before returning to her far more important duties of sorting pink lilies from white ones.
“Chris,” the man corrected. “I see she’s had time to mark you.” He reached out a callused, long-fingered hand and wiped what must have been a lipstick kiss off my cheek. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you that it’s rude to stare? Unless it’s because I’m pretty. Then stare. Stare away. Todney always stares because I’m pretty.” He winked in Todney’s direction.
Todney squeezed the bridge of his nose. “He thinks he’s funny. He’s not.”
“Don’t mind him. Us freaks of the Midwest are easily distressed,” Chris said. “Your strange, diverse California mindset is revolutionizing our worlds. The gays and the people of color all out in the open! We don’t have to hide anymore! What has this world come to?” Chris smiled. “So what are you staring at, the beautiful face or my lovely walking habits? And I thought I was hiding it so well.” He thrust out his left foot and tapped his fingers against his kneecap. “All metal. Just call me Bionic Man because I’m at least a hundredth of the way to being a robot. Tough part is you can’t see it. I mean, I wanted a prosthetic just to look a little cooler. Todney here thought I should bedazzle it, wouldn’t have to hide it that way. Board shorts every day. But I was thinking graffiti. Skull and crossbones all the way down. Or, and hear me out here, high school cast style: everyone can sign ‘HAGS’ on it.”
He spoke too fast and too much, a tornado of words, and I was caught up in the endless swirl of it all.
“Sorry,” I said.
“He only speaks in one-word sentences,” Rylie said to Chris. She had roses in her hands now. “It’s his way of expressing his locked-up hatred for us all.”
Chris frowned. “You hate us all?”
Before I could even think to reply, Rylie had answered again. “Not you. Me. His friends. All of us who stayed here when he went off to college. What did you call it, Lucas? ‘A life-sucking world of no opportunity’?” She looked back at Chris, exchanging a red rose for a white one while a wry smile played at the corners of her mouth. “He yelled that at me on the phone when I asked why he wouldn’t come home for Christmas. Longest sentence he’s said to me in months.”
I stared down at the floor. From my peripheral vision, I could see Chris staring at me with what I assumed was a look of judgment. It was only after I’d raised my head and dared to meet his gaze that I realized it was actually curiosity. Despite all Rylie had said—all of it the truth—he was still waiting to hear my side.
I shrugged. “I don’t like to waste words.”
Chris cocked an eyebrow. “You can’t waste words. Their only purpose is to be used. I, for one, love words.”
“We know,” Rylie and Todney said in unison. Chris threw his head back and laughed. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and so, naturally, I felt nothing but jealousy.
Judging by Rylie’s reactions, you’d think choosing wedding flowers was as difficult as choosing a pet. Every flower had a “pro”—beauty, color, the sweet smell under her nose as she held the bouquet to her chest. But nothing was too beautiful not to have thorns or to attract bees or to clash with the table settings. One by one, the cons added up until it was quite clear we’d be getting nothing done today. Todney never flinched, never snapped, never gave in to the inevitable annoyance, but stood, soldier straight by her side, rubbing her back about these damned flowers.
This went on for an unbelievably long time until Rylie squeaked, suddenly, and ran to the window to stare out at another man.
“What is he doing here? Lucas, did you invite him?”
I glanced out the window. “No.” I moved to stand next to her. “I thought you were still friends.”
“We are. But I don’t want him anywhere near the wedding planning.”
“Well, he’s coming this way.”
“You are so helpful. Go get him out of here.”
Chris pushed his way between us and pressed his nose against the glass. “Who are we staring at? Brother? Cousin? Cute ex-boyfriend?” Beside us, Rylie tensed.
Chris made a sound like a siren and knocked my shoulder with his own. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were right. Now, Lucas, go get rid of him,” Rylie answered.
“I believe I was asking Lucas,” Chris said, and though he spoke to Rylie, his eyes were all on me—two heavy searchlights that were impossible to turn away from.
So I gave up trying. I narrowed my eyes and stared back, squinting against the light in hopes that I had my own, that maybe I could blind him before he could blind me. I sort of doubted it.
It was Rylie’s hand on my shoulder that inevitably pulled me away, that pulled me back to the flower shop with the wilting roses in the doorway and the morning dew on the window, pulled me back to the boy outside the window playing dress up as a man.
Well-pressed pants and an ironed dress shirt sauntered up to the shop. With heavy bags under his eyes, Clayton Ortiz caught my gaze through the wet and worn shop window and smiled. It was a smile so well crafted, so constructed, it could rival the natural world around me down to the very stem, down to the cell.
I was outside, crossing the distance between us, before I knew quite what I was doing.
Clayton threw his hands up into the air, his smile faltering slightly—but only for a second. In an instant, the corners of his mouth flickered upward where they had begun to droop, and he produced a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket to cover up the darkness in his eyes.
“Lucas Burke, in the flesh,” he said and grasped my shoulders with his well-manicured fingers. “He lives. So you didn’t fall off a cliff somewhere. If you answered my calls once in a while, I might have known that.”
I didn’t say anything, but I did hug him, and it made him relax some, I think. The tension drained from his shoulders anyway as he sort of slumped against me, more warm noodle and less rigid telephone pole.
He said, almost breathless against my ear, “I’ve missed you, man.”
I nodded and tried to say “I missed you too,” but all that came out of my mouth was a mumbled “yeah.” I thrust a thumb behind me instead and gestured at the flower shop. “Rylie doesn’t want you around. She’s freaking out.”
Behind us, Chris pressed his face against the glass and stuck out his tongue, making one vulgar expression after another. Rylie stood beside him, cringing and trying to hide behind a bouquet of daffodils.
“He in there?” Clay asked, smile still in place. “Chris is here. That bastard Todney’s got to be in there too, right?”
“Yeah. He didn’t seem like a bastard,” I said.
“He is. He’s a stuck-up, rich bastard.”
“Whatever you say.”
“He is,” Clay said.
“He definitely is.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re a stuck-up, rich bastard too, you know,” I said.
Clay laughed. “I definitely am. Want to get a drink?”
“Definitely.”
We both waved in unison toward the flower shop window; Chris waved back, Rylie blushed, and then Clay and I headed next door into the small-town liquor shop. Clay pulled out a fake I.D. that was not even remotely close to the real thing and grabbed a bottle of scotch. Up at the counter, the shopkeeper stared at the fake, then at Clay’s face, and then checked us out without a word.
“You have superpowers,” I said. “I’ll never take you for granted.”
Clay’s smile did that drooping thing again, like someone was pulling it down at the edges and he had to fight tooth and nail to hold it back up. “You already have.”
If I was a better friend, I might have felt bad about that or at least found a way to lift that smile, a sort of pulley system or something to step in when the gravity of life took its toll. I could have at least apologized, I supposed. I could have said something to make up for it all—what, I don’t know, but there’s an awful lot of words out there, and one of them might have fit if I’d only tried.
But Clay had already started smiling again and was now rattling on about something else—something light, something easy—so we dropped it. As we walked to the parking lot of our old high school, Clay told me in great detail all about his plans, his inventions, and the colors he’d have on his business cards when he got his own company. Green because it promised a future of money with highlights of red to symbolize the blood he might literally have to sacrifice to ever get his ideas off the ground.
He was laughing—nearly hysterically—about some computer system he was working on when we finally reached the parking lot and settled down along the curb. It was late afternoon by then, and an unimpressive sunset of orange and pink hung low in the sky. This meant that cute suburban moms and cute suburban dads were sitting around on their porches, pointing out the cute colors and gushing about their cute, perfect lives. It meant that cute children were being called inside for cute around-the-table dinners. But mostly it meant that school was long over and the parking lot was abandoned. So when Clay pulled out the scotch and popped off the lid, no one questioned it. No cops came jumping out of the bushes, and, frankly, no one cared.
Clay took the first swig of scotch, gave a huge whole-body shake, and then handed the bottle over. I took it and did the same but with less theatrics; I sipped, I gulped, and I passed it back. This went on for a while—drink, pass, drink, repeat—and for several minutes, neither of us spoke but waited instead for that warm buzz that made loose lips pleasurable and social interaction easy.
It came to me like a punch in the gut, my crisp, dark world growing fuzzy and shining brighter, and that pressure around my jaw that always felt like a cage suddenly loosened, screws falling out at once.
Soon I was the one rattling on about nothing; I was the one babbling and apologizing, falling back flat on the pavement and yelling to the sky, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” until I was sure God could hear me.
Clay clapped a hand over my mouth. Through my hazy scotch-soaked vision, I could see him smiling—a different smile this time, all loose and so damn frustrating that I almost punched it right off.
“No, you’re not,” he whispered through the darkness. “You’re not sorry. And you don’t have to pretend you are.”
I sat up and rubbed my knuckles into my eyes. It did nothing but make my vision even blurrier. “That’s not what everyone else says. Everyone looks at me like I abandoned them. Like… Like…” I paused and reached again for the bottle of scotch, but Clay tugged it away. I pouted and tried to grab it back, but soon forgot about whatever it was I wanted the scotch for in the first place.
I continued babbling instead. “The world is so much better out there, Clay. It’s so much bigger. There’s so much life. And there’s nothing here. Nothing.”
“There’s people,” Clay said.
I laughed. “People who don’t care about anything. People who don’t do anything.” Flopping back onto the pavement, I raised my hands above my head and watched the stars twinkling through the spaces between my fingers. The stars were big and glowing and so shockingly clear that it was nothing at all like the city. In the city, the sky was dark and bright all at the same time—dark from the lack of natural lights and the lack of stars, bright from the streetlights and the building windows and the satellites.
“The people here aren’t people,” I said. “The people here are just empty shells.” Empty shells that remembered everything I’d done in high school; empty shells that looked on with judgment in their squinty, little suburban eyes.
Clay lay down on the pavement beside me and turned his head so we were face-to-face. “And you’re all filled up then, huh?”
“Yeah.” I think I nodded, or maybe I just thought about nodding; my head was heavy and my brain was full even if the rest of me wasn’t. “Yeah, at least I have a plan. Do you have a plan?”
Of course he had a plan. I knew he had a plan. He’d just told me all about it minutes ago—green and red and blood on business cards—and I was a terrible friend, and I just didn’t care.
Clay nodded. “I have a lot of plans.” He sat up and fumbled through his jacket pocket for a moment before pulling out a bottle of pills.
Full of that slitty-eyed confusion we call intoxication, I couldn’t quite make out the name on the prescription, but it sure as hell didn’t look like a “Clay” or anything resembling a C-name for that matter. Martha maybe. Or Mary.
Clay popped several pills into his mouth and then took another swig of scotch before he replied. “I’m going to prove my dad wrong, for one. I’m going to be a success. I’ll be even bigger than he is. And then—” He twirled the bottle in his hands. “—I’m going to win Rylie back.”
Todney’s face popped into the back of my mind, full of a puppy-dog love and nauseating admiration that did nothing to settle my already churning stomach. “The wedding’s only in a couple months,” I said.
Clay shrugged. “She’s not really going to marry him. We’re just kids, Lucas. She’s nineteen.”
“Which is an adult,” I said.
Clay shook his head. “Yeah, sure, but it’s still a kid too. She’s not going to settle down and have her happily ever after right now. That’s just not how it works.”
“Then why are you even going to bother? If she’s too young to live happily ever after with him, how could she live happily ever after with you?”
“Because I’m not looking for happily ever after,” Clay said. “I’m looking for a chance. You grow up and you find your way, and then you have that choice forever. We’re still kids. Kids have a chance. That’s what older people are always saying, you know: I missed my chance. When you’re young, all you’ve got are chances. It’s like you’re standing in a room with a thousand doors, and you’ve got to pick the right one.
“That’s why we’re all crazy. We don’t know which one to pick, and the pressure eats you alive. But then you finally pick one—because you have to, because society is screaming at you ‘Pick one! Pick one! You’re twenty-five; you’re too old not to pick one! You’re thirty; you’re no good if you haven’t picked a door by now’—and then you do, and it closes behind you, and you’re stuck with that one choice forever. Rylie’s not ready to close that door. I know her. And maybe she likes this guy. Hell, maybe he’s even ‘the one.’” Clay made quotation marks with his fingers. “But she’s not ready to close that door. And I just want to open one.”
I didn’t answer, nor did it seem Clay wanted me to as, the second he finished, he lay back and stared up at the stars in silence. Between us, the bottle of scotch tumbled over, and the sounds of the glass rolling down the street and Clay’s heavy breathing filled the air.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself in a room full of endless doors, each a different color, a different shape—different locks and different handles everywhere I turned. They were all open, all waiting, and then, all at once, every door slammed shut.
Diverse Reader –
In this impressive debut by author A.N. Casey we get a story about life, loss, and love. Permanent Jet Lag is a book that will definitely leave its mark on you once you’ve finished and I can guarantee it’ll stick with you long after as well. I know for me it will be a long time before I forget Lucas, Chris, Clay, Rylie and Todney. Characters that were so well developed they leaped off the page and who you couldn’t help but love.
I wouldn’t say that Permanent Jet Lag is a traditional romance. That doesn’t mean that there’s not plenty of it, far from it, and I don’t know that I’d refer to this as a coming of age story either, but it has some of the same elements. Lucas Burke is back in his hometown after his first year away at college. He’s cut off all but bare minimum communication with friends from back home but that all changes when he returns for one of his friend’s wedding. And the groom’s best man, former Olympian Chris seems like a nice, easy diversion from the wedding madness and the fact that all his friends have changed.
Lucas was such a contradiction. At nineteen not many of us have our lives figured out. And it’s not so much that Lucas does, it’s that he thinks he does. He thinks it’s better to be alone and isolated, if only to keep yourself from being hurt. It’s made him bitter and cynical and it’s not until Chris enters his life that he begins to question everything he’s tried to tell himself. There are times when it was really difficult to like Lucas and others where you just wanted to give him a hug and cookie and tell him everything would be okay. Getting to know Chris causes Lucas to take a hard look at himself, and sometimes what he sees isn’t all that pretty. Chris is recently cancer-free and even though his Olympic dreams will never come true, it’s Chris’s outlook on life that affects Lucas the most.
Permanent Jet Lag wasn’t the easiest book to read, but it was very emotional and authentic. Growing up is hard. Life is hard and messy at times and bad things happen to good people. Like Lucas’s ex-boyfriend Nathan who has been in a coma for months and months and to Chris when his cancer comes back. Lucas learns some hard life lessons throughout the book and his growth from the beginning until the end was something to see. I liked all of the relationships in this book. Lucas and Chris, Lucas and his sister, Lucas and his parents, and Lucas’s with his friends. They were all important and play such a pivotal role in Lucas’s growth.
I’d run cities away to make sure no one was ever counting on me; I had never wanted to be anyone’s anything, never wanted to be depended on, but it was impossible, and I knew that now. We’re dependent creatures, humankind, and I was no different. Rylie might need me now, might need us all now, but I’d needed her too. I had needed Rylie to remind me how to fight for what you wanted; I had needed Clay to lean on; I had needed Chris to remind me of all the things I’d forced myself to forget. And maybe the me in the mirror didn’t look like to me I knew, but I finally felt like him: better than what I remembered.
I’m so impressed with this book. Extremely well written, memorable characters, tons of emotions and intensity and a realism that I found so refreshing. Like I said, Permanent Jet Lag isn’t all sunshine and roses, but it does show that life, in all it’s messy, beautiful ways is never quite what you expect. Do yourselves a favor and be sure to check out this stunning book. You’ll be sorry if you don’t!
Neon –
Let me start this review by pointing out that the author is giving away free copies of the book in exchange for honest reviews, and so here goes mine.
Permanent Jet Lag is a relationship book. I’d say it’s character driven, and there’s sort of little to no action advancements in the story, other than the part where my heart was completely destroyed. I do think the events in this book could use a little more humor and dynamic, to kind of balance it out, but I liked many things in this book: the way depression/anxiety is handled (not pushed out like a newborn baby, but fleshed out like a marble statue); the way issues like alcoholism in young people are depicted; understanding abused friends at a young age; it’s has a sense of realness to it.
I think mainly what caused me to lower my rating was that there was no land sighted at the end of the raging sea this read was, no common goal the characters survived ordeals to (other than, you know, life) reach, no mystery to be solved, no tension that built and built and built. It was a very descriptive story, and sometimes it felt like I was reading a diary, which was a different format for me to read, so it was nice, but I found out it actually caused me to distance myself a bit from what was happening, and I lost interest in the narrative, mainly because I felt like I couldn’t connect to Lucas, I think (which was weird because he is me. Maybe I hate myself oh man look I’m like ready to wear a toga and recite some philosophy now), or maybe it was just the unfamiliarity of it all, I’m not sure.
Thanks to the way it’s written it has the feel and aura of those road trip books, like On The Road (read this book to understand the cool irony of what I just wrote!). I just felt like sometimes the writing was a bit…Apathetic? Maybe it was Lucas’ point of view (and I do think it was, and when I realized that I actually thought it was interesting because Lucas is supposed to be a depressing sunuvabitch), but sometimes I had to skim ahead a few paragraphs, or read really fast because it dragged a bit, and nothing much was really happening but drama (which is not exactly a negative thing, as I think the drama was good, but just not my thing, to this amount?). But the writing is pretty, and because I have no better way to describe it, soothing.
It was like a John Green book, only gay, and more complex and fleshed out, and without the veiled-misogyny and the white-straight-savior, and I actually really liked this book, and I didn’t feel like I had to roll my eyes every 2 seconds, and- Okay, you get the point.
In the end, it was very a teenager drama book, touching key points of that sort of story: It’s about growing up in that confusing time of your life (which is always, I’ll give you that, but well, you know what time in particular), and being sad, and not knowing why or how to stop it, and it was a really great story for that.
I loved the ending because I’m a sucker for those (what can I say, I eat pain for breakfast (look at my amazing puns)).
Either way, when I think about the fact a character in a book actually said the words “I’m bi” not once, not once, but twice!! Twice!! And it was depicted like a good thing, or well, not a thing at all, well then I die inside and I rise again because I feel strong enough to be immortal.
(this is my actual review, I forgot to change the star rating on the other one, woops!)
Horizon Rose –
Yes, this book made me literally cry. It also made me gasp loud enough that my wife, who was sitting near me, asked what was wrong.
PJL is a really, really good book. Not only is it really well-written — though I was worried that the number of characters would make it difficult to remember who each person was and what they were going through, the characters were memorable and each had their own very distinguishable voices — but it has emotional intensity that I, frankly, have very rarely seen in a book. I cry a lot, don’t get me wrong, but this is literally the first book that I’ve read in YEARS (I have really bad ADHD and memory loss, which makes it hard for me to pick up a book, read the whole thing, and remember what’s been happening through the whole thing), and honestly the emotions I got through this book made me want to get back into it in general.
I know you’re supposed to list “Pros And Cons” of a book in a review, but I can’t really think of any cons I want to list. The book was really good, the characters were really good, the plot was really good, and it made me cry, which is always a good sign that I’ve gotten attached to the characters.
Good book, A+, etc.
Jamie –
First of all, I would like to thank the author of Permanent Jetlag, who gave me a chance to read this novel for absolutely free.
Permanent Jetlag is a lovely YA book with a cute story, that deserves to be told. The chapters are counting down to something, and it takes a while to understand what it is counting down to, and why. When the realisation comes, my heart was destroyed – this is exactly the kind of love that deserves a book!
The only thing that annoyed me, to the point where I – almost – thought about putting the book away for a while, is that it is filled with stereotypes. Of cause, not about the LGBT+ community, but about Americans. It can very well be because I’m European, but the whole “ordinary American family” is a little boring for some reason. The father of our hero Lucas is almost non-present, his siblings are annoying or lack personality, and his mother is of cause overprotective, blabbering and hysterical. Though this book has a wide-ranging cast, the family is what bothers me the most – and luckily, the book isn’t about them.
Whit that said; for an YA book, it’s good. For an LGBT+ book its perfect. Young love, finding out what kind of person you want to be, this is a brilliant piece of what young adults need to learn and experience during college or younger. For me, it was a cute story to read while on vacation. And I would mind that A.N Casey broke my heart with another story like this.
Chelsea Lauren –
I don’t even know where to begin. Permanent Jet Lag had my heart swelling in happiness, crying in heartbreak, and relearning important lessons along with the characters. It was a similar emotional experience of an Adam Silvera novel, except a tad more happy! Once I started this book, it was hard to put down. If I didn’t have to sleep or work, I would have finished this in a day. And now I am itching to see what A. N. Casey has up his sleeve next.
The story follows a 19-year-old named, Lucas. He just finished his freshman year of university and is coming home for the summer. I connected heavily to Lucas, because similar to me, he ran off to university to hide from his problems. He pushed his friends and family away and claimed that his hometown was where nothing good could ever happen, that he’d need to thrive elsewhere–even if he wasn’t. The beginning narrative felt like I was reliving my past. Like me, Lucas was trying to find happiness in other people, instead of looking within himself.
While this very much so follows Lucas’ story, it follows the story of his hometown friends as well. We have a boy who is still in love with the bride, we have a boy who is engaged to the bride, and we have a cancer-free ex-Olympian in one group of friends. What A. N. Casey does is brilliant. He lets us get deep into each character’s story. We learn about the quirks and difficulties and both sides of each story. And you’re left choosing sides and reflecting alongside each character. Every character is fully developed and realistic in what life would actually be like. Even though Luke was the main character, just like in real life, our friends and family make up a part of who we are, and what they go through is just as important as what we go through. Often times, this can be neglected in books.
Not only does this story cover alcoholism and the battle of cancer–two separate characters–it involves a wedding and a funeral, but also follows the idea of love. What it means to love, how to love when someone doesn’t love you back, and how even if you try your hardest not to fall in love, it’ll inevitably happen. I hadn’t anticipated so many different storylines interlaced in one while reading the synopsis. It did catch me by surprise when one story line was focused on more than I originally thought it may be. But A.N. Casey knows exactly what he’s doing. With strong characters, dialogue, and storyline, he could continue to write about the lives of these characters and I’d never grow bored.
Lucas learns valuable life lessons about love–loving another person as well as loving himself–and how he doesn’t have to run. All life lessons that as a reader, you may or may not know already, and if you do, it’s an added reassurance to take care of yourself and take care of those around you. And if you haven’t heard them yet, take what Lucas is learning to heart and learn with him.
What I loved about this book as well, was the timeline of it all. It takes place during one summer and continuously counts down to the wedding the friends are all planning. The countdown for each chapter is another reminder of how fast your life can change in just a single summer.
While this is A. N. Casey’s debut novel, I anticipate he’ll have a prosperous career as a writer! I definitely recommend this book!
Rian –
I was given an ARC of Permanent Jet Lag in exchange for a review and since I have to be honest, it’s a difficult review for me because I’m totally split on this one.
I would’ve liked it a lot if it wasn’t for the indulgent page after page of ‘absolutely nothing happening’ in the first part. I’m not saying every book should be packed with action but it was kind of like Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time” told in the voice of apathetic 19 year old millennial who wants to put the whole world to sleep. There were few points when I absolutely wanted to put it away.
I’m glad I didn’t in the end. The second part of the novel (because it felt for me like it had this great divide in it) is remarkable. It is well written, there’s finally some true emotions to speak of and it is moving. It’s the kind of story that feels real. One that shows you that life happens, and that death happens too, that love is not always requited and that, whatever comes your way, if you can go on, you should.
Nevertheless I can’t ignore the struggle to read the first more than two hundred pages. The one thing clear from them was that the main character, Lucas didn’t like his life in the small town an the mentality of the people there but he’s too apathetic to enjoy the freedom of the big city. I also found all the scenes with the family slightly annoying and unnecessary. From all of the characters Chris was the only ray of sunshine, as ironic as it might be. He was the one to give life to the book. I also liked Clay a lot, the way he was fleshed out with all his issues. I didn’t care about the rest, though.
It’s not a traditional romance, especially for the lack of any sort of happy ending but there’s a great love story nonetheless as sad as it might be.
Don’t get me wrong, the writing is good. I probably would have loved it if it was more focused.
Nicole –
I’m not very good at these types of writings, because I’m damn terrible with expressing feelings. However, I’m going to try and do this book some justice.
So, I have been in a reading slump for a couple of months and haven’t finished a book in a long while. But, when I was scrolling my way through tumblr I found an opportunity for a free book and immediately jumped at the opportunity. I procrastinated on reading it (for reasons I don’t know), but when I started the book I simply could. Not. Stop.
The main character, Lucas, is coming out of freshman year of college and returning to a hometown, in which he ran away from. He’s not your run-of-the-mill character, he was cynical and negative and it made him real. But it wasn’t just Lucas, every character felt real, there wasn’t one that felt like a little side-note in the book. Each character held their own baggage and it made it so much more relatable. And while it hurt to know that Chris had cancer, and it hurt to know that Clay was an addict, and it hurt to know that Nathan was in a coma, it was real. It wasn’t a story where everything went right in Lucas’s life, in fact, a lot seemed to be going wrong.
The one thing that started to go right with Lucas was when he met Chris, who is the best man at one of his closest friend’s wedding. Chris is so different from Lucas, but it makes them a good and likable couple. Chris is there to make Lucas happy, while Lucas is there to help Chris when he’s feeling down, the two learning French in between those moments.
The book is not a romance, however, which made me love the book even more. It doesn’t just focus on Lucas and Chris screwing around and loving each other, while that is a part in the book. It shows Lucas, trying to pick up relationships that he dropped so quickly upon leaving, blaming others and only caring for himself. It shows Clay, one of his best friends, struggling with an addiction he’s had for years and not having the love of his life. And Rylie getting married at such a young age but being convinced she’s in love, all while having another man seeking her heart.
The only complaint I would have about this book is that it felt slow in the beginning, nothing was really happening. The thing that made me power through was Casey’s writing style, because while Lucas was a depressing character he had a way with words, even if he thought they weren’t expendable.
This book made me cry tears of joy, then seconds later just straight up sob. It is a book I have recommended to all my friends, practically forcing it down their throats, all while crying over my love for each and every character. Overall, it is a fantastic book with just as fantastic characters.
Miah –
I have no clue where I should start! First off, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS BOOK!
I enjoyed this book a great deal and if you’re into queer literature with diverse characters (sexually, racially, you name it), you will like it.
It’s a pretty slowpace read in the beginning, but it is very satisfying. Big things get revealed about the characters’ lives through dialogue instead of flashback and it’s extremely brilliant. Definitely one of my fave aspects of this book.
You will laugh. You will cry. You will cry while you laugh. You will also cringe a lot.
This novel feels so darn realistic. I think everyone can relate to at least one character here.
I can’t wait to read A.N. Casey’s next showstopping novel!
Charu –
Why Permanent Jet Lag intriguing for so many from the beginning isn’t a surprise. The writing style is nice, maintaining a sort of prettiness and a realistic view from Lucas, the characters are nice on the surface and the romance between the two main characters isn’t obnoxious like so many other YA contemporary novels.
However, that’s all there really is to the novel. It was hard to read, but not because was bad, more so due to its lack of substance. It was hard to get through because it was almost as if it was disguised as something fresh and different, but it got more and more boring as I read got past the beginning.
The characters were clearly thought out and developed and that definitely is something I appreciated, but they weren’t executed in a way that makes sure all those things come out in the story. Nothing they said felt as if it was stupidly chosen or could’ve been changed, their words fit each and weren’t annoyingly contradicting of what the author is trying to get them to be. Our protagonist Lucas was realistic but not in the sense where it’s obvious that the author was trying to make them ‘relatable’ to their audience. I love that at the beginning of the story Lucas thinks of the small town as something terrible, something to run away from, but then as we go farther into the book, he realizes that the town isn’t hell, it’s just now where he wants to be. I just wished there could have been more to the characters, I wished they would have been more interesting. They all have their pasts and interesting decisions sure, but there just was something missing in their personalities. I wished that we could have dug deeper into each of the characters. They almost felt vague due to the way they were written. They easily could have been the kind of characters that we would love and care for deeply, they had the potential to be so much more than they were.
Another issue with the book is that it’s missing an interesting plot. Chris’s cancer came back and there was wedding drama but it all felt so juvenile, in a way. Realistic yes, but also boring. It’s like waiting for the explosion of interest to kick in but it never really does. Its pacing felt annoyingly slow but then went too fast and sudden. It just continued on and on, but it felt like nothing happened even when something did actually happen. It’s sloppily executed and disguised with pretty writing.
All in all, I’m not the biggest fan of Permanent Jet Lag, but I do definitely feel like the skeleton of it had the potential to be something great. I’m looking forward to see how A. N. Casey develops as a writer. A shining debut isn’t something every author has the luck of creating, but ‘second time’s a charm’ is a popular saying for a reason.
*Copy provided from author in exchange for an honest review.
Renzo Carlos –
(I received a free copy from the author in exchange for an honest review.)
When I first read the premise, I’ll be honest: it didn’t catch my attention at all. If I were at the bookstore and I read the summary of the book right there, I most definitely would’ve put it back down then go skim through something else. I only gave it a shot because of the chance to read something for free. Plus, I like my MM romances every now and then so I thought, what the heck.
Upon reading, I expected your usual commercial romance clichés: main character meets lover, love at first sight, they do the dirty, “I know we just met five minutes ago but I love you”, spend maybe two to three pages or less on other characters because this is our love story after all, end with a happily ever after, done. But what I got was something more than I bargained for.
Meet Lucas, the taciturn protagonist who likes to mumble only a word or two. For a guy who doesn’t talk much, he sure has lots of deep, philosophical thoughts and insights about the little things – and that’s where the beauty of the entire book comes from. As I read, I continue to be left in awe with just how beautiful and well-crafted the writing is. Every page has something to say about people and life that makes you go, “Wow, you put it into words.” This is so far from your typical commercial romance novel. I would classify it more of a coming-of-age literary genre that’s more character-driven than plot. The storyline doesn’t centre on the romance between the two lovers. If anything, the romance shares equal screen time with everything else as Casey carefully yet effectively tackles themes of family, addiction, love, life, and death.
Four stars, one star shy from a perfect five because it just didn’t leave a mark on me. There were a lot of emotional scenes where this book might as well just ripped my heart out but it didn’t keep me on my toes long enough to constantly want to know what happens next, nor did I care about any of the characters (okay, except Chris – I care too much about Chris). Nevertheless, it’s the kind of book I would still recommend for every book lovers to read at least once in their lifetime. It’s like reading poetic prose; you rarely come across a novel written so well you’re taken aback by the beauty of the writing and you’ll find yourself falling in love with words.
(I’ll end this off by saying finding Chris’ #1 thing on his bucket list took a pang in my heart the most.)
Emilie –
This book is best read like a puzzle, in my opinion. The game here is to piece together the lives of this small town full of the usual small town secrets. Or, not so much secrets as ushed down events that you’re eager to discover.
The same goes for the characters, all very high in colors. And then there is the main character, who seems to hate everything and everyone. Or does he?
The first few chapters had me intrigued and not sure what I was about to read. You’re thrown in a whirlwind of friendships, love and hate, lust and apathy, without quite knowing where to starts first.
But as you go along on Lucas’ journey back into his hometown, charmed into life again by Chris, you understand what this tale is trully about.
And once you’re there, it’s too late: you’re in for the tears.
I cried multiple times reading this book. As a matter of fact, I had to stop several times because my eyes were physically useless. But I wouldn’t put this in the “sad drama” area.
It’s a story made to remind you of the joyfull parts of life. The cloudy parts are there only to have the rays of sunshine be brighter.
I’m very glad to have been able to read this book, which counts as one of the “food for the soul” experience, and I’ll recommend it to my friends.
It’s also very well written, with multi-dimensional characters and some genius lines that strike you when you less expect it. Lucas will grow on you, going from “sarcastic little shit” to “sarcastic little shit with a soul bleeding out its emotions”.
Overall a great read, where the only off putting parts were a messy start story-wise, and a first meeting a bit too stereotypical for Chris and Lucas, with the whole “he’s so beautiful and perfect I’ve never felt like this before”.