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  I step away from the window, per Jill’s request, and head to the kitchen to pour a glass of lemonade. I’m not thirsty, only in need of an outlet for nervous energy, and when some of the liquid plashes out from the pitcher, onto the counter, I’m grateful for yet another task. It’s as I’m running the tap over a washrag that I hear my father enter the room.

  “Hey,” I say, turning around with a grin.

  Dad is hardly grinning back. There’s a heavy crease in his brow and a troubled expression set deep in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  I’m letting the washrag drip on the tile. Coming forward, Dad takes it from me and gently sets it on the kitchen counter.

  “I want to talk to you, Stella.”

  My skin buzzes with apprehension. I find that I do need that lemonade after all; my throat has gone dry.

  “O-okay,” I manage.

  He motions toward a stool at the kitchen bar, and I take it, realizing as I do what a smart move that was for my very weak legs. Dad remains standing, arms crossed.

  “I want to apologize,” he says, and after noting my uncomprehending stare, he continues. “It’s long overdue, and that deserves its own apology. We should’ve had this talk two years ago.”

  I know, with certainty now, we are talking about Craig.

  “There was nothing to say,” I tell him quietly.

  “No, there was. There was plenty to say, same as there was plenty to say when your mother passed away.”

  I lift my eyes to his, feeling a rush of blood to my heart.

  “Stella.” My father lifts a trembling hand to his cheek and presses it there, as though to reassure himself of his realness. “It’s not easy for me to say these things. The way I was raised, we didn’t talk about feelings, or about tragedy. You simply pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and carried on. But I’m seeing now—Gayle’s helped me to see—that wasn’t the way I should’ve raised my own children. We should have talked. You deserved that.”

  “Dad.” My voice catches, and I’m too overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of this to go on.

  “Your mother was unhappy here. I saw that and pretended I didn’t, the same as I saw that your brother was unhappy too. After what happened to Walt, I should’ve . . . I simply should’ve done more. And when Craig left, Stella, I saw how that affected you. You were forced to be a new person, to do so much more than any fifteen-year-old ought to. I knew, when you skipped your graduation, that something was wrong again. I was too afraid, though. Too afraid to say or do anything. I almost let you slip away too. I—” My father breaks off in a muted sob and covers his tear-filled eyes with his shaking hand.

  I am off the kitchen stool in an instant, and by his side. Then I’m hugging my father, holding him close.

  “It’s all right, Dad,” I tell him. “I forgive you.”

  I pull away slightly, tugging down his hands to look him in the eye. “You were doing the best you could. I’ve always thought that: You were doing the very best you could.”

  “You didn’t have the chance,” he cracks out, “to be a normal teenager.”

  At that I cannot help myself. I laugh. “Come on, Dad,” I say, squeezing his hands in mine. “There was never any chance of that. Anyway, what does ‘normal’ even mean?”

  Dad pulls me into another hug, and for many moments we stand there, swaying slightly, as I take in the scent of fabric softener in his cardigan.

  Then, from out in the hallway, there’s a commotion.

  “She’s here! Stella, you liar, you said that—” Jill stops her shouting when she swings through the kitchen door. “Oh. Um.”

  I smile at her through glistening tears and say, “C’mon, Jill. Family hug.”

  She doesn’t need to be told twice. Jill gallops happily toward us, throwing her hands around my waist and Dad’s and squeezing tight. That’s when I know for certain that this is my new favorite memory of our family: three Mercers coming together, in spite of all the hard times that came before.

  It only lasts a second before Jill backs away from us, hands on her hips. “You lied,” she says to me. “Gayle’s outside.”

  I glance at the kitchen clock to confirm that, yes, Gayle is a whole ten minutes early.

  “That happens sometimes, Jill,” I say. “Life surprises you.”

  I think, in that moment before the start of my future, about Galliard Lazzari and his friend Archer, about blood-red rain and pink-veined lightning. I think about two years of letters, and I think about Kim rocking out to the Ramones. I think of a Ferrell’s malt and of the buttery scent in the Dreamlight concessions hut. I think of walkie-talkies and a border collie named Major, and of a matinee showing of Marooned. I think of This Stella and That Stella and everything in between. It’s a giddy, cacophonous swirl of visons and scents and every sensation felt in my eighteen years. It’s almost enough to knock me off my feet.

  Life does surprise you, and not just sometimes. More often than not.

  The trick, I’m beginning to see, is welcoming the surprise in all its unexpected, unknowable glory. That’s how this New Stella will live her life.

  The doorbell rings. The countdown ends.

  My future begins now.

  Stella Kay Mercer

  Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center

  Hutchinson, Kansas

  September 5, 1977

  Craig,

  You won't read this. You will throw it in the wastebasket the same as you did my first letter. Or perhaps it won't even reach your hands. Either way, that is all right, because this letter is not for you. It's for me.

  When Mom died, some people blamed it on the moon. I see now that, in a way, they were right. What she wanted was as good as the moon. It was unattainable, and that drove her to despair. So I understand why you left us. You had to attain what you did, or else despair like our mother.

  I understand, but that doesn't make it better.

  You should have explained. You should have left the right way. If you had, maybe I wouldn't have believed that I could never be both happy and a good daughter and sister. You made me believe I had to choose. Because you chose to be happy, and your happiness hurt us.

  I am sorry I punched you, but I am not sorry to have left you behind. I will always love you, Craig, but I don't like you. I'm not sure I ever will.

  Now I know. And now I will not waste another moment waiting for your next letter, or hoping you will choose to see me. That is over. That Stella is gone.

  The New Stella paid a visit to the University of Kansas today. She went on a road trip with a wonderful person named Gayle. She met with three professors of engineering-one mechanical and two aerospace. New Stella will get a college education, and with hard work and luck, she will help design parts of airplanes and perhaps a space shuttle or two.

  New Stella will not abandon her family. She will not forget them. She will study, and she will learn more than she ever thought she could possibly understand. Then she will come home. On weekends she will visit a town that is recovering but on the mend. On Sundays, she will go to Ferrell's with her father and sister. She will order a chocolate malt and a Coney dog and a large order of tater tots, and she and her family will sit in the station wagon listening to the latest hits on 580 AM.

  New Stella is finally paying a visit to the Kansas Cosmosphere-a surprise stop on our way home. (That's what Gayle called it, even though it wasn't really on the way.) There are artifacts here from Soviet and American space travel, including actual metal that's flown beyond the Earth's atmosphere. It is a strange sight to behold in a small city in Kansas, but I have seen much, much stranger things this summer.

  New Stella woke up today and looked out her motel window at the blue sky, knowing that Voyager 1 was launched into space. It will visit the asteroid belt and Jupiter and Saturn, and it will fly far beyond. Perhaps when you and I are going gray, it will even pass into interstellar space. This mere composition of wires and metal that we humans made is flying out ahead of us
, beyond our quarrels and wars and petty problems, into unexplored territory. Into the unknown. New Stella cannot wait to watch it all unfold.

  New Stella does not need to hear from you again. She is writing someone else. Another Voyager, like herself-traveling on another trajectory, but with his own worthy mission.

  This New Stella is

  Your sister,

  Stella Kay Mercer

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Beth Phelan for being this novel’s champion from the very first day I shared my cult obsession with you. Without your sage advice, Unknowable would’ve been called August-something-or-other, and thanks to you, I now know that was a mistake. Also, a heartfelt thank-you to the marvelous folks at both the Bent Agency and Gallt & Zacker.

  Endless gratitude to my editor, Zareen Jaffery, for your enthusiasm and insight throughout the publication process. Thank you for rooting for Stella and Galliard and for guiding me through this great, (sometimes) unknowable process. Many thanks to both Mekisha Telfer and Alexa Pastor for your superhuman assistance. Hugs to Aubrey Churchward for everything you did for my little ol’ novels. SSDGM, girl. Thanks to Karen Sherman and Jenica Nasworthy for keeping me thoroughly situated in 1977 through their copyedits. All my thanks to Chloë Foglia for the beautiful cover design, to Carolina Rodriguez Fuenmayor for the breathtaking art, and to Danielle Davis for the magnificent lettering. You brought my vision to life!

  I owe a massive debt of gratitude to the folks at the Tourette Association of America for providing resources as I wrote this book. I also heavily consulted the following works: The World’s Strongest Librarian by Josh Hanagarne and Front of the Class by Brad Cohen with Lisa Wysocky. Many thanks to these authors for telling their stories. My sincerest thanks to Ellen Rozek, who provided me with invaluable insight and feedback as I portrayed Galliard’s TS.

  Thank you to my ever-awesome, ever-supportive friends. Mai, we may now be hundreds of miles apart, but I always look forward to our FaceTime book clubs for two. Thank you, Nicole, for cheering for this book at an early stage and making excellent use of the alien emoji. Destiny, I’m so glad we’re authors-in-arms together. Katie, thank you for reading my stories and allowing me to be a part of yours. Shelly, thank you for lighting up my life with your Double Ginger Wonder.

  Thank you, dear Alli, for all your love and support. You and I are soup snakes.

  Thank you upon thank you to the amazing librarians, educators, and bloggers who have shared my books with others and who do unimaginably valuable work on a daily basis. Special thanks to the folks at YA Interrobang, to the talented Jenna Clare, and to the fabulous Jen at Pop! Goes the Reader.

  My undying gratitude to Rod Serling and Carl Sagan for the many life-changing works they created. I wrote The Great Unknowable End with lots of sounds blasting in my eardrums, including the Close Encounters of the Third Kind soundtrack by John Williams and the songs of David Bowie, Stevie Wonder, Donna Summer, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, and the Rolling Stones. Thanks for the tunes, you all. And thank you to Jenny Lewis for her album The Voyager, which served as a musical touchstone during my drafting process.

  Thank you to my extended family for their ongoing love and support. Matt and Annie, thank you for being the best siblings, most epic hosts, and coolest people around. Mom and Dad, thank you for never once placing a limit on my dreams. Also, thank you for being my ever-helpful ’77 consultants.

  And to you, dear reader—thank you for going on this journey with me.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kathryn Ormsbee hails from the Bluegrass State and lives in Austin, Texas. Like Kim Dupree, she fiercely loves seventies music, which she played nonstop while writing this book. Kathryn is also the author of YA novels Lucky Few and Tash Hearts Tolstoy. You can find her online at keormsbee.com.

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen

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  Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

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  Also by

  KATHRYN ORMSBEE

  Lucky Few

  Tash Hearts Tolstoy

  The Water and the Wild

  The Doorway and the Deep

  The Current and the Cure

  The House in Poplar Wood

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kathryn Ormsbee

  Jacket illustration copyright © 2019 by Carolina Rodriguez Fuenmayor

  Jacket hand lettering by Danielle Davis

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  Jacket design by Chloë Foglia

  Interior design by Hilary Zarycky

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ormsbee, Katie, author.

  Title: The great unknowable end / Kathryn Ormsbee.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, [2019] | Summary: Told in two voices, sixteen-year-old Galliard and seventeen-year-old Stella cross paths and realize they must determine their own futures as strange events occur in Slater, Kansas, and its neighboring commune in 1977.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018012699 (print) | LCCN 2018019264 (eBook) | ISBN 9781534420502 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534420526 (eBook) | Subjects: | CYAC: Coming of age—Fiction. | Communal living—Fiction. | Supernatural—Fiction. | Family life—Kansas—Fiction. | Kansas—History—20th century—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.O637 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.O637 Gre 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018012699