How It Feels to Fly(48)

“Yeah.” You’ve changed—I hear it over and over and over and over.

“Have you talked to him since?”

“No. It was only a week before I came here. And then Dr. Lancaster took our cell phones. . . . Why—do you think I should talk to him again?”

“I guess I think it’s important to get closure when a relationship ends, so you can move on.” Andrew finally looks at me. “Bigger and better things on the horizon, right?”

Could he mean him and me? “I hope so.”

“I know so.” He bumps my arm. “We should catch up to the group.”

OUR TOUR OF the house finishes with the servants’ quarters, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool in the basement. Then we wander around the lush, well-manicured gardens until we can’t stand the oppressive summer humidity one more minute. Finally we pile back into our Perform at Your Peak van.

I sit between Katie and Omar. I listen to them come up with our Biltmore alter egos. Apparently I’m Lady Samantha, a debutante on holiday from the English countryside. Lord Andrew is a distant Scottish cousin, in the States on business. I want to tell them about the adjoining bedrooms—how that must mean Andrew and I are husband and wife—but I can’t figure out how to say it in a way that doesn’t sound gross. Or like I have a crush on him.

And my inner voice is going at full throttle:

He’s your camp counselor. He’s too old for you. He has a girlfriend.

But he’s kind and funny and strong and smart and cute. He gets me. He makes me smile. He puts me at ease. He’s the last thing I expected to find at therapy camp, for so many reasons.

You’re not pretty enough. Not thin enough. Not stable enough.

Zoe’s kicking the back of my seat, like a four-year-old in an airplane. My inner voice syncs up with her feet: No. No. No. No.

When we reach our house, it’s dinnertime. Dr. Lancaster has ordered pizza. Cheese and veggie and meat lover’s and Hawaiian. I grab a slice of veggie. The one that seems to have the least amount of cheese on it. I take it out to the back porch, breathe in deep, and eat it in twelve bites.

Andrew is sitting on the other side of the porch. With Zoe. They’re deep in conversation. He’s wearing the same attentive, sympathetic face he puts on when he and I talk about serious stuff. He’s listening to her. Nodding. He leans toward her and says something, too low for me to hear. Not that I want to eavesdrop; this looks private. But . . . I want to know.

Is he like this with everyone? Am I stupid to think it’s just me?

Yes. Stop being so stupid.

He’s allowed to talk to other campers. In fact, it’s his job as a peer adviser.

“Sam,” Jenna says, snapping me out of it. I look over at her. She’s giving me a funny look. “Want to do a ballet barre?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. I need to get off this porch, away from Andrew and Zoe, before I drive myself crazy. Crazier. I’m starting to think Zoe might be right, calling this place Crazy Camp.

Inside, I dance hard. Not because of my upcoming ballet intensive. Not because I have to burn away the slice of delicious pizza. Because of Andrew. I have to stop thinking about him.

I close my eyes for développés, imagining myself not in the Dogwood Room, not in a dance studio, but onstage. The lights are warm on my face, but the cavernous auditorium is empty. There’s no one in the wings, no other dancers onstage with me, no orchestra in the pit, no audience out in the house staring back. I’m doing these développés for me. For only me.

I open my eyes when the exercise is done, facing the window as I stretch out my calves. It’s twilight, and I can see my reflection in the glass. Ghostly, like on my first night here.

Over my shoulder, another ghost: Andrew.

He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Our eyes meet in the window, and I spin to face him, feeling my cheeks flush. My first instinct, like it so often is, is to run from the room. But his eyes hold me where I am.

The seconds we look at each other feel longer. They slow and warp and stretch. And then he gives me a thumbs-up and continues down the hall.

I feel like a tiny piece of me trails after him.





seventeen


YASMIN FINDS ME IN THE BATHROOM THE NEXT morning. “Sam?”

I startle at her voice. I’ve gotten used to being by myself in the mornings. Getting up early so nobody will see me shower or change clothes. It’s weird to have to interact with someone before I make the choice to go downstairs.

“You have a phone call. It’s your mom.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “My mom? At seven thirty?”

“Yeah. She says it’s important.”

I put my makeup in my shower caddy and follow her to Dr. Lancaster’s office.

“Andrew and I are in the kitchen, if you need us,” Yasmin says. And if I wasn’t nervous before, her gentle tone of voice does it.

I pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Samantha. You’ve been ignoring my phone calls.”

“Mom, I—”

“I shouldn’t have to catch you by surprise first thing in the morning in order to have the privilege of speaking with my daughter.”

“I know. It’s just been so busy here, and—”