How It Feels to Fly(70)

“Oh. No. I just, um.” I take a step closer. I feel his body tense up, even though we aren’t touching. He suddenly looks as nervous as I feel.

I want him to kiss me. I want that so much.

But he doesn’t move. He stands completely still.

“Sam,” he says softly. “I don’t think—”

Take the leap.

I rise up onto my tiptoes and touch my lips to his. It’s everything I’d imagined—until I realize he isn’t kissing me back. In fact, he’s pushing me away from him. Backing up. Hands lifted to ward me off. Face pleading.

“Sam, I don’t—I’m not sure—why—I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea—”

I blink at him, trying to process what he’s saying.

“I told you, I have a girlfriend. And I’m your peer adviser—your counselor. And—we can forget this ever happened, right?”

Forget. Right.

I want to melt into a puddle and seep into the ground. I want to jump in the lake and stay underwater. For once in my life, I want to be so, so heavy.

“Sam? Please say something.”

There are no words. I run.

I HIDE BEHIND the gazebo, gasping for air. I’m crying and panting and I have my hand clapped over my mouth like that will keep the sounds inside me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

I don’t understand.

He rejected you. What else is there to understand?

But I thought—

You thought wrong.

Andrew runs by, calling my name. I duck farther into the shadows. I watch him slow to cross the lawn. His shoulders are slumped. His feet scuff at the ground. He looks broken and sad, and I want to hug him and make it better except that clearly he doesn’t want that, not from me, anyway, and how could I have been so— Stupid.

Naive.

Delusional.

Weak.

Ugly.

Fat.

Disgusting.

And on and on. Eventually, when he’s long gone, I go inside. I close the back door behind me and walk through the kitchen and up the stairs and down the hall and into my bedroom.

“There you are!” Zoe is sitting up in bed.

I don’t answer.

“I noticed you and Andrew stayed behind. . . .”

I don’t answer.

“Are you two hooking up? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the hook-up-with-a-counselor type, but . . .”

I don’t answer. I change into my pajamas, not even caring whether Zoe sees my body.

“C’mon—you kiss, you tell. That’s what roommates do.”

I don’t answer. I throw back my covers and get into bed. I feel like I’m sleepwalking. I wish I were—then tonight would only be a bad dream.

“Okay, seriously? I thought we had a breakthrough back at the lake. You and I should be all kumbaya now, right?”

I don’t answer. I stare at the wall.

“Sam? Do you still want to go down to Dr. Lancaster’s office?”

I don’t answer.

“Are you okay?”

I don’t answer.





twenty-five


I GET DRESSED THE NEXT MORNING IN THAT SAME sleepwalking fog. I hear Zoe talking to me, but it’s like it’s through heavy earmuffs. And I’m on delayed reaction. She taps me on the shoulder, and it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m supposed to turn around. Or ignore her. Whatever. Make a decision. By the time I do, she’s left the room.

I sit on the floor in front of my suitcase, staring at it without seeing it.

I still don’t understand what happened last night.

I think back to that perfect moment, right before everything imploded. The moonlight reflecting on the water. The breeze kicking up tiny waves against the dock. The hum of the June bugs. The blinking of fireflies. Staring up at the guy who knows me—the real me—and who tells me I’m beautiful.

Lies. And you believed him.

A knock. I scramble to my feet. What if it’s Andrew? What if he’s come to explain what went wrong between us? But then the door swings open. It’s Katie.

“Sam?”

I take a breath before I answer, hoping my voice won’t sound as foggy, as thick, as broken as I feel. “Hey. I’ll be down in a bit.” More lies. I might not come downstairs at all. I might stay up here forever.

“I know you’re upset. Zoe came to get me. She thought you might talk to me, since you won’t talk to her.” She hesitates. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I return to the floor and shuffle outfits around in my suitcase like I’m trying to choose. Like it matters what I look like.

Katie sits on my unmade bed. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it about Andrew?”

I don’t respond.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s going to be okay. . . .”

A flash of anger. At her optimism. At her as-yet-unbroken heart. “What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ wasn’t clear to you?” I snap.

Katie jerks back.

The anger drains out of me. “I’m sorry.” I go back to poking through my suitcase.

And then Dr. Lancaster is in the doorway. “Sam? Can I speak with you?”