How It Feels to Fly(71)

She knows. I know she knows. And she knows that I know that she knows. The whole story is written on her face.

I swallow past the painful lump in my throat. “Can I get dressed first?”

“Of course. Come to my office when you’re ready.” She looks at Katie. “Yasmin is waiting for you in the Dogwood Room, Katie.”

“Okay. Sam, I’m here if you need me.”

She leaves, and Dr. Lancaster leaves, and I’m alone.

WHEN I SWING the door open, Dr. Lancaster is seated behind her desk, hands clasped on the dark wood surface. Andrew is leaning against the wall.

I want to leave. Go out the front door and down the gravel driveway and off into the sunset. But Dr. Lancaster says, “Come on in, Sam,” so I sit down in the chair across from her.

I feel Andrew looming over my shoulder.

“Andrew told me what happened,” Dr. Lancaster says. “He came to me this morning—and I’m glad he did. We need to talk about it. And Andrew has some things he has to say to you. But first, I need to hear it from you: were you alone with Andrew last night, after lights-out?”

I don’t want to talk.

I don’t want to hear anything Andrew has to say.

Or maybe I do. Maybe I need to know the truth. Even if it means accepting that everything between us was a figment of my overactive imagination.

I want to keep myself from getting hurt again. Block out the pain and the noise. Hide inside this sleepwalking feeling.

I also want to make myself hurt more, for being so stupid. For daring to believe and to feel and to hope.

“Sam.” Dr. Lancaster’s voice is kind, but firm. “You’re not in trouble. I need to make sure you’re safe. Just tell me what happened. Did the two of you kiss?”

After a second, I nod.

“Did he kiss you, or did you kiss him?”

It’s a simple question, but it makes all the difference in the world.

I can barely get the words out. “I kissed him.”

“Why?”

“I thought—” I finally let myself look directly at Andrew. And I see that he’s a wreck. His eyes are dark-circled. His hair isn’t brushed. He’s wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes. “I thought you liked me,” I tell him.

“Andrew?” Dr. Lancaster’s tone is different than when she spoke to me. I got her calm, gentle therapist voice. With him, her voice is sharper, harder. No-nonsense.

“I did—I do like you, Sam. As a friend. Not as anything more than that.” He cringes as he says it, like he knows exactly how his words are slicing through me.

“But last night, when we were at the lake—”

Dr. Lancaster cuts in: “The lake?”

Andrew looks like he wants to shrink even farther back into the wall. “I took the kids last night,” he says quietly, leaving Yasmin out of it. “It happened after that.”

“Andrew, you know that is completely—” Dr. Lancaster stops. “Sam, go on.”

I don’t want to go on. He referred to me and the other campers as “the kids.” That stings almost as much as the word “friend.” But despite the ache inside me, I find a way to keep talking.

“We spent so much time together. You paid extra attention to me. You cared about me. Or you acted like you did.”

“I do care about you. As a friend,” he repeats. “I was trying to help you. I only ever wanted to help you. And I didn’t give you any more one-on-one attention than I gave Dominic or Zoe.” He looks at Dr. Lancaster, pleading his case. “I swear.”

“But the partnering—”

“Was really fun.”

“It was romantic. You felt the sparks too. And you’d been flirting with me—”

“I guess I flirted a little, yeah.” Andrew presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I thought it might make you feel good about yourself, especially after you told me about getting dumped. But I was up front with you. I told you I have a girlfriend. And I’m here as your peer adviser. I thought you knew where the line was.”

Dr. Lancaster starts, “Andrew—”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Sam. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You were lying to me.” I feel like I’m cracking in two. “I trusted you.”

“I wasn’t lying. You have to understand—”

“You told me—” My voice comes out strangled. “You told me I was beautiful.”

“I wanted you to be able to tell yourself you were beautiful,” Andrew says in a low voice. “There’s a difference.”

“But . . . why?” I mean all of it, from the beginning.

“The first night we were here, I almost gave you a panic attack. The next day, I actually did give you a panic attack. I felt bad, and I wanted to make it up to you. And then, the more we talked, the better I got to know you—” He shrugs, looking helpless.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Dr. Lancaster says. “Andrew, you didn’t intend to strike up a romantic relationship with a camper?”

“Of course I didn’t.” The look on his face now: desperation. “I thought I could help her, like you helped me. And I had some ideas—how to step outside the box with her therapy. I took a risk, and I thought it was paying off. She was doing so much better.” He turns to me, insistent. “You were. I know you were.”