How It Feels to Fly(74)

My mom didn’t talk to me before she took her side job at my ballet studio, making it even harder for me to escape her watchful, critical eyes.

Marcus broke up with me out of the blue. And Andrew—

And, of course, my body changed on me. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

I can’t fix it. Any of it.

For every piece of myself I pick up, three more drop to the ground.

“Let’s go, Sam.” Dr. Lancaster guides me past my fellow campers. They part for me, like my misery might rub off on them. Omar’s muttering again: “I don’t like this. I don’t like this. I don’t like this.” His words echo in my ears all the way down the hall.

In her office, Dr. Lancaster sits me down. “Talk to me.” It’s not a request.

“No.” This I can control. If only this.

“Then I’ll wait until you’re ready.” She drops into her chair and crosses her legs. Stares at me. I stare back, cradling my bruised wrist.

Time passes.

WHEN I’M DONE not talking, I’m supposed to find Yasmin. She’s supposed to keep an eye on me. But I feel like being invisible.

I slip past the Dogwood Room and through the kitchen to the back door. Then I freeze, hand on the knob. On the counter by the sink: a glass canister filled with Hershey’s Kisses. Andrew. I tuck the canister under my arm and take it outside.

It’s drizzling, which matches my mood. In fact, I wish it were raining harder. I should be walking in the rain, my clothes growing damp and my hair frizzing. I deserve this. I deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to me.

I take out a Hershey’s Kiss. I unwrap it. I let the chocolate melt on my tongue.

Because I’m feeling masochistic, I visit all the places where I thought something was happening between me and Andrew. Every spot where I misinterpreted what was going on. I eat a Hershey’s Kiss on the porch steps where we sat together. Another one walking behind the gazebo, where he stood so close to me to tie my blindfold. Then I go inside the gazebo, remembering our partnering session. How alive I felt with his hands on me.

Two more Hershey’s Kisses.

I leave the gazebo, where our ghosts are still dancing. I go through the woods to the lake. The rain picks up, and I listen to the drops patter on the leaves. I walk to the end of the dock and eat two more chocolates in honor of the two times Andrew coaxed me into the water. Then I return to the spot where our kiss happened last night. I can still feel our lips touching, like the moment left an afterimage in the air itself.

I sit down in the wet dirt, trying to sort through my feelings. I’m angry at Andrew for flirting when he didn’t mean it, and I’m angry at myself for not seeing that he didn’t mean it, and I feel terrible about getting him fired, and his rejection hurts like an open sore inside me, and I miss him. Even after everything, I want him here.

I finish the entire canister of Kisses, crumpling the shiny foil wrappings into tiny balls and scattering them around me.

That’s where Yasmin finds me. “Sam!” she gasps, wrapping her arms around me. “I was so worried—I didn’t know where you went!”

She didn’t know where to look. Andrew would’ve known where to look.

As she leads me away from the lake, reassuring me that I can talk to her about anything, anytime, I feel like I’m saying good-bye. To Andrew. To what I thought we had. To the version of myself he helped me see.

I also start to feel sick. The chocolate and chicken and dressing slosh and swirl inside me. I don’t know whether it’s because dark chocolate and Caesar salad don’t mix, or because the world has spun off its axis since yesterday, but I want to throw up.

I really, really, really want to throw up.

Yasmin guides me back inside. I change into dry clothes. I sit in the dining room cutting construction paper into thinner and thinner strips. I listen to everyone’s conversations without actually hearing them.

At one point, Jenna and Katie come over. “What do you need?” Jenna asks crisply. “Distraction? A shoulder to cry on? Space?”

I stare at her.

What I really need is a whole new body.

A fresh start.

A blank slate.

But those aren’t options. “Space,” I finally say.

“Okay.” Jenna pats me on the shoulder. Katie gives me a careful hug, like she’s worried I might lash out again. Then they let me be.

The pile of construction paper slivers in front of me grows. Green and blue and purple, like the bruise that’s blossoming on my wrist.

My lunch threatens to come up, yet again.

I keep it down.

At dinner, I put more food on top of what’s already there. Seven bites of shepherd’s pie, eaten while Dr. Lancaster watches. I see her relief that I’m not fighting her this time. What she doesn’t know is that I used up all my anger earlier. I’m empty again.

None of this matters, I tell myself as I swallow sawdust. None of this matters.

And then, later that night, Mom calls. I take the phone from Dr. Lancaster’s outstretched hand. I wait for what I know is coming.

“Samantha, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“Okay.”

“Elise called me after she spoke to you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” My reply doesn’t sound a bit genuine, but she moves on anyway.