They Wish They Were Us(83)

Within a few minutes, I turn into the Millers’ familiar C-shaped driveway and I throw the car in park. As I begin to unbuckle my seat belt, my phone pings.

Check your email. It’s Rachel.

???? I write back.

Kara found all of Shaila’s letters. Her mom kept them in some box in her office. Kara went through them and took a million pics. She just sent them over.

Shit! She came through . . . My heart starts to race. What could Shaila have possibly said? Anything good in there? Any leads?

Looking, but I can’t tell yet. Maybe you can see if anything sticks out? Rachel says.

I tap over to my inbox and see one email from Rachel. It has an enormous attachment. The wait time to download is minutes but it might as well be an eternity. I groan and heave myself out of the car.

I’m still staring at my phone, willing the letters to appear, when Cindy Miller answers the door.

“Oh, Jill,” she says through a bright smile. “You must be here for Adam. Rough meeting with Big Keith last night.” Her nose crinkles like she’s smelled something funny. “I’m sure you’ll cheer him up. You always do.”

I can’t help but flush. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller.”

She moves aside and I run up the stairs, shoving my phone in my pocket. The letters will be there later.

I push the door open gently. Adam’s room is just like I remember it, wallpapered with little blue sailboats. Two lacrosse sticks hang in an X over his king-size bed. Rows of well-loved paperbacks line two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Adam’s flat on the bed, with his legs dangling over the side.

“You came,” he says.

“Of course.” I close the door and take a seat in his desk chair, the black swivel kind that goes up and down with the pull of a lever. “How are you?”

Adam groans. “Shitty. Feel like an talentless loser.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Come closer,” he says. “You’re too far away.” My heart races and I stand. Being his person has always meant following his directions. I need you. Come closer. I sit down next to him and lie back, letting our whole bodies touch. Every inch of my skin tingles.

“You’re always here for me, Jill,” he says. “Even when I don’t deserve you.”

“You always deserve me,” I say softly. His skin is so close, I can feel his heat, the tiny hairs on his arm grazing mine. I wonder if he’s aware of me, too. If he can sense the nervous humming in my veins. It bleats over and over again. You saved me. You saved me.

Adam heaves himself up to sit.

“Jill,” he says again. “Promise me you’ll always love me.”

The words shock me. How did he know? But before I can say anything, Adam leans down and the space between us disappears. I inhale sharply as his mouth presses against mine. His lips are soft and he tastes minty and sweet, like a peppermint patty. Every crevice of me is on fire. He slides his wet tongue against mine and I fight the urge to nibble on it. He brings one hand to my neck and rests the other on my knee. My body has wanted this for so long, to mold to Adam’s, to relent. To let everything go.

I feel him hard, pressing against his jeans. Something I’ve dreamed about forever, since the first night he came to my house. I wrap my arms around his neck and run a finger along the prickly baby hairs. They’re so real, I want to cry.

But my brain snaps to attention. The room tilts, as if everything is sliding off a table. Adam is suddenly stale against my mouth. It all just feels . . . wrong. Like he could be doing this with anyone. I could be anyone. I’m just here.

I pull back. “Wait,” I whisper. “We can’t.”

Adam lets out a soft laugh against my neck. “Of course we can. After all this time, we finally can.”

But everything is different now. I’m different now.

“It doesn’t feel right,” I say.

He leans back and flops against the bedspread, bouncing away.

“I don’t want it to be like this. If you want this,” I say, motioning to the air between us, “I want it to be real. For good. Not because you’re upset or sad. I want it to be more.”

“You don’t want to live in the moment?” He’s not looking at me now. His eyes are on the little boats, their white sails flapping in the wind.

I take a deep breath. If I say what I really want to, I can never take it back. I go for it. “I want us to be together next year when I’m at Brown. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Adam turns back to me and runs his index finger down my cheek. “You won’t,” he says softly.

“Adam!” Cindy Miller’s voice rings through the house. “Can you come here for a sec? My laptop’s on the fritz.”

Adam rolls his eyes but flashes me a smile so wide I can see his dimple.

“Be right back.” The bed groans as he retreats and I blink back tears. It only took a minute for me to ruin everything. My phone vibrates against my thigh.

Did you read???? Rachel writes. I don’t see anything usable yet. She mentions Adam though.

My heart beats fast and my palms grow sweaty.

I tap back over to my email and see the attachment has finally downloaded. I click to open and I’m greeted by dozens of pages of Shaila’s loopy handwriting. I scan the words, hoping to find something, anything, that could be a clue. I catch fragments of sentences, of Shaila’s effusive, loving prose, her all-caps moments of excitement. But one letter dated mid-March stops me. One word stands out. A name. It’s bolded as if Shaila traced the letters twice, maybe three times, without even realizing it. When I see it, my heart drops. I scan back to the top of the page and start reading.