Begin Again(73)

“Thank—for what? Thank you,” I say. “You’re the one who just took in a random icicle for the evening.”

Jamie’s lips press into a very Milo-esque, knowing smile.

“Those boys . . . they’ve needed to work their shit out for a while. I’ve got a pretty strong feeling you’ve got something to do with Milo finally being willing to listen.”

I’m glad for the darkness of the car, because my cheeks immediately flush. “I don’t know about that.”

Jamie reaches out and nudges my shoulder none too gently. “Take credit for your shit.”

I let out an unexpected laugh. “I mean—if I did help—I’m glad. I know Milo isn’t sure what he’s going to do about school yet, but I think this will help him decide.”

She nods at me in the rearview mirror. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

I’m beaming like a star, directing all the energy into my lap, only because it’s kind of embarrassing how much her praise means to me. The only thing I can compare it to is Mrs. Whit’s approval, and that feels so much harder to earn.

But this—this feels just as earned. Just as meaningful. The difference is I didn’t have to jump through a bunch of hoops to make it happen; Jamie seems to just appreciate me for being me in the first place.

Jamie catches my eye in the rearview mirror, her smile teasing. “I’m hoping your little swim didn’t scare you off looking into the outdoor volunteer group next year.”

Next year. The words feel more solid, more like a promise than they ever have. The call with Connor may have left a lot of things up in the air, but it solidified the thing that mattered to me most: I’m staying, no matter what.

It feels like I’ve lived a lot of my time here only letting my roots sink in halfway. Trying to hold on to the old parts of me—the “Bed of Roses” column, the fix-it urge, the ribbons for Connor. But now that I know I’m here for good, it’s like the last of the old strings holding me back are falling away. Like I can really find that balance Professor Hutchison talked about, because nothing about my time here feels conditional the way it once did.

And part of what I want—what I’ve wanted since I got here—is to spend more time exploring these grounds. To reconnect with the kid I was back when my parents took me out for adventures, and I soaked up every word they taught me on them so one day I could take them on my own. To find satisfaction in something that feels like it’s just mine.

It would mean kissing the idea of more yellow ribbons goodbye, but for the first time, it doesn’t send a streak of panic through me. I’ll either have enough of them for the group my mom was in or I won’t. That’s something I can’t control, but this—this is something I can.

“Actually, my weekends are freeing up,” I say. “I’d really love to join now.”

Jamie’s eyes are warm as she says to me, “Well, take your time. You’re welcome whenever. But I’ll get your email from Milo and send you some details.”

We spend the rest of the ride exchanging funny stories about Milo—me tattling on him for the time he set a “no crying to Disney power ballads in shared spaces after eleven p.m.” rule in the dorm, her sharing that Milo is the one who individually named each of their chickens and gets extremely offended when other members of their family mix them up. On my way out of the car, she hands me two aluminum-foiled sandwiches and two containers of tomato soup. The warm weight of them suddenly makes me want to cry.

“For you and Shay,” she explains. Then she winks. “One of these days you’ll eat grilled cheese with us at a table, huh?”

I grin back. “Sounds good to me.”

As I bound out of the car and head back to the dorm, I let myself imagine it: a crowded table. People talking over each other. Massive amounts of food and laughter and eyes to catch anywhere you look. Something I’ve wanted my whole life; something I thought I’d just have to wait for.

But maybe it isn’t. Maybe that kind of table is a lot closer than I think, if I just give it a chance.

I pull out my phone and check the calendar app, then text my dad the next Saturday I have free. He responds within the minute: Works for me, A-Plus! See you then.





Chapter Twenty-Four


Between the two of us, there are probably ten shades of nail polish bottles on the floor. I am opting for rainbow, with a different color on each finger overlaid with sparkles. Shay is going for a moody purple with crescent moon stickers, claiming she needs the witchy energy after all the happenings today.

“You’re right,” Shay says to me. “Like, looking back—I really think that was Val on the radio show.”

I wince, smudging my bright purple pinky nail. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have a full hand of smudged nails to match—I’m too preoccupied to focus. “I wish I could go back in time. Answer her differently.”

Shay shakes her head. “She’s still hung up on him. I mean, that’s what she said to me on the dock.”

We’ve been over this a few times now—once when we were eating our grilled cheese, another time when we were eating the emergency stash of Twix bars under my bed (to be clear, most days are “emergencies”), and now in the aftermath, cultivating our nails so that we might move on from the embarrassment of this day: Shay for being politely rejected by Val, and me for becoming a swamp monster.