“No, you can’t.” He sighed, and an all-too-eerie calmness came over his voice. “So just go . . . before you make this any worse.”
I wasn’t sure of the feeling coursing through me now, but it burned through me like my nerves were being set on fire.
“Fine,” I hissed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t help you.”
I stumbled out of the bathroom and into the hallway, feeling my knees shake with every step I took as I went back to the bar. I gritted my teeth as I shouldered my way through the crowd of people, desperate to escape what suddenly felt like crushing. Music thumped through the air, vibrating my entire aching body, and strobe lights flashed too brightly. I had to keep going because if I stopped, I might have turned around and given in.
By the time I made it outside, I was gasping for air. Night had completely taken over and fireworks boomed in the distance in time with my throbbing heart. I hugged my torso with my arms and started walking, nearly busting my ankle on the uneven cobblestone street, but I willed myself forward, sniffling and swallowing down tears.
I trembled and shook, and my chest felt heavy, like I was being suffocated. After I’d made it a few blocks I slowed down to catch my breath. The initial shock passed over me like a cloud, and suddenly I could identify what was coursing through me. It was anger, but not at him—at myself, because I should have known better.
I thought I’d been doing everything right, and that was what hurt the most. Instead, I did myself wrong. I let what I was feeling for him consume me, and it made me forget theonething I’d learned this summer—you cannot save people. But damned if I’d tried anyway.
Fireworks burst above me, staining the night sky in rivers of smoke and lights. I walked and I walked and I walked until somehow I made it home with aching feet, letting the hot summer air dry the tears that streaked my face.
Eighteen
The rain started early the next day, and it came down hard and didn’t let up all weekend. Stacks was closed for the holiday, and I couldn’t even run, which meant I had zero mental reprieve, giving me plenty of time to think and overthink every single thing leading up to what happened.
Since the entire town was half underwater for Fourth of July, Gracie and I spent the day buried under a mass of blankets and pillows rereading my favorite Stephen King novel (because obviously reading about other people’s misfortunes with killer interdimensional clowns made us feel better about our current situations).
“Do you plan on sitting in here forever?” I heard my bedroom door open and Mom’s voice, and felt the bed shift as she sat down on the edge of it.
“I’m notsitting. I amverybusy,” I replied, muffled through my comforter. I stuck my arm out and flailed around my thick copy ofIt.
There was a pause, and Mom pulled away some of the blankets until I was greeted with the dim light of my bedroom. Gracie sighed as her peace was disturbed.
Mom put her hand on my forearm and gave it a gentle rub. “Come on, I’m going to pick up sushi. You should come, just to get out of this room.”
“I’m fine.” I shrugged her off.
“Nat—”
“I said I’m fine!” I snapped. Gracie, who never liked it when people raised their voices, promptly got up and huffed at me as she left the room.
If that wasn’t something that filled you with immediate regret, nothing would.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, rubbing my face with my hands.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I wish I had better advice.” She took a pause and reached over to brush a few strands of staticky hair out of my face. “You’ve always been like this, even when you were young.”
“Like what?”
“Nurturing and supportive. You get that from your dad.”
I glanced over at my notebook on my bedside table. I hadn’t even told Dad what had happened. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. It wasn’t like it was embarrassing to be wrong, but the whole thing made me sad.
“I remember when your sister first started playing soccer,” Mom continued. “She must have been four or five with practically no hand-eye coordination. But you went to every game to cheer her on, and not because we asked you to, but because you wanted to.”
“Also because I was seven and couldn’t stay home alone,” I reminded her.
Gracie poked her long snout back into the room, and when Mom called her over she hopped back onto the bed and rested her head in my lap. I absentmindedly stroked the swirling gray and white fur on the top of her head. She’d come back, even though I’d scared her off.
“You can’t force people to get better, Nat.” Although still soft, Mom’s tone had turned serious. “You know that, but you need to remind yourself more often.”
I nodded. “I’ll try.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
