“Tell me,” his face was open and listening.
“The stuff with Jethro. All that that came after. That was me freaking out. The rehab helped bring me back to a middle place, but I was never okay again.”
He nodded like he understood.
“Remember how the camp voted for the soloists at the year-end talent show?” I asked.
“It was a pointless popularity contest.”
“Yes. But I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. I had something to prove. I wasn’t first chair—Ariana was.”
His face softened to pity. He remembered her.
I went on. “She was perfect. I was so intimidated by her. She was everything I wanted to be. I wanted that solo. I had to prove to my parents, to myself, to everyone that I was worth it and that I was going places.”
“Kim,” he said softly.
“Let me get it all out.” This was the part that changed everything. “I asked Roddy to fix the votes. To make sure that I got everything I wanted. I didn’t care who I hurt in the process.”
“Okay.” He moved to leaned against the wall, facing me.
I stayed facing forward. It would be easier not looking at him.
“I got it. I played the solo. That night Ariana went to the lake and drowned. She left a note. She was miserable.”
“Kim—”
“I know what you’re going to say. I didn’t kill her. She took her own life. It was just one solo. I understand that rationally—I do. But I was the straw that broke the camel’s back. My ambition. My cold hard ambition. For what? Just to play a freaking solo at a summer camp? Ridiculous.”
He reached out to rest a hand on my arm. “You can’t know why somebody takes their own life. It’s tragic and confounding, but it’s unknowable. You are not responsible.”
“She was me. I knew the stress she was under. I knew what it felt like to go after everything with blind ambition. I could have shown her kindness. I could have been her.”
He pushed my shoulder to turn me toward him. “You were a kid. Everybody at that age is completely stuck in their own head.”
“But …”
“And now you think your success will ultimately come at the cost of someone else?” he asked.
“It’s not sound reasoning.”
“We can’t help how our minds handle trauma.” He squeezed my shoulder. “We can’t help how we view things through our own lens of experience. We manufacture truths to keep ourselves safe. You fear doing well, making choices, because of one mistake. But you’re more than that one misjudgment. You’re so much more.”
“I feel so scared all the time. One wrong move and who will pay the price?” I squeezed my eyes close. I was so tired and lonely and scared.
“I can’t believe you’ve carried this around for so long. I understand now. About Carla and the solos. Why you’ve held yourself back.” He let out a low breath. He rubbed up and down my arm. I didn’t feel like I deserved comfort when I was the one that was here.
“I remember when that happened,” he said, referencing Ariana.
“You do?”
“I was already gone, but I’d heard all about it. Everybody saw how much pressure she was under. Her parents put so much on her shoulders. She was miserable. They found her journals after. Apparently, she’d been struggling for a long time. Nobody knew how bad it was.”
More pain tightened my chest. “I wish I’d offered her support. My parents never pushed me. I always pushed myself. The pressure she must have felt if she couldn’t imagine living…”
“She needed help. All of us felt partly responsible. Had we known, or asked, maybe things would have ended up differently.”
“Nobody knew,” I whispered to myself. Digesting all this terrible new information. “It’s so sad.”
