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“Don’t cry!” Liz says, and they leap out of their chairs to squeeze me into a hug, which makes me really lose it.
“I just—I feel like you guys are kind of my people?” I say. “Is that weird?”
“Liz, we’re people,” Montana says, and I hug them tighter.
The closer it gets, the harder it is for me to believe this workshop is actually happening. I’ve gotten a roommate assignment and a packing list, along with a few choreographers to study before I go.
I browse Seattle Central’s course catalog and I take my finals and I make it through graduation. I’m no longer planning to transfer wherever Peter goes, but I missed all the application deadlines, so for now, I’m a Seattle Central student. I’m already researching universities with good dance programs, though, and hopefully I’ll be at one of them next fall. At first I’m not sure how I get through everything without Peter. But I have more than Peter now: I have my sister, and Montana, and Liz, and a closeness with my parents, even, that I didn’t have before.
But I still don’t want to feel like I’ve lost him completely. We’ve been tied together for so long that it doesn’t feel right to leave for the summer without saying good-bye.
Sophie
5:12 p.m.
I got into the workshop.
Peter
5:17 p.m.
That’s amazing!!! Congratulations!
5:19 p.m.
Thanks. I’m terrified and excited.
5:20 p.m.
When do you leave?
5:24 p.m.
In three days.
5:30 p.m.
Wow.
5:48 p.m.
So . . . I was hoping we could talk before then.
Before I go.
5:50 p.m.
I’d like that.
5:55 p.m.
Okay. Me too.
We agree to meet that night in the woods behind Peter’s house. We don’t walk there together, and he gets there first.
He turns when he hears me approaching, lifts his hand in a wave. We wave now, like our parents used to do after they drifted apart the first time.
“I’m glad you texted,” he says. “It would have been weird for you to leave and for us not to . . . talk. Just talking. No yelling this time.”
