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29
ASPEN
Me: Where are you? Is everything okay?
The one thing I’ve been able to rely on lately is my secret meetings with Quinton in the sunroom. They’re the bright spot in my life, especially now when things look so dark and murky. Just when I thought I had things figured out, Dad had to throw me a curveball like that. I still can’t wrap my head around it.
I also can’t stop thinking of him as my dad. I guess I don’t have to stop. In all other ways, he was my father. Flawed, yes. But he loved me. So much, according to him, that he sacrificed his life to keep me safe.
I wish I knew what that meant. Then again, do I want to know? Sometimes you overturn a rock, and nothing but worms and bugs slither out from underneath. Sometimes it’s better to leave the rock as it is.
Me: I really need to talk to you. Why won’t you at least tell me you’re okay? I’m freaking out a little.
I want to talk all of this over with Quinton, texting from across the room the way we always do, but he hasn’t shown. This isn’t what I need, not right now. He’s my stability. And if anything happened to him… I don’t want to think about it. Yet none of my messages have been enough to earn a response.
Me: At least let me know if you’re not going to be able to meet with me. Otherwise, I’m going to worry myself sick.
It’s a little late for that. I already feel nauseated.
If anything happened to him, I would hear about it. Word travels fast around here. I might not exactly have any friends, but I still catch gossip simply by walking down the hall. Quinton may as well be royalty at Corium. No way would they be able to keep from gossiping about him if something went wrong.
What if something went wrong between us, though? That’s a trickier situation. I can’t imagine what that would be. I thought everything was status quo.
I look down at my book, but I can’t see a word of what’s on the page. Not with the questions plaguing me, worry twisting my guts until I’m afraid I’ll throw up. My skin feels too tight like I’m going to explode from it. I have to get up. I have to move. Otherwise, I’ll lose it here and now, under our tree, of all places.
Me: I’m going to head out. I thought I would let you know in case you decide to stop in and find me gone. Please, just let me know you’re all right when you get a chance.
I tuck the phone away before gathering my things and heading out. Should I stop by the library to talk with Brittney? No, I decide, tracing my steps to go to my room instead. I don’t have many options around here.
What am I going to do in my room? Pace around? Like I haven’t done enough of that. Much longer, and I’ll wear a hole in the floor.
Disappointment is one thing, but this? Quinton is my lifeline, one of my only respites in this entire school. I only thought I understood how much it soothes me to see him—I had no idea, as it turns out. What am I supposed to do now that I can’t, when I was so looking forward to it?
By the time my door closes, I still have that prickly feeling. I shake out my hands, stretching, but it doesn’t do any good. I would go down to the gym, but that isn’t exactly my speed. Besides, do I want to be alone with people who still hate me and have heavy equipment at their fingertips?
Finally, I realize there’s only one option left. I head to Lucas’s office. The assistant from the front has long stopped acknowledging me walking in. I’m not sure if Lucas told her to let me walk in whenever, or she just stopped giving a shit. Either way, I’m glad I can come and go as I please.
“Is everything all right?” It’s sort of nice how concerned he is when he sees me. Normally, I’d wonder if he pities me, and I would hate that, but he seems to genuinely care.
“I need help. It’s not an emergency,” I’m quick to add before he can overreact.
“What is it?” He backs up, allowing me into the room.
“Would you give me a self-defense lesson? I know we don’t usually meet now, but I feel like I could use it.”
He lowers his brow. “Has someone been threatening you?”
“Not really. I just have all this energy.” I shake out my hands, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. “Anxiety. And when we finish our lessons, I always feel capable and stronger.”
His eyes narrow a fraction, his jaw tightening. For a second, I’m sure he’s mad at me for interrupting whatever he was doing. I wouldn’t blame him. Who am I, anyway? Barging in and demanding he change his schedule.
