This is What Goodbye Looks Like (9 page)

Because I wasn’t strong enough to make her.

Because I failed.

“She was stubborn,” I whispered.

And I was a coward.

Whittaker gave one of the long, slow nods he always used while considering his next question. “Now tell me, Miss Alessio. Is it safe to assume your mother’s drunkenness caused the accident?”

Yes,
I wanted to say.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

I swallowed hard. “Can we please take a break, Prosecutor Whittaker?”

Chapter Ten

I’m still shivering as I knock on the half-open door of Ms. Thorne’s office at the very back of our dorm. A snow storm has been building all day, and the weather has gone straight past “irritating” and into the realms of “just stupid.” Who decides to build a campus this gorgeous in a place so damn cold?

Ms. Thorne glances up from a stack of papers and gestures for me to come in. “Lea! Good to see you.”

She offers a bright smile that still doesn’t come close to matching the atmosphere of her office. It looks like someone hooked a hose up to a fire hydrant of cheerfulness and flooded the place. The lemon-yellow walls are dotted with posters displaying cliche inspirational quotes, potted plants sit on every surface, and a multitude of colored pens and paperclips are scattered about.

“How was your first day?” Ms. Thorne asks me.

“It went good,” I say, stepping into the room. “Uh, I mean, it went well.”

She shakes her head a little. “You can leave the proper grammar in the classroom. Relax. I already told you, you’re not in trouble.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying not to look too shocked at hearing a teacher tell me to relax. I was always the “quiet smart one” at my previous school, but today I became just the “quiet one.” Every class seemed to be a drawn-out battle of IQs, with teachers demanding answers constantly, and multiple in-class assignments each period. Apparently, Harting has good reason for its elite reputation.

“Come on in,” Ms. Thorne says, making me realize I’m still hovering in the doorway. “And close the door, if you don’t mind.”

I do what she asks, examining the poster on the inside of the door as I shut it. It features a fluffy kitten clinging to a rope, and loopy font on the bottom reads,
“Hang in there!”
The struggling cat just makes me remember how far I’ve walked today, and I sit in the chair across from Ms. Thorne’s desk as a fresh streak of pain courses down my leg.

“I didn’t see you in the dining hall at lunch,” Ms. Thorne says.

I rub at my aching knee beneath the edge of the desk, trying not to draw attention to it. “I stayed back in my Chem class. The teacher keeps it open during lunch so we have extra time for homework.” It’s not like I actually need the extra time, though. Before I got accepted into Harting, I was planning on taking AP Physics this semester, but I registered for the Chemistry course here because it looked like the only easy class offered for seniors.

Ms. Thorne raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Mr. Bennet keeps his classroom open because he’s an anti-social grump, and it gives him an excuse to hide away in his lab. You’re a lovely young lady who shouldn’t feel like she has to hide.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I say, but my words are too stiff and quiet.

She takes off her bifocals, rubbing at the already-spotless lenses with the tip of her scarf. “Your dad called me this afternoon,” she says, abruptly changing the topic. “He says you’re not communicating with him very much since you got here. He’s worried about you.”

I bite my lip to hold in a groan of frustration. So much for those stilted phone calls I had with him the past couple of days. I’d figured it’d be enough to keep his worries at bay, but apparently not.

“He’s a little overprotective,” I say. “I’ve never gone to a boarding school before, and it’s freaking him out that I’m so far away.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Ms. Thorne says. “But I think we both know the distance isn’t all he’s worried about.”

“I’ve been texting him at least once a day,” I say, probably more sharply than I need to. “He knows I’m fine. There’s no reason for him to be worried.”

She gives a little nod and says, “I see.” But her skeptical tone makes me think she’s not seeing what I want her to. “I remember your application essay mentioned quite a few awards you’ve won for your photography,” she says. “It was one of the main reasons you were admitted, actually. So I was wondering, have you had a chance to take pictures around campus? We have a lot of interesting architecture around here.”

“That’s not really the sort of thing I like taking pictures of,” I say.

“And what is?”

“I do some nature photography that I sell prints of online. But mostly I like photographing people.” Or at least I used to.

“Are you planning on making a career out of it?”

“Definitely not.”

Photography used to be my shy, nerdy way of interacting with people. It let me capture little snippets of lives without having to actually hold in-depth conversations with anyone. Now every picture I take just reminds me that people are fragile, that even trapping them in pixels doesn’t guarantee they’ll still be there the next day.

I clear my throat and quickly add, “I’m planning on majoring in chemical engineering. Science has always been my favorite subject.”

She glances at my cane, which I’ve propped against the side of my chair. “Are you interested in the medical field?”

“Anything but that.”

People never used to ask that before the accident. Now they see my injuries and assume I plan on spending my career pining over some magical cure.

Ms. Thorne gives a smile that looks apologetic, and I suddenly feel bad for my sharp reply. Before I can say sorry, she daintily clears her throat and says, “I’m sure you’ll have success with that major, whatever you decide to do with it. Your testing scores in science are off the charts. That’s part of the reason I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

I nod slowly, remembering what she told me earlier. “You said you had a favor you wanted to ask.”

“Right. I was wondering if you’d be interested in a tutoring position. There’s no pay, but it can count as volunteer hours for your college resume, and I think it’d be a great way for you to meet some people on campus.”

I open my mouth to refuse, but instead I find myself slowly asking, “What subject?”

“Chemistry. I have a particular student I’d like to pair you with, if you’ll take the job. Brie worked as his science tutor for their sophomore and junior year, but now they’re taking different classes. And Brie’s old roommate was supposed to be tutoring him this year, but now Natalie’s home with mono, so we’re looking to fill her spot.” Ms. Thorne folds her hands. “I think you’ve already met the student you’d be tutoring. Seth Ashbury? I saw you sitting with him at breakfast.”

Nausea rises in my throat. “I don’t think I’d be the best person to take the job.”

Understatement of the year. I want to get close to Seth, but not
that
close. At least not yet. I think my little vomiting episode is proof that dealing with Seth’s presence is going to be harder than I anticipated.

“I disagree,” Ms. Thorne says. “I think you’d be perfect as his tutor.”

I run through excuses in my head, trying to think of anything to get me out of this. “He’s blind,” I say, blurting out the first thing that comes into my head. I nod to my cane. “If you’re thinking we should be friends just because we’re both disabled, I’m not okay with that.”

Ms. Thorne blinks a few times as shock flashes across her expression. “No. No, actually, that’s not the reason at all.”

She looks honestly taken aback, and I want to kick myself. There’s no reason I should be lashing out at her—she as clueless about my history with Seth as he is.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s just, he’s the only other disabled student I’ve seen around here, and I thought... I mean, sometimes when people see my cane, they can get so...”

“Rude,” Ms. Thorne supplies. “Irritating, obnoxious, pushy. Well intentioned but annoying.” She offers me a wan smile. “Believe me, I’ve heard all those complaints and more from Seth over the years. I’ve been his guidance counselor since freshman year, so please trust me when I say that I know there’s more to him than his blindness. He’s a good person who just needs a smart tutor. You’re a smart person who seems like you could use a good friend. I think it will be a perfect match.”

“I can make friends on my own.”

“Of course you could,” Ms. Thorne says. “But that’s no reason not to get to know Seth.”

I study her expression, watching as her lips dip into a small, sad frown as she says his name.

“There’s something else,” I say. “You’re not telling me the full reason why you want me to tutor him, are you?”

She gives a strained smile. “You photographers are always horribly observant, aren’t you?” I shrug, not sure how to reply, but she just sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe I wasn’t being completely upfront when I said Chemistry was the only subject I want you to tutor him in.”

“So is there another subject he needs help with?”

“Yes,” she says. “Moving on.”

I choke back a laugh. Is she insane? I can hardly go a single minute without thinking about the accident, and this lady wants me to teach someone about
moving on
?

It’s not like Seth even needs it, anyway. He’s the one who still has top grades and a close group of friends and an intact family. I raise an eyebrow, silently waiting for the punchline, but Ms. Thorne just shuffles the stack of papers in front of her and calmly continues.

“I’ve talked to your dad quite a bit the last few weeks, Lea, and he’s been open about the struggles you’ve had recently. You talked about your accident a bit in your admission essay as well.”

“Yeah,” I say, careful to keep any emotion out of my voice. As far as anyone at Harting knows, I was in a freak hit-and-run accident, and I was the only person injured. It’s close enough to the truth, I guess, but I’ve been careful not to mention anything about a trial, and I made Dad swear not to, either. “This last year has been...rough.”

“But you’re doing so amazingly well,” she says, suddenly reaching forward and laying her palm on top of my hand. I freeze, but she just smiles at me. “I’m so impressed that you’ve been through such a tough time without falling apart. Most people couldn’t do that, you know.”

Below the desk, I clench my other hand into a fist. It’s a habit I’ve developed since the accident. It used to hurt like hell, thanks to the fracture along my pinky, and it provided a convenient distraction when my brain was on fire with clashing emotions. But now the fracture is healed, and there’s just a tiny, annoying twinge that does nothing to help.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, for one, you need to hear it.”

No. No, I really,
really
don’t. I don’t know what I’ve done to convince Ms. Thorne I’m handling any of this gracefully, but whatever it is, it makes me want to punch myself. I’ve been disgusted with the way my parents keep pretending nothing’s gone wrong, but is the facade I’m putting on here just as bad?

Before I can find the right words to protest, Ms. Thorne rushes on. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure dealing with a car accident and all your injuries must be very difficult. It’s just that you’re handling it so well compared to how you could be.” She clears her throat and draws her hand away from mine. “Seth, he... Well, you know I can’t talk about students’ personal issues, but everyone at Harting knows about this, so I figure I can make an exception. His older brother died in a car accident recently, and Seth isn’t taking it well.”

“He seems to be doing fine to me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Ms. Thorne says. “He was incredibly close to his brother. Parker was a senior here when Seth started as a freshman, and they were pretty much inseparable. So I’m just not buying that Seth could be taking his death so well.”

She lets out a small sigh. “I think Seth is refusing to let go. He’s obsessing over his brother’s college thesis project, and it’s starting to worry me. Parker was a photography major, and he was set to graduate early as soon as he finished up a final photo project, but obviously that never happened.”

I nod slowly, finally making sense of Seth’s touchy reaction when Brie brought up the project. “So you think I can convince him to stop trying to complete his brother’s project?” I ask, not trying to hide my skeptical tone. “Just because I’m a photographer and have also been in an accident?”

Ms. Thorne shakes her head. “No, I don’t want you to convince him to stop. I’m just hoping you might help convince him it’s not
necessary
. He feels like he’s going to let his brother down if he doesn’t finish it, but I knew Parker, and I know that’s not true. He’d have wanted Seth to be happy, and as long as he’s focusing on this project, Seth’s going to stay miserable.”

I swallow hard. “Look, I really don’t think I’m the best person to be giving him any sort of advice on life.”

“I’m not asking you to give advice,” Ms. Thorne says quickly. “You don’t even have to talk to him about what’s happened, if you don’t want to. Just, please, give him a chance to get to know you. Let him see how you’ve moved on from your accident, and how well it’s paying off. I mean, just eight months ago you were undergoing major surgery, and now you’re transferring into one of the top high schools in the country. Seth will recognize that as amazing if you give him the chance.”