Through to You (26 page)

She shakes her head again and smiles wistfully. “Who would make sure Owen gets to be quarterback?”

I sigh, and stare up at the sky, surprised to see a few stars peeking out behind the clouds.

“Do you think they’re the same stars?” I ask.

She lifts her chin and gazes up with me.

“I think they’re probably the same … but different. Like us.”

I keep staring until the clouds sweep in again. When I lower my eyes, Nina’s looking at me. I usually can’t read the tightly controlled expressions on her face, but right now I have a pretty good idea what’s on her mind.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She looks surprised “For what?”

“That you lost him.” My voice is low. “I know how much it hurts.”

She allows herself a hint of a smile and squeezes my arm. “He was a part of my life, however briefly—a happy part.”

“There’s something I’ve been wondering …” I hesitate, stepping closer. “If it’s okay to ask?”

Nina shrugs and raises her eyebrows.

“What did the note mean? ‘You saved my life’—in your yearbook?”

She looks down at the sidewalk and presses her lips together.

“I don’t know,” she says after a moment.

“But you must have some idea … why would he write that?”

“I wish I knew.” She shrugs again and lets out a long breath. “He wrote it that night—before it happened. I didn’t see it till he was gone. I never got to ask.”

I take her hand, recalling the cruel way I’d rubbed those words in her face.

“I didn’t know.”

She raises her head. “On good days I thought maybe it had something to do with Viv. He’d just broken up with her; he realized she was trouble.” She swallows hard. “On bad days I thought it was some awful premonition. One I didn’t figure out in time.”

A tear escapes down her cheek, and I pull her close, tucking her head under my chin. I try to put myself in his place, figure out what he must have been thinking, but I keep coming to the same answer.

“I can’t tell you for sure,” I whisper. “But I know you saved mine.”

We both hold on a little longer than necessary, but when she pulls away, her hint of a smile is back. She meets my eyes and I catch a glimmer of something—a lake, the sun. Just a flash of memory she keeps, alongside many other things.

She kisses my cheek. “Thanks.”

We both turn toward the pole. But this is happening too fast. I’m not ready to leave—not just yet.

“You’ll still go to England, won’t you? To your mom’s little town?” If I never see her again, I want to know what she’ll be doing.

“Of course,” she says. “Not just to visit—someday it’ll be home.”

She puts a warm hand on my shoulder, and I know I have to go.

“Tell Owen I’m rooting for him,” I say.

“I will,” she whispers.

I squat and try to gauge the sliver of green I have to fit through. It’s going to be tight. I sit down and stick one heavy foot in. I just have to do this or I’ll never go. My toes tingle through my shoe. I turn sideways and slide the other foot in. I work in up to my waist easily, half-transparent and body buzzing, but then I get hung up.

“Your sweatshirt’s caught,” Nina says, kneeling.

I feel around where I’m stuck, and she’s right.

“It’s too big for me anyway.” I slide it over my head and hand it to her. She grabs hold of me as I pull away.

“Take it with you, it’s yours.”

I shake my head. “You keep it. It isn’t mine to take.”

I give her hand a light squeeze and let go, sliding further into green oblivion. She flattens herself on the ground in order to see me, looking worried.

“Are you sure it still goes all the way through?”

I wiggle my feet to check. The space is so tight I can’t look down to see my toes, but the pins and needles in them are dissipating, and I can feel the frozen grass on the other side.

“No place like home,” I say.

I edge in the rest of the way, and the energy envelops my head. I look back out at Nina through the green filter, the way she looked when I first saw her. She covers her mouth.

“Good-bye, Cam,” she says suddenly, reaching into the void to touch my hand.

Both of us are pressed flat with our chins in the dirt. I take her hand and squeeze it one last time. “Good-bye.”

The electric tunnel shifts around me, until it feels like a weight pressing in from all sides. It’s hard to breathe. Nina’s eyes are wide and afraid. It’s shrinking with me inside—I have to move
now.

I let go of her hand and shove my way toward the other end, working up a sweat despite the frost-covered ground. I edge out backward into the snowy bushes of home. I lift my head and Nina waves from the other side of a void that looks like a flat green window now. I wave back. She smiles. Then my fingers slip out of the field of light, and before I can breathe, she disappears.

I
’
M IN THAT PLACE BETWEEN WAKING AND SLEEPING. THE ONE
where everything’s still black and peaceful until it gets invaded by my thoughts. I try to block them out, sink back into oblivion with no consciousness and no dreams. But eventually I open my eyes, wincing like someone who’s been underground. I’ve been trying hard not to keep track of the days since the green light vanished.

The sun streaming in my window says it’s late, but my phone says it’s Sunday. I pull the sheet back over my head.

My door bursts open and Mom barges into the room.

“I made you an appointment with Dr. Summers tomorrow. This has got to stop.”

“What?” I sit up. “Mom—”

She crosses her arms, flustered. “Look, I don’t know what happened this week—you were doing so well. I thought you were finally dealing with what happened to Viv—”

If she only knew. I roll to face the wall.

“Your appointment’s at four, Cam,
tomorrow.
” She hesitates. “If you want to argue, call your dad.”

Dr. Summers folds her hands in her lap.

“It sounds like things are going pretty well with your dad and school. I thought for the rest of today you might want to talk about Viv?”

I shift in my seat and glance at the clock, but we’re only fifteen minutes in and I’ve already exhausted every safe topic. The truth is, I’ve been dying to talk to her about losing Viv
again
all weekend. But I haven’t come up with a way to do it that doesn’t sound insane. I rest my elbows on my knees and rub my temples, trying to clear my head. I may have left Viv behind physically, but she’s been invading my mind with a vengeance. Like a part of her still won’t let go—or is it a part of me?

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about her …” I say, off to a brilliant start.

Dr. Summers doesn’t say anything except “I’m listening” with her eyes.

I struggle to find the right words. “I’m just not sure our relationship was always what I thought …”

“How does it seem different to you now?”

I look out the window. This is the part I’m hung up on, but I can’t exactly ask how two versions of the same person can seem so different—and, I’m starting to realize, so very much the same. In both worlds, Viv was needy, but intensely devoted. She was also used to getting what she wanted. Suggesting I didn’t need football after my injury made sense to her. It was a window of opportunity—she could become my whole world. What didn’t compute is the thought that I’d ever refuse. It scares me that the two versions of her are starting to seem like the same girl. But I’ll never know how
my
Viv would have reacted if I’d made a different choice.

“I
did
love her … and I know she loved me,” I say without looking up. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about how things were, and how they could’ve been. But it’s stupid because it’s not like I can change anything.”

“It’s hard not to second-guess yourself.” Dr. Summers nods. “But the choices we make now help inform the future.”

I look up. “How am I ever supposed to know the
right
way to choose?”

“Sometimes there is no right or wrong,” she says calmly. “Sometimes you just have to go with your heart.”

I
’
VE DECIDED THE BEST WAY TO GET MOM OFF MY BACK IS
employment. I walk out of the mall with a few business cards and a stack of generic applications to fill out. Apparently everyone already hired seasonal help for Thanksgiving, but it doesn’t hurt to have a desperate teen up your sleeve in the month of December.

I spot Mike’s rust-red Toyota coming around the side of Macy’s. He flashes his lights when I wave. When he pulls up, some terrible indie rock music is blasting from the speakers.

“Did you put in a subwoofer or something?” I strain to be heard over the noise.

He turns the volume down. “You noticed.”

I get in, but my rib cage vibrates even with the sound turned down. “Your dad finally cough up the money or what?”

“I bet him I could win this art contest. Managed second place.” He slides a drawing decorated with a red ribbon off the dash and hands it to me.

I recognize it as the one he’s been sketching for weeks and my stomach sinks. I’m certainly not getting any awards for friendship lately.

“Wow, man, congratulations.”

He stares straight out the windshield and puts on his blinker. “So, I’m just taking you home, right?”

I hesitate, looking at the picture. “Actually, you hungry? Want to grab a bite?”

“I kind of have some things to do.”

He revs the engine, though the light in front of us is red.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a total dick,” I say. “I was just thinking we could do something … maybe go to the chicken place?”

He raises his eyebrows, but stays focused on the intersection.

I shift in my seat, recalling our last trip there, when he had to drag me out the door. But then I think of Nina in her green apron.

“Look, remember when I asked you to cover for me, and you said I owed you an explanation?”

“Yep.” The light changes and he turns the wheel toward the little country diner.

I glance at the stars coming out in the sky.

“How about I buy you dinner instead?”

Dina’s Delicious Diner isn’t as packed as the last time we were here. Mike asks for a booth, and my heart goes from adrenaline-infused to full panic mode.

I don’t see her anywhere.

A rooster greets us at the table—the same one as last time, I think.

“Is it bad that I’ve actually been kind of craving that poutine stuff since last time?”

“Actually, that sounds good, I’ll have that too,” I say, standing abruptly. “I’m … going to wash my hands. Be right back.”

I walk across the restaurant, eyeing the front doors. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should leave. Even if she’s here, I know it isn’t
her—

I stop.

She’s standing behind the counter.

I watch her take an order over the phone. She’s writing on a pad and smiling. Hair tied back, green apron. I stare at her mouth and marvel at her carefree expression.

“Okay, Mom, I got the order, don’t be ridic—yeah? Well, tell Owen that if he survived practice, he can wait twenty more minutes!” She laughs. “I gotta go. See you guys when you get here.” She hangs up and shakes her head.

“Nina?”

I cringe as soon as I say her name. She doesn’t
know
me.... Then I have a worse thought: Maybe she’ll remember me from last time.

“Hi,” she says, clearly trying to place my face.

“Sorry—you don’t know me. I read your name tag.”

“Oh.” She touches the plastic pin on her apron and smiles hesitantly. “Can I help you?”

I blank. What do I say? My face heats up. Why am I even here?

“Application!” I say. “I mean, um, I was wondering if you had one? I’ve been looking for a job.”

“Oh!” She reaches under the counter and pulls out the same generic form I swear is used by every minimum-wage job in town. She slides it toward me with a pen. “You can fill it out now, if you want. I think we’re hiring dishwashers.”

I hesitate. Her tone seems too light, but the warmth in her voice is familiar and sets me at ease. I fill out the page with all the same boring information I put on the others. I’m not sure what I think will come of this. She might not even like me, but if there’s a chance we could even be friends …

“Uh, here you go,” I say.

Our fingers touch when I hand the completed form back to her, and I get this sensation, not like a tingle or shock, but something about it is electric. Her pen falls to the floor, and I retrieve it, but when I stand up, there’s something curious in her eyes. Did she feel it too?

“Great, thanks … Camden Pike.” She glances at the page and smiles, holding out her hand. I stare at first, forgetting this strange human custom, but then my brain snaps back to life and I take her hand in mine for the first time—again. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m Nina Larson.”