Текст книги "Love is in the air"
Автор книги: A. Destiny
Соавторы: Alex R. Kahler
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
Chapter
Five
You’re being ridiculous,” Riley says.
It’s a few minutes after sign-in, and she and I are back in our dorm room. We didn’t win the game—that honor went to Branden’s hall and their hilarious rendition of a merman, complete with painted-on shell bra—but we did spend the last half hour chatting as a hall. Megan was giving me the evil eye the entire time. I’m surprised I didn’t melt right then and there.
“I’m not,” I say. I’m lying on the bed in my pj’s, staring at the ceiling. One of the college kids had put up star stickers, and the RAs must have missed a few when cleaning the room; the stars glow faintly in the darkness. “I should just give up now. Megan’s right—Branden would never go for me.”
“So why is he being all flirty with you, huh?” she asks. She rolls on her side to look at me—even in the near dark, her fiery hair seems to glow from the corner of my eye.
I take a deep breath.
“Because it’s funny.”
She doesn’t answer for a moment.
“What do you mean, ‘it’s funny’?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I admit. I squeeze my eyes shut, like maybe it will hide me from what I’m admitting.
“What happened?” she asks. I hear her shuffle from her bed, and then she’s sitting next to me, a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s nothing.”
“Clearly it’s something.”
I don’t want to think about this, and I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I barely know her—I don’t even talk about this with the friends I’ve had since elementary.
“It’s embarrassing,” I finally admit. “But last year there was this guy. Josh. He played basketball and sat next to me in computer class. Anyway, one day he asked me out. And I said yes.”
“And?”
“What do you think? He told me to meet him at this restaurant, and then he didn’t show. Never gave me his number, so I just sat there, waiting, for like half an hour before I left and walked home.”
“Maybe he forgot?” Riley suggests, but her voice says she already knows that’s not the case.
“Nope.” I try to make my own words strong, nonchalant—I’ve spent the last few months convincing myself this guy didn’t get to me, and it’s still a struggle. “The next day he came into class, and the moment he saw me he burst out laughing. Got high fives from his friends and everything. It was . . . bad. I almost ran out of class right then. I never asked why he didn’t show—must have been some sort of sick joke. You know, get the nerd girl’s hopes up.”
Riley doesn’t answer for a while, but she also doesn’t move her hand from my shoulder.
“I had something similar happen once,” she finally says. “Though not with a date. Some jerk wrote me fake love notes for a week, left them in my locker. Good ones too—quoting Shakespeare and all that, so I thought they were genuine. Then the last one just said, ‘JK, I would never date a girl as ugly as you.’ ”
I open my eyes and look at her. There’s no sadness when she talks about it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I’m not,” she responds. “It taught me that some guys are real jerks. And somehow, I dunno, after that point I just stopped caring what people thought of me.” She shrugs her shoulders. “That was before I started dressing crazy—I’d spent so much time trying to fit in and look gorgeous like everyone else. I let everything go after that. And then, a few weeks later, I met Sandy at a juggling class. He liked me, fuchsia hair and all, and that’s when I learned there were still gentlemen in the world, and that the important ones will like you for all your crazy.” She squeezes my shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is, you can’t let that one bad experience get you down. I don’t think Branden’s that type of guy. And if he is, screw it. There’s someone out there for you. And when you meet him, you’ll know.”
She leans over and gives me an awkward hug.
“Anyway,” she says as she hops over to her bed. “I think you’re pretty awesome, and mine is the only opinion that counts around here. Obviously.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I think you’re pretty awesome too.”
“Of course I am.”
A pause.
“Good night, Jennifer.”
“Good night, Riley.”
I close my eyes and block out the stars on the ceiling. In the shadows of my imagination, I let myself daydream about Branden smiling at me, taking my hand. Asking me on a date.
And I can almost let myself hope that in the real world, he’d mean it.
• • •
I wake up the next day with a strange mix of fear and excitement in my stomach. I’m up before the alarm—definitely a first for me—and jump on Riley’s bed to wake her up.
“Riley! Riley!” I laugh. “It’s Christmas!”
She groans and rolls over, burying her shock of hair beneath a pillow.
“No, it’s not,” she mumbles.
I pull the pillow off her. “Oh fine, you’re right. But it is almost breakfast time, and I don’t want to be late. Especially since we have warm-ups right after. I don’t want to throw up all over Branden on our first day.”
This makes Riley laugh, and she pushes herself up to sitting. “It would definitely make a lasting impression,” she says. Then she pushes me to the side. “Okay, okay, let’s go. But brush your teeth first—it smells like you ate cat poop in your sleep.”
I laugh and make sure to breathe in her face before rolling off the bed and heading to the bathroom.
• • •
“How’d you sleep, ladies?” Tyler asks. We’re all sitting at the same table in the corner; I keep hoping Branden will come sit by us, but no such luck. I spy him sitting with some of the guys from his hall, though he does glance over and catch my eye once.
“Like rocks,” I say.
“Speak for yourself,” Riley responds, picking at her eggs. “You snore.”
I throw a balled-up napkin at her.
“Liar. I do not.”
Riley looks at Tyler. “She does,” she says. “And mumbles. I kept waiting for her to sing opera.”
Tyler chuckles and runs a hand through his curly hair.
“Yeah, well, it can’t be worse than my roommate. Stinky McStinkerson doesn’t smell any better in the morning, let me tell you. And he snores like a train.”
Riley laughs.
“Still not worse than Jennifer.”
I shake my head. “You’re horrible,” I say.
“You love me.”
“Speaking of,” Tyler says, “when are you gonna make a move on that Branden kid?”
I stare at him, openmouthed, then glare at Riley. She tries to look innocent as she bites into her muffin.
“Oh, come on,” Tyler says, “it’s pretty obvious. I mean, you keep looking over at him.”
“You’re really bad at being discreet,” Riley adds.
I shake my head.
“I’ll make a move the same time you do,” I say. I smile at Tyler, who raises an eyebrow. “I saw how you were staring at that acrobat.”
“Kevin?” he asks. He breaks out into a grin. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve already made a move. We were chatting right up until sign-in last night. He’s really cute, and he only lives twenty minutes away from me. Kind of perfect.”
“Jealous,” Riley says. “Gay boys always get the cute ones.”
I elbow her. “You’ve got Sandy.”
She nods. “Yes, but that’s different. Besides, you’re changing the subject. Tyler’s brought his game, time for you to bring yours.”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him at lunch.”
“If not sooner,” Tyler says with a wink to Riley.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. But of course he won’t tell me. He just goes back to eating his scrambled eggs.
• • •
Just my luck: I find out what Tyler meant on the sooner side.
A few minutes after breakfast, we all gather in the gymnasium for group warm-ups. According to the program, this will be a daily thing—another team-building activity to keep us all on the same page. Except today, rather than gathering with our practice groups after, we head straight into auditions.
We start with some simple cardio: We run a few laps around the gym, then do some jumping jacks. It just gets worse from there. After jumping jacks, we pair off into two lines and start doing what they call “floor work.” Cartwheels (both sides), somersaults (front and back), and then these inchworm things that are more like moving push-ups.
Ten minutes in and I’m already sweating more than I ever have before; not even gym was this intense, and our gym teacher is known throughout the district as being one of the meanest there is. Mr. Jeffers has nothing on these circus coaches.
I stand beside Riley after we’re done doing the inchworm things, trying not to look like I’m panting as hard as I really am. Riley looks a little winded, but nowhere near as bad as I am. When I look over to Tyler, I’m jealous to see he’s barely broken a sweat. I do everything I can not to look at Branden—if I’m being that obvious to my friends, I can only hope he hasn’t caught on as well.
Not that there’s any time to worry about that. Right after we do the floor passes, Leena—who’s taken charge of warm-ups this morning—calls out that it’s time to partner up for some light conditioning. I glance at Riley. She winks at me. And then, before I can safely call her my warm-up partner, she skips off toward Tyler and takes him by the hand.
I glare at them.
But then there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“Want to be partners?”
I look back and my heart skips a beat. Branden.
“Um, sure,” I say.
“Cool.”
He’s in gym shorts and a tank top again, and he looks even more muscular up close. Like Tyler, he doesn’t look like he’s even winded after all the warm-ups. Riley gives me a little wave and wink as Branden guides me toward another side of the mat.
First conditioning activity? Sit-ups. Great. I don’t think I’ve done a sit-up outside of gym class in months.
“Ladies first,” he says.
“You’re such a gentleman,” I respond.
“I know.” He grins. “How was the rest of your night?”
“It was all right,” I say, lying down. “How about you? What was your prize?”
He laughs as he kneels on my feet. “Granola bars,” he says. “And OJ. Super-awesome prize.”
I want to make small talk, but then Leena blows her whistle and it’s workout time. I cross my arms over my chest and start doing sit-ups. This is not how I’d hoped our first encounter was going to go. Here I am, sweating and trying my hardest not to grunt, and every time I sit up I’m greeted by Branden’s brown eyes staring intently into mine. It’s too much, too embarrassing, and I know the red on my cheeks isn’t just from exertion. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend I’m anywhere else, doing anything else. When the whistle finally blows again, I flop back on the mat and let out a huge sigh.
“Not bad,” he says. He pats me on the knee. “You only looked like you were going to pass out for part of it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I think.”
Then we switch places. When Leena blows the whistle, I look everywhere but at Branden—otherwise I know I’ll blush again. I spot Megan paired up with one of her sisters across the gym. When she catches my eye, she scowls.
For the first time in this entire warm-up, I smile.
Chapter
Six
After a few more embarrassing partner exercises—the worst being a split stretch, where I learned Branden was actually a lot more flexible than me—we break off for auditions. It quickly became apparent during the warm-ups that that wouldn’t be my big chance at impressing him. Which means my last and only hope is trying out for the flying trapeze. But first, I have to try out for a ground skill, which means Riley takes my arm at the end of warm-ups and drags me out of the gymnasium.
“I hate you,” I say when Branden’s out of earshot. He had told me he was trying out for the acro class. While he was doing push-ups, of course.
“No, you don’t,” Riley says.
I want to refute her, but it’s not worth it. Because she did exactly what she said she would—she got me to talk to Branden before lunch. If only it had been more than a few sweaty snippets. We head out of the gym and to one of the small tents set up outside. It’s still a little chilly, but the moment we step inside the red-and-yellow tent, goose bumps are the last thing on my mind. The early day sun makes the canvas glow, so the interior has a warm, unearthly sort of feel. And it smells like damp grass and vinyl, some strange mixture that immediately makes me think of all the shows I saw growing up. Today I’m actually a part of that history.
I know it’s silly, but it’s honestly like being onstage. There are juggling balls and pins and rings set up on a few tables in the center of the tent and a single row of bleachers along the side. So, yeah, no audience, but this is the first time I’ve stepped into a tent knowing that I was going to perform. Well, audition. But still, I’ll be doing it in front of people.
“What did he say?” Riley whispers while we wait for the coaches to show. “Did he ask you out? Did you ask him out?”
“No,” I say. I keep my voice down; even though none of the Twisted Triplets are here, I don’t want this conversation getting back to them. Growing up in this town has taught me one thing: Gossip carries fast in small crowds. “It wasn’t exactly good timing.”
“Pansy,” she responds. The coach entering the tent prevents me from responding.
The guy is in his late twenties, and he’s got a huge handlebar mustache and goatee and paisley shirt. Definitely the juggling coach. The woman who comes in with him is a little more refined, with long hair in a ponytail and leggings under her short, flowery skirt.
“Hey, everyone,” he says. “I’m Jim, and Hilary and I are the juggling coaches for this session.” Hilary does a little curtsy. “We’re actually going to do a mixture of floor work here, including rolling globe and rolla bolla, and we’re not into the whole competing-for-a-spot thing. If you’re here auditioning, you have a spot in the show.” He looks around at the assembled kids—there are maybe ten of us in all, including Riley and me. “That said, we’d still love to see what you’re bringing to the table. Who wants to show us what they’ve got?”
As expected, Riley’s the first to raise her hand. She goes up while the rest of us take our spots on the bleachers. Once everyone’s settled, she picks up six juggling balls and begins tossing them while doing a little dance. When she’s done, everyone applauds, and she sits down beside me.
I wait until the very end to go up. At first I wasn’t nervous, but then everyone else goes up and shows off tricks I couldn’t even dream of doing, and I really wish I had just gone after Riley. I know Jim said that we didn’t need to be experts already, but when I finally step up and grab three balls off the table, I wish I’d had more than a night’s worth of practice. My hands are shaking; I hope no one notices.
“I’m Jennifer,” I say, trying to focus equally on Jim, Hilary, and Riley, “and I’m . . . well, I’m actually entirely new to this. But Riley taught me the basics last night, and I’m hoping I can learn more while I’m here.” I don’t say that I’m only here because I’m terrified I won’t be good at flying trapeze. I have a feeling that wouldn’t leave a good first impression.
Much to my surprise, I don’t mess up; I manage nine full tosses before I catch the last ball and set them down on the table.
“Very nice,” Jim says as I sit down. “Especially for an absolute beginner.”
He glances down at his watch.
“Well, it looks like we’ve got about twenty minutes before your next set of auditions, so if you’d like, we can just start in on a little lesson. I’m feeling pretty good about this group, aren’t you, Hil?”
Hilary nods. “Definitely. I think we’ll be able to do a lot with these guys. I’m already dreaming up some choreography.”
Jim grins at her, then hops from the bleachers and has us gather around the table.
“Nice job,” Riley whispers into my ear. I smile, suddenly realizing there’s adrenaline pumping in my veins from putting on a show. It feels good. No, it feels great. And when Jim starts teaching us something called a “Mills Mess,” I actually start to feel like I belong here.
• • •
When the lesson is done and I’ve almost mastered the trick, Riley and I part ways outside the tent.
“Good luck,” she says.
“Thanks. What are you auditioning for now?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just focusing on juggling this time around. Maybe next year I’ll try climbing things. I just don’t have the upper body strength yet.”
Neither do I, I want to say, but then I might talk myself out of auditioning. Riley heads back into the tent to chat with the coaches, leaving me to stare out across the field to the flying trapeze rig. My heart settles somewhere up in my throat as I watch two people—I’m guessing it’s the coaches—swing back and forth on the trapeze. One lets go and latches onto the other’s hands, then releases and does a somersault to the net below.
“You ready for this?” comes Branden’s voice. I jump and look over to him.
“I . . . honestly, no.” No point trying to play it cool—he already saw me sweating on my second push-up.
He pats me on the back. I can’t help but wonder if his hand lingers there on purpose or by accident.
“I’m sure you’ll be great,” he says. “My first time was terrifying, but it’s a rush. You’ll be addicted in no time.”
I try to smile, but I’m suddenly feeling nauseated as I watch another figure climb the ladder and then swing out over the net. Even from here it looks ridiculously high up.
“How was your juggling audition?” he asks.
“Great,” I reply. “I got in. Well, everyone got in, but I managed not to screw up.”
He chuckles.
“Better than me, then. I totally blew my floor routine. Managed to face-plant after a backflip.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing over to make sure there’s no bruising. But no, he looks just as gorgeous as he did doing sit-ups this morning. People shouldn’t be allowed to look pretty while working out.
“Yeah,” he says. “Just hurt my pride.”
We walk slowly toward the trapeze rig. Only a few other campers are heading that way, and right now we’re pretty much alone on the field. Maybe it’s the excitement from the audition, but being with just him doesn’t make me nearly as nervous as it would have yesterday. Maybe Big Top Jennifer is starting to flourish.
“So do you think you’ll get in?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. But it’s only a week, so it won’t hurt my feelings too much. I mainly just care about flying trap—it’s impossible to find schools near here. I’ve had to drive out of state for most of my training.”
“What’s your dream?” I ask.
He pauses and looks at me. Crap, maybe that was too silly a question.
“My dream?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to save face. “What do you want to do with all this training?”
He smiles at me. “Ideally, join a circus. Find some super-attractive, talented trapeze partner to do some duo work with. But there aren’t too many girls around here who do flying trapeze, either.”
And there’s no helping it this time. I really do blush.
“What about you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t even notice the brilliant red flush to my cheeks. It feels like my face is on fire. “What brought you here?”
“I’ve always wanted to do it,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “Maybe someday I’ll be good enough to be part of a show. I mean, I’d love to be part of a show. Just have to survive that long, I guess.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” he says. He gives me a winning smile. I smile back. It’s easy to be around him, easy to talk to him. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I’ve known him for more than a few hours.
“Speaking of,” he says, glancing to the rig, which we’ve almost arrived at. “I think it’s time to fly.”
Chapter
Seven
There are six other people trying out for flying trapeze, and there’s only one other girl. A quick glance at them all confirms my worst fears: They’ve clearly done this before. Everyone is staring at the rig with that sort of look, like this is all routine and there’s no worry they won’t get in. I feel a light sheen of sweat break out on my skin. The rig is even taller up close, and the white rope net strung between the tall beams looks way too thin to actually support someone’s weight. I step a little close to Branden, until our arms almost touch, and try not to faint.
There are four coaches here, and they introduce themselves as Michael, Tanya, Joe, and Marty. They’re each in the green Karamazov Circus T-shirts, and they look like they work out all day, every day. I really, really should have tried some pull-ups before coming here.
“So,” says Tanya, who is apparently in charge. She has long brown hair and is maybe five feet tall. I remember meeting her last night after sign-in, when she and Leena checked to make sure we were all accounted for. “Has everyone flown before?”
There’s a general nodding of heads. Then I raise my hand tentatively and speak up.
“I haven’t.”
She clearly recognizes me, too, as her serious face breaks into a smile.
“Not a problem, Jennifer. Everyone’s a beginner at some point. We’ll just make sure you’re in lines to start out with.” She addresses the rest of the group. “We’ll get you warmed up with a few simple swings—everyone in lines until we know your skill level. If you want to try going into splits or planche to start out, that’s fine. We mainly want to make sure you have proper form—the tricks aren’t so important right now.” Then she steps up beside me. “I’ll talk you through what they’re doing,” she says. “Watch closely. When it’s your turn to fly, I’ll shout out directions while you’re in the air. It’s easy, trust me.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
I don’t know if I believe her.
Michael, the burlier of the coaches, walks over to a set of ropes hanging down from a pulley system strung between the two tall trapeze points. Joe and Marty help the rest of the kids into these wide belts covered in metal loops.
Joe scurries up the tiny rope ladder toward the platform at the top. Once he’s there, Branden goes up and waits on the wooden plank—it looks so tiny from here, like it’s only a few feet across. I nearly swoon, and I’m not sure if it’s because I know I’m about to see Branden in action or if it’s because I’m suddenly insanely worried he’ll fall and break his neck. Branden’s clearly not concerned, though; he stays still as Joe clips the other end of the ropes into Branden’s belt loops. Right. Safety lines. Of course we’d be in safety lines.
See, Jennifer, you’re perfectly safe. Nothing can go wrong.
But that’s really hard to keep in mind when Branden grabs the trapeze and swings out over the net. He beats his legs back and forth, his whole body streamlined and straight and perfectly in unison with the swing of the trapeze. Tanya talks me through the entire thing, telling me about the proper body positions to get a swing going and keep it steady. She even has me try it out on the ground—she has me hold my hands over my head with my stomach tucked in and pelvis tilted up so my spine is perfectly straight, then has me bring my arms down to make a seven shape. I’m so wrapped up in trying to get the pose right that when I see Branden drop from the trapeze, I nearly scream.
He plummets to the net, face-first, hands at his sides. The net heaves when he hits, then he’s propelled back up and does a flip in the air before landing again on his butt. My pulse races, proper form forgotten. But no one else is panicking, and when he lowers himself down from the edge of the net, there’s a big grin on his face. Tanya chuckles when she sees my shocked expression.
“And that,” she says, “is how you get down. It’s very important you don’t try to land on your hands and knees—the real risk in this isn’t hitting your head, but getting your fingers or toes caught in the net. That’s when things snap. Michael will watch the lines so you don’t go too fast.”
I suppress a shiver.
“So I just have to land face-first?”
“Yep.” She pats me on the back. “It takes a while, but you’ll get used to it.”
Right.
I have a feeling that plummeting face-first toward the ground goes against every survival instinct I have. “Getting used to it” isn’t exactly something I want to do. I like having survival instincts, thanks.
Branden walks over and hands me his belt. I blush as I take it and strap it onto my waist, making it tighter than is reasonably comfortable. He doesn’t leave my side. There are still five others to go, and Tanya talks me through the key points of every swing—when to beat, when to assume what position, when to let go. By the time it’s my turn, my heart is hammering a thousand times a second, and I’m pretty sure I won’t even be able to hold on to the bar from all the sweat on my hands. But Branden smiles at me when Tanya tells me it’s my turn to fly, and I try to force some confidence into my veins.
I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.
I walk over to the ladder, which is actually just two long ropes with a bunch of wooden bars strung between them. “Stable” is probably the last word I would use to describe it. I glance up at the platform. Vertigo makes my world spin. The platform is easily two stories high, if not taller, and I have to get there without being tied into safety lines. Joe motions for me to climb, and I try to imitate the way the others did it, one foot on either side of the ladder so it’s like I’m climbing it sideways. The moment all my weight’s on it, the ladder gives a sickening little twist.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a long, deep breath. I’m not even a foot off the ground and I’m terrified, and what’s worse, everyone is watching. I can practically feel Branden’s stare burning into my back. What if I screw up? What if I let go when I’m not supposed to or miss the net entirely or . . . ?
No, this is your time to shine. So get up this ladder and shine!
I force my eyes open and take another breath. It does nothing to calm my frantic pulse or ease the shake in my hands, but I manage to release my death grip on the ladder and reach up for the next rung. The ladder sways again and then stops. Tanya’s there at the base, holding it relatively steady.
“This is always the hardest part,” she says quietly. “You can do this.”
I nod. I climb.
Having her steady the base makes it a little easier, but when I’m about halfway up, the ladder gives another twist and I make a huge mistake.
I look down.
Two things go through my head in the very same instant. The first is that I’m really high up, and the net, although directly beneath me, is so hard to see it looks like it isn’t there. The second is that every single person around the rig is watching me. Waiting for me to mess up. Or fall. Or worse.
I freeze.
It’s like my hands fill with concrete. I can’t release my grip, can’t force myself up another step. A breeze blows past, making the ladder sway a small amount, but it feels like being caught in a tornado. Once more, I squeeze my eyes shut. This time, though, I can’t get the image of the ground from my head, nor can I push down the nausea rising in my throat. I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit halfway up a rope ladder, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. With my luck, I’ll probably get it on Branden.
“You’re almost there,” Joe calls from up top. His voice seems so far away. I know he’s not, I know it’s only a few more climbs, but I also know I can’t do it. I just can’t. I’m going to fail at this like I’ve failed at dating and everything else. “Just a few more climbs and you’re okay.”
I shake my head.
No, I’m not okay. This is so far from okay it hurts. Branden is watching along with the rest of the camp and this is my first day and everyone is going to know that I’m a coward. But it’s worse than that—much worse. I’ll never be a trapeze star. All those years of hoping and dreaming have boiled down to this one moment. And I can’t even climb the ladder.
All those hopes and dreams were for nothing.
I want the whole rig to fall into a hole and swallow me up. That doesn’t happen, of course. No, it’s worse than that: My grip starts to slip.
My hands shake and the sweat gets worse and I’m going to fall. I’m going to miss the net and fall to my death, and I’ll forever be known as the girl who died trying to climb a rope ladder.
“Just come down,” Tanya calls. I huddle closer to the ladder. My grip slips another millimeter. I can’t come down. I can’t move. I can’t.
“Come on, Jennifer,” she says. “You got this. Just come down and you can try again later on. You’re totally okay.”
I don’t move. Not until I hear another voice. A voice I really, really wish wasn’t nearby right now.
“You can do it, Jenn,” Branden says. His words cut me to the bone.
In that moment, I want to be anywhere but there. Not even on the ladder—no, I mean I don’t want to be at the camp. I don’t want to be anywhere near the circus or all these people who know I was too scared to climb a ladder.
Maybe that’s what forces me to move my hand, that desire to run away. But something fills me, and with one shaky movement after another, I make my way down the ladder, slowly but surely, keeping my eyes shut the entire time. Someone’s hand is on my back when I get closer to the ground. Then my feet touch grass.
I open my eyes to see Tanya standing there, a comforting smile on her face, her hand still on my back, keeping me steady. And beside her is Branden. He isn’t smiling. He looks concerned.
“See?” Tanya begins.
Whatever she is about to say is lost to me, though. I can’t stay there. I can’t listen. Before she finishes her sentence, I run off, straight toward the dorm, and I don’t stop for anyone. Especially not for Branden.
