I glance up at the night sky, stars gleaming. I swallow thickly. Whitney’s up there in heaven, scowling and huffy. I bet she has her little round glasses on, the ones I said made her look like a professor. She’s pointing her finger at me, telling me I’m a fool, that I need to let go and live my life.
I exhale. My gut knows that to feel alive, to taste what life has to offer, I must conquer my fear of losing people and letting them down. I need to loosen the guilt that burdens me. Fear and guilt have built a fortress in my heart, the stones laid with anguish and pain. It’s whispered to me that it’s safer to just skim through life, lurking in the dark, never living in the light.
But . . .
Now I have another chance, and I’m too scared to reach out and grasp it.
Nova called Andrew a coward.
I bend my head, unable to look at the stars.
I’m. The. Fucking. Coward.
Chapter 28
NOVA
On Monday morning, I park the Caddy in the school parking lot. Sabine and I head up the sidewalk and step inside. It feels like any other day. Teachers arriving. Kids milling around the hall, leaning against lockers, and chatting. Spirits seem high, despite the absence of Ronan.
I wonder where he is, if he woke up with the same sense of loss I did. I touch my hair as I catch my reflection in one of the lockers. It’s clean, but I let it dry on its own last night. Untamed, it hangs around my face in chunks. Sure, I brushed it, but it’s unruly. I prefer to wear it straight with a flat iron. Maybe I should put it up in a messy bun— “Nova?”
I stop, blinking. “Yeah?”
Sabine cocks her head. “I’ve been talking to you about New Zealand. You’re just staring off into space.”
I ease out of the way of a passing student. “I do that sometimes.”
“You did it all day yesterday.”
I wince. “Sorry. I love New Zealand. Isn’t that the place with the caves lit by worms?”
“Correct. Waitomo Caves. That glowworm species is only in New Zealand. People take boat rides to see them.”
“I hear the beaches are amazing too. We could check out the caves, then scuba dive?”
“We’d need classes for scuba.” She points at my black silk blouse. “You didn’t button it right.”
I look down at the pearl buttons. Dammit. I skipped one. I quickly fix it, brush down my slightly wrinkled red skirt, and then smile at her. “How do I look?”
“Sad. Messy. Kind of out of it.”
I make a fist and pump it. “Just the look I was going for.”
“Funny. I’m going to find Toby.” She pauses. “If you need me, you know where my classes are. Pull me out, and we can talk or go home. We can hang out, and I’ll sing ‘Little Sparrow’ for you.”
My heart swells. “Go find him. I’m great. Or I will be. It just takes a minute to recalibrate.”
She nods, and I head to the lounge. I don’t see anyone I want to talk to, so I grab my coffee and leave.
“Morning, Ms. Morgan,” comes from a few students who’ve come early, and I wave as I walk to my desk. I get ready, pulling my canvas off the wall and propping it on an easel so the kids can see it. It’s a blurred landscape painted in shades of gray, brown, and green. In the center is a lone unisex figure, standing at the fork of two narrow roads. A forest of sparse pine trees lines the paths. I wince. It’s kind of dark for me.
“I like it,” Caleb says. “It makes you think.”
“Thanks! What did you pick for the assignment?”
“I compared Emily Dickinson’s ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ to Green Day’s ‘Wake Me Up When September Ends.’ It’s a lot of death and stuff, but . . .” He waves a typed paper at me. “I liked it. Pretty cool. You’re not a terrible teacher at all.” He blushes. “Um, I don’t think that came out right.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a smile, then pause. “Hey, I was wondering if you and your grandmother wanted to come over for Thanksgiving. Toby and his mom are coming, and we’d love to have you guys too.” It goes unsaid that I know how hard this first holiday will be for him.
“Ah, yeah, I’ll check with her.” He turns to leave but turns back. “Um, thanks, you know, for everything . . .” He trails off, and I think I know what he means. Just for showing up at his house. Everyone needs to know that someone cares.
“Just no Dairy Queen, right?” I give him a thumbs-up.
“Yeah.” He laughs as he takes his seat.