It’s like Mr. Everest said: If I don’t try, I’ll never find out.
Pulling in a deep breath, I hit thecallbutton.
Blue
My eyes are wide open, centered on the egg above my bed, when Kimmie’s alarm blares through the wall between our rooms. Then acrashhits the wall, and, yup, she’s thrown it. My lips quirk, and I force myself to get out of bed. My feet drag me toward my desk automatically.
I look from my sweetgrass to my palo santos to Mom’s sage.
Then I pick up my lighter, just like I have for the past three days since I returned to school. I’m about to light the sweetgrass when Mom’s sage steals my focus, and I stop. Swallow. Pick up the sage instead. My hands tremble as I try to light it, and the breeze from my open window doesn’t help. I try again, fail, try again. But the stupid thing won’t catch. Pressing my lips together, I march to the window and slam it shut, then try once more.
“Come on,” I growl quietly.
But the flame dies out—again, and again, and again.
“God, you’re so weak!”
I throw the sage and lighter down, and they hit the carpet with a softthump. Rage boils under my skin, the sensation unfamiliar and confusing.So freaking weak. Walking backward, my eyes locked on her sage, my back connects with the wall, and I slide to the floor.
I hear the door open but don’t look up.
“Bluebell?”
Tears stream down my face. They’re awash with anger and resentment, which only makes me cry harder as guilt stabs me. I thought heartbreak was hard, but anger is so much worse. She doesn’t deserve it.
“Sweetheart ...” My dad closes the door, and I watch him through the edges of my blurred vision as he moves closer. He lowers himself to sit beside me and lets out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to go to school today if you’re not up for it.”
“Yes, I do.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Finals are next week.”
He looks at me, humor lacing his voice. “Since when do you care about finals?”
“Since ... now, I guess. I don’t know.” My eyes wander to the window.
Whenever we run into each other, I keep my distance, but this window has been my gateway to Joshua over these past few days. He’s been so focused, dedicated, cramming for his tests like he was born to do something big.
Dropping my gaze, I lift a shoulder. “I think I just need to see if I can do it.”
“Of course you can do it.” My dad’s arm wraps around my shoulders, and he pulls me close. “Did I ever tell you about the time your mom and I blew off school for an entire week?”
I tip my chin to look up at him.
“No?”
I shake my head, faintly registering that the tears have stopped.
“Well, we were seventeen, and it was the week before finals.” He raises his eyebrows, making sure he has my full attention, and I slump against him. He knows me so well. I want to hear everything.
School is a blur. I flit from one class to the next, keeping my head in my books or on the teachers.
I’ve never studied like this in my life, not even when I was homeschooling and able to work at my favorite spot by the river. Mr. Lancer couldn’t hide his surprise when I turned in my homework on time, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed. I feel Joshua’s eyes on my back every day during English and chemistry. Hear him call my name every time the bell rings, but I’m quick to grab my books and bolt. This morning, he caught up to me in the hallway, and for a split second, I felt the heat of his palm burn through the curve of my waist as he tried to get my attention before I ducked into bio. I tell myself I’m not running, but even an idiot can see that I am.
He’s the one part of myself I still avoid.
I hate it. Mom would tell me to face him. But I’m struggling so hard to stand on my own, and being near Joshua only makes my legs go weak. Talking to him wouldn’t be the same as talking to my dad. I wouldn’t just lean on him; I’d crush him with my weight and forget how to walk.
When the final bell rings, I’m ready to go. I weave between students seamlessly and exit the building, adjusting my backpack as I hop on my bike.
“Blue, wait!” Joshua comes barreling out the school’s exit, and my breath catches as he jogs toward me. His shaggy hair’s a perfect windblown mess. There’s a small crease between his brows when he stops a mere three feet away. His chest rises and falls like he’s out of breath. “Please. I just wanna talk.”
