Through to You (2 page)

“Look, Cam—” he says suddenly. “Is there anything I can do?”

I straighten. “I’m fine.”

He puts down his pencil and gives me a sidelong glance. The kind he used to give me if I called a bad play. I tense up, and he sees it. “I just—I see you out there on the corner all the time. It isn’t healthy, man.”

This is what separates Mike from those other guys walking away down the hall: He’s the only one I stayed friends with—who stayed friends with
me
.

And right now, I hate him for it.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” I repeat.

Mike shakes his head. His voice gets low. “Have you thought about maybe taking down the things outside? The notes and stuff?”

I raise my head and really make eye contact for the first time.

He takes one look at my face and starts backpedaling.

“I just thought—Maybe it isn’t helping?”

I clench my teeth. We’ll both regret it if I open my mouth now. I pick up my backpack and head away down the hall. The bell rings and the space around me floods with people pressing in on me. I shove my way back to my locker at the other end of the building to get my history book for fifth period. When I finally get there, I mess up the combination twice and have to mouth the numbers to myself to get them right.

17 … 08 … 31.

On the third attempt, I lift the latch, and my locker swings open.
World History II
sits atop the stack of books at the bottom. Just as I reach to get it, a large hand flashes out and slams the door shut again. The meaty fingers stay splayed over the metal in front of my face. French-fry breath is hot on my neck. I turn and stare into Logan’s flared nostrils. He reminds me of a bull, and I’m standing between him and a bank of red lockers. His arm blocks my escape. He stares me down, tight-lipped and unblinking. His blond hair is spiked into daggers. I look away. Two years ago, I might have been him. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have cared. He laughs and high-fives Sharif over my head. I watch them leave. Logan jumps to touch the ceiling halfway down the corridor. They move down the emptying hall like they own it.

I abandon my locker, ignoring the bell as I head back through the halls. I don’t even glance at the secretaries in the main office as I walk out the front doors, away from the whole fucking school.

MY HOUSE IS EMPTY. I WANDER THROUGH THE ROOMS, UNSURE OF
where I want to be until I realize I don’t want to be anywhere. Every room has a hole in it—where a chair was, a stereo, a set of books, a closet of clothes. Mom never filled them in after Dad left, and I guess I didn’t care. But since the accident, all I can see are the holes in things.

I end up in the kitchen. Open the refrigerator, stare into it, close it. Finally, I read the note in the fruit bowl, wedged with some cash between a too-soft pear and a brown banana. Mom hasn’t learned to text, so the fruit bowl is our courier.

I count the cash and stick it in my pocket. She’s never changed the amount. Still enough here for me
and
Viv. I stare at the number for the pizza place on the fridge. It’s called Pizza Emergency, and they actually deliver pizzas in an old converted ambulance. Viv used to think that was hysterical. She’d call up and say,
You’ve got to help us—we need pepperoni, STAT!

We both laughed at the dumb joke every time, but now all I can picture is the broken pole on the street corner and an ambulance driving slowly away, with its lights off.

I walk to my room, fall on the bed, and sleep.

I have the dream of Viv again. I’m almost thankful for it. She looks so beautiful, so carefree. Only this time something’s different. She’s still walking toward me, away from the flames … but I can’t hear her. Everything is silent.

She gets to that place by the pole where she always stops, but there’s still no sound. I see the look in her dark eyes, the light of flames dancing on her cheek—and then I hear a voice. But it isn’t hers. It’s metallic.

“Cam? Camden!”

I wake up reaching for her and she isn’t there. I’m alone in my bed. I bury my head beneath my pillow and hate everything, whisper every impossible thing I’ve wished for since that night in August. All I get is a damp pillow. When I feel like my eyes are going to swell shut, I walk blindly to the bathroom and stand under the shower. I let cold water force my eyes open, numbing my skin until it isn’t burning with longing.

I don’t realize I’m still in my clothes until I shut the water off.

Dr. Summers’s office is located in the basement of her split-level house, ten blocks over from mine. Her golden retriever, Lance, meets me at the door, wagging his tail. The office is furnished with two incredibly soft leather couches and a rolling desk chair. The carpet is beige. Pictures of her husband and son dot the walls.

Right away, I can tell something’s up. Dr. Summers doesn’t sit in the chair like she always does. She perches casually on the other couch, resting her elbow on the arm. Her clipboard is in her lap. Her short, fading-blond hair is still tucked neatly in place, but her glasses are next to her on the table, and she studies me with careful eyes.

“It’s been a couple weeks since I saw you, Cam.” Her smile stays in place. “How are things going?”

“Sorry, I forgot last week.”

This is such a shitty lie, I’m embarrassed. I’ve been coming here every Friday at four o’clock for the past two years, since I quit the team. Since my dad took off. She knows how I feel about him, about football, and about people at school. I’ve always told her the truth about things, but each week for the past two months, I’ve been telling her lies. I don’t
want
her to know how I really feel about Viv. I mean, she knows how I felt before, but I can’t tell her what goes through my head these days. That my life ended when Viv’s did. That the accident was my fault. That every day I wake up and wonder why I’m the one still here.

Lance shoves his nose under the door, and I glance over.

Dr. Summers sees this, and her face brightens.

“You know, I’m going to break my own rule. Let’s let Lance in, just for today.”

Before I can say anything, she opens the door and the dog runs into the room like he’s just won a jackpot. He plants himself on my feet, tail wagging furiously, and stares up at my face with his tongue lolling out. I glance at Dr. Summers, who is back on the other couch. She nods, and I pet her dog’s head, because how could I not with him looking at me that way?

“It’s a good day for
you
,” I whisper into his ear.

Dr. Summers leans forward. “But not a good one for you?”

I shut my mouth, look from her to her dog, and see how perfectly she set that up.

“No,” I say, defeated.

“It’s been two months today, hasn’t it?”

I don’t say anything.

“How do you feel about that, Cam?”

I grit my teeth. I have bunches of Lance’s reddish fur squeezed into both my fists. I loosen my grip and pet him normally. He looks at me with huge brown eyes and licks my arm.

“You’ve been trying so hard
not
to talk about Viv since she died …”

My eyes sting. I stare into nothingness and bite hard on the inside of my cheek. I’ve never cried here and I’m not about to start. I’m almost positive she knows I’ve been lying to her, which makes this even worse. Lance rolls over for a tummy rub.

“Cam,” she says gently, “I’m here to listen.”

I focus on Lance, skimming my fingers over the soft gold hairs on his belly. I feel her watching me, waiting for me to speak. I can’t stand it.

“I have this dream—about Viv,” I say. Dr. Summers’s shoulders relax, and I know this will be enough, for now. “I keep having it, over and over, where she’s coming toward me, but then she turns away....”

She talks about what the dream might mean to me. I sort of listen. It’s mostly psycho-babble, but I have to seem interested or I’ll never get out of here. By five o’clock, I’m exhausted, but it’s worth it because Dr. Summers looks pleased when she walks me to the door.

“Thank you for sharing the dream with me, Cam.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, and it’s
normal
for you to feel that way … but I also think Viv wouldn’t want you to go on like this forever.”

I’m petting Lance on the head, but my hand halts on his ear.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that
you
still have so much life to live …”

“And Viv doesn’t?” I say flatly.

Dr. Summers pauses. “That’s not what I mean—”

“What then, you want me to forget her?” My skin prickles.

“No, nothing like that …” she says. “I just think Viv would want what’s best—”

“How do you know what she’d want? You never even met her!”

The dog tries to lick my hand, but I pull away and slam the door behind me. I can’t believe my shrink tried to put words in my dead girlfriend’s mouth. I storm down the sidewalk for one block, then another, but pretty soon my bad leg twinges and then my eyes start to burn. I slow to my normal pace, trying to remember how to breathe—on my own. I can’t even figure out what to do next, where to go. I close my eyes and try to think what Viv would want. If she were here, she’d tell me … I’d know.

FALL MIGHT MAKE AN APPEARANCE AFTER ALL THIS YEAR. I WANDER
around town for hours but find myself on the corner again. I wish I’d brought a jacket. It’s eleven o’clock, almost exactly the time it happened. The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the pictures of Viv, and I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s just a cluster of plastic-sheathed photographs, but in them she looks
alive.
They make her feel real, like she’s only out of town, and when she gets back, this will all have been a dream. A nightmare.

I stand in front of the utility pole, arms locked around my torso. With my luck, Reed will show up to chastise me for being on school grounds after hours, but I had to come. I don’t really know why two months should matter so much, but I guess that’s like asking why every second that’s passed since that awful night matters. There’s a large rock at the edge of the bushes that I sit on and shiver. If Viv were here, we’d share a cigarette and put our hands inside each other’s clothes to keep warm. I smile at this, lose myself in the thought of her skin … until I realize if Viv were here, we wouldn’t
be
shivering on this stupid corner. I press my palms against my eyes.

Tires squeal in the distance, and I look up to see headlights streaking down the road. The car turns the corner, running the red light. They swerve into the wrong lane and they’re pointed right at me. Someone shrieks. I close my eyes. A breeze gusts across my face, exhaust rushes into my nose …

The car accelerates through the rain. The light ahead is green. I place a cigarette between her lips, but the Zippo slips through my fingers, landing somewhere by her feet. She takes her hand off my thigh with an exasperated laugh and reaches for it—the light turns red. She slams on the brakes, I grab for the wheel—the rain slides sideways across the windshield. I never hear her scream.

I open my eyes. The taillights are small now, disappearing down the road. A beer can bounces three times across the pavement and comes to rest in the middle of the street before I exhale. Friday-night fun.

I lean against the pole, hidden by the shadow it casts in the moonlight. The wind picks up, needling through my clothes. The street is empty now, but I blink at the place where the car disappeared. I was hoping it would hit the pole and kill me, too.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I pace back and forth in front of the teddy bears, notes, and dead flowers.

Maybe Mike was right … maybe I should take them down. A shrine won’t bring her back. Or make the accident not my fault.

My body aches with memory. I’m desperate to talk to her. She’d understand how I feel—she always did. It used to be like we each knew what the other was thinking: I’d complete her sentences; she could anticipate my thoughts. I remember a time at the Coffee Haus when she stopped me in front of the counter and stared deep into my eyes. She turned to the barista and said very seriously,
Vanilla latte and a bagel
—like she could see inside my head. She filled in the gaps, made me feel so complete.

The only person in my head now is me.

“Cam?”

Viv?

I stop pacing and look back toward the pole. A new light cuts through the darkness beyond it. I squint at it, expecting to see another car, but it isn’t headlights. This glow is different.

It’s not coming toward me and it’s not in the road.

“Cam!”

That voice again. I turn around—and around.

No one’s there.

But I still see the glow. I take a few steps sideways, because the light looks like it’s coming from behind the wooden pole. A fire? I approach it quickly, but when my jeans brush the bushes on the other side, I freeze. One by one the hairs stand straight on the back of my neck. There are no flames.