Chapter 15 | Zoey

Chapter 15

Zoey

T ears fall down my temples and past my ears. My hands shake. My breathing is labored and too quick. A weight sits on my chest. I roll over, my cheek hitting the damp sheets. How long have I been crying? Have I been dreaming of him again? Of a different outcome to that first kiss by the pool? To a time before I knew betrayal? I can’t remember, but that must be the case. I hiccup around another breath and try to calm my body. I’m not a stranger to panic attacks, but I fucking hate them. I hate that Andrew Singer is the cause of them now. No one deserves that power over me.

I put my earbuds in, finding my favorite Wilderness Weekend song, and let the music wash over me. Slowly, my hands stop shaking, my breathing normalizes, and my chest doesn’t feel like it’s being crushed by a boulder. Tears still fall, but they are always the last to go. I let them come. I welcome the heartache because anything is better than the crushing weight of devastation. I breathe with the song, letting the music soothe my heart and the lyrics my mind.

I’ve been to enough therapy to know that panic attacks are a perfectly normal reaction to the shock of loss and betrayal I experienced. I know how to manage and avoid them. At least when I’m awake. Mommy issues and two sets of siblings whom I barely know—Liz being the sole exception—forced me to deal with the weight of grief and loneliness. But none of that has been like this. This instant, soul-crushing loss.

Stop. I sit up, waiting to make sure my head is clear, and then walk to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face. I’m fine. This is fine. I can’t ward off my subconscious. In the mirror, a pale stranger greets me. Rejecting Andrew’s advances that night felt empowering. I woke up the next day proud and feeling better about my situation. If Liz can break away from Julian, whom she’s been with for my whole life, I can get over Andrew. We weren’t even together for two years. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. But it was everything.

After my rejection text, Andrew went radio silent. Haley went on a cruise with her family, and Becca returned to her love bubble. Liz spent her free time looking at apartments and then buying furniture for her new apartment, reacquainting herself with Princeton, and talking on the phone with her other sister. So now, five days after I fearlessly told Andrew no, I can’t breathe from the sheer loneliness of my existence. I’m dreaming about him. Every song makes me think of him. Every day, I have to go to the field where we first kissed and walk the halls where our love story flourished. There’s no escape. And no more distractions.

I know who I am. Zoey Reid, the girl not good enough, whose own siblings only tolerate me because we share DNA. The girl who you fuck but don’t marry, the state record holder who hasn’t even tried out for the Bellewood track team. Zoey Reid had potential. So much potential. But she would never be enough. I will never be enough.

I force out a long breath as my chest constricts, the vise on my heart tightening another notch. My cheeks are drenched in fresh tears. No. No. I cannot have a Zoey spiral. Recognize the thoughts as false. My therapist’s words come back to me. Erase them. If you can’t erase them, flip them. I conjure the excited faces of my younger siblings when I step out of the airport each summer. I think of Liz and Becca and Haley. I am not alone.

“You almost done in there?”

I jump at Dad’s voice on the other side of the door. Our mornings don’t often overlap, but Liz’s presence and now absence have affected him too. He’s home more and not just in residence but here, making conversation, asking questions, laughing. It’s been a nice change of pace. I dab at my cheeks, knowing my eyes are a lost cause. There’s no way to hide the puffiness or redness. But my dad isn’t one to press when there are tears involved.

“Sorry, Dad,” I say, opening the door.

He takes in my complexion and the rhythm of my breathing. “You okay, Zo?”

I nod. “Didn’t sleep well. Think I’ll go feed Lenny some breakfast.”

“You spoil that squirrel,” he says as I make my way past him.

“Guess you should’ve gotten me that kitten I asked for.”

His laughter fills the hallway, and then before I reach the living room, his voice rings through the quiet apartment again. “Bread’s on the counter.”

N othing is better than a dozen ten-year-olds when you need a distraction. Particularly ones whose sole responsibility this summer is to run. It’s a godsend but also utterly exhausting. The day’s hot, and we’re forced to deviate from our normal routine to run laps around the air-conditioned hallways of the high school. The kids are troopers. I think they like the indoor days better, actually. When else do you get to run through the halls? It’s the teenagers who give us the hardest time on days like this. It’s too easy to sneak away into stairwells and classrooms and doorways. Which is why I’m wandering the high school, the last place I should be after this morning, looking for two sets of missing teens. Potential for unwanted make-out footage is high.

Max usually takes this job, being the older, more authoritative one of us, but he could tell the tweens had worn me down. So, handing me a bag of mini cookies, he kicked me out of the gym. If only he knew how little this would help me. After a lap of the third floor, where we usually find the offenders, I head outside. It’s sweltering, the heat almost oppressive after the coolness of the air conditioner. My skin prickles at the temperature change, and my cheeks tingle. Days like this are wasted on me. Half the town—hell, half the East Coast—will descend on the shore on a day like today. But me? No way. I will blast the air until I need a hoodie and lounge around the house. If you want to see me on a day like today, you better come to me.

I turn left out of the building and head toward the front of the school. I set off at a light jog, but it’s like running through soup. Hair sticks to my neck and cheeks where it’s fallen out of my ponytail. There’s no way campers are outside in this. No one can make out in this heat.

“Zo?”

My feet falter at Andrew’s voice. I turn toward the quad, an area so open I hadn’t even bothered to look at it when I rounded the building, and spot him. He’s balancing on the curb with his hands in his pockets and his eyes locked on me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice breathless even though I barely exerted myself.

He shrugs. Shrugs as if his presence isn’t heartbreaking and exhilarating and coursing equal parts anger, desire, and hope through my veins. I thought maybe he gave up. If it—I’m—not easy, then what’s the point? Ardena girls have been waiting a long time for Andrew Singer to be single. It’s not like he has to even try.

“Was driving past the school, and I wanted to ask you something.” He shrugs again. “Thought I’d see if you had a minute.”

I stare at him, the ability to form words momentarily lost. From anyone else, his story is plausible. Becca stopped for lunch the other day. But Andrew—at least this iteration of him—doesn’t stop by to ask me questions. He puts in the most minimal of efforts when it suits him.

“So do you have a minute?” he asks, his tone cool and confident.

I nod even though this exchange has already taken longer than a minute and then realize that it’s weird that I’ve uttered only five words in his presence this whole time. I clear my throat. “Maybe forty-five seconds. I’m looking for rogue campers.”

He laughs because only a few summers ago, we were the rogue campers. “They’re in the front parking lot. I sent them back inside.”

“Were they smoking?” I ask, confused why they would be in the front lot, in plain sight and direct sunlight.

“No. Sitting between two cars, sharing a sandwich, holding hands, and looking gooily into each other’s eyes.” He holds a hand up to his heart. “Tweens in love.”

“They had a sandwich from G&L?”

He grimaces. “Looked like it. Does it matter?”

Yes, it matters. If it’s G&L, then they absolutely went off campus to pick up lunch, which is strictly forbidden. But I swallow my diatribe for the moment. “Sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

“I’m going down to Wildwood with the boys next week.”

This I know. The yearly trip is one of the advantages of having an absentee father who works too much and lets you use his time-share. We took advantage of the small cottage more than once senior year.

I don’t say anything. Is he going to ask me to feed his cat or something?

“The guys aren’t coming until Tuesday, so I was thinking we could go down for the weekend.”

Did he use the word “we” to refer to the two of us? I don’t know what my face is doing, but whatever it is, Andrew softens. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers casually brushing my cheek.

“It could be fun. You and me and none of the pressure that comes with being home or at school.” He sighs and looks at me through half-lidded eyes. “Things were always so easy with us.”

Until they weren’t. Until you complicated them beyond belief. My stomach turns because somewhere in him, he believes what he’s saying. How can he act like he didn’t rip everything we had to shreds?

His eyes drop to the ground before meeting mine again, searching for something. This is one of his tells. He’s about to drop the trump card. “Is it so wrong to want that back again?”

Oh my god. I step back. This is Andrew logic. He’s not saying he wants to get back together. He’s not. He wants me to think it, but it can’t be what he means. I start to shake my head because this will break me, and I can feel myself getting ready to say yes. Because I’m an idiot.

He grabs my hand. “I miss you, Zo. Come away with me.”

“It’s Liz’s last weekend. I’m not sure I can get away.” The words come out in a rush of panic.

“Last weekend on this earth?”

I knew it was the wrong argument as I was making it, but I had to say something or else I would’ve jumped into his arms and professed my love for him. My heart hammers in my chest. Why do I want this? Why?

“Still...” I hedge, hoping to think up some coherent answer that will at the very least buy me some time.

“Reid!”

Max’s voice breaks off whatever rambling thought I’m about to give. Thank god. He stands at the top of the stairs to the school’s main entrance, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. I wonder if he’s glaring at Andrew or battling the sun. Probably the latter, but a girl can hope.

“One minute,” I call back.

“Forty-five seconds! Lunch isn’t going to serve itself.”

A smile grows on my face at that. I didn’t realize we both used that phrase or that I picked it up from him in our short time as coworkers. This coincidence does not go unnoticed by Andrew. He glowers at his former coach.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

“This weekend?” There’s a sort of desperation in his voice I’ve never heard before.

“I’ll think about it.” Before he can respond, I turn and bound up the steps to Max’s side. I don’t chance a look back. Seeing jealousy or longing on his face will torture me, and if he’s already gone... I focus on Max, who stares down at me with an unreadable expression.

“Everything okay?” he asks as we step into school.

It’s a reasonable question, given what he knows about how things ended with Andrew, but it feels heavier than that. We turn into the senior hallway, and for once memories don’t come. There’s no Claire laughing so hard she cries or Andrew wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a kiss. There’s Max and an empty hallway. My racing heart slows to normal speed, and the disastrous hope that filled me at Andrew’s words ebbs.

I elbow Max in the side and give him a smile that’s real. “Everything’s fine.”

He musses my hair and nudges me back as we reach the cafeteria. I can do this. I can say no to Andrew and lose the love of my life and survive. I can. I think of Liz, Haley, and Becca, and now Max, who has become a balm to my scorched edges, softening the sharp pain and dull ache that simultaneously reside in my chest.