Chapter 29 | Zoey

Chapter 29

Zoey

M onday comes too soon. I’m exhausted, even after spending almost all day Sunday in bed. My body hurts, my head aches, and every thump of my heart is laced with memories. Yesterday, in between all the crying, Liz handed me a decrepit laptop and some headphones and told me to write it out. So I did. And for a few minutes afterward, with Wilderness Weekend’s saddest album ringing in my ears, I felt relief. It didn’t last, but it did force the truth from me. My relationship with Andrew is over. My head and heart finally agree. But my head doesn’t know how to forget years’ worth of memories overnight, and my heart? I’m not sure it will ever work properly again. All heartbroken teenagers probably think that. Hearts shatter every day. The earth still spins. And I still have to get up and go to work.

So unfortunately, I’m up at the butt crack of dawn to drive the forty minutes back to Ardena from Princeton. If I’m lucky, I will see approximately no one I know, Dad will still be asleep, and Andrew will still be in Wildwood with whoever he picked up Saturday night. Panic stirs under the surface at the mere thought of his name. But Andrew isn’t stupid or cruel enough to show up Monday morning and try to talk to me. At least I pray that’s still the case. The last thing I need is to bitch-slap him in front of half the athletes at Ardena High. As if we weren’t the source of enough gossip this summer.

When I finally pull into the high school parking lot, one hour and two coffees later, it’s full. Parents are lined up to drop off the younger kids. Most of the high schoolers walk or bike every day. I watch the line of cars moving slowly through the lot. Whoever is handling drop-off today isn’t very good at it. If not for the heat wave breaking last night and the promise of blue skies all day, those parents would be honking for sure.

Even blue skies and clouds so fluffy you want to cuddle up with them can’t brighten my mood, however. I grab my water bottle from the back seat and slip my sunglasses back down onto my face. I tighten my ponytail. It’s another day, another football field, another high school. Breathe, Zoey.

“Zee! Hey.” Max’s voice brings me back to attention. That and the nickname. I’ve never gone by Zee, but from Max, it sounds right. He stands by the hood of my car, his eyes crinkling in concern. A sheen of sweat already glazes his body, and his hair, longer than I’ve ever seen it, is matted to his forehead. “Where have you been?”

I glance at my watch. No, still early. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday.”

“Oh.” I hand him the scrap of paper with my new number on it and try to sound as casual as possible when I say, “I have a new number.”

He examines the paper, his lips curving into a frown. “Everything okay?”

“Not really.” I shrug. “But I’ll survive.” I hope.

“Hey, hey,” he sings.

I pull a face. “Real funny.”

He grins. “Come on. I don’t know what stupid thing Andrew did this time, but I do know that you will survive it.”

I hate my life. My cheeks burn, and my voice is stuck in my throat. He knows. And why wouldn’t he? It’s only my darkest secret.

“I have eyes, Zee,” he says to my stunned silence. “Now, let’s go.”

I nod, my voice still hiding somewhere in my rib cage. Had it been that obvious?

T he question still hangs heavy by the end of the day, but I must admit I feel better. Max paired me with the rising junior-varsity potentials—fourteen-year-olds. There’s a lot of drama with them but so much talent. This camp is the best thing you can do if you want to be called up to varsity sooner rather than later, and these kids want it. Our training is invaluable and targeted, and with a limited number of runners each session, these kids get a personalized approach to their program. I, of all the staff here, understand the importance of this summer session. It’s what shaped me, molding me into the record-setting runner I became for Ardena. It started here. Like so many other things.

I stop on the thirty-yard line. It’s a football field. Nine years from now when we all pose for our ten-year high school reunion photo, will I even remember this is where Andrew and I shared our first kiss? Probably. Will it still hurt? Not in this way. Maybe not at all. Claire and Andrew and this awful summer will be far behind me. It will be a memory of that pain, of the loss of something you don’t realize you have until it’s gone—the innocence of first love. You have to survive your first love. I step off the line and walk toward the parking lot. And I will.