Page 106 of Wonderstruck

Why did you ignore me last year?

I was scared.

His words, the way he looked at me as that low, earnest toneslipped from his lips, now felt like a cruel joke. That sadness turned to anger too quickly for me to stop it from taking over.

I couldn't believe I'd fell for it. Again.

Scared?

No.

That was a lie. A pretty littleexcuse to keep me at arm’s length whilehe was brave enough—no, eager enough—to share himself with anyone but me.

I wondered if there were more. Some sickpart of me wanted an actual number. Wanted to know the lengths he’d gone to to avoid me. I didn’t even know the names they’d mentioned, but it hurt all the same. Their voices danced behind me like ghosts, painting pictures I didn’t want to see but couldn’t stop imagining.

Finn, laughing, pulling someone close,whispering to her like he whispered to me—

Stop it, Rory. Just stop it.

I was torturing myself, but what else couldI do? My chest felt too tight, each breath shallow and jagged. I stared at the ice rink below, where Finn skated with his team, his jersey catching the arena lights. My heart, foolish and naive, clenched at the sight of him.

How could he? How could he give themwhat he was too scared to give me? How could he pretend to be afraid of love when he’d been fearless with them?

The betrayal hit like a strom surge, crashing overme, dragging me under. I was drowning under the weight of it, the heat of my anger and the chill of my humiliation fighting for centre stage.

“Rory?” Daisy’s voice cut through the roarof the crowd. Her hand found my arm, grounding me for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—” The words stuck in my throat. Ishook my head, tearing my arm free and stumbling into the aisle.

“Wait!” she called, but I didn’t stop. Icouldn’t. The noise of the arena, the girls’ voices, the sight of him—it was too much.

I pushed through the crowd, my handgripping the railing so tightly that myknuckles turned white. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to get away. Away from them. Away from the doubts beating around my head.

Away fromthe truth.

Theannouncer’s voice boomed, but hiswords blurred together. My pulse thundered in my ears, each beat pounding with questions I couldn’t answer. Did he know? Had he seen me leave? Did he even care? Even if he didn’t, I didn’t want to talk tohim. I needed space. Space to figure out what the hell was going on. To cry and scream and yell and—

“Oh—oh, hey, Rory!” Bindi’s voice broke through the noise, hersunshine smile bright enough to make the edges of my panic soften for a moment.

I forced a weak smile, the effort almostpainful. “H-hey, Bindi.” My voice sounded strange, breathless, like I’d just ran a mile. “How are you?”

Her brows knit together as she studied me,her eyes scanning my face with that sharp, almost disarming focus of hers. “I think the better question is how areyou?”

I hesitated, my pulse hammering in myears. “Um… not good, actually.” The words tumbled out before I could think, my hands raking through my hair as if I could pull the mess in my chest into something manageable. My gaze drifted over her, hoping for a distraction and taking in her outfit—a Lions jersey instead of the usual cheer uniform. “What happened to the uniforms?”

Her smile returned, soft at first, thenwidening with the kind of enthusiasm that made you forget she’d just been worried. “Oh, it’s jersey night!”

“Jersey night?” I repeated.

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, we do it everyseason. Everyone picks a player to represent and whatever sales we make from the jerse's goes straight to charity. Isn’t it fun?” She spun, showing off the number on her back. “I picked number four. Selfish pick really, but what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t choose my boyfriend's jersey?”

Her giggle floated around me, but myfocus shifted, narrowing.

Jersey night.The team. The players’ numbers on their backs.

Bindi kept talking, something about howthe jerseys were a nice break from the usual uniforms, but her voice was distant now, a murmur under the hum of the cogs turning in my brain. My eyes flicked to the ice, the players prepping for the game, weaving in and out of each other in fluid motions. Each jersey number caught the light for a second before disappearing into the fray.

And then I saw him.

---