Page 8 of Wonderstruck

I hadn’t imagined what it would feel like to dread waking up, but now I couldwrite an entire novel on it. Not in the sense that I didn’t want to wake up, but more along the lines of dreading what I’d have to face when I did. What attorney was I going to have to email back today? What funeral director was I going to have to call to triple-check that everything was paid? What bank assistant would be calling me to ask about when the mortgage payments on Dad’s house would resume?

All that was why, the second I opened myeyes, I wished I never had.

I quickened my pace as I hurried down thehall, like it would help whisk away my thoughts faster, as my shoes scuffed on the stone while my eyes drifted out the empty windows of the open tracery. I traced the gardens, each green leaf that looked as though someone had painted the tips brown. I studied the spires that sat atop the turrets, following the jagged edges and telling myself that it was only getting cloudy because of the weather.

I swiped at my eyes, the moisture drippingfrom my fingertips.

Before I knew it, I was heading through thedoors that lead into the hallway where I spent my classes last year. And just like last year, the nagging feeling that I wasn't supposed to be here nipped at the back of my neck, subtly pulling me from my steps.

Get a grip, Rory. You like law. It’s easy, surprisingly. At least you’ll have acareer once you leave here. Be lucky for that. Stop being so ungrateful.

But it didn’tfeellike I was simply being ungrateful. It didn’t feel like I wassome spoiled brat who was taking this for granted. It was more like I was hearing something—my own voice, telling me what I already knew.

This was his career. Not mine. Idecide what makes me happy now.

No.No.

I’m fine.

It’s because I’m still thinking aboutMontana. That’s all it is. I’m grieving the onlyman I had in my life, and being there was just too much. But I’ll get over it. With time.

Sweat coated my forehead, which I knew was because I was getting stressed. It was almost freezing outside, and even with my ear muffs and matching pink scarf, I was still shivering. My lungs inflated with the cold air as I rounded the corner and spotted the room where my class was. Seeing it made me tug my scarf loose.

Perhaps I needed another day. To think about things. To remind myself of whyI was here. Settle back into the city and college life, and maybe tomorrow I'd be ready. Maybe. I don’t know.

When I got a few paces away from the door, something in my brain short circuited, and before I knew it I was facing the other way. Taking a moment to think. To catch my breath.

Why can’t everything be simple? Why couldn’t things have stayed thesame?

I turned back around, eyeing the door again.

Maybe because life doesn’t stay the same, Rory. Now get a grip and grow up.

My hand nervously rose to the end of one of my braids, tugging at the tuft of hair as I turned away.

I should give myself time. I’m not ready.

I turned back to the door.

Grow up. You’re almost twenty.

I spun away.

I can’t. I can’t do it.

My breaths quivered as I turned back to facethe door. Frustration becomes me, and I can’t think of anything to do other than let my mitten-covered hands hold my face before thrashing them by my side. “Oh,putain. Putain. Putain. Putain. Putain—”1

“Woah, nice cursing.”

That voice could stop time. I was sure ofit. But I’m pretty sure Finn Rhodes could do anything, convince the world to stop spinning if he asked in just the right way.

I questioned whether I should just suck it up and lift my head, or walkoff like I hadn’t heard him. But that was an impossible dream. My fragile heart was so ridiculously enchanted by him that turning away felt like I’d be doing my heart a disservice after everything it hadbeen through.

My hands slowed their thrashing, and my eyes dropped to the tips of my feet,the patent sheen catching in the hazy light. I studied them for a moment before slowly trailing my eyes up his figure.

He was wearing his Lions jersey, the white and green fabric falling from hisbroad shoulders and dropping effortlessly around his torso. There was a fresh layer of stubble around his jaw, like he hadn’t found the time to shave this morning. But I liked it. I, annoyingly, liked everything about this man.

I followed my way up his face, not stopping until I fell into the greenlagoons of his eyes, only realising then that drowning had never felt like a better way to distract myself from the dumpster fire that was my life.

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