Page 4 of The Way I Am Now
She opens her mouth to argue and grabs hold of my other arm now, so we’re face-to-face, but unexpectedly, thankfully, Cameron is the one to gently touch her wrist, making her let go of me. He nods at me and keeps Mara there.
I squeeze through openings in the crush of bodies, holding my breath as I struggle against the current. My head is pounding harder now, in time with the music but out of sync with my footsteps, setting me off-balance, the music rattling my chest. I finally make my way through the worst of it, bouncing like a pinball as I fight my way past the line of people still waiting to get in.
I hear my name, I think, over all the voices and music spilling through the doors.
Outside, I go straight for the parking lot, and now I know for sure he’s calling my name. Steve always wants to be some kind of Prince Charming, but if he’s the prince, I’m just another fucking Cinderella, my magic pills having worn away, the spell broken. I’m in rags, the ball raging on without me. And I don’t belong here anymore; I never did. I know already, as I try to catch my breath, the cool air hitting the sweat on my face and neck, there’s no way I’m going to be able to go back in there.
I tilt my head skyward and breathe in deeply, close my eyes as I exhale slowly. In and out. In and out, just like my therapist showed me. There’s a soft tap at the back of my arm. “I said I’m fine, Steve, really.” I spin around. “It’s just a head . . . ache.”
JOSH
Dominic keeps complaining about how long it’s taking to get in, how much of the show we’ve already missed. He’s texting with our friends inside—hisfriends mostly these days. “They’re saving us spots near the back,” he tells me. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“I can feel you brooding from here.” He glances up from his phone at me, the briefest exchange. “Stop it.”
“Sorry, I just don’t get what the big deal is with this band,” I tell him, pretending my mood is over me not being into the concert instead of because of things with my dad. “So, they were kinda famous for a minute in the early aughts.” I shrug.
“And they’re fromhere,” he emphasizes. “Have some hometown pride, you ingrate.”
I shake my head because I know he doesn’t really care either. That’s not the reason we’re here, at this concert, or here, back home. He’s meeting up with someone—the same someone he’s been texting this whole time—but won’t just tell me that’s the reason he wanted me here.
“At this rate, we’ll miss the concert altogether,” he mutters, “so you might get your wish after all.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have been so late if you didn’t make me change my clothes.”
“You’re welcome for not letting you out of the house like that.” He scoffs and looks at me, finally putting his phone in his pocket. “Sometimes you’re so straight, you don’t even know how lucky you are to have me.”
He reaches up to try to fix my hair, but I push his hand away. “Seriously?”
“You have residual hat hair, man!” He’s laughing as he reaches for me again. I dodge him and ram right into someone.
“Sorry, excuse me,” I say, turning just in time to see the side of her face rushing past. I turn back to Dominic. “Was that . . . ?”
“Who?” Dominic asks.
I look again. She’s moving fast toward the parking lot. The hair is different, but it’s her walk for sure, the way she’s holding her arms crossed tight to her chest. “Eden?” I call, but there’s no way she could hear me in this crowd. “Listen,” I tell Dominic. “I’ll be right back.”
“Josh, don’t,” he says, clamping his hand on my shoulder, no playfulness in his voice anymore. “Come on, we’re almost in—”
“Yeah, I know,” I tell him, already stepping out of the line. “But just give me a minute, all right?”
“Josh!” I hear him yell behind me.
My heart is pounding as I jog after this girl who may or may not be her. She’s walking so fast, then stops abruptly.
I finally catch up to her, standing still in the parking lot. “Eden?” I say quieter now. I reach out, my fingers touch her arm. And I know it’s her before she even turns around because my body memorized hers in relation to mine so long ago.
She’s saying something about having a headache as she spins to look at me.
“Itisyou,” I say stupidly.
Her mouth opens, pausing for a second before she smiles. She doesn’t even say anything; she just steps forward, right into me, her head tucking perfectly under my chin as it always did. I don’t know why it surprises me so much when it feels so natural, like what else would we be doing besides holding on to each other like this? Her lungs expand like she’s breathing me in, and I bury my face in her hair—only for a second, I tell myself. She smells so sweet and clean, like some kind of fruit. She mumbles my name into my shirt, and I realize I’ve forgotten how good it feels to hear her say my name. As I place my arms around her, my fingertips touch the bare skin of her arms. It’s so familiar, comforting, I could stay like this. But she pulls away just a little, her hands resting at my waist as she looks up at me.
“You’re literally the last person I thought I would run into tonight,” she says, still smiling.
As much as I’ve been worried and upset and depressed over everything that happened, I can’t help but smile back. “Literally the last?” I repeat. “Okay, ouch.”
