This is What Goodbye Looks Like

by Olivia Rivers

  “No,” I say. “I like them.”

  Brie smiles a bit and then clears her throat. “”Um...do you...” For the first time since I met her, she sounds sort of hesitant, and she awkwardly shuffles her feet. I raise an eyebrow, silently asking what’s wrong, and she rushes on.

  “Do you need help with unpacking? Because, like, your leg is obviously screwed up, and I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to make you walk around or do anything that’s going to hurt, you know?”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.

  She flinches, and I realize my tone was way too harsh, so I take a deep breath and say, “Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’ve had people trying to take care of me for months, and I’m okay taking care of myself now. So, um, yeah. Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine.”

  I wait for Brie to flash her easy smile and move the conversation along, but she just bites her lip and gives me a hard stare. “I take it the cane is something you don’t talk about?”

  “Not willingly.”

  “Good,” she says. “My old roommate talked about literally everything. And sometimes I think there’s nothing that makes you feel worse than a person who has nothing in their life they want to avoid talking about.”

  I meet her stare for a long moment, taking in her perfect face and perfect makeup and perfect hair, and wondering just how much imperfection is hiding behind it all.

  “I think we’re going to get along just fine,” I say.

  And only then does she smile and switch topics, sparing me any more awkwardness. “So the bathroom is down the hall to the right, and if you need anything while I’m gone, Ms. Thorne’s office is in the back of the building by the vending machines. We weren’t expecting you until later tonight, so she probably doesn’t even know you’re here yet. She’s totally going to freak out since I didn’t bring you right to her, but whatever. A girl needs her beauty rest, right?”

  “Yeah, thanks. I really don’t feel like doing check-in paperwork right now.”

  “No problem. I’ll be right back, okay?” She gives a dainty wave and slips out the door.

  As soon as the latch clicks shut behind her, I let my eyes close. So far, so good. I was half expecting an alarm to start blaring the second I showed up at campus. I know it’s sick to transfer to the same school as Seth Ashbury—if he ever finds out who I am, he’d probably strangle me for coming here, and rightly so.

  But I have to do this. When Camille comes out of her coma, she’s going to find her body broken, and I can’t let her wake up to a broken family as well. I have to figure out how to fix the mess our family has become. And once I do that...

  Then I don’t know what comes next. Hell, I’m not even sure how I’m going to learn to fix my family in the first place. I never expected to actually make it this far in my plan to come to Harting. All I knew was that staying around San Diego seemed like an impossible torture, and coming here would let me escape in the most productive manner possible.

  But I figured I’d be immediately rejected from the school, and I nearly croaked from shock when I found out I’d actually been admitted and gotten a scholarship to boot. And now that I’m here, I’m realizing just how flimsy my plan is. To figure out how Seth healed his family, I have to get to know him well. But how the hell do I do that without him figuring out who I am?

  I have no clue. Harting is all about preparing its students for their futures, but with the past clinging to me with such sharp claws, it’s hard to see the future as anything but a hazy improbability. I fall back on my bed and bother pulling back the covers before I grab a pillow, lay it over my face to block out the light, and close my eyes to block out the world.

  Chapter Two

  “You know what you’re going to say today, don’t you, Lea?”

  Dad knelt in front of my wheelchair, keeping an awkward distance between us. His voice echoed around the near-empty hallway, bouncing off the marble floors and returning in a ringing whisper. This part of the courtroom was the fanciest, with towering oak doors and engraved wood panels lining the stone floors. Apparently, some architect believed that a gorgeous building could make even the most serious trials more bearable.

  They were wrong.

  “Lea?” Dad prodded. He kept his tone soft and gentle, as if he were talking to a toddler, but the smile on his lips looked more patronizing than soothing.

  “We’ve been over this,” I snapped, my eyes falling to my lap and the ugly skirt there. It belonged to Mom, but I had to borrow it for the trial. I didn’t own anything long enough to cover all the puckered surgery scars that coursed up and down my legs.

  Dad let out a sigh, just a short puff of air that seemed nearly as depleted and haggard as the rest of him. “They’re going to call you up to the stand in just a few minutes, sweetheart.”

  Sweat trickled down my forehead, and I quickly wiped it away with the end of my silk scarf. The summer heat made the courthouse unbearably warm, but it was better to look ridiculous for wearing a scarf than to have an entire courtroom gaping at the still-healing wound on my neck.

  “I know.” My words were just a scratchy croak, hardly any louder than a whisper. The doctors said it might take months before my voice sounded normal again. If it ever did. “And I’m going to have to tell the jury everything that happened,” I said, risking a glance up to meet Dad’s eyes.

  He flinched. After twenty years of working as a defense lawyer, he knew all the signs of an uncooperative witness, and I was pretty sure every word I spoke set off another warning siren in his mind. He reached to put a hand on my shoulder, but quickly pulled back. He bit his lip, a flash of pain coursing across his expression, and then settled his broad palm on the armrest of my wheelchair. It was like he thought if he never touched me, the accident and my injuries would never solidify into reality.

  “Lea, I know you’re mad at your mom, and I understand that,” he said. “But she doesn’t belong in prison. Sweetheart, just think about it. She’s managed a cancer ward for twelve years, and she’s spent all that time helping people through the lowest parts of their lives. Don’t you think she deserves the same sort of help?”

  My reply stuck painfully in my throat, along with a sob. Then the thick doors to the courtroom swung open just a few feet from us. The bailiff nodded at me from the entrance. “Judge Peterson just called you to the stand. You’re up, Miss Alessio.”

  Chapter Three

  When I wake up, it’s to the sight of bifocals staring down at me. My heart gives a panicked kick, and I quickly check my wrist, looking for an IV. There’s none, and as I scan the rest of my body, I find I’m still wearing jeans and a sweater. No hospital gown, no bandages.

  I choke out a relieved sigh as I sit upright, looking around as I orientate myself. Beige carpet, low ceiling, the walls covered in pictures of London and Paris and other places that are tantalizingly beautiful and far, far away from here.

  Here. Right. My dorm room.

  “Sorry to wake you, hun.” The woman with the bifocals pats my hand from where she sits on the edge of my bed. She’s probably about fifty or so, and has an angular face framed with brunette waves of hair.

  Last time I woke up to a pair of bifocals staring down, it was a doctor checking on me after the accident. I was really lucky, she’d told me, because I’d survived the accident and was going to be okay.

  I knew I wasn’t lucky. I knew something was horribly wrong, even though I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. I kept trying to tell her that, but my injured throat constricted with pain every time I tried to speak, and the doctor just kept patting my hand and murmuring reassurances. I had some bad injuries, she’d said, but I’d survived. I was okay. I was going to be just fine.

  Then I’d remembered Camille’s scream, her terrified shriek somehow cutting through all the other sounds of the accident. And I knew exactly what was wrong. But the heart monitor beside me had started shrieking, too, and black began strangling the edges of my vision. I had tried to ask the doctor if
Camille was okay, but the words slipped away from me, along with consciousness.

  I give my head a hard shake, chasing away the memory and the last remnants of my sleep. This woman in front of me might have bifocals, but she’s obviously not a doctor. I don’t know why it’s obvious, but I guess it’s something about her smile. It’s genuine and reassuring, and nothing like the robotic expressions my doctors used to try to placate me with.

  “Hi,” I say, trying not to sound too groggy. I blink a couple times and peer at her. “I’m assuming you’re Ms. Thorne?” She looks way older than her picture on the school website, but I don’t know who else aside from the dorm supervisor would come check on me.

  Ms. Thorne nods and pushes her bifocals up the bridge of her nose. “That’s me. Sorry if I startled you, hun. I tried knocking a couple times, but no one answered, so I figured I’d better check on you.”

  “No problem,” I say. “Um, sorry I didn’t hear your knocks. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  She sighs. “One of the girls down the hall mentioned seeing you come in, so that’s how I knew you were here. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to greet you earlier. I can’t believe Brie didn’t bring you to my office right away.”

  “I asked her not to,” I say. “So, um, please don’t blame her. Sorry. I was just really tired, and I didn’t want to deal with having to sign in or anything.”

  Ms. Thorne’s lips purse in a frown, but then she shrugs. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that. I don’t know how you kids do all this long distance travel all the time. It must be exhausting.” Her expression switches back to that patient smile. “And signing in won’t take too long. We can actually do it tomorrow, if you want. I’ll be in my office all morning, so stop by whenever you get a chance, and I’ll just need to go over a few forms with you.”

  I nod, even though I’ve already signed and mailed about a million forms these past few weeks.

  “Great,” she says. “And I called your dad a few minutes ago and let him know you made it here safely. I know he was worried about you traveling here alone.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. It’s better for a teacher to speak with Dad instead of me, since he’s going to throw a fit next time I talk with him. I’d promised to call him the moment my plane landed, but I just sent him a quick text and then silenced my phone. I’m not in the mood for an actual conversation.

  At first, Dad went along with the whole boarding school idea, and he agreed that it would be good for me to get away from San Diego for a bit. But ever since I broke it to him I wanted to go to Harting, he’s been upset. He has no idea that Seth goes here, and he can’t understand why I want to go to a school thousands of miles away when there are lots of nice boarding schools just a couple hours from my house. I can’t tell him Seth goes here without panicking him, but I also don’t want to spend any more time giving lame excuses about why I chose Vermont. So it’s better just to avoid talking to him.

  “Brie brought that for you,” Ms. Thorne says, nodding to a plate sitting on my nightstand.

  “Thanks,” I say, and my stomach growls as I immediately reach for the plate. Brie’s stacked a huge pile of nachos on there, and it just earned her about a million karma points.

  “Is she awake?”

  Brie’s voice comes from the doorway in a whisper. I guess she can’t see me from this angle, so I call back, “Hey, Brie. Yeah, I’m awake.”

  “I’ll let you girls get better acquainted,” Ms. Thorne says. She pulls a business card with the school’s logo out of her pocket and sets it on my nightstand. “You can call me if you need anything at all. I live in the faculty quarters just one building away, so if something comes up, just give me a call, and I’ll come right over. But for now, I guess you can spend the evening getting settled, and we’ll get you officially checked in and prepped for the semester tomorrow.”

  She glances toward the door and adds with a wry smile, “And I’m sure Brie will fill you in on all the dorm rules in the meantime. Like how we don’t allow meals in here or guests that aren’t signed in.”

  Brie flashes a smile as she steps into the room. “Sorry, Ms. Thorne.”

  Ms. Thorne waves away her apology as she stands up and heads for the door. “Have a good evening, girls. And it’s nice meeting you, Lea. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Nice meeting you, too,” I say.

  Ms. Thorne offers me a parting smile and slips out of the room. Brie sits on her bed, and I gesture to the nachos.

  “Thanks for those,” I say.

  “No problem,” she says. “Food technically isn’t allowed in here, but we bring it in all the time, anyway. Seniors can get away with it, as long as you’re not messy.”

  I nod, filing the info away with the other tips she’s offered so far. I take a bite of the nachos so I can fill my mouth with food instead of words, and then reach over to grab my phone off the nightstand. There are four new texts from Dad, and I send him back another one reassuring him that I’m fine.

  Then I text Jeremy saying the same thing, not that he’s bothered to ask. It’s been almost two weeks since I had a real conversation with my older brother. Right in the middle of Mom’s trial, he got into a huge argument with Dad, and it ended with Jeremy deciding to move out of the house and transfer to a college in Colorado. He hasn’t spoken to Mom or Dad since, but he still talks to me. Sometimes. Lately he’s been avoiding me, but I keep trying to text him to keep in touch.

  There’s a sharp knock at the door, and Brie calls out, “Come in!” Then she looks over at me and says, “I told a couple friends they could come over and meet you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  I don’t get a chance to reply before two girls push the door open and step inside. One of them is so scrawny, she looks like she’s barely hit puberty, while the other towers over her by at least a full foot.

  “Hey,” the short girl says, offering me a smile. “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah,” I say, pushing myself into a straighter position and taking another bite of the nachos. I try not to wince as I swallow. My throat is almost completely healed now, but it still twinges sometimes when I eat hard foods or talk for too long. But considering it was flayed open by a twisted piece of metal, it’s a better outcome than my doctors were expecting.

  I glance over to Brie. “How long was I napping?”

  “Forever,” she says.

  “About three hours,” the tiny girl says, giving Brie an exasperated look.

  “I’m Hannah,” the tall one says, striding over to Brie’s bed and sitting there next to her. Somehow, she manages to make the simple motion look like an elegant ballet move—she reminds me of a cat, all slender and delicate, with just a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “I’m the dorm’s student supervisor, which basically just means I’m supposed to greet newbies and whack chicks’ heads together when they get into fights.”

  The small girl rolls her eyes at me as she sits on the other side of Brie. “Believe it or not, she actually won the position by election.”

  “Because I’m really good at threatening to whack people’s heads together if they don’t vote for me,” Hannah says. She points to the tiny girl. “That’s Maddie. I don’t hit her head against anything, because she’s the only senior who’s geeky enough to know how to break the school’s internet firewalls. Much more important position than dorm supervisor, if you ask me.”

  “I’m Lea,” I say. “Nice to meet you both.”

  Maddie unbraids her bright red hair, which is attempting to frizz out in about forty different directions, and then starts rebraiding it. The movements of her freckled hands seem completely automatic, and I get the feeling that taming her hair is a part-time job. “We’re both in the room right across the hall from you,” she says, nodding toward the door. “Hope you don’t mind us popping in to say hi. The other girls in the dorm wanted to meet you, too, but we figured you didn’t want everyone mobbing your room. You cool with meeting everyone else at br
eakfast tomorrow?”

  “That sounds good,” I say, doing my best not to make it sound like a lie. Harting has a separate dorm for seniors, which means there are only about three dozen girls living in this building. It sounded like such a small number at first, but it’s finally dawning on me that I’m actually going to be living with these people, and the thought of meeting all my dorm-mates suddenly seems terrifying.

  Maddie’s about half-way done with her hair when Brie lets out a disapproving tsk, smacks her hands away, and starts smoothing it into a perfect French braid. Maddie smirks at me. “You’re lucky you ended up with Brie as your roommate. She’s the real one in charge around here, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “We call her Cluck-Cluck,” Hannah adds. “Because she’s a total mother hen.”

  “Shut up, you two,” Brie mutters, but there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth. She finishes up the braid astonishingly fast, then snatches the elastic band out of Maddie’s hands and ties it off. Brie nods approvingly at her work. “There. That should stay.”

  “Cluck,” Hannah says.

  Brie sticks her tongue out at Hannah, but Maddie ignores them both and says to me, “Look, you must be tired, so we won’t bother you long. But we were wondering if you want to come into town with us tomorrow. There’s this little boutique that opened up over break, and a couple of us were going to check it out.”

  I want to say no. Shopping has always been something I’ve avoided, just like any other activity that involves crowds or too much socializing. Besides, I came here to learn how to fix my family, not to spend my days browsing through boutiques.

  But all three girls stare at me expectantly, looking honestly hopeful as they wait for my answer. I swallow hard, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Yeah, I’d love to go. Thanks.”

  “Great!” Brie says. “We were going to leave after breakfast, so sometime around ten. And a couple of our other friends were going to join us, so you can meet them, too.”