“I don’t know.” He loosens his grip on me slightly so I’m only holding onto the edges of his fingers. “I’m still learning. I’m not sure I’ll ever quite get there, but … I’m trying. That counts for something, right?”
I smile at him and nod. “It definitely counts.”
“You’re helping me, you know, to get over those fears.”
“I am?” I ask in surprise, my heart lurching as he lets me go even more. We’re barely touching and I’m scared I’m going to fall on my face.
“Before you I wouldn’t have come here. I wouldn’t have dared to brave a crowd. My fear would’ve been it being too loud, or having a meltdown if it became too much. Growing up, when that happened, people viewed my autism as a disease they could catch. Instead of comforting me, they gave me dirty looks and told my mother to get me under control. They spoke like I couldn’t hear them or understand, that I didn’t have feelings. But I heard them, I knew, and those words hurt. Does anyone think I enjoy when things overwhelm me and I freak out? I wish I wouldn’t react that way, but I just can’t help it. Somehow, though, with you I’m learning to tune out the rest of the world. If I focus on you, on this small bubble around us, the rest of the world doesn’t seem to be so much.”
His words make me want to cry. I think it’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever told me, and I’m not sure anything will ever top it.
“I’m happy I can be that for you.”
“Now let go,” he encourages me. “Trust me to keep you safe the same way you do for me.”
His words give me power and I let go. My legs wobble and my arms windmill around me, but I stay upright. Finn grins from ear to ear.
“You’ve got this, Violet.”
I force a smile and find the power within my own body to stay upright. It’s difficult, but I manage to do it.
“Move your feet. Glide,” he coaches, still skating backwards in front of me. He makes it look so effortless and he’s not even going forward.
We spend a few minutes working on my form and I grow more comfortable, not nearly as unsteady as I was before. Finn skates to my side and takes my hand so we can skate side by side. He surprises me when he kisses my cheek.
“You’re doing great.”
His praise lights me up from the inside.
“It’s all thanks to you.”
His cheeks turn a deeper shade of red not strictly from the nippy air.
Lydia has completely forgotten about us, hanging out with Husten and Della instead—well, mostly Husten. I think Finn’s brother is clueless of the stars in Lydia’s eyes. As a senior in college, he probably views her as a kid, but Lydia clearly thinks he’s something she can take a bite from.
As Finn and I skate past them I “accidentally” knock into Lydia, sending her flying into Husten’s side. They fall to the ice and he catches her in his arms.
Mission accomplished.
“You did that on purpose,” Finn accuses, looking behind us at the calamity. “Why?”
“Lydia likes your brother.”
He looks at me in horror. “She does? Why? I didn’t notice.”
“You’re a boy, of course you didn’t notice. She didn’t tell me, but I just know. She’s flipping her hair, batting her eyes, laughing at every little thing he says—she’s into him, it’s obvious.”
“But he’s my brother. He’s … gross.” The look of revulsion on his face is laughable.
“To each their own.” I wink at him and he looks even more confused than before. Letting go of his hand I skate a few paces and spin, all without falling. “Look, I’m doing it!” I cry triumphantly.
Pride radiates from Finn. I skate into his arms and he wraps them around me tightly.
“I don’t know what this funny feeling in my chest is,” he murmurs, staring down at me with warmth in his eyes, snow now falling around us, “but I like it.”
I exhale a breath and we both watch the fog float through the air. Wetting my lips, I meet his eyes for a moment. “Love, Finn, I think it’s love.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Again,” Mr. Rochester demands. “Again, until you get it perfect.”
I look at Finn, ready to cry because I’m stressed and tired, desperate to give up. The other students in the play and working behind the scenes have been gone for an hour, but Mr. Rochester won’t let the two of us leave until we get this scene to match his idea of perfect—the dance between Beauty and Beast.
I understand the importance of this scene, and I want to get it right, but I’m tired. I know I have to give it my all, or we’re never getting out of here.
Finn looks as tired and stressed as I am, and I think if this was any other teacher or situation he would’ve lost it by now, but since Mr. Rochester is the only teacher he likes he’s somehow managing to keep it together.
“One more time,” I tell him, holding up a finger. “We’re going to nail this and get out of here.”
The words sound much more confident than I feel, but I’m hoping that’ll translate into how I perform.
He nods, his black curls bouncing.
We’ve been taking dance lessons to learn the waltz—Mr. Rochester insisted on it—and we have it pretty much nailed, but it’s the emotion he feels we’re lacking.
I’m pretty lacking in everything at the moment considering I’m starving and would love to bury my head in a bucket of KFC. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve wanted fried chicken, but for some reason it’s all I can think about.
I wonder if Finn likes KFC. Maybe we should go after—
“Reset, now! Do it right,” Mr. Rochester demands, smacking his hand against his clipboard.
Finn and I move to the start position of entering the “ballroom” also known as the very empty stage at the moment. There are pieces of blue tape stuck to the floor to mark where we need to stand, but that’s it.
I place my hand on top of Finn’s and he guides me forward, spinning me around and into his arms. There is no music, but we dance anyway.
“Emote! Act with your faces!” Mr. Rochester directs from the sidelines. “This scene is all about the expressions exchanged between the characters. Show the audience what you feel.”
Right now I feel like murdering you.
I don’t let my thoughts show on my face, and focus on Finn, doing my best to drown out our teacher’s voice so maybe I can finally nail this.
My eyes convey to Finn that we’ve got this, and I know we can nail this. I have no doubt.
We dance around and around, the steps automatic now. Finn looks at me with an aching desperation and I gaze up at him with a soft expression and a slow building love. At least that’s what I hope I look like.
The dance ends and Mr. Rochester claps so loudly I jump away from Finn in fear. Somehow I completely forgot that he was there, which is a miracle considering what a dictator he’s been.
He hops onto the stage and smacks each of us on the back in delight. “That. That is what I’m looking for. Do that every time and we have a winner.”
I exhale a relieved breath that somehow turns into a laugh.
“I chose you two for a reason. You have the chemistry to bring this play to life. Use that spark to your advantage. Now get out of here, I’m tired of looking at you.”
Finn whistles and Jack sits up from his perch backstage. “Let’s go.” He nods his head in the area of the exit and Jack trots off. Smiling at me, he tilts his head and holds out his pinky. “You too, Nebula.”
Even though I’m beyond tired, I can’t help the grin that splits my face as I hook my pinky around his. We walk out to the parking lot that way, the sky dark. Jack sits beside the car, waiting for us to catch up.
“I’m starving. Are you hungry?”
“You have no idea.” He pushes his glasses up, his face wrinkling in annoyance at the fact that they’re always sliding down his nose. “Do you want to stop for something?”
“Please, can we? I’ll text my parents and let them know.�
�
He nods. “I’ll let my mom know too.”
We pile into his car, and he turns it on, letting the heat roll in. After our parents are promptly notified so they don’t send out an Amber Alert, we decide to go to a local diner. It won’t be KFC, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
It only takes ten minutes to get to the mom and pop diner, parking in the side lot. Snow drifts from the sky, dusting everything, including the snow that hasn’t melted on the ground from the last snowstorm.
Finn attaches Jack’s leash and fixes his vest.
Inside the building, it’s busier than I expected, but there are a few empty tables. I follow Finn to one in the back, tucked into a corner, and sit down. The menus are stacked on the table and I grab one. It doesn’t take me long to decide to get chicken tenders. It’s not exactly the fried chicken I had in mind, but it’ll have to do.
We place our order and I stand up, my bladder demanding attention.
“Where are you going?” Finn blurts, his voice laced with panic that I’m abandoning him.
“I have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
He looks around the noisy diner fearfully, like he’s about to be attacked.
“I won’t be long, Finn,” I promise.
He nods, staring down at the table.
His reaction makes me feel horrible to leave him, but if I don’t pee I’m certain my bladder is going to explode and that would be horrifically embarrassing and painful.
“Right back,” I remind him, hurrying down the hall to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, right back proves to be a problem when there’s only one bathroom and it’s locked.
I rock side to side on my feet, trying to will my pee to stay cushioned in my bladder. I should’ve peed before we left the school, but at the time I was so desperate to get out of there I didn’t think about it.
The bathroom is down a hall, so I can’t see Finn. I can only hope he’s doing okay.
After what feels like an eternity an elderly woman leaves the bathroom and I hurry inside. It’s not the cleanest bathroom, but I have no choice, so I make quick work of peeing, careful to not let my ass touch the seat. Though, to be honest, I’m afraid that the bacteria can jump on me anyway.
I finish up and scrub my hands clean, before heading back out.
My heart freezes in my chest when I see a woman standing by the table with her hands on the shoulders of a little girl, maybe three or four years old. Finn is slumped down in the booth, his back against the wall. Jack is up in the booth, nearly on top of Finn, so I know whatever is happening is bad.
I run over and find the woman pointing an angry finger at Finn.
“She just wanted to pet the dog, I don’t understand the problem. You’re not even supposed to have a dog in a restaurant, you know. I should call the cops on you.”
“H-He’s my service dog,” Finn stumbles, his eyes finding me in the panic. He sags in relief, knowing I’ll take care of it.
“Ma’am, what’s the problem here?” I ask and she whips around, nearly hitting my face in the process with her swinging ponytail.
“The problem,” she emphasizes, “is that my daughter tried to pet the dog and he told her no. She’s not going to hurt it, she’s just a little girl. I’d be more concerned about this mutt biting her fingers than her doing any harm.”
“Well,” I say as calmly as I can muster, “this is a service dog.” I point to the vest that clearly labels him as such. “Which means he’s working, and if someone pets him it can distract from him doing his job. All of his focus needs to be on Finn so he can help if he needs to.”
The woman looks back at Finn. “You don’t look sick. Nothing’s wrong with you. Those are meant for people who are sick, or missing limbs or something. Not normal teenagers.”
“Ma’am,” my tone grows tight, “you need to back away.”
She whips back to me. “Not until my daughter gets to pet the dog.”
Everyone in the diner is looking at us now, but not doing anything to help. I guess it’s easier to sit back than it is to stand up and make noise.
“Are you crazy?” I blurt. “I just told you this is a service dog. You can’t pet him and neither can she.” I point at her little girl. Irritation is getting to me and my patience is wearing thin.
The owner chooses that moment to appear from the back. “What’s the problem here?”
I butt in before the uneducated swine in front of me can utter a word. “This woman here, thinks she’s entitled to pet my boyfriend’s service dog. That’s not how this works.”
The owner, a man who appears to be in his fifties or so, turns to her and begins explaining everything I’ve already said. She huffs, rolls her eyes, and finally storms out the door dragging her daughter with her.
“Your meal is on me,” the owner tells me. “I’m terribly sorry—”
He’s cut off when Finn suddenly bolts out of the booth, his hold on Jack’s leash tight. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he passes, instead his head is down, his shoulder drawn upwards like he’s trying to disappear into himself.
“Finn.” He ignores me so I run after him and outside into the cold. “Finn.”
He doesn’t stop, he unlocks his car, letting Jack jump inside.
“Finn, what’s wrong?” I plead, panicking now. He’s completely shut down, and reminds me of the closed off boy I first got to know. He gets behind the driver’s seat and closes the door. I don’t even have a chance to get to the passenger side before he’s backing out at too fast of a speed, completely ignoring my pleas and the tears now streaming down my cheeks.
I feel the tether between us fraying, slipping from my grasp. The rope I’ve slowly been tugging to bring us closer is being let go by him and I’m coming crashing back down to Earth, to reality, when all I want is to be lost in the stars with him.
His brake lights flash in the dark before he turns out of the lot.
The reflection of the red taillights on the snow reminds me of blood.
It feels significant somehow, like it’s the life of our relationship bleeding out.
I stand there for too long, until I’m shivering, lips quivering, with my fingers turning a bruised shade of blue. I dig my phone out of my pocket and make a call.
“M-Mom? I need you to come get me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’ve never been in love before, experienced the death of a relationship. The raw, gutting feeling of having a knife carve out your feelings. My emotions feel ripped open and devastation sits heavy in my chest like the weight of an elephant.
I don’t know what I did, how this was my fault, but it feels like it is.
It’s been weeks and Finn hasn’t spoken a word to me, beyond running our lines for the play. Somehow, he manages to face me for that, but disappears before I can corner him behind the stage. He no longer visits the auditorium for lunch and I haven’t found him hiding elsewhere in the school, though I suspect he’s going to his car.
I returned home that night from the diner after my mom came to pick me up. I cried the whole way home, knowing in my gut Finn and I were over, but seeing my stuff sitting in a neat pile under the cover of the front porch was my undoing.
My mom guided me up to bed and held me as I cried, running her fingers through my hair like she used to when I was a little girl and would get hurt doing something silly.
But I would take that physical pain over this devastation and feeling like my heart has been carved in two. This isn’t even a clean cut. No, it’s jagged, with rough edges and gashes.
I know the woman’s actions had to be upsetting for him, but I wish I knew what I did that’s driven him away. I was trying to help and it seems I failed epically at it.
Lydia slides down the wall beside me, a paper bag containing her lunch—chicken salad sandwich, apple, and one mini Reese cup if the rest of the week is any indicator.
“You’re the saddest sap I’ve ever seen,” she remarks, digging into t
he bag and pulling out the green apple.
I don’t like green apples. I prefer red, but to each their own, I guess.
She takes a bite.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
“Next week is Christmas break, you shouldn’t be so sad. The holidays are no time to be sour, at least according to my mother.”
I sigh, eyeing my own packed lunch. I’ve barely touched it.
Despite the fact I keep finding different halls to eat my lunch in, Lydia always seeks me out. I tell myself I’m hiding from her, but I’m always secretly glad when she does find me and I’m not alone. She’s not a bad person, I actually really like her, but she’s not Finn.
“He misses you,” she whispers softly under her breath.
I let out a humorless laugh. “No, he doesn’t.”
“I see it in the way he looks at you.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t look at me.”
“He does, but only when he knows you won’t catch him.”
“I really don’t want to talk about Finn.” My tone is pleading, begging her to let it go.
“Okay, what do you want to talk about?” She takes another bite of her apple, chewing and giving me a minute to think.
“Nothing.”
She makes a buzzing noise. “Wrong answer.”
I sigh heavily. “What’s the right answer then?”
“Mr. Rochester and his dicktator ways—that’s dictator with a k by the way.” I snort, because she’s not wrong. “The play. Break. Prom. Graduation. The future. There are lots of things to talk about that don’t involve the dreaded F word.”
“Maybe I’m just not in the mood to talk.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugs, leaning her back against the wall.
A few minutes pass and I can’t help but ask her a question. “Still talking to Husten?”
Her cheeks color. “A little bit.”
I bump her shoulder with a genuine smile. “Get it, girl!” I do a little shimmy and she smiles shyly.
“I doubt it’ll go anywhere. I mean, he’s graduating college soon and I’m going to be starting college in the fall. I must be a kid to him.”
Whatever Happens Page 14
