This is What Goodbye Looks Like, Page 2

  “Yeah,” I say. “It can be convenient occasionally.”

  Sometimes parking up close will save me a full three minutes of travel. Still doesn’t make up for the past eight months of surgeries, medications, and physical therapy. Not to mention the constant pain and limp that might not ever completely go away. Speaking of which...

  “Can you help me get my bags out of the back?” I ask. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall on my butt if I try to juggle them all.”

  Nathan salutes me dramatically. “Righto, ma’am.”

  I think he’s trying to imitate a London cabbie, but it sounds more like a Southern cowboy with a lisp. Nathan jumps out of the idling taxi and strides around to the trunk, and I shove open my door. Icy air rushes into the car, stealing away every speck of warmth, along with the breath in my lungs. Goosebumps prickle all over me, although my left leg hardly even feels the chill. The surgeons were able to save most of the motion in my leg, but a lot of my nerves are still screwy. They sense pain and not much else.

  When I first woke up after the accident, the doctors made this big fuss about how lucky I was to have escaped more serious injuries. It’s been eight months, and I still haven’t figured out how a word like “luck” plays into this situation at all.

  Nathan bangs around as he tries to get my bags out from where he tucked them in the trunk. Apparently, they’re stuck, because he’s rapidly switching between cussing at them and cajoling them to behave. I rub my freezing lips, half to check they’re still there, and half to check that I’m not smiling at his antics. It’s become a habit since the accident to make sure I never look too happy. Looking happy makes other people act happy, which leads to them treating me nice, which leads to me feeling the sort of gut-wrenching guilt that makes me want to vomit.

  Once Camille wakes up, I’ll let myself smile again. Hell, I’ll smile so much, I’ll probably break my face. But, until then, it’s just not right to be happy when my little sister is stuck in the horrifying oblivion of a coma.

  Nathan finally manages to get the bags unstuck, and just as he releases a whoop of triumph, I hear footsteps coming toward us. A girl jogs across the campus courtyard toward the taxi, throwing out her arms as she tries to keep her footing on the slippery cement. She skids to a stop, barely managing to avoid barreling into Nathan as he brings my two luggage bags around the side of the car.

  “You must be Lea!” She clasps her hands together and smiles, exposing perfect white teeth. Actually, pretty much everything about her is perfect, from her heart-shaped face covered in pristine makeup to her wavy blond hair.

  I offer a hesitant smile in return. I have no idea what’s got this chick so happy, since I’m the last thing she should get excited about.

  “Hey,” I say. It comes out sounding more like a cough, my vocal cords stuttering with a mix of anxiety and damaged nerves. I clear my throat a bit and add, “Yeah, I’m Lea.”

  “Oh my god, we’ve been waiting forever for you to get here. I mean, we’re all just bored out of our brains waiting for the semester to start, and the snow is driving everyone totally insane, and then we hear there’s a new senior coming! And that’s totally cool, because people never transfer senior year, so yeah, this is making everything better.”

  Her obvious California accent is strangely reassuring, and the way she chatters so quickly brings comforting memories of Camille. I ended up with a sort of vague, nondescript West Coast accent, probably because I spent too much time as a kid with my nose in books. But Camille was always the definition of a social butterfly, and my little sister talks almost exactly like this girl.

  “Glad I can be a source of entertainment,” I say. But then I force myself to smile a little, so she knows I’m just being snarky and not mean.

  The girl lets out a chirping laugh and extends her hand. It’s covered in a soft pink mitten with teal edging, and I get the feeling it costs more than my entire outfit. “I’m Brianna,” she says. “But everyone just calls me Brie.”

  I take her hand and shake it, trying not to show my surprise at how firm her grasp is. “Nice to meet you. I’d introduce myself, but it sounds like you already know who I am.”

  “Yup,” she says with a nod. “Ms. Thorne told us all about you. She’s our dorm supervisor, and you’re going to love her. Unless you land in her physics class, in which case you’ll hate her and your life. Anyway, she told us you’re from San Diego, so I asked for you as my roommate, because my old one got mono a couple months back, and she’s still home sick, and it’d just really suck to go an entire semester without a roomie, you know? But then you showed up, and I thought we’d be the perfect match, since I’m from San Diego, too.”

  Nathan sets down my luggage and gently nudges Brie in the side with his elbow. “Oh my gawd, Brie!” he says in an exaggeratedly high voice. “Like, no one would ever guess that you’re totally, like, a Cali girl.”

  She laughs and hits at him with the loose end of her scarf, which is also pink and a designer brand. “Mock the accent all you want, Nathan. I’m not the one driving a taxi and making pizzas for a living.”

  “Temporarily driving a taxi and making pizzas,” he corrects, holding up a finger. “I’m going to culinary school soon, remember?”

  “And remember we decided that wasn’t actually happening?” Brie says. “Because I’m going to die of mozzarella withdrawal if you leave. Nobody else makes pizza like you.”

  They just smile at each other for a long moment. Then Brie seems to notice all the sudden how close she is to Nathan, and she takes a large step back, her cheeks reddening as she blushes down at her fuzzy beige boots. She looks over at me, probably hoping I’ll move the conversation along, but she suddenly tilts her head in a curious expression.

  “Did you go to Ackerman before you came here?” she asks.

  “No,” I say, recognizing the name of one of the high schools on the coastal side of San Diego. “I live further inland, so I went to Unity Creek.”

  Brie shrugs. “Huh. You look familiar, so I thought we might have been in the same freshman class. I was at Ackerman a year before I came to Harting.”

  Her curiosity seems innocent enough, but it still makes my stomach drop. After the accident, Camille’s picture got shared around a lot by the media and on the internet, so there’s a good chance Brie’s seen it if she’s from San Diego. Camille is a blue-eyed blond, so most people don’t immediately assume we’re sisters, since I have dark hair and grey eyes. But both of us have our mom’s refined features and sharp chin, and if you stuck Camille’s picture right next to mine, it’d be pretty obvious we’re related.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, realizing I need to give an answer. “I never went to Ackerman, and I don’t even know anyone who goes there.”

  Brie hesitates a moment longer, but then she just shrugs again. “Yeah, I guess I should have expected that. San Diego’s a big place.”

  I let out a small, relieved breath and then quickly try to change the subject. I gesture between Brie and Nathan. “But you two have obviously met before. How do you guys know each other?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual as I step out of the taxi.

  Pain immediately lances up my left leg, and my right leg tingles with numbness as the damaged nerves try to recover from an hour of sitting. I attempt to cover my sudden wobbliness by reaching into the taxi for my cane. But it must be pretty obvious how unsteady I am, because Nathan swoops past me and snags my cane out of the backseat, offering it to me with a gentlemanly flourish.

  Part of me wants to snap at him that I could have gotten it myself. But a larger part of me really doesn’t want to become known as the new girl who fell flat on her ass the minute she got to campus. So I nod my thanks to him and take the cane, trying not to look relieved as I lean against it and take some weight off my aching left knee.

  “Um,” Brie says, and I realize she’s just been staring at me and not answering my question. I lean over and pick up my smallest bag, partially to prove I’m not entirely helples
s, and partially so I can pretend like nothing happened and let Brie keep talking.

  “So,” she says, “uh, yeah, Nathan and I met at the pizza place he works at. It’s sort of the hang out spot for the seniors at Harting, and he started working there about a year ago.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were a taxi driver?”

  “He has many talents,” Brie says.

  “And many bills,” Nathan says. “I’m trying to save up for culinary school, but it’s taking a while.”

  “I still think you need to try applying for some scholarships,” Brie says to him. “You could totally get them.” Then she turns to me and adds, “I swear he makes the best pizzas in the state. I mean, he can even make anchovies taste good. Not even joking.”

  “Aww, Brie, you’re making me blush,” Nathan says, winking at her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Learn to take a compliment gracefully, will you?”

  He laughs. “Graceful isn’t my style, sweetie.” He glances over at me and frowns as I try to rub my arms and balance on my cane all at once. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I didn’t bring it on the plane.” And I’m already regretting it as the chill seeps deeper into my skin every second. I clear my throat a little, which has become a habit ever since the accident. My vocal chords don’t painfully spasm like they used to, but my voice still goes hoarse a lot, and clearing my throat seems to help. “Um, can we go inside? Sorry, it’s just kind of freezing out here.”

  Brie takes a moment to examine my clothes and then shakes her head. “Well of course you’re cold! I’m going to have to give you a major lesson on layering. It’s the only way you’re ever going to survive here.”

  Nathan scoffs. “You Californians and your cold intolerance. Such wimps.”

  “Well excuse me for not being born with antifreeze in my veins,” Brie says as she grabs my other two bags from the ground. “Totally not my fault my parents didn’t want to raise me in a frozen wasteland.”

  “Come on, Brie, it’s not that bad here,” Nathan says. “You know the teachers only start eating the freshmen when they get snowed in for longer than twenty days.”

  Brie swats at Nathan’s arm and says to me, “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he didn’t get to go to school at Harting.”

  “Fifteen essays a semester? Yeah, I’m happy I passed that one up. You smart kids are crazy.” Nathan hesitates for a moment, then says to me, “Hey, I’ve got to take off now.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, hang on a sec.” I rest my cane against the side of the taxi and dig through my backpack, pulling out my wallet. I quickly count out the fare, along with a forty dollar tip, and press it into Nathan’s hand before he can protest.

  He raises an eyebrow, clearly thinking it’s a mistake, but I just shrug and don’t take it back. Every month, I get a small check from the stock photo website where I sell some of my old photography as prints. Mom helped me set up the account my sophomore year of high school, saying it made me a true professional. The income I make off my photography isn’t much, but ever since the accident, it hasn’t felt right to keep it for myself. So I’ve started giving the money away, usually to local charities, but sometimes just as big tips to people who deserve it more than I do. I figure Nathan fits the profile well enough, as a hard-working dude trying to earn his way into school.

  He gives me a salute and a grateful smile as he tucks the money in his pocket and slams the trunk of the taxi closed. “Good meeting you, Lea,” he says, climbing back in the front. “And see you around, Brie.”

  I carefully balance my smallest bag and my cane as I step onto the pathway, giving Nathan space to pull out. The ground is slick with melted snow, and even though there’s no real ice at the moment, I have to concentrate to keep my balance.

  He’s hardly started to pull away from the parking space when Brie grabs my shoulder, making me wobble for a moment. “Oh my god, isn’t he adorable?” she says. “I totally have a crush on him.”

  I return Nathan’s wave as he pulls out of the lot, and a smile inches its way across my lips. “You don’t say.”

  Brie blushes harder, but doesn’t even try to hide her grin. “I know, it’s totally obvious, right? Everyone’s always teasing me about it, but I can’t help it. He’s just dreamy, you know?”

  I can’t help it. I cough up a small laugh, and it’s such a foreign sensation that I nearly choke.

  Brie’s forehead crinkles. “What? You don’t think he’s hot?”

  “No, no, he’s hot. Sweet, too. It’s just, uh, I didn’t think I’d be hearing the word ‘dreamy’ to describe a guy anytime soon. I thought I left that behind in California.”

  And in middle school, but I don’t add that part. If Brie’s attending Harting, chances are she’s not nearly as ditzy as she acts.

  She holds her hands up in mock surrender. “I can never catch a break around here with the accent.”

  I shrug. “I like it. It reminds me of some good parts of home.”

  One good part in particular. The part that’s currently hooked up to a bunch of hospital monitors and machines, when she should be enjoying her freshman year of high school.

  Brie picks up the rest of my luggage and nods toward the sidewalk she came sprinting down a few minutes earlier. “Come on, I’ll show you our room. All your other stuff got here yesterday, so it’s waiting there. By the way, did you pack a bunch of gold bars or something? Because I helped unload the boxes, and they’re ridiculously heavy.”

  “Those are probably all my books,” I say, hurrying to follow after her. Luckily, the path is cleared and not too icy, so walking isn’t much harder than usual. “Sorry, I know they’re crazy heavy. But I couldn’t just leave them behind.”

  “Oh my god, I am so glad. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my old roomie, but Nicole was totally a geek, and I’m just not into techy stuff. Books I get. Actually, I’m planning on minoring in Classic Lit when I hit college.” Brie offers me another grin, which she seems to have a never-ending supply of. “We’ll have to compare bookshelves.”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to reply before she starts rattling off explanations of various buildings as we pass them. Science lab, gymnasium, boys’ dorm, library, dining hall—which isn’t just called the “cafeteria,” of course, because Harting is far too sophisticated for such a mundane name. Brie points them out one by one, and even though I’m pretty familiar with the campus from the online tour, the refresher is welcome.

  By the time we make it to the girls’ dorm on the opposite side of campus, my arms are aching, but my heart rate has slowed to a nearly normal pace. So far, things are going surprisingly well.

  Brie holds open the door for me, and I repress a shudder as I limp through the tall, arched entrance. It reminds me too much of the doors leading into the courtroom that I spent most of last summer in.

  “Everyone’s at dinner now, but they’ll be back soon,” Brie says. “Do you want to head over to the dining hall and try to catch them before dinner’s over, or just crash here and wait?”

  “Wait, definitely,” I say. “It’s been a really long trip. But don’t feel like you have to stay with me.”

  She nods and leads me down a long hallway lined with doors. “Yeah, I get that. I’ll run over to the hall and bring you back something to eat.” She stops at a door marked with a placard that reads, “Brie Myers.” Under that, someone’s put a piece of duct tape over the bottom name and written “Lea Holder” in black sharpie.

  It’s a strange relief to see Dad’s last name. I’ve used my mom’s last name ever since I was little—we’ve both always been proud of her Spanish blood. But after the accident, it didn’t feel right identifying with my mom’s side of the family anymore. Besides, using Dad’s boring German name means there’s less of a chance of Seth Ashbury recognizing me. I had to use my legal name for my formal application to the school, of course, but I’ve asked to use “Lea Holder” for everything else. As far as Seth’s aware, the name of the gir
l involved in the accident was Leandra Alessio. Hopefully, using the combo of my nickname and Dad’s last name will be enough to fool him into thinking I’m someone completely different.

  Brie shoves open the door, exposing a surprisingly large room that’s absolutely pristine. I silently hope she isn’t usually this organized, because if there’s one thing I suck at, it’s keeping things tidy. Brie steps inside and sets my bags at the foot of the bed near the window. The nightstand beside it is completely empty, so I’m assuming that’s my side of the room. On the opposite side is Brie’s bed, which has a fluffy purple comforter pulled over the top and an assortment of nail polishes arranged on the nightstand. They’re color coded and aligned perfectly, and I cringe, realizing I’m sharing a dorm with a neat freak.

  The only part of the room that isn’t completely organized are the walls. Photos of foreign cities cover them, especially the area right around Brie’s bed. Paris, Rome, Athens, Sydney, Hong Kong, London... It looks like she’s scavenged the photos from dozens of different travel magazines.

  “You like to travel?” I ask as I step inside, setting my carry-on bag next to the others.

  Brie just shrugs. “I’ve never been outside of the States. But someday I will. It’d be cool to see these places for real, and not just inside magazines.” She steps up to a photo of the Parthenon and runs her fingertips over it. The way she stares longingly at the photo makes me wonder if she’s actually interested in exploring, or if she’s just looking to escape, like I have.

  Brie jerks her hand back suddenly, seeming to realize I’m staring at her, and nods to where her photos spill over to my side of the room. “I can move them, if you want.”

  I shake my head and sit on the edge of the bed, examining a series of images of the New Zealand coastline that’s above my nightstand. It’s masterful photography, the sort of work that makes me jealous of nature photographers and their gift for capturing the soul of lifeless landscapes.