power bar glows red as I read her message, my momentary relief at seeing her name spiraling into dread.
Nina, call me when you get this. Anytime. Day or night. It’s important.
I read it once. Then again. Then a few more times.
Something’s very wrong.
I go to dial home, but my cell dies after the first ring. Shoot. I swivel off the door, my too-tight skirt dragging along the rough wood, and a nail catches the thin fabric. If Sam didn’t leave me, if Mom didn’t incite DEFCON 1 panic, I would stop and gingerly remove the nail lodged in my skirt. But Sam did, and I’m near hysterical, so I jerk away. My body moves as predicted; my skirt, however, does not. It seems fate has decided I’ve gone too long incident-free, and I need to be reminded I’ll never rid myself of the ability to achieve greatness in ridicule.
My skirt tears. In half. Oh, God.
The stretchy material practically disintegrates, leaving me in a sheer tank top, black bra, and black thong underwear. A fist thumps on the door, and the handle wiggles. I should move. I should breathe. I should do something. All I do is stare at the tattered fabric on the floor. If my phone were working, I could call Leigh for help. If I weren’t paralyzed with shame, I could find a way to clutch the material and exit the bathroom with some decency. I can’t even come up with Choice C.
The knob wiggles again.
I lean back against the door and slide down its length, my shredded skirt protecting my butt from the nasty floor littered with crumpled paper towels. Tucking my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them. The tears fall. They stream. I try to tune out Mom’s text and Sam’s words, but it’s all too much. I glance at the nail beside my head and sigh. I may have survived paragliding, but I’m still me.
Maybe the loner locked in her bedroom is the girl I’m supposed to be. Traveling to the other side of the world hasn’t made me any less of a freak. All it’s done is given me a taste of normal, which amplifies my crazy. I wish I were at home with Mom and my books and my computer. Mom.
Through my next sob, I flash to last night, to Leigh, Bruno, Callum, and Brianne laughing. With me. I wipe my eyes. They saw exactly who I am, freak flag and all, and they didn’t care, didn’t judge. They didn’t mock me. If I walk out of this bathroom half naked, I’m pretty sure they’ll be as cool. My other option is to stay in this grimy prison, wasting away while I wallow in self-pity. The sound of passing gas floats through the wall from the bathroom beside mine, and I stand up. Streaking through a bar full of guys is preferable to listening to that concert. And I need to call home.
Stretching the black fabric awkwardly around my hips, I turn the knob, shove the door, and face my humiliation with my head held high.
Twenty-one
Sam
I’m almost out of gas. The needle hovers on empty¸ the red light on the dash glaring at me for thirty minutes now. I drove two hours after leaving the bar, slept for four at the side of the road, and it’s been another four of eating pavement since then, but I can’t stop. If I take my foot off the gas, I’ll come undone. Unravel. Every mile I put between Nina and me, it gets harder to keep it together.
Leigh’s not helping, either. Her first text came about an hour on the road.
You’re a selfish asshole.
Her second one was classic Leigh.
If I ever see you again, I will carve out your spleen with a spoon.
The next few message had me pressing harder on the gas.
Get back here. Your spleen will have to wait.
I’m not fucking around, Sam. Get your ass here. Now.
Nina’s a mess. She needs you.
All I do is drive faster. I keep replaying the moment Nina looked at me, defiant, telling me she wasn’t sure she wanted to move to the States. It cut. Deep. And we’ve only known each other a couple of months. Add a few decades filled with memories, laughs, kids, fights, anniversaries, and birthdays, and losing her wouldn’t just hurt, it would destroy me. I may not have known why she was pissed with me, but I knew I had to get away.