to her, to everything. I felt alive.
Did I feel this way because the meds had finally worn off? Was I, for the first time in a year, experiencing life, pure and unfiltered?
Was this how she had felt on her good days?
I wanted to sustain that feeling, to grab it and pull it toward me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, as if I could hold it in my lungs.
Dad coughed. I opened my eyes and looked down at him.
“They’re right, you know,” I said. “About seeing a doctor.”
He patted my hand. “When we get to Las Vegas, I’ll go and see Dr. Shah. She knows me. She’ll give us a break on the fee.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Half an hour later, I was sitting with Liam on an old railroad tie a few yards from the RV. Dad was sleeping, the parking lot had cleared out, and we were alone.
It was freezing outside, but under my thin hoodie my skin was burning. I moved closer to him until our arms touched and wondered if he could feel the heat. The big neon SUNNY’S ROADHOUSE sign buzzed, then went out, and my body thrummed as if it had absorbed the electricity.
“Now that it’s over, are you freaking out?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I feel really good, actually.”
“Well, you deserve to,” Liam said. “You were incredible up there.”
I didn’t think I could smile any wider. It was like he knew exactly what to say to me.
“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” he went on. “It was like you were—”
I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.
He froze for a moment—and then he kissed me back. The warmth in my skin seemed to spread inward, heating me to the core. I put my hands on the sides of his face; his skin was cold by comparison. I inched forward, pressing against him, trying to get closer.
A second later, he pushed me away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I just . . . I need a minute.” Liam bowed his head and took a few deep breaths.
My own breath was coming fast and heavy. I wanted to kiss him again. His Mustang was the last car left in the lot; I had an impulse to lead him across the field and push him into the back seat. I looked at his face. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and the kissing, and his expression was a mixture of want and confusion.
“Why did you stop?” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all. It’s just . . . I feel sort of weird. I mean, your dad just passed out.”
My insides seemed to shrink; he was right. Less than an hour ago, I thought my dad might be dead—and now all I wanted to do was make out with Liam. Hard. Embarrassment climbed up my throat. What was wrong with me?
And then it hit me: Of course I felt good. I felt too good. I hadn’t been brilliant onstage, I hadn’t tapped some vein of hidden talent, and this wasn’t a normal postperformance adrenaline high. I was just up.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Liam said.
I stared out at the dark field. This good feeling I had—it was an illusion. A lie. A symptom.
“Ellie?”
“I’m . . .” I swallowed the word. I didn’t want to hear it in my own voice. “When I’m up, like I am now, everything feels great. Better than great. It’s like being on a lucky streak. Only I can’t leave the casino with my winnings; I have to keep playing until I lose it all. It’s part of my . . .” Senselessly, I gestured at my head. “Performing triggers it, like taking a drug. But then I crash, and it’s . . .” I pressed my lips together and looked away. I didn’t want him to see my face. “It’s what killed my mom.”
I still hadn’t said the words. Bipolar. Suicide. I expected Liam to ask for an explanation. But he just said, “I’m sorry,” and put his arm around me.
He was too perfect. Something had to be wrong with him.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I was a kid when it happened.”
Liam nodded, then just sat there with me for a minute, silent, maybe waiting for me to go on, maybe waiting for the right moment to disentangle himself from the crazy girl and escape.
I blurted, “I’m going to California.”
Liam raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
I stared down at my stage shoes, now