dying. I keep trying to pull myself up, but I always sink back down. And because absolutely no one in the country was rooting for us as a couple or could see us together, I can’t believe that anyone would understand.
I’m alone. Completely alone. And maybe that’s how I belong.
My phone pings with another voice mail message from a 508 area code. I recognize the number. It’s my father. Knowing I can’t feel any worse than I already do, I press a button and listen to it:
“Merry Christmas, Nell. I . . . your mother and I want you to know . . . we saw the show. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. We just want you to know . . . if you want to come home, we’re here. We’re here for you, Nell.”
I swallow back a sob.
Home. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with my life. Maybe instead of coming all the way down here, I should’ve just stayed home and did what my father wanted me to do. Maybe he was right all along.
As I’m deleting emails asking me to come for interviews, I stop when I see one from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. I’d interviewed for an English literature professorship there back in November. I open it and read with widening eyes.
Dear Dr. Carpenter:
We would very much like to welcome you to the faculty . . .
I stare at it, and suddenly I know my heart isn’t all that damaged, because it starts to beat again. Maybe not the same or as fast as it did before.
Maybe I won’t be happy. But I guess I can survive. I guess that’s what I have to do.
Just then, someone knocks on the door. “Nell?” It’s Courtney. “Please come out. It’s Christmas. I made dinner.”
I climb out of my covers, and she seems shocked when I open the door. She takes me in, and her eyes go sad. “Oh, Nell. You look terrible.”
I smooth down my hair. “Thanks?”
“Oh, honey. It’s been a week. Don’t you want to talk about it?”
I go to my bed and collapse into it, face-first. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She follows me and sits on my bed, her eyes skimming over the laptop. “What’s this? You got a job? In Massachusetts?”
I nod, face still buried in my blankets.
She looks horrified. “You’re not going to take it, are you?”
I swallow. “I think I am.”
Her face pales. “No!” she shouts out. “But . . . what about . . .”
“I think I have to. I think it’s the only way I can move past this.”
“Past what? The fact that you’re in love with Luke Cross?”
I jump up and shake my head adamantly. “I wasn’t in love with him, I—”
“Right. You’ve been moping in bed for a week over someone you don’t love. Sure.”
I scowl at her. “I had a virus!”
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms. “Right. Come on, Nell. I know you. Since you came back from filming you’ve been a totally different person.”
“No, I haven’t,” I mumble. I’ve been a wreck since I got back from Maui, because all I’ve been able to think of is Luke, Luke, Luke. It’s a wonder she didn’t call someone to take me away to a padded room, considering how many times in the past two months I’ve caught myself staring off into space, flushed and feverish with thoughts of his body against mine. “What does that even mean?”
“I mean that the Nell I used to know was so afraid of anything if it wasn’t found between the pages of a book. But look at you now!” She motions to the laptop. “You’re the girl who was scared to death at the thought of lecturing a classroom. And now you’re applying to be a professor at all these colleges. I’ve seen a girl who is happier. More adventurous. More outgoing. More relaxed. And at first I thought it was the game that made you that way. But as I watched the show, I knew it. It was the man.”
All right. I figured it would be obvious to Courtney once she saw the show just how infatuated I’d become with Luke. He clearly had every woman in the country wrapped around his finger, and they didn’t get to sleep in his arms every night. I’m not ashamed to have fallen under his spell; any other woman would have too. “Fine. I love him. So what?”
She looks at me like I’m utterly insane. “It’s not just that. He made