The train ride to Paris is the opposite of the one we took to Barcelona. The sky is sunny, but our car is dark. We hold hands, we don’t let go, but our grasp still feels like that. Like grasping. Like we’re trying to hold on to something that’s slipping away. Neither of us speaks of the thing that we fear is about to happen. I cry, and Josh holds me. It was selfish to think about my problems first. What he’s facing is much, much worse.
Our dread and terror grow. We’re almost back to the dormitory when Josh can’t take it any longer. He pulls me into someone’s private garden. There’s a pair of French students on lounge chairs, smoking clove cigarettes and soaking in the last warm rays of the year. They hardly even blink at us.
“I want you to know that I love you,” Josh says. “And I want to be with you. No matter what happens.”
My eyes fill back with tears. “Don’t say that.”
“It might happen.”
“Don’t say that!”
His shell is cracking. “I love you. Do you still love me?”
“How could you ask me that?” The change in Josh’s demeanour is frightening. It’s as if he could shatter at any moment. “Of course I love you. This hasn’t changed anything.”
“But it was my fault. This whole weekend was my idea.” He’s breathing too fast, and his eyes aren’t focusing. He’s having a panic attack.
“Hey. Hey.” I wrap my arms around him and place my head against his chest. “I wanted to go. It was my decision, too.”
But he can only cling to me. His fingers grip my shoulders so hard that it hurts.
“I love you,” I say quietly. “I have always loved you.”
His heart rate slows. And then again. “What do you mean? Always?”
I pull back to meet his gaze. I hold it, steady. “I mean that you never have to worry about me leaving you, because I’ve been in love with you since our freshman year.”
My confession leaves him stunned.
“There’s no story,” I say. “I saw you one day, and I just knew.”
Josh stares at me. He looks inside of me. And then he kisses me with more passion than he’s ever kissed me with before. It gives us the strength to face our future. It gives us the strength to return to our dorm. And it gives us the strength to knock on Nate’s door.
Unfortunately, Nate doesn’t open it.
Mrs. Wasserstein does.
Chapter nineteen
“I had to catch a flight, and I still beat you here. Outstanding.” Mrs. Wasserstein throws up her hands in anger. Nate stands behind her, tense, a prisoner of his own apartment.
Josh is in shock.
“Do you realize what an inconvenience this is?” she continues. “Being called overseas one week before the election? Do you even care?” Mrs. Wasserstein is petite, much shorter than I’d realized, though you’d never dwell on it. Her presence is huge. She looks as strong as she does on camera, but – in this moment – far more frightening. She sizes me up with hazel eyes that are startlingly familiar. “And you must be Isla.”
My name sounds as unwelcome as I feel. My eyes drop to the floor. “Hello.”
Josh stands partially in front of me, shielding me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“You will be.”
Nate steps in. “I’m glad you guys made it home safely. Isla—”
“We have an appointment early tomorrow morning with the head of school,” Mrs. Wasserstein says.
A catch in my throat. “All of us?”
“No.” She frowns. “My son and I.”