Olive knows who she is: a college dropout with an absent father and a disapproving mother.
She knows what she wants: to prove her mother wrong, show her that she can both follow her dreams of becoming a photographer and be successful.
But everythi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The wind battered Malcolm's face, numbing his nose and cheeks. He didn't take notice, even as his teeth chattered with cold.
January in Belborough was not a time when people wanted to be out and about. Blizzards struck often and unpredictably, rendering the weather forecast utterly useless. Even now, miniscule snowflakes tumbled from the sky, clustering around Malcolm's feet and wedging themselves into the boards of the bridge that he stood on.
Maybe if he stood here long enough, the snow would engulf him and he wouldn't have to go back to that wretched house.
He didn't hate his parents, and he knew that they didn't hate him. They hated his choices, even when they weren't his to make.
Was it really such an awful thing that he could fall in love with a boy? Not even that he had fallen for a boy, just the possibility. It didn't mean that he was going to end things with Suzie, but of course, that's what his parents took it as.
The snow was coming down heavier now, flakes landing on his burning skin and melting instantly.
Three weeks ago. That was when he had told his parents, and every day since then had been hell. When he had sat them down and told them, voice shaking, his mother had left the room and his father had just said, over and over, 'you don't know what you're doing. You're confused. You don't know . . .'
He had thought that would be it. They didn't accept it, so they would try their best to sweep it under the rug— essentially, pretend it never happened. He would have been able to handle that; should have been able to handle it.
But how long could he go without his father looking him in the eye? How long could he live with his mother looking at him like there was something wrong with him, like he was disgusting?
Maybe he was. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe his parents would be better off without him.
Maybe he'd be better off without his parents.
He gripped the railing, peering into the water. It was cold— cold enough to kill him within minutes.
The effort that it took to maintain even a C-average in all of his classes was too much; combine that with the crippling pressure that had been on him since he came out to his parents and he'd crumble. They were going to kick him out, he was sure of it. What would he do then? Better to bite the bullet now than face the humiliation later.
Malcolm didn't let himself think any further. If his thoughts got all muddied up now, he'd never be able to do it.
He squeezed his eyes closed, took a quick breath, and slid under the railing.
His stomach tightened for the brief second that he was suspended in air, but the fall was quick. The water was so cold he didn't feel it at first. It soaked his clothes and chilled him to the bone.
Malcolm exhaled, watching the bubbles float up to the surface. His lungs were starting to burn, followed by a panic-filled need to breathe— but this what he wanted. It was going to be over. No more stupid parents, no more stupid classes, no more Suzie.
No. No no nonono—
He didn't want to leave Suzie. How could he leave Suzie? Malcolm kicked his feet and stretched a hand towards the sky as if it could save him.
But darkness came fast and heavy, and all was lost.
