[sic]

18. Hate in Healthy Doses

It’s my turn to be stunned, but only for a moment. “I don’t think your life has gone well enough where you can sit and tell me I’m doing things wrong, that your way of living is better. I watch you, Mr. Aschen, during these sessions. I’ve watched you for years—and I’ve never thought you were someone I’d call content. Tell me, aren’t some things worth letting go?”

*

Senior Year, October

I sat inside our small trailer and flipped across the six channels available via our aluminum-foil-covered antennae. I seemed lost now that I wasn’t It. Emily took something real from me.

So, when a light knock rapped across the trailer door, I felt a bit blessed. A girly knock, weak and anxious—a knock from someone who might bolt at any second. Definitely not Emily.

I rushed to the door before my dad lumbered up and scared my guest off, but found he hadn’t woken anyway. From the timid nature of the knock, I secretly hoped Nora would be at my door. I smoothed my hair before opening our trailer to the world.

Cameron. Not at all who I’d expected. More strawberry than blonde, her hair curled downward in complex ringlets, straightening out near their tip like a stunt plane tumbling through the sky before leveling out. She wore a long, green coat made from loose-knit wool and underneath that, a black sweater and blue jeans. Every inch of flesh covered, like the slender teen was afraid of being attractive.

Her attempts at concealing herself were futile: there was no hiding the near-supernatural vibrancy of Cameron. Voluptuous curves, tan skin, hair ruby and gold like royal jewelry, full, pink lips, a smattering of freckles. I smelled sunflowers and daisies around her, even in the winter. She looked…fertile. Like she could kiss a corpse and bring it back to life.

“I need you to take this knife out of my hand,” Cameron said, staring directly ahead, eyes unfocused.

I looked down at my friend’s hand. I’d been so distracted by that radiant face I hadn’t noticed the small dagger clutched in her white-knuckled grip, blade extended and pointing toward me.

“What the hell?” I asked, stepping back, already figuring the best way to defend myself in case she charged.

“I can’t give this knife up,” Cameron whispered. I barely heard her over the pounding of my pulse.

“What, is it glued to your palm?” I lowered my voice, glancing back at my snoring dad.

“Not literally,” Cameron murmured. “I got tagged.”

“What are you talking about? Just drop the knife on the ground. I’ll pick it up.” I was wary of being anywhere near her. The blade was only a few inches long, about the length of her hand—but long enough to kill me.

“I’m having a very rough day, and I need help,” Cameron said, thick lips wrapping around each word. “I’m going to tell you a story, and then I’m going to give you this knife. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation. “Of course I’ll help you. Come in. Just…put that thing away, would you?”

“I can’t. I have to give it to you. But first, I need to tell you why. Quick, before I change my mind.”

I didn’t want to turn my back to her, so I tried to seem calm as I walked backward into the center of the trailer and motioned her into my room, extending my arms like a gentleman.

I offered her my bed, the only surface in the tiny room suitable for sitting. I perched up on the other corner, far away from the knife as possible.