|photo by Maximilien T. Scharner from Unsplash|
For the first time, the sight of Manhattan from twenty thousand feet makes me cry. My tears come with shuddery intakes of breath that I release with these oh-so-embarrassing hiccupping sobs that compel the grandmotherly woman sitting next to me dig frantically through her purse until she's able to produce one crumpled tissue.
I guess deep down I thought Conner would come for me. That maybe he'd convince Chase to give him my flight information and then just show up and say something to make me change my mind.
When we land in Virginia I turn on my phone. Conner's not a fan of aviation. He would want to know I arrived safely. That's my justification for breaking my own rule.
I type: Touchdown.
His reply is nearly instantaneous: Whew!
I write: The Wicked Witch is dead.
I hope you mean that figuratively.
Yes. Auntie Em and I parted on good terms. How are you?
Severe chest pain. Difficulty breathing. Total lack of motivation. You?
I smile through a new batch of tears and type: Same.
Are you repealing the no-cell-contact decree?
No. I think we've already said everything—except goodbye.
I can't say that.
I understand but I have to. Goodbye, Scarecrow.
My phone buzzes again. Conner has sent me the sweetest picture: an off-centered close up of us kissing that makes my heart ache. I send him a gif of that iconic scene from the Wizard Of Oz where Dorothy kisses her Scarecrow's cheek.
"I'll miss you most of all," I whisper and the sobbing starts again.
The woman beside me pats my shoulder.
* * *
Helen doesn't come to the airport with Dad, and when we get home, I can tell they've been arguing. I write a text message in my head: Dear Scarecrow, I was wrong about the Wicked Witch. She's alive and well, living in my house. Kansas=Hell.
The bad witch follows me to my bedroom, hesitates in my doorway. She wants to talk. I want to sleep and dream myself back to Oz.
The decision is announced with a sigh. Helen crosses the threshold, unzips my suitcase and unloads my things, making orderly stacks across the end of my bed. I don't interfere until she uncovers the black and white shoebox. This I take from her hands and hold against my chest.
Helen sighs again. "Emily said you couldn't stop crying long enough to go out for dinner last night."
The announcement brings another round of tears. I think of what Chase said about dehydration and dig through my carry-on bag for the bottle of water I bought at the airport.
"She said you act like your heart is broken." Her tone is too soft, too maternal. "Is she right?"
I don't want to need Helen right now. But her evil motherly magic is strong and I don't have the energy to fight her off. I lay the shoebox on my desk, go back into the bag and pull out the framed photograph. Without looking at it, I hand it to her.
Now is definitely not the time to admit that she was right about me and Glenn. And I'll probably never share the details of the "something more" I found with Conner. So I simply say, "You were right about Chase's friend."
Her eyebrows hitch as she takes in the shirtless duo. She places the picture on my bedside table, face down. I guess she noticed the part where I couldn't bear to look at him.
"It hurts," I say and Mom wraps me in a hug that says she understands.
* * *
Sunday morning, I wake to find my best friend sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed, holding one of my silver shoes. She lifts it into a beam of sunlight, revealing the slightest hint of metallic sparkle. "This reminds me of an idea I had...sometime after Thanksgiving. Before Christmas. Want to hear it? It might make you smile."
I nod as I sit up, rubbing my eyes. The more Megan talks the less I have to.
"I was feeling a little sorry for Glenn—I know, don't say it." She holds up her palm before I can think to say anything. "It didn't take me long to figure out that it was less about me wanting you to get back with Glenn and more about me just wanting you to come home. So, I got over it."
"Okaaay."
"Okay, so I was thinking that Glenn needed to redeem himself with some kind of grand gesture. Long story short, I decided that Glenn could be Glinda."
"Oh my god—I had the same thought."
"Yeah? Did you imagine him in pink sparkles and a crown—floating in a giant bubble?
"No," I say, laughing so hard I nearly fall off my bed.
"It would've been epic—him showing up in New York with a pair of red shoes, declaring himself Glinda and telling you there's no place like home. You would've laughed your ass off like you are right now. Maybe the two of you would have laughed together."
"He would've told you to go to hell," I say. After I stop snorting.
"Yeah, probably. Have you talked to him?"
"I don't think he even knows I'm here."
"Do you think you might give him another chance?"
I groan and collapse back into my bed. "I thought you came here to cheer me up."
"Nope." She scoots off the bed, puts the shoe back on my dresser where she found it and pulls something out of her back pocket. "Your new school doesn't require a uniform so Helen gave me her credit card."
"Whaaat?" I say, sitting up.
"That's right, missy. Get your ass out of bed. We're going to Richmond for some retail therapy."
* * *
Helen takes a personal day on Tuesday and both my parents drive me to Chesapeake for my entrance interview at Collegiate. We've driven past the school plenty of times, so no surprise there. The headmaster is a normal-looking old guy who dresses as such. There's a very conservative dress code for the students—but like Megan said, no uniforms. The school colors are blue and white and the mascot is supposed to have wings. Go Hawks.
I hug Mom goodbye first and then Dad. "Would you please ask Glenn to come pick me up?" I whisper before I let him go. "Tell him, no pressure if he's not ready to talk."
Dad nods at this and turns me over to my student tour guide, Amanda.
"I'm only sixteen," she says, as she reads over my schedule. "Skipped eighth grade. I'm kind of a math gee—Hey! We're in AP Algebra together." She looks up, stars in her eyes. "And AP Trig."
"Math geek," I confirm.
"You're a Mason transfer, right?"
"Uh...yeah."
"I'll try not to hold that against you," she says, failing to deliver the line without cracking a smile.
"Thanks." I say, smiling back at her.
"Do you sail?"
"I used to—a little."
Mostly, I watched Glenn.
"You should join the sailing club," she says. "It's not competitive, just fun. And there are so many cute boys. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Tears pool on my bottom eyelids.
"Oh," Amanda says, looking at the bank of lockers to my right. They're grey. Normal. "Um...have you sent out college applications?"
"Yes. I've actually already been accepted to one of them. Virginia Tech."
"Me too! But it's sort of my backup plan."
"What's your first choice?"
"I applied to Cornell," she says and she bites her lip. "It'd have to be a full-ride, though. And I don't think that's going to happen."
"Same here."
"OhmyGod!" she squeals. "What a coincidence, right?"
"Yeah." A coincidence I can live with.
At the end of the day, I spot Glenn in the pickup line. This brings an end to my longest tear-free run of the day: two hours and thirteen minutes. I manage to dry up before I climb into the truck but he knows I'm upset and he gives me all the time I need to find my voice.
"My schedule is pretty much the same," I say when we're about fifteen minutes from home. "We're reading the Canterbury Tales in English Lit—which sucks because I already slogged through Beowulf."
He nods at this, opens his mouth to say something, reconsiders. Sighs.
"I hated that last conversation we had on my front porch," I say. "I've replayed it in my head about a thousand times—you know, differently. Unfortunately, it didn't get a whole lot better. It was kind of an impossible decision to make."
"But ultimately, you decided to come home."
"Yeah, but that's only because I couldn't stay there."
He considers this for a mile or two. I don't try to read his face.
"I had another embarrassing conversation with my mother the day you left," he says. "I get why you were so angry with me."
"Really? Would you mind explaining it to me?"
He gives me the are-you-serious eyebrow lift and I nod. "My anger felt a little irrational but you know, difficult to ignore," I say. "I really would like to hear your mom's explanation."
"She said I didn't have the right to ask if you'd been with someone. You didn't ask me that question three years ago. You were just happy to have me back."
I nod my agreement to this. But I know that's not the only reason for my anger. I resented Glenn for putting me in the position to fall in love with someone I would eventually have to give up.
But the truth is I didn't give Conner up for Glenn. Or for Paige. I gave him up because I need to take care of myself.
"So moving forward," Glenn says. "There's an oyster roast at The Point next Saturday."
I shake my head. "I'm not ready, Glenn." I don't know if I'll ever be ready.
He doesn't talk again until we cross into Haddock County. "We're still friends, right?" he asks, with the sweetest glint of determination.
I smile for him because I know that's what he needs from me: a little hope. And I guess I've learned my lesson. I can't predict the future. Maybe Glenn and I can try to be friends. Maybe that will lead us back to where we used to be.
No, Dorothy. It will have to be someplace different. You can't go home again.
"We could go as a group," he says. "You, me, Megan..."
"And Jordan Weaver."
He raises his eyebrows so high I almost smile. "Really?" he asks.
"Yep."