Page 98 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
Same with academic probation. He probablywouldhire a tutor with money we don’t have or talk to my professors or get me on some sort of plan or schedule to catch up. He’d treat me like I’m a broken thing to be fixed. His problem to solve. The way I’ve always been.
I want to be something different, even if I don’t know what that is yet.
Worst of all, it would be letting everyone down. I think of all the people staring at me at the show last night. The comments on the Legacy Lore posts.
My kids looked up to you!
I can’t let that happen. I pull on a T-shirt and black running shorts.
“Is this really what you want?” she asks.
How can she understand me so well but not understand this? I’m going to a college that people would kill to get into and am on one of the top teams in the nation. It’s not about what Iwant. It’s about what’s best. But she’s not deterred by my silence.
“Don’t you think your dad would doanythingto help you if he knew how miserable you are?” she asks, zipping up her jeans.
I spin around to face her. “Like you know how miserable I am?”
But she doesn’t flinch or back away at my tone. Her eyes narrow. “I do. Because I know you. And I havehoursof footage of you doing exactly this. Pushing yourself too hard. Ignoring every warning sign from your body, your mind. This”—she says, gesturing to me—“is what you do when you’re afraid you’re not enough.”
A headache is forming at my temples. In the ensuing silence, I pull on my watch and zip up a hoodie, avoiding her gaze the entire time.
Her voice is barely above a whisper when she says, “You’re disappearing.”
Good, I think.
She steps closer and hooks her hands in the front pockets of my hoodie to pull me closer. “I won’t let you.”
I stare deep into the dark green pools of her eyes that have always tugged too much truth out of me. They’re full of determination. Certain she can fix this. Maybe even fix us.
I want to believe it’s possible. But how can I when I don’t know that she’d be there—really be there—for the fallout? Who’s to say she wouldn’t dump me out of nowhere or block me again?
“Clara, I don’t know if I’ll ever run well again. My grades are shit, I’m sofuckingtired, everything I planned has hit this total dead end—”
“A detour,” she interjects.
“What?”
“Maybe it’s a detour,” she repeats softly. “But it’s not a dead end.”
My breath shudders in response to the echo of the words I said to her once. The hypocrisy is almost too much to bear. She was so upset when her plans didn’t work out that she broke my heart on the side of the road. But I’m supposed to feelgreatthat everything I’ve worked for could be over if I don’t get my shit together?
“So—what? Are you saying I should quit?” I challenge.
She inhales, like she’s mustering some serious strength when she says, “I’m not saying that. But ‘quitting’ isn’t a dirty word, Reid. It’s always an option.”
Anger rises in me, unbidden but unstoppable. “You would know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My reply comes out more forcefully than I expect. “You quit us without flinching.”
The blow lands, and hurt flashes across her features. Hurt shedoesn’t try to disguise. That throws me off more than anything else has this morning.
“Is that really what you think?” she asks.
It doesn’t sound defensive. It sounds… sad.
“What was I supposed to think?”
