Page 118 of Find My Way Down to You

At the start of senior year, I had a mandatory meeting with my school counselor. I’d barely survived junior year. My parents wanted to ensure I graduated.

The entire time, I sat quietly in her office. Nodding as she went over the stages of grief. All I wanted was to leave. Escape. But as she talked, I could identify the stages I’d already experienced, even if they weren’t in order:

Denial, which lasted about thirty seconds after standing over London’s corpse.

Depression, the unending swell of it.

I was a long way from bargaining and acceptance, but the feeling I was avoiding most was anger.

Before the accident, I was hopeful. Nice. Reasonable. Patient. I was who I thought people wanted me to be.

I kept whatever else brewed beneath that silent.

Not anymore. I’m too drained, too hurt, too broken to be Before August.

“I made a lot of promises,” I spit. “To you. My parents. Myself.Him.” My shaking hands ball into tight fists. “Guess what? Not everything in life goes the way we want. Sometimes, the choice isn’t ours.”

She blinks, stunned.

“You haven’t given me space or time, Max,” I continue. “You’re always pushing me. What? My grief isn’t moving fast enough for you? For anyone?”

Her teeth clench. “We’re trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for anyone’s help, Dr.Cho!”

She recoils. That look is in her eyes again:Who are you?

But it’s more than that. There’s rage and betrayal. Her voice comes low and uneven. “I miss my best friend.”

The flame inside me burns away the edges of Before. “I miss him too,” I say hoarsely. “But he’s not here anymore.”

Max pushes off the door and storms past me.

I wait for a beat, then turn around. I think she might be there. The Max who came to visit me every day. When I couldn’t get out of bed. Who made sure I finished high school.Who asked me to move in with her and carried a mattress up three flights of stairs so I’d have a new home.

It’s not Max, though.

It’s Angela. A mix of concern and pity scrunches her expression.

I reach for a bracelet that’s not there. Shame tenses my spine. To my feet, I say, “Sorry. I swear I’m not like this.”

Another lie. Thisiswho I am, isn’t it? This is what I’ve let grief make me.

“August.” Angela’s in front of me now. She squeezes my biceps, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “Go home. Take the day off.”

“But my shift.”

“We’ve got it covered.”

Panic floods my throat. “Angela, I need my job.”

I can’t go back to my parents. To that house. I don’t know where I stand with Max. If she’s already mentally started packing what little I have into cheap cardboard boxes. But if I have a job, I can at least find somewhere else to live.

“No one’s firing you. It’s okay,” Angela promises with a sad smile. “Whatever it is you’re dealing with is bigger than pizza. And I can’t have you feeling this way in front of my customers.”

I want to tell her I always feel like this. That it’s not going anywhere.

Instead, I nod.