Page 90 of The Design of Goodbye
“You okay?” asked Taylor, handing him his helmet. She was holding onto his bike as he straddled it because he was fumbling with every movement he made.
“I need to leave.” His voice cracked. He didn’t bother to snap his helmet on.
“Liam,” I said softly, “please come to my car so you can calm down.”
“I don’t need to calm down!”
I flinched but held my ground. “I can help you—”
“I’m not your project, Madison!” he shouted, hands tightening on his handlebars as he wobbled dangerously to the side. Taylor tightened her grip on his bike. “I never asked for your help. I don’t need it.”
“Liam, I—” He’d never spoken to me like that, and his words gutted me.
“Leave me alone,” he said. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”
Then he was off. Everyone watched. He struggled, his bike swaying too sharply to the left and then too sharply to the right. Somehow, he managed to stay on, and he disappeared amongst a grouping of trees.
“I need to go,” I said, gathering everything that’d fallen out of his bike’s basket. Especially his sketchbook, which I tucked safely against my chest.
A hand touched my shoulder. “He didn’t mean it,” whispered Taylor sympathetically. “He’s embarrassed.”
“Maybe.” He’d never lied to me, though, so I didn’t know what to believe. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Softly, Taylor said, “You can’t follow him.”
Ihadto.
“Why not?”
“He needs time to recover.”
I looked down. Sure enough, my tights were ripped. “But he...but I...”
“I know. He needs time.”
I didn’t want to agree. I wanted to get in my car and find him, but as much as I hated it, Taylor was right.
“Okay.” I stood there, lost.
“Hey,” she started nervously, “I have plans to meet up with someone for coffee. Come with me?”
“Really?” I asked, heart thumping hopefully because the last thing I could handle right now was being alone.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to come. I’ll drive. You’re still shaken up.”
chapter thirty-one
It was dark and snowing by the time Taylor parked in East Reed’s parking lot.
“Thanks for letting me hang out with you and Amy,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. “She’s really nice.”
Amy was more thannice. She was passionate and friendly, and having coffee with her and Taylor had been exactly what I needed.
Taylor turned off the music that’d been softly playing in the car. “She is.”
“She’s an amazing ballerina, too.”
Taylor had shown me clips of Amy’s ballet performances. While we’d watched with rapt fascination, Amy had cowered at our tiny coffee table, cheeks flaming red.
