Kit

Safe to say a low-drama life of voracious reading didn’t prepare me for the harsh reality that developing curves could lead to terrified sobbing in a gas station bathroom. “One thing led to another,” as they say. But I have to stop dwelling and analyzing. I roll my shoulders to reset. Just pack.

I glance to my bedroom window, visible from the driveway. I’m itching to run up there and throw a few of my book friends into a box—Alina Starkov, Anne Elliott, Hazel, Lara Jean. Do I have human friends? Sure, but my book friends wouldn’t judge me for packing three types of graph paper. Besides, they're the only ones who haven’t let me down. Then again, maybe they have. For all their warnings and promises, they never prepared me for what happened last year. They led me to believe that a pretty face and a curvy body would make my life ten times better, even a hundred. But all that glow-up magic? It’s a lie.

Mom emerges from the other side of the car with her telepathic look. “I’ll bring you some water, sweetie.”

The intense Colorado sun has me squinting like I’m in an old Western. I should grab my sunglasses, but any distraction right now is risky. There’s too much to figure out, too much to avoid. I force myself to pace as I focus on the task in front of me. For once it’s useful that I’m incapable of simultaneously walking and thinking hard.

A lady and her shuffling basset hound distract my manic steps to the sidewalk. “Aw, can I pet your dog?”

“Surely. This is Stella. And I’m Judy.”

“I’m Kit.”

Stella’s long ears and droopy eyes make her a candidate for Monday morning’s mascot, but her tail wags when I squat. She lowers to a sit and plops over to make her belly available to me.

I chuckle and scratch it. “Are you enjoying your walk, Stella?”

“We saw a mountain lion hiding in the red rocks on our last walk,” Judy says. “She’s still spooked.”

“Poor doggie. That’s so scary.” Am I projecting onto this dog? I shake my head and pat her belly. “Don’t worry, Miss Judy will keep you safe.”

Judy’s wise smile wrinkles her face. “Do you have a dog?”

“No. And I leave for college tomorrow, so—”

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. Where are you headed?”

“This little school in East Texas.” Beyond weird that I enrolled somewhere I hadn’t heard of until a year ago. A full scholarship is certainly motivating.

“Well, enjoy the adventure.”

I send a wave and a warm smile I don’t feel. I’m not up for any more “adventures.” Last year was enough of a roller coaster for a lifetime. I open the back car door to Tetris my things into Dad’s Accord.

Mom’s still gone and, yep, I see her through the office window. She bends over laughing, hand on Dad’s stomach. With the pleased smirk of hitting his mark, he pulls her closer. My parents are disgusting. In the best way, of course. They’re like real life versions of Prince Derek and the Swan Princess—if Odette was spunkier and a redhead.

I flinch at the low purr of a sports car and snap toward the noise. But it’s not blue. Not even close. It’s not him. And just like that, it’s gone.

Mom reappears on the driveway and hands me a water bottle in silent communication. Nope, still don’t want to talk. I thank her and gulp down most of it.

Maverick saunters out and relieves me of the bottle.

I tilt my head, amused in advance at my brother’s forthcoming antics.

“You’ll need to save room for one more in the car.” He takes a swig.

Whenever I tell Mav he’s bossy, he corrects that he has “leadership qualities.” He and Mom both.

“Think you’ll take care of all those driving hours in one trip?” she asks him.

Ah. Mav’s license is now within reach.

“You know it, Mamacita.” He drapes his arm lazily around me, rocks his hip out, and imitates us in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. “Road trip!”

This kind of class-clown behavior is exactly what I need right now. I bump his hip with mine, sending a message. He knows and bumps me back. My eyes fill, and I squeeze him into a side-hug. He’s been taller than me for years and I’m still not used to it.

Take care of him, God? Both of them?

“Cool, guys. It’ll be fun.” He ambles toward the backyard, summer swag in full effect. Likely on his way to talk Grey into some mischief.

My crazy brothers. What a relief that they’re dudes. If they were girls, I’d constantly worry—

A slam of the car door reverberates, shaking me, pulling me down a mental black hole. Every muscle tenses. My arms curl around me. My eyes squeeze shut against the memory. It’s coming. Black clouds of fear pour in and cover everything with a vivid false reality. I smell rain. I hear the crunch of pavement. I feel the slosh under my feet. I’m living it again, running again.

The car door. Scrambling up. Forcing my legs faster. Lungs aching. Gas station lights.

I angrily paw at the tears falling and the wisps of fear that remain. Every time it’s so real. Three long months ago, and it still isn’t in the past. I crumple against the car and slide to the driveway, hugging my knees to my chest, as if making myself smaller could protect me.

Please make it stop. Please.

I’m always here, I feel God whisper.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Mom drops to her knees on the hot cement and cradles me. “The door. Was it the door again?”

I squeeze her arm. I hate that I’m like this now.

“Can we talk about it?” Quiet tears in her voice. “Are you okay?”

Under no circumstances will I talk about it. I know she loves me, but she can’t understand this. She just can’t. I shake my head and bury my face into her shoulder.

I want to pray, but I don’t know what to say.

I’m always here.

This move couldn’t come at a better time. Get me out of this town—to a place where memories are less likely, where my mind can start fresh. I need to be anywhere but here.