And that’s a good thing, because right now I’m shaking so hard I need something solid to lean on.
I can feel Nolan’s breath on my face. As he leans down, his tawny hair falls across his amber eyes. I inhale. The camera bumps up against my chest between us. But when his thumb traces my jaw, every muscle in my body stiffens as I try to control my gag reflex. Nolan drops his hand and steps back.
“Why don’t you want me to touch you?”
I shake my head. There’s no way to tell him that being this close to him makes me feel sick without sending the wrong message.
As if reading my thoughts, he prompts, “You can tell me the truth.”
I nod. When I told Mom everything, she said that she’d love me the same no matter what, and I felt about a zillion times better than I had before. Plus, from the look on Nolan’s face, it’s clear that the truth he’s expecting is for me to tell him that I don’t like him that way, that I want to be just friends.
I’d rather he know the truth than believe I don’t want him.
So I tell him. But Nolan doesn’t look relieved. He backs away, one foot behind the other, like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
“I’m sorry—” I begin, but Nolan shakes his head.
“I understand,” he cuts me off.
“Maybe it’s a luiseach thing,” I suggest desperately. “Maybe Aidan can help me learn how to overcome it,” I add, but it’s the wrong thing to say. No guy wants to hear that the girl he wants to kiss has to overcome disgusting feelings in order to kiss him back.
I look down at my bright blue sneakers. I’ve hurt him. I’ve really hurt him. This doesn’t feel better than keeping the truth to myself. This feels much, much worse.
“I better go,” he says finally. Before I can call out Wait or I’m sorry or Good-bye—before I can say anything at all—Nolan stuffs his hat in his back pocket and heads around the corner, down our driveway, and into his grandfather’s car parked just across the street. I wait for him to drive away, and then I go back to the front porch, where Mom is standing with her arms folded across her chest, holding herself to keep warm.
“He forgot his jacket,” I say softly as Mom puts her arms around me. “Promise me you’ll get it to him when I’m gone, okay?”
“I promise,” Mom replies. I tucked Victoria’s letter into one of the pockets so Nolan can take care of it while I’m gone.
Mom strokes my hair, frizzed from the Ridgemont moisture. Maybe wherever Aidan is taking me will be dry enough that my hair will actually behave. Not that I know where he’s taking me. He just said that it was warm and that I needed to bring my passport.
I lean down and kiss Oscar on top of his soft little head, sending his tail-wagging speed into overdrive. Upstairs I kissed my taxidermied owl, Dr. Hoo, in exactly the same spot.
Aidan steps onto the front porch. “Take care of my baby,” Mom’s voice shakes as she faces him. She turns back to me, twisting my curls around her fingers. We’ve never been apart for so much as summer camp. “And call every day.”
Her voice breaks on the last word and then she swallows. I know she’s trying so hard to be strong for me, not to let on that she’s scared—both to let me go and of what might happen to me if I stay behind. I know because I’m scared of the exact same things.
I have no idea how to say good-bye to her. She pulls me into her arms again and whispers, “You can come home anytime you want to. Just say the word, and I’ll come rescue you.” I nod into her hair. I know that if open my mouth to speak, I’ll start to cry.
I lean down and lift my backpack off the ground, acutely aware of the weight of what’s inside of it. Not just my books and some of the clothes I couldn’t fit into my duffle bag: nestled between the Mustang T-shirt I stole from Mom and my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice is something else. I decided to pack it at the very last minute: the rusty old knife that transformed into a torch on New Year’s Eve when I faced the water demon.
I want to be prepared, no matter that Aidan said we were going someplace safe. Victoria said this weapon would manifest as whatever I needed it to be at the moment I needed it. I don’t know what I’m going to need next.
I settle into the passenger seat of Aidan’s long black sedan. He backs out of our driveway, and Mom gets smaller and smaller until Aidan turns the car and I can’t see her anymore.
Once we get to wherever we’re going, I’m going to move the knife from my bag to my back pocket. I’d rather have it within arm’s reach. Just in case.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In Flight