Page 64 of Head Under Water

I haven’t asked too much about his plans—how far away he’ll be, if he’s absolutely sure we can’t make it work, if he’d ever change his mind—because I’m afraid of the answers. And he hasn’t offered them, even with my subtle prompting. We’re surface-level, destined to never leave the shallow end, but I think we could be more.

It doesn’t matter, though, what could be. I have to leave it alone. Eventually, I’ll have to leave him alone.

For now, we’re having fun. Now that we’re back on campus, we’ll see each other whenever our schedules allow it. He called me once a week over the summer. We talked about books and movies. Art. He’s interesting in a way most boys my age are not. Seven years between us isn’t that big a difference in the grand scheme of things, but Banks feels like a man in every way. He has opinions, real ones. He’s so smart it’s almost intimidating. And he’s interested in me. Not just in sleeping with me, but in my thoughts. He drills me about my ideas. He reads the books I like and asks my opinion about everything.

Like he’s trying to learn me.

I’ve never been studied in the way Banks studies me. Like I’m worthy of being majored in.

And still, no matter how interested he seems, he keeps reminding me this has to end. That his focus is his future, and I should focus on mine. That when the time comes for him to leave, he will. And I’m not part of the plan after that. I can’t be.

He doesn’t see how good we are together, and maybe it’s my fault because I keep pretending I’m fine with this. I know I’ll be fine with it, eventually, but I just don’t think I’m there quite yet.

Not if I’m honest with myself.

Which is why, on the last night of Welcome Week in the fall, I go to the annual bonfire without asking if he’ll be there. Because that’s the sort of thing someone focusing on her own future would do.

I’m a sophomore now. Settled. Growing. It’s time to build a life and a place here all on my own.

Jess skips ahead of me, her curls flying. She has on white jean shorts and a crop top with a flannel thrown over it, her cheeks and collarbone smeared with glitter.

“This year is going to be special,” she tells me conspiratorially. We’re both a little buzzed from the shot of tequila we each took before we left the dorm.

I’ve never really liked the way alcohol feels in my body—the buzzy loss of control. But Jess said it was important to ring in the new school year, and I didn’t want to seem like I was judging her.

The leaves crunch underfoot as we walk through the woods. The fire glows orange and eerie in the distance through the trees, and I can taste the sharp bite of the smoke. All around, people jog past us, laughing, shouting, and celebrating.

A group of guys stumbles into me, not paying attention. One looks back just long enough to say, “Shit. Sorry.”

When we finally make it deep enough into the woods that the fire is no longer obstructed by trees, it takes my breath away. It’s massive, probably bigger than is safe. The heat hits my face even from back here. It feels good in the cool night air.

My eyes scan the crowd, searching for familiar faces from last year. I spot a few people I recognize from class, a handful of others from our dorm, and even more from around campus.

Banks isn’t here, but then, I didn’t expect him to be. He’s far too serious to hang out with the rest of us at a bonfire party that’s almost certain to end in disaster of some kind.

I’m still scanning when my eyes land on his face. My breath catches in my throat, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts.

Will.

He’s there, across the bonfire, surrounded by people and looking entirely at ease.

As if he can feel me—my presence and my gaze lingering on his skin—his laughter cuts short. His shoulders go rigid, his chin lifting as he turns toward the heat of the flames. He looks up. Over. Around. His eyes methodically comb through the crowd of blurry faces, past the dancing groups and shifting shadows, barreling right through the smoke until they slam into mine.

I physically feel the impact. I’ve fallen from a cliff and crashed into the surface of the darkest ocean, dragged under before I can catch one last breath.

Will snaps his gaze away at once, then slowly, his eyes return to me, a wave returning to the shore. He got a tan over the summer from his days in the sun. A corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not a smile—not really.

It’s more of a grimace. A challenge.

A fire ignites in my belly.

His attention is drawn to two girls dancing in front of him, and he opens his mouth to say something. I can’t read his lips, but I know the energy. I know what he’s doing.

The girls move closer and he takes one of their hands, leading them both to one of the many heavy, low-slung wooden chairs farther back from the fire. When he sits, one of their bodies blocks him from my sight.

And good, honestly. I don’t need to see him. It’s better if I don’t.

“You okay?” Jess asks, and I realize she’s probably been talking for a while.