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Kayla shoots me a look, one brow raised. “Do share your thoughts,” she mutters.
“Better not,” I say and put my supplies back into their box.
I don’t really know my thoughts. Don’t know my path, or what I’m doing here. Maybe this was a mistake. I could still go back to Chicago, work hard to catch up on my classes for Fall semester.
I think again about the guy across the street who was staring at me. The guy I thought was Nick, back from my school days.
So you’d just leave again? Not fight this, like you promised yourself? You’d let yourself imagine bullies on every street corner and in every city you go?
“Earth to Amber.” Kayla waves a hand in front of my face. “I said, you’re going to the wedding, right?”
She’s looking at me expectantly, and I have no clue what she’s talking about.
“What wedding?”
“Asher and Audrey’s wedding. Didn’t you see the invitation stuck to your bedroom door?”
I’d seen an envelope stuck to my door when I moved in, but have no clue what I did with it. Probably tore it off and threw it away. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“Hey, don’t get so excited. You’ll burst something.”
More frigging parties. Damn.
“Give me your hand,” Kayla commands.
I blink at her. Talk about randomness. “What?”
“Hand.” She scoots closer to me on the couch and grabs my left hand. “You seem lost. Let me have a look.”
I stare at her blond-streaked head, which is bent over my upturned hand. Why does it feel as if I’ve just landed in an alternate universe?
“Um, Kayla…”
“A bit of palmistry never hath any harm or foul caused.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so. Now look at your heart line. Look at how short it is. For shame, girl.”
I pull my hand back, but she tsks and grips it more tightly. “We aren’t done yet. Look how the heart line touches the life line. See this?”
I bend to have a look, curious in spite of myself. “What does it mean?”
“That your heart is fragile. Easily broken.”
I freeze, and Kayla takes my silence and stillness as permission to continue this charade.
“The heart line is also broken here and there. There’s some emotional trauma here. And this little bubble on the line here? That’s depression.”
“Crap.” I jerk my hand away and lurch to my feet. “This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” Kayla peers at me under her bleached fringe. “Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m not—” I look away from her, trying to recover my composure. “Don’t let people get under your skin,” I can almost hear the school psychologist’s voice in my memory. “It’s okay to show some vulnerability. Not everyone will betray you. In fact most people won’t.”
Yeah, right.
“You’re not what?” she asks, and the need to get away increases.
