Chapter 1 #2
“I was going to,” I said, and then sighed, shoulders slumping forward. “Guess I’ll be the only sophomore who doesn’t get her permit on her birthday.”
“Don’t tell me your family forgot.”
I halfway wondered if them forgetting would’ve been better.
The thoughts that’d been building and building in my head like water pressing against a dam broke free, and they flooded out my mouth.
“They didn’t forget, but…I guess it kind of feels like they did, in a way.
They threw me a party, but it wasn’t really for me.
There were so many adults around that it was almost like it was my mom’s birthday instead of mine.
I didn’t even want a party, but did they think of that?
Did they think of me? Of course not.” Looking down at the permit application in my hands, I let out a sigh that rattled in my lungs, cutting off my rambling.
“I don’t know. In the grand scheme of things, my permit doesn’t feel like a huge deal, but I was just…
” My voice shrank. “I was just looking forward to it.”
If it weren’t for the party, though, and for them laughing about my license, I still would’ve been blissfully unaware of how little they knew me. Blissfully unaware of how little I knew myself.
That thought caused my throat to tighten, like the waterworks were creeping up again.
I didn’t want to cry, though, especially not in front of a stranger.
I turned to him instead, meeting his stare behind his glasses, swallowing down the emotion.
“Have you ever felt like the life you’re living isn’t the life you want to live?
Like…you’re too tied down to the role given to you? ”
The intensity in the boy’s eyes almost made me self-conscious at first, on the brink of taking my words back.
It felt strange to ask, to vent thoughts that had only sprung into my head hours earlier.
I’d never done that before, confessed my feelings to someone.
It was like I was now a character who’d suddenly realized she was only saying lines because someone wrote them, not because I wanted to. Not because I believed in them.
And maybe it was because this boy was a perfect stranger, one that I’d probably never see again, that made the words flow much easier.
He was probably moments away from berating me for complaining, for acting like a selfish, spoiled brat for not being grateful about even getting a party.
I squared my shoulders, bracing myself for that response.
“I have,” he confessed after a moment. “I have felt that way. Like I’m tied down to a role.”
I hunched my shoulders as I leaned closer to him, like I was about to tell him a secret. “And what did you do about it? Did you fight against it, or did you just give in to it?”
The boy tipped his head toward his sneakers and laughed once, one corner of his mouth lifting in a sideways smile.
Something inside me lifted as well, and I had the strangest urge to mimic him, to smile too.
Even just a little. I wasn’t sure why—the conversation was anything but light.
“Is there a point to fighting it if nothing will change?”
My chest fell, because that’d been the opposite of what I’d expected him to say. I expected encouragement, but then again, maybe realism was better. For my situation, as a Settler, maybe it was better.
It’s a little silly, isn’t it? My mom’s words crested in my mind, answering my question, too. It’s a waste of time.
“You’re probably right,” I said, steeling myself.
With jerky movements, I shredded the paper without mercy, feeling it slice against my fingertips as I worked it down to scraps.
My throat ached as I leaned forward, legs scraping along the edge of the bridge, and threw the shreds into the air as hard as I could, like confetti.
Celebrating the death of the Gemma whose rose-colored glasses broke.
The momentum of the throw, though, tipped me off-balance. I gasped as I slipped a little, and even though it was only a second’s worth of unsteadiness, the boy didn’t miss a beat. His arm shot out and stretched across me like a seatbelt, hand wrapping around my hip and gripping firmly.
And I was suddenly nose to nose with a boy, staring into his gray-blue eyes.
Once again, the slight familiarity of him hit me hard, like a tickle in the back of my brain.
The scar on his cheek caught my eye, white and half as long as my pinky finger, indenting his skin.
His hand still grasped my hip, fingers splayed over the bone, five points of tingling pressure.
Boys had never caught much of my attention before—mostly because I knew my parents forbade dating—but for the first time ever, I found myself hesitant to pull away.
“I’m Gemma,” I told the boy, oddly breathless. “With a G.”
“Gemma,” he repeated, and I watched his mouth as he spoke it. “You should still do it.”
For a wild moment, I thought he meant jump off the bridge. “What?”
“You should still fight it.” Those long lashes gave a slow blink. “Your role. You should still fight to be the person you want to be, even if it doesn’t work out.”
There was the bit of encouragement I was looking for, but as he said it, something like panic bolted through me, as if hearing someone tell me what I wanted to hear was how I knew I didn’t want to do anything.
As if I needed someone to tell me that I could to know that I wouldn’t.
Which didn’t make any sense. “Have we met before?” I asked, searching his features for some sort of clue.
The boy didn’t react. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’d remember.”
I drew in a soft breath, lips on the brink of a smile.
My ringing phone cut the silence between us.
The boy dropped his hand from my hip and pulled back, straightening, all intensity lost. I fished out my ancient phone from my skirt pocket, sighing at Mom’s name.
“I should take this,” I told him. “My mom is probably wondering where I am. I don’t usually go off on my own. ”
I was reluctant to let him go, though. I still didn’t even know his name—he’d never given it. I wanted to ask, but a part of me knew he hadn’t given it on purpose. It didn’t matter, either. I’d never see him again, and it was best to let him go now before I said something else that I shouldn’t.
He took a step back to let me swing my legs around the bridge ledge, watching as I hopped onto the roadway. He gave me a wide berth, putting distance between us, almost like he didn’t want to get too close. Or he didn’t want me thinking he was too close. “Good luck…with everything.”
“Thanks,” I said, clutching my still-ringing phone, giving him one last smile.
The boy turned around and gave me the back of his cotton candy-colored sweatshirt, taking a few steps away. I answered the call at the exact second that he turned around, sticking his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Oh, and happy birthday, Gemma with a G.”
Warmth spread through my chest almost uncomfortably.
I wanted to tell him thank you, to call out to him and ask what his name was as he walked away, but Mom’s voice interrupted me, high-pitched and echoing into the air even though I didn’t have my speakerphone on. “Gemma?” she demanded. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I said to Mom. I watched him go, waiting for him to turn around, but he never did.
He walked far enough down the bridge that it began to slope down with the road, and he disappeared from sight.
Whatever role that he felt like he was stuck in, I hoped that he could break out of it.
One of us should have the chance to. “I’m on my way home. ”