5. Maya
Maya
I wake up in Carter’s apartment on the couch, covered with a blanket I don’t remember getting. Morning light streams through the windows, and I can hear voices in the kitchen.
“—telling Coach today,” Carter is saying.
“No.” Ryder’s voice, rougher than last night. “Give me a few days. Let me figure out how to?—”
“How to what? How to hide a grade two AC separation? Ryder, it’s over. You have to tell him.”
“If I tell him, I’m done. He’ll bench me for the season.”
“Better benched than destroyed.”
I sit up, and both of them look over. Ryder is sitting at the kitchen table, his right arm in a sling, his face pale and drawn. He looks worse in daylight.
“Morning,” Carter says. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
He pours me a cup while I try to piece together how I got here. I remember the ER, sitting in the waiting room, trying not to think about my own visits to emergency rooms. Then… nothing.
“You fell asleep in the car,” Carter explains. “I carried you up. Figured you’d rather wake up here than have me drive you back to your dorm at two AM.”
“Thanks.” I take the coffee gratefully. “How are you feeling?” I ask Ryder.
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
“That’s what happens when you practice alone at midnight with a serious injury.”
“Maya,” Carter warns.
“What? It’s true. He knows it’s true.”
Ryder looks at me with something like amusement despite the obvious pain. “You don’t pull punches, do you?”
“Life’s too short for polite lies.”
I realize how they sound coming from someone who tried to end their life. Carter shifts uncomfortably.
“I should go,” I say, standing abruptly. “I have class.”
“Maya, wait—” Carter starts.
But I’m already grabbing my bag, already heading for the door, already running from the truth I accidentally spoke.
Life’s too short.
Unless you’re the one who tried to make it shorter.
I skip psychology class. Can’t handle another lecture about depression and suicide statistics, can’t sit in that room pretending to be a normal student learning about abnormal psychology when I’m the case study they’re describing.
Instead, I find myself at the campus art building, standing outside the photography studio I’ve been avoiding since I arrived.
Pick up a camera again, Carter said. Start over.
My hands are shaking as I push open the door.
The studio is empty this early, just rows of equipment and the faint smell of chemicals from the darkroom. I haven’t been in a space like this since before. Since I still had dreams and plans and a future that involved more than just surviving.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to see a woman in her thirties, paint-stained jeans, kind eyes.
“I’m… I was looking for the photography club?”
“You found it. Well, you found me. I’m Professor Smith I run the club.” She extends her hand. “You’re new?”
“Maya Lynch. Freshman.”
“Welcome, Maya. We meet Wednesdays at seven. Very casual, just people who love photography talking about photography and occasionally taking photos.” She smiles. “You photograph?”
“I used to.”
“What changed?”
Everything. My entire life. My will to live.
“Just… stuff,” I say lamely.
Professor Smith studies me with the kind of look that suggests she sees more than I’m saying. “Well, if you want to start again, we’d love to have you. No pressure, no judgment. Just cameras and creativity.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll come.”
“I hope you do.”
I leave before she can ask more questions, but something small and fragile has shifted in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or just the memory of what hope used to feel like.
My phone buzzes. Text from
Carter
Ryder’s asking about you. Wants to know if you’re okay.
That’s… unexpected.
Maya
I’m fine. Why does he care?
Carter
Because you helped him when you didn’t have to. Because he recognizes a fellow drowning person. Because sometimes it’s easier to worry about someone else’s problems than face your own.
Maya
That’s very psychological of you.
Carter
I’m dating a journalist and majoring in psychology. I’ve learned a few things.
Maya
How is he really?
Carter
Scared. In pain. Trying to figure out how to tell his father that his NHL dreams are on hold. The usual disaster.
Maya
Tell him I said to stop being an idiot and actually rest.
Carter
You tell him. Come back for dinner tonight. Lennox is cooking, and Ryder’s staying here until his concussion clears. You two can be disasters together.
I stare at the message for a while, is my big brother trying to set me up with his friend? No, there is no way he would. Would he?
Something about Ryder’s situation calls to me. Something about watching someone else destroy themselves makes me want to intervene, even though I have no right, no authority, no room to talk.
Maya
What time?
Carter
Six. And Maya. Thank you for last night for helping him. For being there.
Maya
Don’t make it weird.
Carter
Too late. Already weird.