Wild Reckless

“Hey, you’re never going to guess what I just opened,” I say, waiting for him to actually guess. He starts to laugh after a few long seconds.

“I really have no idea how to answer that…a bank account. You opened a bank account,” he says, scratching his head.

I hold the letter up, waggling it.

“I can’t read that,” he teases.

“I got in,” I say, and there’s silence for a few seconds until it settles in and he realizes what I mean.

“You’re kidding,” he says, a small laugh growing into a more powerful one. “Holy shit! You got in…doing it your way! Wow, that’s…Kens, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, you know,” I say, my compliment greeted quickly by silence on the other end. Owen is struggling, and I’m daft for thinking he’s ready to make a decision on this so quickly. Like my mom, he’s not in celebration mode either—I just hope he’s moving toward acceptance.

“What are you going to do?” Owen asks, focusing on his happiness for me.

“I don’t know. I was kind of done with the idea of going there, ya know? But then I got this envelope, and it feels real, and now…” I say, looking back to my lap, to the stamp from the school I’ve dreamed of for so long.

“You should go, Kens. It’s what your heart wants,” Owen says.

I slide down against the window, letting my head rest along my hand so I can look at him. Maybe once that is what my heart wanted, but now, all it craves is the boy looking back at me.

We don’t talk about my letter any more, and we don’t talk at all for long. But we never hang up, keeping our phones next to us until our eyes can no longer stay open, so we can listen to each other dream.

Chapter 23

I must have heard him. There must have been some sound, something familiar that stirred my mind just enough to force it to remember that I had something to do in the morning. That’s the only explanation for the feeling that sinks my heart into oblivion the very moment my eyes open.

I don’t remember leaving my room. I don’t remember how I traveled down the stairs. And I don’t recall how freezing the air was outside when it blasted its way inside my lungs. All I remember is my heart, how it ripped in half the second I saw the small piece of paper tucked in my car window, Owen’s truck…gone.

Even now, two hours later, it’s like reading it for the very first time.

I had to leave this way. If I didn’t, I would never do the right thing. I will love you…for always.

~ Owen

My eyes are raw from crying, and my mom has given up on trying to help. We’ve been sitting here in the kitchen, sipping strong coffee and sniffling into tissues from the moment I woke her up with my heavy sobs. I couldn’t make it back to my room, collapsing on the door when I stepped back inside the house.

The sun wasn’t up yet, the clock reading only four in the morning. And I just knew. What I keep playing over and over in my mind is how close I was to stopping him. He only could have been gone for minutes.

I want to stay home from school, but I also want to talk to Mr. Chessman. I need clues, and I need him to stall Mr. Mathison. I’ve dialed Owen’s number at least sixty times, every single time my call going right to voicemail. I’ve only left a handful of messages, each time my words come out broken, my sentences only halves.

When it’s time for school to begin, I drag my bag along the driveway with me, my eyes on the ground most of the way until I reach my car door. Andrew is standing in his driveway, a heavy coat pulled around his body, his backpack by his feet.

“He’s coming back, Kens. He has to,” Andrew says, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them for warmth. Andrew’s been crying; Owen must not have said goodbye to him either. I wonder if he got a note, too.

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride,” I say. He tosses his bag in my back seat and slides into my passenger side. Seeing him there hurts. It hurts because he looks like his brother, dresses like him…smells like him. But he isn’t him.

I take Andrew to his school, then drive the few miles back to my own, pulling in next to Willow’s car. I can’t bear the thought of seeing my friends right now, talking to Will, so I hide low in my seat until the morning bell rings, then make my way from my car to Mr. Chessman’s classroom. He has a class, but when he see’s me peering through the small window slit in his door, he excuses himself and meets me in the hall.

He knows the moment he sees my face.