Chapter 6

“Your friends are waiting,” I said.

“Fine. When you get to Boston, don’t expect me to show you around or help you move into your dorm. You can’t shut me out and then wait for me to make things right.”

I looked at the boarding pass in my hand. England was printed on it. The confirmation from Los Angeles was in my inbox.

“I won’t,” I said.

“What?”

“I’ll find my own way.”

I ended the call and turned off my phone.

In the distance, Ryan returned to the group with a hard look on his face. He handed the phone back to his friend, took Blair’s luggage, and headed toward the gates on the left.

I went right.

In England, Grandma took one look at me and spent the next several days cooking the foods I had loved as a child. We browsed the old bookshop near her house, repotted plants in her garden, and sat in the kitchen while she told me stories about her youth.

She asked about school and whether the holidays had worn me out. She gave me time to explain my sudden visit when I was ready.

I kept my days full. In the mornings, I went shopping with her. In the afternoons, I helped sort through photographs. At night, Mia and I talked about what we would need for our dorm in Los Angeles.

Some days passed with Ryan barely crossing my mind. Late at night, I still reached for my phone whenever the screen lit up, checking for him before I could stop myself.

I had blocked his number. The habit lingered.

One day, Grandma found me sitting by the window and laid a blanket over my knees.

“Missing home?”

“A little.”

She sat beside me for a while.

Mia kept Ryan’s news to herself, but mutual friends sent photos and questions.

Why didn’t you go to New Zealand?

Ryan was always talking about taking you skiing.

Are you two okay?

I gave them the same answer: I’m in England visiting my grandma.

In one group photo, Ryan and Blair stood by a ski run. Blair wore his gloves and held both hands up for the camera. He stood behind her, smiling.

In past years, I had stood beside him in group photos. I could see who occupied that place now, and it still hurt.

I remembered a winter when I was thirteen. I had forgotten my gloves, so Ryan pushed his into my hands. His fingers were red from the cold the next day, while I spent a week quietly happy over what he had done.

He had cared for me then. I had heard him in that classroom too. Both memories belonged to us.

I archived the photos my friends sent and eventually asked them to stop forwarding more. Some apologized. Others asked if we had fought.

“I’m visiting Grandma,” I told them. “I’d rather focus on that right now.”

Mom called to ask how my college preparations were going. I said I was working on them.

I still had to tell my parents about Los Angeles. I worried they would ask why I had changed my mind, and that once I began answering, everything that had happened at school would come out.

Mia helped me put together a list of the program’s courses, housing options, and costs.

“Tell them you’re going because you want to,” she said.

“But what happened with Ryan is why I finally accepted.”

“You applied to that school yourself. You like the program,” Mia said. “You wanted to go before all this. You’re ready to choose it now.”

I looked over the list. For the first time, I could see the difference.

As the month went on, I started making choices without imagining Ryan beside me. In a bookshop, I picked up whatever caught my interest. When I found something good to eat, I sent a picture to Grandma or Mia. On sunny afternoons, Grandma and I drank tea in the garden, and I let the hours pass.

I thought Ryan and I might stay out of contact until school started.

One afternoon, an unfamiliar number called. I let it go. When it rang again a few minutes later, I answered in case it was the university or the airline.

“Leah.”

I stood by Grandma’s front gate, listening to Ryan’s voice.