by Nicole Maggi
As I turned away, blood pumped through me with the same beat as the music. The sounds in the room faded and the Catch rose up in their place. Its whisper grew louder and louder until it hurt my eardrums. Beneath its reverberations, I felt something else, something sharp and sickening. It slithered through my ribs and wrapped itself around my heart. I turned in a small, fast circle, the room a blur. The thing was dreadful, spreading itself to every corner of my being.
It was fear.
Not anxiety. Not I-haven’t-studied-for-this-test kind of fear. Not even standing-on-top-of-a-black-diamond-trail-when-you’re-only-a-green-trail-kind-of-skier fear. It was the bone-crunching fear of facing down death and knowing you’re going to lose. I’d felt this fear before. I’d felt it when they wheeled me into surgery.
But why was I feeling it now?
The music slowed and dropped into a slow, sexy rhythm. With knife-edge clarity, I realized the fear was not my own. It belonged to Annabel. But why? I turned again and found Nate. He was right next to me; he had never left my side. Without thinking, I took his hand.
Instantly, he dropped the conversation he was having with Sydney and bent toward me. His thumb stroked my palm. I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. “Do you want to dance?”
He didn’t answer, just encircled his arm around my waist and pulled me in. Patsy Cline sang about being crazy, and Nate rocked me back and forth. With each sway, I softened in his arms and the bands of fear loosened. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He moved me across the floor, and the fear disappeared. Whatever Annabel had been afraid of, Nate was the cure.
Then why hadn’t she gone to him before she’d jumped off that balcony?
I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. It was part of the mystery I had to unravel. Once I did, I’d be able to see Nate with my own eyes and sort out which feelings were mine and which were Annabel’s. I pulled back a little, but Nate tightened his arms around me and held me close. He dipped his head. “You’re really all better now? Not sick anymore?”
Oh yeah, I was great. I was losing my memories, my body could reject my new heart at any moment, and I had a scar the size of a Cadillac on my chest. “I’m fine,” I murmured into his shoulder.
“Good.” His mouth was so close to my ear that his breath tickled my skin. “Because it would suck if you died after I’ve only known you for a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, that would suck. More for me than you, though.”
He laughed, and the sound reverberated into my chest, into my heart… I stiffened a little. Always that reminder that I was no longer just Georgie. There was someone else inside me that I had to compete with. I lifted my head from his shoulder. Nate’s eyes were soft on my face. “Do you like me?” I asked.
Nate blinked. He looked even more surprised than I felt at the boldness of the question. But he didn’t hesitate when he answered. “Yes.”
“Why? What is it about me you like?”
His brow furrowed, but when he spoke, it was without confusion. “You have guts. I like how willing you are to get involved with FAIR Girls.” He smiled. “You have a good heart, Georgie.”
I felt his words in my gut, heard them echo inside me along with the Catch. I laid my head back down and swallowed hard to fight the tears. A good heart. He liked my good heart. But it wasn’t mine.
Chapter Twelve
When I woke up the next morning, I lay for a long time staring at the ceiling. Early sunlight streaked the walls. I watched it stretch along the wall like a living thing. With each passing minute, the light brightened, but the shadows also darkened.
I touched the scar on my chest, lightly running my finger along its length. Dr. Harrison said it would never go away completely. There would always be a mark on my skin. But what about beneath the skin? Would Annabel always be marked on my heart too? When would my life be my own again?
The previous night replayed in my head in snapshots. The dollop of frosting on Nate’s lips. His hands around my waist as we danced. Him telling me that he liked me…and that I had a good heart.
A stolen heart, more like. Maybe all the good he could see in me belonged to Annabel. Maybe everything else was worthless. What good had I done with my life? How could straight A’s at Hillcoate compare to the work Nate did with FAIR Girls?
I lowered my head into my hands and massaged my temples. She was making me doubt myself to my core, shaking me off my anchor like a storm-swept sea. I had known what I wanted to do with my life since I was ten, and she wasn’t going to take that away from me.
I tossed my covers off and grabbed my oboe off my desk chair. While the rest of the household awoke in post-party slow motion, I sank into the intricacies of the Poulenc concerto, reworking the same five measures over and over until they were second nature. The smell of pancakes wafted up to the second floor, but I stayed in my room, lost to the music. Keeping myself tethered in this storm. Drowning out the Catch. Staking my claim in my own heart, the place where my music lived.
When I finally felt secure enough to let go, I put my oboe away and went downstairs. At the door to the kitchen, I paused. The remnants of breakfast were strewn across the kitchen table. Dad read the newspaper; Mom scribbled notes in her journal; Colt played on his iPhone; and Grandma flipped through a Real Simple magazine. I peered through the round window in the door. Everyone was in their own little world, and their worlds seemed so much more peaceful than mine. It almost felt like an act of war to push the door open and intrude.
I was just about to back away when Mom spotted me. “Good morning, sweetie.”
“Morning.” I edged into the kitchen but didn’t sit.
“You sounded good,” Dad said. “Is that the piece you’re playing for Juilliard?”
“That’s the plan. I could go with something easier…”
“Don’t you dare,” Dad said. “If you can nail the hard piece, you’ll have a better chance of getting in.”
“I guess.” I chewed on my cuticle and imagined for an instant what my parents would do if I told them I wanted to drop out of school and get my GED like Nate. The house would probably explode.
“There are leftover pancakes,” Grandma said.
“Thanks.” I was being dumb. Going to Juilliard was my idea, not my parents. They just wanted me to do well. I headed to the counter, where a plate with a short stack of pancakes sat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom nudge Dad and nod to me.
“So, Georgie,” Dad said, “did you have fun last night?”
“Yeah. Great party.” I drizzled maple syrup over my plate and carried it to the table. I sat next to Grandma, who patted my knee without taking her eyes off her magazine.
“Did your friends have fun?”
“Everyone had a blast.” Except Michelle. She’d spent most of the night being antisocial, until she finally tore her dad away from telling his umpteenth cop story and got him out the door.
“They want to know who the boy is,” Colt said loudly. One headphone dangled from his ear and his fingers flew over the iPhone screen. “That’s all they’ve been talking about.”
“Okay, Colt, that’s enough.” Mom snapped her journal shut and twisted in her chair toward me. “But you can’t blame us for being curious.”
“He’s just a friend,” I said, picking at my breakfast.
Dad laid his newspaper down with a loud rustle. “He looked mighty friendly with you.”
“Oh, Dad.” I rolled my eyes at him. “We were just dancing. Trust me, we are just friends.”
“Honey, we’ve known all of your friends since you were six,” Mom said. “So when a new one shows up out of the blue, I think we have a right to know who he is.”
“Okay,” I said, “his name is Nate. He volunteers with the organization that helps trafficked girls, and he’s been helping me with my research. Anything else you want to know?”
“Where does he go to school?” Dad asked, his eyes laser-focused on me.
Here it comes. I shoved a forkful of pancakes in my mouth and took a long time chewing. “He doesn’t. He works at Starbucks and he volunteers at the church.”
“Did he graduate?”
“He got his GED.”
Dad folded his arms across his chest. “And he’s working at Starbucks to save for college?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t really discussed it.”
“Does he plan to go to college at all?”
“You know, Dad,” I said, my voice climbing a little high, “college is not the end-all, be-all.”
“That may be true, but it’s still very important—”
“The work that Nate does at All Saints is a million times more important than college,” I said. My temper had slipped away from me and was out of control now. “He literally saves lives every day. How many lives do you save every day in your ivory tower at Harvard?”
“Georgie!” Dad slapped his palm against the table, making Colt jump. “That is a very rude thing to say.”
I jabbed my finger at him. “Well, I don’t appreciate you insinuating that Nate is a bad person because he doesn’t go to college.”
Mom sighed. “That’s not what we’re saying at all. We just want to know who he is, because you two looked awfully close last night.”
My jaw tightened. “Well, we’re just friends. We are nothing more than friends. If anything more happens, I’ll be sure to tell you all about it right away.” I stormed out of the kitchen. I shouldn’t have gone in there in the first place. I should’ve stayed on the other side of the door, instead of trying to be a part of a world where I didn’t belong anymore.
Once upstairs in my room, I grabbed my phone off my nightstand. Are you at All Saints?
No. Working till 3, came the almost instantaneous reply.
Can I come by? I promise to order something.
Sure. I make a mean latte.
I started to get dressed, then grabbed my phone again. This time I texted Ella. Remember how you said you didn’t mind covering for me? I was fully dressed by the time the reply buzzed through.
Only because he’s so freaking cute.
• • •
The Starbucks that Nate worked at had a much different clientele than the one in Brookline. Instead of the cluster of moms with their eight-hundred-dollar strollers and college students working on their brand-new MacBooks, there were a homeless woman and a nerdy boy who looked way too young to be drinking coffee.
Nate spotted me as soon as I walked in and gave me a big smile. “Hey there.”
“Hey.” I leaned on the counter and studied the menu on the wall, even though I knew everything that Starbucks offered.
“Thanks for inviting me last night. I had a good time.”
I could feel his eyes on me so I lowered my gaze. When I looked at him, I couldn’t help smiling. “I did too.”
We were standing there, looking sort of goofy at each other, when a voice broke us apart. “You gonna help her or flirt with her all day?”
Nate flushed as a woman emerged from behind the Employees Only door. She looked like she was in her late twenties, with flyaway blond hair and oversized glasses. The little name tag on her green apron read Jan. She snatched a croissant from the microwave just as it dinged and ducked under the counter to deliver it to the homeless woman.
Nate cleared his throat. “So, uh, do you want anything?”
“Sure.” I leaned into the counter, looking up at the menu again. “But I can’t have caffeine.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Doctor’s orders.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. “I can make you a tea latte from one of our herbal teas.”
“That sounds good.”
I stood at the coffee bar and watched as he brewed the tea and steamed the milk. His hands were sure and practiced, and he took the same care with making a latte that he did when he was recounting facts and figures about trafficked girls. I tilted my head, my spine warm and tingling. No matter what Nate did, he did it one hundred percent and he did it with pride. I admired that. It was so different from the guys at Hillcoate who expected to half-ass their way to success.
When he was done, he handed me the cup with a flourish. “Okay if I take my break, Jan?” he asked. She waved at him and went back to stocking the bakery case. Nate directed me to one of the comfier-looking couches and sat down beside me.
“Careful, that’s hot,” he warned me as I lifted the cup to take a sip.
“Thanks.” I took a cautious sip. “Oh, that’s delicious.”
He smiled and settled back on the cushions. “So what’s up?”
“Nothing much.” I rolled my eyes. “My parents were all over me this morning about you.”
“Sorry,” he said. “But at least they care.”
“They are so annoying!” My hands were shaking. I carefully set the cup down on the low table in front of me to keep from spilling it. “They have such a narrow view of the world. I never noticed it before, but now it’s so obvious. They seem so threatened by someone who doesn’t follow their prescribed life plan.” I glanced at Nate. “My dad was giving me the third degree about why you’re not in college.”
“Oh.” Nate leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, money mostly. But also I just didn’t get my act together fast enough to apply.”
“You mean after you got your GED.”
“Yeah.” He pushed his hand through his hair. I watched it travel behind his ear and down his neck and drop back to his knee. I wanted to follow it with my own hand and touch his hair, his ear, his throat. I took another sip of my tea to hide my flush.
“I just wasn’t ready to plunge myself into the college world,” Nate went on. “I needed to take some time off and figure out what I want to do.”
“Have you?” I asked. “Figured out what you want to do?”
“I think so.” Nate took a deep breath, like he was about to say something he didn’t say out loud often. “I want to go into child psychology. I want to help kids, especially at-risk teens.”
“You would be amazing at that,” I said.
He grinned with obvious relief. “Thanks.” He hunched his shoulders a little. “I still need to save a little more money but I’m hoping to apply for next year.”
“Your parents won’t help out?”
“My parents…” Nate exhaled a long breath. “They’d help if they were able to. They’re just not, right now.” He tapped his knee against mine. “What about you? What do you wanna be when you grow up?”
“Oh.” I chewed at my lip. “Have I told you that I play the oboe?”
“The oboe?” Nate raised his eyebrows. “That’s not an instrument you hear every day.”
I half smiled. “Yeah, exactly. That’s how I got into it. My music teacher convinced me to switch from flute to oboe because nobody else was playing it and he needed one to fill out his orchestra.”
“And it stuck.”
“Yeah, it stuck.” I scrunched my face up little. “I’m actually…really good.”
“And that’s what you want to do with your life?”
In the late-morning sunlight, Nate’s eyes looked even bluer than usual. The color reminded me of the way the Atlantic Ocean looked on a really sunny day. My breathing slowed as I looked into their depths, and for the first time since I’d felt Annabel in my heart, I said the thing that I was most scared to admit.
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to go to Juilliard and play in an orchestra like the BSO or the New York Phil. It’s always been the only thing that mattered. But now, ever since I got sick…I don’t know. I feel like it’s too trivial. I should be doing something more important with my life.”
“Bringing music and art to the world is important,” Nate pointed out. His eyes leveled with mine and the world slowed down. There could have been a hurricane around us and I don’t think Nate would have looked away. That’s how intense his gaze on me was. “But there’s nothing like nearly dying to make us rethink everything.”
“Yes,” I breathed. Without breaking eye contact with him, I reached up and unfastened the top few buttons on my cardigan.
Nate started and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. “Uh, Georgie—” Then his eyes fell on the scar that peeked out from the top of the sweater. He stared at it for a moment and lifted his eyes to my face.
“My heart failed,” I whispered. “When I had the pneumonia. It happened very suddenly. I was going to die. I had a heart transplant,” I finished, my voice just a wisp of breath, of air, of almost nothing. I swallowed hard, watching Nate’s face as he digested the information.
He raised his hand and, haltingly, reached out to touch the scar. His finger was like a butterfly’s wing, soft and fluttering and oh so warm. “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.” I licked my lips; they’d grown dry and cracked in just the last minute. “When I overexert myself. Like…the first night we met. When I almost collapsed in the street. That’s why.”
“But you’re okay now, right?” He looked in my eyes again, the ocean-blue enveloping me like soft rain. “You’re not going to die on me anytime soon, are you?”
“I hope not,” I said and we both laughed nervously. “I have to take medication for the rest of my life so my body doesn’t reject the heart.”
“‘Reject the heart,’” Nate murmured. “There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”
He had no idea.
With some reluctance, I buttoned my cardigan back up, closing off Nate’s touch. “So, that’s why everything’s changed. Everyone…my parents and friends…all just expect me to be the same old Georgie. But I woke up from the surgery—”
“—a different person,” Nate finished for me.
Heat tightened my throat. Tears prickled behind my eyelids. He got it. “Wow.” I sniffled. “Not even my own parents can see that.”