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How can they not see how obvious it is that I can’t ever be her?

I don’t want to let them down, but I will. I let myself down so easily, so stupidly, and there is no way I can ever be like Tess. I can’t be perfect. I can’t make everyone happy. I can’t make everyone want to be me.

This shouldn’t make me angry, but it does. I don’t want to even try to be Tess. I wish she’d just gone back to school after the party. But no, she had to come see my parents again. She wanted to talk to them about her classes, ask for their advice, and thank them for being there for her.

In other words, be the perfect daughter while I skulked around wishing I was anywhere else. I didn’t go to any parties on New Year’s Eve, went over to Claire’s and ate stale microwave popcorn with her while people on television gushed about how next year would be the best one ever and introduced musical acts who lip-synched poorly and exhorted us to “Celebrate!” until I told Claire my New Year’s resolution was to never ever say the word “Celebrate!” like it was a command.

I head into the cafeteria, buy a soda from one of the vending machines against the far wall, and pop the top, glancing around the room. Normally I sit by the plastic tree in the corner, watching people look out at the river and silently counting down how long I have until the nurses will be done with whatever they are doing and I can go back to Tess.

I count because if I don’t, I could easily get sucked into looking out the window. Into watching the river.

Into getting up, leaving, and never coming back.

The hospital is depressing. It’s full of death waiting, just waiting, and Tess’s unit is so silent, like the world has gone away, and if I could, I wouldn’t ever come here.

I come here—I am here—not because it’s the right thing to do, but because I want Tess to be here, really here.

I want her out of this place and back in her life. I want her back at school.

I want life to be like it was after she went to college. I was still in her shadow but not directly under it. Not weighed down by it. Even Tess couldn’t fill up Ferrisville from far away. She was a memory. A strong one, but still, just that.

But now she’s here, she’s a tragedy, and she defines me all over again.

And that’s when I see Eli sitting on the other side of the room, looking at me.

I force myself to look right at him even though I don’t know what to do when he looks at me. Why is he even looking at all?

He lifts a hand, then waves.

There is hesitation there—I see it and it stings, and I hate myself for that—but he waves.

Run.

That’s what I want to do. I want to run and run and run until I am far away from here, from Ferrisville, from everything. I want to run until I can look at myself and not wish I were more like someone I will never be anything like.

I want to run but I know what happens when you pretend things can be different. I held Jack and thought he could love me, but he couldn’t. He didn’t.

I thought I was free when Tess left for college but now I am tied to her so tightly I am here, spitting and snarling and trying to wake her up.

I am here and once again there is a guy in front of me, a guy who will only ever see Tess, and deep down, in a place I have tried to destroy, part of me sees him and wants. Wants him, wants him to see me.

Stupid. So, so stupid. I square my shoulders and walk over to Eli because I will remind myself why I am here. Why he is here.

I will remind myself that everything is about Tess.

I will remind myself that I’m nothing when put next to her.

twenty-one

“Hey,” Eli says when I reach his table. “I—I was going to come back in a little while. I just thought that with everything going on, you might need some space.”

I shrug, because I don’t know what to do with his kindness. I don’t … I don’t know what to do with someone like him. I don’t know why he would even want me to sit with him.

Also, he is looking at me, and away from the fluorescent lights of the hospital, sunlight from outside glinting in and making the river look