But I can’t delay the inevitable. Soon I’m standing next to the arrangement of shrubbery, just inches away from Ryan, his hurt expression making me regret being such a coward.
“Um, hi,” I start.
“Are you OK?” He’s angry, it’s obvious, but his first question is to see how I am. I feel a pang. He really is one of the good ones.
I swallow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I was worried. I thought Morgan might have” — his lips lift slightly — “killed you. Maimed, at least. You took off so fast after she found us.”
“Death by lip gloss,” I try to joke, but my words just hover awkwardly between us. “No, really I’m fine.”
“Look, I know you must feel guilty, like you betrayed her or something.” Ryan takes my hands and forces me to look at him. “And I get that, you’re too nice sometimes, but you can’t break things off, just because she —”
“That’s not it.” I can’t bear it any longer. He thinks I’m doing this because I’m a good person, not because I’m putting myself first. I swallow. “This — us — I don’t know how it’ll work. I’m leaving in a few days, and then I’ll be thousands of miles away.”
“But you’ll be back for summer.” He tries to pull me closer. “That’s only two months away. We can email and talk — it’ll be no time at all.”
“I’m not coming back.” I feel something inside me break as I say it. All this avoidance has been to delay those words; as if saying it out loud makes my decision final. This really was just a brief escape from my real life.
Ryan frowns. “I don’t get it.” I slowly detach my hands from his.
“The job with Julian Morton, I’m not taking it.”
“What?”
“I got an internship offer, the one I told you about.” Ignoring the confused look in his eyes, I keep talking. “I’ll be working in a law office all summer, so I won’t be coming back. And after that, it’s my final year, so I’ll be studying through my holidays.” I try to keep my voice steady. “So it just won’t work with you. If we’re not going to be spending time with each other, what’s the point in pretending?”
He’s quiet for a moment. I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I study the leaves shivering slightly in the breeze.
“You’ve already made your mind up, haven’t you?”
I nod. “You know how important this is to me. I can’t just throw it away for a fun summer on some movie.”
Ryan exhales, his whole body going still. “So all that stuff you said about letting go and being happy was just bullshit.”
I flinch. “That’s not true.”
“So why won’t you even think about the internship?” Ryan grabs me again, pulling me into him until I can feel his body against me, so I can’t help but look up into his eyes. “Just think about it.”
“I have! But I can’t change my life around for you.”
“No, not for me.” He shakes his head. “For you, for what you really want to do. You’ve loved this movie, Em, you know you have. The writing, the production. Admit it.”
I stay motionless in his arms. “Of course I’ve enjoyed it, but —”
“But nothing! Do you have any idea how many kids would kill for this chance?” I don’t answer. “So why are you so scared to give it a shot?”
I wrench away. “I’m not scared! You don’t understand. I’ve worked my whole life to get on this path. This is what I want!”
Ryan looks at me, his expression slowly closing off. I know I picked this, but still it hurts more than I expected.
“Well, this is good-bye, I guess.” He clears his throat. “You fly back to England on Friday?”
“To Florida,” I say, digging tiny half-moon prints into my palms. This is worse than how it was with Sebastian. “I’m going to meet Natasha. Then home.”
“Right.” He nods slowly. “I’ll drop by a copy of the movie before you go; you should have one. You did a great job.”
We did a great job, I think. But saying that would be useless, so I just nod. “Oh. Thanks. I’d like that.”
“So . . .”
We stand, awkward.
“Good-bye,” I say softly. Ryan tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment. Part of me wishes he would keep fighting, kiss me, say anything to convince me to stay, but we don’t have somebody writing this scene for us, and life doesn’t happen like that.
I just walk away.
29
God, I’ve missed the sunshine. After Em and I meet up, we dump our bags in the hotel and hit the beach right away. The moment we step out of the lobby, I turn my face up to the cloudless sky and sigh. “Ahh . . .”
Em giggles. “You had sun in England!”
“That was so not sun.” I close my eyes and try to absorb the warmth into my bones. “That was, like, this pale weak glow pretending to be sun. This is the real thing.”
“Did you bring sunscreen?” Em asks, checking her tote. I only met her an hour ago, but already I know she totally wasn’t exaggerating about her organizing kick. We sent digital pics so we would recognize each other coming off our flights, but it’s still a trip to see her with all that honey-blond hair, a cute little pink shirt — and such a crisp accent.
“Chill.” I grin, pulling my big tortoiseshell shades on. We’re based right across the street from the sand, and the water is sparkling at me like an invitation. “I’m, like, immune to it, remember?”
“Whereas I’ve gone through about three bottles of SPF thirty since I’ve been here.” Em waits for the cross light to turn green, oblivious to the group of college boys who are totally checking her out. “Do you think it’ll be warm enough to swim?”
“Swim, lounge, whatever . . .” I spy a gap in the cars and grab her hand, pulling her into the street.
“Tash!”
“C’mon, you don’t understand: I’ve been dreaming of the beach since the day I left!”
Em laughs and follows me across the street, and soon we’re sprawled under that glorious hot sun. “See, this is what I’m talking about.” I kick off my sneakers and bury my toes in the bleached sand. A sense of total peace sweeps through me. Screw therapy — we should just send stressed people to a tropical island for a couple of weeks. It would wind up costing the same, I’d bet, and there’s none of that “tell me about your parents” crap. “You keep your stuffy libraries and cold cobbled streets — I’ll take sun and ocean any day.”