My stick was barely visible, so I dug a tiny key-chain flashlight from my bag. I held it between my teeth as I drew a line lengthwise on the stick. Passable, but I felt I could do better with a straightedge, so I flipped the stick over to use the cardboard cover of a notebook to try it a second time.

That’s when I heard her voice.

Corabelle stood in the cone of light that shot up next to Amy. She looked like an angel, lit up from below, and her dark hair was bright to the tips.

Holy hell. Why was she here tonight? I had switched to avoid her, to help her out.

Then I realized with a sickening sensation — so had she.

I knew she couldn’t see too far past all that light. I could watch her a moment, so sad looking, so serious. Even doing something as ordinary as accepting a piece of paper, she looked tragic, like a fragile, beautiful doll.

Despite all my work to drive that need of her out of me, it roared back with an ache so powerful that for a second, I really thought it might be easier to swing my legs over the ledge and jump. I couldn’t have Corabelle, not anymore, and if I thought for a minute I ought to try, I had to remember all the things she’d eventually find out. I was simply setting myself up to lose her again.

She stepped out of the light and I was torn between focusing on my task or letting her see that I was watching.

But then it was too late, and she looked straight at me. Her mouth fell open in an astonished “o.”

I left my stuff on the ledge and hurried over to her. “I switched groups.”

She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from me, so I kept talking. “When I saw you were still in the class, I thought it would help.”

She closed her mouth finally and gripped her assignment so hard that it crumpled. I took it from her and straightened it against the leg of my jeans.

When I handed it back, she said, “I did the same thing.”

“I’ll talk to Amy,” I said. “I’ll switch back.”

Corabelle’s jaw clenched, and I had to resist the urge to run my finger under her chin, like I always had when she was upset.

“It’s going to be fine. I’ll be fine.” She spun away from me and headed toward the calibration chart.

Bloody hell. Life seemed to be throwing us at each other. Hadn’t it done enough already? 

Chapter 9: Corabelle

My hands were shaking so hard that there was no way I could draw a line on a stupid popsicle stick.

Gavin was somewhere behind me. I didn’t believe anymore that I’d be able to shake him. Whatever whim of fate or karma that blasted us apart four years ago apparently felt we should not be separated now. I didn’t know how to fight it.

The feeling I might hyperventilate came over me again, but instead of feeding it, I fought it. Not here, not now. I had to stay in control.

But just looking at Gavin took me back to the days before we were so damaged, when we had no clue that anything could go wrong. We were a family in progress, and our future spread out before us like the stars. I thought we’d be that happy and innocent forever, and that nothing would ever come between us.

I passed the calibration chart and sank down on the roof next to one of the lights, where a couple other girls were reading over the lab instructions.

If I sat just so, Gavin was visible from the corner of my eye. He looked so lean, so strong, and his thighs filled out those jeans like they never had before. I wondered about the rest of him, how he might have changed, and the image of his face over mine, his body propped on his arms, made all the chilly parts of me grow hot. Everything I held tightly inside, my desire to be held close, to lose myself, began to unfurl.

For just a moment, I let myself remember how happy I’d once been. I hadn’t basked in those memories for a long time, not since New Mexico and the disaster there, when I discovered a shocking side of myself, how in a split second despair could turn to violence.

I set my backpack down on the roof and pretended to read the assignment, although Gavin was still in my field of vision. I didn’t want to think of the bad things, just the good ones.

When Finn was just born, literally the first few minutes, I felt completely and utterly blessed. Labor hadn’t been anything like the horror stories everyone had been teasing me with. Sure, the baby was pretty early at 32 weeks, and small. But he was plenty old enough. Babies that age survived all the time.

His little lungs managed just fine at first, and even though they had placed him in an isolette with his eyes covered and monitors on his tiny body, no one seemed overly alarmed.

Gavin sat on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. “He’s beautiful. He’s perfect.”

They wheeled him down to NICU and I remembered sinking back on the pillow, exhausted, but there was no reason to worry. The last happy memory, possibly my very last happy memory, was Gavin leaning down and pressing his lips into my hair and whispering, “You are so amazing.”

Up on the roof, I couldn’t help it, but I turned so I could see him clearly. He was hunched over his popsicle stick, a shadow against the bright lights of the city. Emotion welled up, and for a moment I thought, he can just look up, and I can smile at him, and it can be like it always was.

But then he frowned, struggling to line up the cover of a notebook on his popsicle stick, his eyebrows drawing together. His expression reminded me of how he acted during the funeral, agitated and bitter, getting up before the minister said, “Amen.” He stormed down the aisle, shrugging the too-large jacket off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

Nothing good could stay pure, not even a memory.

I forced myself to look back at my instructions. This was why I didn’t want to have class with him. It would take so much mental energy to manage with him so near.

The girls by the light leaned their heads together.

“Amy is totally losing it over that guy,” one said to the other.

“Out of her league,” the other said.

“Sort of sad how she keeps staring at him.”

“I’d stare at him.”

I didn’t want to pay any attention to their gossip, but still, it was a distraction from my thoughts. I looked over at the TA. She was trying not to be obvious, but every six seconds she glanced over her shoulder at the ledge. I followed her gaze. Good Lord. She was obsessing over Gavin.

I turned back to my page. Draw a line. Do your assignment. Get your degree. Get the hell out.

I unzipped my bag and fished around for a ruler.

The two girls headed for the wall chart, and damn it, I sneaked another peek at Gavin. He was strung out. I could tell by the way his chin jutted forward. He kept setting and resetting the cardboard on the tiny stick, trying to keep it straight. His frustration was growing, and he was going to explode any minute.

Too bad. I aligned the ruler with my stick and drew a thin solid line. Next, I measured out the five sections and ticked off the centimeters. I would not look. I would finish this. Go home. Forget.

I stood up and headed to the wall chart to calibrate the cross-staff. I held out the stick and determined the degrees that corresponded to the lines I’d drawn. Now to map out the Big Dipper and I could go.

I turned around, and God, I couldn’t help it, but my gaze went back to him. Gavin was still sitting there, elbow on his knee, chin in his hand. He looked at his popsicle stick again and suddenly it was winging its way out into the night sky.

Amy apparently saw it as well, as she walked over to him and handed him another stick. “Need help?” she asked.

He shook his head, but the TA persisted, standing close. Too close.

I yanked the ruler from my bag. I was going to do something stupid. I closed the gap and held out the ruler. “You never did have the right school supplies.”

Gavin swallowed, his Adam’s apple starting high, then bobbing down. “You always were there with your organized binders and perfectly sharpened pencils.” His eyes didn’t seem so blue in the dark, and his lips were quirked in that little lopsided smile I teased him about when we were small, but not so much later, when kissing it became my primary obsession.

Amy set the new stick on the ledge and backed away. I should leave this alone, let her have him. Anyone had to be better for him than me.

He accepted the ruler and laid it on the stick. I picked up his little flashlight and held it for him. The new line halved the piece of wood neatly, and he quickly marked off the five segments. When he was done, he returned the ruler. “Thanks.”

I held the plastic, still warm from his hands. I didn’t know what to do or say, so as he moved toward the wall chart, I followed, like a groupie dying for any acknowledgment from the rock star she obsessed over.

He held out the stick and closed one eye. His arm really wasn’t too high, but still, I reached out and lowered it to the optimum level for calibration, my hand burning where it connected with his skin. He sucked in a breath and I knew he felt it too. How could he not, with all our history?

“Did you make your map yet?” he asked.

“No.”

Without the least hesitation, he took my hand and led me to my backpack, scooping it up, then around the rooftop to the far corner. No lights were hooked up there, so it was quiet and dark. “Lie here with me,” he said and set his backpack on the ground. He squeezed my fingers as he let go, and I wished we had walked some great distance, just to feel his hand on mine a little longer.