Page 64 of Nothing Like the Movies

We weren’t friends.

I replied:Powell.

I’d gone there specifically because I was afraid of running into Wes if I went to the music library.

Wes: No shit? AJ’s at Powell right now. I’m literally sitting on a bench outside of Royce, waiting for him.

Powell and Royce were directly across from each other. The two buildings literally faced each other, so Wes was in the vicinity.

I speed-walked toward the steps, wanting to get out quickly before I ran into him.

I texted:You didn’t have anything to study tonight?

Wes: I did, but I studied at the music library. Just got done.

Ha—I knew it! Iknewhe was going to be at the music library. I started down the steps, proud of my mind-reading abilities as I texted:Cool. See you tomorrow, Wes.

Wes: Good night, Buxbaum. Also—Liz?

I texted:Yeah?

Wes: The speed at which you’re descending those steps is terrifying. Slow down before you trip.

I cough-squeaked a noise as I read his words—gaaah, he was watching me from somewhere in the dark—and forced myself not to look over my shoulder as I replied:Good night, creeper.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.”

—Dirty Dancing

Wes

“I don’t know what you’re so nervous about.”

“I don’t either, to be honest.” I probably looked like I was talking to myself as I jogged down the hill, talking to Sarah on the phone as she jogged with me from Stanford. Running together had become a thing with us over the past couple of years, so even though we were at different schools, we still ran together a few times a week.

She said, “I think it’s probably because aside from Dr. Allison, you’ve never really talked about the specifics of that era with anyone but me.”

“That’strue,” I said. Not even Noah had known what things were really like, and I’d talked to him all the time back then. And Michael found out eventually, but even he didn’t know everything. I squinted into the bright sunrise and said, “I guess I just feel…unpreparedto talk about it.”

“But maybe look at it this way,” she said. “It felt good to discuss in therapy, right?”

I went right at the bottom of the hill. “It did, but this isn’t private, and oh, yeah—Lizwill be the one asking the questions.”

“Because you requested that, dipshit,” she said, and I knew if she were here, she’d be giving me her patented you’re-an-idiot look. “But for real, there’s nothing to be afraid of. They want to know how you came back to baseball, so you just tell them about how it happened.”

“But Mom—”

“Mom is fine,” she interrupted. “Mom has overshared her side of this to anyone who’ll listen. Mom tells strangers at the grocery store about how it all shook out. Mom would be disappointed if you failed to mention her issues, and you know I’m right.”

Shewasright.

Our mom entered therapy as a broken woman and came out… well,lessbroken and filled with the unstoppable urge to tell everyone she met about her experiences.

Even the experiences that didn’t paint her in the best light.

“Just treat this as free therapy, stop overthinking, and talk to Liz like you’re tellingherthe story. Do it and be done.”

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