Page 38 of My Star-Crossed Summer

When I close my eyes, I listen to the twittering birds and feel the cool air drifting from the water. I can’t recall the last time I felt this kind of calm, and I’m so glad that I took this risk and came here. I can’t help but wonder what other moments like this I’ve missed out on just because I spent so much time focused on doing what other people expected of me. My parents, Theo, my friends—even Gwen sometimes. I’ve been so wrapped up in making the people around me happy—and proud of my accomplishments—that I lost track of what I really wanted.

And who I truly am.

Out here, though, all the noise in my head dies down. I see why Noah likes it so much, and I see that it’s good for me, too.

When I open my eyes, Derrick is crouching next to Noah, releasing the chipmunk into the brush.

“Godspeed, little doodle,” Noah says, giving a tiny salute. This man is like a young, hot, Mister Rogers of the wilderness, and my heart feels like it might crack in half—because everyone deserves to have a Noah in their life, sparking their curiosity and inspiring them to grow.

And I want him back in mine.

I don’t know exactly where I’m headed, and I don’t yet know what I want. But what Ineedis to feel like I’m doing something that matters. And that I’m making decisions that align with my purpose and not what others think is right for me.

I’ve spent too much of my life trying to please other people, and today, I’m taking the first step in leaving that behind. I pluck a stone from the pool, a green-tinted one that’s worn smooth by the current. As I close my fist around it, I etch this moment into my memory and then tuck it into the pocket of my shorts.

After havingsnacks and stowing their trash in their backpacks (“Pack it in, pack it out,” Noah reminded them), the kids are taking their last few minutes to snap photos with their new friends.

Overhead, big puffy clouds have passed over the sun. I hadn’t even noticed the sky darkening, but an ominous gray cloud is sweeping in from the direction we came.

“We should head back,” Noah says, gathering everyone up. He usually only has to speak two words, and the kids snap to attention like he’s the Pied Piper. He’s always had that effect on people, though, even when we were in college. He alwaysclaimed to be an introvert, spooked by large groups of people, but he drew people to him just the same. His quiet confidence makes you feel at ease, like you’re simultaneously safe with him and also about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime—if you’re willing to follow.

And if he invites you to come along.

After we met on that balcony, he chose me—and it made me feel like I was special. Worthy of his attention and his friendship. And that just made it harder when graduation rolled around and hedidn’tchoose me.

But it wasn’t justharder—it was the worst feeling in the world.

The kids all grab their designated buddy, and we do our head count before heading back onto the trail. Ethan and Priya are right by Noah’s side, trying to emulate his confidence and ease.

“The good news,” Sophie tells me, “is that it’s mostly downhill from here.”

She winks and then practically skips ahead down the trail, the most eager kids following close behind her. She’s like a little wood sprite in her hiking shorts and tank top, her hair somehow still styled into flawless braids in this wretched humidity. She seems to be perfectly at home in this place, like all the cute woodland animals and the blossoming flowers, which for a second makes me feel like an imposter again.

But then I wonder: was she naturally like this, completely at home in nature, or was it an acquired skill? And then: could I acquire it, too?

This time, I end up in the middle of the group, with three kids behind me and Noah following in the back. We’ve moved about a hundred yards when that dark cloud splits open and the rain starts to fall. The kids up ahead giggle, and one of the boys behind me grumbles. It’s Jacob from Cleveland, who so far hasgroused about everything from the altitude and the lunch menu to our choice of board games in the evening.

“Just the usual shower,” Noah tells him. “You know what they say around here? If you don’t like the weather, wait twenty minutes.”

Jacob lets out a heavy sigh, and I can tell he feels out of his element, too. At least two of the kids said they’d never been in a mountain climate before, and that’s partly why these outings were planned. The kids are here to learn about supernovas and Mars rovers, but Noah was quick to tell me that it’s just as important that they learn a little about the world here outside the lab, too.

It’s good training, giving them opportunities to look for those glimmers, he said during our last planning meeting. And the way his brow arched told me,It’s good for you, too.

The rain falls heavier as we walk, pattering on the big rhododendron leaves in a calming way that would put me to sleep if I was lying in my cabin. I catch myself smiling, even though the rain has plastered my hair to my face and my arms are chilly from the cooling air. The kids talk quietly as we walk, focused on the sights and sounds of the trail. Up ahead, there’s a gasp and some giggles—Priya and Layla have flushed a rabbit out of the brush, and I see the flash of its cotton-white tail as it skitters under a fallen tree.

Thunder rumbles overhead. This is one of those summer storms that comes out of nowhere, so fast that the clouds don’t fully block the sun. The leaves on the trees sparkle with raindrops, and I try to remember the last time I was caught in the rain—in a place that wasn’t a parking lot. The three kids behind scurry around me to catch up with the rest of the group, leaving me to fall back with Noah as another low rumble of thunder rolls overhead.

“Should have brought my rain jacket,” he says, walking beside me and matching my stride. His shirt’s stuck to his chest now, almost completely soaked. Mine probably is, too. My eyes catch on the defined muscles of his shoulders and biceps, and I tear my gaze away.

Another glimmer, I think. Once you start looking for them, you really do see them everywhere.

He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking out some water, and droplets hit my arm. Something in my chest pulls at the thought—these tiny drops of rain that have touched his skin and are now touching mine. A part of him that’s now a part of me.

I want more of our parts to overlap. I want to know everything that’s happened to him since I left him on that beach outside of Charleston. I want to know all of his secret feelings. And most of all, I want to know what he’s thinking about us now.

We’re headed downhill, the trail sloppy from the rain. My feet feel less sure, and I’m back to staring at the ground, choosing my steps carefully as I mind the growing space between us and the kids. When we come to a small creek that’s rushing from the rain, Noah walks right through with no hesitation—two big steps and he’s on the other side. It’s only a few inches deep, but I try to dodge the loose rocks and aim for the shallow spots.

“Let’s catch up,” he says, and even though I know he’s talking about the kids, my brain snaps right back to that last night we saw each other before everything blew apart. My chest tightens as I remember straddling his lap on the beach, trying to communicate all of my bottled-up feelings in one fiery kiss. We’d been building toward that moment for so long—it’s easy to see in retrospect, but it was impossible to see at the time. That moment had felt inevitable but also clumsy, in that way that collisions so often do. Kissing Noah had been thrilling and terrifying, and then when he’d clasped my hands and pulled away from me, I’d panicked.

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