I snap the elastic band against my wrist and take comfort in the shock of pain. Dr. Levy’s brows pinch—she’s trying to teach me ways to calm myself that don’t involve chafing my skin, but so far, this helps more than anything.
“Olivia, are you sure you want to do this?” she asks. “It’s never too late to back out.”
“Now you sound like my mom.” I laugh uneasily. “I’m okay, really. I want to go back. It doesn’t matter if I’m nervous. I’m ready.”
“Of course. I was ecstatic when you said you wanted to visit your hometown. But make sure you’re going for the right reasons, and not because of what your classmates said.”
A week before summer began, Dana Long, the captain of my volleyball team, invited me to a party. For the first time since I started at Manhattan High, I felt included; Dana’s parties are a pretty big deal, and it was right before the year ended so I was still a junior. I showed up to her stepdad’s apartment building wearing a hoodie in case it was cold on their thirtieth-floor balcony. But as it turned out, the place had an indoor pool—so everyone brought the party there.
All throughout high school, I’ve managed to avoid pools. My other friends on the team live in apartments like mine—small and lower-middle class—so it’s never been a problem. I couldn’t go near the water; I knew that. But I did it anyway, paralyzed from the fear of being judged and rejected. Everyone started swimming. And when they told me to come in, the fact that I hadn’t brought a bathing suit wasn’t enough for them. Jensen Fletcher pushed me into the shallow end.
The moment I was in, the air was nonexistent; his hands pressed against my back, and then I was plunging into coldness. Chlorine-saturated water mixed with the taste of the ocean in my memory. My screams pierced the small room, and when I scrambled out of the pool, crying and dry heaving, everyone gawked at me.
The room burst into laughter. I cowered beneath a towel and ran out, just in time to hear Dana call me a freak.
But as terrible as that memory is, I won’t let it overwhelm me—I need it in order to stay resolute.
“It’s about more than them,” I say. “I want to swim again, Dr. Levy. I miss my old life and my old friends. I hate it here, I—” I stop myself. “Sorry. I don’t like it here, but I’m still glad we met.”
“Don’t worry. I understand.” She pauses. “Facing your fears head-on can work sometimes, though I do still worry about you. You’ve made significant improvements in coping with everyday triggers, but PTSD and the anxiety that accompanies it is unpredictable. You know this.”
“The aquarium isn’t bothering me. And I still love the color blue.”
“I’m being serious, Olivia. Your condition is very real.”
Silence seeps into the room, and my thumb rubs along the elastic. “I know. But going back to the place it happened is the only thing we haven’t tried yet. If I go there, maybe I can actually learn to swim again before senior year.”
“I want that for you.”
It’s hard to imagine now, but in Caldwell Beach, everyone thought I would become an Olympic swimmer. Either that or a marine biologist, considering how obsessed I was with sea creatures and wildlife in general. Now I can barely shower without being transported back to the worst night of my life.
Sometimes it isn’t even just the thought of being trapped under water that terrifies me. It’s that moment of calm that came before I blacked out. The fact that I was okay with just dying—sometimes I stare at my ceiling for hours fearing it.
Dr. Levy continues. “How are your nightmares?”
“Good. Better.”
It’s not a lie, really. My nightmares have gotten better.
“But you still have them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Tell me about the last one you remember.”
Tempted to snap the elastic again, I sit on my hands. “I keep having a new one. It starts with me chasing Miles down the beach. We’re kids, it’s really sunny out, and I’m not afraid of the water. As I chase him, he gets farther and farther away. Then I find myself on the cliff, and . . .”
“And then you’re falling,” Dr. Levy finishes.
“Yes, but it’s not happening as often, I swear.”
“Good, that means the sertraline isn’t making them worse. I’ll let your psychiatrist know. How does the dream make you feel?”
Thinking about it is like reaching into water, trying to grab something I can’t see—the feeling is there, but I have to search around to find it. “Empty, I guess. Because when I wake up, that same sadness is there, just like when I moved away. I thought Miles and I would drift apart, and we did.”
The last time I saw my childhood friend in person, he and my other best friend, Keely, along with their parents, had met my family and me on the outskirts of town so we could all say goodbye. Ever since my fall I’d been jittery, and my teeth chattered even under the blazing July sun. Miles and I hugged, and he smelled like spring laundry, a scent that was so familiar to me. When we pulled away, he gently held my wrists.
“Don’t go, Liv,” he whispered so our parents wouldn’t hear. “It’s all my fault you fell. I messed up big—I shouldn’t have let you go up there.”
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Faye’s. And my parents said I have to.” The road behind him led into town, but it was empty. “Where’s West? Is he coming?”
Miles kicked at the dirt. “Sorry, Liv . . . I haven’t seen him.”
Tears wet my cheeks, so I hugged Miles again.
“We’re still going to be friends, right?” he asked.
“We’ll always be friends. And we can talk online!”
At that point, almost everyone in our grade had made Instagram accounts behind our parents’ backs. We weren’t old enough, still in the sixth grade, but it was easy to lie about our ages. It comforted me knowing my friends would only be a few clicks away—but the idea of leaving without seeing West again created a hole inside of me.
He never came. My parents loaded me into the car, and Caldwell Beach disappeared through the back windows. Miles reached his hands far in the sky and waved, and I waved back.
We’ve talked online a bit since I left, but now, we’re virtual strangers. A lot can change in five years. Miles doesn’t look like the same awkwardly skinny kid with swoopy blond hair on Instagram, and most of his pictures are him on sets of high school plays, in which he apparently always scores a lead role. On top of that, he appears to have taken up the mantle his bloodline made for him—his profile has become increasingly more lavish over the years, with pictures of his dad’s cars and their insanely expensive vacation spots all over the world. But Miles Hendricks has never been one to be a douche about his family’s wealth, so I don’t know why I’m so worried he’ll be someone else now.