I'm waiting for the light to turn green, watching teenagers smoke under the protection of the bus shelter, and thinking that some things never change.

Christmas has passed, but tomorrow the town will wake up covered in a white blanket. I can't see the beauty in the first snowfall tonight. It leaves an irritating and dangerous sheet over the streets and driveways that will soon become more dirt than ice. Kids will bundle up and make snow angels and their parents will scowl at the diamonds that fall from the sky.

The light turns green, but there's no one behind me and I stay where I am, watching the snowflakes build up on the windshield. I don't know why I don't go. Because Mom won't wonder where I am if I come home late? Because Tyler's probably home and I'm not sure I want to see him right now?

Somewhere in the distance, sirens are blaring. I barely hear them.

Red again, so I stay.


•
•
•

“Mom?” I slam the door against the heavy air and go straight to the air conditioner, held precariously in the window. “You here?” I call, cooling my face.

“Christina?” I follow her voice to the next room. She's curled up on the couch like she's trying not to take up much space. The TV drones in the background, but I know she doesn't hear it.

I want to say something nice, something comforting. Tell her I'm sorry I'm home late because I think she worried. But “I picked up an extra shift” is all I get out, and she only nods disinterestedly. I ask her if she wants a cup of tea. No. Water? No, nothing. It's not long before I give up, swallowing my frustration. It's proving to be a hard habit to break.

I've trained my eyes to not look at the bedroom door across from mine as I make my way upstairs. My room is neat and orderly as usual. Tyler always said I was an alien or adopted. Freaky, he called me. He wasn't being cruel though. Sometimes I think he was paying me a compliment.

My desk is the only mess in the room. It's covered in scratch paper and broken pencils, sure signs that I was studying until I couldn't keep my eyes open last night. But finals are over now – school is over. Senior year didn't end the way it does in the movies, with tears and hugs and “keep in touch” promises. It ended as school always does, down the overgrown sidewalk and up the hill behind the hockey arena.

I clean the desk more meticulously than necessary before opening my drawer and taking out the envelope that I hid away five whole months ago. It's under several notebooks and loose sheets of paper, but my fingers find it easily.

I told myself that I would wait until school was over to look at it, and I'm nothing if not true to my word. People say to take time to think things over before making a decision, like the answer will find you somehow. But the letter makes my stomach twist as it always did.


•
•
•

“What've you got there?” I jump. It's been a while since Tyler has been able to sneak up on me.

“Uh …” I don't know what to respond. I never even told him I applied. “It's a … nothing. School stuff.” I try to shove the letter into my bag, but he's always been faster than me.

“Then let me see.” He plucks the letter from my hand, and I'm powerless as his eyes travel across the page. His expression is amused, surprised, then nothing. His suntanned face becomes a mask, the way it does when he doesn't want me to know what he's thinking.

“Oh.” His voice is clipped, and it's amazing how much he sounds like our mother. “I didn't realize you were thinking of going there.” He sets the paper gingerly on the table, like it's dangerous.

“New York? I wasn't. I mean, it was really on a whim that I applied,” I stutter. Lying was his strong suit, not mine. Going to NYU has been my dream since I was twelve. One of the only things I ever kept from him.

He looks like he's not sure what to do. Then he wraps an arm around my shoulders and says “Good job” before disappearing into the kitchen. I hear beer bottles clink and the pop of a cap. “Early admissions, too.” The voice that reaches me is slightly sarcastic.

I follow him and try to forget that this is his second beer and it's only one o'clock. “Are you mad?”

He laughs, but it's fake. “Nah. Why would I be mad?” He takes a long pull of Mom's cheap beer. “Well,” he continues, “you could have told me, but …” He shrugs.

“I just didn't think it would happen.” I can't meet his eyes, but I think he knows the real reason I never told him. “You going out tonight?” I don't need an answer.

“You know,” I continue, “when I was little I thought we would both move away some day. We would rent an apartment together and live in a big city and do something with our lives.” I'm partly ashamed of my words and partly relieved that I'm finally letting them go.

Understanding washes over him, but he only glares and sets down the half-empty bottle. “Oh, don't act like you're so much better than everyone else. There's nothing wrong with this town,” he says.

“Sure there's nothing wrong with it. If you want to live with your parents forever and spend every Friday at the bar, every weekend partying.”

He clenches his jaw but has no retort. His face has become that blank mask again.


•
•
•

I should call Dad. He's never had a cell, but I know the number at his apartment. Neither of us are great communicators, and I don't even want to talk to him. I can't talk to Mom. I actually pick up my phone, about to call Penny, but realize that I can't talk to her because she's at some party, and we were starting to drift apart even before the accident.

My feet yearn to take me across the hall. Like I did the night after my fight with Tyler. I went to his room, meaning to tell him all about how I registered and there was really nothing more to do about it. But I walked in and found him sitting on the floor, rifling through pictures. I flopped on the bed and peeked over his shoulder.

He was holding a photo from my tenth birthday. Mom was on some date and Dad was working, but Tyler had picked up several extra shifts to buy me a whole stack of new books.

“Truce?” I said and he nodded because he already knew. We didn't say much more because he was going out and so was I. But I hugged him goodbye, and he squeezed me tightly and said, “I'm just going to miss you.”


•
•
•

I never told Mom about NYU because Tyler never came home that night. And I try to tell myself that he did a stupid thing because he did a lot of stupid things.

I stare at the course descriptions, but only pick out words. Essays, percentage, literature.

These could be my life in three months, or my regrets. I wonder what it would be like. I've never wanted anything but to escape the vicious circle that is my hometown, where people get married and raise families because they know nothing else.


•
•
•

“Hi, Mom.”

Her roots are bleeding through and her nail polish has long chipped off. I find myself wishing she would act like she used to – the way I hated, embarrassed that she dressed like my classmates and had never held a job for more than a year.

“Hi, hon.” She used to call me that when I was a kid.

She's curled up at the arm of the couch, and I can't help but think that she looks like a little kid. I don't know how I can leave her to fend for herself. I never imagined I would have to. Or maybe I just never thought about her.

I sit across from her and fiddle with the pillow. “Can we talk?”

She turns the reality television channel on mute and looks at me in a way she never has, like she's giving me her full attention. I don't know if we have even had a real conversation since the accident.

“I need to tell you something.” The words spill out of me with more ease than I expected. I tell her about the application, how I was accepted. I even find myself describing the classes I registered for.

Her blue eyes – the same as Tyler's – pierce me. An awkward silence fills the space. Then she gives a falsely pleasant, surprised “Oh” and looks around like she doesn't know what to do with herself.

“Oh?” My voice is flat in confusion. I know she's lying, but I can't help but be a little disappointed. “Okay?” I get up to leave.

“Wait, no, I'm sorry. I just … well, I already knew.”

“That's impossible. I never told anyone.” I can't understand why she's so calm.

“No.” She raises her eyebrows. “Tyler told me, actually.”

I almost gasp. It's the first time she's said his name, but it comes out so smoothly I almost miss it. I stare at her, my question in my eyes.

But she doesn't see it. She's looking at her nails, examining the polish that isn't there. “I was surprised at first, but then not so much. I know you always wanted to go out of state.” She sounds slightly bitter and sighs like she's anxious to end the conversation. “Well, congratulations.” She smiles a little, then turns away from me.

I'm bewildered to suddenly feel tears burning behind my eyes. I know it's stupid; this is what I wanted her to say. I wanted her to let me go, didn't I?

“You don't want me to stay?”

Her head twitches at the stupid shake in my voice, then she meets my eyes. “There's nothing keeping you here.”


•
•
•

I'm unpacking my bags but slowly because I can't really bring myself to do it. An hour ago, I was ready to go. I'd said good-bye to my dad and even Penelope. But the train leaves in an hour, and I won't be on it. Tomorrow morning students will begin moving into their dorms, and I will be here because I can't bear to leave and I'm not sure why.

Five months ago, I would have left her in an instant. But I guess some things do change.

“Christina.” I'm surprised that she's out of bed this early, but I don't look around.

“Yeah, Mom.” My voice is free of my usual resentment. “I'll be down in a bit. I'll make us something to eat then.”

But she sits down next to me on the bed and takes the pile of plaid sweaters that Tyler always made fun of out of my hands, placing them back in the bag. She's fully dressed and holding her car keys. “No, you won't.”

“Mom, I know you want me to go, but I can't do it. Tyler didn't want me to, and I didn't think you would either. I guess I thought you would surprise me with a maternal gesture of some kind, but we both know that's impossible.” Maybe the resentment is still there.

“Hey,” she snaps, “I want you to go because I want you to have a future. I'm proud of you. And Ty was proud of you.” She smiles a little. “Of course he was happy for you. He just didn't want to see you go.”

“He didn't,” I snap. “But I don't want to leave.” And it's true because I feel like he's still here if I can picture him around me. No matter how much I may have wanted it, Tyler would never have liked New York. I can't imagine him there.

“I know” is all she says.


•
•
•

The train is about to leave. We stand on the platform, awkward at first. But she hugs me almost as tightly as Tyler did. She doesn't say good-bye, and I don't either.

Instead I say, “I'll miss you,” because it's true.

“Study hard.” And she lets me go.