What She Found in the Woods

Bo hands me his canteen, discarded in the mad rush to get out of our clothes, and shakes out a pill for me. I swig it down while he rubs my arm with the salve.

‘This looks worse than it should. You bruise easily,’ he says, frowning. Then he narrows his eyes at me. ‘Do you have an iron deficiency?’

‘No, it’s probably the lithium,’ I say, staring at the inky map under my skin. When the silence becomes too heavy, I notice and look up at Bo. ‘They put me on lithium for a while. It does weird shit to you for years afterwards.’

He nods, but his face twists like he’s going to cry.

‘It’s OK,’ I say, moving closer.

‘No, it’s not,’ he says, and he pulls me to him, wrapping me up in a full body hug. I’m warm everywhere. I’m warm down deep in the frozen parts of me. ‘Why did your parents do that to you?’

‘Because I turned them into the horrible parents of a girl who encouraged a thirteen-year-old to kill herself on social media.’ I breathe out. It’s not a laugh, but it feels good like a laugh does. To let it out. ‘Everyone blames them for raising such a monster. When I lost it, they didn’t try to help me. My mom put me in a room, and they pumped me full of drugs, and she promised me I’d never really come out of it.’ I look at him. ‘I’m never getting out of that room, Bo. Even here, in the middle of the woods, I’m still there.’

He shakes his head. He won’t accept it.

‘Come with me,’ he whispers. ‘When I leave for school, come with me. Live in my room.’

He can’t be serious. ‘Bo. You’ll be starting over. Meeting new people,’ I say.

He shakes his head. ‘I won’t go without you.’

‘But you have to go to school,’ I say, frowning. ‘Your mom . . .’

‘I don’t care.’ He laughs in a rough, pushed way. ‘My whole life has been about my parents’ choices. Even college.’ He rolls me under him and holds my face between his hands. ‘You’re my choice. I want you with me. Come with me when I leave.’

He’s hovering over me, waiting for an answer. A part of me is screaming yes. I could get a job in a kitchen somewhere near his school. Maria would write me a recommendation. Bo could sneak me into his dorm room until I found us an apartment. I could figure this out, even without touching a dime of my enormous trust fund. I could do what I’ve always wanted to do but never had the guts to try. I’ve got no reason to stay here once Bo leaves, anyway.

I shake my head.

‘This is insane,’ I say, trying to sit up, but he won’t let me. ‘What about your parents?’ I ask.

‘Are you kidding? After my mom met you, she told me you were perfect for me,’ he replies, smiling. ‘She’ll be thrilled.’

I’m confused. Why would Maeve think I was perfect for anyone? I’d just told her I was a liar. A fraud. A conniving, vindictive . . . oh. Now I get it.

Maeve is good. Who better to protect her painfully naive son from a world full of social situations he has no clue how to navigate?

I’m angry with Maeve for manoeuvring me (again) for about a microsecond, because the thought of Bo going to one of those exclusive schools full of teenagers who are used to either being the smartest in their class or the richest in their town turns my stomach. They’ll eat him alive. Unless I’m there to eat them first.

And I would. If anyone ever tries to hurt Bo I will destroy them. Maeve knew that, the moment she looked me up and down. I have to go with him.

‘OK,’ I say, deadly serious.

‘Really?’ Bo says, surprised.

‘I’ve got nothing to stay here for.’ I smile up at him like I’m doing this solely for me. ‘I’ll go with you wherever you go.’

‘Yes!’

He’s giddy and boyish. He laughs and squeezes me and makes promises about how great it’s going to be. He even asks me to help him choose a school. He’s narrowed down his choices to the West Coast, to stay close to his family, but he’ll go to whichever of those I like best. It’s all the same to me, but I appreciate how hard he’s trying to give me some kind of power. But that’s Bo. Always giving, even when he’s getting.

‘I think I’m going to like California,’ I say.

‘The redwoods,’ Bo says, picturing a colossal forest to rival his own.

‘The freeways,’ I say, picturing a sprawling city to rival my own.

Bo laughs. ‘Figures you’d be romantic about freeways.’