I’d hoped that once I got all my feelings about Carolyn written down, they would stay safely tucked away inside the journal and out of my head. But when I was done writing, I sat back and looked at the pages.
And that’s when I knew: I’m in trouble.
I had been spending so much time trying not to pay attention to the things I’ve been feeling about her that I hadn’t realized just how many feelings for her I actually have. Writing it all down just made it all so much clearer. And now whenever I look at her, everything I wrote comes flooding back to me and I can’t think about anything else.
The worst part is, I’ve been here before.
After I fell for Zoë, thoughts of her dictated my life. I made a point of sitting next to her at our lunch table every day. I would look forward to parties if I knew she was going to be there. I chose my outfits every day based on what I thought she would like.
And in a way, it worked. We became really good friends. We took the same classes and went shopping together after school and texted each other during our favorite TV shows. When my dad got sick, she was there, always ready to talk or listen or keep me supplied with fresh tissues.
And the whole time, I was in love with her.
There was never any way for that situation to end well.
I can’t let history repeat itself. So I do the only thing I can think to do—I ignore Carolyn.
If I don’t talk to her, I won’t find myself asking her questions just to hear her answers.
There’s this little fluttery thrill that goes through me whenever she laughs or smiles at something I say,
I wrote in the journal.
It feels amazing. I want it to happen more, so I keep trying to think of things to say to her, but I have to remember not to go too far and ask her something too personal, like whether she’s ever kissed anybody before. Even though I really want to know.
If I don’t look at her, I won’t think about how pretty she is. I won’t stare at her hands and wonder what it would be like to touch them again, for longer this time.
She’s the only girl in this whole damn camp who can make this absurd outfit look good. Actually, I bet she’s the only girl in the world who can.
If I don’t pay attention to her at all, I won’t fixate on the slightly unfamiliar way she forms her words, wondering if everyone from the Northeast speaks the way she does or if it’s just her.
I love how patiently she listens to Matthew’s rants about New Horizons and reparative therapy and how he thinks we’re all crazy for actually wanting it to work. And I love how she’s always doing nice things for people, like offering to go get Daniel a new fork when he drops his on the floor or discreetly whispering to Melissa that she has a lint ball on the back of her sweater.
If I just ignore her, maybe all of this will just…fade away.
I spend all of breakfast looking anywhere but at Carolyn and giving the barest, most minimal responses when she talks to me. I’m sure she’s noticed the sudden shift in my behavior—I’m not being very subtle about it—but I don’t know what else to do. This crush cannot continue.
Complicating matters is that Matthew hasn’t forgotten what he saw yesterday. He hasn’t said anything about it directly, but it’s written all over his face. Every time I catch his eye, he’s ready with a knowing grin or a teasing eyebrow waggle in Carolyn’s direction. My inner torment is fun for him. I want to tell him to cut it out, but there’s never a moment where we’re alone, out of Carolyn and Daniel’s range of hearing—Mr. Martin’s rules have made sure of that. So I settle for throwing him the severest looks I can muster, but if he gets my meaning, he doesn’t show it.
Breakfast seems to last forever.
***
It’s the final day of the Father Wound exercise. Thank God.
But that means it’s Carolyn’s day to be subjected to the wrath of Mr. Martin. He calls her name, and I want to reach out and squeeze her hand and tell her it will be okay, like Matthew did for me. But touching her is definitely not part of Operation Crush the Crush.
She sits in the dreaded chair, and Mr. Martin begins rattling off the usual family and childhood questions. But she stops him.
“It was my cousin,” she whispers. I can feel the surprise in the room—up until now, no one has interrupted Mr. Martin’s interrogation process.
Mr. Martin blinks. “What was your cousin?”
If it’s possible for a person to look embarrassed but confident at the exact same time, that’s what Carolyn looks like right now. She knows exactly what she’s saying, but it’s hard for her to say it. “My Father Wound. He did it.”
Mr. Martin’s face takes on that condescending look that he’s so good at. “Carolyn, I appreciate your willingness to jump right into the exercise like this, but I really think we should discuss your immediate family firs—”
The blue of Carolyn’s eyes turns icy. “You said we were doing this exercise as one big group so we could maybe find parts of ourselves in other people’s stories, right? Well, I’ve been sitting here for the last three days doing that.”
I’ve never seen her like this, so strong and determined. I like it.
But then her expression becomes less sure. “But…even though I know what my Father Wound is, I just…don’t know how it factors in. To, you know, me being here. I need your help with that.”
Mr. Martin thinks for a moment and then nods. It seems being asked for help has appeased his initial displeasure at having the course of his session hijacked. “Very well. Please, tell us about your cousin.”
“His name is Kenny.” It’s like it hurts her to say the name. “He’s three years older than me. And…when I was younger, and our parents left us alone together, he would make comments about…well, about my body.”
“What kind of comments?”
Carolyn’s face turns crimson. “You know…sexual comments. About the way I was developing.”
“Did he ever touch you?”
“He tried to. He would snap the strap of my training bra, acting like he was just teasing, but he pulled on it so hard that I knew he was trying to get it off. Or he would accidentally-on-purpose bump into me and rub against my chest. A few times, I saw his erection through his pants.” A fresh blush spreads over her cheeks. “Whenever he got like that, I would run to find my mom in the other room or lock myself in the bathroom.”
“Did you tell your parents?”
Carolyn shakes her head. “He’s my mother’s sister’s kid. My mother and my aunt are really close. I would never do anything to come between them.”
“When did this all start?”
“When I was seven.”
“Is it still going on?”
“No. He went away to college in Scotland, so I haven’t seen him in over a year. And the last couple of times I saw him, he stayed away.” She gives a labored shrug. “Maybe he finally lost interest. Or maybe he realized that I’m strong enough to fight back now.”
I’m vaguely aware of Matthew watching me from the corner of his eye, but I can’t pay attention to him right now. I can’t focus on anything except Carolyn. All I want is to run up there and wrap my arms around her and comfort her and keep her safe and not let go, not ever.
“Well, Carolyn,” Mr. Martin says, “it’s clear your cousin’s treatment of you caused you to hate men.”
Carolyn looks surprised. “I don’t know about that…”
“It’s true. You don’t trust men. You aren’t comfortable around them.”
“But I do trust some men. My dad and my brother, my friends at school…”
“Your father and brother don’t count. And as for your friends at school, have you ever viewed any of them as having the potential to be more than just a friend?”
Carolyn frowns. “No.”
“That’s because your cousin taught you to negatively associate men and sexuality.” Once again, he speaks as if he were the absolute authority on everything, as if he were all-knowing—as if he were God.
“Oh,” Carolyn says, understanding dawning on her. “So the way Kenny treated me is the reason I don’t feel attracted to boys.”
“Yes,” Mr. Martin says.
She looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Do you think we can fix it?”
Mr. Martin smiles. “I know we can.”
The rest of Carolyn’s session consists of her beating the hell out of Matthew, also known as Kenny the Cousin, with the Nerf bat. But unlike the other sessions that involved the bat, Mr. Martin never replaces it with the punching bag. Instead, he makes Carolyn hit Matthew until Matthew runs out of the cabin and slams the door behind him. Mr. Martin claims this symbolically represents Carolyn evicting Kenny from her life. Now that the door has been closed on him, it can never be reopened.
She’s exhausted and out of breath, and her hair is a sweaty mess, but she actually seems happy, more at peace than any of the rest of us after our Father Wound sessions. She comes back to her seat, and I forget that I’m supposed to be ignoring her. She looks right at me with a huge, contented smile as if to say, Can you believe it? I’m finally going to have the life I’ve always wanted! This is the best day ever!
I hold her gaze, and my brain scrambles to meld everything I’ve just learned about her with everything I already knew.
Carolyn has been frightened and toyed with and abused; after all that’s happened to her, she should have no hope left at all. But she does. Look at her right now—clearly, she does. Somehow, she still sees the good in people.
But her unparalleled optimism is only one half of her. The other half is filled with strength. Instead of feeling sorry for herself and blaming Kenny for ruining her life, she went and did something about it. She became an athlete, tough enough to stand up for herself and fight back if it ever came to that.
God knows I’ve been staring at her pretty much nonstop since the moment I first saw her, but right now, it’s like I’m really seeing her for the first time.
I got my tattoo after falling in love with Zoë. Lightning never strikes the same place twice, and I knew that I would never feel that way about anyone else as long as I lived.
But I was wrong.
For the second time in my life, I’ve been hit by lightning.