The Great Gatsby sits on my dresser, filled with the soured evidence of whatever it was Carolyn and I had. I can’t bring myself to open it.
The little sleep I do manage to get is tainted by an awful dream of being stranded, all alone, on an island version of Washington, DC. There are no boats or bridges or tunnels, and every time I try to swim to civilization, a strong current pulls me back. I go to the statue of Abraham Lincoln to plead for help, and the only response he gives me is a line from Gatsby: “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.”
The next morning, I pull Matthew aside on the walk to the dining cabin.
“Okay with you if I join team New Horizons Is Bullshit?” I whisper, cranky from my night of sleep deprivation.
He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Really.”
“What happened yesterday, Lex?”
“What do you think happened?” I mumble.
“I have absolutely no idea,” he says. “You guys are acting so weird.”
I look at him, my eyes—and heart—heavy. “I told her how I felt and she shot me down.”
Matthew’s face falls. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“God, Lexi, I’m so sorry. I thought if you guys just had a chance to be alone together…”
“Yeah, well. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It kinda was though—I’m the one who pushed you off the damn train.”
I look at him. “Yeah, what happened with Mr. Martin, anyway? He looked really mad.”
“He’s not thrilled, that’s for sure. I’m supposed to meet him in his office after breakfast. He’s probably gonna kick me out. Three strikes rule.” He actually looks worried.
“Well, that’s okay, right?” I say hesitantly. “I mean, you hate it here…”
He nods. “That’s true.” But his expression doesn’t change.
Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?
“Matthew? Is everything okay?”
But then we’re at the dining cabin, and there’s no more time to talk.
After breakfast, Matthew heads off to the main cabin for his disciplinary meeting with Mr. Martin, and the rest of us go to the carpet cabin for more reparative therapy exercises.
Now that I know for sure that I have absolutely zero prospects for real love, I might as well stick with the pretend-to-be-straight-for-Mom plan. But it’s a lot harder today than it was two days ago to act like I care about this stuff. That stupid fantasy yesterday ruined everything. Allowing myself to imagine, even for just that one moment, that Carolyn and I could really be together has made the whole plan seem a lot less doable. Even though I was flat-out rejected, I can’t seem to let the hope go. Not hope that I’ll get to be with Carolyn—that’s clearly not going to happen—but more like the way I felt when I thought there was hope for us. I felt…optimistic. For the first time in a long time, I felt like there was at least one outcome, in a long list of possible paths, where everything might actually be okay.
It’s like there’s some part of me deep in my subconscious that’s saying, Hey, remember how good it felt to think that you might actually get to live an honest, happy life? Yeah, we want more of that.
I really don’t have the energy for this de-gayifying stuff right now. I watch the exercise going on, but all I want is to be in bed with the covers pulled all the way up over my head.
It doesn’t help that in addition to being completely exhausted and dealing with a head full of thoughts that are more tangled than a ten-year-old ball of Christmas lights, I’m also feeling more alone than ever. Carolyn is acting like a stranger; Matthew is up at Mr. Martin’s, probably arranging his flight home at this very moment; and Daniel is still super gung-ho about the exercises after what happened on our date.
So when Brianna asks for a volunteer to bring Mr. Martin a note, I jump at the chance.
I take my time moseying through the woods. When I get to the part of the path that’s hidden from both the main cabin and the field, I sit on a big rock, take off my shoes, and dig my toes into the dirt path.
The rich soil threads between my toes and burrows under my nails. So much for Brianna’s pedicure. I dig down deeper into the earth with my heels. The soil underneath the top layer is cool and moist and soft. It reminds me of the sand on the beach back home.
I lean back against a tree trunk and gaze up at the intricate web of branches above me. I wish I could stay here forever.
But it’s only a matter of time before someone will come looking for me, so after a few more minutes, I brush the dirt off my feet, slip back into my shoes, and carry on with my errand.
Mr. Martin’s office door is closed when I get there, and I raise my hand to knock but freeze when I hear the voice through the door.
“Please,” Matthew is begging. “I can’t go home.”
Can’t go home? But I thought he couldn’t wait to get out of here?
Curious, I lower my hand and press my ear to the door.
“So you said,” Mr. Martin says. “But you have disobeyed me and disrespected my camp, Matthew. There are rules.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Matthew says. “Please just give me one more chance. I’ll do anything.”
There’s a long stretch of silence…and then a few footsteps.
“Well,” Mr. Martin says, his voice low, “there is one thing you could do for me.”