Cat & Drew's Whirlwind Adventure

2. One Summer

Halfway through the week and I still haven't gotten into the swing of things yet. At the very least, I'm glad my life mimics more or less what it had been last year. I've got school during the day, and while yeah, fair, no more swim practice to keep me occupied afterwards, I'm back to spending my evenings working at Goodbury's favorite hole-in-the-wall convenience store—Monday through Wednesday. It's a routine, which is nice, so even though I'm mostly bored out of my skull between the mind-numbing transactions of the local alcoholics and those who have just come of age and are well on their way, I choose to continue being grateful. That's what happiness is after all—a choice.

That's what they told me at the facility, anyway. At Resthaven.

I learned a lot there actually, not so much from the stupid programs they put me through, but from everyone else who was forced to be there too. It's weird, I've always been such an overachiever, I'm still not sure how I managed to screw up killing myself when it's like, the one thing anyone can get right. Except me apparently. But I did learn a lot, in that place, on my one summer away. Whether or not happiness really is a choice, well, the jury's still out on that one. What I do know is that my chest feels heavy, and I cry all the time.

It's not that I enjoy hurting myself, or that I still want to die—not exactly. It's complicated. Some people say it's something they can control, a way to pretend they have any power over when or where it hurts. Then others, they do get off on the pain, like a little rush that lets them know they're still alive. I'm not so sure about any of that, I don't know why I need it, just that when those feelings start to be too much it's the only thing that makes it go away. So I'm okay with it, even knowing the massive stroke my parents would have if they found out.

That's another sore spot. Things have never been perfect between them, which honestly is just life and most marriages, but I know that what happened, what I did, put a lot more strain on them. They fight about it, constantly. If it were up to my mom I wouldn't be able to work here still, or even walk home alone after school, I'd be supervised at all times. My dad is much more of an old soul and takes a far different approach, thankfully. Now more than ever he thinks it's important that I have space, and agency, which goes against every maternal instinct my mom has been trying to cling to.

She's probably sitting at home right now, wringing her hands, too worried about what I'm thinking or what I might possibly do to pay attention to any of her shows. She won't come right out and say it, but I know she's disappointed I decided not to do swim again this year, same as Coach. That's been uncomfortable too. Coach Baker has owned this convenience store for as long as I've been alive, if I remember correctly he inherited it from his dad. While I appreciate his understanding and letting me return here to work, it has been sort of awkward with all the hints he keeps dropping for me to come back to the team.

Not to mention that he knows about last summer. Still, just like my parents he might know what I did and where I've been, but he doesn't know why, and I can see that question in his eyes every time he looks at me. It's the same look my mom and dad have. An oppressive ding sounds overhead as someone enters the shop, and I stand a little straighter, curious when I see that it's Goodbury's new mystery girl. All the hot gossip has already traveled around at the speed of light—as reliable as it is—but there are a few nuggets in there that I think are trustworthy enough to take on faith.

Like that her name is Catherine. Catherine Ross. A bit old lady for my taste, but hey, she surely didn't have a lot of choice in the whole name-picking department. Or that she came from the west coast, something else she probably didn't choose for herself because, let's face it, who wakes up and makes the conscious decision to move to Vermont? Every source seems to at least agree that she's trouble, and if these last few days have been any indication, she's not too keen on making friends either.