The Summer I Drowned (Wattpad Books Edition)

Chapter 1

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walls of Dr. Levy's office are dark red, but she sets the ambient lighting to blue because it calms me. I've always felt stupid sitting here with my eyes closed, but I've learned to trust her. Years of confiding in someone once a week will do that.

"Breathe, Olivia," Dr. Levy says. "Good, you're doing great."

The aquarium bubbles, the air conditioner hums, and the clock ticks. I count from four, three, two, one, and then I'm staring into her gray eyes again. They're kind and gentle, hidden beneath glasses with thin crimson frames. Behind her sits a mahogany desk with a bonsai tree and a photo of her thirteen-year-old son. The wall is covered in plaques commemorating her degrees and awards in psychology.

Our family has been short on grocery money every month for the past five years so I can sit in this office. Dr. Levy deals with rich kids—like from the Upper West Side—not kids like me. But my parents wanted the best treatment, no matter the cost.

Behind the wall of translucent blinds, Manhattan stretches forever under the afternoon sun. We're on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, but from up here you can see the south side of Central Park, with Gapstow Bridge and the pond attached to it. Something about the wilderness being confined to that one space comforts me, and the high buildings of the city sometimes keep my panic attacks at bay. But tomorrow, I'll be by the ocean again. My stomach gnaws.

"The counting isn't helping," I say, breath ragged, and my knees bump together. The leather couch is cold under my thighs. "I'm still nervous."

"That's totally normal." Dr. Levy crosses her legs beneath her pencil skirt, her blond hair clipped back in a tight bun. "You aren't having a flashback right now, but if you experience one while you're in Caldwell Beach, you can try any of the coping methods we've been working on these last few weeks. You know how to help yourself."

I snap the elastic band against my wrist and take comfort in the shock of pain. Dr. Levy's brows pinch—she's trying to teach me ways to calm myself that don't involve chafing my skin, but so far, this helps more than anything.

"Olivia, are you sure you want to do this?" she asks. "It's never too late to back out."

"Now you sound like my mom." I laugh uneasily. "I'm okay, really. I want to go back. It doesn't matter if I'm nervous. I'm ready."

"Of course. I was ecstatic when you said you wanted to visit your hometown. But make sure you're going for the right reasons, and not because of what your classmates said."

A week before summer began, Dana Long, the captain of my volleyball team, invited me to a party. For the first time since I started at Manhattan High, I felt included; Dana's parties are a pretty big deal, and it was right before the year ended so I was still a junior. I showed up to her stepdad's apartment building wearing a hoodie in case it was cold on their thirtieth-floor balcony. But as it turned out, the place had an indoor pool—so everyone brought the party there.

All throughout high school, I've managed to avoid pools. My other friends on the team live in apartments like mine—small and lower-middle class—so it's never been a problem. I couldn't go near the water; I knew that. But I did it anyway, paralyzed from the fear of being judged and rejected. Everyone started swimming. And when they told me to come in, the fact that I hadn't brought a bathing suit wasn't enough for them. Jensen Fletcher pushed me into the shallow end.

The moment I was in, the air was nonexistent; his hands pressed against my back, and then I was plunging into coldness. Chlorine-saturated water mixed with the taste of the ocean in my memory. My screams pierced the small room, and when I scrambled out of the pool, crying and dry heaving, everyone gawked at me.