Chapter 47
Summer's POV
"Look at you, studying on a holiday break. Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"
I looked up to find Victoria standing in the doorway, perfectly put together in a cream Chanel suit even though it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. She had her iPad tucked under one arm and a cup of coffee in her other hand, and she was looking at me with that mixture of amusement and concern that meant she was about to start asking questions I didn't want to answer.
I'd brought Kieran's physics notebook with me to breakfast—the one he'd left in my locker weeks ago with all his detailed explanations written in that left-handed scrawl. I'd been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, not really reading, just tracing my fingers over his handwriting like some kind of pathetic stalker.
Victoria reached over to pinch my cheek. "Seriously, Summer. This studious look is very becoming on you."
"Mom!" I swatted her hand away, but I couldn't muster much enthusiasm for it.
"And whose notes are those? The handwriting is very distinctive. Left-handed?"
I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though my heart was suddenly racing. "Just a classmate. He's really good at physics."
"He." Victoria's smile widened, but there was something careful in her eyes now, something watchful. "Another boy. Interesting."
"It's not like that," I said quickly, too quickly, which of course made it worse.
She paused, reaching out to tap the edge of the notebook where Kieran had written in the margin: This is where you need to use conservation of energy. Don't just look at the surface.
"This boy seems to put a lot of thought into his explanations," she said softly. "That's sweet. But Summer... you seem worried. Is everything okay?"
I wanted to tell her. God, I wanted to tell her everything—about Kieran, about what had happened in gym class, about how I'd tried to report it and failed, about how he was avoiding me now and I didn't know how to fix it. But how could I explain any of that without explaining everything else? Without explaining that I'd lived through this once before, that I knew how this story ended, that I was terrified of watching it happen again?
"I'm fine," I said instead, looking down at my plate. "Just stressed about midterms."
Victoria sat down across from me, setting her coffee cup down with a soft clink. "Summer. Sweetheart. I've known you for seventeen years. I know when you're lying to me."
I felt my throat tighten. "Mom—"
"You just broke up with Evan Whitmore," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Which, honestly, I think was the right call. That boy never appreciated you. But I'm worried about you jumping from one complicated situation into another."
She picked up the notebook, studying Kieran's handwriting more closely. "You know what I noticed? You've been looking at these notes more than you used to look at Evan's Instagram. And that's saying something."
I felt heat rise to my face. "I'm just trying to pass physics, Mom."
"Are you?" Victoria set the notebook down and looked at me directly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're trying to solve a problem that has nothing to do with F=ma."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
Victoria stood up and kissed the top of my head. "I know, sweetheart. Just... be careful, okay? Your heart is too big sometimes. You try to fix things that aren't yours to fix."
She paused at the door. "And Summer? Whatever boy wrote those notes? He's lucky to have someone who cares enough to actually read them. But make sure you're not hurting yourself trying to help him."
After she left, I sat there staring at Kieran's handwriting, my mother's words echoing in my head. Your heart is too big sometimes. You try to fix things that aren't yours to fix. The words settled over me like a weight, pulling at threads I'd been trying not to examine too closely. Because she was right, wasn't she? I was trying to fix something. But the problem was that she didn't know—couldn't know—just how broken things had already been, how badly I'd failed the first time around.
Her warning felt like a key turning in a lock I'd deliberately kept closed, the one that held all my secrets about the life I'd lived before, about the guilt that gnawed at me every time I looked at Kieran's careful handwriting, about the boy who'd died alone on a frozen lake while I was warm and safe somewhere else. I'd spent weeks telling myself I was doing the right thing, that I was helping him, that this time would be different. But what if my mother was right? What if I wasn't helping him at all? What if I was just trying to absolve myself of a sin he didn't even know I'd committed?
Was I trying to help Kieran because I genuinely cared about him, or because I was trying to fix the guilt I carried from my first life? Was I doing this for him, or for myself?
I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore except that the thought of spending four days not knowing if he was okay made my chest feel like it was caving in.
My laptop was still open on the table where I'd left it earlier, the Quantum Tutoring confirmation email glowing on the screen. I'd filled out the registration form, but I'd hesitated at the final step. Now, remembering my resolve from before my mother walked in, I moved the cursor to the submit button. No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. I clicked it before I could change my mind again.
The page refreshed. Registration complete. Your first session is scheduled for Friday, November 23rd at 2:00 PM.
The day after Thanksgiving. Massachusetts Avenue, near MIT campus. Close enough to Southie that if Kieran was working in the area, there was a chance—however small—that I might see him.
It was desperate. It was probably pathetic. But it was all I had.
Please, I thought, closing my eyes. Please let this work. Please let me find him. Please let him be okay.
Please don't let me be too late.