THE WAY I AM NOWOceanofPDF.com A L S O B Y A M B E R S M I T HThe Way I Used to BeThe Last to Let GoSomething Like GravityCode Name: SerendipityOceanofPDF.com For us.For all of us—messy and imperfect—daring to wish, to hope, to heal.OceanofPDF.com ContentsPart One: AprilPart Two: JulyPart Three: SeptemberPart Four: NovemberGetting HelpAcknowledgmentsRock The BoatOceanofPDF.com EDENI’m disappearing again. It starts at the edges, my extremities blurring.Fingers and toes go staticky and numb with no warning at all. I grip theedge of the bathroom sink and try to hold myself up, but my hands won’twork. My arms are weak. And now my knees want to buckle too.Next, it’s my heart, pumping fast and jagged.I try to take a breath.Lungs are cement, heavy and stiff.I never should have agreed to this. Not yet. Too soon.I swipe my hand across the steamy mirror, and my reflection fogs overtoo quickly. I choke on a laugh or a sob, I can’t tell which, because I reallyam disappearing. Literally, figuratively, and every way in between. I’malmost gone. Closing my eyes tightly, I try to locate one thought—just one—the thing she said to do when this happens.Count five things you can see. I open my eyes. Toothbrushes in theceramic holder. One. Okay, it’s okay. Two: my phone, there on the counter,lighting up with a series of texts. Three: a glass of water, blistered withcondensation. Four: the amber prescription bottle full of pills I’m trying sohard not to need. I look down at my hands, still not right. That’s five.Four things you can feel. Water dripping off my hair and down my back,over my shoulders. Smooth tiles slippery under my feet. Starchy towelwrapped around my damp body. The porcelain sink, cool and hard againstthe palms of my tingling hands.Three sounds. The exhaust fan whirring, the shallow huff and gasp of mybreathing getting faster, and a knock on the bathroom door.Two smells. Peaches and cream shampoo. Eucalyptus body wash.One taste. Stinging mint mouthwash with notes of lingering vomitunderneath, making me gag all over again. I swallow hard. “Fuck’s sake,” I hiss, swiping the mirror again. This time with bothhands, one over the other, scrubbing at the glass. I refuse to give in to this.Not tonight. I clench my fingers into fists until I can feel my knucklescrack. I inhale, too sharply, and finally manage to get some air into mybody. “You’re okay,” I exhale. “I’m okay,” I lie.I’m staring down into the black circle of the drain as my eyes drift backover to the bottle. Fine. I twist the cap in my useless hands and let onechalky tablet tumble into my palm. I swallow it, I swallow it good. Andthen I down the entire glass of water in one gulp, letting tiny rivulets streamout of the corners of my mouth, down my neck, not even bothering to wipethem away.“Edy?” It’s my mom, knocking on the door again. “Everything all right?Mara’s here to pick you up.”“Yeah, I—” My breath catches on the word. “I’m almost ready.”OceanofPDF.com JOSHIt’s been four months since I’ve been back. Four months since I’ve seen myparents. Four months since the fight with my dad. Four months since I washere in my room. I’ve been home only a couple of hours, haven’t even seenmy dad yet, and already I feel like I’m suffocating.I slouch down and let my head sink into the pillows, and as I close myeyes, I swear I can smell her for just a moment. Because the last time I washere, she was here next to me, in my bed, no more secrets between us. Andas I turn my head, I bring the pillow to my face and breathe in deeper thistime.My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Dominic, my roommate, whopractically packed my bag and dragged me out of our apartment and into hiscar to come home this week. I had to come home sometime.His text says I’m serious. be ready in 10 . . . and don’t even think about bailingI start to respond, but now that my phone is in my hand and Eden is onmy mind again, I find our texts instead, my last three still sitting thereunanswered. I haven’t looked at them in a while, but I keep rereading themnow, trying to figure out what I said wrong. I’d seen the article about hisarrest. I asked her how she was handling it all. Reminded her that I was herfriend. Told her I was here if she needed anything. I checked in a couple ofdays later, then again the next week. I even called and left a voice mail.The last thing I wrote to her was should I be worried?She didn’t respond and I didn’t want to push. Now months have passed,and this is where we are. I type out a simple hey and stare at the word, thosethree letters daring me to press send.My bedroom door creaks open with two sharp knocks, followed by apause and one more. My dad. “Josh?” he says. “You’re home.” “Yep.” I delete the word quickly and set my phone facedown on the bed.“What’s up?”“Nothing, I—I just, uh, wanted to say hi.” He shoves his hands deep intothe pockets of his jeans, his eyes clear and focused as he looks at me. “Ididn’t see your car outside.”“Yeah, Dominic drove us home,” I explain, feeling my guard lower, justenough to let my anger start to rise inside me.“Oh,” he says, nodding.I pick my phone back up; hope he takes the hint.“Actually, if you have a minute, I’ve really wanted to talk to you. Aboutthe last time you were home. Look, I know I wasn’t there for you when youwere dealing with . . .” He pauses, searching for the rest of a sentence Isuspect also isn’t there.I watch him closely, waiting to see if he actually remembers what it was Iwas dealing with the last time I was home. I make a bet with myself while Iwait: If he remembers even a fragment of what happened four months ago,I’ll stay in tonight. I’ll talk with him like he wants. I’ll tell him I forgivehim, and I might even mean it.“You know,” he starts again, “when you were dealing with all that.”“What is this, making amends?” I ask. “Step nine already? Again,” Imutter under my breath.“No,” he says, wincing softly. “It’s not that, Josh.”I sigh and set my phone back down. “Dad, I’m sorry,” I tell him, eventhough I’m not sorry. But I don’t need him breaking his sobriety again justbecause I took a cheap shot, either. “Shit, I just—”“No, it’s okay, Joshie.” He holds his hands out in front of his chest andshakes his head, just taking it. “It’s all right. I deserved that.” He backs up acouple of steps until he can hold on to my doorframe like he needssomething to lean on. He opens his mouth to say something else, but thedoorbell interrupts him. I can hear my mom downstairs now too, talking toDominic.“I don’t know why I said that.” I try to apologize again. “I’m sorry.”It’s fine, he mouths to me, then turns toward the hallway, greetingDominic like the picture-perfect father he sometimes really is. “DominicDiCarlo in the flesh! Good season for you, I hear.” What he doesn’t say ishow my season has been shit—he doesn’t need to say it, we all know. “Keeping this one in line, I’m sure,” he adds in that good-natured way ofhis.“You know it,” Dominic jokes, shaking my dad’s outstretched hand.“Someone’s gotta keep him in line.” He’s all cheerful until he sees me,taking off my hat and trying to smooth the wrinkles in my shirt. “Man,you’re not ready at all.”OceanofPDF.com EDENMy hands are steady now as they reach for the door handle. Steady as I flipdown the visor in Mara’s car and swipe mascara over my lashes. Steady asSteve climbs into the seat next to me and interlaces his fingers with mine,smiling sweetly as he says, “Hey, I missed you.”My heart has slowed now that the medicine found its way into mybloodstream. Even though I know it’s not a real calm, I guess it’s enoughfor me to do this for my friends. To be out and acting normal for one lastnight before I drop another bomb on them. And so I lie and say, “Me too.”Mara’s boyfriend, Cameron, slams the passenger-side door as he gets in.He kisses Mara and then glances back at me and says, “We’re probablygonna miss the opening act now.”“We will not,” Steve responds in my place, then leans toward me andkisses my bare shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to come.”“Yeah, me too,” I repeat, feeling like I should mean it.“It’s about time you got out again,” he says.“That’s what I told her, Steve,” Mara chimes in, all smiles.“Think of tonight as a new beginning,” he continues. “You’ll be back inschool on Monday, and then we have the last couple of months of our senioryear to enjoy. Finally. We’ve earned it!”“Hell yeah, we have,” Cameron agrees.They act like I’m recovering from a bad flu or something. Like now thatI’m not keeping secrets, things can magically go back to normal, whatevernormal used to be. As if finishing senior year is not the last thing on mymind right now. Or maybe they’re right, and I should just try to ignore allthe rest of the shit and be a regular teenager for the next two months while Istill can. “Cameron,” I hear myself call above the music, and they all turn to lookat me. “We bought the tickets for the headliner, anyway, right? So if we’relate, it’s still gonna be okay.”Not that I care much about either, but I owed them a little enthusiasm.He rolls his eyes and turns back around, muttering, “You mean I boughtthe tickets.” Cameron is the only one not pretending, not suddenly beingnice to me just because of everything that happened, and I feel strangelygrateful for that. “You can pay me back anytime, by the way.”Our bickering somehow makes Mara smile, and Steve holds my hand tootightly, both taking this all as a good sign that I still have some fight in me. Iclear my throat, preparing to give them the disclaimer my therapist helpedme work out during my session this week.“So, guys, um,” I begin. “I just wanted to say . . . You know it’s been awhile since I’ve been around a lot of people, and I might, like, get anxiousor—”“It’s okay,” Steve interrupts, pulling me closer. “Don’t worry, we’ll bethere.”“Okay, it’s just that I might need to take a break and get some air for afew minutes, or something. And if I do, it’s not a big deal and I’m okay, so Idon’t want anyone to worry or feel like we have to leave or anything likethat.” It didn’t come out as smoothly as I’d practiced, but I said what Ineeded to say. Boundaries.Now his nervous puppy eyes are back on me. And Mara squints at me inthe rearview mirror.“I mean, I might not. It’s hard to say,” I add so they’ll stop looking at melike that. “Or I could just get really drunk and we’ll all have a great fuckingtime.”“Edy,” Mara scolds at the same time Steve is shouting, “No!”“Joking,” I say with a smile. It’s also been four months since I’ve doneanything bad. Though my therapist would tell me to replace bad with“unhealthy.” I haven’t done any drinking or guys or smoking of anysubstances at all. I’m still not sure how taking these pills when I getoverwhelmed is any different from the other unhealthy stuff. Not sure whodecides what’s good and what’s bad. But I’m doing it anyway, followingthese rules, because I want to get better, be better. I really do. Walking up from the parking lot, we pass a group of college kids withdrinks in their hands, hanging out around this old wooden picnic table thatlooks like it’s being partially held up by the concrete walls of the building.Their cigarette smoke calls to me as we walk by, and I watch them laughingand spilling their drinks. If Steve weren’t holding on to my hand so tightly,if things weren’t different now, I’d imagine myself drifting toward them,finding an easy space to fit for the night.But things are different now; that kind of easy doesn’t seem to exist forme anymore.At the door we’re each issued a neon-pink UNDER 21 wristband that theguy puts on me, grazing the inside of my wrist as he does so. I know it’snothing, but I already feel somehow violated by that small touch, yet alsostrangely numb to it.It’s too tight, the wristband. I tug on it to see if there’s any give, butthey’re the paper kind that you can’t tear off or squeeze over your wrist.Mara doesn’t seem bothered by hers at all, so I try to forget it.Music’s thumping from the speakers. Everywhere I look people aredrinking, laughing, shouting. Someone bumps into me, and I know, I knowmy body should be feeling something about all this. That old shock ofadrenaline, heart racing, breath quickening. But there’s nothing. Except forthat disappearing feeling again, except this time it doesn’t kick off a panicattack. It just makes me feel like part of me isn’t really here. And I’msuddenly unsure if I can trust myself to even know whether I’m safe or notwith that part of me dormant.This time I hold on to Steve’s hand tighter as he leads us closer to thestage. Mara takes my other hand, and when I look back at Cameron holdinghers, I’m reminded of kindergarten recess, little kids forming a human chainto walk across the street to get to the playground. I hate that I need this now.“You good?” Mara says, close to my ear, as bodies start to pack in aroundus.I nod.And I am. Sort of. Through the first set of the opening band, I’m good. Ieven let myself sway a little. Not dance or jump or move my hips or closemy eyes and touch my boyfriend the way Mara is doing that makes it lookso easy. It’s different, chemically, the absence of alcohol, the presence ofthis medication clouding my head instead. By the time the band—Steve’s favorite band, the one we came to see—takes the stage, I feel myself emerging again. Softly at first. There’s thatfamiliar jagged heartbeat in my chest and my breathing comes undone andmessy, the bass reverberating in my skull. “It’s okay,” I whisper, unable tohear my own voice in my head over the music. I let go of Steve’s hand. Mypalms are getting sweaty. And I’m suddenly very aware of every part of mybody that’s touching other people’s bodies as they bump up against me.I look around now, too quickly, taking in everything I missed when wearrived, all at once. I spot our school colors; a varsity jacket catches thelights from the stage. I immediately get a sinking feeling in the pit of mystomach—I don’t know why I hadn’t counted on seeing people from schooltonight. We’re here, after all. But then I see him in clips, flashes, his headback, laughing. Jock Guy. One of Josh’s old friends.No. I’m imagining things. I close my eyes for a second. Reset.But when I open them, he’s still there. It’s definitely Jock Guy. The onewho found me at my locker that day after school. The one who chased medown the hall. The one who wanted to scare me, wanted me to pay for mybrother beating Josh up. I face the front, look at the stage. It’s now. Notthen. But I can’t help myself; I look over again. Close my eyes again. Hearhis voice again in my ear. I hear you’re real dirty.My head is pounding now.I clear my throat, or try to. “Steve!” I yell, but he can’t hear me. I placemy hand on his shoulder, and he looks down at me. I cup my hands aroundmy mouth, and he leans in. I’m practically shouting in his ear. “I’m gonnastep out.”“What?” he yells.I point toward the exit.“You all right?” he shouts.I nod. “Yeah, I just feel weird.”“What?” he yells again.“Headache,” I shout back.“Want me to come?”I shake my head. “Stay, really.”He looks back and forth between me and the band. “You sure?”“Yes, it’s just a headache.” But I’m not sure he hears.Mara notices me leaving and grabs my arm. She’s saying something Ican’t make out. “It’s just a headache,” I tell her. “I’ll be back.”She opens her mouth to argue and grabs hold of my other arm now, sowe’re face-to-face, but unexpectedly, thankfully, Cameron is the one togently touch her wrist, making her let go of me. He nods at me and keepsMara there.I squeeze through openings in the crush of bodies, holding my breath as Istruggle against the current. My head is pounding harder now, in time withthe music but out of sync with my footsteps, setting me off-balance, themusic rattling my chest. I finally make my way through the worst of it,bouncing like a pinball as I fight my way past the line of people still waitingto get in.I hear my name, I think, over all the voices and music spilling throughthe doors.Outside, I go straight for the parking lot, and now I know for sure he’scalling my name. Steve always wants to be some kind of Prince Charming,but if he’s the prince, I’m just another fucking Cinderella, my magic pillshaving worn away, the spell broken. I’m in rags, the ball raging on withoutme. And I don’t belong here anymore; I never did. I know already, as I tryto catch my breath, the cool air hitting the sweat on my face and neck,there’s no way I’m going to be able to go back in there.I tilt my head skyward and breathe in deeply, close my eyes as I exhaleslowly. In and out. In and out, just like my therapist showed me. There’s asoft tap at the back of my arm. “I said I’m fine, Steve, really.” I spin around.“It’s just a head . . . ache.”OceanofPDF.com JOSHDominic keeps complaining about how long it’s taking to get in, how muchof the show we’ve already missed. He’s texting with our friends inside—hisfriends mostly these days. “They’re saving us spots near the back,” he tellsme. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Stop.”“Stop what?”“I can feel you brooding from here.” He glances up from his phone atme, the briefest exchange. “Stop it.”“Sorry, I just don’t get what the big deal is with this band,” I tell him,pretending my mood is over me not being into the concert instead ofbecause of things with my dad. “So, they were kinda famous for a minute inthe early aughts.” I shrug.“And they’re from here,” he emphasizes. “Have some hometown pride,you ingrate.”I shake my head because I know he doesn’t really care either. That’s notthe reason we’re here, at this concert, or here, back home. He’s meeting upwith someone—the same someone he’s been texting this whole time—butwon’t just tell me that’s the reason he wanted me here.“At this rate, we’ll miss the concert altogether,” he mutters, “so youmight get your wish after all.”“Well, we wouldn’t have been so late if you didn’t make me change myclothes.”“You’re welcome for not letting you out of the house like that.” He scoffsand looks at me, finally putting his phone in his pocket. “Sometimes you’reso straight, you don’t even know how lucky you are to have me.”He reaches up to try to fix my hair, but I push his hand away.“Seriously?” “You have residual hat hair, man!” He’s laughing as he reaches for meagain. I dodge him and ram right into someone.“Sorry, excuse me,” I say, turning just in time to see the side of her facerushing past. I turn back to Dominic. “Was that . . . ?”“Who?” Dominic asks.I look again. She’s moving fast toward the parking lot. The hair isdifferent, but it’s her walk for sure, the way she’s holding her arms crossedtight to her chest. “Eden?” I call, but there’s no way she could hear me inthis crowd. “Listen,” I tell Dominic. “I’ll be right back.”“Josh, don’t,” he says, clamping his hand on my shoulder, no playfulnessin his voice anymore. “Come on, we’re almost in—”“Yeah, I know,” I tell him, already stepping out of the line. “But just giveme a minute, all right?”“Josh!” I hear him yell behind me.My heart is pounding as I jog after this girl who may or may not be her.She’s walking so fast, then stops abruptly.I finally catch up to her, standing still in the parking lot. “Eden?” I sayquieter now. I reach out, my fingers touch her arm. And I know it’s herbefore she even turns around because my body memorized hers in relationto mine so long ago.She’s saying something about having a headache as she spins to look atme.“It is you,” I say stupidly.Her mouth opens, pausing for a second before she smiles. She doesn’teven say anything; she just steps forward, right into me, her head tuckingperfectly under my chin as it always did. I don’t know why it surprises meso much when it feels so natural, like what else would we be doing besidesholding on to each other like this? Her lungs expand like she’s breathing mein, and I bury my face in her hair—only for a second, I tell myself. Shesmells so sweet and clean, like some kind of fruit. She mumbles my nameinto my shirt, and I realize I’ve forgotten how good it feels to hear her saymy name. As I place my arms around her, my fingertips touch the bare skinof her arms. It’s so familiar, comforting, I could stay like this. But she pullsaway just a little, her hands resting at my waist as she looks up at me.“You’re literally the last person I thought I would run into tonight,” shesays, still smiling.