Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(80)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“Why do you always help me like this?” I gesture around at the roof. “Why do you stay with me when I can’t give you anything?”

She peers up from her bag. “Does it really matter?”

I shake my head, because it doesn’t. “Not really.” Nothing does anymore.

She takes out a syringe and bites off the cap. “Then let’s get you taken care of.”

I lie down in front of her and wait. Moments later she’s sinking the needle into my vein and for a moment I taste freedom, but it’s not as potent as it used to be and as I feel myself falling into a state of euphoria, I find myself wishing that instead I were falling off the roof.

Chapter 17

August 19, day ninety-six of summer break

Nova

I’ve been watching the show Intervention lately because Tristan makes me. I’m not even sure why he does, except that he seems to think it’ll teach us a thing or two about how it goes down, just in case we ever do stumble across Quinton again. He likes to compare the episodes to what happened with him, how his parents confronted him in the hospital and his mother cried a lot. He said his dad was actually kind of a dick, but only because he cares—Tristan can see that now. I asked him if he thought that was what was wrong with Quinton’s dad and he said maybe, but we might never know unless a real intervention happens.

I’ve also started to pack for school, even though I don’t head back for a week. Lea and I have an apartment, the same one we lived in last year, we just have to sign the forms when we get there and put down a deposit. I’ve ordered all my books, enrolled for all my classes. Everything is set, yet it feels like so much is missing.

The sun is setting outside, another day come and gone, another day when I try not to think about Quinton, but I always do. The worst is when I close my eyes and see the look in his eyes when we kissed near the roller coaster and I stupidly believed everything was going to change. Sometimes I see the self-hatred I saw when he told me the accident was his fault. Sometimes I dream that I’m reaching out to him as he falls into darkness, but he won’t reach back and take my hand. Sometimes he turns into Landon as he’s falling and he starts to reach back but then at the last second he pulls away. I’m really starting to hate dreaming.

“Do I really need to take four classes?” Tristan asks as he scrolls through the list on my computer. He looks even healthier than he did during his first visit, his skin clearer and his eyes filled with a little less misery. He’s actually been hanging out with me a lot, mainly, he says, because I keep him out of trouble. I’m glad. I wish I could turn it into a job or something, although the breakdowns I have when things don’t go my way would probably happen a lot more frequently.

“The more classes you take,” I tell him as I fold up my clothes and stack them on my bed, “The quicker school will be over.”

He grins over his shoulder at me. “Now there’s some motivation.”

“Glad to be of service,” I joke as I put a stack of shirts into a duffel bag, the ones I’m not planning on wearing until I get to school.

“Have you asked your friend if she minds sharing an apartment with a dude?” Tristan asks as he clicks the mouse. “Especially when she’s seen me at my worst.”

“Crap, I forgot to bring that up,” I say, zipping up the bag.

“Forgot?” Tristan questions in a joking tone as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Or are you avoiding it?”

“Maybe a little of both,” I admit as I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen says I have one message and for a second my heart leaps in my throat. But that happens every time my phone shows a message or call, because for some reason I think it’s going to be Quinton, but it never is.

The message is from Lea, telling me to call her please!

I sigh and head toward the doorway. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Tristan, noticing that he’s left the campus website and has now opened a search engine. I don’t need to see what he’s searching for. He told me once that he reads through Vegas articles for information about where Quinton could be. He’s says it’s pretty much pointless, especially when Quinton might not even be in Vegas anymore, but he does it anyway because it makes him feel better—makes him feel like he’s doing something to help Quinton the way Quinton helped him.

I go out into the kitchen, where my mom and Daniel are, getting ready for the week-long camping trip that they’re leaving for tomorrow. They’ve got the tent, the sleeping bags, and a few Tupperware bins on the table and the floor that they’re packing with food, pans, utensils, and whatnot.

“Hey, sweetie,” my mom says as she drops a box of Pop-Tarts into one of the bins. “How’s the college thing going in there?”

“Good,” I say, stealing a cookie from a plate on the counter. “Tristan’s trying to figure out what classes he wants to take.”

“That’s good,” she says, opening a drawer. “It’s good he’s going.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agree and take a bite of the cookie.

She smiles at me but then frowns. “Nova, are you sure you’re okay with me taking off for this trip? I worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “You’ve seen me be fine for almost three months now.”

She looks wary as she takes some plastic spoons out of a drawer. “But you always look so sad all the time.”

“I know,” I tell her. “And I’m not going to lie. I’m sad sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I need you to stay home from your trip. Besides, I’m leaving for college in like a week.”

“I know.” She drops the spoons into the bin. “But I just think about last summer and how I took off on a vacation when I knew you weren’t doing very well…when you were doing drugs.”

I wind around the table and walk over to her, stuffing the rest of the cookie into my mouth. “Trust me, Mom, this isn’t like last summer. I’m not doing drugs. I’m just sad about Quinton and I can be sad sometimes.”

“I know.” She sighs and then pulls me in for a hug. “I just wish things would have gone better for you—you’ve been through so much.”

I hug her back as tears sting at my eyes, but I remind myself that despite the people I’ve lost, she’s still here. Still breathing. Still alive. And so am I.

“I’m always here for you, Nova,” my mom whispers. Then she pulls away, heading over to the cupboards, and starts digging through them. I wipe away the tears in my eyes and go into the living room to call Lea. I figure someplace quiet is probably best, seeing as I’m going to have to talk to her about Tristan staying with us for a while. I know I’m taking a huge chance on him, but I want to help him get on his feet.