Page 23 of Burn Bright

I wait a second after I send the text, my hand clamped over my mouth, and I hope my dad doesn’t suspect anything amiss. Like, maybe, Dr. Wheeler isn’t good for me. Like, maybe, it’s because I haven’t been treating therapy like I should be. Withhonesty.

It takes him a few seconds to reply.

Dad

If you reconsider, just let me know. I’m always here for you.

Yeah.

I know that too.

When I drop my hand off my mouth, I thumb through more messages and come up to the old thread with Harriet. I stop on her name.

Harriet Fisher.

She shouldn’t stick out to me, but our one run-in at Penn has played on a loop in my head for so long. I’d been hightailing it to an Intro to Biology class and chugging a blue Ziff sports drink. I had my gym bag on my shoulder since hockey practice was right after. It should’ve been a typical, ordinary day at college.

Nothing special.

Nothing monumental.

Average.

I peered into a science lab as I strode past, but I caught a glimpse of a girl staking a glare at an older professor. It jerked me backward. Because they were alone.

The lab was nearly empty with untouched beakers and vials and clean black desks.

It felt…wrong.

Doors down the hall began to slam. Footsteps faded away. Class was about to start. The building went hushed, and I was going to be late.

I cared about my grades. Failing Bio meant the coach would never let me touch the ice. But my relationship with hockey was…iscomplicated.

I didn’t head to class. I heard the steam off her words. I saw him encroaching her space with similar aggravated heat. They were disagreeing. Not civil enough to be about a poor exam or grading dispute. It was personal.

I entered the lab on instinct. The professor hadn’t seen me yet. Not until he grabbed her elbow, and I shot forward, yelling at him, scaring him off too easily.

When he was gone, she breathed so hard, I wondered if she was on the verge of a panic attack. I was about to ask if she needed some water, but her scowl narrowed her dark ocean-blue eyes into furious waves. I didn’t move, and it felt like even a single soundwould cause her to lash out.

But I wasn’t going to flee.

I wasn’t even afraid of her.

If anything, her silent hostility drew me closer.

She was short enough that I could feel the muscles strain in my neck as I looked down. Five-foot, five-one, maybe? She righted her slipping bookbag—a blink-182 patch sewn in the canvas fabric, plus a laughing skull and a coffin that saidare you dead yet tho?

Strands of her flowy blonde hair caressed her soft, delicate face. It was the only thing soft about this girl. Her plaid pants were ripped at the knee, her maroon leather jacket swallowed her tiny frame, and her combat boots were laced to the ankles. I recognized her instantly. She was my cousin Luna’s lab partner from the semester before.

As she sucked in a breath to speak, I was ready for her to tell me to fuck off. But she said, “Thanks.”

I’ve wondered if that was the moment. Was that when she got in my head? Was that when I couldn’t excise her from my thoughts? I hadn’t expected her to thank me. I wasn’t even looking for athanks.

I frowned and glanced back at the door where the professor ran out of the lab. “What was that?”

“Professor Turner. He teaches Molecular Biology of Life. Luna and I took him last semester.”

I gestured my sports drink at her. “No, I meantwhatwas that. Why was he grabbing your arm like that?”