Of course I do, but I’m surprised that he still does all these years later. Especially since he was out in the middle having fun with his friends, far, far away from me.
I shrug. ‘I dipped a hand in to test the depth and when the teachers gave the go-ahead, I waded in up to my knees.’
It sounds really lame when I repeat it back, but at the time it made the most logical sense. Who jumps willingly into a pool ofmurky green water? People with no home training, that’s who. There was a wave of illness after that too, nasty rashes and stomach bugs sweeping through everyone who went on that trip.
‘Yeah, you did, because that’s the kind of person you are,’ he says, a somewhat fond smile on his face. ‘Some people wade in until they know what’s out there for them, and some people dive in, headfirst, not knowing what’s at the bottom. You’re a wader. You always have been and there’s nothing wrong with that. You still get there eventually. That’s the important part.’
‘But you think I’d get there sooner if I dived in headfirst?’ I ask.
‘This isn’t a lake, Maddy– it’s life. It’s not a competition.’
And of course I know that, but deep down I think we can all admit that life feels like it is. Everywhere I look, someone I know buys a house or gets married or makes a thirty-under-thirty list and leaves me in the dust. Even Aiden– a boy with every start that I had– is a talent manager to an icon, and probably goes to events like this all the time. How am I meant to compete with the quick divers and jumpers who already have their houses and six-figure salaries while I’m still dipping a toe in the shallow end?
‘I can be a diver,’ I say in protest.
He chuckles again. ‘No, you can’t, and that’s fine. You don’t need to be.’
He’s resolute in his tone– far too set in his beliefs for a person who barely knows me. We’ve been in each other’s lives for nearly two decades but these last three weeks are the most we’ve ever spoken. How dare he take twenty-one days of contact and use that to determine who the hell I am? I don’t know if it’s the residual hangover from Friday, or Gus and Pippa this morning, or the overstimulation of this event, but I can’t be around him and his weird pseudo-psychology anymore. My shoulder brushes against his as I make a beeline for one of the empty meditation tents.
I sigh, long and deep, the second I’m inside, back resting lightly against the flimsy canvas wall. For a piece of cloth, it has semi-decent soundproofing. I shut my eyes tight and let the party fade into the background.
‘That was supposed to make you feel better.’ Aiden’s voice cuts through the quiet.
I guess the soundproofing doesn’t work that well if somebody stands right outside.
‘Well, it didn’t!’
‘I’m coming in.’
‘No, you’re not!’
A quick zip and a shuffle, and there he is. Who buys a privacy tent you can unzip from the insideandthe outside? What, exactly, is so ‘private’ about that?
The second he enters, it’s clear that these supposedly private meditation tents are specifically designed to fit one person and one person only. And, likely, a person of Brooke’s five-foot-nothing stature– something Aiden does not resemble. His head bends forward against the curve of the tent ceiling, pushing his nose closer to mine. This is asqueeze. A tight one. His trainer tips brush my boots as he moves around in an attempt to find some comfort.
‘You need to stop doing this.’ I can only describe his tone as akin to a fed-up headteacher. ‘It was never that deep. You are who you are, and I am who I am, and you don’t need to try to be anything else.’
It’s meant to be sweet, I think, or helpful, or something of that sort, but it does nothing but fill me with a hot, burning rage. He doesn’t know me. He never has and he never will, and he certainly doesn’t get to think that he does because he witnessed one panic attack and a drunken confession.
‘OK, yeah, I like to plan things and I always have. . . I’m a wader by nature and everyone knows it,’ I say. ‘But, of course,I know how to dive. I’ve been known to, actually. On many occasions. Witnessed by people Iactuallyspend time with.’
A snort rushes from the back of his throat, his lips clasped tightly in an effort to trap it inside. I squint up at him coldly in return as he attempts to look me in the eye, the muscles in his cheeks working overtime to stop a stupid grin forming.
‘OK, I get it– you can be spontaneous.’
I huff. ‘But you don’t get it. I can tell that you don’t believe me.’
‘That shouldn’t matter.’
But it does.Badly.There’s a burning fire in my chest that will not be soothed until he understands. I square up to him, tilting my chin harder and leaning into the minimal space that existed between us in the first place. I need him to see me, to feel the rage in me as I convince him and everyone else that I’m not the predictable girl they think I am.
‘I don’t need to plan every second of my life.’ I enunciate each word as well as I can. ‘If I gave up my notebooks and calendars tomorrow, and started to live like you, I’d be absolutely fine. You think I’m up myself because I like to plan, but you’re no better than me because you don’t.’
He sighs. ‘I don’t think I’m better than you, Mads.’
My eyes narrow. ‘My friends call me Mads. My name is Maddison.’
His eyes widen, spine straightening at my firmer, more biting tone. It awakens something in him; his soft, apologetic stare alight with a new energy.
