I Stopped Talking and They All Regretted It Chapter 10

I Stopped Talking and They All Regretted It Chapter 10

At the new Launch Camp, I started a little group called Nobody Left Behind.

Every group outing, we counted heads getting on the bus and counted them again getting off.

Route cards had to be confirmed in person, by the camper themselves.

Anybody who went half a day without answering a message got a knock on the door from the group.

The program director’s face went a little complicated the first time she heard the pitch.

“Emma, is this a student club or a missing-persons prevention unit?”

I answered dead serious.

“Both, at once. Make friends day to day, find people when it counts.”

The director laughed so hard she slapped the table.

“Fine. Approved.”

My habit of loving to talk never went anywhere.

I still loved a good conversation.

Standing in line at the dining hall, I’d learn the girl ahead of me had just gone through a breakup.

Riding the bus, I’d help the driver figure out which college his son should apply to.

But when somebody didn’t write back right away, I didn’t fire off a dozen follow-ups anymore.

I let it sit for a while.

And told myself:

Maybe he just hasn’t gotten to it yet. Maybe he’s busy.

Silence isn’t always somebody walking away.

The Sinclairs came by every so often.

My stepdad donated a whole new check-in and route-tracking system to Northridge, but he never put my name on it.

Theodore quit the camper committee and started training with the Jefferson County volunteer search-and-rescue team.

Mom signed on as a long-term volunteer at a foster-youth support group back in Seattle.

None of them ever used any of it to ask for my forgiveness.

That part, at least, counted for something.

On the day Launch Camp wrapped, Mom stood at the edge of the crowd and asked if she could grab a photo

with me.

I said yes.

After the photo, she asked, careful with every word.

“Emma, what are we now?”

I thought it over.

“People who know each other.”

Her eyes went glassy.

But she nodded anyway.

“Okay. People who know each other works too.”

Theodore handed me a brand new friend notebook.

He’d already added a line after his own name.

Theodore: mouth runs ahead of his brain, thinks he’s always right, currently a work in progress.

I couldn’t help laughing.

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“So, can you add me back in?”

“Depends how you do.”

“Got it.”

He didn’t push it any further.

Charlotte wrote me a letter, later on.

She said she’d always believed love only came in a fixed amount. The more I got, the less there was left for her. That’s why she’d been scared of me making friends, scared of people liking me, and even more scared of me landing back at Mom’s side for good.

I never wrote back. Understanding isn’t the same thing as forgiving.

She had to answer for what she’d done, on her own.

And I didn’t need to forgive a single soul to prove I was a good person.

When fall semester rolled around, I officially enrolled at Pacific Coast University.

Move-in day, I stood at my dorm door actually feeling nervous, for once. All three roommates were bent

over, unpacking their bags.

The room sat quiet.

The old me would’ve already barreled in and laid out my entire life story in one breath.

This time, I held it back.

The second I set my bags down, the girl on the top bunk poked her head out.

“You’re Emma, right? Want to grab dinner together?”

Another girl’s hand shot straight up.

“Count me in. Fair warning, I’ve got a canker sore right now so I can’t talk much, but I’m a great listener.”

The third girl came over hugging a bag of snacks.

“Then I’ll handle the eating.”

I stood in the doorway, not saying a word for a second.

The girl on the top bunk gave her hand a little wave.

“Emma? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

I broke into a smile and walked in.

“Coming. Fair warning, though, I might talk a lot.”

All three of them waved it off at once.

“That’s fine. There’s three of us.”

This time, I didn’t have to chase anybody down.

Somebody walked toward me first, for once.