A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

myself. I basically did all winter while you were gone.”
    “I know you can,” she said quietly. A breeze blew between us, and I noticed that there were more gray wisps in her blond hair than there used to be. “Can you blame me for wanting to protect you? For wanting to keep you safe?”
    “I’m trying to protect myself, too!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. She looked at me curiously. “I mean, junior year is . . . really tough and . . .” I paused. “I have to look out for myself, because no one’s going to do it for me.”
    “Your new friends,” Aunt Jo said suddenly. “How well do you really know them?”
    She looked at me pointedly, and I felt a fist clench around my heart. Did she know something that I didn’t?
    “Very well,” I said. “I feel like . . . I can be myself around them.” I eyed her.
    “And do you feel like you can’t—be yourself—around Dan and Cassie?” She paused. “Or Ian?”
    Were we talking about the same thing? I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of how to explain it to her.
    “I love my friends,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But sometimes I feel like . . . I’m growing into a different person. Someone they might not understand.”
    Aunt Jo sighed quietly and sat down on the arm of a chair. I sat down across from her. Something in me was stirring in a way it hadn’t in a long time. I felt raw and vulnerable, after trying for so long to close myself off from everyone I loved, to protect them—and myself. Suddenly all I wanted was for someone to tell me what to do. I was so tired, so completely exhausted, from trying to figure it out all on my own. What if every decision I’d made so far had been the wrong one? All I wanted right then was for Aunt Jo to take me in her arms and tell me everything would be okay. And I wanted so desperately to believe her.
    “We all grow up,” Aunt Jo said, looking into my eyes. “It’s a part of life. But it doesn’t mean you have to grow into a different person. Just wiser and stronger.”
    I fought back the tears that were pricking behind my eyes.
    “It’s harder than I thought,” I said.
    “I know, Skye.” She wrapped her arms around me. “I wish I could make it easier for you. You have no idea how much I wish . . .” She left her sentence hanging there in the cold night air.
    We all grow up . But why did it have to feel like leaving everything and everyone I loved behind?
    Later I crawled into bed with the little black notebook. I thumbed through the pages as if this time I might find another clue, something to connect me to this nameless person who, at one time, had been in the same place as me. I longed for some little tidbit—anything, really—to guide me. To help me stay sane in all this chaos.
    I flipped over onto my stomach and stared at the handwriting on the first page. The letters looped together in a loose script, swooping across the page like they were flying. The way an angel might fly. The way I might fly, one day.
    I sat up straight in bed, my heart pounding. I realized where I knew this handwriting from.
    It was mine.

Chapter 16
    M y heart was racing as if I’d just flown down a mountain. Was I delusional? How could I have written this? I’d been unconscious almost the whole time we’d been at the cabin, and I would have remembered writing it when I was awake. I briefly entertained the idea that I’d written it in my sleep, during a particularly vivid dream. Except all of my dreams had been about dying.
    No . I was just exhausted—mentally, physically. Skiing again had taken a lot out of me. Fighting off Gideon’s mental manipulation had messed with my mind. When I thought about the sheer weight of everything , I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
    I was looking for connections where there weren’t any. That was all.
    I got up and buried the notebook in my bottom drawer under a mountain of socks. If it was out of sight, I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. It didn’t exist. I crawled back into bed and turned off the lamp. Soon I was drifting off, letting every thought, every fear, every hint about my past and clue to my future slip away into the night.
     
    When I walked into the kitchen the next morning, the smell of chocolate and bananas beckoned.
    “Wow,” I said as Aunt Jo flipped pancakes at the stove. I walked over to the coffeemaker and poured myself a steaming mug. “Did I do something right today to deserve this? It’s