Dear Sorley,

I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was. I thought it was enough just to see you as a person, but apparently you expected more from me.

I've already said goodbye to your grandma. She's the most amazing grandmother I've ever known and I don't blame her for hoping things will get better. Isn't that what good parents or grandparents or caretakers ought to do? Hoping for more for their children? It has absolutely nothing to do with valuing the way you are now, because if there is anyone who values you, it's grandma Meghan. If you ever speak to her the way you raged against me, I will personally come back and hit you in the face.

I will try to get an earlier flight back, so I'll be gone when you read this.

Be well, Sorley. I will never forget you, no matter how much it will hurt me, thinking about what we could have had.

Love, Zara

It took me a hundred attempts to write the first letter, but these words flow right out of my pen. With my briefcase next to the door, which I locked, I lie on the bed and set my alarm for four o'clock.

---

The sound beside my head, takes me out of an irritating dream and as still as possible I get dressed. Sneaking over the courtyard, I push the letter under Sorley's door and then I lift my suitcase and carry it to the side of the road. The taxi is precisely on time and because the first bus to Denver won't leave for another hour, I eat some breakfast at the station.

With my earplugs in my ear, I sit and stare out the window of an almost empty bus, at the nature outside that captivated me just a week ago. This time I hardly see it. Melancholy melodies distract me from people getting in and when I arrive at the airport, hours seem to have flown.

I can get an earlier flight, again with a stopover and it lasts a little longer, but I don't care. I want to leave America right now.

From the moment I decided to leave early, I texted Isla and she has, from the moment she woke up, provided me with a regular stream of messages. Most are questions about what happened and why I return so soon and if everything is okay. I text her I'll tell everything when I get back, but that the battery of my cellphone is almost empty and I'm saving the rest for when I get back in the Netherlands.

Sorley texted me as well. There are four new messages waiting for me. I don't read what he send me.

Maybe, looking back, it didn't matter much that I took an earlier flight, because in Atlanta I have to wait so long that I am exhausted when I'm finally on the plane back to Amsterdam. Gratefully I close my eyes and fall asleep straight away.

---

It's almost dawn again when I wake up. Oh, right, that's true. I'm flying with the time, so every hour counts for two.

At Schiphol I turn on my phone and call Isla.

"Are you there? Stay put, we're coming to get you. Same place we dropped you off. Hang in there, Zaar, we'll be right there."

Slowly I saunter from the arrival hall to the spot Isla and Bram are about to pick me up and there I sit down on a short pole. A few taxi drivers ask me if I need a ride, but each time I shake my head and after the third time they get the point. When Bram's car comes in sight and a few minutes later, Isla jumps out and gives me a bear hug, tears spontaneously begin to fall again. Quickly she directs me into the car for the last part of the journey and only because Bram is with us, I reign myself in.

Isla moved all my stuff back into my room over the past week, and stayed in the guest room herself. So, at last, when we're alone in my room, I break. Literally. Well, maybe not literally, even though it feels that way. There is a crack that runs through my face, because the river of tears won't stop any more. And also through my stomach, because that hurts so much. Must be from hunger, for I hardly ate anything on board and my rhythm is completely upset. Yet the biggest tare runs through my heart. Because now that I am back home, I am certain that whatever plans for the future I dreamed about in these past months, have become entirely impossible.

In bits and pieces, every now and then getting interrupted by a hiccup, a sniff or simply because I can't speak any more, I tell Isla everything. Ten minutes after I stopped talking, Isla finally states her opinion.

"That is ... really bizarrely vague. And that is all he gave as reason for suddenly turning on you? That's just, so, so, really, incredibly stupid. Really, had he lived over here, I would have gone to him and hit him in the head. And Bram as well."

A helpless laugh rolls of my tongue. I know she means well, but I also know Sorley was dead serious with his accusation. His face I'll probably never forget. And then I'm not even talking about his smirk and the dimples, but the painful expression. That deeply hurtful one, of someone who had just felt an elephant hurtle over his soul. No matter how unknowingly that elephant walked there.

The worst thing is that he didn't even took the trouble of accepting my explanation. He didn't even listen to my speech. Isn't that suppose to happen? When you accuse someone, they can defend themselves, right? Especially when you are in a relationship. And we were. For real. Boyfriend, girlfriend.

I don't think anyone ever had an ex so fast.

I don't want an ex. I want Sorley back, but I can't and that makes me outraged and at the same time deeply unhappy.

---

Because it was early when I got on the plane, it's now, over twenty four hours later, still early. My body says it's time to sleep, but I have to remain awake for a whole day longer. It's a good thing my dad won't pick me up till tomorrow evening. Now I can dive into my bed and recover. From everything.

Isla will enjoy herself, she tells me to sleep as long as I like and I should text her when I wake up. I'm afraid to look on my phone, because the little number with Sorley's chat already says sixteen. I leave the suitcase closed, standing in the middle of my room and beneath my blanket I roll myself into a ball. That's how I wait until sleep overtakes me.

---

Late in the afternoon I wake up a lot more calm. My head feels as if it's stuffed with a bag of cotton wool and my throat is as dry as a sponge in the desert, but at least the tears have dried up. I bind my cast around my leg, text Isla and wobble down the stairs to the kitchen. The pain in my leg has completely been gone for the last few days, maybe I can go by the hospital before I go to my fathers place. I'll call later to see if I can reschedule.

On the other hand, if my dad thinks I'm still not up for much due to my leg, I don't have to do chores and he won't suggest all these outings he usually plans. I decide not to call the hospital just yet, an extra week of peace and quiet sounds like music to my ears.

Isla texts me back she'll be over straight away and I grab some items from the fridge.

Next to Sorley's avatar the number is now twenty three.

We spend the rest of the afternoon on the couch in front of the TV with a large bag of chips and during watching a series we've both seen a hundred times, Isla catches me up on everything that I've missed while I was away. It's not much, but she tells it as detailed as possible, that way I don't have to think about my own adventure. What a waste of money. And of time as well. All those days I could have spend sitting on some terrace with Isla, or at the beach. Now my tan is mediocre and not even around a bikini shape. With Sorley on the deck chairs I always wore a dress, so my arms and shoulders have a nice brown colour, but my upper legs and belly don't. I'll never get that levelled now.

We go to bed late, but not too late and I set my alarm for a normal hour.

Twenty six. Shall I delete the chat?

Luckily I don't lie awake too long.

My father is picking me up before dinner. He wants to make a good impression, so he's taking me to a nice restaurant. We'll have to see if it's indeed going to be nice, but I appreciate the gesture. I hug Isla for a full ten minutes while whispering a thousand thank-yous in her ear. I'm going to miss her so much this next week.

Seeing my dad again happens without much awkwardness. We say hello, give each other a quick hug and ask how the other one's doing. As if I see him every week, in stead of once every six months.

What I never noticed before in public places, now seems to shout out at me. Everywhere I see special toilets for invalids, wide doorways and little hills you can place over thresholds. I've never realised how annoying a simple threshold is to someone in a wheelchair. I will never complain again when I'm behind a disabled person when I'm in line for the cash register.

"Thank you for coming, I hope you look forward to this visit just as much as I do."

A real father-remark. I nod a little absently, while staring at the menu. What do I feel like eating?

"Did you have fun last week?"

My breathing hitches. I'm glad he comes up with his own answer. "You probably did, girls together. You probably didn't have much sleep."

I nod some more and hide my red cheeks a little deeper behind the menu.

"How is your leg doing, now? It's been six weeks, hasn't it? Can't the cast be removed? I'll be glad to drive you over to the hospital."

See, he probably wants to go hiking or something. Having important father-daughter conversations.

"I have an appointment in the beginning of next week. If everything is healed, the cast may come of, but I'll still have to take it easy for a while."

My father hides his disappointment well. I remember how he loved taking me to the forest or the beach. Hopefully he doesn't still see me as the eleven year old girl that always wanted to accompany him.

We order our dishes. Something easily digestive for me, because I think I gained weight after all the wonderful cooking by grandma Meghan. And I skip desert, no matter how delicious the ice cream scoops look.

The house my father lives in, is only an hour away from my place. It's a simple terraced house that is decorated rather Spartan. He jokes about feng shui, but I can see through the charade. His income isn't very grand and a large portion of it still goes to my alimony. That won't be too long now and for him I'm pleased. However it does strengthen my resolve to get a job this coming school year. My life of luxury will come to a swift end when I turn eighteen and with my diminished bank account, I really have a problem if I want to go to college. Thoughts about what kind of job or the direction I want to go with my studies, I push ahead for now.

I've always had a room in my fathers house, since the moment he moved there, and I take my time setting up. I place my clothes neatly in the closet and my dresses I hang up on the hooks on the door. If the weatherman is correct, the weather remains fairly nice this week, however when school starts, it'll be over with summer. How appropriate.

Every now and then I peak at my phone. Sorley's messages have finally stopped at the pretty round number of thirty. Maybe one day in the future I will look at them. For now I leave his avatar to slowly lower itself, until it's completely out of sight and I'm not reminded of him every minute of every day.

Despite I'm so called disabled and we can't go see a lot of sights and museums and such, we still have a good time. Unlike my mother, my father loves spending time with me and having me near. He eagerly listens to everything I tell him. No matter how boring it sounds to myself. It might be a good idea to move into his place after high school. For now I keep that thought to myself, but I'm glad I at least have one parent who wants me.

---

I think again, after spending a whole week, quite intensively together. I'm actually relieved to be able to go back to my own room and the silence of an indifferent mother. I plan to keep a lot more contact with my dad from now on, but for now I'll remain comfortably in my own home. First thing that's on my agenda, is figuring out what I want to do after school. Until now my interest has floated between the direction of laboratory assistant and Marketing Communication. A tiny voice in the corner of my ear hints that physical therapy can be interesting as well, but I ignore that voice.

My mother won't be home for a few days more, so I can get my life in order before we pick up where we left off. I've already received the information about where and when I'm expected back in school after the holiday and together with Isla I look at our schedules. Luckily most of our breaks still coincide. Together with her and Bram, our lovely driver, who gets a big hug from me for all his help, I go to the hospital where I can finally get rid of the cast for good. No thank you, I don't need to take it home with me.

And then, all of a sudden, summer vacation is over.

Before I consciously realize it, I'm already cycling a whole week back and forth to school and just like last year, we continue our rhythm of meeting up at the library café. At least, only on Monday and Tuesday. The other days are soon filled with working at a little boutique, where I tidy up fallen clothing and hangers, help people find the right racks and learn how to operate a register. It's pretty nice, maybe I should study Business Administration.

Every now and then Isla wants to ask me something about Sorley, I can see it in her face. She'll get this guilty expression in her eyes, even before she speaks one word. I always talk about something else right away and she will gaze at me with a look that says: you just wait, I know what you're doing, one day ...

I don't want that day to come.

To lower Sorley's avatar as quickly as possible, I text everyone I can think off and invite them over for my seventeenth birthday. I actually wasn't planning to throw a large party, but, there you have it.

Back home, everything is as normal as it ever was, with my working mother absent from early morning till right before dinner. I hardly notice that any more, because homework in the fifth year is ridiculous and with my job filling the rest of the week, I don't have any time for anything else. The amount of times we eat a salad is no longer countable on one hand, but my mother doesn't complain. Apparently it suits her new diet that she manages to maintain since the seminar.

---

It isn't until a full month has passed that I realize I haven't even once touched a novel. It seems as if I've fallen into the habit of before I found the blue, linen booklet. The booklet that is hidden deep inside a drawer. Somehow I don't feel the need for paper walking. Maybe it will even disappear altogether, because of lack of practice. I doubt it, but I can always hope.

The day of the party, my mother arranges that she can work late, so I'm home alone. Which gives me plenty of time for cleaning and organizing. Fragile stuff goes upstairs and the fridge is filled with everything I can think off. Not that that many people will attend, yet, better safe than sorry. Isla comes over to help me at five o'clock and together we eat a dinner of cheese and jam sandwiches. I don't feel like cooking.

At nine, everybody drops in and I turn the music up. Good thing I remembered to leave a note with the neighbours that it will be late, and loud.

Isla arranges my gifts that I'm not allowed to unpack until midnight, because then it's my official birthday, so I walk around the pile of presents all evening with a big smile on my face. It's not so hard coming up with something for me, I like everything. And I think everyone asked Isla for ideas and she knows I loath gift certificates, so I'm good.

With deafening yells the clock turns twelve and everyone sings 'happy birthday'. After that the music is turned down and I finally get to tear paper. I work from top to bottom and love everything. Until I get to the last present. It's a book, I can feel it at once. And I also know it's from Isla, because it's all the way in the back, inside a gift bag I've seen her carry when she entered.

It takes some effort to be just as enthusiastic. Why on earth did she give me a book? She knows, better than anyone, that I don't read any more. That I've given it up since ... then.

I've not even thought about him for a month, I'm doing so well. Every day I don't think about him.

On the inside I take a deep breath and then, with a fake smile plastered on my face, I pull at the last piece of tape.

It's a YA. About a boy in a wheelchair and a girl that falls in love with him. Baffled I look at my friend. What was she thinking?

"Don't kill me, I just think you should read it. You can't give it back or exchange it and I don't want to see you again until you finished it."

I pull up my nose and mouth in an effort to look menacing, but she merely laughs at me. The book gets pulled from my hands by one of the reading-girls and I shrug. "Whatever you want, leaves me more time for other things."

She sticks out her tongue at me, I copy her gesture and then it's time for everyone to go home. Together we clean up the room. Isla laughing and me moping. My mother comes home and helps to put the last of the chairs back, muttering all the while and then finally we can go to sleep. Isla is staying over, so we chat a little more. Not about the book. She wisely remains silent on that subject.

---

It costs me two days to come through eventually, but then I lock myself in my room one early Sunday evening and open the book.