I unlock my phone, checking for the hundredth—no, thousandth—time for a text or phone call that I’ve somehow missed.

Nothing.

Wes’s texts have been few and far between and only in response to my messages, so I shouldn’t be surprised. He didn’t even reply back when I told him I’d gotten an A in statistics.

A man who falls short of his dream is sad. Wes is something else entirely. To call him sad is a compliment to the word and an insult to the void in his eyes. I’d been jealous of his passion, and now I realize how much that made up his identity.

It isn’t as if I care about him being a ball player because of the hype around him or the jealous looks shot my way when we were together. I can admit it felt good to be on the arm of a man who sits on top of the social ladder, though. He could call me right now and tell me he was going to dedicate his life to origami, and if it filled him with as much hunger as basketball did, I’d be just as happy. It isn’t the what—it is the fire that burns inside him because he is doing something he loves. He is oxygen to my own small blaze, and without him I’m afraid my flame will die out too.

It’s a helpless and hopeless feeling that I remember well from Gabby’s accident. The sitting around, feeling sad. The silent fury at the world. The helplessness.

Another person I love has watched their dreams slip away.

Maybe when a person’s dreams are big like Gabby’s and Wes’s, their failures are that much more traumatic. Love lost is still love. Are dreams lost still dreams? Is there still an overarching lesson in having a dream and failing?

Dragging myself from the couch to the dining room table, I stare at the stack of books I brought home. Each title and tagline promises inspiration and steps to setting and achieving goals. How can I possibly throw myself into career planning when I’ve failed, twice now, to help two of the most important people in my life?

It feels like a test. I finally decide exactly what I want to do with my life, and then fate throws another bump in the road. Although, this bump is really more of a boulder in the form of a sulking man who has just had his dreams crushed. Everything he ever worked for is gone. How do I spin that into something positive and push him to make new dreams?

They say those who can’t do, teach. I never liked that. The most inspirational and knowledgeable people are those who have lived it. But maybe those who can’t help the people they really want, set out to help everyone else.

I grab my purse and phone and head for the front door. After slamming it shut behind me, take that world, I walk with purpose down the street. The purpose being I need my best friend to save me from my thoughts.

I find Gabby sitting at the small desk in her room, an array of color thread laid out in front of her. I pull a chair to the side and grab the three spools closest to me, unwinding it until I have a good length for a bracelet.

I haven’t done this in years, but my fingers remember, and I work at a good pace until I reach the end and tie it with a knot. It isn’t perfect. In fact, the imperfections are glaring as I smooth a hand over it and place it next to the two Gabby has made in the same time.

“Can I ask you something?”

She sits back and smiles. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Do you ever resent the fact I’m living your dreams while you’re still here in Suck Hill?”

She starts to respond, eager to tell me no way, I’m sure. I don’t want whatever practiced, positive spin she’s about to say.

“Honestly. I mean I know you love me and want nothing but good for me, but do you ever resent me for it? I’m doing all the things you planned for us. These were your dreams not mine. I just wanted to do whatever you did. You’re the one who made me promise we’d rule the world.”

“I think you’re remembering that differently from how it went down.”

I shake my head as I think back to all our conversations about what we wanted to do when we graduated and left Succulent Hill. “No, your dreams were always so much bigger than mine.”

Gabby takes my hands. A white scar runs across the top of her hand, and I focus on the reminder of pain that has healed and hope that even in the worst of times people survive.

“You gave me permission to have those crazy dreams. My family, my teachers, even our classmates thought I was nuts. You never did.”

It’s true. She was, no is, special. I’d always known she was capable of anything.

“Your love and friendship are the reasons I dreamed big. You let me believe I could have everything I ever wished for. Even now, I don’t know if I’d be able to get out of bed every day if it weren’t for your voice in the back of my head telling me I can.”

“Gabs.” My voice breaks, and I squeeze her hand tightly. “I don’t know how to be that for him. He’s lost everything he ever wanted.”

“Give him time. When he’s ready, you’ll know, and then, just be you.”

“He’s pushing me away.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you expect him to do? His identity has changed. You still see him as the same guy, but everything he ever thought he was has been flipped upside down. He has to deal with that before he can let other people back in. I can see how much you want to run to him and fix it.”

I open my mouth the deny it, but she gives me a knowing smirk. “It’s written all over your face. Remember how you used to storm in here and get me out of bed? Lord, I wanted to toss you out of here some days when you’d pop in all chipper and bring me magazines or books. You’re lucky we’re neighbors or I’d have ghosted you too. The first time you brought the yoga mats, I thought our friendship was over for good. I could barely look at myself in the mirror and you were spouting inner peace bullshit.”

I hold a hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. “I never knew that.”

“You’re the strongest person I know, Blair. You don’t have to hold on to my dreams, or his, but you do because you desperately want to see everyone have everything they could ever want. You’re a little dream maker. You always have been. You sell yourself short for not wanting big things, but you want big things for everyone. Your dreams are not only bigger than mine ever were, they’re more important. You’re going to do amazing things. You’re going to inspire and help so many people.”

“Speaking of helping people.” I pull out the spring semester Valley course catalog from my purse and hand it to her.

Surprise makes her eyes widen. “Blair, I can’t.”

“You can.” I leave no room for argument. “Just think about it. It will probably be hard at first, I don’t dispute that, but you can’t sit up here for the rest of your life. And I promise to be right by your side.”

She drops the catalog and hugs me fiercely. Her voice is quiet and shaky when she whispers, “Still letting me dream big.”