“I want to figure it out for /me/,” Summer corrects. “Just me. I want to — to find a way to not need anyone else. To be okay with being alone in a crowd. I need to … there are things I did in high school that I did for really stupid reasons. Maybe if I figure out who I am, who I want to be, I won’t make that kind of mistake again.” She gets up, picking up the ball, and manages to bowl a perfect strike, exchanging high fives with the other two girls.
Stiles considers the words while Summer gets up to bowl, his mouth pressed into a thoughtful line. When she’s done, it’s his turn—not at all a strike, again—and then he plops back into his seat, asking like it’s the most casual question in the world, “Do you mean that to mean you want to be happy with yourself before you’re happy with other people, or do you mean that to mean you don’t want to have to deal with having friends any more?”
“I mean … I want to stop feeling like I’m not worth anything unless I’m important to someone else.” Now she’s studying the palms of her hands like the secrets of the universe might be hidden in them. “I want to — ” She blows out a breath. “I don’t ever want to try to be something I’m not so someone will notice me again. And I need to know who I am so I know who not to be.”