The whole gym goes crazy, and the other team calls a time-out. We’re still one point down, but the momentum has already shifted in our direction. Ain’t no way we’re about to let these fools beat us now.

CARLI

Clearly Rex isn’t feeling my I’m sorry. Texted him over three hours ago and still haven’t heard back. Now I’m in my room, sitting at my desk, making him a card. The first card I’ve ever made for anybody. Hopefully something he can feel.

The front has no words. Only our bodies from that picture Cole took of us sitting on Daddy’s swallow-you-whole sofa. It’s not a great picture of me—mostly hair with a little bit of profile looking at Rex.

But Rex’s face is everything. In it, I can feel what he sees in me. I swear it’s like walking to the center of his heart and seeing my own reflection. A bright, glorious, confident girl. Nothing like how I see myself.

I cut us away from the background and paste us on gold linen card stock. Then I break out all the LePens I own and draw a big, swirly sun behind us. Arrange a coral peony cut from a magazine to look like I’m handing it to him. And paste four tissue-papered lavender rays straight from my heart to his. Hoping he’ll feel how sorry I am. Hoping he’ll feel what I see in him. A fiercely tender boy. A million streaks of softness, cutting through all the dark clouds.

I push down the peony, smoothing the thin, glossy paper over the glue. The card actually looks pretty cool. Better than most of the cards in Mom’s shop, I’ll tell you that.

“I’ve decided,” Cole says, walking into my room. Didn’t need to break out an I’m sorry for Cole. Friday night seemed to slip right off him.

“Please tell me the blue one,” I say, turning around in my chair. He was in here five minutes ago holding up a basic blue T-shirt and a red silky shirt that looked like it came straight out of a nineties R&B video, asking which one he should wear on his date. After school tomorrow he’s taking this senior from his photography class to the Cockrell Butterfly Center. Or I should say, she’s taking him. She’s the one with a license, so she’ll be picking him up.

“No, I mean I’m going to live with Dad next year.”

“What!” I stand up from my chair so fast that it nearly falls over. “I thought we said we’d decide together?”

“Shh. Can you be any louder? Mom is home.” He extends his long arm and pushes the door to my bedroom closed.