“Yeah, and you want to leave her, your own mom, just so you can go to school with Rex,” I whisper hard, and walk away from him to my bed.

After I sit down, I glimpse Cole’s pink ice cream cone–patterned socks, and an image of the light pink house shoe in the middle of the road on the way to school this morning pops in my head. It was on the white separating line, still fresh and fluffy, like it hadn’t been run over yet. At the time I took it as a sign that me and Rex still had a chance.

But now I’m thinking the abandoned house shoe was trying to tell me not to leave Mom. Even in its fresh fluffiness, it still looked forgotten and sad. How could I even think about leaving Mom alone like that? Not that I planned to. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined spending my last year with Rex—kissing between classes, walking down the hall holding hands, throwing our caps in the air together on the day the rest of our lives begin.

“No, Woodside High has a better boys’ basketball program and one of the best photography teachers in the state,” Cole says, and walks over to sit beside me. “She’s always doing celebrity portraits for Texas Monthly and food photography for PaperCity Magazine and Houston Press. She even has credits in National Geographic and Travel and Leisure.” He looks around at my walls. “There may even be something of hers in here.”

“Oh, my bad. So, it’s Rex, basketball, and a teacher you don’t even know you’ll have over Mom,” I say, and scoot away from him, trying to make myself feel superior for only thinking of leaving Mom and never saying it aloud.

“Look, it’s not like Dad can stop me from seeing Mom. I’ll see her whenever I want. I could go by her shop or stop over for dinner or come spend weekends with y’all whenever. We’re not little kids anymore, Carli. Our parents are still our parents, yeah, but they can’t control us like they used to.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, and stand up. “Of course they can control us! Didn’t you hear Daddy? He’s filing for sole custody!”

“I’m almost positive Dad was just pissed when he said all that stuff. Divorce gets ugly like that,” he says in a calm voice, grabs my hand, and tries to get me to sit back down.

I snatch my hand away. “Oh, you’re such the adult. You have all the fucking answers.”

Cole doesn’t reply. He looks up like he’s surprised by me. Then like he’s sorry for me and disappointed in me.