“Hey,” he says, voice gentle. “We can find a way to figure this out. Did you take a look at what’s on the phone?”

“She wiped it.”

His mouth presses into a firm line, and he takes it from my hands after gesturing for me to unlock it with my fingerprint. “That means there was stuff on here she didn’t want anyone to find. There has to be a way we can recover what she deleted.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” I say, reaching over to unzip my backpack, pulling out my laptop. “But I brought this. I haven’t actually used it yet, because I didn’t know the password. Looking at the phone gives me an idea.”

Mason watches as I open the computer and stare at the keyboard. There’s a tiny, subtle, black square I hadn’t really noticed until now, and I place my forefinger on it lightly.

The screen immediately changes as a new bubble of text pops up. Welcome back! I let out a breath of relief. It’s amazing how these devices are capable of remembering my fingerprint when I have no recollection of even using them.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before,” I muse.

“We might be able to restore a backup that has the old messages,” Mason says eagerly.

After fishing out a cord from the bottom of my backpack, I pass everything off to him, peering over his shoulder as he navigates through my programs, locating iTunes.

“There’s only one,” he says after a pause. “There’s no way to tell what’s actually on it, but it’s worth a try. It’s going to take at least thirty minutes to restore.”

My shoulders slump. Thirty minutes feels too long. “Is there anything else you can find on here while we wait?”

He glances at me, and it’s only then that I realize how close we’re sitting. Mason clears his throat, and I scoot away slightly, embarrassed. “Are you sure you’re okay with me looking through your stuff?”

“I don’t care anymore. It feels like someone else’s life, anyway.”

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he turns back to the computer, beginning to look through my documents and photos now that he has my permission. We don’t really find anything of significance. The laptop is mostly loaded with school assignments and photos from other parties, like the ones in my room.

After scouring through rows upon rows of folders, Mason sighs in defeat, dragging a hand through his hair. He’s about to exit when I stop him, spotting something that causes me to stiffen.

“Wait, what’s that?” I point to a folder we didn’t notice before, several layers deep within my files, difficult to find.

It’s titled “J.”