Mason Byrne stands on the other side of the hallway, digging through his backpack with a frown of concentration as his dark hair falls over his forehead. He looks up as I approach, my heart hammering a little faster. Even though we sit next to each other in English, he’s barely looked my way since my first day back, ignoring me whenever possible and leaving the second the bell rings. Sometimes he doesn’t show up at all.

The photograph of us together flashes through my mind, as well as the scene from my dream and the one from my session with Dr. Meyer.

“Hey,” I start timidly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

He moves slowly, sliding his backpack over his shoulder and regarding me with cautious eyes. Up close, the colors are even more brilliant. “Hi.”

“Mason, right?” I say, as if I don’t already know.

“That’s me.”

“Do you . . . do you hate me or something?” I blurt.

Mason shakes his head, looking bewildered. “What?”

“Did something happen between us?” There has to be something that led to us growing apart. Taking into account both the telltale photo and the fact that he keeps popping up in my brain, I assume he’s a very significant part of my past. “Were we, like, involved?”

He barks out a laugh, increasing the heat in my face. “Please don’t flatter yourself.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, glaring at him indignantly. “I just thought—never mind.”

He studies me clinically. “You just thought what?”

I hold his stare, feeling like there’s more hidden underneath but not wanting to press the issue. Besides, it’s far too embarrassing to say, I’ve been dreaming about you. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“If you say so,” he says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

Zoe’s voice comes back to me. Have you ever even seen him talk to anyone? The memory of myself playing tag with a younger version of Mason flashes through my mind. He obviously used to talk to me.

I can’t explain it, but something inside of me has the desire to rekindle whatever friendship we may have had in the past, even if he doesn’t feel the same.

“Hey,” I say again, feeling a bout of nerves in my belly. “It’s my birthday next week, and Zoe thinks it’s necessary to throw me a party. I don’t even know what we’re doing, but . . .” I pause. “You should come.”

“Are you inviting me?”

“I’m inviting you.”

Mason reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t really do parties.”