I’m just finishing separating out the lima beans when my brain flashes back to Salem telling me that Jenna broke up with him. I still can’t believe he let her dump him over something that isn’t even true. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly in love with her, but he must’ve been enjoying himself enough to stay with her until now, to sing that song to her. So why did he let her, instead of denying it? Why didn’t he just say she was being ridiculous?

Unless … she wasn’t?

“As if that’s how things work out in my life,” I mutter as I stab my spork into a noodle. “He told me exactly why he didn’t tell her the truth, and it didn’t leave a lot of room for interpretation.” These pain drugs are good, but clearly, they inspire way too much wishful thinking.

Unless …

Oh, shut up, I tell myself, and I pull out the deck of cards and shut my brain off completely.

Chapter Sixteen

EVENING COMES AND GOES. I read Sabrina’s and my GSA book, and text her all my thoughts. Heather does show up—we play spit, which keeps conversation to a minimum—and then she leaves for dinner. True to his word, Salem returns with Matt and Jason, and the four of us play poker until a nurse catches wind of what we’re doing and kicks them out. Then it’s just me and my thoughts again, and I pick up my phone to see if any more info about Sierra has been posted anywhere.

Still no, but Claire has a new set of pictures—displays of her work at the Greentree High Autumn Art Show. It’s mixed media, but primarily beading, which is something she’d been working on forever. The art is incredible—vivid and textured and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Half of them are landscapes: beaches using actual sand, sea glass, shells, and seaweed; a cityscape of stones and coins for windows, cotton clouds. The other half are portraits, using tiger’s-eye and slivers of ebony and mahogany for her parents, her favorite cousin.

And then, at the end, a solitary work that doesn’t fit in with the rest—a two of spades crafted of a combination of cards and photographs. Only when I zoom in do I realize each spade is actually two hands, joined in prayer. Or … apology, maybe.

My heart leaps into my throat and I don’t allow myself a second thought before I leave a comment: This is incredible, ClaireBear. You should be so proud.

I look at it for a minute before deleting “Bear,” then hit the button to post.

Her reply comes in the form of a text thirty seconds later. I wasn’t sure you’d ever see it.