Oh good, now they’re both mad. Well, turns out, so am I. And I may have been a sweet, doting daughter the last time I was home, but I’m the Rumson Girl now. “Then how exactly would you like me to get this message across, Dad? Because apparently begging to go to boarding school didn’t do it. Straight-up telling you both that I don’t want to talk to her isn’t cutting it. So how about I tell you this: she slept with her own sister’s boyfriend.” The sharp inhale of my mother’s breath is only mildly satisfying. “And, by the way, she’s never once said she’s sorry. So if you can’t understand me, I hope you can understand that. Thank you for dinner, but I’m gonna go ice my ankle again.”

There’s no fight as I stand up and crutch-hop away.

After dropping that, it’s a little awkward to then ask my parents for help, and they’ve locked themselves away in their room for a conversation I’m clearly not meant to hear and don’t particularly want to, anyway. It’s too hard to handle making my own ice pack while I wait for the one I used before dinner to refreeze, so I settle for elevating my foot on my bed while I finish my GSA reading and glance at my phone every five minutes, willing it to light up.

I really, really hate missing Salem Grayson.

You don’t miss him, I chastise myself, tossing the book onto my nightstand and collapsing back into my pillow. You’ve gotten used to him helping you. And you had an unfortunately timed shirtless run-in that’s scrambling your brain a little. That’s it.

Well, and the guitar playing. And singing. And returning your stolen goods for you. And buying you candy cigarettes.

Ugh, where did those even come from?

And offering to walk you into class when Duncan was giving you shit. And being such a good brother that he got himself kicked out of school just to buy his sister some space to breathe. And taking incredible care of you when you got injured. And—

“Oh my God, shut up!” I yell at my own brain.

“Evie!”

My eyes snap open and I’m horrified to realize that my mom is standing in the doorway, looking completely stricken. “Oh, God, Mom—that was not at you, I promise. One hundred percent talking to myself. Didn’t even realize you were there.”

She nods and walks over, ice pack in hand, and sits on the edge of the bed, wrapping it around my ankle. “Sounds like you might need to be kinder to yourself, then, too.”

“Trust me,” I mutter, staring up at the ceiling, “my brain deserves it. It’s being very, very stupid.”