“Lisa Brown? Did she have any family? Maybe I should . . . I don’t know. Should I offer condolences?”

The faint lines around North’s eyes deepen as he looks at me. “No family.”

“Then it’s truly over.” I think of Lisa Brown. A woman who, for whatever reason, fixated on me as her one chance of happiness. She died alone in the world. I used to relish my solitude.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Delilah

I can’t sleep. Macon is out there, hurting and upset, and I’m tucked up in a bed. The wrongness of that scrapes against my skin, and I fling the covers back. I can’t stay here another second. I get dressed in the dark and grab my purse and keys. But when I wrench the kitchen door open to leave, I come face to face with the last person I expected to see: Sam.

Neither of us says a word as Sam and I retreat into the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of water and take a huge gulp that burns its way down my throat. As much as I want to go to Macon right now, there are things I need to say to my sister.

“That fucking joke with the tater tots. Why would you do that to me? You had everything: beauty, popularity, a boyfriend. I had none of those things. All I asked for of prom was to have fun. And you took that away from me.”

Clearly she wasn’t expecting that word vomit, and it takes her a moment to react. She has the grace to duck her head. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, bullshit. You have a good reason for everything. Because everything in life is a game, right?”

“Because I was jealous!”

The shout hits me like a slap. I gape at her. “Of what? Being a loner? Getting teased by the entire school? Of being plump and plain and overlooked? Which one of those things did you covet, Sam?”

Sam wipes at her eyes. “You think you were plain? You were pretty.”

“Oh, for the love of . . . compared to you, I was average at best. Something you made certain to remind me of at every turn.”

Sam frowns but then laughs as if I’m deluded. “And yet he never looked at me the way he looked at you. He never talked to me as though he truly wanted to know what I was thinking. He gave you a nickname, not me.”

“Macon?” I can’t believe this. “He hated me. He was dating you.”

“He was wasting time with me.” Her lips pinch sourly. “And there’s a fine line between love and hate. At best I got apathy. You got his attention. God, no one even calls him Macon but you.”

Her jealousy is so foreign to me that I can only gape. It takes effort to find my voice. “So this was all about Macon?”