The clock ticks on the wall. I just want to walk out and never look back.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s fine,” I reply automatically because it’s what I’ve been hardwired to do. Don’t let strangers see the cracks in your facade.

“Have you talked to your mom about community college?”

“My mom is a perfectionist. Nothing less than Harvard would make her proud of me.”

Silence.

With a sigh, Mrs. Archer leans back in her creaky desk chair and observes me. “There’s nothing wrong with community college.”

When I don’t respond, she tries a different tactic. “How do you feel about the upcoming vigil?”

Grayson put it off for a long time, holding out hope for his daughter’s safe return. Without a body, he’s opted for a candle-lit vigil instead of a funeral. It makes sense. No one wants to bury an empty casket.

My chest rises and deflates as I draw in a deep breath. “Like you said, how I feel reflects on my grades.”

Her eyes soften and she tucks her curly, blonde hair behind her ear. “You’re not alone, Willow.”

“That’s the thing,” my eyes clash with hers, “I am alone!”

The sympathy in Mrs. Archer’s eyes brings a lump to my throat. I try to swallow past it but fail. “She’s gone.” My voice breaks. “Chloe is not coming back! And I’m supposed to do what? Care about my grades? Make an effort at school?”

Mrs. Archer says nothing; she just watches me with that look in her eyes. My skin crawls. I don’t want her to see what’s behind my mask.

I stand up so fast, my chair topples over. “Can I go?”

The clock ticks loudly, crawling beneath my skin. Sighing, she closes my file. “You’re free to go.”

I don’t wait around.

As I walk into the hallway, I collide with a hard chest. Two big hands grip my shoulders to steady me.

“Are you okay?”

I look up, my eyes colliding with Luca’s brown irises. We haven’t spoken since that night. I avoid him, and I suppose he avoids me too. Neither of us wants to face our guilt for leaving the party together. I lost my best friend, and he lost Dylan. In a sense, we’re both to blame for what happened.

“I’m fine.” I try to sidestep him, but his hand flies out, grabbing my arm.

He swallows thickly and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

When I don’t respond, he adds, “I brought my car. We can go somewhere.”

A group of students shoulders past me, causing me to stumble into Luca again. His hands are back, steadying me.

“Okay,” I agree.

When we reach his car, he holds the door open for me. “It’s not much, just a rusty little Toyota, but it runs.”

“At least you have a car.” I get in, and he shuts my door, then rounds the vehicle. The drive to my house is quiet. I suggested we go back to mine since I live closer to school, and Luca’s mom works from home.