I shove my face into my pillow and scream into it for a second. Then I pick up my phone again. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, Jake, but I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

Because everything is so complicated right now. Because I love him, but I don’t know how to move forward if I can’t count on him to tell me the truth, about what he heard about my parents or about whatever he doesn’t want me to see in his texts.

Because I can’t be sure I won’t throw myself at him the minute I see him, despite all of that.

“Because you were right,” I tell him. “My timing sucks.”

Silence echoes between us, and I think he’s going to hang up. That he may never call back. “Okay,” he says at last. “Um … At the risk of making everything worse … I think I remember where I left my duffel bag.”

The abrupt switch of gears throws me off balance for a moment. But then I swipe my cheeks dry with one hand and sit straighter. If I come to my mother with more information about the case, she might be more inclined to reciprocate.

“Where?”

“There,” Jake says. “I think I left it at your house, about a month ago. The last time I remember having it was when I took you home after the last football game. I brought it in with me so I could change my shirt. It rained that night, remember?”

I do remember. And he definitely had his bag with him that night. I don’t remember him leaving it here, but knowing that I might have had access to that bag would make me look even worse to everyone harassing me with the babykiller hashtag.

“I don’t … Jake, I don’t think it would help the police to know that.”

“So, you’re asking me not to tell your mother?”

I exhale slowly, well aware of the hypocrisy I’m about to commit. “I can’t tell you what to do. All I’m saying is that I don’t think that’ll help the police, and it definitely won’t help me.”

Silence stretches over the phone again while he considers.

“Okay,” he says at last. “I’m not going to lie if they ask me, but I won’t volunteer the information either.”

“Thank you. I—” I close my eyes and exhale slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get my shit together, and I feel like I’m running around in circles in my own head. But I miss you too.” Admitting that feels like letting go of a breath I’ve been holding for years. “Maybe … Maybe we could talk more tomorrow? At school?”

“Dinner!” Landry shouts from the kitchen.

“That would be good.”