“I think Jace had something to do with that,” she blurts.

“What?” I ask, once again ignoring the sharp twist the sound of his name procures. Hearing it is more painful than thinking it.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Practically every journalist in the state shows up to report on the most exciting thing to ever happen on campus? And yet everyone just seemed to know not to say anything about you to the press? Good or bad? Only one person had—has—that type of power at Lincoln.”

I don’t say anything in response. Was he trying to protect me? Embarrassed by me? Angry at me?

“Have you talked to him?” Katie asks hesitantly.

“No,” I reply. “There’s nothing left to say.” Bleak, but accurate.

“Don’t you think you should at least explain? Just tell him…” Her voice fades away as she looks at my face. “You’d already told him, hadn’t you? The truth. Before it came out in the press.”

I shift under the warmth of the sunshine. “I’m sorry, Katie. I should have said something to you too. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just—”

“It’s okay. I wish you’d told me, but I get it,” Katie replies. “You guys had an…intense relationship. I’ve never seen two people so comfortable and confident in who they are as separate people, yet also so completely different together.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re both so self-assured, and charismatic, and intimidating on your own. When I saw you guys together, you were both more so, but also less so, if that makes sense.”

“Not really,” I say, laughing uncomfortably.

“You both acted like each other was all that mattered,” Katie replies softly. “And I say that as someone who’s pretty jaded when it comes to love.”

Her words intensify the ache. “I’m pretty jaded, too.”

We spend the rest of the day lounging by the pool, watching trashy television, and gossiping. I fill her in on Edgewood and the little drama I’ve paid attention to among my classmates. I can tell she’s awed by the casual way I use their titles. She fills me in on all the latest gossip from Lincoln—with the exception of anything that concerns the one person I actually would want to hear about.

I hope he’s not miserable, but I also don’t want to know if he’s happier without me.

We have dinner with my parents that night, and they’re both amused by Katie’s bubbly personality and her description of our time at Lincoln.

I’ve been less than forthcoming with details about my time in the States, and I can tell they’re surprised by how much I withheld as Katie describes our shopping trips, movie nights, and solitary trip to a football game.

“I thought you hated football?” my father asks when Katie mentions it.

The last time the two of us discussed the sport was when I was complaining to him about having to study it. Katie shoots me a quick look of apology, clearly realizing why I left my parents with that impression.