Claire had confided in Leah, her teacher. Which probably meant that it was really, really bad. “Do you want to talk to me about it?”

She gave a worried shake of her head.

“Do you know Ms. Williams, the counselor?”

“Not really.”

“She’s great. I’m going to contact her and have her reach out to you and set up a meeting.”

“If I talk to her, will my parents get in trouble?”

“At this point, you’re simply going to have a conversation with a counselor. That’s all.”

A package arrived for you,” Leah told Dylan the following evening when he returned home from football practice.

“Huh?” He made his way from the mudroom into the kitchen, where Leah was eating one of Tess’s cookies as an appetizer before dinner.

“A package. Arrived for you.”

He followed her into the living room, where she’d propped the large rectangular box near the inside of the front door.

“Who’s it from?” Dylan asked.

“An art supply company in Atlanta. Did you order art supplies?”

“I can’t afford more art supplies.” Sweaty and smelling strongly of teenage boy, he carried the package to the dining table and ripped it open. The box contained a huge assortment of products. Paper. Pencils. Erasers. Pens. A T-square, ruler, triangle. A card sat on top. He read it and grinned. “The doctor you don’t have a crush on sent this to me.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

He passed her the card.

This is my way of supporting your graphic novel. Reserve a copy for me when it’s published.

—Sebastian Grant

“You’re working on a graphic novel?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

He shrugged. “A few weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Another shrug.

“That’s wonderful, Dylan! Seb . . . Sebastian knows?”

“Uh-huh. I told him when we were looking at the artwork one of his patients did.” Starstruck, he examined each item. “Wig!”

“Wig?”

“So cool my wig flew off,” he explained.

He hadn’t shown this much joy over anything in a long time. The sight of it caused a lump to form in her throat. “I have his number. You’ll have to call him and thank him.”

“I already have his number. He gave it to me.”

“When you were looking at artwork together, I presume?”

“Yeah. I’ll call him.”

Sebastian had sent a teenage boy he hardly knew a wonderfully thoughtful gift.

After Dylan had taken his treasure into his cave, Leah texted Sebastian.

Thank you for the art supplies you sent to Dylan. In case his teenager-speak makes it impossible to interpret his gratitude, I want you to know that the gift meant a lot to him.

Sebastian’s reply arrived forty-five minutes later.

I’m glad.

She’d been hoping for something that invited further conversation and waited for him to send a follow-up text. But he didn’t. Just I’m glad—a cordial, to-the-point conversation-ender—and nothing more.