Drew Nolan couldn’t be more different from Micah if he tried. Micah was a sun god, bursting with light (even though he did turn out to be a horrible boyfriend who Nah refuses to ever speak to again), but Drew, he’s all night. Late night. When you should be safe in bed night. His face is cut like stone. Sharp. Black, wavy hair. Paler than me. A perfect manga villain.

He feels my eyes on him and finally looks up. Goes paler, if that’s possible.

From the look of him, he hasn’t gotten any more sleep than the rest of us. But I don’t care. The moment the seat next to him empties, I take it.

I keep my voice low, and he has to lean in to hear me above the roar of the train. “If you ever talk to my sister again, I’m calling the police. And informing the school administration that you’ve been selling drugs to students. I know you’re on scholarship, so I really hope you make the right choice.”

Drew turns to me, broken and desperate, and I do not care. I do not.

His voice is a rasp, a fraying rope. “I love her.”

“Fuck you.”

I cannot believe I just said that. Or how good it felt.

I lean close to his face.

“You sold her drugs. Do you have any idea what she’s been going through these past few days in detox?”

“She’s in detox?” Relief and hurt wash over his face.

I’m surprised she didn’t tell him. Maybe that was supposed to be a secret. But I’m done with secrets.

“Yeah, after a whole night out with you.”

“She wasn’t using with me that night. She drank, and I was watching out for her. Mae—”

“She could have died—she still might die.”

I say this louder than I mean to, and an old lady a few seats down glances at us over her copy of the Boston Globe. I never realized how lucky you are, if you get to be a senior citizen. I used to feel sorry for old people; I don’t anymore.

“These three days in the hospital—it’s only the beginning.” I am trying very hard to use my inside voice. “When she comes home, the doctors said she’ll likely be depressed. Craving. Sensitive to pain. There’s a higher risk of suicide. And if she relapses again and takes the same dose as she did before, her chances of overdosing are greater. You die from respiratory suppression. You stop breathing. You drown.”

His voice is low, urgent. “I’ve been trying to help her. She just—”