The overlook is at the end of a little dead-end street a few blocks from St. Amelia’s, tucked up in the hills: ten feet of flat dirt and scrub before the land drops out from under you. From the cliff’s edge you can look out over the campus and have a little secret smoke or drink or whatever.

They used to come up here sometimes when they were together—not to smoke, even, just to kiss and talk. To be alone. It’s weird to think now how precious it was to Lulu then, getting any time alone with Owen: how he would try to say hi, ask about her day, and she would already be kissing him, tucking a hand into the waistband of his jeans, reminding herself of all of the parts of him that were hers, just hers.

When she arrives, O is leaning against the trunk of his car, legs crossed at the ankles, staring placidly into the middle distance. Lulu looks at him, and the distance between them feels uncrossable. Not dangerous, exactly, but definitely, like, there.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

“You wanted to talk?”

“I saw, um. I watched the video you posted. I wanted to check in with you.”

“Well, great news: I’m fine.”

“Don’t be like this, Lulu. I’m asking how you are.”

“So ask, then.”

“I just did.” He looks genuinely confused.

“No you didn’t. You said you wanted to check in.”

“What’s the difference?”

Lulu is tired. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess maybe the difference is, I don’t want to check in.”

“So why did you even come here?”

“You said you needed to talk to me!”

“What were you expecting?”

“What do I ever expect anymore?” Lulu spreads her arms, exasperated. “I don’t know. I really don’t. My life has been nothing but nightmare circus crazy things for weeks now. Maybe you want to tell me you’re getting in on the revenge porn game too. I don’t know, O.”

“Jesus, Lulu, you really think I’d do that? That’s honestly—I know Ryan turned out to be a dick, but that’s, like, very deeply twisted. To think that about a person who . . .”

“Who what?” But Lulu knows why he can’t finish the sentence. It’s because he genuinely doesn’t know what to call himself—whether to say who loves you, or who loved you.

She doesn’t know which one she wants him to say.

“I wanted to know how you were doing,” Owen says. “I’m sorry if that’s, like, an imposition now.”

Lulu shrugs.

“I wanted to know if I could do something to help.”

Lulu shrugs again.

“I wanted—”

Lulu looks at the sky. She says, “I want you to consider: I might not know if I’m okay right now. And this might not be about what you want.”

Owen goes quiet again.