I choke on a sob. “So, I think I’m in love with Devin,” I say, and God, saying it out loud makes it feel so much more real, like it’s some sentient being here to drag me to hell or something.

Then Becca starts laughing, and I feel like I’m on display even though I’m alone in the freaking closet. Finally, she seems to get herself under control and says, “Thank God.”

“Thank God?”

“Yeah, I thought you’d never realize it. You were so caught up in the oh, Drew’s so sexy and knows how to brew a latte! Oh Drew, he’s going to college! He plans big complicated dates that don’t even suit my personality because he just wants to show off!”

“That’s—I don’t talk like that!” But it doesn’t matter because we both know she’s right. I got so caught up in our meet cute—in all the surface parts of our relationship—that I never realized that, at a cellular level, we just aren’t compatible. It was one of those perfect Instagram relationships, except beyond the pictures and the corny captions, we’re just two people who have nothing in common and nothing holding us together. We’re water and oil, but I kept trying to mix us because I’d gotten so caught up in an arbitrary measure of happiness.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Becca asks.

And really, I don’t know. There’s only a month left before I leave, and I don’t even know if Devin’s vaguely interested in me and I still don’t know how to save the Diary.

“I’m sorry, Becca,” I say, my voice a whisper against the phone static. “I—I’ve been such a shitty friend.”

She sighs, but she doesn’t speak. We sit in silence for a moment before, finally, she says, “You got caught up in your five seconds of fame. I get it.”

And I laugh because of course she’d just brush the whole thing off like it never mattered, but I can hear a shift in her tone, like maybe we’re starting over, and I’m more grateful than I can put into words. “How are things?” I say. “I mean, how are you? I hope everything’s okay?”

“Honestly? Not great, but I don’t really want to talk about it,” she says. Then she pauses a moment before adding, “And it’s not you. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I just—I need time to cope with everything before I open up about it. I hope that’s cool.”