“I forgot to ask you last time, but are there any, you know . . .

nice girls at your school?” Mom asked.

In the background, I could hear Dad chuckling. Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was near, I said, “I actually may or may not have a girlfriend.”

This time, I was prepared for my mother’s delighted squeak and held the phone at a safe distance from my ear. “Evelyn, that’s lovely! What’s her name?”

“Noel e.”

“Wait—I thought that was your roommate you didn’t get along with?”

“I told you, there was a lot going on,” I laughed.

“Will we get to meet her?” my dad asked, his voice a bit distant as he was still hovering around in the background. I could vividly imagine them standing in the kitchen at home, my mom probably still in the blouse she wore to work and my dad with his cup of afternoon tea in hand. The image made my throat feel a little tighter. Usually, it was easy to push my homesickness to the side. It was only during our calls that I was overcome with this acute feeling of longing, a bittersweet taste in my mouth every time I hung up.

“I suppose you’ll see her when you come here for the Winter Banquet in December.”

“We’re really looking forward to it,” Mom said. Even through the phone, I could tell that she was holding back tears just by the slight quiver in her voice. “We miss you a lot, sweetheart.”

Before I could respond, a quiet sob suddenly sounded from the room to my right. Halting in my steps, I rushed to say, “I miss you too. I have to go now, but I’ll talk to you soon!”

Pocketing my phone again, I carefully pressed closer to the door, slightly ajar, which made it easy for me to peek inside. My eyes widened in surprise when they fell on Amelia.

“Hey, are you all right?”

A stupid question. She was standing by the window in the empty classroom, frantically wiping at her eyes with her sleeve as I neared her from behind.

“Amy.” I gently put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around. “What happened?”

“Leave me alone,” she sobbed and twisted out of my grip.

Her voice was sharp, but I was far too used to crying in empty classrooms after school hours to simply leave her here like this.

“Hey,” I softly said. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help?”

At that, she only began to cry even harder, shoulders shaking like the leaves on the tree behind the window, desperately clinging to the branches so as not to be carried off by the wind.

“There is nothing you can do. Please just go.”

“I’m not leaving you here like this,” I said and hoisted myself onto the windowsill next to her. Her eyes were swollen and red, cheeks wet with tears, so I rummaged in my bag until I found a pack of tissues. “Here. What’s going on?”