Tears sting my eyes, but I will them not to come out with every ounce of strength I have left. But I have too much heartbroken energy and it has to get out somehow. So instead of crying, I start hyperventilating. I want to ask Who? or How? or anything that would give me answers, but I can’t seem to push any words out of my throat.

“Sean?” Dominic still doesn’t move from his place just out of arm’s reach, too much of a coward to face my heartache up close and personal. “Are you okay?”

A flare of anger temporarily pushes away the lump blocking words.

“Does this”—heave—“look like”—heave—“I’m okay”—heave—“to you?”

Dominic scratches his neck again. “Um, no.”

I try to give him an angry laugh, but I’m so out of breath it comes out more like a hiccup. “What was”—heave—“your first”—heave—“clue”—heave—“Sherlock?”

Suddenly a pair of dark brown feet with black-painted toenails burst into view. I look up to find Kavya, chest puffed proudly, her bright orange buoy that we never have to use in the six-foot-deep pool strapped across her chest. “What’s going on? Bee sting? Allergic reaction? Shall I administer CPR?” She can sound like such a cheesy cartoon superhero when she hops into lifeguard action, her hands literally placed on her hips like she’s Wonder Woman or something.

“It’s fine.” Apparently I can handle two-word sentences now without gasping for air.

“Oh.” Kavya’s arms fall limply to her sides. She’s been dying for the day when she finally gets to save someone’s life.

She looks over at Dominic, who still hasn’t moved a muscle since delivering his Richter-scale-10 news. “Hey, dude,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s met someone else,” I say.

Four words. We’re improving. So I try, “Who is he?” The question sends another knife to my soul, but I have to know.

“Miguel.”

He doesn’t have to say more. I know exactly who he’s talking about. Miguel is the most popular guy in school, one of the top swimmers on the team, homecoming royalty four out of four years at Shoreline High. And my former best friend.

“He’s a senior. He’s also heading to Northridge next year,” Dominic continues. “We really clicked at his barbecue. It just makes more sense.”

“Oh,” I breathe. How else are you supposed to respond when someone starts describing your replacement like reasons for upgrading a car? This is not the Dominic I know. He’s not this heartless.

Kavya grabs her buoy and pulls it over her head, dropping it with a hollow clunk at her feet. Then she bends down and touches her toes. Next, she stands tall and grabs her right foot, bringing it to her butt. She does the same with her left.

“What are you doing?” Dominic asks.