Honestly, I disintegrated into guilt several times a day as it was. It was getting harder and harder for me to look Brooke in the eyes and pretend her heartache had nothing to do with me. I’d ruined things between Brougham and me, and I knew I had to tell Brooke what I did to her, but I couldn’t bear to ruin us, too, so I kept putting it off, day by day. I kept telling myself the timing didn’t feel right, but, honestly, it was mostly that I didn’t want her to know I was a terrible person who did awful things.

I didn’t want to think of myself that way. In my own head, I was the hero, a good person. I’d always been the hero. I was nice (wasn’t I?) and I tried my best to do the right thing (usually). But you weren’t a good person because you wanted to be. You were a good person when you did good things. And I’d done some bad, bad things to the people I was meant to care about most.

To add to my self-made purgatory, every time I caught a fleeting glance of Brougham, it felt like getting an electric shock. Brougham mediating a game of keep-away between Hunter, Luke, and Finn in the halls. Brougham chasing down a teacher between classes to clarify something, his face earnest and posture respectful. Brougham grabbing books from his locker, lost in his own thoughts.

He never looked at me. I might’ve been invisible. Just an ornament decorating the halls, blending into the navy.

One afternoon, as Mom drove me home from school, even she caught on to my foul mood about it all. I didn’t want to dump on her with all my shit: she dealt with high school drama all day every day. The last thing she needed was me piling it on more when she got home. But honestly, it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d notice—it’s not like she usually did—so I hadn’t put on a convincing act.

“I’m fine, honestly,” I protested when she started pressing, but all she did was raise her eyebrows.

“I carried you in my womb for nine months, I raised you, I’ve lived with you for almost seventeen years, and you don’t think I can tell when something’s wrong?”

In response, I curled into myself, pulling my feet onto the car seat and hunching my arms in tight. She said it like we were constantly opening up to each other. But sure, I’d bite.

Obviously, I couldn’t tell her everything. But maybe I could find a way to tell her what’d happened, without telling her.

“It’s about Brooke and Ray,” I said.

Mom nodded, sympathy flitting across her features. “Having a hard time with it, huh?”