“I’m sorry,” Ainsley said as she watched me. “There’s nothing I can say that makes this better. Except, maybe, high school relationships don’t usually last. I only know one couple who got together in junior year that’s still blissfully happy. Everyone else crashed and burned dramatically, usually around the SATs, and—Oh, no, babe, don’t cry.”

But I couldn’t help it. Brooke had feelings for someone else—she was dating someone else—and even though a part of me figured she’d never feel that way about me, another part of me had hoped. I was the best friend, the supportive one, who listened to her and laughed with her and stayed up with her chatting ’til all hours of the morning.

But she hadn’t chosen me. She was never going to. And it didn’t matter how caring I was, or how much effort I put into my hair and makeup, or how much time I put in. It was me, as I was, that wasn’t doing it for her. There wasn’t anything I could do to change that. And that made me feel like there was something inherently not good enough about me. I hiccupped and sniffled as sobs choked my throat. I wasn’t a pretty crier. I was bright red cheeks and wobbling lips and puffy, swollen eyes that looked like I’d smashed my face into a table to test its structural integrity.

“It’s okay,” Ainsley tried. “You’ll find your own patronizing Persian cat one day.”

“I … don’t … want … my own Persian cat,” I gulped. “I want Brooke.”

“I know. Life sucks.”

“And she’ll marry her,” I spat out. “I bet you anything she’ll marry her, because that’s just how my luck is going. And they’ll go on all these fancy trips to the snow and pose in their fancy ski gear and Raina will propose on top of fucking Mount Everest and I’ll find out on Instagram and I’ll have to pretend to be happy for them.”

“That is so specific.”

“It’s just my gut feeling, okay? And Brooke will be all happy—”

“Yeah, fuck her, right?” Ainsley deadpanned.

“—and she won’t even miss Austin and Ally.”

“Who are Austin and Ally?”

“That’s what we were going to call our twin babies.” I stabbed a fork into my mac and cheese, then stabbed again.

“No, as your sister, I would not allow you to name your kids after a TV couple, that is wildly creepy and gross.”

“It would’ve been adorable and nostalgic by then, but you know what? It doesn’t matter, because now Austin and Ally are dead.”

“Dark.”

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand. “This is all wrong. I hate this.”

“I know. Have some mac and cheese.”