Feet thump on the steps and stalls our conversation. Not that there’s anything else to say.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. Really, I am.”

I stand up, but Scott leaves then, passing Kevin and Abby on the stairs with a couple quick words.

Kevin passes into the house after a smirk in my direction. I manage to hold back any response, although I do feel a bit of satisfaction at the darkening bruises around his eye.

Then Abby is there, standing at the top of the porch, eyes still rimmed in red, reminding me of when we were thirteen and Tommy Phillips called her a bitch. My hand throbbed that day too.

“Can I talk to you?” Her voice wavers.

My whole body is tense, but I can’t help the pang of something resembling sympathy underneath. Despite everything that’s happened between us over the last year, a lifetime of memories is not something I can discard easily. This is so confusing. Too many conflicting emotions. Anger. Pain. But I still care. I wish I didn’t.

Then I might not be in this situation.

“I’m sorr—”

“Don’t say it.” I swipe the words away with a hand. “I’m not ready to hear you apologize.”

“I know you hate me. You have every right. But Fitz, please . . .” She breaks away, her gaze falling to her hands wringing in front of her. “Please don’t tell our parents yet.”

Any sympathy I have evaporates.

That’s what she’s worried about? Not about me or my feelings or where I’m going to live now? The fact that she’s been acting crazy and manipulating me for the last month? Longer, actually. I didn’t see the full picture until now.

“I have to tell my parents. I have nowhere else to live, Abby. They’re gonna wonder why I can’t stay here anymore.” It was the luckiest of breaks, or so I thought. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the scholarship and Scott’s offer of a free room.

I have to tell my parents, and they’ll tell Abby’s parents. After all, our mommas have been best friends since we were kids. She doesn’t want her parents to find out so she doesn’t have to deal with them. What an inconvenience for her.

“Please, Fitz. The truth is, I’m already in a spot of trouble. And it’s bad.” She bites her lip in a move that used to elicit sympathy and arousal, but now only makes me sick. She continues, “My grades aren’t great. If I can’t bring them up, I might have to drop out.”

I rock back on my heels. “What? Since when?”

But she doesn’t answer my question. “If my parents find out I got kicked out of the dorms on top of everything else . . .” She shakes her head. “I need you to do this one thing for me. It’s not forever. I can appeal the decision and maybe move back into the dorms, but it takes a couple months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your grades?”