By the time I trek the two miles to Smith’s, I’m shivering. I roam the aisles, searching for Cora, rubbing my cold hands together. Two elementary-school-aged girls in soccer uniforms hustle out of the cereal aisle with a giggle when I pass them. I hear them in the next aisle over, still whispering, unsuccessfully stifling their laughter.

I imagine Josh Turner holding his Corn Pops, paralyzed with fear at the sight of the girl he used to kiss. I crumple to the floor, the memory crippling me.

The way he looked at me. The horror in his eyes. The pity in Asad’s.

Why did I think it could be different?

I don’t even try to stop the darkness that swallows me. I sink into it slowly, swimming in it, letting it envelop me in its familiar nothingness.

Just like the black holes Dad used to tell me about, the weight of my own gravity tugs me inward.

Right there next to the Kellogg’s, I implode.

At some point, Cora crouches next to me, tugging off my headphones. She pulls me against her, and I bury my face in her shoulder.

“Let’s go home,” she says.

I shake my head, muttering into her shirtsleeve. She holds my chin up so she can hear me.

“I can’t,” I say again.

“Sure we can. I’ll tell my boss I’m leaving early, and whatever happened, we’ll fix it.”

“No,” I say, the tears stinging me again. “We can’t. It’s gone.”

“What is, honey? What’s gone?”

My mouth pressed into her shoulder, I whisper the word that haunts me.

“Home.”

May 9

There'snoplacelikehome

There'snoplacelikehome

There'snoplacelikehome

What if

there's just

noplace?

40

Piper calls me three times in the night.

I don’t answer.

I don’t even hear her final call, and only see the missed call when I wake up to Cora siting on the edge of my bed, where I’ve wrapped myself up tight in Sara’s quilt so not even one speck of light can find me.

She taps me gently.

“Ava, we need to talk to you.”

When I open my eyes, the first thing I see are Sara’s empty shelves. I flip to the other side, where they can’t mock me.

“You shouldn’t have wasted Sara’s dolls for me,” I say, feeling particularly sorry for myself as the memory of yesterday yawns awake in my brain. “For nothing.”

Cora doesn’t do her usual optimism full-court press, but instead smooths my hair and kisses my forehead.

“I’m not sorry one bit,” she says. “Come on out when you’re ready. Dr. Layne is here.”

Groan.

“You called in professional help? I’m fine.”

Cora flicks the switch on my wall, making me blink as she floods the room with light.

“No,” she says, more forcefully than normal. “You’re not.”