All she listened to for the rest of the night was “Morning Has Broken.” On repeat. Trying to figure out why it was so devastating.

Why it reminded her of things she’d completely forgotten—like waking up with Charlie after the first time he’d slept in her dorm room and walking to class together in the rain.

How could a song she’d never heard before remind her of something?

Summer stopped crying after the first few times she listened to it. But she still felt . . . something new. Wretched in a new way. Like her misery was a sculpture, and she’d walked around to get a different view of it.

Track 2 was another song she only sort of recognized. Another song that you could sing in church. Another song that made Summer cry.

Track 3 was Metallica. She still cried. (It was acoustic.)

Track 4 was a Tori Amos song that she’d never heard before. Summer thought she’d heard every Tori Amos song before. (It was a cover of “Ain’t No Sunshine,” obviously a bootleg. The guy downstairs probably stole music from the Internet. He was probably really into Napster.)

The song reminded her of lying in bed with Charlie and watching cartoons. They’d always stayed in her room because Summer didn’t want to get caught sneaking down to the boys’ floor. Sneaking onto the boys’ floor made her feel like a tramp. Letting Charlie into her room felt divine.

Summer cried.

Track 5 was a song Summer just couldn’t get into.

She skipped to Track 6—Judy Collins. “Send in the Clowns.” Judy Collins was sort of the 1973 version of Tori Amos. Summer cried a river.

It took three nights for Summer to get through the eighteen songs on the CD. Thirteen of them were exquisite. Two were just okay. And three were skippable.

The songs were mostly new to her, so they were slow to lose their power. She listened to the CD whenever she was in her room. Tethered to her stereo. Sometimes just leaning against her desk.

Her headphones gave out in the middle of writing a paper. Summer threw them across the room. She listened to the CD with the volume turned low.

She listened to the CD with the volume turned loud.

She lay on her floor, with her eyes closed, remembering how Charlie slept with his fingers coiled in her hair.

Summer went through the north side of the cafeteria line and out into the dining area, looking for a table.

The meathead from the tenth floor was sitting by himself, right next to the salad bar. He smiled when he saw Summer. It was a knowing smile. Like—I know you’re listening to that CD I gave you.

Summer rolled her eyes and walked past him.