I had to struggle to stay upright, fight the urge to curl my whole body around the tightening I felt in my gut. “I didn't write that. I wouldn't ever.” Jason. Jason wrote it. I knew the truth of it right away, what it meant for my reputation.

Andy was a natural skeptic, but I think he recognized something honest in my reaction. “You swear?”

“Of course I swear. Who do you think I am?”

“Not the same as I thought you were yesterday,” Andy said. “Nobody thinks of you the same as they did yesterday.”

I nodded, prepared myself to absorb this new person the world believed me to be. I didn't confront Jason, because it was exactly what everyone always told me would happen, something I believed I deserved. I watched the crocus fade, the daffodils and tulips bloom, the buds on the tree branches swell and pop open, the dandelions, half bright yellow beauty, half jagged green weed, carpet the backyard, where the neighbors couldn't see them. I started leaving the door locked so Jason would have to knock on my window, make a racket. I craved the day Mom would walk in on us, the day she would show me how to end it. I wanted a reboot of Mom's flood story, wanted her to drag me, screaming, ungrateful, into the safety of the pines.

And then I woke up one morning and Jason was still there, and it was a Saturday, and I heard Mom awake upstairs, shuffling around.

“Get out,” I whispered. “Go home.”

“Stop freaking out,” he said, rushing into his clothes.

He climbed out the window and made a run for it. It was full light, and I imagined Mom at the kitchen window, watching Jason's sprint across the yard scatter the birds from her feeder. I dreaded going up there. Also, I couldn't wait.

It was worse than I had imagined, both Andy and Mom at the table. It was impossible to believe they hadn't seen him.

“Mom,” I said. My voice caught on the tears in my throat.

There was a long pause. Say something, I thought, let's do this. I wanted the dam to break. I needed flooding, aftermath, a cleanup effort.

She wouldn't meet my eyes. She carried her plate and her mug past me into the kitchen. She ran water into the sink for a long time. She said, finally, “I'm not feeling well today,” and she disappeared into her bedroom.

Andy looked me over—his face made me think he'd stolen all my anger, that if I had half his fire I could burn down the world. “Well shit, Lottie,” he said.