With a jolt, I recall her sketch of me. I pull open my bedside drawer and take it out. It’s so beautiful — I have half acknowledged to myself that part of the reason I love it so much is because it’s so flattering, that she overlooked my imperfections and made me more beautiful than I actually am. But I have always felt Sam sees me the way I am, accepts me the way I am. Which of us sees me more clearly?

I have no idea.

I am lost.

I glance at the top of my bookcase, where I set the giant bag of Taco Bell hot sauces. “FUEL TO ANYWHERE.” Is that what Starworld has been all this time? Some sort of, like, romantic fantasy? I never dreamed it didn’t mean the same thing to both of us. An escape. A place where we could forget our troubles. A safe —

I stop, stumbling over the term I’m realizing defines Starworld perfectly.

A safe haven.

That’s what it was to me. And it’s what I wanted to make for her, too.

I think with horror about some of the things I wrote to her in Starworld, the way I clung to her on Humphrey’s back and expressed so much love for the places she dreamed up. My god — I even told her I love you. Did she think I meant as more than friends? A lot of things I’ve said could in fact sound sort of romantic, if one wanted to see it that way. But I didn’t mean them that way! If I had known that’s how she was feeling, I would have been more careful.

I can’t bear the thought of losing her friendship. When I consider the many ways I care about her, depend on her . . . She is in everything now — not just my habits and my heart, but my home. My family.

I pick up my phone to check it, even though there have been no alerts since Syd. Nothing. I keep seeing Sam’s face, the way that expression of love and hope so quickly morphed into hurt and mortification, and my chest aches for her. To feel that way for someone and be rejected . . . And she was so fragile already, socially. How will she recover from this? How can I make things okay again?