I scroll through the texts I’ve sent Sam since lunch yesterday. I’ve apologized ninety ways to Tuesday for the jerks at my lunch table, but she won’t respond. And it feels so unfair — I couldn’t help it that Connor grabbed my phone and passed it down the table! I snatched it back as fast as I could, and I told them off for being jerks. But even when I told her that I explained to them that she’s my friend, she ignored me. Even when I said I loved the Fairy Godbot, no response. Even when I tried startalk, nothing.

Even when I messaged her in tears, upset about Jonah’s last night at home, crickets.

It hurts so much that she can so easily turn away from me, especially when she knows how hard this weekend is. That familiar chord resonates in me again. What is it that makes me so easy to throw away? Sam’s disappearance adds further credence to the belief that there must be something fundamentally wrong with me — something I think of as the Theory of Original Defectiveness. Why else would my birth mother have thrown me away? The only thing she knew about me was that she didn’t want me.

But unlike my birth mother, Sam actually knew me.

Which only makes it worse.

I stay in bed as long as I can, listening to the sounds of my parents getting Jonah ready to go. Finally, with about twenty minutes remaining before Cammie picks me up, I crawl out, get ready, and go downstairs. I don’t want to say goodbye to Jonah. What I want is to call the whole thing off.

I find Jonah standing stock-still in the living room. My mom is whirling about trying to make sure she doesn’t forget anything, and my dad is loading Jonah’s things into the car.

I take Jonah’s hands and gaze up at him. I can’t find any words, so I sing to him. Because I don’t know how long it will be before I can sing to him again. When my dad comes back inside, I ask, “Did you pack his parrot?” I gave Jonah a parrot for his twelfth birthday, and even though it only has one eye and one wing now, he still loves it.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough, and he clears his throat and gives me a smile, but his stab at bravery only worsens the ache in my chest. My dad’s attachment to Jonah is as deep as the ocean. What will happen to his heart today when he has to walk away, leaving his beloved boy behind? The thought is like an elephant stepping on my solar plexus; it takes my breath away.

I turn back to Jonah. “Give me a hug, sweetie.”