“Remy,” I said, and her smile was warm.

Elise had long, inky hair, and even in the dark I could tell she was beautiful. Small mouth, delicate nose, high cheekbones. Thin, with wrists like twigs, she looked fragile, breakable. She had a single scar near her left eye, extending into her hair, a soft crease in her otherwise smooth skin. But it was the sharpness of her blue eyes that I noticed the most—every glance a spark, like they held a live current behind them, a glimmer of something thrilling and a little scary.

6.

Halfway down to the student parking lot, Elise and I tossed our cigarettes, watched the ash break off and the final glow extinguish.

“Which one’s your car?”

“It’s pink, you can’t miss it.”

“No,” I whispered when we stopped in front of a powder-pink Cadillac convertible.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know they still made these things.”

“I don’t think they do. It was my grandmother’s,” Elise said, hopping in.

“You’re kidding,” I said, getting in next to her and dragging the seat belt across me. We sat on one long connected seat with no center console or cup holders to separate us. I’d only seen cars like this in movies or TV shows.

“She was a top saleswoman at Mary Kay or something, and this car was what they gave her one year.” Elise shrugged and started the car.

“It’s awesome,” I said, running my fingers along its side.

“She’s kind of a pain in the ass,” Elise said, but she was smiling. “But she’s tough and I like that.”

“She?” I asked, confused. “The car?”

“Yep. This is the Pink Caddy,” she announced with a small wave of her hand like she was introducing us. “So, where do you live?”

I began to direct her but stopped. “Are you hungry?” I asked, not wanting to go home, not wanting to be alone. We drove to get bubble tea and sat in her car staring out at an empty strip-mall parking lot.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elise said. “About what happened with that guy.”

“Not really.” I looked down at my lap, thumb running over the edge of the cup lid, taking slow sips. “I don’t know. I thought he was really happy. I thought we had a great summer. He said he could see us together forever.” I wiped a tear away. “I guess not.”

“Why was it all about him?” Elise asked, incredulous.

“Huh?”

“What about you?” she said, a spark of anger in her eyes. “Were you happy? Did you have a great summer? Did you love him? Did you want to be with him forever?”

“Of course,” I said, though suddenly I wasn’t sure anymore. “I think so.”

She stayed silent.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “I guess I was always just focused on him.”

“So it was all about him. About what he needed, what he wanted, what he decided, wasn’t it?”

“Well—” The thing was, I didn’t care. I didn’t care if everything was about him, I just wanted him to stay. I started to cry again, the tears dripping off the curve of my chin and splattering onto my dress.