“There’s nothing to tell,” she finally said, but she seemed torn, avoiding eye contact and taking frequent sips from her cigarette.

She was constantly circling something she wouldn’t tell me, and I couldn’t take it anymore. “What did you mean when you said you can’t always do something about every single injustice?” I asked. I couldn’t ask her about it directly, so I just wanted to keep her talking with the hope that she would tell me once and for all.

“Let’s just forget it,” she said. “We don’t have to do the prank.” She sounded pained.

“What?” I was relieved, but more worried than ever. Elise was not one to change her mind, just like that. Elise was not one to back down, ever.

“Let’s just go to my house,” she said. “My dad probably won’t be back until late tomorrow.”

“But it’s your birthday,” I said, saddened by the thought that her father wasn’t home, like he had forgotten.

She glanced at me like she could read my mind. “Trust me, him not being home is the best birthday present he could give me.” Then without another word, she started the car. Elise never wanted to talk about her father, never wanted me to run into him, but I still didn’t know why.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, knowing that it clearly wasn’t.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said in a tone that ended the conversation, pointedly looking away.

That night, we went down to the river behind her house. It’d been dry the last few months and the water was low, quiet and soothing. We smoked one cigarette, then two, as the dark sky opened up and revealed a scattering of stars.

“I’m sorry Christian was such an asshole,” I said, breaking the silence.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, sighing. “It’s just bad luck.” At my questioning glance, she shrugged. “Everyone likes to pretend they have control over their lives, but none of us really do. Sometimes shit just happens, sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.” That didn’t sound like the Elise I knew. The Elise I knew didn’t back down, didn’t throw her hands up in surrender, not ever.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again.

“Nothing,” she said, getting up. “Come on, it’s getting cold.”

I followed her back inside and up to her room, where we climbed into bed, neither of us falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” Elise said, sitting up. “Not sleepy. Tired.”

I pulled myself up too, propping myself on one arm and tucking my feet beneath me.

“I’m tired of everything.” She was staring straight ahead to the opposite wall, back against the headboard, chin resting on her knees, arms hugging herself.

I didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions. The second I said anything, I risked her shutting down. It’d been like that all day: start-stop conversations, me asking her what was wrong only for her to fall silent.

“How are you not exhausted too?” she asked softly. “How are you not sick of the bullshit? Is life just one long line of wanting something you can never have?” She was talking about Christian again, I thought. “Of being forever trapped?”