“Well, I don’t know what caused your foul mood, but it isn’t my fault, even if my last name is Fowler.”

My God.

The worst part is that I know he’s right. But it’s the fact that he’s right, and the way he’s being so earnest and sincere about everything, that’s driving me up the wall. That’s what I can’t stand about Wyatt, he’s just so …

Good.

He’s always asking me how my day was, if I did well on my exams or assignments. He asks me where I’m going when I’m leaving and tells me to be safe. And even though I never, ever ask, he tells me where he’s going and if he’ll be back late.

I’m about to get up to turn his music off again when I’m saved by my phone. Or, rather, Wyatt is saved by my phone. Samuel’s calling.

“What?”

“Whoa, sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” He laughs, and I can perfectly picture the way his mouth stretches into a smile while he does it. I wish I were there to smack the look off his face.

“What do you want, Samuel?”

“I was just calling you to see what’s up.”

“I’m in my room.” I peer over at Wyatt, realizing for the first time that he’s got an open suitcase on his bed. He’s walking over to his closet now, grabbing one of the dozens of flannel shirts or worn-out band T-shirts he wears when we aren’t required to be in uniform. The one he’s holding has a picture of some blond lady on the back with the words TINY HOT TOPIC BITCH written on the front. Even after almost a year it’s always funny seeing him outside of his uniform in this weird grunge guitar-kid aesthetic. The boy even wears earrings, tiny little hoops in his ears that he puts in every day so the holes won’t close.

Samuel mutters to someone off the call before he comes back to me. “We’re heading to the bridge; you want to come?”

“No.”

The chances of Josh being there are way too high.

“Why not? One last hurrah before spring break. Josh isn’t going to be there,” he adds, like he’s reading my mind.

I almost end the call there.

“Why would you say that? What difference does it make if Josh is or isn’t there?”

“You two had a fight, didn’t you?”

“Who told you that?”

“Let’s see …” Samuel does a little tut, tut, tut. “I heard it from Julien, who heard it from Hoon, who heard it from Mark, who heard straight from Josh that you’d broken up.”

I guess they had enough sense to not talk about it in our group chat.