They’re all carrying helium tanks, helping people fill balloons for their launch. When they’re full, the balloons look like doves. Anne explains that once the doves reach a certain height, they break apart and biodegrade into the atmosphere. I hang back, watch the first doves float into the air, beautiful and strange.

“Hey, May.” Zach’s at my elbow, holding two balloons. He looks uneasy.

All the things I planned to say to him fly out of my head when I look at him.

“I’m so sorry—” My voice catches. There’s a lump in my throat the size of the world. I lock eyes with him, trying to convey everything I’m feeling—everything I’ve experienced—everything I was and am and will be—with my gaze. I want him to know that I never would have done what I did had I known him. I want him to know that I’m not as angry anymore.

“I know.” His face softens. “I am too. I get it, though, I think. Finally. My mom had to help me understand….”

I open my eyes wide in surprise.

He shrugs. “I know. I didn’t expect it either.”

The moon comes out from behind a cloud, bright and bold, illuminating all the flying doves. As they rise, it becomes harder and harder to tell that they aren’t real—that they’re nothing more than shells and air.

“I thought maybe we could do this together?” Zach holds out one of his balloons. I take it from him, and my vision blurs with tears.

The last time I was around most of these people outside of school was at a very different party, under very different circumstances. I’ll never stop regretting that night and what I said. I’ll never stop regretting how Jordan and I ended, but there’s a tiny flicker inside me that’s beginning to grow—a small part of my brain that thinks maybe Lucy’s right, that Jordan did know how much I loved him, that he always knew.

I just wish I could have said goodbye.

Side by side, Zach and I hold our doves up in the gentle, warm breeze. I silently recite the seven names I’ll never forget: Madison Lee. Marcus Neilson. Mr. Oppenheimer. Juliet Nichols. Britta Oliver. Michael Graves.

Jordan McGintee.

Zach takes my hand, and together we let go and the doves float up, up, away into the night sky.

Author’s Note