I lock eyes with my mom, standing by the door, so small these days, hunched, as if she’s forgotten how to stand up straight, and she smiles at me with sad eyes. It pierces me to my core. It’s like she’s saying Look at you, moving on, going out, making friends. And I know Jordan will never be able to do any of those things, and I want to curl into myself and never open up.

I’m about to tell Zach that I can’t do this, I can’t go, when this wide smile spreads across his face. And something in it makes me feel like he sees me, instead of an angry, fucked-up girl or a warped reflection of my dead brother. So even though I don’t deserve any of this, I end up in his car.

“Your mom seems nice.” He sounds nervous. Of all the things he could have chosen to say. I have to hold myself back from snapping at him, being rude right out of the gate. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. I repeat it in my head over and over.

I must pause for an awkwardly long time, because once I manage to dig myself out of my head to respond, he’s staring at me with a concerned expression. We’re still parked outside my house.

I raise an eyebrow. “What?” It comes out sharp, like a snap.

He hesitates before answering. “You okay?”

I grimace. “Yes. I’m fine.” I cross my arms over my chest and grumble, “Why are we still sitting here? Are we going to hang out in front of my house all night?”

He taps his fingers against his steering wheel, drumming out a beat. “No. Of course not…” He hesitates before continuing, “You zoned out there for a minute. I was trying to tell you something, but it was like you didn’t even hear me.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. Jesus Christ. Can we please just go?” What does this guy want from me? I gave him the wrong impression at the bookstore last night. I’m not into sharing my deep, dark thoughts with friends I’ve known for years, never mind boys I’ve known for, like, a minute. I mean, calm down, guy. Just because you saved me from some panic attacks—which, fine, was a decent thing to do—doesn’t mean I owe you anything. I don’t owe you a window into my damaged psyche. This isn’t some fairy tale where you’re going to swoop in and save me. I’m way too far gone for that shit, and I’m not ten years old. I know those stories are a bunch of crap.