He hadn’t turned on the lights in the store because he didn’t want anyone to know he was there at this hour. The street outside was quiet and dark through the front windows. The stack of books about the Long Acre shooting loomed high on the floor next to him. How many books could they write about the same event? He picked up one and flipped through the pages. He saw familiar faces flash by—yearbook photos, teacher photos, photos of the aftermath.

He was about to shut the book when Kincaid and Graham’s prom picture filled a page. The picture was captioned The prom queen and the boy who saved her. Kincaid was in her white dress looking like a movie star, no tiara on her head yet, the ceremony still to come. Graham was smiling like he owned the world, his arms wrapped firmly around Kincaid from behind. During this photo, Ash had been standing on the side watching and waiting for them to be done. He could almost see movement in the picture, the way Kincaid kept self-consciously touching her hair to make sure it was right for the picture. Graham reassuring her that she looked perfect.

Ash’s stomach did a flip. He shut the book with a snap, but something fell out of the pages. He set the book aside and squatted down to grab the paper that had fallen out. There was a folded loose-leaf page. He opened it and stopped breathing for a moment.

Dear Kincaid,

You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. When you’re in a room, it’s like there’s no one else there because you’re all I can focus on. I wish I could tell you all the things I think and feel about you to your face, but I’m not sure I’m the guy you’d want to hear them from. Even so, I want you to know that there’s someone in the world who realizes how special you are. Not because you’re pretty. Not because you’re funny. Not because you’re smart. Though you are all those things. But because you are full of a light that outshines everyone else I’ve ever met. You, Kincaid Breslin, are singular. You are everything.

Always,

Your secret admirer

Ash rocked back, sitting down hard on the floor, his hands trembling. This couldn’t be. The letter was in pristine condition. And the book it’d fallen out of hadn’t been written when this letter had been hidden in the bookstore. There was no way…

“That one was always my favorite.”

The familiar voice sent a chill deep into Ash’s skin and made his breath freeze in his chest. Not happening. Not happening. Don’t look. But he couldn’t help it. He lifted his head.

Graham was leaning against the shelf across from Ash in his prom tux, arms folded, expression smug. “She loved that one.”

Ash swallowed, but it felt like choking down glass. “You’re not here,” he whispered.

Graham smirked and squatted in front of Ash, his blond hair falling across his forehead. “Aren’t I?” He reached out and flicked the letter with his finger, making Ash jolt and scoot back against the shelf.