Maybe I didn’t want a reminder about how someone “normal” would be feeling in this situation. Maybe normal was like Maia and her friends: ready to turn Jasper from friend into boyfriend at the first hint of the light turning green. I cared about Jasper. I cared about what happened to him. But not like that. No. I did not.

I was much better off steering way clear of all those kind of complications—and that wasn’t denial or whatever Rachel might think. It was what I wanted: none of it. Trevor—my one real foray into the world of romance a year ago—had been right to dodge the responsibility that was me. I would definitely never wish me on Jasper. Not now. Everyone was so worried about him dragging me down, but who knew how far or how fast I might fall? Or how deep I’d take him with me.

“Sorry.” Rachel held up her hands, then tucked them under her armpits. She wasn’t sorry, though. I could feel how badly she wanted to say more about Jasper and our “relationship.”

“Why are you even here, Rachel?” My face went hot as the floodgates opened. “I mean, seriously?” My voice was too loud; people were starting to stare. “You were my mom’s friend. And she’s dead. If you think you’re helping me, you’re not. So why don’t you go find something else that will make you feel better?”

Rachel blinked at me, stunned. But instead of storming off or telling me I was being rude, she nodded. “You’re right.”

Then she stepped closer and wrapped her arm around me. And, of course, I started to bawl. Couldn’t help myself. I didn’t stop until I felt someone’s hand on my back. My dad, I assumed.

“I’m so sorry, Wylie. I know how much she meant to you.” A man’s voice, not my dad. And from the look on Rachel’s face, she did not approve of his hand on me.

When I turned, it was Cassie’s dad, Vince. His hair was chin length now, his face softer with his new beard. This was the hippie Key West version of Vince. Sober for nearly a year, he had opened a kayak rental place and otherwise totally cleaned up his act. He had also gotten super New Agey weird, Cassie had told me once, but with a kind of pride. At least he wasn’t drinking anymore.

Vince had delivered the eulogy and it had been beautiful—moving and eloquent and thoughtful. It managed to bring out all the best qualities of Cassie while putting her death in a meaningful context. So perfect I would have expected to feel differently about Vince the next time I talked to him. But here he was—and there I was—thinking what I always did: that he was totally full of shit.