And then I feel it—even without her looking at me—the full weight of her heartbreak. She isn’t angry at Jasper, or hoping to get rich off of him playing professional hockey. She isn’t worried about money. She’s afraid she is going to lose her son. That something awful is going to happen to him.

And Jasper has absolutely no idea she feels this way. It makes me so sad for the both of them.

“Are you sure he’s not here?” I ask.

“Jesus, you are a persistent thing.” She looks me up and down. And then I feel a momentary twinge of pity. She knows what desperation feels like. “Come on in if you want. I am going to take my shoes off, but you can go look for him yourself if you think I’m hiding him.”

I step inside the dim entryway with its two sagging armchairs and worn wooden bench against the wall. Jasper’s mom winces as she sits down to take off her shoes. It isn’t until then that it occurs to me: she just got home from work. She is not just up from being asleep after a double shift like Jasper said. He lied to keep me away. And now he is gone.

“Can I look in his room?”

“Will it make you go away?” she asks. I nod. “Then go ahead, but be quick.”

She flaps a hand in the direction of Jasper’s room, though I already know where it is.

THE LIGHTS IN Jasper’s room are off, but the curtains are open. Twin bed, dark comforter, a desk and some bookshelves along one wall. As usual, it is freakishly neat, the bed made with military precision. Full of promise, but tinged with sadness—like everything about Jasper. I’m still surveying how tidy everything is when something on Jasper’s nightstand catches my eye. As I get closer, I can see that it’s a stack of clipped-together envelopes, each already torn open. I look over my shoulder before picking them up. Jasper’s mom said I could come in his room to check for him. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t an invitation to rummage through his things.

There’s no return address on the envelopes, only Jasper’s name and address printed on the label. When I pull out the note inside the top envelope, I recognize Cassie’s curly script right away.

It’s not that he’s better than Jasper. He’s different. Which I guess, in this case, is the same as better. Jasper is nice and smart and sweet, but with him I can’t breathe. I always have to pretend to be someone I’m not . . .