Jasper was supposed to tell her that he’s having second thoughts about playing hockey for Boston College. And by second thoughts, I mean he’s totally changed his mind. The summer camp for incoming freshmen starts in a few days, and he doesn’t plan on going. And BC isn’t going to pay his way on an athletic scholarship if he isn’t playing hockey. No hockey, no Boston College.

But Jasper is totally okay with this. Completely. He isn’t even sure he wants to go to college anymore. In fact, talking about bagging Boston College is the only time Jasper sounds remotely happy these days. Though I am fairly sure that’s because never playing hockey again is his own punishment for what happened to Cassie. Because as much as Jasper’s mom pushed him into the sport, he also loves it. Turning his back on it is a way to make himself suffer.

“Dinner was okay,” Jasper says. But he sounds distracted, like this isn’t at all why he called.

“What did she say?” I push myself up in bed and turn on the light.

“Say? About what?”

“Um, the hockey?” I ask, hoping my tone will bring him back around. “Are you okay? You sound really out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” It’s totally unconvincing. “The thing with my mom didn’t go well. But, I mean, it’s not like I thought it would.” He doesn’t sound upset either, just totally flat. I wait for him to get into details, but he stays quiet.

“Is she going to let you drop out?” I ask as my eyes settle on my photograph of the old woman and her plaid bag and all those crumbs. The one that Jasper called depressing that first time he was in my house, the day we raced off in search of Cassie. I wonder if he’d see it the same way now.

“Define ‘let,’” he says, and then tries to laugh, but it’s wheezy and hollow.

My body tightens. “Jasper, come on, what happened?”

“Oh, you know, kind of what I expected,” he says. He’s trying to rally, but I can hear the effort in his voice. I can feel it, too, even over the phone. “Except worse, I guess.”

“Worse how?” I ask, though maybe I should be distracting him instead of pressing for details. As usual with Jasper these days, I feel totally out of my depth.

“My mom said if I don’t play hockey—go to the camp and whatever—I can’t live under her roof.” He pauses and sighs. “Listen, it’s not like she was going to change into this totally different person because I almost died.” I’m not sure if he means this as a joke. But the weird tightness in his voice is pure sadness. It makes my own chest ache.