Olivia elbowed him. ‘I told you, she doesn’t want to talk about it,’ she said, which was almost definitely worse than her not saying anything at all.

They started to argue about the logistics of talking about something versus apologizing for it, and despite how little attention I was paying, it seemed like things were getting heated. No worries; if they broke up, Olivia would have found a replacement before I could blink. She’d had ten – eleven? – different boyfriends since freshman year. If I sound bitter, I really wasn’t. Maybe I envied how easy it was for her to let go.

And then there was June.

She was sitting across the commons at a table with Heath and a few others I recognized as members of the elite. Heath had just said something that had really made her laugh, apparently. Flash of teeth. Eye crinkle.

I didn’t know why I cared so much about a girl I barely knew. I wasn’t even sure I liked her. The way she navigated the world struck me as disingenuous, a sort of blasé approach to life that seemed to me dishonest, or unnatural, or cultivated, or all three. She spoke to everyone with a sort of cool disconnect that they all interpreted as warmth. I wasn’t sure she had ever felt pain in her life.

But if she had been seeing Dad, then there must have been something more.

I could’ve just asked. We’d very clearly made eye contact at the funeral, unless I truly had been hallucinating, but I doubted it. The moment had happened. It wouldn’t be that strange for me to go up and say something, right? I quickly came up with a story – I needed her address because we were sending out thank-you cards. Did people do that? ‘Thanks for the mourning’?

I willed myself to rise from the table, my heart beating faster still. It wouldn’t be a big deal. It would be –

The bell rang for first period.

Now it would be weird. Now I would be chasing after her, and it would be weird.

So Olivia and I said goodbye, and I peeled off alone to the East Wing.