“You just handle this. Every time I look at you, you’re just taking it. And then you went outside like it was nothing. And everyone tiptoes around me. No one else made me think about laying off Cary the way you did … no one else made me feel bad for him. It’s like you see things how they need to be and you’re not afraid to call it.”

“You’re giving me way too much credit.”

“I want to be more like that.”

“You have more,” I say. Her forehead crinkles. I can’t believe she thinks I’m strong, that this is strength. “I always wanted to be like you. I still do.”

“I thought you hated me,” she says.

“What?”

“Sophomore year.” She tosses the crumpled paper towels into the garbage. “You slept over. I thought it was great and then you stopped talking to me. I called and your sister said you didn’t want to speak to me anymore. I could never figure out what I did.”

The room does a slow rotation. I want to reach out for something, steady myself, but I’m frozen.

“I didn’t know she did that.”

“How could you not?”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t know Lily did that, Grace.”

Grace studies me. “Where is she now, anyway?”

“She ran away. Six months ago,” I say. When Grace’s expression morphs into something pitying, I shrug and look away. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’m so sorry, Sloane. I can’t even imagine being here without Trace,” she says. “And you two were as close we were…”

“Right. Were.” I pull at a strand of my hair. I want to rip it out. I want to climb onto the roof and throw myself off it. I want to bash my head against the mirror until it breaks. “That’s past tense.”

She seems awed, like I’m more than what I am, like I’m not imagining a thousand different ways I could end it all right now and trying to remember why I can’t.

“See? You just accept.”

And then it’s just me and my former English teacher.