Becs and Michelle rush over, each taking a seat beside me. They wrap their arms around me and speak soothing words into my ears, but I can’t hear any of it. Devin’s gone. He walked out like it was nothing. Like I meant nothing. I didn’t even get the chance to tell him about the grant, to ask him to come with me. One misunderstanding was all it took for him to give up on me. On us.

“It’ll be okay, JB,” Michelle promises. The sound of my nickname twists the knife Devin plunged into my heart and the tears start in earnest. The sobs bubble up from somewhere deep in my chest. A dam has broken loose and I can’t stem the tide of sorrow washing over me. I keel forward, my head dropping in my hands as my tears drop to the floor.

The three of us sit in the quiet. Our roles now reversed, Becs rubs my back in slow, soothing circles. She is choked with guilt when she says, “I’ll tell him the truth. He’s already pissed at me anyway.”

“No,” I snap. “He can’t pretend he loves me but not trust me. How could he think I’m planning on leaving?”

“Well, weren’t you?” Michelle asks, leaning down to pick up the scattered, offending letters.

I glare at her. “Not like that. Not anymore. Not without him.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him?”

“I don’t know!” I sobbed. They watch me pace with concern and confusion etched in their faces. Because I was afraid he’d say no.

“You weren’t really going to leave, were you?” Becs asks, her voice betraying her own distrust.

I shake my head, my eyebrows pinching together in annoyance. “No. Yes. Maybe.”

Becs snatches the papers and waves them in front of me in silent accusation. I rip them out of her hands, toss them back in the drawer they came from and slam it shut with an echoing thud. “I thought maybe he’d come with me. Or, I don’t know. I’ve been offered this amazing grant—”

“Wow,” Becs scoffs and Michelle audibly winces.

I level the kid with one of her brother’s devastating scowls. “Ever heard the one about the pot and the kettle, BB?”

She jumps up off the bed and squares off with me. “Hey, don’t turn this around on me. That’s different.”

“Oh, right!”

“It is.” Her voice rises and our eyes lock. Michelle sits on the edge of the bed, riveted, her gaze darting between Becs and me like we’re the final match at Wimbledon. “I know what I want. The one thing I want. Notre Dame. I’m not talking about other opportunities and stringing along my brother for fun. He wants to start a life with you, Jessie.”