But there are bad things waiting on the other side of the bathroom door. Like the fact that Peak hates me, like I knew she would. She didn’t even respond to the half-assed text apology I sent—not that I expected her to—or to the three I sent after it either. At the moment, exploring alternatives to living with what I’ve done seems pretty appealing.

I even tried calling my mom, telling her I was feeling down, that being here wasn’t what I thought it would be. But she was rushing out to meet some friends and told me the standard “Tough it out, Rid. Tomorrow is a new day.” Which, I guess, but.

The steam rises from the water and disappears into the air. I wonder what it’s like to be like that, to fit so perfectly in the universe that you can disappear in it. I just want to fit. Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t know. I almost did for a minute. It felt like it anyway; goofing off at Verona with Jubilee was the closest I ever felt to home.

I slide down, all the way down this time, my hair floating up as my head hits the bottom of the tub. The water drifts up my nose and in my ears; it’s a little uncomfortable but not bad, and everything is so quiet, just a hint of splashing and the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Somehow even that seems watery and far away, like it’s someone else’s heart in someone else’s body. And it must be—it has to be—because it feels like Peak’s got mine in her fist in the next town over.

I plant my feet against the front of the tub and shove up, breaking through the surface with a gasp as water splashes everywhere. The air feels good against my too-hot skin as I crawl out, grabbing a towel and leaving little wet footprints in my wake. I’ll clean it up later. Or I won’t. I suppose either way it doesn’t actually matter.

I pull on some sweats and grab my phone, scrolling through to my sister’s name. I promised Gray I would always call in an emergency, and I think maybe this is one. I know she’s in Boston again, visiting friends, and I shouldn’t be bothering her. But still, this is me keeping a promise for once in my life.

“Hey, Ridley,” she says, picking up on the second ring, and I can hear her smile through the phone. It’s loud wherever she is, and I glance at the time. It’s barely nine o’clock; she’s probably still out to dinner or something. Gray’s like that—she’s the kind of person who’ll have dinner at eight, the kind of person other people want to be around.