“So why didn’t you tell me, now that we’re together?” Even as I say it, it’s dawning on me that maybe we’re not actually together. Maybe that’s the whole problem here. And the look of surprise on her face tells me that I’m probably right. How did I get this all so wrong?

“I was going to tell you. Time sort of got away from me, I guess, and then I was trying to figure out how to fix it.”

“You didn’t think I’d want to help with that?”

Her face is blank, like it wasn’t a thought she ever entertained. And even though I feel like everything I thought about this relationship is now wrong, I still can’t help but try to fix this. “What about Emma?”

“Her parents don’t want another teenager in the house.”

“Do you have any other friends who would let you stay?”

“I tried,” she says.

“Maybe we could change their minds?”

“I don’t think you actually want that.” She raises her eyebrows and twists her mouth up, like I should know why. And then I remember who her other friend is.

“Zander?”

“We never actually asked his parents … that’s when we broke up,” she says. “Of course, I don’t think that option is on the table now, anyway.”

Hell, no. “Could you stay with your mom?”

She shakes her head. “She’s just helping Aunt Sarah out for the summer, she doesn’t live here.”

“But maybe she could stay—you said she’s pretty flighty anyway…”

“Yes, but…”

“You’ll at least try?”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks to the side, to the row of bushes that run between her garage and the next, and sighs.

OLIVIA

I’ll talk to her. Maybe I should have just said it. But I’m not going to stay with my mom. I get that Aiden wants to fix this, but I’ve exhausted all of my options. My stuff is already half-packed—my books line a wall, stacked in boxes and wrapped in old clothes I should have thrown out but used as packing peanuts instead. There’s a note lying on my dresser about my scheduled orientation at my new high school, three weeks from today. Two days before my senior year starts. But Aiden looked so sad, and if I had just said it, maybe he would have stayed. Maybe he wouldn’t have stormed off and left.

Or maybe he would have; maybe he was always going to. I try to shake away the thought, but it won’t leave. It pokes at me all afternoon and into the evening. And at nine o’clock when I get the text from Zander asking if he can see me tomorrow, I can’t think of a reason to say no.