After swallowing down her latest bite, Whitney pushed off the dresser and headed toward Amelia’s bed. She swept her hand under the mattress, working her way from one side to the other, scooting on her knees, carpet scraping against her skin.

On the right side, almost to the pillow, Whitney’s fingertip grazed a sharp, pointy edge. She pushed her hand in farther, her palm sliding over what felt like the slick cover of a notebook. Folding her hand around it, she yanked it out.

It was a small notebook with a black, crinkled cover. Whitney flipped through the pages quickly, a perfunctory glance. Many of them were filled with blue ink, Amelia’s cursive. From the kitchen, Whitney heard cabinet doors opening and closing, dishes clanging. Natalie was clearly keeping herself busy.

Hoisting herself up off the floor, Whitney sat on top of Amelia’s bed, and opened the notebook. Poetry covered the pages. Beautifully written, she noted. But dark and sad. As Whitney skimmed through them, she started to wonder if Amelia actually was depressed.

When she reached one called “The Boy in 204,” Whitney sat up taller. Her eyes shot to words like bruise, blood and ache. Was Amelia being hurt? Abused? Or was this symbolism? The other poems all had macabre lines, as well. Things Whitney knew had never happened. It seemed all of her poetry was morbid and dark.

But then Whitney thought about her talk with Dan. How Amelia had been asking about Whitney’s past relationships. Was it because Amelia thought that history was repeating itself? That she was following in her mom’s footsteps? Whitney had spent Amelia’s entire life trying to stop that exact thing from happening. It was why she’d been so overprotective. So strict.

Clutching the notebook to her chest, she raced out to the family room. Natalie was pouring another cup of tea. Steam rose from it, circling her face.

“I think I know which apartment that boy lives in. The one from the picture.” She held up the notebook. “This thing is filled with poems and one of them is called ‘THE BOY IN 204.’”

“And you think it’s about him?”

“Yeah, I mean, it sounds like it’s about someone she’s seeing or at least likes. But it also sounds like maybe he hurts her?”

“What?” Natalie wiped her hand on a towel and came around the kitchen island to where Whitney stood. “Let me see.” Whitney set the notebook in her hands. Natalie stared down at the page for a few minutes and then looked up. “It’s poetry, so you can’t really take it literally. I mean, it’s clearly a relationship of some kind, and it’s probably complicated.”

Her friend’s words propelled her toward the front door. A pair of Amelia’s flip-flops were discarded by the wall. Any other day it would’ve irritated her.