“Are you going to live?” Afton asks after a while. This is something Mom used to say when we were little and fell off our bikes or skinned our knees.

I scoff. “I’m not going to die over a boy, thank you very much.”

“That’s quite sensible of you.”

I stir through the coals with a fire poker. “This whole time he was hooking up with other girls.” It feels like a joke, like a bad plot twist in a movie, so predictable, so clichéd, that it couldn’t be true.

“He’s an asshole,” Afton says.

“Yes, yes, he is,” I agree wholeheartedly.

“So really it’s a good thing.”

I turn to look at my sister. “What? What’s good about it?”

“That you didn’t sleep with him. You deserve for your first time to be better than my first time. It should be special.”

She’s right, and I know it, but this also feels like an I-told-you-so.

“It was special,” I snap. “I thought he loved me.”

Afton arches an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, and yesterday you were freaked out about that because you didn’t feel the same. But today you’re pissed because he clearly didn’t love you. The point is, it wasn’t right between you.”

My face burns. Leo doesn’t love me. He never did. Sure, it’s true that I don’t love him, either, but that doesn’t seem like an important distinction at the moment. I think about the way he told Kayla how we met. That’s all I was to him. One of his mom’s art groupies. A walking compliment. A fangirl.

Afton reads my expression and backpedals. “I get that it hurts, though. It’s the principle of the thing, or whatever. I know.”

“How would you know?” Afton’s never been dumped. She’s never been cheated on. Her boyfriend clearly adores her and doesn’t have a difficult time with the definition of the word boyfriend. This kind of thing would never happen to Afton.

“I know because . . .” She stops herself, because she sees I’m right. “Trust me, it would have been a mistake, sleeping with Leo. You would have regretted it. So you should be glad.”

“I’m a lot of things right now, but glad isn’t one of them.” What I am is tired of Afton telling me how to feel. Some part of my brain understands that my sister is only trying to help, but another part wants to punch her in her perfect upturned nose. Especially since Leo isn’t here to get his nose punched. “You can’t ask me to be happy about this, okay?”

“I get that,” she says. “But in my experience—”

I hold up a hand. “This isn’t your experience. It’s my experience.”

“Okay, but I—”