When Brad took Mom out for dinner and a movie one night, hoping it would cheer her up because she hadn’t been well again, Ash promised he’d spend the evening with me. Not twenty minutes after our parents had left, Celine called, and Ash suggested she stop by.

“Why is she coming?” I said when he hung up, hugging my knees as I sat on the sofa, pulling a cushion against my chest. “Why does she always have to intrude?”

“It’s not intruding if I invite her,” Ash said, with a hint of annoyance, and him thinking badly of me made my stomach turn. “You know she’s having a hard time.”

“I’m having a hard time,” I said, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

He came over and plopped himself on the coffee table in front of me. “Hey,” he said gently. “What’s going on, Bee? What’s happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t care.” I jumped up, sending the cushion flying. I brushed past him, ran to the stairs and up to my room, where I slammed and locked the door, making the thin walls shake. It wasn’t long before I heard his footfalls, followed by a soft knock.

“Bee? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

As soon as I opened the door, he put his arms around me. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to tell him everything, couldn’t face verbalizing my jealousy, but he asked me again, his voice gentle and calm. I wanted to keep him here, with me, in my room. I wanted us to spend the whole evening together. I wanted him to finally see me, look after me, love me.

“They call me names at school,” I whispered, fighting back more tears, relieved to finally let go of the secret that involved him. Maybe he wouldn’t be disgusted with me, but with them, and we could fight this together. “It’s been going on for weeks.”

“What kind of names?” Ash said. “Who’s bullying you?”

“I don’t know who started it,” I lied, not wanting him to know I’d been the one who’d stolen Sydney’s precious jacket and ripped it to shreds, which had done nothing to stop the taunting. “Someone found my notebook. It got passed around and now they call me a...they call me a...a brotherfucker.”

It was a mistake telling him because he looked as if I’d slapped him across the face, and I wanted to take the word back, erase it from his memory, but it was too late.

“Why would they call you that?” he said.

“Because I wrote ‘Maya and Ash forever’ over an entire page.” I swallowed. “Or two.”

“Maya and Ash...?” he said, shaking his head. “Bee, why would—”

“Because I love you.”

“I love you, too, but—”