But some things have changed.

Kurt’s placeholder comment has returned to haunt me. I’ve been replaced. While I spent a month in detention, he started talking to these two sophomores, Nikhil Devi – I cannot escape that family – and Nikhil’s best friend, Michael. Kurt had overheard them talking about the tunnels, and he discovered that they’re obsessed with them, too. He mentioned their names a few times last semester, but I was so preoccupied by my own problems that I didn’t realize they were actually hanging out. They kept in touch over the winter break, and now their friendship has reached the next natural level.

Nikhil and Michael are sitting at our cafeteria table.

This must be how Kurt felt when Josh ate with us. And it’s not that Nikhil and Michael are ignoring me – they don’t, just like Josh never ignored Kurt – but they’re not exactly sitting at our table because they like me. Though, okay, maybe Nikhil does seem to like like me, which is yet another awkward situation.

It’s weird knowing that Nikhil has spent a significant amount of time with Josh, through Rashmi. I wish that I could ask him about them. What were they like as a couple? And how did Josh and I compare?

But that would be mean. Not that I’m a good person any more.

I can’t help but think that Kurt is pulling away from me on purpose. And not just because he got tired of sitting in my backseat, but also because Josh did this same thing when he was a junior, when his friends were close to graduation. He pulled away from them. And Kurt will always be my best friend, of course he will, but things have changed. For the first time ever, Kurt wasn’t the most important person in my life. That’s hard for me to deal with. It must have been hard for Kurt, too.

And yet…he’s thriving. Which has only made it that much more clear that I’m the reason why we haven’t had any other friends. Not Kurt. I’ve held us back. When I disappeared, he found new people to hang out with, but I still don’t have anyone else. How do people even make friends? How does that happen?

I can’t stop thinking about risk. I took one risk in going to Kismet and another in calling Brian’s phone. Neither worked out. It takes the entire month of January for me to build up the courage to attempt another. Even though Josh is no longer an option, I still want to tackle these other problems – my lack of friends and lack of everyday courage.

It happens one evening in the cafeteria. There’s a rare conversational break between Kurt and his friends, and I pounce before I lose my nerve. “Angoulême is this weekend. You guys wanna go with me?”

Angoulême is the name of a town about three hours south-west of Paris by train, but it’s also shorthand for the largest comics festival in Europe. Its black-and-white wildcat mascot has been crunched in every advertising space not already occupied by the Olympics. It feels like a symbol of everything that I’ve lost. If Josh were still here – and if we were still together – we’d take the day trip without a second thought. I need to prove to myself that I can do it without him. And I’ve seen Nikhil and Michael reading comics, so surely this is not an unattractive offer?

“I thought you were done with leaving this city without permission,” Kurt says.

“It’s one afternoon,” I say. “The school will never know.”

Nikhil sits up eagerly. He’s tiny and excitable, a kittenish ball of energy, and he always speaks in an enthusiastic babble. “That sounds fun. Yeah, guys, let’s do it! We should totally do it.”

Michael grins at him with a full mouth of braces. “I wonder why you want to go.”

“It’s because he wants to bone Isla,” Kurt says.

“Kurt.” I’m mortified.

“Yeah.” Michael rolls his eyes. “I know.”

“Oh.” Kurt sinks. They may be friends, but they don’t have each other’s rhythms down yet. And then he immediately perks back up, because he still has the upper hand on information. “It won’t happen. She’s still hung up on Josh.”

“Kurt, I’m sitting right here.” I try to give Nikhil an apologetic wince, but he stares determinedly at his food tray. His dark brown skin has taken on a pinky-red undertone. Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.

Poor Nikhil.

Poor me.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Michael says. He speaks with a shrewd authority that’s belied by his ungroomed, sticky-uppy hair. “Saturday is the only day Arnaud can take us underground.”

“Who’s Arnaud?” I ask.

Kurt stabs a roasted potato with his fork. “Our first connection. Michael found him. He works at the sewer system museum.”

“There’s a sewer system museum?” On the upside, at least this means there are still things for me to learn about Paris. Since I’ll be here for a while. If Kurt stays interested in this stuff, I suppose someday I’ll be crawling around underground, too. It doesn’t sound so bad. Cramped and dirty, yes. But it’d be an adventure. I suppose.

“Yes, of course,” Kurt says. As if all cities have sewer museums. “Why don’t you come with us this weekend instead?”

I imagine drainage and mud and darkness. And then I imagine a train and the open countryside and a sleepy town filled with comic books.

Yeah. I’ll make friends another day.

That night, there’s a letter waiting for me. I stare into my mailbox, afraid to pick it up. I want it to be from him. I want it to be from him so badly.

My arm trembles as I reach inside and pull it out.

It’s not from him.

The blow to my chest is as strong as ever. I’m still not any closer to being over Josh. Not even a centimetre closer, not even a millimetre. People say that the only thing that heals heartbreak is time. But how much time will it take?

The return address comes into focus, and I’m hit with a second shock wave. I shred open the envelope, right there in the hall, and rip out the letter. My head reels. I read the first sentence again, but the words haven’t changed. It’s a different kind of heartbreak. On behalf of the faculty and staff, it is with great pleasure that I inform you of your admission to Dartmouth College.

The streets of Angoulême overflow with red balloons and swarms of happy readers. But their excitement can’t stop the rain. Why does it rain every time I travel? This time, I don’t wait to buy an umbrella. I haven’t seen the last one since Barcelona. Josh must have it. Or maybe we left it in the park. Umbrellas are so small and sad and easy to forget.