I try to take it from him but he won’t let go. His finger skims across the page of H’s until he comes across my picture. Then he stops. I watch his face as his eyes narrow and he chews the corner of his lip, just for a moment before he faces me. His throat bobs with his swallow. “Future Mrs. Walters,” he murmurs. It’s neither a statement nor a question and I don’t know how to respond so I don’t. I just keep looking at him. And when his body tenses and his eyes drift shut, I know he’s found it. “You were prom queen?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“Now I really feel like an asshole.”

“It’s fine.”

He’s silent a moment before tapping the book and saying, “And this Jeremy guy… he’s…”

“My boyfriend,” I whisper.

He drops the yearbook onto the floor and slowly stands up. Facing me, he rubs the back of his neck. “Was your boyfriend? Or is?”

“It’s irrelevant.”

He shakes his head. “How is it—”

“Because he’s dead, Dylan,” I cut in. I ignore the dropping of his jaw when I pick up the yearbook from the floor, along with the others on the bed and place them back in their spot on the shelf. “He died the summer after senior year, the day before we were meant to leave for college together.” I feel the lump rise to my throat, feel my heart drop to my stomach, killing the butterflies that were once so prominent. My eyes fill with tears—tears that I let slide across my cheek and over my jaw. Then I face him, giving him everything I am. Because what’s a little truth amongst the chaos we’ve created? “He’s dead, and that’s why it’s irrelevant.”

He licks his lips—his sad, dry eyes on my wet ones. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step forward, and I take a step back because I hate that look in his eyes—the one that warns me of what’s coming next.

So I beat him to it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just okay?”

He shrugs and sits back down on the bed, his head lowered. Then, after a long moment of silence, he speaks. “I enlisted because I wanted more out of my life. I followed a girl I loved, who I thought loved me back, all the way to college because it’s what she wanted. I wanted her. And there was no either/or for us. Then things started to fall apart, things she was oblivious to—which I guess is a sign of what our relationship was like. I wasn’t happy. Not happy enough, anyway. I wanted to make a difference, serve a purpose, you know?” He looks up and my legs lead me—as if on their own—until I’m standing in front of him. “I ran away. I ran because I wanted to avoid the truth, and you—you’re doing the opposite. You’re facing it head on. Every day. And if drinking is how you do that, then I can’t tell you it’s wrong, or that you shouldn’t be doing it.” He tugs on my hand until I’m standing between his legs. “I got shot by a kid, Riley. A kid no more than twelve. And now he’s dead because of it. He’ll never go to high school, never dance with a girl he thinks he’s in love with, never follow his heart and learn from the mistakes of doing so.” Then he looks up, his eyes right on mine, and he says something that brings a sense of peace to my once fear-filled chaos. “You got to stand with a boy you love on a night you’ll never forget. You were his queen and he was your king and no one can take that away from you.”

I wipe my eyes, my tears flowing faster and freer than ever.

“But it is relevant. Because is and was is the difference between time standing still, and time moving forward.”

Thirteen

Riley

I can feel his eyes on me. Not that he’s trying to hide it, though I really wish he would. I look up from my blank page and glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, sitting on the edge of my bed with his elbows on his knees. Days have passed since I’ve told him about Jeremy and he hasn’t brought it up since. He shifts in his spot. “Do you always drink the same stuff?”

I pick up the bottle sitting next to me and take a sip, cringing slightly when the foul taste of it hits my tongue. “It’s the cheapest stuff they have that’ll give me a buzz,” I tell him.

“A buzz? You’re more than buzzed.”

“Not yet.”

He shrugs. “It’s early.”

I pick up a cushion and threaten to throw it. “You can leave if you plan on judging me some more.”

He laughs and sits down next to me. “Give me some.”

“No.” I hold the bottle to my chest.

“Dependent much?”

I roll the back of my head against the wall and turn to him. “The door’s right there.”

“You’re so cranky when you’re on your lady business.” He starts to get up but I stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“Liquor store.”

“Why?”

“To buy my own shit.”

“Don’t,” I tell him, the plea in my voice evident.

“Don’t what?”

“Drink.”

He chuckles from deep in his throat. “Seriously?”

“It’s not good for you,” I tell him, my gaze dropping as soon as the words leave my mouth and I realize how pathetic I sound.

“That’s a little rich coming from you.”

“I know,” I say through a sigh. “I just don’t want you to drop down to my level.”

“You’re so cute when you’re pouty and needy.”

“Shut up.” I scribble across the page and tilt it so Dylan can’t see.

He’s just kidding, Jeremy.

Then I close the notebook and face him.

“Hi,” he says.

I laugh. “Hi.”

“You’re real pretty, Riley.”

I hide my smile. “Shut up, Dylan.”

He rolls his eyes and scoots closer to me, his arm against mine. “Tell me something, Riley.”

“Like what?”

He runs his hand over the top of his head, his short hair shifting beneath his touch. “Anything you feel comfortable telling me. Like…”

I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

“…Where’s your dad?”

I can totally answer that. “My mom and him split when I was super young. Like, three or something. I don’t really know much about him and I guess he doesn’t care to know much about me.”

“Yeah?” he asks after a moment. “You think maybe your mom has something to do with that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I hate your mom.”

I don’t respond.

“I’m sorry if that’s out of line but what kind of mom supplies their underage daughter with enough alcohol to keep her in a permanent stage of semi-awareness and thinks it’s okay.”

“It is out of line,” I tell him. “There’s a lot of shit you don’t know about, Dylan, and she does it because she cares. Because she doesn’t know any other way to show me that and because it’s what we both want so—”