My sister Julie says that you’re one of the funniest people she’s ever met. That’s saying a lot, considering she knows me. Ha-ha.

   1D are so much better than J. Biebs.

   Don’t worry about Kayla at all. I promise to take care of her always. She’s my everything. And I love her so, so much.

   Love,

   Your future brother-in-law (fingers crossed),

   Jake

MIKAYLA

   “So, is there anything else you guys did for her birthday?” Jake asks as he turns the key in the ignition and waits for the truck to warm up.

   “Not really. I mean . . . Megan and I used to take her for ice cream, then we’d have the family dinner, where we’d do the box reveal.”

   “So, ice cream, then?” He smiles at me, pulling me closer to him on the seat and kissing my temple. “And we can go hang out with my family.”

   I smile and nod.

   At the ice cream shop, Jake pays and we sit down in a booth. “Do you miss her? Not Emily—Megan, I mean. Do you think about her?”

   I think for a second. “Yeah, you know what? I really do. I mean, we were best friends since, like, fifth grade. I always thought that losing her would be like losing a limb. I think eventually I would have forgiven her, like I have James. But I don’t think I can now. I mean, where the hell has she been? Not one phone call, no texts, Facebook, e-mail, nothing. Even when my family died. Nothing.”

   “Did you ask James why she wasn’t at the funeral?” he asks.

   “No, because I don’t think there really is a suitable reason. Do you?”

   “Not a single one.”

   As we’re driving home after visiting Jake’s parents, I see a rental sign in front of an apartment block. I ask Jake to stop so I can take a look around. By now I’ve saved up enough money for a security deposit and first month’s rent. The location is good. It’s close enough to campus so I can catch a bus, and hopefully I’ll soon have a car. The apartment itself is pretty awful—Jake’s house looks like a five-star hotel in comparison. But with some furniture and decent decorating, I might be able to make it my home.

   We left early in the morning to go to the cemetery, then spent most of the day at Jake’s parents’ house. The two-hour drive there and back has us beat, too, so we crash as soon as we get home. We’ve spent every night in Jake’s bed since the frat party. He still won’t kiss me, though, and I don’t know why.

   When I come out of the bathroom, he’s sitting up in bed, shirtless, with the blankets bunched at his waist. I get under the covers, lay my head on my pillow, and look up at him. He looks down at me and smiles—but it’s a sad smile. I smile back only a little, because I’m trying to decipher the hurt in his eyes. I stare at him, and he stares back. It seems like we try to communicate without talking for a long time.

   I don’t know what he’s thinking.

   I know it’s not good.

   I almost don’t want to know.

   The longer I stare at him, the sadder he looks—until eventually tears start to fill his eyes and he has to look away.

   I swallow the lump in my throat.

   I don’t want to talk.

   I don’t want to ask him what’s wrong.

   Because I’m scared now. This is the moment when it all ends—when he tells me that he doesn’t want me here.

   Or want me at all.

   I feel pain in the back of my eyes and throat and behind my nose from trying to hold in the tears that are bursting to get through. I refuse to listen to him. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, because the second the words come out, it will all be over. I will have nothing left—not one fucking thing.

   He clears his throat once, and I close my eyes. I wish all the wishes in the entire frickin’ world that this is not happening. “What are we doing?” He says it so quietly, I almost don’t hear him.

   I let out the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “What?” I squeak.

   “I’m sorry, Kayla,” he says.

   I move to get out of the bed, too embarrassed to be so intimate with him when he tells me that we—whatever it is we are—are done.

   “Whoa, where are you going?” he asks, holding on to me. “We need to talk about this.”

   I panic and escape from his grasp. “I can’t.” I close my eyes, because I don’t want to see his beautiful face. “I don’t want to hear it, Jake, please. I just don’t want to,” I beg him and run to my room across the hall.

   He follows me. “What’s going on?” He sounds worried. I can’t look at him.

   “I’m just—I’m sorry, okay? I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. I just don’t. I can’t. Not today, Jake, please.” I’m almost hyperventilating, kneeling on the floor by my bed.

   “What are you talking about, Kayla?” He pulls me up and puts his hands on my face to make me look at him, but my eyes are shut tight. I refuse to look. “Kayla! What do you think is happening here?”

   “Jake, please.” I surrender to the pain and fall to my knees again. He kneels next to me. “I don’t want to be a desperate, broken girl who needs you. That’s why I want to find somewhere else to live. But I waited too long, and now you don’t want me here, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

   I’m a sobbing mess; the tears are flowing so quickly, I don’t have time to wipe them away. My head is pounding, and my heart hurts so much I’m sure it’s going to break. I rest my chin on my knees, my hands wrapped around my head. I wish the world would leave me alone for just one minute, so I can gather the strength to get up and face it.

   I don’t know how long I sit there crying. Once the tears have dried up, and I’ve quieted down, I finally get the courage to look up. He’s there, watching me and waiting—for this stupid little girl to calm the fuck down so he can get this shit over with. I start to cry again.

   “Stop!” he cries. His tone is forceful enough that I listen. “What the fuck have I ever done to make you feel like I don’t want you here? Or that I don’t want you at all?” he asks, hurt and confused. “God, Kayla. I kept my mouth shut because I knew it was important to you to be out on your own or whatever. But it’s not what I want! Not for a fucking second. And you should know that without my having to say a goddamn word. You should feel that. Have I not shown you how I feel about you? Have I not been clear in the way I act toward you? I don’t know what else I could have said or done without actually coming out and saying the words.” He positions us so I’m straddling him and wraps his arms around me. We can’t get any closer. “Kayla, it was you who wanted to leave, not me. You’re the one who wanted to find somewhere else to live. It was never me.”